"Certainly, madam, you may expect it," rejoined Varbarriere, oracularly.
"And pray, Monsieur Varbarriere, are you married?" inquired the old lady, with the air of a person who had a right to be informed.
"Alas, madam, may I say Latin?—Infandum, regina, jubes renovare dolorem; you stir up my deepest grief. I am, indeed, what you call an old bachelor."
"Well, so I should suppose; I don't see what business you would have had to marry."
"Nor I either," he replied.
"And you are very rich, I suppose."
"The rich man never says he is rich, and the poor man never says he is poor. What shall I say? Pretty well! Will that do?"
"H'm, yes; you ought to make a settlement, Monsieur Varbarriere."
"On your grandson, madam?"
"Yes, my grandson, he's nothing the worse of that, sir—and your nephew."