He paused, affrighted. Drawing himself up to his full height, young
Vergniaud confronted him in haughty amazement.
"Gentleman!" he cried—"What do you mean by the term? A loafer?—a lounger in the streets?—a leerer at women? Or a man who works for daily food from sunrise to sunset, and controls his lower passions by hard and honest labour! Gentleman! What is that? Is it to live lazily on the toil of others, or to be up and working one's self, and to eat no bread that one has not earned? Will you answer me?"
"My dear sir, you must really excuse me!" said Petitot nervously—" I am quite unable to enter into any sort of discussion with you on these things! Please recollect that my life as a lawyer, depends entirely on men's stupidities and hypocrisies,—if they all entertained your views I should have to beg in the streets, or seek another profession. In my present business I should have nothing whatever to do. You perceive the position? Yes, of course you do!" For Cyrillon with one of the quick changes of mood habitual to him, smiled, as his temporary irritation passed like a cloud, and his eyes softened—"You see, I am a machine,—educated to be a machine; and I am set down to do certain machine-like duties,—and one of these duties is,—regardless of your fame, your eccentric theories, your special work which you have chosen to make for yourself in the world,—to put you in possession of the money your father left you—"
"Can you now—at once—" said Cyrillon suddenly—"give me enough money to go to Rome to-night?"
Monsieur Petitot stared.
"To go to Rome to-night?" he echoed—"Dear me, how very extraordinary! I beg your pardon! . . . of course—most certainly! I can advance you any sum you want—would ten thousand francs suffice?"
"Ten thousand francs!" Cyrillon laughed. "I never had so much money in all my life!"
"No? Well, I have not the notes about me at the moment, but I will send you up that sum in an hour if you wish it. Your father's will entitles you to five million francs, so you see I am not in any way endangering myself by advancing you ten thousand."
Cyrillon was quite silent. The lawyer studied him curiously, but could not determine whether he was pleased or sorry at the announcement of his fortune. His handsome face was pale and grave,—and after a pause he said simply—
"Thank you! Then I can go to Rome. If you will send me the money you speak of I shall be glad, as it will enable me to start to-night. For the rest,—kindly publish my father's will as he instructed you to do,—and I—when I return to Paris, will consult you on the best way in which I can dispose of my father's millions."