"Your father lost, as you know, about four millions when he went away, and he has doubtless recovered them.

He would of course give Dumay ten per cent of his profits; the worthy man admitted the other day how much it was, and my master and I think that in that case the colonel's fortune must amount to six or seven millions--" "Oh, papa!" cried Modeste, crossing her hands on her breast and looking up to heaven, "twice you have given me life!" "Ah, mademoiselle!" said Butscha, "you love a poet.

That kind of man is more or less of a Narcissus.

Will he know how to love you?
A phrase-maker, always busy in fitting words together, must be a bore.
Mademoiselle, a poet is no more poetry than a seed is a flower." "Butscha, I never saw so handsome a man." "Beauty is a veil which often serves to hide imperfections." "He has the most angelic heart of heaven--" "I pray God you may be right," said the dwarf, clasping his hands, "-- and happy! That man shall have, as you have, a servant in Jean Butscha.

I will not be notary; I shall give that up; I shall study the sciences." "Why ?" "Ah, mademoiselle, to train up your children, if you will deign to make me their tutor.