be but a whim,” rejoined Goupil with an earnestness that would have deceived even Bongrand, “I would go and crush that doll as Varney crushes Amy Robsart in Kenilworth! Your wife ought to be a D’Aiglemont, or a Mademoiselle du Rouvre, and help you to become a deputy. My future is mortgaged to yours and I shall not let you commit blunders.”
“I am rich enough to be content with happiness,” replied Désiré.
“Well, what are you plotting there?” said Zélie to Goupil, hailing the two friends who were standing in the middle of her enormous yard.
The doctor disappeared into the Rue des Bourgeois, and reached, as nimbly as any young man, the house where, during the week, the strange event had come to pass which was then disturbing the whole town of Nemours, and which needs some explanation to elucidate this story and the notary’s communication to the heirs.
