“And it is but too true. That wretch Favoral has gone off with an enormous amount of money.”
“Twelve millions, I heard.”
“Something like it. A man who had the reputation of a saint too; a puritan. Trust people’s faces after that! I never liked him, I confess. But M. de Thaller had a perfect fancy for him; and, when he had spoken of his Favoral, there was nothing more to say. Any way, he has cleared out, leaving his family without means. A very interesting family, it seems, too,—a wife who is goodness itself, and a charming daughter: at least, so says Costeclar, who is very much in love with her.”
M. de Tregars’ countenance remained perfectly indifferent, like that of a man who is hearing about persons and things in which he does not take the slightest interest.
Mme. de Thaller noticed this.
“But it isn’t to tell you all this,” she went on, “that I came up. It is an interested motive brought me. We have, some of my friends and myself, organized a lottery—a work of charity, my dear marquis, and quite patriotic—for the benefit of the Alsatians, I have lots of tickets to dispose of; and I’ve thought of you to help me out.”
More smiling than ever,
“I am at your orders, madame,” answered Marius, “but, in mercy, spare me.”
She took out some tickets from a small shell pocket-book.
“Twenty, at ten francs,” she said. “It isn’t too much, is it?”