So all was lost!
On the day when the discussion was opened, she had trusted to Paul’s feebleness and the impossibility of his retreating after advancing so far. And now it was she who had tied her own hands. Paul, three months since, would not have had many obstacles to surmount to break off the marriage; now, all Bordeaux knew that the lawyers had, two months ago, smoothed away every difficulty. The banns were published; the wedding was fixed for the next day but one. The friends of both families, all the town were arriving, dressed for the ball—how could she announce a postponement? The cause of the rupture would become known, the unblemished honesty of Maître Mathias would gain credence, his story would be believed in preference to hers. The laugh would be against the Evangelistas, of whom so many were envious. She must yield!
These painfully accurate reflections fell on Madame Evangelista like a waterspout and crushed her brain. Though she maintained a diplomatic impassibility, her chin showed the nervous jerking by which Catherine II betrayed her fury one day when, sitting on her throne and surrounded by her Court, she was defied by the young King of Sweden under almost similar circumstances. Solonet noted the spasmodic movement of the muscles that proclaimed a mortal hatred, a storm without a sound or a lightning-flash; and, in fact, at that moment, the widow had sworn such hatred of her son-in-law, such an implacable feud as the Arabs have left the germs of in the atmosphere of Spain.
“Monsieur,” said she to her notary, “you called this a rigmarole—it seems to me that nothing can be clearer.”
“Madame, allow me—”
“Monsieur,” she went on, without listening to Solonet, “if you did not understand the upshot of this bargain at the time of our former discussion, it is at least extraordinary that you should not have perceived it in the retirement of your study. It cannot be from incapacity.”
The young man led her into the adjoining room, saying to himself:
“More than a thousand crowns are due to me for the schedule of accounts, and a thousand more for the contract; six thousand francs I can make over the sale of the house—fifteen thousand francs in all.—We must keep our temper.”
He shut the door, gave Madame Evangelista the cold look of a man of business, guessing the feelings that agitated her, and said:
“Madame, how, when I have perhaps overstepped in your behalf the due limits of finesse, can you repay my devotion by such a speech?”
“But, monsieur—”
“Madame, I did not, it is true, fully estimate the amount of our surrender; but if you do not care to have Count Paul for your son-in-law, are you obliged to agree? The contract is not signed.—Give your ball and postpone the signing. It is better to take in all Bordeaux than to be taken in yourself.”
“And what excuse can I make to all the world—already prejudiced against us—to account for this delay?”
“A blunder in Paris, a document missing,” said Solonet.
“But the land that has been purchased?”
“Monsieur de Manerville will find plenty of matches with money.”
“He! Oh, he will lose nothing; we are losing everything on our side.”
“You,” said Solonet, “may have a Count, a better bargain, if the title is the great point of this match in your eyes.”
“No, no; we cannot throw our honor overboard in that fashion! I am caught in the trap, monsieur. All Bordeaux would ring with it tomorrow. We have solemnly pledged ourselves.”
“You wish Mademoiselle Natalie to be happy?” asked Solonet.
“That is the chief thing.”
“In France,” said the lawyer “does not being happy mean being mistress of the hearth? She will lead that nincompoop Manerville by the nose. He is so stupid that he has seen nothing. Even if he should distrust you, he will still believe in his wife. And are not you and his wife one? Count Paul’s fate still lies in your hands.”
“If you should be speaking truly, I do not know what I could refuse you!” she exclaimed, with delight that glowed in her eyes.
“Come in again, then, madame,” said Solonet, understanding his client. “But, above all, listen to what I say; you may regard me as incapable afterwards if you please.”
“My dear friend,” said the young lawyer to Mathias, as he reentered the room, “for all your skill you have failed to foresee the contingency of Monsieur de Manerville’s death without issue, or, again, that of his leaving none but daughters. In either of those cases the entail would give rise to lawsuits with other Manervilles, for plenty would crop up, do not doubt it for a moment. It strikes me, therefore, as desirable to stipulate that in the former case the entailed property should be included in the general estate settled by each on either, and in the second that the entail should be cancelled as null and void. It is an agreement solely affecting the intending wife.”
“The clause seems to me perfectly fair,” said Mathias, “As to its ratification, Monsieur le Comte will make the necessary arrangements with the Court of Chancery, no doubt, if requisite.”
The younger notary took a pen and wrote in on the margin this ominous clause, to which Paul and Natalie paid no attention. Madame Evangelista sat with downcast eyes while it was read by Maître Mathias.
“Now to sign,” said the mother.
The strong voice which she controlled betrayed vehement excitement. She had just said to herself:
“No, my daughter shall not be ruined—but he shall! My daughter shall have his name, title, and fortune. If Natalie should ever discover that she does not love her husband, if some day she should love another man more passionately—Paul will be exiled from France, and my daughter will be free, happy, and rich.”
Though Maître Mathias was expert in the analysis of interests, he had no skill in analyzing human passions. He accepted the lady’s speech as an honorable
