science, therefore, let you run down the speeches of a man who will one
day say to me, 'M. le Vicomte, you know I give my daughter two
million of francs.'"
"Ah, this marriage will never take place," said Beauchamp. "The king has made him a baron, and can make him a peer, but he cannot make him a gentleman; and the Count de Morcerf is too aristocratic to consent, for the paltry sum of two millions, to a mesalliance. The Viscount de Morcerf can only wed a marchioness."
"But it is a nice little sum," replied Morcerf.
"It is the capital of a theater on the boulevard, or a railroad from the Jardin des Plantes to La Rapee."
"Never mind what he says, Morcerf," said Debray, "do you marry her. You marry a ticket of a money-bag, it is true; well, but what does that matter? It is better to have a blazon less and a figure more on it. You have seven martlets on your arms; give three to your wife, and you will still have four; that is one more than M. de Guise had, who so nearly became King of France, and whose cousin was Emperor of Germany."
"On my word, I think you are right, Lucien," said Albert, absently.
"To be sure; besides, every millionaire is as noble as a bastard that is, he can be."
"Do not say that, Debray," returned Beauchamp, laughing, "for here is Chateau-Renaud, who, to cure you of your paradoxes, will pass the sword of Renaud de Montauban, his ancestor, through your body."
"He will sully it then," returned Lucien; "for I am low very low."
"Oh, heavens!" cried Beauchamp, "the minister quotes Beranger; "what shall we come to next?"
"M. de Chateau-Renaud! M. Maximilian Morrel!" said the servant, announcing two fresh guests.
"Now, then, to breakfast," said Beauchamp; "for, if I remember, you told me you only expected two persons, Albert."
"Morrel!" muttered Albert "Morrel! who is he?"
But before he had finished, M. de Chateau-Renaud, a handsome young man of thirty, gentleman all over, that is, with the figure of a Ghriche and the wit of a Mortemart, took Albert's hand.
"My dear Albert," said he, "let me introduce to you M. Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis, my friend; and what is more, my preserver; however, the man speaks for himself. Salute my hero, viscount."
And he stepped on one side, exhibiting the large and open brow, the piercing eyes and black mustache of the fine and noble young man whom our readers have already seen at Marseilles, under circumstances sufficiently dramatic not to be forgotten.
