“A fair youth, tall and good-looking?”
“Precisely.”
“I think I danced with him at the Marine, the other night,” said Berthe reflectively.
“Then you know him at his best; he dances divinely; but I believe that is the only thing he excels in,” observed Madame de Beaucœur.
“He is very stupid?” said Berthe interrogatively.
“Not very. Simply stupid. But he is, as you know, good-looking, and, what is more to the purpose, of good family and very well off. He is heir to his uncle, and so will one day have two of the finest châteaux in France, each representing two millions of money. The paternal millions have grown thin since the old gentleman’s death, but the uncle’s will replenish them soon; he cannot last long, he is in bad health and seventy-six years of age. So the marquis is safe to be at the head of a very handsome fortune by the time he has settled down.”
“Meanwhile?” said Berthe, pretending not to see the drift of these preliminaries.
“Meanwhile, his mother is very anxious to marry him. She spoke confidentially to me about it, and begged me to look out for a wife for her. I promised I would do my best. Like all mothers-in-law, she wants perfection. Sixteen quarterings en règle, that is understood; equal fortune of course; but, although Edgar’s present and future fortune is nominally four millions, as he has compromised one million, she would count it as not existing, and only exact three millions with his wife. This is carrying on matters on a grand scale?” And Madame de Beaucœur waited for Berthe’s approval.
“How did he compromise the odd million?” inquired Berthe evasively.
“Mais, mon Dieu! One must not examine too closely!” replied Madame de Beaucœur, smiling at the naïveté of the question.