“I confess that, after all, I don’t care very much,” replies the person addressed, shrugging his shoulders. “This Southron is too dark-skinned, and has got a hasty temper too. For me, I only like the blondes.”
“That may be, but her millions will please you, I fancy. It is an open secret that mademoiselle is the favourite in the will, and she certainly is a most fascinating girl.”
“De Noirville hasn’t the least desire to have his will executed just yet. Besides, why should I waste time over her? The place is taken already.”
“At Paris, yes—by René Delbet; everybody knows that—but at Scheveningen—?”
“The same here, the same here, old fellow. The lady with the black eyes never pines alone—not even at seaside resorts. What is amusing, is that our excellent friend, De Noirville, does not notice how desperately his daughter flirts. Yet he’s seen a great deal of life, and if I had been married twice, I think I should know how to play the watch-dog.”
“Eh? Has she a cavalier here? Who—who?”
“A poor devil of a lieutenant in the Chasseurs d’Afrique. He adores her, and believes he has no rival. Nobody knows him; he is a mere chance-met gallant.”
“Infernal impertinence, to aspire to the hand of la belle Valerie!” remarks one.
“Is it a serious affair?” inquires another.
“Was Valerie ever serious?” asks the elder man, with a laugh. “No, my dear fellows, she’s only serious with René Delbet; but then, he’s one of the richest men on the Bourse.”