"Mother, I have been in very great trouble of late. That my disaster did trouble you so little has been painful to me. But this is far worse. I waited to feel at ease about the other affair before I spoke to you of my intention to marry Miss Swanwick. I was on my way just now when I met her on the stair. I desire to say, mother—"
She broke in: "It is useless to discuss this absurd business. It is over. I have said so to the young woman. That ends it. Now kiss me. I wish to go to bed."
"No," he said; "this does not end it."
"Indeed, we shall see—a quite ordinary Quaker girl and a designing mother. It is all clear enough. Neither of you with any means, not a louis of dot—a nice wife to take home. Oh, I have expressed myself fully, and it was needed. She presumed to contradict me. Ciel! I had to be plain."
"So it seems; but as I count for something, I beg leave to say, maman, that I mean to marry Margaret Swanwick."
"You, the Vicomte de Courval!"
He laughed bitterly. "What are titles here, or in France, to-day? There are a dozen starving nobles in this city, exiles and homeless. As to money, I have charge of Mr. Schmidt's affairs, and shall have. I am not without business capacity."
"Business!" she exclaimed.
"Well, no matter, mother. I pray you to be reasonable, and to remember what these people have done for us: in health no end of kindness; in sickness—mother, I owe to them my life."
"They were paid, I presume."