“Monsieur le Cure.”
“Then he was very wrong,” said Jean, with a certain sharpness.
“No, no, he was not wrong. If any one has been to blame it is I. I soon discovered that your godfather was never so happy as when he was speaking of you. So when I was alone with him during our walks, to please him I talked of you, and he related your history to me. You are well off; you are very well off; from Government you receive every month two hundred and thirteen francs and some centimes; am I correct?”
“Yes,” said Jean, deciding to bear with a good grace his share in the Cure’s indiscretions.
“You have eight thousand francs’ income?”
“Nearly, not quite.”
“Add to that your house, which is worth thirty thousand francs. You are in an excellent position, and people have asked your hand.”
“Asked my hand! No, no.”
“They have, they have, twice, and you have refused two very good marriages, two very good fortunes, if you prefer it—it is the same thing for so many people. Two hundred thousand francs in the one, three hundred thousand in the other case. It appears that these fortunes are enormous for the country! Yet you have refused! Tell me why.”
“Well, it concerned two charming young girls.”