“How good monsieur is!” said the pious woman, clasping her hands; “and if he would also let me tell him of a little difficulty—”
“What is it?”
“They tell me, monsieur, that to get this prize persons must be really very poor.”
“Not exactly; still, the Academy does endeavor to choose whose who are in straitened circumstances, and who have made sacrifices too heavy for their means.”
“Sacrifices! I think I may indeed say I have made sacrifices, for the little property I inherited from my parents has all been spent in keeping the old man, and for fifteen years I have had no wages, which, at three hundred francs a year and compound interest, amount now to a pretty little sum; as monsieur, I am sure, will agree.”
At the words “compound interest,” which evidenced a certain amount of financial culture, la Peyrade looked at this Antigone with increased attention.
“In short,” he said, “your difficulty is—”
“Monsieur will not think it strange,” replied the saintly person, “that a very rich uncle dying in England, who had never done anything for his family in his lifetime, should have left me twenty-five thousand francs.”
“Certainly,” said the barrister, “there’s nothing in that but what is perfectly natural and proper.”
“But, monsieur, I have been told that the possession of this money will prevent the judges from considering my claims to the prize.”