“I don’t know; we will talk about all those things later; go out and take a turn in the garden. I am going to find out if they have any idea of giving us some luncheon.”
Monin left the room; as Monsieur Destival turned to do likewise he confronted his wife, who exclaimed:
“What, monsieur! you have asked Monsieur Monin to call on us in Paris?”
“To be sure, madame.”
“It’s well enough in the country, because he’s a neighbor. But in town! A man who can’t say anything or do anything, and who knows no game but loo!”
“He is rich, madame.”
“What if he is? that doesn’t prevent his being as stupid as an owl.”
“He won’t be the first stupid person who has been to my house, madame. When one receives a great deal of company, it can’t be otherwise. And besides, with your men of intellect, your authors and your poets, there’s not a sou to be made.”
“If you’re so fond of money, monsieur, why do you invite so many people to your country house? It is ruinously extravagant, monsieur.”
“Never fear, madame; I invite none but those who may be useful to me. Oh! I am very shrewd, I look a long way ahead. La Thomassinière is a valuable acquaintance, and I am very desirous to become intimate with him. I know that he often makes himself very ridiculous, that he tries to play the great man, and that the rôle isn’t suited to him; that he occasionally makes blunders in speaking that smell horribly of his origin; that he is tiresome beyond words with his carriage, his estates, his property and his servants, whom he is forever throwing in one’s face; but for all that, he’s a man for whom I have a peculiar esteem and regard, because, as I told you just now, madame, I look a long way ahead.—But how about luncheon?”