"A hundred thousand francs," said Cydalise.
"She says little—but to the purpose," said Carabine, in a low tone to Madame Nourrisson.
"I am going mad!" cried the Brazilian, in a husky voice, dropping on to a sofa. "I shall die of this! But I must see, for it is impossible! —A lithographed note! What is to assure me that it is not a forgery? —Baron Hulot was in love with Valerie?" said he, recalling Josepha's harangue. "Nay; the proof that he did not love is that she is still alive—I will not leave her living for anybody else, if she is not wholly mine."
Montes was terrible to behold. He bellowed, he stormed; he broke everything he touched; rosewood was as brittle as glass.
"How he destroys things!" said Carabine, looking at the old woman. "My good boy," said she, giving the Brazilian a little slap, "Roland the Furious is very fine in a poem; but in a drawing-room he is prosaic and expensive."
"My son," said old Nourrisson, rising to stand in front of the crestfallen Baron, "I am of your way of thinking. When you love in that way, and are joined 'till death does you part,' life must answer for love. The one who first goes, carries everything away; it is a general wreck. You command my esteem, my admiration, my consent, especially for your inoculation, which will make me a Friend of the Negro.—But you love her! You will hark back?"
"I?—If she is so infamous, I—"
"Well, come now, you are talking too much, it strikes me. A man who means to be avenged, and who says he has the ways and means of a savage, doesn't do that.—If you want to see your 'object' in her paradise, you must take Cydalise and walk straight in with her on your arm, as if the servant had made a mistake. But no scandal! If you mean to be revenged, you must eat the leek, seem to be in despair, and allow her to bully you.—Do you see?" said Madame Nourrisson, finding the Brazilian quite amazed by so subtle a scheme.
"All right, old ostrich," he replied. "Come along: I understand."
"Good-bye, little one!" said the old woman to Carabine.