“But,” rejoined Brigitte, “you have already proved to us your affection.”

“Your brother has told you—?”

“No, he merely told me that you had something to tell me.”

“Yes, mademoiselle, I have; for you are the man of the family.  In reflecting on this matter, I find many dangers for myself, such as a man only risks for his nearest and dearest.  It involves a fortune; thirty to forty thousand francs a year, and not the slightest speculation—­a piece of landed property.  The hope of helping Thuillier to win such a fortune enticed me from the first.  ‘It fascinates me,’ I said to him—­for, unless a man is an absolute fool, he can’t help asking himself:  ‘Why should he care to do us all this good?’ So I told him frankly that in working for his interests, I flattered myself I was working for my own, as I’ll explain to you later.  If he wishes to be deputy, two things are absolutely necessary:  to comply with the law as to property, and to win for his name some sort of public celebrity.  If I myself push my devotion to the point of helping him to write a book on public financiering—­or anything else, no matter what—­which would give him that celebrity, I ought also to think of the other matter, his property—­it would be absurd to expect you to give him this house—­”

“For my brother?  Why, I’d put it in his name to-morrow,” cried Brigitte.  “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t know you thoroughly,” said la Peyrade, “but I do know things about you which now make me regret that I did not tell you the whole affair from its origin; I mean from the moment when I conceived the plan to which Thuillier will owe his nomination.  He will be hunted down by envy and jealousy, and the task of upholding him will be a hard one; we must, however, get the better of his rivals and take the wind out of their sails.”

“But this affair,” said Brigitte, “what are the difficulties?”

“Mademoiselle, the difficulties lie within my own conscience.  Assuredly, I could not serve you in this matter without first consulting my confessor.  From a worldly point of view—­oh! the affair is perfectly legal, and I am—­you’ll understand me?—­a barrister inscribed on the panel, that is, member of a bar controlled by the strictest rules.  I am therefore incapable of proposing an enterprise which might give occasion for blame.  In the first place, I myself don’t make a penny by it.”

Brigitte was on thorns; her face was flaming; she broke her wool, mended it, broke it again, and did not know which way to look.

“One can’t get,” she said, “in these days, forty thousand francs a year from landed property unless it is worth one million eight hundred thousand.”

“Well, I will undertake that you shall see a piece of property and estimate yourself its probable revenue, which I can make Thuillier the owner of for fifty thousand francs down.”

“Oh! if you can make us obtain that!” cried Brigitte, worked up to the highest excitement by the spur of her natural cupidity.  “Go on, my dear Monsieur Theodose, and—­”