CHAPTER VII


FROM LEON VERDIER, IN PARIS, TO PROSPER GOBAIN, AT LILLE.

September 28th.

My Dear Prosper--It is a long time since I have given you of my news, and
I don't know what puts it into my head to-night to recall myself to your
affectionate memory. I suppose it is that when we are happy the mind
reverts instinctively to those with whom formerly we shared our
exaltations and depressions, and _je t'eu ai trop dit, dans le bon temps,
mon gros Prosper_, and you always listened to me too imperturbably, with
your pipe in your mouth, your waistcoat unbuttoned, for me not to feel
that I can count upon your sympathy to-day. _Nous en sommes nous
flanquees des confidences_--in those happy days when my first thought in
seeing an adventure _poindre a l'horizon_ was of the pleasure I should
have in relating it to the great Prosper. As I tell thee, I am happy;
decidedly, I am happy, and from this affirmation I fancy you can
construct the rest. Shall I help thee a little? Take three adorable
girls . . . three, my good Prosper--the mystic number--neither more nor
less. Take them and place thy insatiable little Leon in the midst of
them! Is the situation sufficiently indicated, and do you apprehend the
motives of my felicity?

You expected, perhaps, I was going to tell you that I had made my
fortune, or that the Uncle Blondeau had at last decided to return into