He walked straight to
Chupin, and caught him by the collar, as if the young fellow had
been the cause of this misfortune. "It isn't possible," said he;
"the count CANNOT be dead. You are deceiving me, or they deceived
you. You must have misunderstood--you only wished to give some
excuse for your delay perhaps. Speak, say something!"
As a rule, Chupin was not easily impressed, but he felt almost
frightened by his employer's agitation. "I only repeated what M.
Casimir told me, monsieur," was his reply.
He then wished to furnish some particulars, but M. Fortunat had
already resumed his furious tramp to and fro, giving vent to his
wrath and despair in incoherent exclamations. "Forty thousand
francs lost!" he exclaimed. "Forty thousand francs, counted out
there on my desk! I see them yet, counted and placed in the hand
of the Marquis de Valorsay in exchange for his signature. My
savings for a number of years, and I have only a worthless scrap
of paper to show for them. That cursed marquis! And he was to
come here this evening, and I was to give him ten thousand francs
more. They are lying there in that drawer. Let him come, the
wretch, let him come!"
Anger had positively brought foam to M. Fortunat's lips, and any
one seeing him then would subsequently have had but little
confidence in his customary good-natured air and unctuous
politeness. "And yet the marquis is as much to be pitied as I
am," he continued.
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