“See, Cabirolle,” said Massin, “is it the little one that launches our uncle into these luxuries?”
“I don’t know,” replied Cabirolle, “but she is almost mistress at home. Master upon master now comes from Paris. They say she is going to study painting.”
“I shall seize this opportunity to have my portrait drawn,” said Madame Crémière.
In the provinces, in speaking of a portrait they still say drawn, instead of to have a portrait taken.
“And yet the old German is not dismissed,” said Madame Massin.
“He is there again to-day,” replied Cabirolle.
“You can’t have too much of a good thing,” said Madame Crémière, making everybody laugh.
“Now,” cried Goupil, “you need not reckon on the inheritance. Ursule will soon be seventeen, she is prettier than ever; travel improves youth, and the little humbug has got on the right side of your uncle. Every week the stage brings her five or six packages, and dressmakers and milliners come here to try on her dresses and things. And so my mistress is furious. Wait until Ursule comes out and then look at her little shoulder shawl, a real cashmere at six hundred francs.”
Had a thunderbolt fallen in the middle of the group of heirs it would not have produced more effect than these last words of Goupil, who rubbed his hands.
The doctor’s old green salon was renovated by an upholsterer from Paris. Judged by the luxury
