“Madame Schontz!”
Lousteau rose, leaving Dinah on the sofa, and went out.
“It is all over with you, my dear,” said the woman. “Cardot does not mean to quarrel with his wife for the sake of a son-in-law. The lady made a scene—something like a scene, I can tell you! So, to conclude, the head-clerk, who was the late head-clerk’s deputy for two years, agrees to take the girl with the business.”
“Mean wretch!” exclaimed Lousteau. “What! in two hours he has made up his mind?”
“Bless me, that is simple enough. The rascal, who knew all the dead man’s little secrets, guessed what a fix his master was in from overhearing a few words of the squabble with Madame Cardot. The notary relies on your honor and good feeling, for the affair is settled. The clerk, whose conduct has been admirable, went so far as to attend mass! A finished hypocrite, I say—just suits the mamma. You and Cardot will still be friends. He is to be a director in an immense financial concern, and he may be of use to you.—So you have been waked from a sweet dream.”
“I have lost a fortune, a wife, and—”
“And a mistress,” said Madame Schontz, smiling. “Here you are, more than married; you will be insufferable, you will be always wanting to get home, there will be nothing loose about you, neither your clothes nor your habits. And, after all, my Arthur does things in style. I will be faithful to him and cut Malaga’s acquaintance.
“Let me peep at her through the door—your Sancerre Muse,” she went on. “Is there no finer bird than that to be found in the desert?” she exclaimed. “You are cheated! She is dignified, lean, lachrymose; she only needs Lady Dudley’s turban!”
“What is it now?” asked Madame de la Baudraye, who had heard the rustle of a silk dress and the murmur of a woman’s voice.
“It is, my darling, that we are now indissolubly united.—I have just had an answer to the letter you saw me write, which was to break off my marriage——”