“Bah! a matter perhaps of three hundred francs. The count has given me twenty-five for the first disbursements. What a stingy fellow!”
And, stung to the heart by the contempt shown towards his scarf, Foureau quickened his pace in silence.
Bouvard murmured: “They make me feel sad. I will take the charge of them.”
“And so will I,” said Pécuchet, the same idea having occurred to both of them.
No doubt there were impediments?
“None,” returned Foureau. Besides, he had the right as mayor to entrust deserted children to whomsoever he thought fit. And, after a prolonged hesitation:
“Well, yes; take them! That will annoy him.”
Bouvard and Pécuchet carried them off.
When they returned to their abode they found at the end of the staircase, under the Madonna, Marcel upon his knees praying with fervour. With his head thrown back, his eyes half closed, and his hare-lip gaping, he had the appearance of a fakir in ecstasy.
“What a brute!” said Bouvard.