And, as Octave took his departure, she added:
“I have finished your books, Monsieur Mouret. Will you please take them when convenient?”
He was hastening down-stairs, feeling anxious, as he recollected having promised Madame Duveyrier to send Berthe to her before anything was known of the matter, when, on the third floor, he came in contact with Campardon, who was going out.
“Well!” said the latter, “so your employer is coming in for something. I have heard that the old fellow has close upon six hundred thousand francs, besides this property. You see, he spent nothing at the Duveyriers’, and he had a good deal left of what he brought from Versailles, without counting the twenty and odd thousand francs received in rent from the house. Eh? it is a fine cake to share, when there are only three to partake of it!”
Whilst talking thus, he continued to go down behind Octave. But, on the second floor, they met Madame Juzeur, who was returning from seeing what her little maid, Louise, could be doing of a morning, taking over an hour to fetch four sous’ worth of milk. She entered naturally into the conversation, being very well informed.
“It is not known how he has settled his affairs,” murmured she in her gentle way. “There will perhaps be some bother.”
“Ah, well!” said the architect, gayly, “I should like to be in their shoes. It would not take long. One makes three equal shares, each takes his own, and there you are!”
Madame Juzeur leant over the balusters, then raised her head, and made sure that no one else was on the stairs. At length, lowering her voice, she observed:
“And if they did not find what they expected? There are rumors about.”
The architect opened his eyes wide with amazement. Then he shrugged his shoulders. Pooh! mere gossip! Old Vabre was a miser who hid his savings in worsted stockings. And he went off, as he had an appointment at Saint-Roch with the Abbé Mauduit.