“More, monsieur,” said the sculptor. “Her mother was a peasant’s daughter, and had not a farthing of her own.” “Only give me Mademoiselle Hortense just as she is, without a trousseau even----” “So I should think!” said the Baron, smiling. “Hortense is the daughter of the Baron Hulot d’Ervy, Councillor of State, high up in the War Office, Grand Commander of the Legion of Honor, and the brother to Count Hulot, whose glory is immortal, and who will ere long be Marshal of France! And--she has a marriage portion. “It is true,” said the impassioned artist. “I must seem very ambitious. But if my dear Hortense were a laborer’s daughter, I would marry her----” “That is just what I wanted to know,” replied the Baron. “Run away, Hortense, and leave me to talk business with Monsieur le Comte.--He really loves you, you see!” “Oh, papa, I was sure you were only in jest,” said the happy girl. “My dear Steinbock,” said the Baron, with elaborate grace of diction and the most perfect manners, as soon as he and the artist were alone, “I promised my son a fortune of two hundred thousand francs, of which the poor boy has never had a sou; and he never will get any of it. My daughter’s fortune will also be two hundred thousand francs, for which you will give a receipt----” “Yes, Monsieur le Baron.” “You go too fast,” said Hulot. “Have the goodness to hear me out. I cannot expect from a son-in-law such devotion as I look for from my son. My son knew exactly all I could and would do for his future promotion: he will be a Minister, and will easily make good his two hundred thousand francs. But with you, young man, matters are different. I shall give you a bond for sixty thousand francs in State funds at five per cent, in your wife’s name. This income will be diminished by a small charge in the form of an annuity to Lisbeth; but she will not live long; she is consumptive, I know. Tell no one; it is a secret; let the poor soul die in peace.--My daughter will have a trousseau worth twenty thousand francs; her mother will give her six thousand francs worth of diamonds. “Monsieur, you overpower me!” said Steinbock, quite bewildered. “As to the remaining hundred and twenty thousand francs----” “Say no more, monsieur,” said Wenceslas. “I ask only for my beloved Hortense----” “Will you listen to me, effervescent youth!--As to the remaining hundred and twenty thousand francs, I have not got them; but you will have them--” “Monsieur?”