Destival’s flight caused a sensation. When it was mentioned to La Thomassinière, he cried:
“I was certain that that man would turn out ill! He fancied that he was as well equipped as I; he had the assurance to dream of making a fortune like mine! As if my talents were given to everybody! He gave wretched dinners: poor food and poor wine! And he had an idea that he gave dinners like mine! I have said a hundred times: ‘That man will go under!’ and he hasn’t failed to do it.”
“His wife was too much of a flirt,” said Athalie; “she insisted on following all the fashions and wearing cashmere shawls; she had taken my dressmaker.”
“Taken your dressmaker, madame!” cried her husband; “you must agree that that was utterly absurd! Those people had lost their senses! The idea of taking your dressmaker! the wife of a miserable little business agent!”
“But she’s still in Paris,” said the Marquis de Cligneval, who was present at this conversation. “I saw her in a buggy a few days ago, more stylishly dressed than ever.”
“Really?” said the speculator; “you say that she was dressed in style? It’s a fact that she had much more wit than her husband! It seems that her skirts are entirely clear of his business; she must have taken measures beforehand, and she did well; certainly no one can blame her.”
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Dalville, who had not been at the Thomassinière’s since their return from England.
“Ah! Monsieur Dalville!” said the speculator, hurrying to meet the young man with an air of great cordiality, while the marquis seized Auguste’s hand and cried:
“How delighted I am to see you, my amiable friend! Gad! I intended to come to see you one of these days.—‘Nobody ever sees him now,’ I said to myself; ‘what in the deuce has become of him?’”
“It is a fact, monsieur,” said Athalie, with a gracious smile to Auguste, “you have been in no hurry, monsieur, to come to see us since we returned more than ten days ago; it’s very unkind, for you know how fond of you we are.”