“Colonel or not, I shall give you your deserts. In the first place, you shall not be deputy—”
“Colonel!—”
“I control ten votes and the election depends on—”
“Colonel, listen to me. Is there no one to marry but that old Sylvie? I have just been defending you to her; you are accused and convicted of writing to Pierrette; she saw you leave your house at midnight and come to the girl’s window—”
“Stuff and nonsense!”
“She means to marry her brother to Bathilde and leave her fortune to their children.”
“Rogron won’t have any.”
“Yes he will,” replied Vinet. “But I promise to find you some young and agreeable woman with a hundred and fifty thousand francs? Don’t be a fool; how can you and I afford to quarrel? Things have gone against you in spite of all my care; but you don’t understand me.”
“Then we must understand each other,” said the colonel. “Get me a wife with a hundred and fifty thousand francs before the elections; if not—look out for yourself! I don’t like unpleasant bed-fellows, and you’ve pulled the blankets all over to your side. Good-evening.”
“You shall see,” said Vinet, grasping the colonel’s hand affectionately.