What a fool
I am! I've got twelve thousand francs a year outside of my business,
without counting what I am to inherit from my uncle des Racquets,
which is likely to double my fortune (not that I wish him dead, he is
so economical), and I've had the madness to ask interest from
Mademoiselle Claes! I know those two are jeering at me now! I mustn't
think of Marguerite any more. No. After all, Felicie is a sweet,
gentle little creature, who will suit me much better. Marguerite's
character is iron; she would want to rule me--and--she would rule me.
Come, come, let's be generous; I wish I was not so much of a lawyer:
am I never to get that harness off my back? Bless my soul! I'll begin
to fall in love with Felicie, and I won't budge from that sentiment.
She will have a farm of four hundred and thirty acres, which, sooner
or later, will be worth twelve or fifteen thousand francs a year, for
the soil about Waignies is excellent. Just let my old uncle des
Racquets die, poor dear man, and I'll sell my practice and be a man of
leisure, with fifty--thou--sand--francs--a--year. My wife is a Claes,
I'm allied to the great families. The deuce! we'll see if those
Courtevilles and Magalhens and Savaron de Savarus will refuse to come
and dine with a Pierquin-Claes-Molina-Nourho. I shall be mayor of
Douai; I'll obtain the cross, and get to be deputy--in short,
everything. Ha, ha! Pierquin, my boy, now keep yourself in hand;
no more nonsense, because--yes, on my word of honor--Felicie
--Mademoiselle Felicie Van Claes--loves you!"
When the lovers were left alone Emmanuel held out his hand to
Marguerite, who did not refuse to put her right hand into it.
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