M. Pascal, having seated himself in the gilded armchair on the side of
the table opposite the prince, first seized a mother-of-pearl
paper-cutter that he found under his hand, and, whirling it incessantly,
said:
"Monseigneur, if it is agreeable to you, let us talk of business, for at
a certain hour I must be in the Faubourg St. Marceau, at the house of a
manufacturer, who is one of my friends."
"I wish to inform you, monsieur," replied the prince, restraining
himself with difficulty, "that I have already postponed until to-morrow
other audiences that should have taken place to-day, that I might devote
all my time to you."
"That is very kind of you, monseigneur, but let us come to the point."
The prince took up from the table a long sheet of official paper, and,
handing it to M. Pascal, said to him:
"This note will prove to you, monsieur, that all the parties interested
in the transfer that is proposed to me not only authorise me formally to
accept it, but willingly offer their pledges, and even protect all the
accidents of my acceptance."
M. Pascal, without moving from his armchair, extended his hand from one
side of the table to the other, to receive the note, and, taking it,
said:
"There was absolutely nothing to be done without this security."
And he began to read slowly, nibbling the while the mother-of-pearl
knife, which he did not surrender for a moment.
The prince fixed an anxious, penetrating glance on Pascal, trying to
divine, from the expression of his face, if his visitor had confidence
in the security offered.
At the end of a few moments, M. Pascal discontinued his reading, saying
between his teeth, with an offended air, as if he were talking to
himself:
"Ho! ho! This Article 7 does not suit me at all,--not at all!"
"Explain yourself, monsieur," said the prince, seriously annoyed.
"However," continued M. Pascal, taking up his reading again, without
replying to the archduke, and pretending to be talking to himself, "this
Article 7 is corrected by Article 8,--yes,--and, in fact, it is quite
good,--it is very good."
The countenance of the prince seemed to brighten, for, earnestly
occupied with the powerful interests of which M. Pascal had necessarily
become the umpire, he forgot the impertinence and calculated wickedness
of this man, who found a savage delight in making his victim pass
through all the perplexities of fear and hope.
At the end of a few moments, each one of which brought new anxiety to
the prince, M. Pascal exclaimed:
"Impossible, that! impossible! For me everything would be annulled by
this first supplementary article. It is a mockery!"
"Monsieur," cried the prince, "speak more clearly!"
"Pardon me, monseigneur, at that moment I was reading to myself. Well
and good, if you wish, I will read for both of us."
The archduke bowed his head, turned red with suppressed indignation,
appeared discouraged, and leaned his head on his hand.
M. Pascal, continuing his perusal of the paper, threw a glance by
stealth at the prince, and replied after a few moments, in a more
satisfied tone:
"This is a sure, incontestable security."
Then, as the prince seemed to regain hope, he added:
"Unfortunately, this security is apart from--"
He did not finish, but continued his reading in silence.
Never a solicitor in distress imploring a haughty and unfeeling
protector, never a despairing borrower humbly addressing a dishonest and
whimsical usurer, never accused seeking to read his pardon or
condemnation in the countenance of his judge, experienced the torture
felt by the prince while M. Pascal was reading the note which he had
examined and which he now laid on the table.
"Well, monsieur," said the prince, swallowing his impatience, "what do
you decide?"
"Monseigneur, will you have the kindness to lend me a pen and some
paper?"
The prince pushed an inkstand, a pen, and some paper before M. Pascal,
who began a long series of figures, sometimes lifting his eyes to the
ceiling, as if to make a calculation in his head, sometimes muttering
incomplete sentences, such as--
"No--I am mistaken because--but I was about to forget--it is
evident--the balance will be equal if--"
After long expectation on the part of the prince, M. Pascal threw the
pen down on the table, plunged both hands in the pockets of his
trousers, threw his head back, and shut his eyes, as if making a last
mental calculation, then, holding his head up, said in a short,
peremptory voice:
"Impossible, monseigneur."
"What, monsieur!" cried the prince, dismayed. "You assured me in our
first interview that the operation was practicable."
"Practicable, monseigneur, but not accomplished."
"But this note, monsieur, this note, joined to the securities I have
offered you?"
"This note completes, I know, the securities indispensable to such an
operation."
"Then, monsieur, how do you account for your refusal?"
"For particular reasons, monseigneur."
"But, I ask again, do I not offer all the security desirable?"
"Yes, monseigneur, I will say that I regard the operation not only
feasible, but sure and advantageous to one who is willing to undertake
it; so, I do not doubt, monseigneur, you can find--"
"Eh! monsieur," interrupted the prince, "you know that in the present
financial crisis, and for other reasons which you understand as well as
I, that you are the only person who can undertake this business."
"The preference of your Royal Highness honours and flatters me
infinitely," said Pascal, with an accent of ironical recognition, "so I
doubly regret my inability to meet it."
The prince perceived the sarcasm, and replied, feigning offence at the
want of appreciation his kindness had met:
"You are unjust, monsieur. The proof that I adhered to my agreement with
you in this affair is that I have refused to entertain the proposition
of the house Durand."
"I am almost certain that it is a lie," thought M. Pascal, "but no
matter, I will get information about the thing; besides, this house
sometimes disturbs and cramps me. Fortunately, thanks to that knave,
Marcelange, I have an excellent means of protecting myself from that
inconvenience in the future."
"Another proof that I adhered directly to my personal agreement with
you, M. Pascal," continued the prince, in a deferential tone, "is that I
have desired no agent to come between us, certain that we would
understand each other as the matter should be understood. Yes," added
the archduke, with a still more insinuating tone, "I hoped that this
just homage rendered to your financial intelligence, so universally
recognised--"
"Ah, monseigneur."
"To your character as honourable as it is honoured--"
"Monseigneur, really, you overwhelm me."
"I hoped, I repeat, my dear M. Pascal, that in coming frankly to you to
propose--what?--an operation whose solidity and advantage you recognise,
you would appreciate my attitude, since it appeals to the financier as
much as to the private citizen. In short, I hoped to assure you, not
only by pecuniary advantage, but by especial testimony, of my esteem and
gratitude."
"Monseigneur--"
"I repeat it, my dear M. Pascal, of my gratitude, since, in making a
successful speculation, you would render me an immense service, for you
cannot know what the results of this loan I solicit from you would be to
my dearest family interests."
"Monseigneur, I am ignorant of--"
"And when I speak to you of family interests," said the prince,
interrupting M. Pascal, whom he hoped to bring back to his views, "when
I speak of family interests, it is not enough; an important question of
state also attaches to the transfer of the duchy that is offered me, and
which I can acquire only through your powerful financial aid. So, in
rendering me a personal service, you would be greatly useful to my
nation, and you know, my dear M. Pascal, how great empires requite
services done to the state."
"Excuse my ignorance, monseigneur, but I am altogether ignorant of the
whole thing."
The prince smiled, remained silent a moment, and replied, with an accent
he believed irresistible:
"My dear M. Pascal, are you acquainted with the celebrated banker,
Tortolia?"
"I know him by name, monseigneur."
"Do you know that he is a prince of the Holy Empire?"
"Prince of the Holy Empire, monseigneur!" replied Pascal, with
amazement.
"I have my man," thought the prince, and he replied aloud: "Do you know
that the banker, Tortolia, is a great dignitary in one of the most
coveted orders?"
"It would be possible, monseigneur."
"It is not only possible, but it is an actual fact, my dear M. Pascal.
Now, I do not see why what has been done for M. Tortolia cannot be done
for you."
"Could that be, monseigneur?"
"I say," repeated the prince, with emphasis, "I say I do not see why an
illustrious title and high dignities should not recompense you also."
"Me, monseigneur?"
"You."
"Me, monseigneur, I become Prince Pascal?"
"Why not?"
"Come, come, monseigneur is laughing at his poor servant."
"No one has ever doubted my promise, monsieur, and it is almost an
offence to me to believe me capable of laughing at you."
"Then, monseigneur, I would laugh at myself, very heartily and very
long, if I were stupid enough to desire to pose as a prince, or duke, or
marquis, in Europe's carnival of nobility! You see, monseigneur, I am
only a poor devil of a plebeian,--my father was a peddler, and I have
been a day-labourer. I have laid up a few cents, in attending to my
small affairs. I have only my common sense, but this good common sense,
monseigneur, will always prevent my decking myself out as the Marquis de
la Janotière--that is a very pretty story by Voltaire, you ought to read
it, monseigneur!--or making myself the laughing-stock of those malicious
people who amuse themselves by creating marquises and princes out of
poor folk."
The archduke was far from expecting this refusal and this bitter retort;
however, he put a good face on it, and replied, significantly:
"M. Pascal, I admire this rough sincerity; I admire this
disinterestedness. Thank God, there are other means of proving to you my
gratitude, and, one day, my friendship."
"Your friendship, monseigneur?"
"It is because I know its worth," added the prince, with imposing
dignity, "that I assure you of my friendship, if--"
"Your friendship for me, monseigneur," replied Pascal, interrupting the
prince, "your friendship for me, who have, as the wicked ones say,
increased my little possessions a hundredfold by dangerous methods,
although I have come out of these calumniating accusations as white as a
young dove?"
"It is because you have, as you say, monsieur, come out of these odious
calumnies, by which all who elevate themselves by labour and merit are
pursued, that I would assure you of my affectionate gratitude, if you
render me the important service I expect of you."
"Monseigneur, I could not be more impressed or more flattered by your
kindness, but unfortunately business is business," said M. Pascal, "and
this affair you air does not suit me at all. I need not say how much it
costs me to renounce the friendship of which your Royal Highness has
desired to assure me."
At this response, bitter and humiliating in its insulting irony, the
prince was on the point of flying into a passion, but, reflecting upon
the shame and futility of such a transport of rage, he controlled
himself, and, desiring to attempt a final effort, he said, in an
aggrieved tone:
"So, M. Pascal, it will be said that I prayed, supplicated, and implored
you in vain."
These words, "prayed, supplicated, implored," uttered in a tone of
sincere distress, appeared in the eyes of the prince to make an
impression on M. Pascal, and, in fact, did make a decided impression,
inasmuch as, up to that moment, the archduke had not entirely abased
himself, but seeing this royal person, after such obstinate refusal,
willing to descend to further supplication, M. Pascal experienced an
intensity of happiness that he had never known before.
The prince, observing his silence, believed his purpose was shaken, and
added, readily:
"Come, my dear M. Pascal, I cannot appeal to your generous heart in
vain."
"Really, monseigneur," replied the bloodthirsty villain, who, knowing
the speculation to be a good one, was at heart disposed to undertake it,
but wanted to realise pleasure as well as profit from it, "you have such
a way of putting things. Business, I repeat, ought to be business only,
but see now, in spite of myself, I yield like a child to sentiment I am
so weak--"
"You consent?" interrupted the prince, radiant with joy, and he seized
both hands of the financier in his own. "You consent, my worthy and kind
M. Pascal?"
"How can I resist you, monseigneur?"
"At last!" cried the archduke, drawing a long breath of profound
satisfaction, as if he had just escaped a frightful danger. "At last!"
"But, monseigneur," replied Pascal, "I must make one little condition."
"Oh, I shall not stand on that, whatever it may be. I subscribe to it
beforehand."
"You pledge yourself to more, perhaps, than you think, monseigneur."
"What do you mean?" asked the prince, somewhat disquieted. "What
condition do you speak of?"
"In three days, monseigneur, to the hour, I will inform you."
"What!" exclaimed the prince, astonished and crestfallen; "more delays.
Do you not give me your positive promise?"
"In three days, monseigneur, I will give it to you, provided you accept
my condition."
"But, pray, tell me this condition now."
"Impossible, monseigneur."
"My dear M. Pascal--"
"Monseigneur," replied Pascal, with ironical gravity, "it is not my
habit to be weak twice in succession during one interview. It is now the
hour for my appointment in the Faubourg St. Marceau; I have the honour
of presenting my respectful compliments to your Royal Highness."
M. Pascal, leaving the prince full of vexation and concern, walked to
the door, then turned, and said:
"To-day is Monday; on Thursday, at eleven o'clock, I shall have the
honour of seeing your Royal Highness again, and will then submit my
little condition."
"Very well, monsieur; on Thursday."
M. Pascal bowed profoundly, and went out.
When he passed through the parlour where the officials were assembled
all rose respectfully, recognising the importance of the person whom the
prince had just received. M. Pascal returned their courtesy with a
patronising inclination of the head, and left the palace as he had
entered it, both hands in his pockets, not denying himself the
pleasure--for this man lost nothing--of stopping a minute before the
lodge of the porter and saying to him:
"Well, scoundrel, will you recognise me another time?"
"Oh, I shall recognise monsieur hereafter! I beg monsieur to pardon my
mistake."
"He begs me," said Pascal, half aloud, with a bitter smile. "They know
how to beg from the Royal Highness to the porter."
M. Pascal, as he went out of the Élysée, fell again into painful
reflections upon the subject of the young girl whose secret meeting with
Count Frantz de Neuberg he had surprised. Wishing to know if she lived
in the house contiguous to the palace, he was going to make inquiries,
when, remembering that such a course might perhaps compromise his plans,
he prudently resolved to wait until evening.
Seeing a hackney coach, he called the driver, entered the carriage, and
said to him:
"Faubourg St. Marceau, fifteen; the large factory whose chimney you see
from the street."
"The factory belonging to M. Dutertre? I know, citizen, I know;
everybody knows that."
The coachman drove down the street.