"What? It is the figure you named."
"Yes—for an exchange. But it is possible I might change with someone of my own years. Naturally I should prefer that."
"You do not suppose a young girl would pay a hundred thousand francs?" cried madame de Val Fleury, wincing. "If she has youth already, what for?"
"For beauty. There are many young girls who would be content to do so."
"There will not be many living in a little village."
"Ah, madame, people who know arrive from all parts. Besides, it might be better for me to take even fifty thousand francs with a young face than a hundred thousand with—with one more mature. Madame understands that I am human—I am not indifferent to the other sex. If I sacrifice all my prospects of admiration, sweethearts, husband, it is worth a great sum."
"I shall go and hear what they say," repeated madame de Val Fleury, deeply mortified. "What is your name?"
"Berthe Cheron, madame."
"Put it down for me, and your private address. If what I hear convinces me perhaps we may come to terms."
All night the old woman dreamt she was again of surpassing loveliness, the envy of all the women of her world.