“And what did he say?”
“He opened the letter, read it, put it into his pocket, and said, ‘Well.’”
Tears of anger this time sprang from Dionysia’s eyes; and she cried,—
“What a shame? This man reads a letter written by Jacques to me! That is infamous!”
And, without thinking of thanking Blangin, she drew off the old lady, and all the way home did not say a word.
“Ah, poor child, you did not succeed,” exclaimed the two old aunts, when they saw their niece come back.
But, when they had heard every thing, they said,—
“Well, we’ll go and see him, this little magistrate, who but the day before yesterday was paying us abject court to obtain the hand of our cousin. And we’ll tell him the truth; and, if we cannot make him give us back Jacques, we will at least trouble him in his triumph, and take down his pride.”
How could poor Dionysia help adopting the notions of the old ladies, when their project offered such immediate satisfaction to her indignation, and at the same time served her secret hopes?
“Oh, yes! You are right, dear aunts,” she said. “Quick, don’t lose any time; go at once!”