“Ha! guardian, indeed! a fine thing, guardian!” cried the Cardinal. “To talk of a woman of my age, just because I wanted to see if my uncle owned anything at all, to talk to me of the police! It’s hateful! it’s disgusting!”
“Come, come!” said Cerizet, “you needn’t complain; you got off cheaply.”
“Well, and you, who broke the locks and said you were going to take the diamonds, under color of marrying my daughter! Just as if she would have you,—a legitimate daughter like her! ‘Never, mother,’ said she; ‘never will I give my heart to a man with such a nose.’”
“So you’ve found her, have you?” said Cerizet.
“Not until last night. She has left her blackguard of a player, and she is now, I flatter myself, in a fine position, eating money; has her citadine by the month, and is much respected by a barrister who would marry her at once, but he has got to wait till his parents die, for the father happens to be mayor, and the government wouldn’t like it.”
“What mayor?”
“11th arrondissement,—Minard, powerfully rich, used to do a business in cocoa.”
“Ah! very good! very good! I know all about him. You say Olympe is living with his son?”
“Well, not to say living together, for that would make talk, though he only sees her with good motives. He lives at home with his father, but he has bought their furniture, and has put it, and my daughter, too, into a lodging in the Chausee d’Antin; stylish quarter, isn’t it?”
“It seems to me pretty well arranged,” said Cerizet; “and as Heaven, it appears, didn’t destine us for each other—”