The most powerful multi-money software

The most powerful multi-money software

"M. Costeclar alone, father, can give you the explanation you ask ofus," said Mlle. Gilberte.

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The cashier of the Mutual Credit shook his head. "Do you suppose,then, that I have not questioned him? I found his letter thismorning at the office. At once I ran to his apartments, RueVivienne. He had just gone out; and it is in vain that I calledfor him at Jottras', and at the office of 'The Financial Pilot.'

I found him at last at the bourse, after running three hours. ButI could only get from him evasive answers and vague explanations.

Of course he did not fail to say, that, if he does withdraw, it isbecause he despairs of ever succeeding in pleasing Gilberte. Butit isn't so: I know it; I am sure of it; I read it in his eyes.

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Twice his lips moved as if he were about to confess all; and thenhe said nothing. And the more I insisted, the more he seemed illat ease, embarrassed, uneasy, troubled, the more he appeared to melike a man who has been threatened, and dares not brave the threat."He directed upon his children one of those obstinate looks whichsearch the inmost depths of the conscience.

"If you have done any thing to drive him off," he resumed, "confessit frankly, and I swear I will not reproach you.""We did not.""You did not threaten him?""No!"M. Favoral seemed appalled.

"Doubtless you deceive me," he said, "and I hope you do. Unhappychildren! you do not know what this rupture may cost you.

And, instead of returning to his office, he shut himself up in thatlittle room which he called his study, and only came out of it atabout five o'clock, holding under his arm an enormous bundle ofpapers, and saying that it was useless to wait for him for dinner,as he would not come home until late in the night, if he came homeat all, being compelled to make up for his lost day.

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"What is the matter with your father, my poor children?" exclaimedMme. Favoral. "I have never seen him in such a state.""Doubtless," replied Maxence, "the rupture with Costeclar is goingto break up some combination."But that explanation did not satisfy him any more than it did hismother. He, too, felt a vague apprehension of some impendingmisfortune. But what? He had nothing upon which to base hisconjectures. He knew nothing, any more than his mother, of hisfather's affairs, of his relations, of his interests, or even ofhis life, outside the house.

And mother and son lost themselves in suppositions as vain as ifthey had tried to find the solution of a problem, without possessingits terms.

With a single word Mlle. Gilberte thought she might have enlightenedthem.

In the unerring certainty of the blow, in the crushing promptnessof the result, she thought she could recognize the hand of Mariusde Tregars.

She recognized the hand of the man who acts, and does not talk.

And the girl's pride felt flattered by this victory, by this proofof the powerful energy of the man whom, unknown to all, she hadselected. She liked to imagine Marius de Tregars and M. Costeclarin presence of each other, - the one as imperious and haughty asshe had seen him meek and trembling; the other more humble stillthan he was arrogant with her.

"One thing is certain," she repeated to herself; "and that is, Iam saved."And she wished the morrow to come, that she might announce herhappiness to the very involuntary and very unconscious accompliceof Marius, the worthy Maestro Gismondo Pulei.

The next day M. Favoral seemed to have resigned himself to thefailure of his projects; and, the following Saturday, he told as apleasant joke, how Mlle. Gilberte had carried the day, and hadmanaged to dismiss her lover.

But a close observer could discover in him symptoms of devouringcares. Deep wrinkles showed along his temples; his eyes were sunken;a continued tension of mind contracted his features. Often duringthe dinner he would remain motionless for several minutes, hisfork aloft; and then he would murmur, "How is it all going to end?"Sometimes in the morning, before his departure for his office, M.

Jottras, of the house of Jottras and Brother, and M. Saint Pavin,the manager of "The Financial Pilot," came to see him. Theycloseted themselves together, and remained for hours in conference,speaking so low, that not even a vague murmur could be heardoutside the door.

"Your father has grave subjects of anxiety, my children," said Mme.