--

There were other items, but he took up the edge of the paper
mechanically, pushed it slowly away from him, leaned back in his chair
and again laid his hands upon his face.

"Suppose I retain Fausse Riviere," he said to himself, as if he had not
said it many times before.

Then he saw memoranda that were not on any paper before him--such a
mortgage to be met on such a date; so much from Fausse Riviere
Plantation account retained to protect that mortgage from foreclosure;
such another to be met on such a date--so much more of same account to
protect it. He saw Aurora and Clotilde Nancanou, with anguished faces,
offering woman's pleadings to deaf constables. He saw the remainder of
Aurora's plantation account thrown to the lawyers to keep the question
of the Grandissime titles languishing in the courts. He saw the fortunes
of his clan rallied meanwhile and coming to the rescue, himself and
kindred growing independent of questionable titles, and even Fausse
Riviere Plantation account restored, but Aurora and Clotilde nowhere to
be found. And then he saw the grave, pale face of Joseph Frowenfeld.

He threw himself forward, drew the paper nervously toward him, and
stared at the figures. He began at the first item and went over the
whole paper, line by line, testing every extension, proving every
addition, noting if possibly any transposition of figures had been made
and overlooked, if something was added that should have been subtracted,
or subtracted that should have been added. It was like a prisoner trying
the bars of his cell.

Was there no way to make things happen differently? Had he not
overlooked some expedient? Was not some financial manoeuvre possible
which might compass both desired ends? He left his chair and walked up
and down, as Joseph at that very moment was doing in the room where he
had left him, came back, looked at the paper, and again walked up and
down. He murmured now and then to himself: "_Self_-denial--that is not
the hard work. Penniless myself--_that_ is play," and so on. He turned
by and by and stood looking up at that picture of the man in the cuirass
which Aurora had once noticed. He looked at it, but he did not see it.
He was thinking--"Her rent is due to-morrow. She will never believe I am
not her landlord. She will never go to my half-brother." He turned once
more and mentally beat his breast as he muttered: "Why do I not decide?"

Somebody touched the doorknob. Ho