"Very good; there’ll be no harm in letting them know that their new master proposes to visit his château very soon; that will give them time to prepare a little complimentary greeting, eh, monsieur le notaire?"
"To be sure, if they wish to offer you one."
"A new lord! Why, I should say that that was the regular thing."
"At the Opéra-Comique, yes."
"And even more in Auvergne, for those people must still retain the patriarchal customs.—Well, I will leave you. Hasten my business, I beg you; remember that my life, my happiness, all my hopes are already centred on my château."
Robineau left the notary’s office, beside himself with joy; and inasmuch as joy, like grief, longs to find a vent, he returned to Alfred, who was no longer in bed, and to whom he shouted from the reception-room:
"It’s all settled! I am a landed proprietor, I own a château, the Château de la Roche-Noire, nothing less,—with towers, battlements, moats,—and cannon perhaps. Nothing is lacking! My dear De Marcey, I am the happiest of men!"
Alfred smiled at the intense excitement produced in the parvenu by the possession of a château; he bade him sit beside him, urged him to be calm, and asked him where his estate was situated.
"In Auvergne," replied Robineau; "a magnificent country! the land of mountains, of great men, of the most picturesque accidents—the bed of the gods according to Julius Cæsar; and that fellow should have known what he was talking about, for the Romans were great voluptuaries when they chose to take the trouble."
"In that case how does it happen that the natives of such a beautiful region come in crowds to Paris to mend kettles or carry water?"