“Improbable,” rejoined one. “Monsieur Gayarre is a man of steady habits—a moralist—a miser.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Le Ber; “it’s plain, Messieurs, you don’t understand the character of Monsieur Gayarre. Perhaps I know him better. Miser though he be, in a general sense, there’s one class with whom he’s generous enough. Il a une douzaine des maîtresses! Besides, you must remember that Monsieur Dominique is a bachelor. He wants a good housekeeper—a femme-de-chambre. Come, friends, I have heard something—un petit chose. I’ll lay a wager the miser outbids every one of you,—even rich generous Marigny here!”
Marigny stood biting his lips. His was but a feeling of annoyance or chagrin—mine was utter agony. I had no longer a doubt as to who was the subject of the conversation.
“It was at the suit of Gayarre the bankruptcy was declared, was it not?” asked one.
“’Tis so said.”
“Why, he was considered the great friend of the family—the associate of old Besançon?”
“Yes, the lawyer-friend of the family—Ha! ha!” significantly rejoined another.
“Poor Eugénie! she’ll be no longer the belle. She’ll now be less difficult to please in her choice of a husband.”
“That’s some consolation for you, Le Ber. Ha! ha!”
“Oh!” interposed another, “Le Ber had no chance lately. There’s a young Englishman the favourite now—the same who swam ashore with her at the blowing-up of the Belle steamer. So I have heard, at least. Is it so, Le Ber?”