They found a draft on a Lyon banker for six thousand francs.
"Good! here's something to help us endure papa's reproaches," said Dubourg; "now let's read his letter."
Monsieur de Montreville wrote to Ménard these few words only:
"I place no sort of credence in your fable of robbers, but I am very glad to forgive my son's first escapade; I trust, however, that it will make him more prudent. I send you some money, but do not rely upon the like indulgence again."
"He didn't believe us," said Frédéric.
"I am very much afraid that he is angry," said Ménard.
"Oh! don't be alarmed; he'll cool down. Hereafter, we will travel like three little pasteboard Cupids; we will be virtuous, orderly; in short, true philosophers—which need not interfere with our living well, because that is necessary for our health; eh, Monsieur Ménard?"
"Credo equidem, monsieur le baron."
"But no more pomp and parade; I resume my incognito."
"What, monsieur le baron!"