Compelled to deceive, the Spanish woman resolved, like any woman, to show her superiority in a contest of which the entire success could alone wipe out the discredit. In the silence of the night she excused herself by a line of argument, in which her pride had the upper hand. Had not Natalie benefited by her lavishness? Had her conduct ever been actuated by one of the base and ignoble motives that degrade the soul? She could not keep accounts—well, was that a sin, a crime? Was not a man only too lucky to win such a wife as Natalie? Was not the treasure she had preserved for him worth a discharge in full? Did not many a man pay for the woman he loved by making great sacrifices? And why should he do more for a courtesan than for a wife?—Besides, Paul was a commonplace, incapable being; she would support him by the resources of her own cleverness; she would help him to make his way in the world; he would owe his position to her; would not this amply pay the debt? He would be a fool to hesitate! And for a few thousand francs more or less? It would be disgraceful!
“If I am not at once successful,” said she to herself, “I leave Bordeaux. I can still secure a good match for Natalie by realizing all that is left—the house, my diamonds, and the furniture, giving her all but an annuity for myself.”
When a strongly tempered spirit plans a retreat, as Richelieu did at Brouage, and schemes for a splendid finale, this alternative becomes a fulcrum which helps the schemer to triumph. This escape, in case of failure, reassured Madame Evangelista, who went to sleep indeed, full of confidence in her second in this duel. She trusted greatly to the aid of the cleverest notary in Bordeaux, Maître Solonet, a young man of seven-and-twenty, a member of the Legion of Honor as the reward of having contributed actively to the restoration of the Bourbons. Proud and delighted to be admitted to an acquaintance with Madame Evangelista, less as a lawyer than as belonging to the Royalist party in Bordeaux, Solonet cherished for her sunset beauty one of those passions which such women as Madame Evangelista ignore while they are flattered by them, and which even the prudish allow to float in their wake. Solonet lived in an attitude of vanity full of respect and seemly attentions. This young man arrived next morning with the zeal of a slave, and was admitted to the widow’s bedroom, where he found her coquettishly dressed in a becoming wrapper.
“Now,” said she, “can I trust to your reticence and entire devotion in the discussion which is to take place this evening? Of course, you can guess that my daughter’s marriage contract is in question.”
The young lawyer was profuse in protestations.
“For the facts, then,” said she.
“I am all attention,” he replied, with a look of concentration.
Madame Evangelista stated the case without any finessing.
“My dear madame, all this matters not,” said Maître Solonet, assuming an important air when his client had laid the exact figures before him. “How have you dealt with Monsieur de Manerville? The moral attitude is of greater consequence than any questions of law or finance.”
Madame Evangelista robed herself in dignity; the young notary was delighted to learn that to this day his client, in her treatment of Paul, had preserved the strictest distance; half out of real pride, and half out of unconscious self-interest, she had always behaved to the Comte de Manerville as though he were her inferior, and it would be an honor for him to marry Mademoiselle Evangelista. Neither she nor her daughter could be suspected of interested motives; their feelings were evidently free from meanness; if Paul should raise the least difficulty on the money question, they had every right to withdraw to an immeasurable distance—in fact, she had a complete ascendency over her would-be son-in-law.
“This being the case,” said Solonet, “what is the utmost concession you are inclined to make?”
“The least possible,” said she, laughing.
“A woman’s answer!” replied Solonet. “Madame, do you really wish to see Mademoiselle Natalie married?”
“Yes.”
“And you want a discharge for the eleven hundred and fifty-six thousand francs you will owe her in accordance with the account rendered of your guardianship?”
“Exactly!”
“How much do you wish to reserve?”
“At least thirty thousand francs a year.”
“So we must conquer or perish?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I will consider the ways and means of achieving that end, for we must be very dexterous, and husband our resources. I will give you a few hints on arriving; act on them exactly, and I can confidently predict complete success.—Is Count Paul in love with Mademoiselle Natalie?” he asked as he rose.
“He worships her.”
“That is not enough. Is he so anxious to have her as his wife that he will pass over any little pecuniary difficulties?”
“Yes.”
“That is what I call having personal property in a daughter!” exclaimed the notary. “Make her look her best this evening,” he added, with a cunning twinkle.
“We have a perfect dress for her.”
“The dress for the Contract, in my opinion, is half the settlements,” said Solonet.
This last argument struck Madame Evangelista as so cogent that she insisted on helping her daughter to dress, partly to superintend the toilet, but also to secure her as an innocent accomplice in her financial plot. And her daughter, with her coiffure à la Sévigné, and a white cashmere dress with rose-colored bows, seemed to her handsome enough to assure the victory.
When the maid had left them, and Madame Evangelista was sure that nobody was within hearing, she arranged her daughter’s curls as a preliminary.
“My dear child, are you sincerely attached to Monsieur de Manerville?” said she in a
