An idle young man would have been delighted with this easy life—not so Paul Lisimon. Kind and liberal as Don Juan Moraquitos had been to him, the proud spirit of the young man revolted against a life of dependence. He yearned not only to achieve a future career, but to repay the obligations of the past—to erase the stain of dependence from his youth; to pay for the education which had been given him by favor. Thus, where another would have rejoiced in the idleness of Silas Craig's office; where another would have abandoned himself to the dissipated pleasures that abound in such a city as New Orleans; where another would have snatched the tempting chalice which youthful passion offered to his lips, Paul Lisimon, in very defiance of his employer, slowly but surely advanced in the knowledge of the profession whose ranks he was predestined to join.
Strange to say, Don Juan, instead of praising and encouraging the industry of his protege, laughed and ridiculed him from his determined labors.
"You are the most extraordinary young man I ever met with, Paul," said the Spaniard. "Where others of your age will be haunting the gaming houses, which, in spite of our laws for their suppression, secretly exist in New Orleans—where others would be nightly visitants of the theatre and the cafe, you are forever brooding over those stupid books."
"Other men are perhaps born to fortune," answered Paul, with quiet dignity; "remember, dear sir, I have to achieve it."
"Nay, Paul; how do you know what intentions a certain elderly Spanish gentleman may have with regard to a document called a will?"
"Heaven forbid, sir," replied Paul, "that I should ever seek to fathom those intentions; and if you allude to yourself, permit me to take this opportunity of declaring that I would not accept one dollar, even were your misguided generosity to seek to bequeath it to me."
"Santa Maria, Mr. Lisimon, and why not, pray?" asked Don Juan, laughing at the young man's impetuosity.
"Because I would not rob her who has the sole claim upon your fortune."
"My little Camillia; she will be rich enough in all conscience. Ah, Paul," added the Spaniard, looking somewhat searchingly at Lisimon, "it is a serious matter for a father to have such a daughter as Camillia Moraquitos to dispose of; a beauty and an heiress! Where in all New Orleans shall I find the man rich enough or noble to be her husband?"
Paul Lisimon winced as if he had received a thrust from a dagger.