"Laugh at you, madame!—I!—judge me by what I offer. Do you want a pretty room, in a fine house, a servant to wait on you, two delicious meals every day, coffee every morning, and fifty francs a month for your snuff or other little fancies? Eh! what do you say to that?"
"I say—I say—that it's all a lie—or else there is something beneath it. When one offers so much to a poor, crippled old woman, it is not for the love of God, I am sure."
"You are right, Mamma Lacombe; it's for the love of two beautiful eyes."
"Whose eyes?"
"Your god-daughter's eyes, Mamma Lacombe," returned Commander de La
Miraudière cynically. "No use beating around the bush, you know."
"You know Mariette, then?" she said, with a piercing glance at his dissipated face.
"I often visit Madame Jourdan's establishment, for I am exceedingly fond of fine linen," he observed, casting a complaisant glance on the embroidered folds of his shirt. "I therefore found frequent occasion to admire you god-daughter; I think her beautiful and charming, and—"
"And you want to buy her from me?"
"Bravo! you are a woman of intelligence and good sense, Mamma Lacombe. You understand things without needless words. Now, this is my proposition: A fine, elegantly furnished apartment for Mariette, with whom you shall live, of course; five hundred francs per month for her expenses, exclusive of maid and cook; a suitable trousseau for the girl; and a purse of fifty louis to begin housekeeping, not counting costly gifts for good conduct. Besides this, there will be carriages, operas, balls, and a host of friends among ladies of my acquaintance. In a word, she will lead an enchanted existence—the existence of a duchess! What do you think of it?"
"Why not?" murmured the woman, with a strange smile. "Poor wretches like us are only good to sell ourselves when we are young, or sell others when we are old."