“Allow me!” again interrupted the cashier, with a scared look.
“No, let me finish; Monsieur Duveyrier understands perfectly. We do not wish the young couple to wait three years for money they may need at once, and we engage ourselves to pay the dowry in installments of ten thousand francs every six months, on the understanding that we repay ourselves later on with the insurance money.”
A pause ensued. Monsieur Josserand, feeling frozen and choking, again looked into the dark street.
“All that seems to me very reasonable,” said he, at length. “It is for us to thank you. It is very seldom that a dowry is paid at once in full.”
“Never, sir!” affirmed the uncle, energetically. “Such a thing is never done.”
And the three men shook hands as they arranged to meet on the Thursday at the notary’s. When Monsieur Josserand came back into the light, he was so pale that he was asked if he was unwell. As a matter of fact he did not feel very well, and he withdrew, without being willing to wait for his brother-in-law, who had just gone into the dining-room where the classic tea was represented by champagne.
Gueulin, stretched on a sofa near the window, murmured:
“That scoundrel of an uncle!”
He had overheard some words about the insurance, and he chuckled as he confided the truth of the matter to Octave and Trublot. It had been done at his office; there was not a sou to receive, the Vabres were being taken in. Then, as the two others laughed at this good joke, holding their sides meanwhile, he added, with comical earnestness.
“I want a hundred francs. If the uncle doesn’t give me a hundred francs, I’ll split.”