"Bah! A Russian who has no fortune but his position. Beside, he is married. His wife lives in Paris, and has no wish to be free, and in Russia divorce can be obtained only by special influence. I do not think you would be willing to give Muse to the count."
"What nonsense you are talking."
"Who next?"
"Colonel Sofronof is madly in love."
"In the Russian fashion. Sofronof lives by his appointments and thefts. He possesses some land, mortgaged to its full value. Let him pass. Next?"
"The counsellor of state, Pikulinski."
"What! that old fool?"
"For a husband it does not matter."
"That is true. In marriage, foolishness is at times a good quality; but his little property is pledged to the Crédit Foncier. Your counsellor is a nobody. His emoluments are too slender. Another?"
Madame Wtorkowska sighed deeply. She was at the end of her list, for it was hardly worth while to mention, after the counsellor, two petty officials who possessed only their titles and their brilliant uniforms. Naturally she dared not suggest Henri Segel to his father-in-law.