“Hey! mother! give your son some money,” cried the furrier to his wife.
The mother returned, went to her chest, took out a purse of gold, and gave it to Christophe, who kissed her with emotion.
“The bill was all ready,” said his father; “here it is. I will write the letter at once.”
Christophe took the bill and put it in his pocket.
“But you will sup with us, at any rate,” said the old man. “In such a crisis you ought to exchange rings with Lallier’s daughter.”
“Very well, I will go and fetch her,” said Christophe.
The young man was distrustful of his father’s stability in the matter. The old man’s character was not yet fully known to him. He ran up to his room, dressed himself, took a valise, came downstairs softly and laid it on a counter in the shop, together with his rapier and cloak.
“What the devil are you doing?” asked his father, hearing him.
Christophe came up to the old man and kissed him on both cheeks.
“I don’t want any one to see my preparations for departure, and I have put them on a counter in the shop,” he whispered.