But he did not feel resentful over this. Philanthropists pure and simple are not generally found amid such palatial surroundings. Poor old Papa Péron had been one without doubt, and he had flung his money about right and left; wrecked his life for a sentimental attachment and drawn his last breath in a mean lodging. Emphatically Baron Salmoros was not of the same breed. He seemed kindly, and there was often a benevolent gleam in those clear, shrewd eyes. But for every ounce of help he gave, he would stipulate for a handsome return.
“I think, Corsini, we can help each other very considerably. I believe it is in my power to advance you in two ways; in the more permanent direction that my dear old friend, Jean Villefort, suggests, and also in the artistic way. I take it, the latter is really nearer to your heart. Even if your success has not been stupendous, you have set your first footstep on the ladder of fame.”
“I should be very sorry if I found it an absolute necessity to give up my musical career altogether, Baron.”
Salmoros nodded his massive snow-white head. “In that you have my fullest sympathy. I told you a short time ago what I would give to possess your executive talent. Well, I have been thinking considerably since you left, and I believe I can solve the difficulty.”
Nello followed him with the closest attention. To a certain extent he had found a fairy godfather in Papa Péron, for from the chance meeting on that snowy winter’s night had flowed his present success, his introduction to Gay, through Gay his meeting with Paul Degraux. Was he about to find a more powerful and influential one in this world-renowned financier?
“Suppose I sent you on a partly diplomatic mission to Russia, and at the same time insured you certain introductions which would help you greatly in your musical career—What would you say to that? Does the suggestion impress you?”
The young man could hardly believe his ears. Again his thoughts went back to the days when he had played in the streets for a few miserable coppers. And to-day he was sitting, an honoured guest, at the table of one of the greatest financiers in the world. He had to assure himself that he was not dreaming.
“I cannot think of anything more delightful,” was the fervent answer.
The Baron proceeded. “I want a very private and confidential letter—it will, of course, be written in cipher—carried to Lord Ickfold, the British Ambassador at Saint Petersburg.”