"You ought to know all about it, Monsieur de Bressieux," observed Marie de Charlus insolently, addressing the fashionable broker, whom she hated twice over. As a young woman of noble birth and very proud of her rank, she was, despite her "modernism," in a constant state of irritation against those of her own caste who fell away either socially or morally; and then too everybody who was involved, closely or distantly, in Landri's marriage to Madame Olier, was insufferable to her. Now there was a rumor, partly justified indeed, that, but for the subtle mediation of the Seigneur de la Rochebrocante, the Marquis de Claviers would have been unable to turn over to his son his mother's fortune. With the slanderous imagination of a rival, Marie believed that, if that payment had been delayed, the scheming Madame Olier would certainly have preferred to delay the ceremony until the final settlement of the accounts. She said to herself that Landri's eyes would have been opened by such base conduct, that the marriage would not have taken place—in short, all the follies of frantic jealousy. Bressieux had to pay the bill.
"I?" he replied, without irritation. He was not sensitive except when he chose to be, and he was too dependent on the Charluses not to lower his flag before the witty Marie. "It is true that I had the good fortune to prevent poor Geoffroy from being robbed too outrageously in the sale of the wonders of Grandchamp. Thanks to my advice, he got six millions in all. Altona offered four, and he wanted to ask five. The tapestries alone were worth eighteen hundred thousand francs.—This talk about ten millions of debts is all fable. If you want my opinion, he is absolutely free from debt, and has a good hundred thousand francs a year. Evidently the blow was a hard one."
"It seems that Landri, by that woman's advice, demanded interest on interest," said Madame de Sicard.
"I will never believe that of him," said Marie de Charlus hastily. "As to her, it's true enough that she doesn't take very well. It's well deserved. She'll have to work hard to get into society."
"And so she won't try," rejoined Bressieux. "Geoffroy told me that the couple were going to settle in America."
"Aha! so Landri plays the coup du 'ranch' on us!" said little Sicard. "We know all about that. You'll see them coming back within a year, to Paris-les-Bains, where life is so happy, even under the Republic. And he'll present his wife, and we shall receive her, and we shall be jolly well in the right. Between ourselves, the excellent Claviers has shown no common sense in this whole business. One can't live in opposition to his time to that extent."
"Would you prefer that he should live in opposition to his name?" interposed Charlus. To him, too, Landri's marriage had been an over-bitter disappointment. "Upon my word!" he continued, "it's most astonishing to me that Claviers' conduct, judicious and wise and legitimate as it has been, should be criticized. And among ourselves! But everything is going the same way, from great to small. Dine out, no matter where: people to-day don't even know how to place their guests at table. Claviers set a superb example."
"I agree with you," said Bressieux. "If we do not defend our names, what shall we defend?"—Then, with his characteristic dissembled irony: "Evidently Geoffroy is ruining the market. But don't be alarmed, Sicard. The title-exchange isn't in danger of being closed yet—even under the Republic, to adopt your expression."
"All the same," said Elzéar de Travers, coming to the rescue of Simone's husband, "there's one pack of hounds less! And such a pack! How it was kept up!"
"And what a table!" said Sicard.