"I have no idea what you mean, monsieur," said Herminie, indignantly.
"Bah!" cried M. Bouffard, shrugging his shoulders, "I suppose you're not going to try to make me believe that handsome young men pay the rent for pretty blondes merely for the love of God!"
"Some one has paid my rent for me, monsieur?" demanded Herminie, blushing scarlet.
"Yes, some one has paid it, and in shining yellow gold," replied M. Bouffard, drawing several gleaming coins from his pocket and tossing them up in the air. "Look at the yellow boys, ain't they pretty, eh?"
"And this gold, monsieur," said Herminie, unable to believe her own ears,—"this gold—who gave it to you?"
"Oh, don't try to play innocent, my dear. The person who paid me is a handsome fellow, tall, and dark complexioned, with a brown moustache. That description would answer for his passport, if he wanted one."
The marquis had listened to M. Bouffard first with surprise, and then with utter dismay.
This young girl, in whom he had taken so deep an interest, had suddenly become hateful in his eyes; so coldly bowing to Herminie, he walked silently to the door, with an expression of bitter disappointment on his face.
"Ah," he thought, "still another lost illusion!"
"Remain, monsieur," cried the young girl, running after him, all of a tremble, and overcome with shame, "I entreat you—I implore you to remain!"