The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
"I think, Monsieur Alain, that you labour under some illusion," said he.
"Believe me, this is all beside the mark. You seem to be pointing to
some compromise. Nothing is further from my views. You suspect me of an
inclination to trifle with you, to conceal how things are going. I
cannot, on the other hand, be too early or too explicit in giving you
information which concerns you (I must say) capitally. Your great-uncle
has to-night cancelled his will, and made a new one in favour of your
cousin Anne. Nay, and you shall hear it from his own lips, if you
choose! I will take so much upon me," said the lawyer, rising. "Follow
me, if you please, gentlemen."
Mr. Romaine led the way out of the room so briskly, and was so briskly
followed by Alain, that I had hard ado to get the remainder of the
money replaced and the despatch-box locked, and to overtake them, even
by running, ere they should be lost in that maze of corridors, my
uncle's house. As it was, I went with a heart divided; and the thought
of my treasure thus left unprotected, save by a paltry lid and lock that
any one might break or pick open, put me in a perspiration whenever I
had the time to remember it. The lawyer brought us to a room, begged us
to be seated while he should hold a consultation with the doctor, and,
slipping out of another door, left Alain and myself closeted together.
Truly he had done nothing to ingratiate himself; his every word had been
steeped in unfriendliness, envy, and that contempt which (as it is born
of anger) it is possible to support without humiliation. On my part, I
had been little more conciliating; and yet I began to be sorry for this
man, hired spy as I knew him to be. It seemed to me less than decent
that he should have been brought up in the expectation of this great
inheritance, and now, at the eleventh hour, be tumbled forth out of the
house door and left to himself, his poverty, and his debts--those debts
of which I had so ungallantly reminded him so short a time before. And
we were scarce left alone ere I made haste to hang out a flag of truce.
"My cousin," said I, "trust me, you will not find me inclined to be your
enemy."
He paused in front of me--for he had not accepted the lawyer's
invitation to be seated, but walked to and fro in the apartment--took a
pinch of snuff, and looked at me while he was taking it with an air of
much curiosity.
"Is it even so?" said he. "Am I so far favoured by fortune as to have
your pity? Infinitely obliged, my cousin Anne! But these sentiments are
not always reciprocal, and I warn you that the day when I set my foot on
your neck, the spine shall break. Are you acquainted with the properties
of the spine?" he asked, with an insolence beyond qualification.
It was too much. "I am acquainted also with the properties of a pair of
pistols," said I, toising him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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