“Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I would give eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and I should not make a bad bargain. The pictures alone would fetch more than that at a public sale.”
“Since you say so, I believe it,” returned she; “the things took up so much of your attention that it must be so.”
“On! mademoiselle!” protested Brunner. “For all answer to your reproach, I will ask your mother’s permission to call, so that I may have the pleasure of seeing you again.”
“How clever she is, that ‘little girl’ of mine!” thought the Presidente, following closely upon her daughter’s heels. Aloud she said, “With the greatest pleasure, monsieur. I hope that you will come at dinner-time with our Cousin Pons. The President will be delighted to make your acquaintance.—Thank you, cousin.”
The lady squeezed Pons’ arm with deep meaning; she could not have said more if she had used the consecrated formula, “Let us swear an eternal friendship.” The glance which accompanied that “Thank you, cousin,” was a caress.
When the young lady had been put into the carriage, and the jobbed brougham had disappeared down the Rue Charlot, Brunner talked bric-a-brac to Pons, and Pons talked marriage.
“Then you see no obstacle?” said Pons.
“Oh!” said Brunner, “she is an insignificant little thing, and the mother is a trifle prim.—We shall see.”
“A handsome fortune one of these days.... More than a million—”
“Good-bye till Monday!” interrupted the millionaire. “If you should care to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you five or six hundred thousand francs—”