“Monsieur Cerizet,” continued Thuillier, still holding himself on the reserve, “as I have said more than once to la Peyrade, no man is indispensable; and if the editorship of my paper becomes vacant, I feel confident that I shall at once meet with persons very eager to offer me their services.”
“Is it for me you say that?” asked Cerizet. “Well, you haven’t hit the nail; if you did me the honor to want my services it would be impossible for me to grant them. I have long been disgusted with journalism. I let la Peyrade, I hardly know why, persuade me to make this campaign with you; it didn’t turn out happily, and I have vowed to myself to have no more to do with newspapers. It was about another matter altogether than I came to speak to you.”
“Ah!” said Thuillier.
“Yes,” continued Cerizet, “remembering the business-like manner in which you managed the affair of this house in which you do me the honor to receive me, I thought I could not do better than to call your attention to a matter of the same kind which I have just now in hand. But I shall not do as la Peyrade did,—make a bargain for the hand of your goddaughter, and profess great friendship and devotion to you personally. This is purely business, and I expect to make my profit out of it. Now, as I still desire to become the principal tenant of this house,—the letting of which must be a care and a disappointment to mademoiselle, for I saw as I came along that the shops were still unrented,—I think that this lease to me, if you will make it, might be reckoned in to my share of the profits. You see, monsieur, that the object of my visit has nothing to do with the newspaper.”
“What is this new affair?” said Brigitte; “that’s the first thing to know.”
“It relates to a farm in Beauce, which has just been sold for a song, and it is placed in my hands to resell, at an advance, but a small one; you could really buy it, as the saying is, for a bit of bread.”
And Cerizet went on to explain the whole mechanism of the affair, which we need not relate here, as no one but Brigitte would take any interest in it. The statement was clear and precise, and it took close hold on the old maid’s mind. Even Thuillier himself, in spite of his inward distrust, was obliged to own that the affair had all the appearance of a good speculation.
“Only,” said Brigitte, “we must first see the farm ourselves.”
This, the reader will remember, was her answer to la Peyrade when he first proposed the purchase of the house at the Madeleine.
“Nothing is easier than that,” said Cerizet. “I myself want to see it, and I have been intending to make a little excursion there. If you like, I’ll be at your door this afternoon with a post-chaise, and to-morrow morning, very early, we can examine the farm, breakfast at some inn near by, and be back in time for dinner.”