“When fathers do not know what ails their daughters, mothers can guess,” said the Baroness; “we must get her married.”
“I am quite willing,” said the Baron. “I shall give her les Rouxey now that the Court has settled our quarrel with the authorities of Riceys by fixing the boundary line at three hundred feet up the side of the Dent de Vilard. I am having a trench made to collect all the water and carry it into the lake. The village did not appeal, so the decision is final.”
“It has never occurred to you,” said Madame de Watteville, “that this decision cost me thirty thousand francs handed over to Chantonnit. That peasant would take nothing else; he sold us peace.—If you give away les Rouxey, you will have nothing left,” said the Baroness.
“I do not need much,” said the Baron; “I am breaking up.”
“You eat like an ogre!”
“Just so. But however much I may eat, I feel my legs get weaker and weaker—”
“It is from working the lathe,” said his wife.
“I do not know,” said he.
“We will marry Rosalie to Monsieur de Soulas; if you give her les Rouxey, keep the life interest. I will give them fifteen thousand francs a year in the funds. Our children can live here; I do not see that they are much to be pitied.”
“No. I shall give them les Rouxey out and out. Rosalie is fond of les Rouxey.”