THE OFFICE.
The office of M. Ferrand resembled all other offices, and his clerks all
other clerks. It was approached through an antechamber, furnished with
four old chairs. In the office, properly so-called, surrounded by rows
of shelves, ornamented with pasteboard boxes, containing the papers of
the clients of M. Ferrand, five young men, stooping over black wooden
desks, were laughing, gossiping, or scribbling perpetually. A
waiting-room, also filled with pasteboard boxes, and in which the chief
clerk was constantly stationed, and another room, which, for greater
secrecy, was kept unoccupied, between the notary's private room and the
waiting-room, completed the total of this laboratory of deeds of every
description.
An old cuckoo-clock, placed between the two windows of the office, had
just struck two o'clock, and a certain bustle prevailed amongst the
clerks; a part of their conversation will inform the reader as to the
cause of this excitement.
"Well, if any one had told me that Francois Germain was a thief," said
one of the young men, "I should have said, 'That's a lie!'"
"So should I."
"And I."
"And I. It really quite affected me to see him arrested and led away by
the police. I could not eat any breakfast; but I have been rewarded by
not having to eat the daily mess doled out by Mother Seraphin, for, as
the song goes:
'To eat the allowance of old Seraphin,
One must have a twist indeed.'"
"Capital! why, Chalamel, you are beginning your poetry already."
"I demand Chalamel's head!"
"Folly apart, it is very terrible for poor Germain."
"Seventeen thousand francs (680_l._) is a lump of money!"
"I believe you!"
"And yet, for the fifteen months that Germain has been cashier, he was
never a farthing deficient in making up his books."
"I think the governor was wrong to arrest Germain, for the poor fellow
swore that he had only taken thirteen hundred francs (52_l._) in gold,
and that, moreover, he brought back the thirteen hundred francs this
morning, to return them to the money-chest, at the very moment when our
master sent for the police."
"Ah, that's the bore of people of such ferocious honesty as our
governor, they have no pity!"
"But they ought to think twice before they ruin a poor young fellow,
who, up to this time, has behaved with strict honesty."
"M. Ferrand said he did it for an example."
"Example? What? It is none to the honest, and the dishonest know well
enough what they expose themselves to if they are found out in any
delinquencies."
"Our house seems to produce lots of jobs for the police officers."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, this morning there was poor little Louise, and now poor Germain."
"I confess that Germain's affair was not quite clear to me."
"But he confessed?"
"He confessed that he had taken thirteen hundred francs, certainly; but
he declared most vehemently that he had not taken the other fifteen
thousand francs in bank-notes, and the other seven hundred francs which
are short in the strong box."
"True; and, if he confessed one thing, why shouldn't he confess
another?"
"Exactly so; for a man is as much punished for five hundred francs as he
is for fifteen thousand francs."
"Yes; only they retain the fifteen thousand francs, and, when they leave
prison, this forms a little fund to start upon; and, as the swan of
Cambrai sings:
'To get a jolly lot of "swag"
A cove must dip deep in the lucky-bag.'"
"I demand Chalamel's head!"
"Can't you talk sense for five minutes?"
"Ah, here's Jabulot! won't he be astonished?"
"What at, my boys? what at? Anything fresh about poor Louise?"
"You would have known, roving blade, if you had not been so long in your
rounds."
"What, you think it is but a step from here to the Rue de Chaillot?"
"I never said so."
"Well, what about that gallant don, the famous Viscount de Saint-Remy?"
"Has he not been here yet?"
"No."
"Well, his horses were harnessed, and he sent me word by his _valet de
chambre_, that he would come here directly. But he didn't seem best
pleased, the servant said. Oh, my boys! such a lovely little house,
furnished most magnificently, like one of the dwellings of the olden
time that Faublas writes about. Oh, Faublas! he is my hero--my model!"
said the clerk, putting down his umbrella and taking off his clogs.
"You are right, Jabulot; for, as that sublime old blind man, Homer,
said:
'Faublas, that amorous hero, it is said,
Forsook the duchess for the waiting-maid.'"
"Yes; but then, she was a theatrical 'waiting-maid,' my lads."
"I demand Chalamel's head!"
"But about this Viscount de Saint-Remy? Jabulot says his mansion is
superb."
"Pyramidic!"
"Then, I'll be bound, he has debts not a few, and arrests to match, this
viscount."
"A bill of thirty-four thousand francs (1,360_l._) has been sent here by
the officer. It is made payable at the office. This is his creditors'
doing; I don't know why or wherefore."
"Well, I should say that this dandy viscount would pay now, because he
came from the country last night, where he has been concealed these
three days, in order to escape from the bailiffs."
"How is it, then, that they have not seized the furniture already?"
"Why? oh, he's too cunning! The house is not his own; all the furniture
is in the name of his _valet de chambre_, who is said to let it to him
furnished; and, in the same way, his horses and carriages are in his
coachman's name, who declares that he lets to the viscount his splendid
turn-out at so much a month. Ah, he's a 'downy' one, is M. de
Saint-Remy! But what were you going to tell me? what has happened here
fresh?"
"Why, imagine the governor coming in here two hours ago in a most awful
passion. 'Germain is not here?' he exclaimed. 'No, sir.' 'Well, the
rascal has robbed me last night of seventeen thousand francs!' says the
governor."
"Germain--rob--ah, come, that's 'no go!'"
"You will hear. 'What, sir, are you sure? but it cannot be,' we all
cried out. 'I tell you, gentlemen,' said the governor, 'that yesterday I
put in the drawer of the bureau at which he writes, fifteen notes of one
thousand francs each, and two thousand francs in gold, in a little box,
and it is all gone.' At this moment old Marriton, the porter, came in,
and he said, 'Sir, the police are coming; where is Germain?' 'Wait a
bit,' said the governor to the porter; 'as soon as M. Germain returns,
send him into the office, without saying a word. I will confront him
before you all, gentlemen,' said the governor. At the end of a quarter
of an hour in comes poor Germain, as if nothing had happened. Old Mother
Seraphin had brought in our morning mess. Germain made his bow to the
governor, and wished us all 'good morning,' as usual. 'Germain, don't
you take your breakfast?' inquired M. Ferrand. 'No, thank you, sir, I am
not hungry.' 'You're very late this morning.' 'Yes, sir; I was obliged
to go to Belleville this morning.' 'No doubt to hide the money you have
stolen from me!' M. Ferrand said, in a terrible voice."
"And Germain?"
"The poor fellow turned as pale as death, and stammered out,
'Pray--pray, sir, do not ruin me--'"
"What! he had stolen--"
"Listen, Jabulot: 'Do not ruin me,' says he to the governor. 'What! you
confess it, then, you villain?' 'Yes, sir; but here is the money; I
thought I could replace it before you came into the office this morning;
but, unfortunately, a person who had a small sum of mine, and whom I
expected to find at home last night, had been at Belleville these two
days, and I was compelled to go there this morning; that made me late.
Pray, sir, forgive me,--do not destroy me! When I took the money I knew
I could return it this morning; and here are the thirteen hundred francs
in gold.' 'What do you mean by thirteen hundred francs?' exclaimed M.
Ferrand; 'what's the use of talking of thirteen hundred francs? You have
stolen, from the bureau in my room, fifteen thousand francs that were in
a green pocket-book, and two thousand francs in gold.' 'I? Never!' cried
poor Germain, quite aghast. 'I took thirteen hundred francs in gold, but
not a farthing more. I did not even see the pocket-book in the drawer;
there were only two thousand francs, in gold, in a box.' 'Oh, shameless
liar!' cried the governor; 'you confess to having plundered thirteen
hundred francs, and may just as well have stolen more; that will be for
the law to decide. I shall be without mercy for such an infamous breach
of trust; you shall be an example.' In fact, my dear Jabulot, the police
came in at that moment, with the commissary's chief clerk, to draw up
the depositions, and they laid hands on poor Germain; and that's all
about it."
"Really, you do surprise me! I feel as if some one had given me a thump
on the head. Germain--Germain, who seemed such an honest fellow,--a chap
to whom one would have given absolution without confession."
"I should say that he had some presentiment of his misfortune."
"How?"
"For some days past he seemed to have something on his mind."
"Perhaps about Louise."
"Louise?"
"Why, I only repeat what Mother Seraphin said this morning."
"What did she say?"
"What? that he was Louise's lover, and the father of her child."
"Sly dog! Do you think so?"
"Why--why--why--"
"Pooh! pooh!"
"That's not the case."
"How do you know, Master Jabulot?"
"Because it is not a fortnight ago that Germain told me, in confidence,
that he was over head and ears in love with a little needle-woman, a
very correct lass, whom he had known in the house where he lived; and,
when he talked of her, the tears came in his eyes."
"Why, Jabulot, you are getting quite poetical."
"He says Faublas is his hero, and he is not 'wide awake' enough to know
that a man may be in love with one woman and a lover of another at the
same time; for, as the tender Fenelon says, in his Instructions to the
Duke of Burgundy:
'A spicy blade, of the right cock-feather,
May love a blonde and brunette together.'"
"I demand Chalamel's head!"
"I tell you that Germain spoke in earnest."
At this moment the head clerk entered the office.
"Well, M. Jabulot," said he, "have you completed your rounds?"
"Yes, M. Dubois; I have been to M. de Saint-Remy, and he will come and
pay immediately."
"And as to the Countess Macgregor?"
"Here is her answer."
"And the Countess d'Orbigny?"
"She returns her compliments to our employer. She only arrived from
Normandy yesterday morning, and did not know that her reply was required
so soon; here is a note from her. I also called on the Marquis
d'Harville's steward, as he desired me to receive the money for drawing
up the contract which I witnessed at their house the other day."
"You should have told him there was no hurry."
"I did, but the steward insisted on paying. Here is the money. Oh! I had
almost forgotten to say, M. Badinot said that M. Ferrand had better do
as they had agreed; it was the best thing to do."
"He did not write an answer?"
"No, sir; he said he had not time."
"Very well."
"M. Charles Robert will come in the course of the morning to speak to
our master. It seems that he fought a duel yesterday with the Duke de
Lucenay."
"And is he wounded?"
"I think not, or else they would have told me so at the house."
"Hark! there's a carriage stopping at the door."
"Oh, what fine horses! how full of spirits they are!"
"And that fat English coachman, with his white wig, and brown livery
striped with silver, and his epaulettes like a colonel!"
"It must be some ambassador's."
"And the _chasseur_, look how he is bedizened all over with silver!"
"And what moustachios!"
"Oh," said Jabulot, "it is the Viscount de Saint-Remy's carriage!"
"What! is that the way he does it? Oh, my!"
Soon after the Viscount de Saint-Remy entered the office.
We have already described the handsome appearance, elegance of style,
and aristocratical demeanour of M. de Saint-Remy, when he was on his way
to the farm of Arnouville (the estate of Madame de Lucenay), where he
had found a retreat from the pursuit of the bailiffs, Malicorne and
Bourdin. The viscount, who entered unceremoniously into the office, with
his hat on his head, a haughty and disdainful look, and his eyes half
closed, asked, with an air of extreme superciliousness, and without
looking at anybody:
"Where is the notary?"
"M. Ferrand is engaged in his private room," said the chief clerk. "If
you will please to wait a moment, sir, he will see you."
"What do you mean by wait a moment?"
"Why, sir--"
"There is no why in the case, sir. Go and tell him that M. de Saint-Remy
is here; and I am much surprised that this notary should make me dance
attendance in his waiting-room. It is really most annoying."
"Will you walk into this side room, sir?" said the chief clerk, "and I
will inform M. Ferrand this instant."
M. de Saint-Remy shrugged his shoulders, and followed the head clerk. At
the end of a quarter of an hour, which seemed very tedious to him, and
which converted his spleen into anger, the viscount was introduced into
the notary's private apartment.
Nothing could be more striking than the contrast between these two men,
both of them profound physiognomists, and habituated to judge at a
glance of the persons with whom they had business. M. de Saint-Remy saw
Jacques Ferrand for the first time, and was struck with the expression
of his pallid, harsh, and impassive features,--the look concealed by the
large green spectacles; the skull half hid beneath an old black silk
cap. The notary was seated at his writing-desk, in a leathern armchair,
beside a low fireplace, almost choked up with ashes, and in which were
two black and smoking logs of wood. Curtains of green cotton, almost in
rags, hung on small iron rings at the windows, and, concealing the lower
window-panes, threw over the room, which was naturally dark, a livid and
unpleasant hue. Shelves of black wood were filled with deed-boxes, all
duly labelled. Some cherry-wood chairs, covered with threadbare Utrecht
velvet; a clock in a mahogany case; a floor yellow, damp, and chilling;
a ceiling full of cracks, and festooned with spiders' webs,--such was
the _sanctum sanctorum_ of M. Jacques Ferrand. Hardly had the viscount
made two steps into his cabinet, or spoken a word, than the notary, who
knew him by reputation, conceived an intense antipathy towards him. In
the first place, he saw in him, if we may say so, a rival in rogueries;
and then he hated elegance, grace, and youth in other persons, and more
especially when these advantages were attended with an air of insolent
superiority. The notary usually assumed a tone of rude and almost coarse
abruptness with his clients, who liked him the better for being in
behaviour like a boor of the Danube. He made up his mind to double this
brutality towards M. de Saint-Remy, who, only knowing the notary by
report also, expected to find an attorney either familiar or a fool; for
the viscount always imagined men of such probity as M. Ferrand had the
reputation for, as having an exterior almost ridiculous, but, so far
from this, the countenance and appearance of the attorney at law struck
the viscount with an undefinable feeling,--half fear, half aversion.
Consequently, his own resolute character made M. de Saint-Remy increase
his usual impertinence and effrontery. The notary kept his cap on his
head, and the viscount did not doff his hat, but exclaimed, as he
entered the room, with a loud and imperative tone:
"_Pardieu_, sir! it is very strange that you should give me the trouble
to come here, instead of sending to my house for the money for the bills
I accepted from the man Badinot, and for which the fellow has issued
execution against me. It is true you tell me that you have also another
very important communication to make to me; but then, surely, that is no
excuse for making me wait for half an hour in your antechamber: it is
really most annoying, sir!"
M. Ferrand, quite unmoved, finished a calculation he was engaged in,
wiped his pen methodically in a moist sponge which encircled his
inkstand of cracked earthenware, and raised towards the viscount his
icy, earthy, flat face, shaded by his spectacles. He looked like a
death's head in which the eye-holes had been replaced by large, fixed,
staring green eyeballs. After having looked at the viscount for a moment
or two, the notary said to him, in a harsh and abrupt tone:
"Where's the money?"
This coolness exasperated M. de Saint-Remy.
He--he, the idol of the women, the envy of the men, the model of the
first society in Paris, the dreaded duellist--produced no effect on a
wretched attorney-at-law! It was horrid; and, although he was only
_tete-a-tete_ with Jacques Ferrand, his pride revolted.
"Where are the bills?" inquired the viscount, abruptly.
With the point of one of his fingers, as hard as iron, and covered with
red hair, the notary rapped on a large leathern pocket-book which lay
close beside him. Resolved on being as laconic, although trembling with
rage, M. de Saint-Remy took from the pocket of his upper coat a Russian
leather pocket-book, with gold clasps, from which he drew forth forty
notes of a thousand francs each, and showed them to the notary.
"How many are there?" he inquired.
"Forty thousand francs."
"Hand them to me!"
"Take them! and let this have a speedy termination. Ply your trade, pay
yourself, and give me the bills," said the viscount, as he threw the
notes on the table, with an impatient air.
The notary took up the bank-notes, rose, went close to the window to
examine them, turning and re-turning them over and over, one by one,
with an attention so scrupulous, and really so insulting for M. de
Saint-Remy, that the viscount actually turned pale with rage. Jacques
Ferrand, as if he had guessed the thoughts which were passing in the
viscount's mind, shook his head, turned half towards him, and said to
him, with an indefinable accent:
"I have seen--"
M. de Saint-Remy, confused for a moment, said, drily:
"What?"
"Forged bank-notes," replied the notary, continuing his scrutiny of a
note, which he had not yet examined.
"What do you mean by that remark, sir?"
Jacques Ferrand paused for a moment, looked steadfastly at the viscount
through his glasses, then, shrugging his shoulders slightly, he
continued to investigate the notes, without uttering a syllable.
"Monsieur Notary! I would wish you to learn that, when I ask a question,
I have an answer!" cried M. de Saint-Remy, exasperated at the coolness
of Jacques Ferrand.
"These notes are good," said the notary, turning towards his bureau,
whence he took a small bundle of stamped papers, to which were annexed
two bills of exchange; then, putting down one of the bank-notes for one
thousand francs and three rouleaus, of one hundred francs each, on the
table, he said to M. de Saint-Remy, pointing to the money and the bills
with his finger:
"Here's your change out of the forty thousand francs; my client has
desired me to deduct the expenses."
The viscount had contained himself with great difficulty whilst Jacques
Ferrand was making out the account, and, instead of taking up the money,
he exclaimed, in a voice that literally shook with passion:
"I beg to know, sir, what you meant by saying, whilst you looked at the
bank-notes which I handed to you, that you 'had seen forged notes?'"
"What I meant?"
"Yes."
"Because I sent for you to come here on a matter of forgery."
And the notary fixed his green spectacles on the viscount.
"And how can this forgery in any way affect me?"
After a moment's silence, M. Ferrand said to the viscount, with a stern
air:
"Are you aware, sir, of the duties which a notary fulfils?"
"Those duties appear to me, sir, very simple indeed; just now I had
forty thousand francs, now I have thirteen hundred francs left."
"You are facetious, sir; I will tell you that a notary is, in temporal
matters, what a confessor is in spiritual affairs; by virtue of his
position, he often becomes possessed of disgraceful secrets."
"Go on, I beg, sir."
"He is often brought into contact with rogues."
"Go on, sir."
"He ought, as well as he can, to prevent an honourable name from being
dragged through the mud."
"What is all this to me?"
"Your father's name is deservedly respected; you, sir, dishonour it."
"How dare you, sir, to address such language to me?"
"But for the interest which the gentleman, of whom I speak, inspires in
the minds of all honest men, instead of being summoned before me, you
would, at this moment, be standing before a police-magistrate."
"I do not understand you."
"Two months since, you discounted, through an agent, a bill for
fifty-eight thousand francs (2,320_l._), accepted by the house of
Meulaert & Company, of Hamburg, in favour of a certain William Smith,
payable in three months, at the bank of M. Grimaldi, of Paris."
"Well?"
"That bill was a forgery."
"Impossible!"
"That bill was a forgery! the firm of Meulaert never gave such a bill to
William Smith, and never had such a transaction with such an
individual."
"Can this be true?" exclaimed M. de Saint-Remy, with equal surprise and
indignation; "then I have been most infamously deceived, sir, for I took
the bill as ready money."
"From whom?"
"From M. William Smith himself; the house of Meulaert is so well known,
and I was so firmly convinced myself of the honour of M. William Smith,
that I took the bill in payment of a debt he owed me."
"William Smith never existed,--he is an imaginary personage."
"Sir, you insult me!"
"His signature is forged and false, as well as all the rest of the
bill."
"I assert that M. William Smith is alive; but I must have been the dupe
of a horrible abuse of confidence."
"Poor young man!"
"Explain yourself, sir."
"The actual holder of the bill is convinced you committed the forgery."
"Sir!"
"He declares that he has proof of this; and he came to me the day before
yesterday, requesting me to see you, and offer to give up this forged
document, under certain conditions. Up to this point all was
straightforward, but what follows is not so, and I only speak to you now
according to my instructions. He requires one hundred thousand francs
(4,000_l._) down this very day, or else to-morrow, at twelve o'clock at
noon, the forged bill will be handed over to the king's
attorney-general."
"This is infamous, sir!"
"It is more,--it is absurd. You are a ruined man; you were all but
arrested for the sum which you have just paid me, and which you have
scraped up I cannot tell from where; and this I have told to the holder
of the bill, who replied, that a certain great and very rich lady would
not allow you to remain in this embarrassment."
"Enough, sir! enough!"
"More infamous! more absurd! agreed."
"Well, sir, and what is required of me?"
"Why, to work out infamously an action infamously commenced. I have
consented to communicate this proposition to you, although it disgusts
me, as an honest man ought to feel disgust on such an occasion; but now
it is your affair. If you are guilty, choose between a criminal court
and the means of ransom offered to you; my duty is only an official one,
and I will not dirty my fingers any further in so foul a transaction.
The third party is called M. Petit-Jean, an oil merchant, who lives on
the banks of the Seine, Quai de Billy, No. 10. Make your arrangements
with him; you are fit to meet if you are a forger, as he declares."
M. de Saint-Remy had entered Jacques Ferrand's study with a lip all
scorn, and a head all pride. Although he had in his life committed
some shameful actions, he still retained a certain elevation of race,
and an instinctive courage, which had never forsaken him. At the
beginning of this conversation, considering the notary as an adversary
beneath him, he had been content to treat him with disdain; but, when
Jacques Ferrand began to talk of forgery, he felt annihilated; in his
turn he felt himself rode over by the notary. But for the entire command
of self which he possessed, he could not have concealed the terrible
impression which this unexpected revelation disclosed to him, for it
might have incalculable consequences to him,--consequences unsuspected
by the notary himself. After a moment of silence and reflection, he
resigned himself,--he, so haughty, so irritable, so vain of his
self-possession!--to beg of this coarse man, who had so roughly
addressed to him the stern language of probity:
"Sir, you give me a proof of your interest, for which I thank you, and I
regret that any hasty expressions should have escaped me," said M. de
Saint-Remy, with a tone of cordiality.
"I do not take the slightest interest in or for you," replied the
notary, brutally. "Your father is the soul of honour, and I would not
wish that in the depth of that solitude in which he lives, as they tell
me, at Angers, he should learn that his name has been exposed,
tarnished, degraded, in a court of justice, that's all."
"I repeat to you, sir, that I am incapable of the infamy which is
attributed to me."
"You may tell that to M. Petit-Jean."
"But I confess that, in the absence of M. Smith, who has so unworthily
abused my confidence, that--"
"The scoundrel Smith!"
"The absence of M. Smith places me in a cruel embarrassment. I am
innocent,--let them accuse me, I will prove myself guiltless; but such
an accusation, even, must always disgrace a gentleman."
"Well?"
"Be so good as to use the sum I have just handed to you in part payment
to the person who holds the acceptance."
"That money belongs to a client and is sacred."
"In two or three days I will repay you."
"You will not be able."
"I have resources."
"You have none; not visible at least. Your household furniture, your
horses, do not belong to you, as you declare; this has to me the
appearance of a disgraceful fraud."
"You are severe, sir; but, admitting what you say, do you not suppose
that I shall turn everything into money in such a desperate extremity?
Only, as it will be impossible for me to procure, between this and noon
to-morrow, the one hundred thousand francs, I entreat you to employ the
money I have just handed to you in procuring this unfortunate bill, or,
at least, as you are very rich, advance the money. Do not leave me in
such a position."
"Me? Why, is the man mad?"
"Sir, I beseech you, in my father's name, which you have mentioned to
me, be so kind as to--"
"I am kind to those who deserve it," said the notary, harshly. "An
honest man myself, I hate swindlers, and should not be sorry to see one
of those high-minded gentlemen, without faith or honour, impious and
reprobate, put in the pillory, as an example to others; but I hear your
horses, who are impatient to depart, M. le Vicomte," said the notary,
with a smile that displayed his black fangs.
At this moment some one knocked at the door of the apartment.
"Who's there?" inquired Jacques Ferrand.
"Madame the Countess d'Orbigny," said the chief clerk.
"Request her to wait a moment."
"The stepmother of the Marchioness d'Harville?" exclaimed M. de
Saint-Remy.
"Yes, sir; she has an appointment with me,--so, your servant, sir."
"Not a word of this, sir!" cried M. de Saint-Remy, in a menacing voice.
"I told you, sir, that a notary is as discreet as a confessor."
Jacques Ferrand rang, and the clerk appeared.
"Show Madame d'Orbigny in." Then, addressing the viscount, "Take these
thirteen hundred francs, sir; they will be something towards an
arrangement with M. Petit-Jean."
Madame d'Orbigny (formerly Madame Roland) entered at the moment when M.
de Saint-Remy went out, his features convulsed with rage at having so
uselessly humiliated himself before the notary.
"Ah, good day, M. de Saint-Remy," said Madame d'Orbigny; "what a time it
is since I saw you!"
"Why, madame, since D'Harville's marriage, at which I was present, I do
not think I have had the pleasure of meeting you," said M. de
Saint-Remy, bowing, and assuming an affable and smiling demeanour. "You
have remained in Normandy ever since, I think?"
"Why, yes! M. d'Orbigny will only live in the country, and what he likes
I like; so you see in me a complete country wife. I have not been in
Paris since the marriage of my dear stepdaughter with that excellent M.
d'Harville. Do you see him frequently?"
"D'Harville has grown very sullen and morose; he is seldom seen in the
world," said M. de Saint-Remy, with something like impatience, for the
conversation was most irksome to him, both because of its untimeliness
and that the notary seemed amused at it; but Madame d'Harville's
stepmother, enchanted at thus meeting with a dandy of the first water,
was not the woman to allow her prey to escape her so easily.
"And my dear stepdaughter," she continued,--"she, I hope, is not as
morose as her husband?"
"Madame d'Harville is all the fashion, and has the world at her feet, as
a lovely woman should have. But I take up your time, and--"
"Not at all, I assure you. It is quite agreeable to me to meet the
'observed of all observers,'--the monarch of fashion,--for, in ten
minutes, I shall be as _au fait_ of Paris as if I had never left it. And
your dear M. de Lucenay, who was also present at M. d'Harville's
marriage?"
"A still greater oddity. He has been travelling in the East, and
returned in time to receive a sword-wound yesterday,--nothing serious,
though."
"Poor dear duke! And his wife, always lovely and fascinating?"
"Madame, I have the honour to be one of her profoundest admirers, and my
testimony would, therefore, be received with suspicion. I beg, on your
return to Aubiers, you will not forget my regards to M. d'Orbigny."
"He will, I am sure, be most sensible of your kindness; he often talks
of you, and says you remind him of the Duke de Lauzun."
"His comparison is a eulogy in itself, but, unfortunately, infinitely
more flattering than true. Adieu, madame, for I fear I must not ask to
be allowed to pay my respects to you before your departure."
"I should lament to give you the trouble of calling on me, for I have
pitched my tent for a few days in a furnished hotel; but if, in the
summer or autumn, you should be passing our way, _en route_ to some of
those fashionable chateaus where the leaders of _ton_ dispute the
pleasure of receiving you, pray give us a few days of your society, if
it be only by way of contrast, and to rest yourself with us poor rustic
folk from the whirl of your high life of fashion and distinction; for
where you are it is always delightful to be."
"Madame!"
"I need not say how delighted M. d'Orbigny and myself would be to
receive you; but adieu, sir, I fear the kind attorney (she pointed to
Ferrand) will grow impatient at our gossip."
"Quite the reverse, madame, quite the reverse," said Ferrand, with an
emphasis that redoubled the repressed rage of M. de Saint-Remy.
[Illustration: _He will scold you awfully._
Original Etching by Adrian Marcel.]
"Is not M. Ferrand a terrible man?" said Madame d'Orbigny, affectedly.
"Mind now, I tell you, that, if he has charge of your affairs, he will
scold you awfully. He is the most unpitying man--But that's my nonsense;
on the contrary, why, such an exquisite as you to have M. Ferrand for
his solicitor is a proof of reformation, for we know very well that he
never allows his clients to do foolish things; if they do, he gives up
their business. Oh, he will not be everybody's lawyer!" Then, turning to
Jacques Ferrand: "Do you know, most puritanical solicitor, that you have
made a splendid conversion there? If you reform the exquisite of
exquisites, the King of the Mode--"
"It is really a conversion, madame. The viscount left my study a very
different man from what he entered it."
"There, I tell you that you perform miracles!"
"Ah, madame, you flatter me," said Jacques Ferrand, with emphasis.
M. de Saint-Remy made a low bow to Madame d'Orbigny, and then, as he
left the notary, desirous of trying once more to excite his pity, he
said to him, in a careless tone, which, however, betrayed deep anxiety:
"Then, my dear M. Ferrand, you will not grant me the favour I ask?"
"Some wild scheme, no doubt. Be inexorable, my dear Puritan," cried
Madame d'Orbigny, laughing.
"You hear, sir? I must not contradict such a handsome lady."
"My dear M. Ferrand, let us speak seriously of serious things, and, you
know, this is a most serious matter. Do you really refuse me?" inquired
the viscount, with an anxiety which he could not altogether dissemble.
The notary was cruel enough to appear to hesitate; M. de Saint-Remy had
an instant's hope.
"What, man of iron, do you yield?" said Madame d'Harville's stepmother,
laughing still. "Do you, too, yield to the charm of the irresistible?"
"_Ma foi_, madame! I was on the point of yielding, as you say; but you
make me blush for my weakness," added M. Ferrand. And then, addressing
himself to the viscount, he said to him, with an accent of which
Saint-Remy felt all the meaning, "Well then, seriously," (and he dwelt
on the word), "it is impossible."
"Ah, the Puritan! Hark to the Puritan!" said Madame d'Orbigny.
"See M. Petit-Jean. He will think precisely as I do, I am sure, and,
like me, will say to you 'No!'"
M. de Saint-Remy rushed out in despair.
After a moment's reflection he said to himself, "It must be so!" Then he
added, addressing his chasseur, who was standing with the door of his
carriage opened, "To the Hotel de Lucenay."
Whilst M. de Saint-Remy is on his way to see the duchess, we will
present the reader at the interview between M. Ferrand and the
stepmother of Madame d'Harville.