"Yes; let us drop the Latin.—Yesterday, my dear fellow, when I returned from the department, I found a letter at my rooms. I opened it; it was from a notary, inviting me to call at once at his office, provided with my papers, certificate of baptism, etc. I didn’t quite know what to expect from a letter from a notary; but I complied with his invitation instantly. The notary asked me if I had any parents, and all sorts of details about my family; at last, my dear Alfred, when I had answered all his questions, and proved that I was really Jules-Raoul Robineau, son of Benoît-Etienne Robineau and Cécile Desboulloir, he said to me without any other preamble:
"‘Monsieur, your uncle, Gratien Robineau, has recently deceased at Havre, where he had just landed. He had turned all his fortune into cash, and proposed to pass the rest of his life in Paris, when death, which he had defied a hundred times in distant lands, struck him down as he reached the haven. Your uncle has left you all his property, and it amounts to about five hundred thousand francs.’"
"Five hundred thousand francs!"
"Ah! my friend, you can imagine my delight, my amazement. I almost fainted, and the notary had to give me vinegar and salts."
"What! you, Robineau, a philosopher, a bachelor without ambition, who despised riches,—you fainted when you learned that you had inherited a fortune?"
"Oh! my dear fellow, a man may be a philosopher, you know—that’s all right; indeed it’s the best thing one can do when one has to endure privations; but he may have a heart all the same, and be easily moved; and five hundred thousand francs! I thought at first that that meant a million a year, but, on figuring it out, I found that it was only twenty-five thousand francs at five per cent.—But when a man is sharp and knows how to go about it, he can make his money bring in six or eight or ten per cent.—Isn’t that so, my friend?"
"My dear Robineau, I know very well how to spend money, but I know absolutely nothing about investing it."
"Of course not! You have never been a clerk in the Treasury!"
"However, if I should give you any advice, it would be to invest your money in solid securities, consols or real estate. It seems to me that a man who has been accustomed to live on fifteen hundred francs a year may do very well with twenty thousand; and it would be better to have no more than that and have it perfectly safe, than to expose your fortune to the risks of business. That is my opinion, my dear Robineau; a man may be very heedless about his own concerns and yet advise others wisely; so you will do well to——"
Robineau, who seemed to grew impatient toward the end of Alfred’s harangue, had risen and was walking about the room humming; at last he interrupted his friend.