“Well,” said Mlle. Armande, “I have asked Chesnel to come to-night. Would you believe it, Chevalier, ever since the day when Chesnel proposed that I should marry that miserable du Croisier——”
“Ah! that was truly unworthy, mademoiselle!” cried the Chevalier.
“Unpardonable!” said the Marquis.
“Well, since then my brother has never brought himself to ask anything whatsoever of Chesnel,” continued Mlle. Armande.
“Of your old household servant? Why, Marquis, you would do Chesnel honor—an honor which he would gratefully remember till his latest breath.”
“No,” said the Marquis, “the thing is beneath one’s dignity, it seems to me.”
“There is not much question of dignity; it is a matter of necessity,” said the Chevalier, with the trace of a shrug.
“Never,” said the Marquis, riposting with a gesture which decided the Chevalier to risk a great stroke to open his old friend’s eyes.
“Very well,” he said, “since you do not know it, I will tell you myself that Chesnel has let your son have something already, something like——”
“My son is incapable of accepting anything whatever from Chesnel,” the Marquis broke in, drawing himself up as he spoke. “He might have come to you to ask you for twenty-five louis——”