us," he replied.
Then, as she continued to importune him with her questions, Pierre
frowned, thinking that she wanted to wrest his secret from him. "We've
talked enough," he said, abruptly. "It's late, let us go to sleep. It
will bring us bad luck to count our chickens beforehand. I haven't got
the place yet. Above all things, be prudent."
When the lamp was extinguished, Felicite could not sleep. With her eyes
closed she built the most marvellous castles in the air. Those twenty
thousand francs a year danced a diabolical dance before her in the
darkness. She occupied splendid apartments in the new town, enjoyed the
same luxuries as Monsieur Peirotte, gave parties, and bespattered the
whole place with her wealth. That, however, which tickled her vanity
most was the high position that her husband would then occupy. He would
pay their state dividends to Granoux, Roudier, and all those people who
now came to her house as they might come to a cafe, to swagger and learn
the latest news. She had noticed the free-and-easy manner in which these
people entered her drawing-room, and it had made her take a dislike to
them. Even the marquis, with his ironical politeness, was beginning
to displease her. To triumph alone, therefore, to keep the cake
for themselves, as she expressed it, was a revenge which she fondly
cherished. Later on, when all those ill-bred persons presented
themselves, hats off, before Monsieur Rougon the receiver of taxes,
she would crush them in her turn. She was busy with these thoughts all
night; and on the morrow, as she opened the shutters, she instinctively
cast her first glance across the street towards Monsieur Peirotte's
house, and smiled as she contemplated the broad damask curtains hanging
in the windows.
Felicite's hopes, in becoming modified, had grown yet more intense. Like
all women, she did not object to a tinge of mystery. The secret object
that her husband was pursuing excited her far more than the Legitimist
intrigues of Monsieur de Carnavant had ever done. She abandoned, without
much regret, the calculations she had based on the marquis's success
now that her husband declared he would be able to make large profits
by other means. She displayed, moreover, remarkable prudence and
discretion.
In reality, she was still tortured by anxious curiosity; she studied
Pierre's slightest actions, endeavouring to discover their meaning.
What if by chance he were following the wrong track? What if E
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