"But I hope you have left the door half open, so that he can come
back; we agreed upon that, you know."
"Anger got the better of me," said Modeste. "Such meanness sent the
blood to my head and I told him what I thought of him."
"Well, so much the better. When you are both so angry that you can't
speak civilly to each other I engage to make him desperately in love
and so pressing that you will be deceived yourself."
"Come, come, Butscha; he is a great poet; he is a gentleman; he is a
man of intellect."
"Your father's eight millions are more to him than all that."
"Eight millions!" exclaimed Modeste.
"My master, who has sold his practice, is going to Provence to attend
to the purchase of lands which your father's agent has suggested to
him. The sum that is to be paid for the estate of La Bastie is four
millions; your father has agreed to it. You are to have a 'dot' of two
millions and another million for an establishment in Paris, a hotel
and furniture. Now, count up."
"Ah! then I can be Duchesse d'Herouville!" cried Modeste, glancing at
Butscha.
"If it hadn't been for that comedian of a Canalis you would have kept
HIS whip, thinking it came from me," said the dwarf, indirectly
pleading La Briere's cause.
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