Monsieur de Founcelles drew a little closer to his companion. There was a peculiar smile upon his lips.
“My dear young lady,” he said softly, “forgive me if I point out to you that with your appearance and gifts a marriage with our excellent friend is surely not the summit of your ambitions! Here in Paris, I promise you, here—we can do much better than that for you. You have not, perhaps, a dot? Good! That is our affair. Give up our friend here, and we deposit in any bank you like to name the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand francs.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand francs!” Violet repeated, slowly.
Monsieur de Founcelles nodded.
“It is enough?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“It is not enough,” she answered.
Monsieur de Founcelles raised his eyebrows.
“We do not bargain,” he said coldly, “and money is not the chief thing in the world. It is for you, then, to name a sum.”
“Monsieur de Founcelles,” she said, “can you tell me the amount of the national debt of France?”