“I am too much of the old school, madame,” the doctor put in, “not to know what is due from a man to a person of your rank, and I am only too happy to think, from what Monsieur le Curé tells me, that I may be of some service to you.”
Madame de Portenduère, on whom the arrangement she had agreed to weighed so heavily, that, since the Abbé had quitted her, she had thought of applying rather to the notary, was so surprised by Minoret’s delicate feeling, that she rose to return his bow, and pointed to an armchair.
“Be seated, monsieur,” said she, with a royal air. “Our dear curé will have told you that the Vicomte is in prison for debt—a young man’s debts—a hundred thousand francs. If you could lend him the sum, I would give you as security my farm at Bordières.”
“We can talk of that, madame, when I shall have brought you back your son, if you will allow me to represent you in these circumstances.”
“Very good, monsieur,” replied the old lady, with a bow, and a glance at the curé, which was meant to convey: “You are right; he is a man of good breeding.”
“My friend the doctor, as you see, madame, is full of devotion to your family.”
“We shall be grateful to you, monsieur,” said Madame de Portenduère, with a visible effort, “for at your age to venture through Paris on the tracks of a scapegrace’s misdeeds—”
“Madame, in ’65 I had the honor of seeing the illustrious Admiral de Portenduère at the house of the worthy Monsieur de Malesherbes, and at that of the Comte de Buffon, who was anxious to question him as to various curious facts in his voyages. It is not impossible that Monsieur de Portenduère, your late husband, may have been there too. The French navy was then in its glory; it held its own against England, and the Captain contributed his quota of courage to the game. How impatiently, in ’83 and ’84, did we await news from the camp of Saint-Roch! I was very near joining as surgeon to the king’s forces. Your granduncle, Admiral de Kergarouët, who is still living, fought his great battle at that time, for he was on board the Belle Poule.”
“Ah! if he knew that his grandnephew was in prison!”
“The Vicomte will no longer be there two days hence,” said old Minoret, rising.
He put out his hand to take the old lady’s, who allowed him to do so; he kissed it respectfully, bowed low, and went out; but he came in again to say to the curé:
“Will you, my dear Abbé, secure a place for me in the diligence for tomorrow morning?”
The curé remained another half-hour to sing the praises of the doctor, who had intended to conquer the old lady, and had succeeded.
“He is wonderful for his age,” said she. “He talks of going to Paris and settling my son’s affairs as if he were no more than five-and-twenty. He has moved in good society.”
“In the best, madame; and at this day, more than one son of an impoverished peer of France would be very happy to marry his ward with a million of francs. Ah, if such a notion should enter Savinien’s brain, times are so altered that the chief difficulties would not be raised on your side after your son’s conduct!”
It was the intense amazement with which the old lady heard this speech that allowed the priest to finish it.
“You have lost your wits, my dear Abbé Chaperon.”
“Think over it, madame; and God grant that henceforth your son may behave in such a way as to acquire that old man’s esteem!”
“If it were not you, Monsieur le Curé,” said Madame de Portenduère; “if it were anyone else who spoke to me in these terms—”
“You would never see him again,” said the Abbé, smiling. “We must hope that your dear son may enlighten you as to what is doing in Paris in the matter of marriages. You will consider Savinien’s happiness, and, after compromising his future, you will surely not interfere with his making himself a position.”
“And it is you who say this to me!”
“If I did not, who would?” cried the priest, rising, and beating a prompt retreat.
The curé saw Ursule and her godfather walking up and down the little courtyard. The submissive doctor had been so teased by his ward that he had at last yielded; she wanted to go to Paris, and had found a thousand pretexts. He called the curé, who joined them, and the doctor begged him to engage the coupé of the diligence for that very night if the coach-office were still open.
At six o’clock on the following afternoon the old man and the young girl reached Paris, and the doctor went, the same evening, to consult his lawyer. Political events looked threatening. The Justice at Nemours had been telling the doctor the day before, several times in the course of their conversation, that he would be nothing less than mad to keep a penny in the funds so long as the quarrel between the Court and the Press should remain unsettled. Minoret’s notary approved of the advice indirectly given by Bongrand. So the doctor took advantage of his visit to Paris to sell out his commercial investments and state securities, which were all at a premium, and to deposit his capital in the bank. The lawyer also advised his old client to sell the shares left to Ursule by Monsieur Jordy, which, as a good trustee, he had invested. He promised to set to work with the help of a very knowing agent, to come to terms with Savinien’s creditors; but to achieve every success, it was necessary that the young man should spend yet a few days in prison.
“Hurrying on these matters costs at least fifteen percent,” said the lawyer to the doctor. “And at any rate you cannot get at your money for seven or eight days.”
When Ursule learned
