Cecile’s petulant gesture replied, “So are you—who could help liking you?”
“It is all right, mamma,” she whispered to her parent, who came up at that moment with Pons.
The sight of a family party on these occasions is not to be described. Everybody was well satisfied to see a mother put her hand on an eligible son-in-law. Compliments, double-barreled and double-charged, were paid to Brunner (who pretended to understand nothing); to Cecile, on whom nothing was lost; and to the Presidente, who fished for them. Pons heard the blood singing in his ears, the light of all the blazing gas-jets of the theatre footlights seemed to be dazzling his eyes, when Cecile, in a low voice and with the most ingenious circumspection, spoke of her father’s plan of the annuity of twelve hundred francs. The old artist positively declined the offer, bringing forward the value of his fortune in furniture, only now made known to him by Brunner.
The Home Secretary, the First President, the attorney for the crown, the Popinots, and those who had other engagements, all went; and before long no one was left except M. Camusot senior, and Cardot the old notary, and his assistant and son-in-law Berthier. Pons, worthy soul, looking round and seeing no one but the family, blundered out a speech of thanks to the President and his wife for the proposal which Cecile had just made to him. So it is with those who are guided by their feelings; they act upon impulse. Brunner, hearing of an annuity offered in this way, thought that it had very much the look of a commission paid to Pons; he made an Israelite’s return upon himself, his attitude told of more than cool calculation.
Meanwhile Pons was saying to his astonished relations, “My collection or its value will, in any case, go to your family, whether I come to terms with our friend Brunner or keep it.” The Camusots were amazed to hear that Pons was so rich.
Brunner, watching, saw how all these ignorant people looked favorably upon a man once believed to be poor so soon as they knew that he had great possessions. He had seen, too, already that Cecile was spoiled by her father and mother; he amused himself, therefore, by astonishing the good bourgeois.
“I was telling mademoiselle,” said he, “that M. Pons’ pictures were worth that sum to me; but the prices of works of art have risen so much of late, that no one can tell how much the collection might sell for at public auction. The sixty pictures might fetch a million francs; several that I saw the other day were worth fifty thousand apiece.”
“It is a fine thing to be your heir!” remarked old Cardot, looking at Pons.
“My heir is my Cousin Cecile here,” answered Pons, insisting on the relationship. There was a flutter of admiration at this.
“She will be a very rich heiress,” laughed old Cardot, as he took his departure.