"To go to Rome to-night?" he echoed--"Dear me, how very
extraordinary! I beg your pardon! . . . of course--most certainly! I can
advance you any sum you want--would ten thousand francs suffice?"
"Ten thousand francs!" Cyrillon laughed. "I never had so much money
in all my life!"
"No? Well, I have not the notes about me at the moment, but I will
send you up that sum in an hour if you wish it. Your father's will
entitles you to five million francs, so you see I am not in any way
endangering myself by advancing you ten thousand."
Cyrillon was quite silent. The lawyer studied him curiously, but
could not determine whether he was pleased or sorry at the
announcement of his fortune. His handsome face was pale and grave,--
and after a pause he said simply--
"Thank you! Then I can go to Rome. If you will send me the money you
speak of I shall be glad, as it will enable me to start to-night.
For the rest,--kindly publish my father's will as he instructed you
to do,--and I--when I return to Paris, will consult you on the best
way in which I can dispose of my father's millions."
"Dispose of them!" began Petitot amazedly. Young Vergniaud
interrupted him by a slight gesture.
"Pardon me, Monsieur, if I ask you to conclude this interview! For
the present, I want nothing else in the world but to get to Rome as
quickly as possible!--apres ca, le deluge!"
He smiled--but his manner was that of some great French noble who
gently yet firmly dismisses the attentions of a too-officious
servant,--and Petitot, much to his own surprise, found himself
bowing low, and scrambling out of the poorly furnished room in as
much embarrassment as though he had accidentally stumbled into a
palace where his presence was not required.
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