"And, pray," said he, looking at Carabine, "what object have you in
torturing my heart, for you must have paid very dear for the privilege
of having the note in your possession long enough to get it
lithographed?"
"Foolish man!" said Carabine, at a nod from Madame Nourrisson, "don't
you see that poor child Cydalise--a girl of sixteen, who has been
pining for you these three months, till she has lost her appetite for
food or drink, and who is heart-broken because you have never even
glanced at her?"
Cydalise put her handkerchief to her eyes with an appearance of
emotion--"She is furious," Carabine went on, "though she looks as if
butter would not melt in her mouth, furious to see the man she adores
duped by a villainous hussy; she would kill Valerie--"
"Oh, as for that," said the Brazilian, "that is my business!"
"What, killing?" said old Nourrisson. "No, my son, we don't do that
here nowadays."
"Oh!" said Montes, "I am not a native of this country. I live in a
parish where I can laugh at your laws; and if you give me proof--"
"Well, that note. Is that nothing?"
"No," said the Brazilian. "I do not believe in the writing. I must see
for myself."
"See!" cried Carabine, taking the hint at once from a gesture of her
supposed aunt.
Pages:
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616