"Oh! if that is all," said Bathilde, laughing, "he is right. Remember that I am but a scholar. But did he offer any price?"
"Yes," said Buvat; "he had impertinence enough for that."
"What price?" asked Bathilde, trembling.
"He offered eighty francs."
"Eighty francs!" cried Bathilde. "Oh! you must be mistaken."
"I tell you he offered eighty francs for the two," replied Buvat, laying a stress on each syllable.
"But it is four times as much as they are worth," said the young girl, clapping her hands for joy.
"It is possible, though I do not think so; but it is none the less true that M. Papillon is an impertinent rascal!"
This was not Bathilde's opinion; but she changed the conversation, saying that dinner was ready—an announcement which generally gave a new course to Buvat's ideas. Buvat gave back the drawings to Bathilde without further observation, and entered the little sitting-room, singing the inevitable, "Then let me go," etc.
He dined with as good an appetite as if there had been no M. Papillon in the world. The same evening, while Buvat was making copies, Bathilde gave the drawings to Nanette, telling her to take them to M. Papillon and ask for the eighty francs he had offered to Buvat. Nanette obeyed, and Bathilde awaited her return with great anxiety, for she still believed there must be some mistake as to the price. Ten minutes afterward she was quite assured, for the good woman entered with the money. Bathilde looked at it for an instant with tears in her eyes, then kneeling before the crucifix at the foot of her bed, she offered up a thanksgiving that she was enabled to return to Buvat a part of what he had done for her.