“And ears?” asked Crevel, keenly alive to this catalogue of charms.
“Ears for a model,” she replied.
“And small hands?”
“I tell you, in few words, a gem of a woman—and high-minded, and modest, and refined! A beautiful soul, an angel—and with every distinction, for her father was a Marshal of France——”
“A Marshal of France!” shrieked Crevel, positively bounding with excitement. “Good Heavens! by the Holy Piper! By all the joys in Paradise!—The rascal!—I beg your pardon, Cousin, I am going crazy!—I think I would give a hundred thousand francs——”
“I dare say you would, and, I tell you, she is a respectable woman—a woman of virtue. The Baron has forked out handsomely.”
“He has not a sou, I tell you.”
“There is a husband he has pushed——”
“Where did he push him?” asked Crevel, with a bitter laugh.
“He is promoted to be second in his office—this husband who will oblige, no doubt;—and his name is down for the Cross of the Legion of Honor.”