She shrugged her shoulders.
"It will cost no more!"
Married! Duchess! and Duchesse de Rosas! At first she laughed. Duchess! I am asking a little from you! The mistress of Pierre Méran, the artist's drudge, the wretch who abducted her and debauched her, adding his depravity to hers, and who died of consumption while quite young, after having plunged this girl into vice, this Marianne Kayser, born and moulded for vice: she a duchess!
"It would be too funny, my dear!" she thought.
Never had Vaudrey, whom she saw that evening at Rue Prony, seemed so provincial, or, as she said, so Sulpice. Besides, he was gloomy and unable to express himself clearly at first, but finally he brought himself to acknowledge that he was embarrassed about providing for the bill of exchange—she understood—
"No, I do not know!"
"The bill of exchange in favor of Monsieur Gochard!"
"Ah! that is so. Well! if you cannot pay it, my dear, I will advise—I will seek—"
There was nothing to seek. Vaudrey would evidently get himself out of the affair—but the document matured at an unfortunate time. He did not dare to mortgage La Saulière, his farm at Saint-Laurent-du-Pont. He had reflected that Adrienne might learn all about it. And then—
Marianne broke in upon his confidences.