“We shall not be at the Chalet,” said the Comte de La Bastie. “Dumay will have sole possession of it. I return to the villa, having bought it back under a deed of redemption within six months, which I have to-day signed with Monsieur Vilquin.”
“I hope,” said Dumay, “that Vilquin will not be able to return to you the sum you have just lent him, and that the villa will remain yours.”
“It is an abode in keeping with your fortune,” said Canalis.
“You mean the fortune that I am supposed to have,” replied Charles Mignon, hastily.
“It would be too sad,” said Canalis, turning to Modeste with a charming little bow, “if this Madonna were not framed in a manner worthy of her divine perfections.”
That was the only thing Canalis said to Modeste. He affected not to look at her, and behaved like a man to whom all idea of marriage was interdicted.
“Ah! my dear Madame Mignon,” cried the notary’s wife, as soon as the gravel was heard to grit under the feet of the Parisians, “what an intellect!”
“Is he rich?—that is the question,” said Gobenheim.
Modeste was at the window, not losing a single movement of the great poet, and paying no attention to his companion. When Monsieur Mignon returned to the salon, and Modeste, having received a last bow from the two friends as the carriage turned, went back to her seat, a weighty discussion took place, such as provincials invariably hold over Parisians after a first interview. Gobenheim repeated his phrase, “Is he rich?” as a chorus to the songs of praise sung by Madame Latournelle, Modeste, and her mother.
“Rich!” exclaimed Modeste; “what can that signify! Do you not see that Monsieur de Canalis is one of those men who are destined for the highest places in the State. He has more than fortune; he possesses that which gives fortune.”