Payot sat still, playing an imaginary tune upon the table, evidently thinking intently.
"Twenty-five per cent. is rather a high price to pay, mon vieux. Let me see," said he, casting up the figures in his head. "The concession is for a capital of 45,000,000 frs., and my profit on the deal will be 2,000,000 frs. Then there are certain deductions to be made. Yes, to be sure," he muttered to himself. "750,000 frs., and 200,000 frs., and 50,000 frs., that leaves a million francs, and twenty-five per cent. on a million is 250,000 frs. Two hundred and fifty thousand francs is a lot of money to give away," said Payot, nervously playing with his wine glass.
"But you see what you are getting for it," said Duval, "Seven hundred and fifty thousand francs."
"A mere bagatelle compared with my daughter. Why, I am simply giving her away, sir—giving her away!" and he heaved a sigh as if he had been asked to sign away his birthright.
"Well then," said Duval, anxious to strike while the iron was hot, "we will call it a bargain," and without any further to-do he pushed the paper over to Payot to sign.
Payot seeing that further haggling was useless, took his pen and mechanically signed the document.
Duval rang the bell.
"What do you want?" cried Payot, wondering why Duval should take upon himself the ordering of his servants.
"Oh, it's all right, mon ami," said Duval, as the butler entered. "I merely wanted someone to witness our signatures."