"But you have parents, at all events?"
"No, monseigneur; but I have a ward, a charming young person, full of talent, who sings like Mademoiselle Berry, and who draws like Greuze."
"Ah, ah! and what is the name of your ward, M. Buvat?"
"Bathilde—Bathilde du Rocher, monseigneur; she is a young person of noble family, her father was squire to Monsieur the Regent, when he was still Duc de Chartres, and had the misfortune to be killed at the battle of Almanza."
"Thus I see you have your charges, my dear Buvat."
"Is it of Bathilde that you speak, monseigneur? Oh no, Bathilde is not a charge; on the contrary, poor dear girl, she brings in more than she costs. Bathilde a charge! Firstly, every month M. Papillon, the colorman at the corner of the Rue Clery, you know, monseigneur, gives her eighty francs for two drawings; then—"
"I should say, my dear Buvat, that you are not rich."
"Oh! rich, no, monseigneur, I am not, but I wish I was, for poor Bathilde's sake; and if you could obtain from monseigneur, that out of the first money which comes into the State coffers he would pay me my arrears, or at least something on account—"
"And to how much do your arrears amount?"
"To four thousand seven hundred francs, two sous, and eight centimes, monseigneur."