"My dear M. Pascal, this purse is the fruit of my evening work,—evenings that I have spent here with my husband, with his excellent father, and with my children. If each one of these little steel beads could speak, all would tell you how many times your name has been pronounced among us, with all the affection and gratitude it deserves."
"Ah, thank you, thank you, my dear Madame Dutertre," replied Pascal, "I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this pretty present, this lovely remembrance,—only, you see, it embarrasses me a little."
"How is that?"
"You come to give me something, and I came to ask you something."
"What happiness! Ask, ask, by all means, dear M. Pascal."
Then turning to her husband, with surprise, she said:
"Charles, what are you doing there, seated before that desk?"
"M. Pascal will excuse me. I just recollected that I had neglected to examine some notes relative to important business," replied Dutertre, turning the leaves of some papers, to keep himself in countenance, and to hide from his wife, to whom he had turned his back, the pain which showed itself in his face.
"My dear," said Sophie, in a tone of tender reproach; "can you not lay aside work now and wait until—"
"Madame Dutertre, I shall rebel if you disturb your husband on my account," cried M. Pascal, "do I not know the exactness of business? Come, come, happy woman that you are, thanks to the indefatigable labour of brave Dutertre, who stands to-day at the head of his business."