“My father? He never opposes my wishes. Besides, I am rich.”
She exhibited a purse full of gold.
“And, if that is not sufficient, papa will make me an advance.”
“Ha, look in front!” said Geneviève de Trémont. “There is Amélie at the stall of Madame Baradier.”
Marianne blushed. She remembered what her father had said regarding their quarrels with the Baradiers and Graffs, and felt considerably embarrassed in consequence. What kind of relations could be set up between these hostile families? Suddenly the smiling face of Marcel Baradier awoke in her memory. The hostility of the parents could not bind the children, since he had so graciously received Lichtenbach’s daughter when she had called at the Rue de Provènce. Turning her eyes in the direction of Geneviève, she recognized the one of whom she was thinking, near the counter where Madame Baradier and Amélie were selling. He smiled as he talked to an old man who was purchasing a porcelain vase of a very ugly pattern. After the bargain was struck he took it from his hands, placed it gaily back again on to the stall, and said, in tones sufficiently loud to be heard by Marianne—
“This is the third time, Uncle Graff, that we have sold it, and it has been left behind. People don’t object to paying for it, but it is so frightful that no one will decide to carry it off.”
The old man put back his purse into his pocket and said—
“Now, where is the stall of Mademoiselle de Trémont?”
“We will go there together. The very thing you want, uncle. Trousseau and baby linen. Indispensable for bachelors!”
“You rogue!”