French fiction -- Translations into English; Paris (France) -- Fiction
“Do not attempt to deceive me. Your influence over the mistress is
great. The confidence she has in you is a conclusive proof. Important
events are about to take place here. Pierre has certainly returned to
claim his right as betrothed, and Mademoiselle Micheline loves Prince
Serge. Out of this a serious conflict will take place in the house.
There will be a battle. And as the parties in question are about equal
in strength, I am seeking adherents for my candidate. I own, in all
humility, I am on love’s side. The Prince is beloved by Mademoiselle
Desvarennes, and I serve him. Micheline will be grateful, and will do me
a turn with Mademoiselle de Cernay. As to you, let me give you a little
advice. If Madame Desvarennes consults you, speak well of Panine. When
the Prince is master here, your position will be all the better for it.”
Marechal had listened to Cayrol without anything betraying the
impression his words created. He looked at the banker in a peculiar
manner, which caused him to feel uncomfortable, and made him lower his
eyes.
“Perhaps you do not know, Monsieur Cayrol,” said the secretary, after a
moment’s pause, “how I entered this firm. It is as well in that case
to inform you. Four years ago, I was most wretched. After having sought
fortune ten times without success, I felt myself giving way morally and
physically. There are some beings gifted with energy, who can surmount
all the difficulties of life. You are one of those. As for me, the
struggle exhausted my strength, and I came to grief. It would take too
long to enumerate all the ways of earning my living I tried. Few even
fed me; and I was thinking of putting an end to my miserable existence
when I met Pierre. We had been at college together. I went toward him;
he was on the quay. I dared to stop him. At first he did not recognize
me, I was so haggard, so wretched-looking! But when I spoke, he cried,
‘Marechal!’ and, without blushing at my tatters, put his arms round my
neck. We were opposite the Belle Jardiniere, the clothiers; he wanted to
rig me out. I remember as if it were but yesterday I said, ‘No, nothing,
only find me work!’--‘Work, my poor fellow,’ he answered, ‘but just look
at yourself; who would have confidence to give you any? You look like
a tramp, and when you accosted me a little while ago, I asked myself if
you were not about to steal my watch!’ And he laughed gayly, happy
at having found me again, and thinking that he might be of use to me.
Seeing that I would not go into the shop, he took off his overcoat, and
put it on my back to cover my tattered clothes, and there and then he
took me to Madame Desvarennes. Two days later I entered the office. You
see the position I hold, and I owe it to Pierre. He has been more than a
friend to me--a brother. Come! after that, tell me what you would think
of me if I did what you have just asked me?”
Cayrol was confused; he twisted his bristly beard with his fingers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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