"What an enchanting creature!" thought Corentin, as he left the house.
"Shall I ever get her as a means to fortune and a source of delight?
To fling herself at my feet! Oh, yes, the marquis shall die! If I
can't get that woman in any other way than by dragging her through the
mud, I'll sink her in it. At any rate," he thought, as he reached the
square unconscious of his steps, "she no longer distrusts me. Three
hundred thousand francs down! she thinks me grasping! Either the offer
was a trick or she is already married to him."
Corentin, buried in thought, was unable to come to a resolution. The
fog which the sun had dispersed at mid-day was now rolling thicker and
thicker, so that he could hardly see the trees at a little distance.
"That's another piece of ill-luck," he muttered, as he turned slowly
homeward. "It is impossible to see ten feet. The weather protects the
lovers. How is one to watch a house in such a fog? Who goes there?" he
cried, catching the arm of a boy who seemed to have clambered up the
dangerous rocks which made the terrace of the Promenade.
"It is I," said a childish voice.
"Ah! the boy with the bloody foot. Do you want to revenge your
father?" said Corentin.
"Yes," said the child.
"Very good. Do you know the Gars?"
"Yes."
"Good again. Now, don't leave me except to do what I bid you, and you
will obey your mother and earn some big sous--do you like sous?"
"Yes.
Pages:
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414