"
This coarse and candid statement, intermingled with a variety of
liqueurs, sobered Canalis as much as it appeared to befuddle Butscha.
To the latter, a young provincial, such a fortune must of course seem
colossal. He let his head fall into the palm of his right hand, and
putting his elbows majestically on the table, blinked his eyes and
continued talking to himself:--
"In twenty years, thanks to that Code, which pillages fortunes under
what they call 'Successions,' an heiress worth a million will be as
rare as generosity in a money-lender. Suppose Modeste does want to
spend all the interest of her own money,--well, she is so pretty, so
sweet and pretty; why she's--you poets are always after metaphors
--she's a weasel as tricky as a monkey."
"How came you to tell me she had six millions?" said Canalis to La
Briere, in a low voice.
"My friend," said Ernest, "I do assure you that I was bound to silence
by an oath; perhaps, even now, I ought not to say as much as that."
"Bound! to whom?"
"To Monsieur Mignon."
"Ernest! you who know how essential fortune is to me--"
Butscha snored.
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