“I know sixteen thousand francs is a big sum. Perhaps you will be sorry to give us so much money.”
“I am not sorry at all: I would even add to it willingly.” And she showed them one of the other four rolls in her bag.
“Then, to be sure, what do I care for my place!” cried Blangin. And, intoxicated by the sight and the touch of the gold, he added,—
“You are at home here, madam; and the jail and the jailer are at your disposal. What do you desire? Just speak. I have nine prisoners, not counting M. de Boiscoran and Trumence. Do you want me to set them all free?”
“Blangin!” said his wife reprovingly.
“What? Am I not free to let the prisoners go?”
“Before you play the master, wait, at least, till you have rendered our young lady the service which she expects from you.”
“Certainly.”
“Then go and conceal this money,” said the prudent woman; “or it might betray us.”
And, drawing from her cupboard a woollen stocking, she handed it to her husband, who slipped the sixteen thousand francs into it, retaining about a dozen gold-pieces, which he kept in his pocket so as always to have in his hands some tangible evidence of his new fortune. When this was done, and the stocking, full to overflowing, had been put back in the cupboard under a pile of linen, she ordered her husband,—