If I were your enemy, I
should bring suit against you for the forty thousand francs you
owe me. I should not obtain my money, of course, but I could
shatter the tottering edifice of your fortune by a single blow.
Besides, you forget that I possess a copy of our agreement, signed
by your own hand, and that I have only to show it to Mademoiselle
Marguerite to give her a just opinion of your disinterestedness.
Let us sever our connection now, monsieur, and each go his own way
without reference to the other. If you should succeed you will
repay me."
Victory perched upon the agent's banner, and it was with a feeling
of pride that he saw his noble client depart, white and speechless
with rage. "What a rascal that marquis is," he muttered. "I
would certainly warn Mademoiselle Marguerite, poor girl, if I were
not so much afraid of him."
XIV.
M. Casimir, the deceased Count de Chalusse's valet, was neither
better nor worse than most of his fellows. Old men tell us that
there formerly existed a race of faithful servants, who considered
themselves a part of the family that employed them, and who
unhesitatingly embraced its interests and its ideas. At the same
time their masters requited their devotion by efficacious
protection and provision for the future. But such masters and
such servants are nowadays only found in the old melodramas
performed at the Ambigu, in "The Emigre," for instance, or in "The
Last of the Chateauvieux.
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