“Besides,” he added, “everything is going on well, even our Tafila mines. I have taxed our people, according to their means, from one to twenty thousand francs, and we are certain of a million.”
The doctor rubbed his hands, and a delicious prospect of enjoyments stretched out before him.
“I have seen Catenac,” continued Martin Rigal. “He has returned from Vendome, and the Duke de Champdoce is wild with hope and expectation, and is on the path which he thinks will take him to his son.”
“And how about Perpignan?”
Mascarin laughed.
“Perpignan is just as much a dupe as the Duke is; he thinks absolutely that he has discovered all the clues that I myself placed on his road. Before, however, they have quite concluded their investigations, Paul will be my daughter’s husband and Flavia the future Duchess of Champdoce, with an income that a monarch might envy.”
He paused, for there was a light tap on the door, and Flavia entered. She bowed to the doctor, and, with the graceful movement of a bird, perched herself upon her father’s knee, and, throwing her arms round his neck, kissed him again and again.
“This is a very nice little preface,” said the banker with a forced smile. “The favor is granted in advance, for, of course, this means that you have come to ask one.”
The girl shook her head, and returned in the tone of one addressing a naughty child,—
“Oh, you bad papa! Am I in the habit of selling my kisses? I am sure that I have only to ask and to have.”