“I did, your Excellency; but that bunch of grapes was too high for me. They are very sour now.”
“Sly fox that you were! Well, do not call them sour yet, De Pean. Another jump at the vine and you may reach that bunch of perfection!” said Bigot, looking hard at him.
“Your Excellency overrates my ability in that quarter, and if I were permitted to choose—”
“Another and a fairer maid would be your choice. I see, De Pean, you are a connoisseur in women. Be it as you wish! Manage this business of Philibert discreetly, and I will coin the Golden Dog into doubloons for a marriage portion for Angélique des Meloises. You understand me now?”
De Pean started. He hardly guessed yet what was required of him, but he cared not in the dazzling prospect of such a wife and fortune as were thus held out to him.
“Your Excellency will really support my suit with Angélique?” De Pean seemed to mistrust the possibility of such a piece of disinterestedness on the part of the Intendant.
“I will not only commend your suit, but I will give away the bride, and Madame de Pean shall not miss any favor from me which she has deserved as Angélique des Meloises,” was Bigot's reply, without changing a muscle of his face.
“And your Excellency will give her to me?” De Pean could hardly believe his ears.
“Assuredly you shall have her if you like,” cried Bigot, “and with a dowry such as has not been seen in New France!”
“But who would like to have her at any price?” muttered Cadet to himself, with a quiet smile of contempt,—Cadet thought De Pean a fool for jumping at a hook baited with a woman; but he knew what the Intendant was driving at, and admired the skill with which he angled for De Pean.