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If I were your secretary, Monsieur le baron, you'd soon be prime-minister, because it would be my interest to have you so. Do you want a specimen of my talents in that line? Well then, listen; you love Mademoiselle Modeste distractedly, and you've good reason to do so. The girl has my fullest esteem; she is a true Parisian. Sometimes we get a few real Parisians born down here in the provinces.
But before I become another Gobenheim, I seek to know whether this dream could be really carried out. What do you say, mademoiselle, you?" Modeste was so astonished that she did not notice the question. The trap of the lover was much better baited than that of the soldier, for the poor girl was rendered speechless. "Poor Butscha!" whispered Madame Latournelle to her husband.
Instead of beginning on the accounts as he should have done, he remained at the mercy of his perplexities. "One thing is evident," he said to himself; "she hasn't six millions; but that's not the point " Six days later, Modeste received the following letter: Mademoiselle, You are not a D'Este. The name is a feigned one to conceal your own.
He looked at Modeste to see if there was anything real in the community of interests which she seemed to admit, and she, understanding perfectly what his look meant, added, "Come, go at once, your friend is waiting." La Briere colored excessively, and left the room in a state of doubt and anxiety less endurable than despair.
"Is what you said yesterday the truth, Jacqueline? Is Modeste really ill? Are you sure you have had no reason to complain of anybody in this place? of any one?" Then, after a pause, she added: "Oh, my darling, how hard it is to do good even to those whom we most dearly love." "I don't understand you," said Jacqueline, with an effort. "Everybody has been kind to me."
But you are not the man to marry your dear Modeste without a 'dot, and my situation does not allow me to make a marriage of what is called love unless with a woman who has a fortune at least equal to mine. I have, from my emoluments and sinecures, from the Academy and from my works, about thirty thousand francs a year, a large income for a bachelor.
The illness that Monsieur Mignon alleged to be the cause of her absence, and the doctor's order which sent her to Nice were now generally believed. Up to the last moment the mother hoped to save her daughter's life. Bettina was her darling and Modeste was the father's. There was something touching in the two preferences.
As they turned the corner, they saw Modeste hurrying toward them. "She is saved, she is saved!" said she, "for she has fallen into a tranquil sleep, and the doctor says that she will recover." Andre and De Breulh were transported by this news; but they did not know that they were watched by two men, Mascarin and Florestan, who did not let one of their movements escape them.
"Dear Modeste," he began, in a coaxing tone, "considering the terms on which we stand to each other, shall I displease you if I say that your replies to the Duc d'Herouville were very painful to a man in love, above all, to a poet whose soul is feminine, nervous, full of the jealousies of true passion.
This is indeed punishment too much punishment for me!" So saying, she ran down the many stairs that led up to Modeste's little lodging in the roof, her feet hardly touching them as she ran, while Modeste followed her more slowly, crying: "Wait for me! Wait for me, Mademoiselle!"
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