“Look at Cydalise.”
At a wink from Madame Nourrisson, Cydalise cast a tender look at the Baron.
“Will you be good to her? Will you make her a home?” asked Carabine. “A girl of such beauty is well worth a house and a carriage! It would be a monstrous shame to leave her to walk the streets. And besides—she is in debt.—How much do you owe?” asked Carabine, nipping Cydalise’s arm.
“She is worth all she can get,” said the old woman. “The point is that she can find a buyer.”
“Listen!” cried Montes, fully aware at last of this masterpiece of womankind “you will show me Valerie—”
“And Count Steinbock.—Certainly!” said Madame Nourrisson.
For the past ten minutes the old woman had been watching the Brazilian; she saw that he was an instrument tuned up to the murderous pitch she needed; and, above all, so effectually blinded, that he would never heed who had led him on to it, and she spoke:—
“Cydalise, my Brazilian jewel, is my niece, so her concerns are partly mine. All this catastrophe will be the work of a few minutes, for a friend of mine lets the furnished room to Count Steinbock where Valerie is at this moment taking coffee—a queer sort of coffee, but she calls it her coffee. So let us understand each other, Brazil!—I like Brazil, it is a hot country.—What is to become of my niece?”
“You old ostrich,” said Montes, the plumes in the woman’s bonnet catching his eye, “you interrupted me.—If you show me—if I see Valerie and that artist together—”
“As you would wish to be—” said Carabine; “that is understood.”