“To buy this necklace?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Oh! poor Souza, I know him well,” said he, laughing.
“With whom am I to conclude the transaction?” asked M. Bœhmer.
“With myself; you will see no one else. To-morrow I will bring the 100,000 francs, and will sign the agreement. And as you are a man of secrets, M. Bœhmer, remember that you now possess an important one.”
“Monseigneur, I feel it, and will merit your confidence and the queen’s.”
M. de Rohan went away happy, like all men who ruin themselves in a transport of passion.
The next day M. Bœhmer went to the hotel of the Portuguese ambassador. At the moment he knocked at the door, M. Beausire was going through some accounts with M. Ducorneau, while Don Manoël was taking over some new plan with the valet, his associate.
M. Ducorneau was charmed to find an ambassador so free from national prejudice as to have formed his whole establishment of Frenchmen. Thus his conversation was full of praises of him.
“The Souzas, you see,” replied Beausire, “are not of the old school of Portuguese. They are great travelers, very rich, who might be kings if they liked.”