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His whole get-up was unexceptionable his chin was clean-shaven, his moustache and whiskers were downright picturesque, his cravat was ravishing, and his vest magnificent. "The deuce!" thought Abellino; "the wench is making pretty free with my name. Can she be taking me seriously? Well, she may do so if she likes. It doesn't matter much." "Ah, a wedding!" exclaimed Mons. Griffard.
Germain du Val in 1836, and was graduated at the Paris Conservatory, where he reached high distinction. His first work, written in 1855, was an operetta entitled "Deux Sous de Carbon;" but he did not make his mark until his "Maitre Griffard" was produced at the Theatre Lyrique in 1857. In 1865 he was appointed Chorus-master at the Opera, and there his real career began.
Oh yes; and the girl seemed greatly delighted at the idea. And again he cheered up a bit, and returned to the assembly room, and did his best to amuse Monsieur Griffard. They were handing round the tea, and the Countess X had just begun to sing the "Casta Diva," when Abellino's lackey sidled up to his master and whispered in his ear "I have just seen Miss Fanny Meyer descending from a carriage."
Meyer had not fallen out with her daughters; they had not turned her adrift; there was no need for her to leap into the Danube. The matter stood simply thus: Abellino, since his late rebuffs, had, full of passionate frenzy, plunged deeper and deeper into his unsuccessful enterprise. He had just demanded from Monsieur Griffard the last hundred thousand florins of the second million promised to him.
An elegant soirée, a genial matinée, a horse race, an orgie, an elopement, were not considered complete without him, and Monsieur Griffard never remained away, for all such occasions were so many opportunities to an able business man for learning all about the passions, the follies, the status, the extravagance, or the necessities of other people, and building safe calculations upon what he learnt.
There sat Monsieur Griffard surrounded by a heap of newspapers.
In an instant Abellino's cloak, cap, and cane were wrested from him, the servants rang to each other, and ran from apartment to apartment, and the cavalier had scarce reached the last door when the first courier came running back with the announcement that Monsieur Griffard was ready to receive him, and with that he threw open the wings of the lofty mahogany folding-door which led into Monsieur Griffard's confidential chamber.
One of the richest capitalists in Paris at this time was Monsieur Griffard. Not so very long ago, somewhere about 1780, Griffard was nothing more than a pastry-cook in one of the suburbs of the city, and his knowledge of the science of finance was limited to his dealings with the needy students who ate his wares on credit, and paid for them accordingly.
"Ah, Monsieur Griffard, you are always so courtly!" cried the young man, flinging himself into an armchair. "Well, Monsieur Griffard," he continued, regarding himself at the same time in a little pocket-mirror to see whether his smooth hair had been rumpled, "if you have only got good news to tell me, I, on the other hand, have brought you nothing but bad." "Par exemple?" "Par exemple.
No sooner did the man of money perceive Abellino at the open door than he put down the paper which he was reading without the aid of an eyeglass, and, advancing to meet him to the very threshold, greeted him with the most engaging affability. "Monseigneur," replied Monsieur Griffard, with similar pleasantry, "I am your servant to the very depths of my cellar." "Ha, ha, ha! Well said, well said!
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