"
On hearing these words, M. Wilkie sprang up in dismay. "Excuse
me," he said, "I don't understand you. You propose to set me to
work in M. Patterson's factory? Well, to tell the truth, that
doesn't suit me at all."
It was impossible to mistake M. Wilkie's manner, his tone, or
gesture. They revealed him in his true character. Madame
d'Argeles saw her terrible mistake at once. The bandage fell from
her eyes. She had taken her dreams for realities, and the desires
of her own heart for those of her son. She rose, trembling with
sorrow and with indignation. "Wilkie!" she exclaimed, "Wilkie,
wretched boy! what did you dare to hope?"
And, without giving him time to reply, she continued: "Then it was
only idle curiosity that brought you here. You wished to know the
source of the money which you spend like water. Very well, you
may see for yourself. This is a gambling house; one of those
establishments frequented by distinguished personages, which the
police ignore, or which they cannot suppress. The hubbub you hear
is made by the players. Men are ruined here. Some poor wretches
have blown their brains out on leaving the house; others have
parted with the last vestige of honor here. And the business pays
me well. One louis out of every hundred that change hands falls
to my share. This is the source of your wealth, my son.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154