"Thanks to you, Monsieur the Marquis, I have the patronage of Monseigneur the Duke of Bourbon!" cried Landry. "It is a clear and net profit of six thousand livres a year! Behold me, in future, a rich man!"
"Thanks to you, Monsieur the Marquis, our neighbor Mathurin, who got from us all our custom, will burst with envy," said Madelaine.
"Thanks to you, Monsieur the Marquis, Dame Madelaine, angry at seeing our customers leave us, will give me no more cuff's!" said Martin Kraft.
"My friends," replied Létorière, "I am extremely pleased at what has happened to you; but I declare to you, that unfortunately I have had nothing to do with it."
"Ah, Monsieur the Marquis, why will you say that?" said Madelaine, reproachfully; and drawing from her pocket the precious missive, she read: 'Master Landry is informed that at the express recommendation of the Marquis of Létorière, Monseigneur the Duke of Bourbon deigns to appoint him his personal tailor, as well as that of his household'; you see that, Monsieur the Marquis?" said Madelaine; and, gazing at Létorière with eyes filled with tears of joy, she added: "This custom makes our fortunes forever . . . Ah, well! on the faith of an honest woman, the basket of flowers and the note that the Marquis sent us yesterday, gave us perhaps more pleasure!"
"And you are right, my friends," said Létorière; "for yesterday it was truly I who sent you the present, not knowing whence it came. But to-day I did not know what the letter contained; it is a mystery that I cannot solve."
At this moment Dominique entered his countenance completely changed; he had come up the five flights of stairs with so much haste that he could hardly speak; the only words he could utter in a broken voice were: "rich . . . rich . . . the attorney . . . the lawsuit . . . I was right!" . . . And he threw himself on the neck of his pupil with theatrical fervor.
"Be calm, my good Dominique," said the Marquis. "Tell me something of this happy news which so transports you . . ."
"Oh, yes, by heaven! this is good news!" said the ex-professor, still breathless. "Imagine me going to this Buston's . . . this bird of prey . . . your solicitor. . . . When the clerks see me enter his office, they begin the umbecoming pleasantries with which they have always greeted me . . . I despise them, after the manner of Socrates, and ask to see Mr. Buston. . . . As usual, these impudent young blackguards answer me in chorus in all tones of voice . . . 'he is not here! he is not here!' In the midst of this infernal racket, I approach the first clerk and show him my letter. . . . Ah! if you could have seen his countenance!" cried Dominique, bursting with laughter and slapping his thighs.
"Well! well! finish, then," said the Marquis.