"Good man," added Bastien, pouring out another drink; "such a good man, that he is a fool for it. It is all the same, you see, my old Bridou, I would not give my evening for fifty thousand francs. I have just realised a magnificent profit."
Jacques Bastien never jested on money matters, and these words, "I would not give my evening for fifty thousand francs," he pronounced with such an accent of certainty and satisfaction that not only the bailiff believed in the mysterious words, but Madame Bastien believed in them also, and felt her secret terror increasing.
In fact, the affected calmness of her husband, who—a strange and unnatural thing—grew paler in proportion as he drank, his satirical smile, his eyes glittering with a sort of baleful joy, when from time to time he looked at Frederick and his mother, carried anguish to the soul of the young woman. So, at the end of the repast, she said to Jacques, after having made a sign to Frederick to follow her:
"Monsieur, I feel very much fatigued and quite ill; I ask your permission to retire with my son."
"As you please," replied Jacques, with a guttural laugh, already showing excess of drink, "as you please; where there is constraint there is no pleasure. Do not incommode yourself. I shall incommode myself no longer. Be calm, have patience."
At these words, as ambiguous as the first, which no doubt hid some mental reservation, Marie, having nothing to say, rose, while Frederick, obeying a glance from his mother, approached Jacques, and said to him, respectfully:
"Good night, father."
Jacques turned around to Bridou, without replying to his son, and said, as he measured Frederick with a satirical glance:
"How do you like him?"
"My faith, a very pretty boy."