Ten minutes later Madame Nourrisson did in fact present herself at Bixiou’s lodgings, where by that time he had taken Leon and Gazonal. Madame Nourrisson found them all three as serious as authors whose collaboration does not meet with the success it deserves.
“Madame,” said the intrepid hoaxer, showing her a pair of women’s slippers, “these belonged formerly to the Empress Josephine.”
He felt it incumbent on him to return change for the Prince de Lamballe.
“Those!” she exclaimed; “they were made this year; look at the mark.”
“Don’t you perceive that the slippers are only by way of preface?” said Leon; “though, to be sure, they are usually the conclusion of a tale.”
“My friend here,” said Bixiou, motioning to Gazonal, “has an immense family interest in ascertaining whether a young lady of a good and wealthy house, whom he wishes to marry, has ever gone wrong.”
“How much will monsieur give for the information,” she asked, looking at Gazonal, who was no longer surprised by anything.
“One hundred francs,” he said.
“No, thank you!” she said with a grimace of refusal worthy of a macaw.
“Then say how much you want, my little Madame Nourrisson,” cried Bixiou catching her round the waist.