“Oh, these girls!” murmured Struve.
“I know they are frightful, but, still, I must do something for this girl.”
“Pah! Give her five hundred francs—I know what girls are—and forget her.”
“Oh, for the matter of that, she is not—she loves me, I think, in her way—of course she does not know all the mischief she has done: how could she? No matter. I want you to call this afternoon and explain that I am gone away for a while.”
“I say, you know,” said Struve, who did not relish the idea of acting as ambassador between Toto and some hussy, who would probably pull his hair for his pains, “would it not be better for you to write? There is something much more final about a letter left in by a postman than a message taken by a friend.”
“I could not write to her, and I want you to give her some money. Gaillard is bringing ten thousand francs back; I will give her three. Of course I will provide for her afterwards. Do, my dear fellow, help me in this, and I will be forever grateful; besides, you will never see me again.”
“All right,” said Struve; “I will do as you ask.”
The three thousand francs decided him. There were few women of this kind who would pull the hair of a messenger armed with the consolation of a three-thousand-franc note; besides, he felt a sympathy for the unfortunate Toto, this sparrow who had built too high. They sat for half an hour smoking.
“Of course,” said Toto, “the affair does not end here between De Nani and me. When I have time to breathe I will find him out.”
“What for?”