M. Etienne Rambert was in the smoking-room of the house which he had
purchased a few months previously in the Place Pereire, rue
Eugène-Flachat, smoking and chatting with his old friend Barbey, who
also was his banker. The two had been discussing investments, and the
wealthy merchant had displayed considerable indifference to the banker's
recommendation of various gilt-edged securities.
"To tell you the truth, my dear fellow," he said at length, "these
things interest me very little; I've got used to big enterprises--am
almost what you would call a plunger. Of course you know that nothing is
so risky as the development of rubber plantations. No doubt the industry
has prospered amazingly since the boom in motor-cars began, but you must
remember that I went into it when no one could possibly foresee the
immense market that the new means of locomotion would open for our
produce. That's enough to prove to you that I'm no coward when it's a
question of risking money." The banker nodded: his friend certainly did
display a quite extraordinary energy and will-power for a man of his
age. "As a matter of fact," M. Rambert went on, "any business of which I
am not actually a director, interests me only slightly. You know I am
not boasting when I say that my fortune is large enough to justify me in
incurring a certain amount of financial risk without having to fear any
serious modification of my social position if the ventures should happen
to turn out ill. I've got the sporting instinct."
"It's a fine one," M. Barbey said with some enthusiasm. "And I don't
mind telling you that if I were not your banker, and so had a certain
responsibility in your case, I should not hesitate to put a scheme
before you that has been running in my head for a year or two now."
"A scheme of your own, Barbey?" said M. Rambert. "How is it you have
never told me about it? I should have thought we were close enough
friends for that."
The hint of reproach in the words pricked the banker, and also
encouraged him to proceed.
"It's rather a delicate matter, and you will understand my hesitation
when I tell you--for I'll burn my boats now--that it isn't any ordinary
speculation, such as I am in the habit of recommending to my customers.
It is a speculation in which I am interested personally: in short, I
want to increase the capital of my Bank, and convert my House into a
really large concern."
"Oh-ho!" said M. Etienne Rambert, half to himself. "Well, you are quite
right, Barbey. But if you want to suggest that I shall help to finance
it, you had better put all the cards on the table and let me know
exactly what the position is; I need not say that if nothing comes of
it, I shall regard any information you give me as absolutely
confidential."
The two men plunged into the subject, and for a good half-hour discussed
it in all its bearings, making endless calculations and contemplating
all contingencies. At last M. Rambert threw down his pen and looked up.
"I'm accustomed to the American method of hustle, Barbey. In principle I
like your proposition quite well; but I won't be one of your financial
partners; if the thing goes through I'll be the only one, or not one at
all. I know what is in your mind," he went on with a smile, as he
noticed the banker's surprise; "you know what my fortune is, or rather
you think you do, and you are wondering where I shall get the million
sterling, or thereabouts, that you want. Well, make your mind easy about
that; if I talk like this, it's because I've got it." The banker's bow
was very deferent, and M. Rambert continued: "Yes, the last year or two
have been good, even very good, for me. I've made some lucky
speculations and my capital has further been increased by some lotteries
which have turned out right quite lately. Well!" he broke off with a
sigh, "I suppose one can't always be unlucky in everything, though money
can't cure, or even touch, the wounds in one's heart."
The banker made no answer: he shrank from waking, by untimely words, the
sad memories which were hardly dormant yet in the old man's mind. But M.
Rambert soon reverted to his business tone.
"I'm quite disposed to be interested in a financial venture like yours,
Barbey. But you must understand that you will have a good deal more than
a sleeping partner in me. Will that suit you? I should not ask you to
abdicate your authority, but I tell you frankly I should follow all the
operations of your house very closely indeed."
"There shall be no secrets from you, my dear friend, my dear partner, if
I may call you that," said M. Barbey, rising: "quite the contrary!"
The banker looked towards the mantelpiece, as if expecting to see a
clock there; M. Rambert understood the instinctive action and drew out
his watch.
"Twenty minutes to eleven, Barbey: late hours for you. So off with you."
He cut short the banker's half-hearted apologies for not prolonging the
evening. "I am turning you out quite unceremoniously, my dear chap, and
besides, as you know, I'm not lonely to-night as I generally am. I have
a young and very charming companion, for whom I have the greatest
possible affection, and I am going to join her."
M. Etienne Rambert conducted his friend to the hall door, heard the
sound of his motor-car die away in the distance, and then walked across
the hall and, instead of going back to the smoking-room, turned into the
adjoining drawing-room. He paused for a moment in the doorway, tenderly
contemplating the charming spectacle that met his eyes.
The shaded light from an electric lamp fell upon the bent head, oval
face and delicate features of Thérèse Auvernois, who was intent upon a
book. The girl was emerging from childhood into young womanhood now, and
sorrow had heightened her natural distinction by giving her a stamp of
gravity that was new. Her figure showed slight and supple, delicate and
graceful, and her long, taper fingers turned over the pages of the
book with slow and regular movement. Thérèse looked round towards
Etienne Rambert when she heard him coming in, and laying down her book
she came forward to meet him, moving with a very graceful, easy
carriage.
"I am sure I am keeping you up most dreadfully late, dear M. Rambert,"
she said apologetically, "but what am I to do? I must wait for the
Baronne de Vibray, and the dear thing is so often late!"
The tragedy at the château of Beaulieu had had one effect in knitting
all the friends of the Marquise de Langrune in closer bonds of
friendship. Prior to that event Etienne Rambert had scarcely known the
Baronne de Vibray; now the two were intimate friends. The Baronne had
not desisted from her first generous effort until she had persuaded the
family council to appoint her guardian of the orphaned Thérèse
Auvernois. At first she had installed the child at Querelles, and
remained there with her, leading the quietest possible life, partly out
of respect for Thérèse's grief, and partly because she herself was also
much upset by the distressing tragedy. She had even enjoyed the rest,
and her new interest in playing mother, or rather elder sister, to
Thérèse. But as the weeks went by and time accomplished its healing
work, Paris called to the Baronne once more, and yielding to the
solicitations of her many friends she brought her new ward to the
capital and settled in a little flat in the rue Boissy-d'Anglais. At
first she protested that she would go out nowhere, or at most pay only
absolutely necessary visits, but by degrees she accepted first one and
then many invitations, though always deploring the necessity of leaving
Thérèse for several hours at a time.
Happily there was always Etienne Rambert, who was also staying in Paris
just now. It had gradually become the custom of the Baronne de Vibray,
when she was dining out, to entrust Thérèse to Etienne Rambert's care,
and the young girl and the old man got on together perfectly. Their
hearts had met across the awful chasm that fate had tried to cut between
them.
To Thérèse's last words now Etienne Rambert replied:
"You need not apologise for staying late, dear; you know how glad I am
to see you. I wish the house were yours."
The girl glanced round the room that had grown so familiar to her, and
with a sudden rush of feeling slipped her arm around the old man's neck
and laid her fair head on his shoulder.
"I should so love to stay here with you, M. Rambert!"
The old man looked oddly at her for a moment, repressing the words that
he might perhaps have wished to say, and then gently released himself
from her affectionate clasp and led her to a sofa, on which he sat down
by her side.
"That is one of the things that we must not allow ourselves to think
about, my dear," he said. "I should have rejoiced to receive you in my
home, and your presence, and the brightness of your dear fair face would
have given a charm to my lonely fireside; but unfortunately those are
vain dreams. We have to reckon with the world, and the world would not
approve of a young girl like you living in the home of a lonely man."
"Why not?" Thérèse enquired in surprise. "Why, you might be my father."
Etienne Rambert winced at the word.
"Ah!" he said, "you must not forget, Thérèse, that I am not your father,
but--his: the father of him who----" but Thérèse's soft hand laid upon
his lips prevented him from finishing what he would have said.
To change the conversation Thérèse feigned concern about her own future.
"When we left Querelles," she said, "President Bonnet told me that you
would tell me something about my affairs. I gather that my fortune is
not a very brilliant one."
It was indeed the fact that after the murder of the Marquise the
unpleasant discovery had been made that her fortune was by no means so
considerable as had generally been supposed. The estate was mortgaged,
and President Bonnet and Etienne Rambert had had long and anxious
debates as to whether it might not be well for Thérèse to renounce her
inheritance to Beaulieu, so doubtful did it seem whether the assets
would exceed the liabilities.
Etienne Rambert made a vague, but significant gesture when he heard the
girl raise the point now, but Thérèse had all the carelessness of youth.
"Oh, I shall not be down-hearted," she exclaimed. "My poor grannie
always gave me an example of energy and hard work; I've got plenty of
pluck, and I will work too. Suppose I turn governess?"