second floor—a house with a balcony. The count will have his cushions of silver cloth brought there, and as he smokes his chibouque, see all Paris pass before him.”
“You have no idea, then, Morrel?” asked Château-Renaud; “you do not propose anything.”
“Oh, yes,” returned the young man, smiling; “on the contrary, I have one, but I expected the count would be tempted by one of the brilliant proposals made him, yet as he has not replied to any of them, I will venture to offer him a suite of apartments in a charming hotel, in the Pompadour style, that my sister has inhabited for a year, in the Rue Meslay.”
“You have a sister?” asked the count.
“Yes, monsieur, a most excellent sister.”
“Married?”
“Nearly nine years.”
“Happy?” asked the count again.