“But pray, who are you, sir,--you who thus come to succor, a poor
young girl who is an utter stranger to you, doubling the value of your
assistance by your great delicacy?”
The old lady replied in his place,--“My brother, madam, is an
unfortunate man, who has paid for a moment’s forgetfulness of duty, with
his happiness, his prospects, and _his_ very life. Do not question him.
Let him be for you what he is for all of us,--Anthony Ravinet, dealer in
curiosities.”
The voice of the old lady betrayed such great sorrow, silently endured,
that Henrietta looked ashamed, regretting her indiscretion. But the old
man at once said,--
“What I may say to you madam, is, that you owe me no gratitude,--no,
none whatever. What I do, my own interest commands me to do; and I
deserve no credit for it. Why do you speak of gratitude? It is I who
shall forever be under obligations to you for the immense service which
you render me.”
He seemed to be inspired by his own words; his figure straightened up;
his eyes flashed fire; and he was on the point of letting, perhaps,
some secret escape him, when his sister interrupted him, saying
reproachfully,--
“Anthony, Anthony!”