Cachan’s eloquence produced an effect on the court. A divided judgment was given in favor of Mme. Séchard, the house furniture being held to be her property; and against Séchard senior, who was ordered to pay costs—four hundred and thirty-four francs, sixty-five centimes.
“It is kind of old Séchard,” laughed the lawyers; “he would have a finger in the pie, so let him pay!”
Notice of judgment was given on the 26th of August; the presses and plant could be seized on the 28th. Placards were posted. Application was made for an order empowering them to sell on the spot. Announcements of the sale appeared in the papers, and Doublon flattered himself that the inventory should be verified and the auction take place on the 2nd of September.
By this time David Séchard owed Métivier five thousand two hundred and seventy-five francs, twenty-five centimes (to say nothing of interest), by formal judgment confirmed by appeal, the bill of costs having been duly taxed. Likewise to Petit-Claud he owed twelve hundred francs, exclusive of the fees, which were left to David’s generosity with the generous confidence displayed by the hackney coachman who has driven you so quickly over the road on which you desire to go.
Mme. Séchard owed Petit-Claud something like three hundred and fifty francs and fees besides; and of old Séchard, besides four hundred and thirty-four francs, sixty-five centimes, the little attorney demanded a hundred crowns by way of fee. Altogether, the Séchard family owed about ten thousand francs. This is what is called “putting fire into the bed straw.”
Apart from the utility of these documents to other nations who thus may behold the battery of French law in action, the French legislator ought to know the lengths to which the abuse of procedure may be carried, always supposing that the said legislator can find time for reading. Surely some sort of regulation might be devised, some way of forbidding lawyers to carry on a case until the sum in dispute is more than eaten up in costs? Is there not something ludicrous in the idea of submitting a square yard of soil and an estate of thousands of acres to the same legal formalities? These bare outlines of the history of the various stages of procedure should open the eyes of Frenchmen to the meaning of the words “legal formalities, justice, and costs,” little as the immense majority of the nations know about them.
Five thousand pounds’ weight of type in the printing office were worth two thousand francs as old metal; the three presses were valued at six hundred francs; the rest of the plant would fetch the price of old iron and firewood. The household furniture would have brought in a thousand francs at most. The whole personal property of Séchard junior therefore represented the sum of four thousand francs; and Cachan and Petit-Claud made claims for seven thousand francs in costs already incurred, to say nothing of expenses to come, for the blossom gave promise of fine fruits enough, as the reader will shortly see. Surely the lawyers of France and Navarre, nay, even of Normandy herself, will not refuse Petit-Claud his meed of admiration and respect? Surely, too, kind hearts will give Marion and Kolb a tear of sympathy?
All through the war Kolb sat on a chair in the doorway, acting as watchdog, when David had nothing else for him to do. It was Kolb who received all the notifications, and a clerk of Petit-Claud’s kept watch over Kolb. No sooner were the placards announcing the auction put up on the premises than Kolb tore them down; he hurried round the town after the bill-poster, tearing the placards from the walls.
“Ah, scountrels!” he cried, “to dorment so goot a man; and they calls it chustice!”
Marion made half a franc a day by working half time in a paper mill as a machine tender, and her wages contributed to the support of the household. Mme. Chardon went back uncomplainingly to her old occupation, sitting up night after night, and bringing home her wages at the end of the week. Poor Mme. Chardon! Twice already she had made a nine days’ prayer for those she loved, wondering that God should be deaf to her petitions, and blind to the light of the candles on His altar.
On the 2nd of September, a letter came from Lucien, the first since the letter of the winter, which David had kept from his wife’s knowledge—the announcement of the three bills which bore David’s signature. This time Lucien wrote to Eve.
“The third since he left us!” she said. Poor sister, she was afraid to open the envelope that covered the fatal sheet.
She was feeding the little one when the post came in; they could not afford a wet-nurse now, and the child was being brought up by hand. Her state of mind may be imagined, and David’s also, when he had been roused to read the letter, for David had been at work all night, and only lay down at daybreak.
Lucien to Eve.
“Paris, August 29th.
“My dear Sister—Two days ago, at five o’clock in the morning, one of God’s noblest creatures breathed her last in my arms; she was the one woman on earth capable of loving me as you and mother and David love me, giving me besides that unselfish affection, something that neither mother nor sister can give—the utmost bliss of love. Poor Coralie, after giving up everything for my sake, may perhaps have died for me—for me, who at this
