You come, don't you, to sell me the
secret of an unclaimed inheritance, which belongs to me? Very
well, you have come too late."
If the ceiling had fallen and crushed M. Fortunat there and then
he would, mentally at least, have not been in a more pitiable
condition. He stood silent, motionless, utterly confounded, with
his mouth wide open, and such an expression of consternation in
his eyes that M. Wilkie burst into a hearty laugh. Still the
agent struggled against fate, and ultimately faltered: "Let me
explain--permit me----"
"Oh, it would be useless. I know my rights. I have already
arranged with a party to prosecute my claims; the agreement will
be signed on the day after to-morrow."
"With whom?"
"Ah, excuse me; that's my affair."
He had finished his chocolate, and he now poured out a glass of
ice-water, drank it, wiped his mouth, and rose from the table.
"You will excuse me, my dear sir, if I leave you," he remarked.
"As I said before, I am going to Vincennes. I have staked a
thousand louis on 'Pompier de Nanterre,' my horse, and my friends
have ventured ten times as much. Who knows what may happen if I'm
not there at the start?" And then, ignoring M. Fortunat as
completely as if he had not existed, M. Wilkie exclaimed: "Toby,
you fool! where are you? Is my carriage below? Quick, bring me my
cane, my gloves, and my glasses. Take down that basket of
champagne. Run and put on your new livery.
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