Bazilio seemed preoccupied; his face was paler than usual. He took a pocket-book from his breast-pocket, and said,—
“Very well; but it is possible, and ought to be taken into account, since we do not know with whom we are dealing, that there may be still further exactions.” And he opened the pocket-book, and took out of it a small and well-filled envelope.
Luiza, her face crimson, followed all his movements with her eyes.
“In order that you may be able to arrange matters with her to your satisfaction, I think it well to leave you some money,” he said.
“Are you mad?” she exclaimed.
“But—”
“You want to give me money?” said Luiza, in a trembling voice.
“But I think that—”
“Good-by!” she repeated, rising indignantly.
“Luiza, for Heaven’s sake! You do not understand me!”