"Poor duke!" said Jansoulet.
"A great loss to the country," rejoined the banker, in a grief-stricken tone.
Whereupon the Nabob ingenuously exclaimed:
"To me, above all others to me, for if he had lived—Ah! you have all the luck, you have all the luck! And then, you know, you are so strong, so very strong," he added, fearing that he had wounded him.
The baron looked at him and winked, so drolly that his little black lashes disappeared in his yellow flesh.
"No," he said, "I'm not the strong one. It's Marie!"
"Marie?"
"Yes, the baroness. At the time of her baptism she dropped her old name, Yumina, for Marie. She's a real woman. She knows more about the bank than I do, and about Paris and business generally. She manages everything in the concern."
"You are very fortunate," sighed Jansoulet.
His melancholy was most eloquent touching Mademoiselle Afchin's deficiencies. After a pause the baron continued: