“I don’t know that—yet I believe you have. I make out things, I guess things quickly. That’s my nature at all times, and I do it much more now.”
“You do it indeed; it’s very wonderful,” Schinkel feebly conceded.
“Mr. Schinkel, will you do me the pleasure to go away—I don’t care where: out of this house?” Madame Poupin broke out in French.
“Yes, that will be the best thing, and I’ll go with you,” said Hyacinth.
“If you’d retire, my child, I think it would be a service that you’d render us,” Poupin returned, appealing to him as with indulgence for his temper. “Won’t you do us the justice to believe you may leave your interests in our hands?”
Hyacinth earnestly debated; it was now perfectly clear to him that Schinkel had some sort of message for him, and his curiosity as to what it might be had become nearly intolerable. “I’m surprised at your weakness,” he observed as sternly as he could manage it to Poupin.
The Frenchman stared at him and then fell on his neck. “You’re sublime, my young friend—you’re truly sublime!”
“Will you be so good as to tell me what you’re going to do with that young man?” demanded Madame Poupin with a glare at Schinkel.
“It’s none of your business, my poor lady,” Hyacinth replied, disengaging himself from her husband. “Schinkel, I wish you’d just walk away with me.”
“Calmons-nous, entendons-nous, expliquons-nous! The situation’s very simple,” Poupin went on.