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"Well, what's the matter with you, Butscha?" cried Madame Latournelle; "one would really think you hadn't a friend in the world." Tears shone in the eyes of the poor fellow, who was the son of a Swedish sailor, and whose mother was dead.
He talked finances with Gobenheim, and war with the colonel, Germany with Madame Mignon, and housekeeping with Madame Latournelle, endeavoring to bias them all in favor of La Briere. The Duc d'Herouville left the field to his rivals, for he was obliged to go to Rosembray to consult with the Duc de Verneuil, and see that the orders of the Royal Huntsman, the Prince de Cadignan, were carried out.
The delay in the arrival of the pair which had troubled Charles Mignon was caused by the painting of the Canalis arms on the panels of the carriage, and by certain orders given to a tailor; for the poet neglected none of the innumerable details which might, even the smallest of them, influence a young girl. "It is all right," said Latournelle to Mignon on the sixth day.
He dared not wander about Ingouville; moreover, he made it a point of honor to obey orders, and he therefore went back to Paris, previously writing a letter which Francoise Cochet duly delivered on the morrow with the Havre postmark. It was the custom of Monsieur and Madame Latournelle to dine at the Chalet every Sunday when they brought back Modeste after vespers.
Latournelle owed his prosperity to the kindness of Monsieur Mignon, who lent him one hundred thousand francs in 1817 to buy the finest law practice in Havre. The poor man, who had no pecuniary means, was nearly forty years of age and saw no prospect of being other than head-clerk for the rest of his days. He was the only man in Havre whose devotion could be compared with Dumay's.
"Hush, Butscha," she replied, taking her husband's arm. Madame Latournelle, the daughter of a clerk of the supreme court, feels that her birth authorizes her to claim issue from a parliamentary family. This conviction explains why the lady, who is somewhat blotched as to complexion, endeavors to assume in her own person the majesty of a court whose decrees are recorded in her father's pothooks.
He is in despair at not being able to make his games of whist count for mute adoration of my charms." "Hush, my darling!" cried Madame Latournelle, "here he comes." "Old Althor is in despair," said Gobenheim to Monsieur Mignon as he entered. "Why?" asked the count. "Vilquin is going to fail; and the Bourse thinks you are worth several millions. What ill-luck for his son!"
To Mademoiselle O. d'Este M., My heart tells me that you were the woman so carefully veiled and disguised, and seated between Monsieur and Madame Latournelle, who have but one child, a son. Ah, my love, if you have only a modest station, without distinction, without importance, without money even, you do not know how happy that would make me.
While unanimous regrets for the disaster were expressed in counting-rooms, on the wharves, and in private houses, where praises of a man so irreproachable, honorable, and beneficent filled every mouth, Latournelle and Dumay, silent and active as ants, sold land, turned property into money, paid the debts, and settled up everything.
On Sunday morning Butscha arrived at the Chalet before Madame Latournelle, who always came to take Modeste to church, and he proceeded to blockade the house in expectation of the postman. "Have you a letter for Mademoiselle Mignon?" he said to that humble functionary when he appeared. "No, monsieur, none." "This house has been a good customer to the post of late," remarked the clerk.
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