“There, there. Patience, mademoiselle.”
“You want to make yourself of consequence; I know well enough why. Go!”
“Tell me, and I will answer you frankly, yes, if the thing be true.”
“You know that I am anxious to have that commission of lady of honor, which I have been foolish enough to ask of you, and you do not use your credit.”
“Who, I?” Malicorne cast down his eyes, joined his hands, and assumed his sullen air. “And what credit can the poor clerk of a procurer have, pray?”
“Your father has not twenty thousand livres a year for nothing, M. Malicorne.”
“A provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais.”
“Your father is not in the secrets of monsieur le prince for nothing.”
“An advantage which is confined to lending monseigneur money.”
“In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow in the province for nothing.”