of a few favorable circumstances.'
'Dear me! is it possible?'
'Nothing is more simple, Bathsheba. Every one knows, that in fourteen years a capital will be doubled, by the mere accumulation of interest and compound interest at five per cent. Now reflect, that in a century and a half there are ten times fourteen years, and that these one hundred and fifty thousands francs have thus been doubled and redoubled, over and over again. All that astonishes you will then appear plain enough. In 1682, M. de Rennepont entrusted my grandfather with a hundred and fifty thousand francs; this sum, invested as I have told you, would have produced in 1696, fourteen years after, three hundred thousand francs. These last, doubled in 1710, would produce six hundred thousand. On the death of my grandfather in 1719, the amount was already near a million; in 1724, it would be twelve hundred thousand francs; in 1738, two millions four hundred thousand; in 1752, about two years after my birth, four millions eight hundred thousand; in 1766, nine millions six hundred thousand; in 1780, nineteen millions two hundred thousand; in 1794, twelve years after the death of my father, thirty-eight millions four hundred thousand; in 1808, seventy-six millions eight hundred thousand; in 1822, one hundred and fifty-three millions six hundred thousand; and, at this time, taking the compound interest for ten years, it should be at least two hundred and twenty-five millions. But losses and inevitable charges, of which the account has been strictly kept, have reduced the sum to two hundred and twelve millions one hundred and seventy-five thousand francs, the securities for which are in this box.'
'I now understand you, my dear,' answered Bathsheba, thoughtfully; 'but how wonderful is this power of accumulation! and what admirable provision may be made for the future, with the smallest present resources!'
'Such, no doubt, was the idea of M. de Rennepont; for my father has often told me, and he derived it from his father, that M. de Rennepont was one of the soundest intellects of his time,' said Samuel, as he closed the cedar- box.
'God grant his descendants may be worthy of this kingly fortune, and make a noble use of it!' said Bathsheba, rising.
It was now broad day, and the clock had just struck seven.
'The masons will soon be here,' said Samuel, as he replaced the cedar-box in the iron safe, concealed behind the antique press. 'Like you, Bathsheba, I am curious and anxious to know, what descendants of M. de Rennepont will now present themselves.'
Two or three loud knocks on the outer gate resounded through the house. The barking of the watch-dogs responded to this summons.
Samuel said to his wife: 'It is no doubt the masons, whom the notary has sent with his clerk. Tie all the keys and their labels together; I will come back and fetch them.'
So saying, Samuel went down to the door with much nimbleness, considering his age, prudently opened a small wicket, and saw three workmen, in the garb of masons, accompanied by a young man dressed in black.
'What may you want, gentlemen?' said the Jew, before opening the door, as he wished first to make sure of the identity of the personages.
'I am sent by M. Dumesnil, the notary,' answered the clerk, 'to be present at the unwalling of a door. Here is a letter from my master, addressed to M. Samuel, guardian of the house.'
'I am he, sir,' said the Jew; 'please to put the letter through the slide, and I will take it.'
The clerk did as Samuel desired, but shrugged his shoulders at what he considered the ridiculous precautions of a suspicious old man. The housekeeper opened the box, took the letter, went to the end of the vaulted passage in order to read it, and carefully compared the signature with that of another letter which he drew from the pocket of his long coat; then, after all these precautions, he chained up his dogs, and returned to open the gate to the clerk and masons.
'What the devil, my good man!' said the clerk, as he entered; 'there would not be more formalities in opening the gates of a fortress!'
The Jew bowed, but without answering.
'Are you deaf, my good fellow?' cried the clerk, close to his ears.
'No, sir,' said Samuel, with a quiet smile, as he advanced several steps beyond the passage. Then pointing to the old house, he added: 'That, sir, is the door which you will have to open; you will also have to remove the lead and iron from the second window to the right.'
'Why not open all the windows?' asked the clerk.
'Because, sir, as guardian of this house, I have received particular orders on the subject.'
'Who gave you these orders?'
'My father, sir, who received them from his father, who transmitted them from the master of this house. When I cease to have the care of it, the new proprietor will do as he pleases.'
'Oh! very well,' said the clerk, not a little surprised. Then, addressing himself to the masons, he added: 'This is your business, my fine fellows; you are to unwall the door, and remove the iron frame-work of the second window to the right.'
Whilst the masons set to work, under the inspection of the notary's clerk, a coach stopped before the outer gate, and Rodin, accompanied by Gabriel, entered the house in the Rue Saint-Francois.
CHAPTER XIX. THE HEIR
Samuel opened the door to Gabriel and Rodin.
The latter said to the Jew, 'You, sir, are the keeper of this house?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Samuel.
'This is Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont,' said Rodin, as he introduced his companion, 'one of the descendants of the family of the Renneponts.'
'Happy to hear it, sir,' said the Jew, almost involuntarily, struck with the angelic countenance of Gabriel—for nobleness and serenity of soul were visible in the glance of the young priest, and were written upon his pure, white brow, already crowned with the halo of martyrdom. Samuel looked at Gabriel with curiosity and benevolent interest; but feeling that this silent contemplation must cause some embarrassment to his guest, he said to him, 'M. Abbe, the notary will not be here before ten o'clock.'
Gabriel looked at him in turn, with an air of surprise, and answered, 'What notary, sir?'
'Father d'Aigrigny will explain all this to you,' said Rodin, hastily. Then addressing Samuel, he added, 'We are a little before the time. Will you allow us to wait for the arrival of the notary?'
'Certainly,' said Samuel, 'if you please to walk into my house.'
'I thank you, sir,' answered Rodin, 'and accept your offer.'
'Follow me, then, gentlemen,' said the old man.
A few moments after, the young priest and the socius, preceded by Samuel, entered one of the rooms occupied by the latter, on the ground-floor of the building, looking out upon the court-yard.
'The Abbe d'Aigrigny, who has been the guardian of M. Gabriel, will soon be coming to ask for us,' added Rodin; 'will you have the kindness, sir to show him into this room?'
'I will not fail to do so, sir,' said Samuel, as he went out.
The socius and Gabriel were left alone. To the adorable gentleness which usually gave to the fine features of the missionary so touching a charm, there had succeeded in this moment a remarkable expression of sadness, resolution, and severity. Rodin not having seen Gabriel for some days, was greatly struck by the change he remarked in him. He had watched him silently all the way from the Rue des Postes to the Rue Saint-Francois. The young priest wore, as usual, a long black cassock, which made still more visible the transparent paleness of his countenance. When the Jew had left the room, Gabriel said to Rodin, in a firm voice, 'Will you at length inform me, sir, why, for some days past, I have been prevented from speaking to his reverence Father d'Aigrigny? Why has he chosen this house to grant me an interview?'
'It is impossible for me to answer these questions,' replied Rodin, coldly. 'His reverence will soon arrive, and will listen to you. All I can tell you is, that the reverend father lays as much stress upon this meeting as you do. If he has chosen this house for the interview, it is because you have an interest to be here. You know it well—though you affected astonishment on hearing the guardian speak of a notary.'
So saying, Rodin fixed a scrutinizing, anxious look upon Gabriel, whose countenance expressed only surprise.
'I do not understand you,' said he, in reply to Rodin. 'What have I to do with this house?'
