Jacques Ferrand was silent; he leaned on his desk, and concealed his face
in his hands.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE BANK FOR THE POOR.
"Imagine then, M. l'Abbe," resumed Polidori, addressing the cure, but
emphasizing, as it were, each phrase by an ironical glance at Jacques
Ferrand--"imagine that my friend found in his new servant, who, as I have
already told you, was called Cecily, the best qualities, great modesty,
angelic sweetness, and above all, much piety. This is not all; Jacques, you
know, owes to his long practice in business affairs an extreme penetration;
he soon saw that this young woman, for she was young and very pretty, M.
l'Abbe--that this young and pretty woman was not made for a servant, and
that, to principles most virtuously austere, she added solid
accomplishments very diversified."
"Ah, indeed, this is strange," said the abbe, much interested. "I was
entirely ignorant of these circumstances; but what is the matter, my good
M. Ferrand? You seem to be suffering."
"In truth," said the notary, wiping the cold sweat from his brow, "I have a
slight headache, but it will soon pass away."
Polidori shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Observe, M. l'Abbe," he added,
"that Jacques is always thus when any one unveils his hidden charities; he
is so hypocritical on the subject of the good he does! Happily, I am here,
and justice shall be done him.
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