“Money! You offer me money!”
“Oh, don’t be offended!” began the young girl again, with a voice that
would have moved a stone. “How could I want to offend you, when I ask of
you more than my life? There are services which can never be paid. But,
if the enemies of M. de Boiscoran should find out that you have aided
us, their rage might turn against you.”
Instinctively the clerk unloosed his cravat. The struggle within him, no
doubt, was terrible. He was stifled.
“Twenty thousand francs!” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Is it not enough?” asked the young girl. “Yes, you are right: it is
very little. But I have as much again for you, twice as much.”
With haggard eyes, Mechinet had approached the table, and was
convulsively handling the pile of papers, while he repeated,--
“Twenty thousand francs! A thousand a year!”
“No, double that much, and moreover, our gratitude, our devoted
friendship, all the influence of the two families of Boiscoran and
Chandore; in a word, fortune, position, respect.”
But by this time, thanks to a supreme effort of will, the clerk had
recovered his self-control.
“No more, madam, say no more!”