The journalist laughed, but scenting danger he said,—
“When are you going again to Gondreville to see that Keller? If he doesn’t pay the money soon, I’ll hit him a blow in some article, in spite of all Maxime may say.”
“I don’t play dirty tricks myself,” replied Antonia, with dignity.
“Don’t you? Do you mean you are not going to present that note again?”
“Not now,” replied the admirer and probably the echo of Mother Marie-des-Anges, but using her own language; “I don’t blackmail a family in affliction. I should remember it on my death-bed, and doubt God’s mercy.”
“Why don’t you make yourself an Ursuline, now that we are here?”
“Ha, if I only had the courage! I might be happier if I did. But, in any case, I am not going to Gondreville; Mother Marie-des-Anges has undertaken to arrange that matter for me.”
“Foolish girl! Have you given her that note?”
“I wanted to tear it up, but she prevented me, and told me to give it to her and she would arrange it honestly for my interests.”
“Very fine! You were a creditor, and now you are a beggar.”