“So much the better,” said Clementine; “what did he play for, when he knew that he could not pay his debts if he incurred any? It will be a lesson to him.”
This outburst was balm to my heart. Such is man—a mere selfish egotist, when passion moves him.
The count made no reply, but left us alone.
“My dear Clementine, tell me frankly whether the rather uncivil way in which I have treated the abbé has pained you. I am going to give you twenty sequins, do you send them to him, and to-night he can pay me honourably, and make a good figure. I promise you no one shall know about it.”
“Thank you, but the honour of the abbé is not dear enough to me for me to accept your offer. The lesson will do him good. A little shame will teach him that he must mend his ways.”
“You will see he won’t come this evening.”
“That may be, but do you think I shall care?”
“Well—yes, I did think so.”
“Because we joked together, I suppose. He is a hare-brained fellow, to whom I do not give two thoughts in the year.”
“I pity him, as heartily as I congratulate anyone of whom you do think.”