“How much did the scoundrel rob you of?” queried the marquis.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand francs.”
“The deuce!” cried La Thomassinière; “but that’s quite a sum of money! Two hundred and fifty thousand francs! You must have stout loins to stand such a loss!”
“Oh well! I stand it as best I can. This is the time to be philosophical.”
“I understand; that means that you are still very rich.”
“Not at all; on the contrary, I have nothing left. Destival has carried off my capital, and in a few months I shall have to turn my attention to earning my living.”
Monsieur de la Thomassinière’s face grew long and the marquis’s anxious. Athalie alone seemed to take any interest in Auguste’s situation.
“What!” she exclaimed; “do you really mean, Monsieur Dalville, that that wretched man has ruined you?”
“Yes, madame, the fact is only too certain.”
“And you take it as calmly as this?”