“Mme. Zelie Cadelle.”
The grocer burst out laughing.
“In that case, my boy,” he said, tapping familiarly the shoulder of the so-called clerk, “whether she pays or not, you can deliver the article.”
The familiarity was not, perhaps, very much to the taste of the Marquis de Tregars. No matter.
“She is rich, then, that lady?” he said.
“Personally no. But she is protected by an old fool, who allows her all her fancies.”
“Indeed!”
“It is scandalous; and you cannot form an idea of the amount of money that is spent in that house. Horses, carriages, servants, dresses, balls, dinners, card-playing all night, a perpetual carnival: it must be ruinous!”
M. de Tregars never winced.
“And the old man who pays?” he asked; “do you know him?”