"I can see why you might feel annoyed,
but why you should fly into a passion--"
"Ah! you don't know----" began M. de Valorsay, but he stopped
short. It was time. The truth had almost escaped his lips.
"Know what?" inquired Pascal.
But the marquis was again upon his guard. "I have a debt that
must be paid this evening, at all hazards--a sacred obligation--in
short, a debt of honor."
"A debt of one hundred thousand francs?"
"No, it is only twenty-five thousand."
"Is it possible that a rich man like you can be troubled about
such a trifling sum, which any one would lend you?"
M. de Valorsay interrupted him with a contemptuous sneer. "Didn't
you just tell me that we were living in an age when no one has any
money except those who are in business? The richest of my friends
have only enough for themselves, even if they have enough. The
time of old stockings, stuffed full of savings, is past! Shall I
apply to a banker? He would ask two days for reflection, and he
would require the names of two or three of my friends on the note.
If I go to my notary, there will be endless forms to be gone
through, and remonstrances without number."
For a moment or more already, Pascal had been moving about
uneasily on his chair, like a man who is waiting for an
opportunity to make a suggestion, and as soon as M. de Valorsay
paused to take breath, he exclaimed: "Upon my word! if I dared----"
"Well?"
"I would offer to obtain you these twenty-five thousand francs.
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