“Eight hundred francs.”
The price made the countess tremble; and how was she to confess that a countess was content with second-hand things, and then could not afford to pay eight hundred francs for them? She therefore thought the best thing was to appear angry, and said: “Who thinks of buying, sir? Who do you think would buy such old things? I only want to hire.”
Fingret made a grimace; his customer began gradually to lose her value in his eyes. She did not want to buy new things, only to hire old ones, “You wish it for a year?” he asked.
“No, only for a month. It is for some one coming from the country.”
“It will be one hundred francs a month.”
“You jest, surely, monsieur; why, in eight months I should have paid the full price of it.”
“Granted, Madame la Comtesse.”
“Well, is not that too bad?”
“I shall have the expense of doing it up again when you return it.”
Madame de la Motte reflected. “One hundred francs a month is very dear, certainly; but either I can return it at the end of that time and say it is too dear, or I shall then perhaps be in a situation to buy.”