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Updated: May 6, 2025
The President, thinking that Cecile ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She went. Still Brunner said nothing. They all began to look at one another. The situation was growing awkward. Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de Marville's room, ostensibly to show him Pons' fan.
This explanation was very frankly given by the directors of Brunner, Mond and Company, when they lately capitalised part of their reserves.
The Count and Countess Popinot likewise lent their presence to complete the splendor of the occasion, although they thought the invitation in questionable taste. There were eleven in all. Cecile's grandfather, old Camusot, came, of course, with his wife to a family reunion purposely arranged to elicit a proposal from M. Brunner.
"Then you see no obstacle?" said Pons. "Oh!" said Brunner, "she is an insignificant little thing, and the mother is a trifle prim. We shall see." "A handsome fortune one of these days. . . . More than a million " "Good-bye till Monday!" interrupted the millionaire. "If you should care to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you five or six hundred thousand francs "
A pause followed; Frederic Brunner left Cecile's grandfather and politely took leave of his host and hostess. When he was gone, Cecile appeared, a living commentary upon her Werther's leave-taking; she was ghastly pale. She had hidden in her mother's wardrobe and overheard the whole conversation. "Refused! . . ." she said in a low voice for her mother's ear.
The President's wife and daughter were almost wild with joy when he brought home this news. Never, surely, did so rich a capture swim so complacently into the nets of matrimony. "You will be Mme. Brunner de Marville," said the parent, addressing his child; "I will obtain permission for your husband to add the name to his, and afterwards he can take out letters of naturalization.
Herewith begins the curious history of a prodigal son of Frankfort-on-the-Main the most extraordinary and astounding portent ever beheld by that well-conducted, if central, city. Gideon Brunner, father of the aforesaid Fritz, was one of the famous innkeepers of Frankfort, a tribe who make law-authorized incisions in travelers' purses with the connivance of the local bankers.
You can scarcely find a match for this position save in the hypocritical dramas which are sometimes kept up for years in the sacred college of cardinals, or in chapters of certain religious orders. At three o'clock, when the President came back from the law-courts, Pons had scarcely made an end of the marvelous history of his acquaintance, M. Frederic Brunner.
The youngster moved a step, then turned with a look of utter panic on his face. His father's eyes glared; a sort of savage anger blazed on his face. From his grip on young Henry's arm, the old man's hand sprang to the boy's throat. There was one fierce, terrible shake, a sort of gurgling scream that expressed terror, and protest, too, but which was scarcely audible to Brunner, twenty feet away.
Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner, Berthier, and Pons were now left together; for it was assumed that the formal demand for Cecile's hand was about to be made. No sooner was Cardot gone, indeed, than Brunner began with an inquiry which augured well. "I think I understood," he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, "that mademoiselle is your only daughter."
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