“You will soon find out, lieutenant, that it was for your advantage that that villain carried off your money!”
“Faith! who knows? Tell me, am I wrong to look at the bright side?”
“No, indeed; there are lots of people who couldn’t find a bright side to such a thing; but still—excuse my fears, monsieur—what you have left won’t last forever, no matter how much we may economize; and what will you do then, lieutenant? for a man can’t live on his cheerfulness alone.”
“Why, then—we’ll see, my dear Bertrand; I have some talents—well, I’ll turn them to account, I’ll work.”
“You work, monsieur!” said Bertrand, turning his back, to wipe away a tear.
“Why not, my friend?”
“Because you’re not used to it—because it would be too hard for you—because I wouldn’t allow it, in fact,—and—But let’s not say any more about that. You’re right; it’s better to forget ourselves. Who knows? perhaps we shall find your thief!”
“That’s the talk, my dear Bertrand; we must always hope; it makes us none the poorer and it does us good.”
Auguste went out to seek distraction with a mercer’s apprentice, and Bertrand went downstairs to read the life of the great Turenne to Schtrack.