“Ah! as to Mademoiselle de Cernay, that is another affair,” cried Marechal.

And as if wishing to divert the conversation in an opposite direction to which Savinien had led it a moment before, he spoke readily of Madame Desvarennes’s adopted daughter.  She had made a lively impression on one of the intimate friends of the house—­the banker Cayrol, who had offered his name and his fortune to the fair Jeanne.

This was a cause of deep amazement to Savinien.  What!  Cayrol!  The shrewd close—­fisted Auvergnat!  A girl without a fortune!  Cayrol Silex as he was called in the commercial world on account of his hardness.  This living money-bag had a heart then!  It was necessary to believe it since both money-bag and heart had been placed at Mademoiselle de Cernay’s feet.  This strange girl was certainly destined to millions.  She had just missed being Madame Desvarennes’s heiress, and now Cayrol had taken it into his head to marry her.

But that was not all.  And when Marechal told Savinien that the fair Jeanne flatly refused to become the wife of Cayrol, there was an outburst of joyful exclamations.  She refused!  By Jove, she was mad!  An unlooked-for marriage—­for she had not a penny, and had most extravagant notions.  She had been brought up as if she were to live always in velvet and silks—­to loll in carriages and think only of her pleasure.  What reason did she give for refusing him!  None.  Haughtily and disdainfully she had declared that she did not love “that man,” and that she would not marry him.

When Savinien heard these details his rapture increased.  One thing especially charmed him:  Jeanne’s saying “that man,” when speaking of Cayrol.  A little girl who was called “De Cernay” just as he might call himself “Des Batignolles” if he pleased:  the natural and unacknowledged daughter of a Count and of a shady public singer!  And she refused Cayrol, calling him “that man.”  It was really funny.  And what did worthy Cayrol say about it?

When Marechal declared that the banker had not been damped by this discouraging reception, Savinien said it was human nature.  The fair Jeanne scorned Cayrol and Cayrol adored her.  He had often seen those things happen.  He knew the baggages so well!  Nobody knew more of women than he did.  He had known some more difficult to manage than proud Mademoiselle Jeanne.

An old leaven of hatred had festered in Savinien’s heart against Jeanne since the time when the younger branch of the Desvarennes had reason to fear that the superb heritage was going to the adopted daughter.  Savinien had lost the fear, but had kept up the animosity.  And everything that could happen to Jeanne of a vexing or painful nature would be witnessed by him with pleasure.