Money (Oxford World’s Classics) by Émile Zola Page B

out to him… One hundred and ten francs.’
    Fayeux, whom she called her cousin, had just set up an office there as a collector of revenues. * His ostensible business was receiving the bonds of the small investors of the region; and as the agent for these bonds and money he speculated wildly.
    ‘The provinces are not much use,’ muttered Busch, ‘but there are still some finds to be made.’
    He sniffed at the papers, sorting them already with an expert hand, classifying them roughly at a first estimate, according to their smell. His flat face darkened, and showed disappointment.
    ‘Hmm, not much here, nothing to get one’s teeth into. Fortunately, this didn’t cost much… Here are some promissory notes… More notes… If these fellows are young, and if they’ve come to Paris, we may perhaps catch up with them…’
    But then, he gave a slight exclamation of surprise.
    ‘Hold on. What’s this?’
    He had just seen, at the bottom of a sheet of stamped paper, * the signature of the Count de Beauvilliers, and there were only three lines on the page, written in a large, senile hand: ‘I undertake to pay the sum of ten thousand francs to Mademoiselle Léonie Cron, upon her coming of age.’
    ‘Count de Beauvilliers,’ he repeated slowly, thinking aloud, ‘oh yes, he had farms and an entire estate, near Vendôme… He died in a hunting accident, and left a wife and two children in straitened circumstances. I had some promissory notes of his some time ago, which they had some trouble paying… A buffoon, a good-for-nothing…’
    Then suddenly he burst into a loud laugh, as he reconstructed the story.
    ‘Ah! the old rogue! He must have got the girl into trouble… she was unwilling, but he must have persuaded her with this scrap of paper, which was of no legal value. Then he died… Let’s see, it’s dated 1854, just ten years ago. The girl must be of age by now! How did this statement of debt get into Charpier’s hands?… A seed-merchant, this Charpier, and a short-term moneylender. The girl no doubt left him this as a deposit for a few écus; or perhaps he had undertaken to collect the debt…’
    ‘But,’ La Méchain broke in, ‘that’s really good, that, a real stroke of luck!’
    Busch shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
    ‘Oh no, let me tell you, this isn’t worth anything in law… If I present this to his heirs they can send me packing, because I’d have to prove that the money is actually owing… However, if we find the girl I hope I could persuade them to be generous and come to some agreement, to avoid an unpleasant scandal… You understand? Look for this Léonie Cron, write to Fayeux asking him to dig her out over there. Then we can have some fun.’
    He had put the papers into two piles, which he promised himself he’d examine thoroughly once he was alone, and he stayed quite still, with his hands open, one on each pile.
    After a silence, La Méchain said:
    ‘I’ve looked into the Jordan notes… I really thought I’d found our man. He had a job somewhere, and now he’s writing for the newspapers. But the newspaper offices are so unhelpful; they refuse to give out addresses. And anyway, I don’t think he signs his articles with his real name.’
    Without a word, Busch had stretched out his arm to take the Jordan file out of its alphabetical niche. There were six fifty-franc promissory notes, already five years old, and spread out over several months, a total of three hundred francs that the young man had signed to a tailor when he was hard up. Not paid when presented, the notes had accumulated huge charges, and the whole file was over-flowing with papers of legal proceedings. At this time the debt had reached seven hundred and thirty francs and fifteen centimes.
    ‘If the lad has any future,’ murmured Busch, ‘we’ll catch him yet.’
    Then, doubtless following an association of ideas, he cried out:
    ‘Now tell me, what about the Sicardot affair? Are we giving up on it?’
    La