“Oho! that is Mademoiselle Eugénie Dumeillan.”
“Who is Mademoiselle Dumeillan?”
“She is the daughter of Madame Dumeillan, who is sitting beside her.”
“My dear Monsieur Giraud, I have no doubt that that young lady is the daughter of her father and her mother; but when I ask you who she is, I mean, what sort of people are they? What do they do? In short, I ask in order to learn something about them. How is it that you, who are a mine of information, do not understand that?”
“I do, I do. But, you see, she isn’t on my list of marriageable women. However, she is of marriageable age, but they haven’t begun to think about it yet; whereas that tall brunette yonder, in a turban—my dear fellow, she has a hundred thousand francs in cash. That’s not bad, is it? Ah! if I were not married!—Wife, look after your son Alexandre; he will upset the tea-things, and all the cups will meet the fate of the glasses!”
“My dear Monsieur Giraud, I care very little about the amount of that tall brunette’s dowry. Can you tell me anything more about the ladies opposite?”
“I beg your pardon. The mother is a widow; Monsieur Dumeillan was deputy chief in some department or other, I don’t know what one; however, he was a deputy chief and he left his widow four or five thousand francs a year, I believe. Mademoiselle Eugénie has had an excellent education; she is an accomplished musician and she will also have something that an aunt has left her; I don’t know just how much, but I can find out. She will not be a bad match; she’s an only daughter. Would you like me to speak in your name?”
“Don’t play any such trick as that on me! Who in the devil said that I proposed to marry? Can’t a man open his mouth about a woman without thinking of marrying her?”
“I don’t say no; but as one must come to that at last——”
“Papa, my brother Théodore is stuffing pieces of sugared orange into his pocket.”