invented it himself.
‘Personally, I’ll buy whatever’s on offer,’ said Pillerault in conclusion, with the vainglorious temerity of a gambler with no system.
Saccard, his brow heated by the fever of speculation provoked by this noisy ending to lunch in the narrow dining-room, decided to eat his asparagus, irritated anew by Huret, whom he had now given up. For weeks now he, who was usually so quick to make decisions, had grown hesitant, troubled by uncertainties. He felt an imperative need for change, to start afresh, and his first idea had been of an entirely new life in the upper reaches of administration, or else in politics. Why shouldn’t a position in the Legislative Assembly lead him on to the Council of Ministers, as it had his brother? What he didn’t like about speculation was the constant instability, the huge sums lost as fast as they were gained: he had never been able to sleep on a real million, owing nothing to anyone. And now, as he took stock of things,he decided he was perhaps too passionate a person for this financial battle, which needed such a cool head. That must be why, after such an extraordinary life of both luxury and poverty, he had emerged empty-handed and burnt-out from those ten years of amazing land-deals in the new Paris, while others, less astute than he, had garnered colossal fortunes. Yes, perhaps he had been quite wrong about where his real talents lay; perhaps, with his energy and ardent convictions, he would triumph in one bound in the political fray. Everything would depend on his brother’s response. If he pushed him away, threw him back into the abyss of speculation, well, it would be just too bad, for him and for others; he would take his chances on the big plan he hadn’t mentioned to anyone, the enormous project he had dreamed of for weeks and which alarmed even himself, so vast was it and capable, if it succeeded or if it failed, of setting the world astir.
Pillerault raised his voice once more—
‘Mazaud, is the Schlosser business settled?’
‘Yes,’ replied the broker, ‘the notice will go up today… That’s how it is… it’s always unpleasant, but I’d had the most disturbing reports, and I was the first to make demand. * Now and again you just have to clear the ground.’
‘I’ve been told’, said Moser, ‘that your colleagues, Jacoby and Delarocque, had some considerable sums invested.’
The broker made a vague gesture.
‘Bah, there have to be some losses… That Schlosser must have been part of a group; and all he’ll have to do is go off to Berlin or Vienna and start plundering the Stock Exchange there.’
Saccard’s gaze had fallen upon Sabatani, of whose secret association with Schlosser he had happened to learn: the two men played the well-known game, one bidding up and the other bidding down for the same stock; the loser would simply share the profit of the other and disappear. But the young man was quietly paying the bill for the meal he had just eaten. Then, with the typical caressing grace of the Oriental mixed with Italian, he went over to shake hands with Mazaud, whose client he was. He leaned over, and placed an order that Mazaud wrote on a card.
‘He’s selling his Suez holdings,’ murmured Moser.
Then, giving way to his need to know, sick with doubt as he was:
‘So, what do you think about Suez?’
Silence fell on the hubbub of voices, and at the neighbouring tablesevery head turned round. The question summed up the increasing anxiety. But the back view of Amadieu, who had invited Mazaud to lunch simply to recommend one of his nephews to him, remained impenetrable, having indeed nothing to say. The stockbroker, on the other hand, increasingly astonished by the number of orders to sell he was getting, simply nodded, with his customary professional discretion.
‘Suez is good!’ declared Sabatani in his sing-song voice, making a detour to come over and very courteously shake Saccard’s hand before he left.
The
‘Personally, I’ll buy whatever’s on offer,’ said Pillerault in conclusion, with the vainglorious temerity of a gambler with no system.
Saccard, his brow heated by the fever of speculation provoked by this noisy ending to lunch in the narrow dining-room, decided to eat his asparagus, irritated anew by Huret, whom he had now given up. For weeks now he, who was usually so quick to make decisions, had grown hesitant, troubled by uncertainties. He felt an imperative need for change, to start afresh, and his first idea had been of an entirely new life in the upper reaches of administration, or else in politics. Why shouldn’t a position in the Legislative Assembly lead him on to the Council of Ministers, as it had his brother? What he didn’t like about speculation was the constant instability, the huge sums lost as fast as they were gained: he had never been able to sleep on a real million, owing nothing to anyone. And now, as he took stock of things,he decided he was perhaps too passionate a person for this financial battle, which needed such a cool head. That must be why, after such an extraordinary life of both luxury and poverty, he had emerged empty-handed and burnt-out from those ten years of amazing land-deals in the new Paris, while others, less astute than he, had garnered colossal fortunes. Yes, perhaps he had been quite wrong about where his real talents lay; perhaps, with his energy and ardent convictions, he would triumph in one bound in the political fray. Everything would depend on his brother’s response. If he pushed him away, threw him back into the abyss of speculation, well, it would be just too bad, for him and for others; he would take his chances on the big plan he hadn’t mentioned to anyone, the enormous project he had dreamed of for weeks and which alarmed even himself, so vast was it and capable, if it succeeded or if it failed, of setting the world astir.
Pillerault raised his voice once more—
‘Mazaud, is the Schlosser business settled?’
‘Yes,’ replied the broker, ‘the notice will go up today… That’s how it is… it’s always unpleasant, but I’d had the most disturbing reports, and I was the first to make demand. * Now and again you just have to clear the ground.’
‘I’ve been told’, said Moser, ‘that your colleagues, Jacoby and Delarocque, had some considerable sums invested.’
The broker made a vague gesture.
‘Bah, there have to be some losses… That Schlosser must have been part of a group; and all he’ll have to do is go off to Berlin or Vienna and start plundering the Stock Exchange there.’
Saccard’s gaze had fallen upon Sabatani, of whose secret association with Schlosser he had happened to learn: the two men played the well-known game, one bidding up and the other bidding down for the same stock; the loser would simply share the profit of the other and disappear. But the young man was quietly paying the bill for the meal he had just eaten. Then, with the typical caressing grace of the Oriental mixed with Italian, he went over to shake hands with Mazaud, whose client he was. He leaned over, and placed an order that Mazaud wrote on a card.
‘He’s selling his Suez holdings,’ murmured Moser.
Then, giving way to his need to know, sick with doubt as he was:
‘So, what do you think about Suez?’
Silence fell on the hubbub of voices, and at the neighbouring tablesevery head turned round. The question summed up the increasing anxiety. But the back view of Amadieu, who had invited Mazaud to lunch simply to recommend one of his nephews to him, remained impenetrable, having indeed nothing to say. The stockbroker, on the other hand, increasingly astonished by the number of orders to sell he was getting, simply nodded, with his customary professional discretion.
‘Suez is good!’ declared Sabatani in his sing-song voice, making a detour to come over and very courteously shake Saccard’s hand before he left.
The
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