This answer struck the sensitive chord of true delicacy in the minds of all present.

“We love you, Monsieur Butscha,” said Madame Mignon, with much feeling in her voice.

“I’ve six hundred thousand francs of my own, this day,” cried Dumay, “and you shall be a notary and the successor of Latournelle.”

The American wife took the hand of the poor hunchback and pressed it.

“What! you have six hundred thousand francs!” exclaimed Latournelle, pricking up his ears as Dumay let fall the words; “and you allow these ladies to live as they do!  Modeste ought to have a fine horse; and why doesn’t she continue to take lessons in music, and painting, and—­”

“Why, he has only had the money a few hours!” cried the little wife.

“Hush!” murmured Madame Mignon.

While these words were exchanged, Butscha’s august mistress turned towards him, preparing to make a speech:—­

“My son,” she said, “you are so surrounded by true affection that I never thought how my thoughtless use of that familiar phrase might be construed; but you must thank me for my little blunder, because it has served to show you what friends your noble qualities have won.”

“Then you must have news from Monsieur Mignon,” resumed the notary.

“He is on his way home,” said Madame Mignon; “but let us keep the secret to ourselves.  When my husband learns how faithful Butscha has been to us, how he has shown us the warmest and the most disinterested friendship when others have given us the cold shoulder, he will not let you alone provide for him, Dumay.  And so, my friend,” she added, turning her blind face toward Butscha; “you can begin at once to negotiate with Latournelle.”

“He’s of legal age, twenty-five and a half years.  As for me, it will be paying a debt, my boy, to make the purchase easy for you,” said the notary.

Butscha was kissing Madame Mignon’s hand, and his face was wet with tears as Modeste opened the door of the salon.

“What are you doing to my Black Dwarf?” she demanded.  “Who is making him unhappy?”

“Ah!  Mademoiselle Mignon, do we luckless fellows, cradled in misfortune, ever weep for grief?  They have just shown me as much affection as I could feel for them if they were indeed my own relations.  I’m to be a notary; I shall be rich.  Ha! ha! the poor Butscha may become the rich Butscha.  You don’t know what audacity there is in this abortion,” he cried.

With that he gave himself a resounding blow on the cavity of his chest and took up a position before the fireplace, after casting a glance at Modeste, which slipped like a ray of light between his heavy half-closed eyelids.  He perceived, in this unexpected incident, a chance of interrogating the heart of his sovereign.  Dumay thought for a moment that the clerk dared to aspire to Modeste, and he exchanged a rapid glance with the others, who understood him, and began to eye the little man with a species of terror mingled with curiosity.