“Oh, yes; then it’s so that I will be sure to take care of her? I understand.”
“Then it’s agreed?” exclaimed Madame Dupont, with relief.
“Yes ma’am,” said the nurse.
“And you won’t come later on to make reproaches to us? We understand one another clearly? We have warned you that the child is sick and that you could catch the disease. Because of that, because of the special need of care which she has, we promise you five hundred francs at the end of the nursing. That’s all right, is it?
“But, my lady,” cried the nurse, all her cupidity awakened, “you spoke just now of a thousand francs.”
“Very well, then, a thousand francs.”
George passed behind the nurse and got his mother by the arm, drawing her to one side. “It would be a mistake,” he whispered, “if we did not make her sign an agreement to all that.”
His mother turned to the nurse. “In order that there may be no misunderstanding about the sum—you see how it is, I had forgotten already that I had spoken of a thousand francs—we will draw up a little paper, and you, on your part, will write one for us.”
“Very good, ma’am,” said the nurse, delighted with the idea of so important a transaction. “Why, it’s just as you do when you rent a house!”
“Here comes the doctor,” said the other. “Come, nurse, it is agreed?”