There was no resisting openness like this, and Clemenceau heartily thanked the volunteer “backer,” as is said in monetary circles.

“That’s very kind; but the proposal has previously been made to me by an old friend, an Israelite who also has connections with the principal bankers.  But these transactions take time, on a large scale and to embrace the world.  Meanwhile, although he would readily and easily find me temporary accommodation, the pressure on me is not acute enough for me to accept a helping hand.”

“I understand:  you would not be in difficulties if you were another kind of man.  Let us say no more about it.  As the company will be a public one, I suppose, I can take shares.  About this mortgage over our heads, is some bank holding it?”

“Well, no; my wife has it, as part of the marriage portion, or rather my gift.  I have sent for her to step down to discuss the matter with you.”

“Happy to see the lady,” said Cantagnac, pulling out his whiskers and adjusting the points of his collar.  “We will discuss it, with an eye to your interests, monsieur.”

It was clear that M. Cantagnac had not enchanted Antonino, for he had taken care not to bring the plan of the house; it was brought, but by another hand.  On seeing the lady, the Marseillais bowed with exaggerated politeness of the old school and stammered his compliments.

“No, no;” Clemenceau hastened to say, “this is not the lady of the house, but a guest who, however, will show you the place.”

It was Rebecca Daniels.  As always happens with the Jews, whose long, oval faces are not improved by mental trouble, she looked less captivating than when she had shone as the star of the Harmonista Music-hall; but, nevertheless, she was, for the refined eye, very alluring.  She accepted the task imposed on her with a gentle smile, although it was evident that in her quick glance she had summed up the visitor’s qualities without much favor for him.

While Cantagnac was bowing again and fumbling confusedly with his hat, Rebecca laid the plan on the table and whispered to Clemenceau: 

“Do you know that she is here again?”

He nodded, whereupon her features, which had been animated, fell back into habitual calm.

“She sends word by Hedwig, whom I intercepted, that she wants to see you before seeing this purchaser of the house.  I need not urge you to keep calm?”

“No!”

“Come this way, please, monsieur,” said Rebecca, lightly, as if fully at ease, and she led Cantagnac out of the room.

Left to himself, with the notification of the important interview overhanging him, the host pondered.  He had at the first loved Rebecca, and it was strange to him now that he had let Cesarine outshine her.  He had acted like an observer, who takes a comet for a planet shaken out of its course.  Since he loved the Jewess with a holier flame than ever the Russian kindled, he perceived which was the true love.  This is not an earthly fire, but a divine spirit; not a chance shock, but the union of two souls in unbroken harmony.