“He will be minister or ambassador,” said Monsieur Mignon.
“That won’t hinder tax-payers from having to pay the costs of his funeral,” remarked the notary.
“How so?” asked Charles Mignon.
“He strikes me as a man who will waste all the fortunes with whose gifts Mademoiselle Modeste so liberally endows him,” answered Latournelle.
“Modeste can’t avoid being liberal to a poet who called her a Madonna,” said Dumay, sneering, and faithful to the repulsion with which Canalis had originally inspired him.
Gobenheim arranged the whist-table with all the more persistency because, since the return of Monsieur Mignon, Latournelle and Dumay had allowed themselves to play for ten sous points.
“Well, my little darling,” said the father to the daughter in the embrasure of a window. “Admit that papa thinks of everything. If you send your orders this evening to your former dressmaker in Paris, and all your other furnishing people, you shall show yourself eight days hence in all the splendor of an heiress. Meantime we will install ourselves in the villa. You already have a pretty horse, now order a habit; you owe that amount of civility to the grand equerry.”
“All the more because there will be a number of us to ride,” said Modeste, who was recovering the colors of health.
“The secretary did not say much,” remarked Madame Mignon.
“A little fool,” said Madame Latournelle; “the poet has an attentive word for everybody. He thanked Monsieur Latournelle for his help in choosing the house; and said he must have taken counsel with a woman of good taste. But the other looked as gloomy as a Spaniard, and kept his eyes fixed on Modeste as though he would like to swallow her whole. If he had even looked at me I should have been afraid of him.”