“Let us understand each other, and speak plainly. Would it be very repugnant to your feelings to have seven hundred thousand francs a year, and to be called, after me, Marquis de Campvallon d’Armignes? Come, speak up, and give me an answer.”
The young Count reddened slightly.
“My name is Camors,” he said, gently.
“What! You would not wish me to adopt you? You refuse to become the heir of my name and of my fortune?”
“Yes, General.”
“Do you not wish time to reflect upon it?”
“No, General. I am sincerely grateful for your goodness; your generous intentions toward me touch me deeply, but in a question of honor I never reflect or hesitate.”
The General puffed fiercely, like a locomotive blowing off steam. Then he rose and took two or three turns up and down the gallery, shuffling his feet, his chest heaving. Then he returned and reseated himself.
“What are your plans for the future?” he asked, abruptly.
“I shall try, in the first place, General, to repair my fortune, which is much shattered. I am not so great a stranger to business as people suppose, and my father’s connections and my own will give me a footing in some great financial or industrial enterprise. Once there, I shall succeed by force of will and steady work. Besides, I shall fit myself for public life, and aspire, when circumstances permit me, to become a deputy.”