“I can still say it is a dream; a retired baker, my poor Benedetto, is rich—he has an annuity.”
“Well, you have an annuity.”
“I have?”
“Yes, since I bring you your two hundred francs.”
Caderousse shrugged his shoulders.
“It is humiliating,” said he, “thus to receive money given grudgingly—an uncertain supply which may soon fail. You see I am obliged to economize, in case your prosperity should cease. Well, my friend, fortune is inconstant, as the chaplain of the regiment said. I know your prosperity is great, you rascal; you are to marry the daughter of Danglars.”
“What? of Danglars?”
“Yes, to be sure; must I say Baron Danglars? I might as well say Count Benedetto. He was an old friend of mine and if he had not so bad a memory he ought to invite me to your wedding, seeing he came to mine.