"I forgive you," said Rodolph, smiling; and then added, "Murphy has shown you all over the house?"
"Yes, M. Rodolph; and a fine house and fine shop it is,—all so neat and so comfortable! Talking of comfortable, I am the man that will be so, M. Rodolph! M. Murphy is going to put me in the way of earning four francs a day,—yes, four francs a day!"
"I have something better than that to propose to you, my good fellow."
"Better! It's unpolite to contradict you, but I think that would be difficult. Four francs a day!"
"I tell you I have something better: for this house, all that it contains, the shop, and a thousand crowns which are in this pocketbook,—all are yours."
The Chourineur smiled with a stupid air, flattened his long-napped hat between his knees, and squeezed it convulsively, evidently not understanding what Rodolph said to him, although his language was plain enough.
Rodolph, with much kindness, said to him:
"I can imagine your surprise; but I again repeat, this house and this money are yours,—they are your property."
The Chourineur became purple, passed his horny hand over his brow, which was bathed with perspiration, and stammered out, in a faltering voice:
"What!—eh!—that is—indeed—my property!"