"And what do you intend to do, prince?" asked Pascal.
"Ah! I am still in doubt. I have compelled the marquis to give me
the papers in which the exploits of these horses are recorded.
These statements will be of service in case of a law-suit. But
shall I or shall I not enter a complaint against him? If it were a
mere question of money I should let the matter drop; but he has
defrauded and deceived me so outrageously that it annoys me. On
the other hand, to confess that he has cheated me in this fashion
would cover me with ridicule. Besides, the man is a dangerous
enemy. And what would become of me if I happened to side against
him? I should be compelled to leave Paris. Ah! I'd give ten
thousand francs to any one who'd settle this cursed affair for
me!"
His perplexity was so great, and his anger so intense, for that
once he tore off his eternal fez and flung it on to the table,
swearing like a drayman. However, controlling himself at last, he
exclaimed in a tone of assumed indifference: "No matter, there's
been enough said on this subject for one day--I'm here to play--so
let us begin, baron. For we are wasting precious time, as you so
often remark."
Pascal had nothing more to learn; so he shook hands with the
baron, made an appointment with him for the same evening, and went
away.
It was only half-past two; a good hour and a half remained at his
disposal.
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