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Updated: May 27, 2025
Very complicated, doubtless, the situation; for here is M. Bompain who advances once more, and there are the slips of blue paper flying away from the check-book. Whose turn now? There is the journalist Moessard coming to draw his pay for the article in the Messenger; the Nabob will find out what it costs to have one's self called "benefactor of childhood" in the morning papers.
The muscular arm which he pressed was shaken violently, and the Nabob answered very dryly: "I am sorry, mon cher, but I have not a place to offer you." No place in a carriage that was as big as a house, and which five of them had come in! Moessard gazed at him in stupefaction. "I had, however, a few words to say to you which are very urgent.
How well that Moëssard aimed, how well he knew the really sensitive spots in that heart, so innocently laid bare! "Be calm, Jansoulet, be calm." In vain did he repeat the injunction in every tone, anger, furious anger, the drunkenness of blood demanding blood enveloped him.
"How, then! you do not know? You have not read what the Messenger says about you this morning?" Beneath the dark tan of his cheeks the Nabob blushed like a child, and, his eyes shining with pleasure: "Is it possible the Messenger has spoken of me?" "Through two columns. How is it that Moessard has not shown it to you?" "Oh," put in Moessard modestly, "it was not worth the trouble."
Theoretically there are twelve of us at the Caisse Territoriale, including the Governor and the dandy Moëssard, manager of the Vérité Financière; but really there are less than half that number. In the first place, since the Vérité ceased to appear that was two years ago M. Moëssard hasn't once set foot inside our doors.
This time his mother, his old Frances, had been dragged into the infamous joke of the "Bateau de fleurs." How well he aimed his blows, this Moessard, how well he knew the really sensitive spots in that heart, so frankly exposed! "Be quiet, Jansoulet; be quiet."
The rumour was whispered around him, and, in his own world, secured him an envied and despicable position. Jansoulet insisted on reading the article, impatient to know what had been said of him. Unfortunately Jenkins had left his copy at the duke's. "Let some one go fetch me a Messenger quickly," said the Nabob to the servant behind him. Moessard intervened. "It is needless.
Two hundred thousand francs in five months! We will draw the line there, if you please. Your teeth are long, young man; you will have to file them down a little." They exchanged these words as they walked, pushed forward by the surging wave of the people going out. Moessard stopped: "That is your last word?"
"Get down!" said he to Moessard, whose face had turned green and yellow when he saw him. "Get down immediately!" "Will you let go my horse, you bloated idiot! Whip up Suzanne; it is the Nabob." She tried to gather up the reins, but the animal, held firmly, reared so sharply that a little more and like a sling the fragile vehicle would have sent everybody in it flying far away.
In a week there would be the Schwalbach bills that is to say, eight hundred thousand francs to pay; indemnity for Moessard, who wanted a hundred thousand francs, or as the alternative he would apply for the permission of the Chamber to prosecute him for a misdemeanour, a suit still more sinister instituted by the families of two little martyrs of Bethlehem against the founders of the Society; and, on top of all, the complications of the Territorial Bank.
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