“And why not out of regard for me?” said Goupil mischievously, for he suspected some secret motive for Minoret’s conduct. “Was it not information given by me that enabled you to get twenty-four thousand francs in rent from a single holding in a ring fence round the Château du Rouvre? With your meadows and mill on the other side of the Loing you can add sixteen thousand to that. Come, old Burly, will you play your game with me above board?”
“Yes.”
“Well, just to make you feel my claws, I was brewing a plan with Massin to get possession of le Rouvre—park, gardens, preserves, timber, and all.”
“You had better!” exclaimed Zélie, interrupting them.
“Well,” said Goupil, with a viperine glance at her, “if I choose, Massin will have it all tomorrow for two hundred thousand francs.”
“Leave us, wife,” said the colossus, taking Zélie by the arm, and turning her about, “We understand each other.—We have had so much business on our hands,” he went on, coming back to Goupil, “that we have not been able to think of you; but I rely on your friendship to let us get le Rouvre.”
“An old Marquisate,” said Goupil slyly, “which in your hands would soon be worth fifty thousand francs a year—more than two millions at the present price of money.”
“And then our boy can marry the daughter of a Marshal of France, or the heiress of some ancient house, which will help him on to be a judge in Paris,” said the postmaster, opening his huge snuffbox, and offering it to Goupil.
“Well, then, all is square and above board?” asked Goupil, shaking his fingers.
Minoret wrung his hand and said:
“My word of honor.”
Like all cunning men, the clerk fancied, happily for Minoret, that this marriage with Ursule was a mere excuse for making up to him, now he had been playing off Massin against them.
“It is not his doing,” said he to himself. “I know my Zélie’s hand; she has taught him his part. Bah! Let Massin slide! Within three years I shall be returned as député for Sens,” he thought.
Then, catching sight of Bongrand on his way to his game of whist over the way, he rushed into the street.
“You take a great interest in Ursule Mirouët, my dear Monsieur Bongrand,” said he; “you cannot be indifferent to her future prospects. This is our programme. She may marry a notary whose business is to be in a large district town. This notary, who will certainly be député in three years, will settle a hundred thousand francs on her.”
“She can do better,” said Bongrand stiffly. “Since Madame de Portenduère’s misfortunes her health is failing. Yesterday she looked dreadfully ill; she is dying of grief. Savinien will have six thousand francs a year; Ursule has forty thousand francs; I will invest their capital on Massin’s principle—but honestly—and in ten years they will have a little fortune.”
“Savinien would be a fool. He can marry Mademoiselle du Rouvre any day he likes, an only daughter, to whom her uncle and aunt will also leave splendid fortunes.”
“ ‘When love has got hold of us, farewell prudence,’ ” says la Fontaine. “But who is your notary, for, after all—?” said Bongrand, out of curiosity.
“I,” said Goupil, in a tone that made the Justice start.
“You?” said he, not attempting to conceal his disgust.
“Very good, sir; your servant,” retorted Goupil, with a glare of venom, hatred, and defiance.
“Would you like to be the wife of a notary who will settle a hundred thousand francs on you?” cried Bongrand, entering the little sitting-room, and speaking to Ursule, who was sitting by Madame de Portenduère. Ursule and Savinien started as if by one impulse, and looked at each other; she with a smile, he not daring to show his uneasiness.
“I am not my own mistress,” replied Ursule, holding out her hand to Savinien in such a way that his old mother could not see it.
“I refused the offer without consulting you even.”
“But why?” said Madame de Portenduère. “It seems to me, my dear, that a notary’s profession is a very respectable one.”
“I prefer my peaceful poverty,” she replied, “for it is opulence in comparison with what I had a right to expect of life. My old nurse spares me many anxieties, and I would not exchange my present lot, which suits me, for an unknown future.”
Next morning the post brought a poisoned dart to two hearts in the shape of two anonymous letters—one to Madame de Portenduère, and one to Ursule. This is the letter received by the old lady:
You love your son, you would wish to see him married as beseems the name he bears, and you are fostering his fancy for an ambitious little thing without any fortune, by receiving at your house one Ursule, the daughter of a regimental bandmaster; while you might marry him to Mademoiselle du Rouvre, whose two uncles, the Marquis de Ronquerolles and the Chevalier du Rouvre, each having thirty thousand francs a year, intend to settle a large sum on their niece on her marriage, so as not to leave their fortune to her foolish old father, M. du Rouvre, who wastes his substance. Madame de Sérizy—Aunt Clémentine du Rouvre—who has just lost her only son in Algiers, will no doubt also adopt her niece. Someone who wishes you well believes that Savinien would be accepted.
This is the letter written to Ursule:
Dear Ursule—There is in Nemours a young man who idolizes you; he cannot see you at work at your window without such emotions as prove to him that his love is for life. This young man is gifted with a will of iron and a perseverance which nothing can daunt. Accept his love with favor, for his intentions are of the purest, and he humbly asks your hand in the hope of making you happy. His fortune, though suitable even now, is nothing to what he will make it when you are his wife.
