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Updated: May 31, 2025
It lay on his table in Guildford Street for weeks, for months. Years after, he came upon it one day in turning out the contents of a trunk, and remembered his ramble in the Sussex woodland, and smiled at the chances of life. On Monday morning he had a characteristic letter from Moncharmont, part English, part French, part Russian.
It won't be a large capital, but Moncharmont has some, and putting it together, we shall manage to start, I think." He paused, watching the effect of his announcement. Mrs. Hannaford was radiant with pleasure; Olga looked amused. "Why do you laugh?" Piers asked, turning to the girl. "I didn't exactly laugh. But it seems odd. I can't quite think of you as a merchant."
Nothing, or only a passing word, about business; communications of that sort were all addressed to the office, and were as concise, as practical, as any trader could have desired. In his friendly letter, Moncharmont chatted of a certain Polish girl with whom he had newly made acquaintance, whose beauty, according to the good Andre, was a thing to dream of, not to tell.
Piers went forward, and greeted her without words, motioning her with his hand into the inner office; the outer door he latched. "So I have tracked you to your lair!" exclaimed the visitor, with a nervous laugh, as she sank in fatigue upon the chair he placed for her. "I looked for your name on the wall downstairs, forgetting that you are Moncharmont & Co."
Glancing at him with surprise, Olga took the letter he held out, and read it. In this communication, Piers Otway was informed that the will of the late Mr. Jacks bequeathed to him the capital which the testator had invested in the firm of Moncharmont & Co., and the share in the business which it represented. "This is important to you," said the girl, after reflecting for a moment, her eyes down.
I know someone who, just possibly, might be willing a man at Liverpool." "Isn't it a risk?" said Olga, regarding him with shamefaced anxiety. "I don't think so. If I could do so well, almost any real man of business would be sure to do better. Moncharmont, you know, is the indispensable member of the firm." "And what would you do? Go abroad, I suppose?" "For a time, at all events.
"There is a song of Musset's you know it, perhaps beginning 'Quand on perd, par triste occurrence' which he has set, to my mind, perfectly. I want him to publish it. If he does I must let you see it." Irene did not know the verses and made no remark. "There are English men of business," pursued Otway, "who would smile with pity at Moncharmont. He is by no means their conception of the merchant.
A melody was singing in his mind; becoming conscious of it, he remembered that it was the air to which his friend Moncharmont had set the little song of Alfred de Musset. At Odessa he had been wont to sing it in a voice which Moncharmont declared to have the quality of a very fair tenor, and only to need training.
The Russian was spending a week in London, and Otway saw him several times; on one occasion they sat talking together till three in the morning. To Piers this intercourse brought vast mental relief, and gave him an intellectual impulse of which he had serious need in his life of solitude, ever tending to despondency. Korolevitch, on leaving England, volunteered to call upon Moncharmont at Odessa.
An English acquaintance asked me once, 'Is he a gentleman? I was obliged to laugh delicious contrast between what he meant by a gentleman and all I see in Moncharmont." "I picture him," said Irene, smiling, "and I picture the person who made that inquiry." Piers flashed a look of gratitude. He had, as yet, hardly glanced at her; he durst not; his ordeal was to be gone through as became a man.
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