French fiction -- Translations into English; Paris (France) -- Fiction
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.
"Faith, I do not say that your scruples are not right; but, between
ourselves, every step that is taken against the Prince will count for
naught. He will marry Mademoiselle Desvarennes."
"It is possible. In that case, I shall be here to console Pierre and
sympathize with him."
"And in the mean time you are going to do all you can in his favor?"
"I have already had the honor of telling you that I cannot do anything."
"Well, well. One knows what talking means, and you will not change my
idea of your importance. You take the weaker side then; that's superb!"
"It is but strictly honest," said Marechal. "It is true that that
quality has become very rare!"
Cayrol wheeled round on his heels. He took a few steps toward the door,
then, returning to Marechal, held out his hand:
"Without a grudge, eh?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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