forget all about such things. . . ."

Adopting the air of a business expert, he replied that he had brought
back less than he expected, for he had found the country in the throes
of one of its periodical panics; but still he had managed to get
together about four hundred thousand francs. In his purse he had a check
for that amount. Later on, they would send him further remittances.
A ranchman in Argentina, a sort of relative, was looking after his
affairs. Marguerite appeared satisfied, and in spite of her frivolity,
adopted the air of a serious woman.

"Money, money!" she exclaimed sententiously. "And yet there is no
happiness without it! With your four hundred thousand and what I have,
we shall be able to get along. . . . I told you that my husband wishes
to give me back my dowry. He has told my brother so. But the state of
his business, and the increased size of his factory do not permit him to
return it as quickly as he would like. I can't help but feel sorry for
the poor man . . . so honorable and so upright in every way. If he only
were not so commonplace! . . ."

Again Marguerite seemed to regret these tardy spontaneous eulogies which
were chilling their interview. So again she changed the trend of her
chatter.

"And your family? Have you seen them?" . . .

Desnoyers had been to his father's home before starting for the Chapelle
Expiatoire. A stealthy entrance into the great house on the avenue
Victor Hugo, and then up to the first floor like a tradesman. Then he
had slipt into the kitchen like a soldier sweetheart of the maids.