You are very young, sir, to
be a horticulturist."
"Dear M. Blondet, never mind your flowers," said Mme. Camusot. "/You/
are concerned, you and your hopes, and your son's marriage with Mlle.
Blandureau. You are duped by the President."
"Bah!" said old Blondet, with an incredulous air.
"Yes," retorted she. "If you cultivated people a little more and your
flowers a little less, you would know that the dowry and the hopes you
have sown, and watered, and tilled, and weeded are on the point of
being gathered now by cunning hands."
"Madame!----"
"Oh, nobody in the town will have the courage to fly in the
President's face and warn you. I, however, do not belong to the town,
and, thanks to this obliging young man, I shall soon be going back to
Paris; so I can inform you that Chesnel's successor has made formal
proposals for Mlle. Claire Blandureau's hand on behalf of young du
Ronceret, who is to have fifty thousand crowns from his parents. As
for Fabien, he has made up his mind to receive a call to the bar, so
as to gain an appointment as judge."
Old Blondet dropped the flower-pot which he had brought out for the
Duchess to see.
"Oh, my cactus! Oh, my son! and Mlle. Blandureau! . . . Look here! the
cactus flower is broken to pieces.
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