get into that stylish carriage with my clumsy shoes and big umbrella? What will people think?' I replied. But Florestan only shrugged his shoulders, and, seizing me by the arm, half led, half dragged me to the carriage. On our way to the office he made me promise that I would come and see him, and finally he set me down at the notary's door with the warmest protestations of friendship and good-will. Now what do you think of a man who would act like that, father?"
"Pooh!" responded the scrivener, with a by no means enthusiastic air, "he yielded to a kindly impulse, that is all. I always distrust people who are so inclined to make a display of their friendship; besides, you are in no position to keep up such an acquaintance."
"I know that; still, under the circumstances, I felt obliged to keep my promise to take breakfast with Florestan on the following Sunday. The kind-hearted fellow treated me as if I were a prince, and begged me to come again, but I left for Dreux soon afterward, so I have not seen him since."
"It is very strange that you never said anything to me about your visit to him."
"Shall I tell you why I did not? I said to myself: 'My poor father loves me so much he may fear that the sight of Florestan's splendour will excite my envy, and make me dissatisfied with my own humble condition in life, so I will conceal the fact that I once breakfasted with a Sardanapalus or a Lucullus.'"
"My dear, brave boy!" exclaimed the old man, with deep emotion, "I understand; and the delicacy of your conduct touches me deeply. It is only one more proof of your kindness and generosity of heart, but I beg that you will now listen to me attentively for a moment, for it is to this very generosity of feeling, as well as to your affection for me, that I am about to appeal. There is an extremely grave and important matter about which I must speak to you."
The scrivener's expression had become so serious and even solemn that the young man gazed at him with surprise; but just then the porter knocked at the door and said:
"Here is a letter for you, M. Louis."
"Very well," replied the young man, abstractedly, too much engaged in wondering what the important matter to which his father had alluded could be to pay much attention to the letter, which Father Richard instantly recognised as the one which he had written to his son that morning, and which he had addressed to the Rue de Grenelle instead of to Dreux, as poor Mariette had requested.
Knowing the contents of the missive, the old scrivener was on the point of advising his son to read the letter immediately, but, after a moment's reflection, he adopted the opposite course, and said:
"My dear boy, you will have plenty of time to read your letter by and by. Listen to me now, for I repeat there is a matter of great importance both to you and to me, that I must consult you about."
"I am at your service, my dear father," replied Louis, laying the letter which he had been about to open on the table.
CHAPTER VI.
A FATHER'S AMBITION.
Father Richard remained silent for a moment, then, turning to his son, said:
"I have warned you that I am about to appeal to your generosity as well as to your affection for me."
"Then you have only to speak, father."
"You told me just now that, if you sometimes dreamed of a less humble existence than ours, it was not on your own account, but mine."
"And that is perfectly true."
"Ah, well, my son, it only depends upon yourself to see this desire realised."
"What do you mean?"
"Listen to me. Reverses of fortune which closely followed your mother's death, while you were but an infant, left me barely property enough to defray the expenses of your education."
"Yes, my dear father, and the courage and resignation with which you have endured this misfortune have only increased my love and respect for you."
"Our pecuniary condition seems likely to speedily become worse instead of better, I regret to say. With old age fast coming on, and my failing vision, I realise that the day is near at hand when it will be impossible for me to earn even the pittance needed for my support."
"But, father, you may be sure—"
"Of your willing aid, I know that; but your own future is precarious in the extreme. The most you can hope for is to become chief clerk in a notary's office, for it takes money to study a profession, and I am poor."
"Do not worry, father. I shall always be able to earn money enough for us two."
"But what if sickness should come, or some accident should befall either of us, or you should be thrown out of employment for several months, what would become of us then?"
"My dear father, if we poor people stopped to think of the misfortunes that might befall us, we should lose courage. Let us close our eyes to the future, and think only of the present. That, thank Heaven! is not alarming."
"Yes, I admit that it is better not to think of the future when it is alarming, but when it may be happy and prosperous, if we choose to make it so, is it not well to open our eyes instead of closing them?"
"Certainly."
"So I repeat, that it depends entirely upon yourself to make our future both happy and prosperous."
"You may consider it done, then. Only tell me how I am to do it."
"I shall surprise you very much, I am sure, when I tell you that this M. Ramon with whom you have just spent several days, and whom you so cruelly misjudge, is an old friend of mine, and that the visit you just paid him was planned by him and me."
"But the papers my employer—"
"Your employer kindly consented to assist us by charging you with a pretended mission to Ramon."
"But why was it considered necessary to resort to this trick?"
"Ramon wished to see you and study you; in other words, to become thoroughly acquainted with you without your suspecting it, and I feel it my duty to tell you that he is delighted with you. I received a long letter from him this very morning, in which he speaks of you in the highest terms."
"I regret that I am unable to return the compliment; but how can M. Ramon's good or bad opinion affect me?"
"It does affect you very seriously, though, my dear boy, for the prosperous future of which I spoke is entirely dependent upon the opinion Ramon has of you."
"You speak in enigmas, father."
"Ramon, without being what is called rich, possesses a comfortable fortune, which, by reason of his wise economy, is increasing every day."
"I can readily believe that, only what you call economy is contemptible stinginess, father."
"Don't let us haggle about terms, my son. Call it parsimony or economy, or what you will, in consequence of it Ramon
