“My poor duke!” said Jansoulet.
“A great loss to the country,” remarked the banker with an air of conviction.
And the Nabob added naively:
“For me above all, for me; for, if he had lived—Ah! what luck you have, what luck you have!”
Fearing to have wounded him, he went on quickly:
“And then, too, you are clever, so very clever.”
The baron looked at him with a wink so droll, that his little black eyelashes disappeared amid his yellow fat.
“No,” said he, “it is not I who am clever. It is Marie.”
“Marie?”
“Yes, the baroness. Since her baptism she has given up her name of Yamina for that of Marie. She is a real sort of woman. She knows more than I do myself about banking and Paris and business. It is she who manages everything at home.”