“Go quick, I say! You shall have five francs! No. 61 Rue Laffitte!”
That was the house where Maxime de Brevan lived.
He was a man of thirty or thirty-five years, remarkably well made,
light-haired, wearing a full beard, with a bright eye, and pleasing
face. Mixing on intimate terms with the men who make up what is called
high life, and with whom pleasure is the only occupation, he was very
popular with them all. They said he was a man that could always be
relied upon, at all times ready to render you a service when it was
in his power, a pleasant companion, and an excellent second whenever a
friend had to fight a duel.
In fine, neither slander nor calumny had ever attacked his reputation.
And yet, far from following the advice of the philosopher, who tells us
to keep our life from the eye of the public, Maxime de Brevan seemed to
take pains to let everybody into his secrets. He was so anxious to tell
everybody where he had been, and what he had been doing, that you might
have imagined he was always preparing to prove an alibi.
Thus he told the whole world that the Brevans came originally from the
province of Maine, and that he was the last, the sole representative,
of that old family. Not that he prided himself particularly on his
ancestors; he acknowledged frankly that there was very little left of
their ancient splendor; in fact, nothing but a bare support. But he
never said what this “support” amounted to; his most intimate friends
could not tell whether he had one thousand or ten thousand a year. So
much only was certain, that, to his great honor and glory, he had solved
the great problem of preserving his independence and his dignity while
associating, a comparatively poor man, with the richest young men of
Paris.
His rooms were simple and unpretending; and he kept but a single
servant--his carriage he hired by the month.
How had Maxime Brevan become Daniel’s friend? In the simplest possible
way. They had been introduced to each other at a great ball by a common
friend of theirs, a lieutenant in the navy. About one o’clock in
the morning they had gone home together; and as the moon was shining
brightly, the weather was mild, and the walking excellent, they had
loitered about the Place de la Concorde while smoking their cigars.
Had Maxime really felt such warm sympathy for his friend? Perhaps so. At
all events, Daniel had been irresistibly attracted by the peculiar ways
of Maxime, and especially by the cool stoicism with which he spoke
of his genteel poverty. Then they had met again, and finally became
intimate.
Brevan was just dressing for the opera when Daniel entered his room. He
uttered a cry of delight when he saw him, as he always did.
“What!” he said, “the hermit student from the other side of the river
in this worldly region, and at this hour? What good wind blows you over
here?”