White Lies. Charles Reade Reade

profoundly, and opened the proceedings with a little favorite pomposity. “Madame the baroness, and you Monsieur Aubertin, who honor me with your esteem, and you Mademoiselle de Beaurepaire, whom I adore, and you Mademoiselle Rose, whom I hoped to be permitted—you have this day done me the honor to admit me as your adviser. I am here to lay my plans before you. I believe, madame, I have already convinced you that your farms are under-let, and your property lowered in value by general mismanagement; this was doubtless known to Perrin, and set him scheming. Well, I rely on the same circumstance to defeat him. I have consulted Picard and shown him the rent-roll and balance-sheet I had already shown you. He has confessed that the estate is worth more than its debts, so capitalists can safely advance the money. To-morrow morning, then, I ride to Commandant Raynal for a week’s leave of absence; then, armed with Picard’s certificate, shall proceed to my uncle and ask him to lend the money. His estate is very small compared with Beaurepaire, but he has always farmed it himself. ‘I’ll have no go-between,’ says he, ‘to impoverish both self and soil.’ He is also a bit of a misanthrope, and has made me one. I have a very poor opinion of my fellow-creatures, very.”

      “Well, but,” said Rose, “if he is all that, he will not sympathize with us, who have so mismanaged Beaurepaire. Will he not despise us?”

      Edouard was a little staggered, but Aubertin came to his aid.

      “Permit me, Josephine,” said he. “Natural history steps in here, and teaches by me, its mouth-piece. A misanthrope hates all mankind, but is kind to every individual, generally too kind. A philanthrope loves the whole human race, but dislikes his wife, his mother, his brother, and his friends and acquaintances. Misanthrope is the potato: rough and repulsive outside, but good to the core. Philanthrope is a peach: his manner all velvet and bloom, his words sweet juice, his heart of hearts a stone. Let me read Philanthrope’s book, and fall into the hands of Misanthrope.”

      Edouard admitted the shrewdness of this remark.

      “And so,” said he, “my misanthrope will say plenty of biting words—which, by-the-by, will not hurt you, who will not hear them, only me—and then he’ll lend us the money, and Beaurepaire will be free, and I shall have had a hand in it. Hurrah!”

      Then came a delicious hour to Edouard Riviere. Young and old poured out their glowing thanks and praises upon him till his checks burned like fire.

      The baroness was especially grateful, and expressed a gentle regret that she could see no way of showing her gratitude except in words. “What can we do for this little angel?” said she, turning to Josephine.

      “Leave that to me, mamma,” replied Josephine, turning her lovely eyes full on Edouard, with a look the baroness misunderstood directly.

      She sat and watched Josephine and Edouard with comical severity all the rest of the time she was there; and, when she retired, she kissed Rose affectionately, but whispered her eldest daughter, “I hope you are not serious. A mere boy compared with you.”

      “But such a sweet one,” suggested Josephine, apologetically.

      “What will the world come to?” said the baroness out loud, and retreated with a sour glance at all of them—except Rose.

      She had not been gone five minutes when a letter came by messenger to Edouard. It was from Picard. He read it out.

      “Perrin has been with me, to raise money. He wants it in forty-eight hours. Promises good legal security. I have agreed to try and arrange the matter for him.”

      They were all astonished at this.

      “The double-faced traitor!” cried Edouard. “Stay; wait a minute. Let us read it to an end.”

      “This promise is, of course, merely to prevent his going elsewhere. At the end of the forty-eight hours I shall begin to make difficulties. Meantime, as Perrin is no fool, you had better profit to the full by this temporary delay.”

      “Well done, Picard!” shouted Edouard. “Notary cut notary. I won’t lose an hour. I’ll start at five; Commandant Raynal is an early riser himself.”

      Accordingly, at five he was on the road; Raynal’s quarters lay in the direct line to his uncle’s place. He found the commandant at home, and was well received. Raynal had observed his zeal, and liked his manners. He gave him the week’s leave, and kept him to breakfast, and had his horse well fed. At eight o’clock Edouard rode out of the premises in high spirits. At the very gate he met a gaunt figure riding in on a squab pony. It was Perrin the notary coming in hot haste to his friend and employer, Commandant Raynal.