“My God, it is for me that you have spent everything; if we have nothing now, if we are ruined, it is I who am the cause of it!”
Pascal had already forgotten the money he had taken for the presents. Evidently that was where it had gone. The explanation tranquilized him. And as she began to speak in her grief of returning everything to the dealers, he grew angry.
“Give back what I have given you! You would give a piece of my heart with it, then! No, I would rather die of hunger, I tell you!”
Then his confidence already restored, seeing a future of unlimited possibilities opening out before him, he said:
“Besides, we are not going to die of hunger to-night, are we, Martine? There is enough here to keep us for a long time.”
Martine shook her head. She would undertake to manage with it for two months, for two and a half, perhaps, if people had sense, but not longer. Formerly the drawer was replenished; there was always some money coming in; but now that monsieur had given up his patients, they had absolutely no income. They must not count on any help from outside, then. And she ended by saying:
“Give me the two one-hundred-franc bills. I’ll try and make them last for a month. Then we shall see. But be very prudent; don’t touch the four hundred francs in gold; lock the drawer and don’t open it again.”
“Oh, as to that,” cried the doctor, “you may make your mind easy. I would rather cut off my right hand.”
And thus it was settled. Martine was to have entire control of this last purse; and they might trust to her economy, they were sure that she would save the centimes. As for Clotilde, who had never had a private purse, she would not even feel the want of money. Pascal only would suffer from no longer having his inexhaustible treasure to draw upon, but he had given his promise to allow the servant to buy everything.
“There! That is a good piece of work!” he said, relieved, as happy as if he had just settled some important affair which would assure them a living for a long time to come.