“Bash!” he answered. “They are so rich, so awfully rich!”
He changed the conversation that evening; but on the following
Saturday, from the very beginning of the dinner,
“I believe,” he said, “that M. de Thaller has just discovered a
husband for his daughter.”
“My compliments!” exclaimed M. Desormeaux. “And who may this bold
fellow be?”
“A nobleman, of course,” he replied. “Isn’t that the tradition?
As soon as a financier has made his little million, he starts in
quest of a nobleman to give him his daughter.”
One of those painful presentiments, such as arise in the inmost
recesses of the soul, made Mlle. Gilberte turn pale. This
presentiment suggested to her an absurd, ridiculous, unlikely thing;
and yet she was sure that it would not deceive her,--so sure,
indeed, that she rose under the pretext of looking for something in
the side-board, but in reality to conceal the terrible emotion which
she anticipated.
“And this gentleman?” inquired M. Chapelain.
“Is a marquis, if you please,--the Marquis de Tregars.”
Well, yes, it was this very name that Mlle. Gilberte was expecting,
and well that she did; for she was thus able to command enough
control over herself to check the cry that rose to her throat.
“But this marriage is not made yet,” pursued M. Favoral. “This
marquis is not yet so completely ruined, that he can be made to do
any thing they please. Sure, the baroness has set her heart upon
it, oh! but with all her might!”
A discussion which now arose prevented Gilberte from learning any
more; and as soon as the dinner, which seemed eternal to her, was
over, she complained of a violent headache, and withdrew to her room.
She shook with fever; her teeth chattered. And yet she could not
believe that Marius was betraying her, nor that he could have the
thought of marrying such a girl as M. Favoral had described, and
for money too! Poor, ah! No, that was not admissible. Although
she remembered well that Marius had made her swear to believe
nothing that might be said of him, she spent a horrible Sunday,
and she felt like throwing herself in the Signor Gismondo’s arms,
when, in giving her his lesson the following Monday,
“My poor pupil,” he said, “feels miserable. A marriage has been
spoken of for him, for which he has a perfect horror; and he trembles
lest the rumor may reach his intended, whom he loves exclusively.”
Mlle. Gilberte felt re-assured after that. And yet there remained
in her heart an invincible sadness. She could hardly doubt that
this matrimonial scheme was a part of the plan planned by Marius
to recover his fortune. But why, then, had he applied to M. de
Thaller? Who could be the man who had despoiled the Marquis de
Tregars?
Such were the thoughts which occupied her mind on that Saturday
evening when the commissary of police presented himself in the Rue
St. Gilles to arrest M. Favoral, charged with embezzling ten or
twelve millions.