“Grandpapa, am I rich?”

Never in her life had she thought of that, and she was to a certain extent utterly ignorant of the value of money.

“Yes, you are rich, my child,” replied the old gentleman.

“How much do I have?”

“You have in your own right, as coming to you from your poor father and from your mother, twenty-five thousand francs a year, or a capital of about five hundred and fifty thousand francs.”

“And is that a good deal?”

“It is so much, that you are one of the richest heiresses of the district; but you have, besides, considerable expectations.”

Dionysia was so preoccupied, that she did not even protest.  She went on asking,—­

“What do they call here to be well off?”

“That depends, my child.  If you will tell me”—­

She interrupted him, putting down her foot impatiently, saying,—­

“Nothing.  Please answer me!”

“Well, in our little town, an income of eight hundred or a thousand francs makes anybody very well off.”

“Let us say a thousand.”

“Well, a thousand would make a man very comfortable.”

“And what capital would produce such an income?”

“At five per cent, it would take twenty thousand francs.”

“That is to say, about the income of a year.”

“Exactly.”

“Never mind.  I presume that is quite a large sum, and it would be rather difficult for you, grandpapa, to get it together by to-morrow morning?”

“Not at all.  I have that much in railway coupon-bonds; and they are just as good as current money.”

“Ah!  Do you mean to say, that, if I gave anybody twenty thousand francs in such bonds, it would be just the same to him as if I gave him twenty thousand francs in bank-notes?”

“Just so.”

Dionysia smiled.  She thought she saw light.  Then she went on,—­

“If that is so, I must beg you, grandpapa, to give me twenty thousand francs in coupon-bonds.”

The old gentleman started.

“You are joking,” he said.  “What do you want with so much money?  You are surely joking.”

“Not at all.  I have never in my life been more serious,” replied the young girl in a tone of voice which could not be mistaken.  “I beseech you, grandpapa, if you love me, give me these twenty thousand francs this evening, right now.  You hesitate?  O God!  You may kill me if you refuse.”

No, M. de Chandore was hesitating no longer.

“Since you will have it so,” he said, “I am going up stairs to get it.”

She clapped her hands with joy.

“That’s it,” she said.  “Make haste and dress; for I have to go out, and you must go with me.”

Then going up to her aunts and the marchioness, she said to them,—­

“I hope you will excuse me, if I leave you; but I must go out.”

“At this hour?” cried Aunt Elizabeth.  “Where are you going?”