"I don't know, but wouldn't this money bring in more? Couldn't you speculate on the Bourse, bet at the races, play at Baden, or something? I've heard of people that are now rich as kings, who commenced with nothing, and hadn't your talents either. Why don't you do as they did?" She spoke excitedly, as a woman does who is anxious to persuade. He looked at her, astonished to find her so sensitive, so disinterested. "You will, won't you?" she insisted, "now, won't you?" "You are a good girl," said he, charmed with her, "but you must take this money. I give it to you, don't be worried about anything." "But you--have you still any money? What have you?" "I have yet--" He stopped, searched his pockets, and counted the money in his purse. "Faith, here's three hundred and forty francs--more than I need. I must give some napoleons to your servants before I go." "And what for Heaven's sake will become of you?" He sat back in his chair, negligently stroked his handsome beard, and said: "I am going to blow my brains out." "Oh!" Hector thought that she doubted what he said. He took his pistols out of his pockets, showed them to her, and went on: "You see these toys? Well, when I leave you, I shall go somewhere--no matter where--put the muzzle to my temple, thus, press the trigger--and all will be over!" She gazed at him, her eyes dilated with terror, pale, breathing hard and fast. But at the same time, she admired him. She marvelled at so much courage, at this calm, this careless railing tone. What superb disdain of life! To exhaust his fortune and then kill himself, without a cry, a tear, or a regret, seemed to her an act of heroism unheard of, unexampled. It seemed to her that a new, unknown, beautiful, radiant man stood before her. She loved him as she had never loved before! "No!" she cried, "no! It shall not be!" And rising suddenly, she rushed to him and seized him by the arm. "You will not kill yourself, will you? Promise me, swear it to me. It isn't possible, you would not! I love you--I couldn't bear you before. Oh, I did not know you, but now--come, we will be happy. You, who have lived with millions don't know how much ten thousand francs are--but I know. We can live a long time on that, and very well, too. Then, if we are obliged to sell the useless things--the horses, carriages, my diamonds, my green cashmere, we can have three or four times that sum. Thirty thousand francs--it's a fortune! Think how many happy days--" The Count de Tremorel shook his head, smilingly. He was ravished; his vanity was flattered by the heat of the passion which beamed from the poor girl's eyes. How he was beloved! How he would be regretted! What a hero the world was about to lose!