"Don't talk absurdly. I have no desire to be acquainted with the means by which you obtain it. I want a thousand pounds. And," she added coolly, "I tell you I must have it."
The two men were silent. They knew Valérie of old, and were fully convinced that argument was useless.
Leaning her elbows upon the table, she puffed at her rank cigarette with all the gusto of an inveterate smoker, and watched their puzzled, thoughtful faces.
"Would that sum suffice until—?" Bérard asked mysteriously, giving her a keen glance, and not completing the sentence.
Although her face was naturally pallid, it was easy to discern that the agitation of the last few moments had rendered it even more pale than usual, and her hand was twitching impatiently.
"Yes," she answered abruptly.
"Couldn't you make shift with five hundred?" he suggested hesitatingly.
"No," she said decisively;" it would be absolutely useless. I must have a thousand to settle my present debts; then I can go on for six, perhaps twelve months, longer."
"And after that?" inquired Pierre.
She arched her eyebrows, and, giving her shoulders a tiny shrug, replied—
"Well—I suppose I shall have the misfortune to marry some day or another."
All three smiled grimly.
"How are matters progressing in that direction?" Victor asked, with a curious expression.
"As favorably as can be expected," replied Valérie in an indifferent tone. "If a woman is chic and decorous at the same time, and manages to get in with a good set, she need not go far for suitors."
