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At this moment the door was burst suddenly open and Florestan de Saint-Herem dashed, breathless into the room. "Rejoice, oh! rejoice!" he cried, throwing himself into his friend's arms. "Saint-Ramon has performed the most wonderful of miracles!" "What do you mean?" gasped the astonished Louis. "Two hours ago I was completely ruined, and now I am richer than I ever was or ever will be.
The old mulatto had listened to this conversation with as much interest as astonishment, and as he wandered from group to group, he heard nothing but a chorus of praises and blessings in favor of Saint-Ramon, the worthy miser, and of his nephew, whose nobility of heart and liberality none could laud too highly. "Is it a dream?" mused the old man.
"What a pensive, austere face!" exclaimed the countess, gazing at the painting with a feeling of mingled surprise and curiosity. Then, as her eyes fell on the inscription below, she added with increased astonishment: "Saint-Ramon? Who is he?" "A saint of my own, madame," laughed Florestan.
Only fancy, Louis, I am the possessor of gold mines, silver mines, diamonds of untold value, of fabulous riches millions and millions, in fact! Oh! Saint-Ramon, how just I was to sanctify your name, to canonize you, for you are not ungrateful!" "In mercy, explain yourself, Florestan!"
"But why should he name it Saint-Ramon?" Again he seemed buried in sad reflections, until aroused from his reverie by his companion's voice. "How singular, after all," the man was saying. "A rich marquis should know only people with equipages; and yet, outside of two or three good carriages, the whole procession consists of fiacres and cabriolets." "Singular, indeed," repeated the old man.
The women and young girls, however, seemed more embarrassed and intimidated; they naively admired the splendor of the place and exchanged comments and observations in whispers. Anxious to penetrate this singular mystery, the old mulatto again approached the chimney and joined a group of guests who were contemplating the portrait of Saint-Ramon.
The footman closed the carriage door, gave his instructions to the coachman, who lashed his jaded horses, and the lumbering landau started in the direction of Cours-la-Reine, where the marvelous Saint-Ramon mansion was situated.
"We owe these five years of well-paid work to this worthy man, my dear," explained the husband. "Thanks to this M. Saint-Ramon, I have earned sufficiently in the last few years to make us all happy and contented, and save a great deal besides." "But, my dear Michel," remonstrated the wife, "this is not the man who ordered and paid for the work.
The old mulatto continued his way slowly to the entrance of abroad avenue, encumbered with a long line of carriages and almost dazzling with bright colored lights, and paused in amazement at the gate. "Why are these grounds so brilliantly illuminated?" he asked a curious looker-on. "In honor of the opening of the wonderful Saint-Ramon mansion," replied the man addressed.
As the landau approached the Saint-Ramon mansion, however, the coachman was forced to take his place in the long procession of carriages going in the same direction, thus permitting the pedestrian to gain a certain distance ahead.
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