“Yes--I have never known a more honourable or humane action,” put in the Marquis, fervently.
“And then my brothers die--Polydor, who lived mostly at Smyrna, and whose estate was withdrawn from the business by his widow, and Augustin, who lived here in London after 1870, and died--it is now six years ago. He left a son, Robert, who is my nephew, and my partner. He is now of an age--perhaps thirty years. He was a small child when he came to London--he has become more English than the English themselves. His activity and industry are very great; he forms plans of such magnitude and numbers that they would compel his grandfather to turn in his coffin. I am in indifferent health. I live much at Homburg and Marienbad and at Cairo. Practically speaking, I have retired from business. There remain branches of our house--in several places--but the London house has become the centre of all things--and Robert has become the London house. This I make plain to your mind, do I, Mr. Thorpe?”
The other, with his chin sunk within the collar of his white waistcoat, and scrutinizing the narrator with a steadfast though impassive glance, made the faintest possible nod of assent.
“I had great confidence in Robert,” the old man went on. His eyes were dimming with tears, and his voice quavered uncertainly. “His plans seemed wise, even if they risked more than formerly. The conditions of business are wholly altered since my youth--and it was best, I thought, to make Robert free to act under these conditions, which he understood much better than I could pretend to do. Thus it was that when he said it was necessary for Fromentin Brothers to belong to the Stock Exchange, I did not object. He was active and bold and clever, and he was in the thick of the fight. Therefore he should be the judge in all things. And that is our ruin. In the time of the South African excitement, he won a great deal of money. Then he lost it all and more. Then gambling began, and his fortunes went now up, now down, but always, as his books show to me now--sinking a little on the average. He grew more adventurous--more careless. He put many small counters upon different numbers on the table. You know what I mean? And in an accursed moment, because other gamblers were doing the same, he sold two thousand of your shares, without having them in his hands. Voila! He wishes now to put a bullet through his brain. He proposes that as the fitting end of Fromentin Freres.”