“Oh, no! I want to be my little pays’s wife! I’ve promised him.”
“Sacrebleu! this is only a joke; it’s part of the comedy we want you to play.”
“Oh, yes, yes! a joke! I’ll do it.”
“You are the Comtesse de Globeska, then, a Polish refugee; and your friend here—this gentleman who is so ugly—is horribly jealous; stuff all that in your head. We will give you a pretty costume; that can’t offend you; and you will live with monsieur for a few days, except at night; but with honorable intentions!”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“And when the young man is dead in love, you may love him too, if you please; in fact, he is well worth the trouble—he’s a charming fellow. You don’t dislike charming fellows, do you?”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“And for all this you shall have twenty-five napoleons; in other words, five hundred francs.”
“That’s too much! it’s too much!” whispered Poterne, nudging Daréna, “she would have helped us for two or three louis.”
“Yes, you shall have five hundred francs,” continued Daréna, “six hundred, in fact, if the affair goes off well. I will guarantee you that amount, and monsieur here will pay it.—Isn’t that rather pleasant, eh?”