“It was in this manner. You remember, Cartouche, the letter you wrote me three days ago, in which you advised me to give all my fortune to the fund for soldiers’ orphans?”
“No,” tartly answered Cartouche. “I never wrote you any such letter.”
“Listen,” said Fifi, sweetly, and taking from her pocket Cartouche’s letter, she read aloud:
“‘You might follow the Empress’ example, and going in your coach and six, with outriders, to the banking-house of Lafitte, make a little gift of a hundred thousand francs to the fund for the soldiers’ orphans.’
“I did not have a coach and six, with outriders, nor even a hundred thousand francs to give,” continued Fifi, putting the letter, for future reference, in her pocket, “as I had spent almost ten thousand on clothes and monkeys and beds. And I also saved enough to buy some gowns that will put Julie Campionet’s nose out of joint—but I had nearly ninety thousand francs to give—and I dressed myself up as an old woman—”
“It was all over Paris this morning,” cried Cartouche, striking his forehead, “I read it myself in the newspaper! Oh, Fifi, Fifi, what madness!” and Cartouche walked wildly about the room.
“Madness, do you call it?” replied Fifi, with spirit. “This comes of taking your advice. I had meant to spend the money on any foolish thing I could find to buy that was worth nothing, and never could be worth anything; and when your letter came, I thought, ‘here is a sensible way to spend it’—for I was obliged to get rid of it. I never had a happy moment since I had the money—and I must say, Cartouche, I think you behaved very badly to me, in never making me the slightest apology for giving me the ticket that drew the money, even after you saw it made me miserable.”
Here Fifi assumed an offended air, to which Cartouche, walking about distractedly, paid no attention whatever, only crying out at intervals:
“Oh, Fifi, what makes you behave so! What will you do now?”
Fifi drew off, now genuinely contemptuous and indignant.