A flash of covetousness broke forth from under the thick brows of the jailer’s wife; but, quite self-possessed, she went on,—
“In that case, my man will probably consent. I will go and put him right, and then you can talk to him.”
She went out hastily, and, as soon as she had disappeared, Jacques asked Dionysia,—
“How much have you paid Blangin so far?”
“Seventeen thousand francs.”
“These people are robbing you outrageously.”
“Ah, what does the money matter? I wish we were both of us ruined, if you were but free.”
But it had not taken the wife long to persuade the husband. Blangin’s heavy steps were heard in the passage; and almost immediately, he entered, cap in hand, looking obsequious and restless.
“My wife has told me every thing,” he said, “and I consent. Only we must understand each other. This is no trifle you are asking for.”
Jacques interrupted him, and said,—