“Are you sure of payment?” asked Eve. She had thought it hopeless to try to sell the business; and now, to her astonishment, a bargain which would have been their salvation three months ago was concluded in this summary fashion.
“The money has been deposited with me,” he answered succinctly.
“Why, here is magic at work!” said David, and he asked Petit-Claud for an explanation of this piece of luck.
“No,” said Petit-Claud, “it is very simple. The merchants in L’Houmeau want a newspaper.”
“But I am bound not to publish a paper,” said David.
“Yes, you are bound, but is your successor?—However it is,” he continued, “do not trouble yourself at all; sell the business, pocket the proceeds, and leave Cérizet to find his way through the conditions of the sale—he can take care of himself.”
“Yes,” said Eve.
“And if it turns out that you may not print a newspaper in Angoulême,” said Petit-Claud, “those who are finding the capital for Cérizet will bring out the paper in L’Houmeau.”
The prospect of twenty-two thousand francs, of want now at end, dazzled Eve. The partnership and its hopes took a second place. And, therefore, M. and Mme. Séchard gave way on a final point of dispute. The tall Cointet insisted that the patent should be taken out in the name of any one of the partners. What difference could it make? The stout Cointet said the last word.
“He is finding the money for the patent; he is bearing the expenses of the journey—another two thousand francs over and above the rest of the expenses. He must take it out in his own name, or we will not stir in the matter.”
The lynx gained a victory at all points. The deed of partnership was signed that afternoon at half-past four.
The tall Cointet politely gave Mme. Séchard a dozen thread-pattern forks and spoons and a beautiful Ternaux shawl, by way of pin-money, said he, and to efface any unpleasant impression made in the heat of discussion. The copies of the draft had scarcely been made out, Cachan had barely had time to send the documents to Petit-Claud, together with the three unlucky forged bills, when the Séchards heard a deafening rumble in the street, a dray from the Messageries stopped before the door, and Kolb’s voice made the staircase ring again.
“Montame! montame! vifteen tausend vrancs, vrom Boidiers” (Poitiers). “Goot money! vrom Monziere Lucien!”
“Fifteen thousand francs!” cried Eve, throwing up her arms.
“Yes, madame,” said the carman in the doorway, “fifteen thousand francs, brought by the Bordeaux coach, and they didn’t want any more neither! I have two men downstairs bringing up the bags. M. Lucien Chardon de Rubempré is the sender. I have brought up a little leather bag for you, containing five hundred francs in gold, and a letter it’s likely.”
Eve thought that she must be dreaming as she read:—
“My dear sister—Here are fifteen thousand francs. Instead of taking my life, I have sold it. I am no longer my own; I am only the secretary of a Spanish diplomatist; I am his creature. A new and dreadful life is beginning for me. Perhaps I should have done better to drown myself.
“Goodbye. David will be released, and with the four thousand francs he can buy a little paper mill, no doubt, and make his fortune. Forget me, all of you. This is the wish of your unhappy brother.
“It is decreed that my poor boy should be unlucky in everything, and even when he does well, as he said himself,” said Mme. Chardon, as she watched the men piling up the bags.
“We have had a narrow escape!” exclaimed the tall Cointet, when he was once more in the Place du Mûrier. “An hour later the glitter of the silver would have thrown a new light on the deed of partnership. Our man would have fought shy of it. We have his promise now, and in three months’ time we shall know what to do.”
That very evening, at seven o’clock, Cérizet bought the business, and the money was paid over, the purchaser undertaking to pay rent for the last quarter. The next day Eve sent forty thousand francs to the Receiver-General, and bought two thousand five hundred francs of rentes in her husband’s name. Then she wrote to her father-in-law and asked him to find a small farm, worth about ten thousand francs, for her near Marsac. She meant to invest her own fortune in this way.
The tall Cointet’s plot was formidably simple. From the very first he considered that the plan of sizing the pulp in the vat was impracticable. The real secret of fortune lay in the composition of the pulp, in the cheap vegetable fibre as a substitute for rags. He made up his mind, therefore, to lay immense stress on the secondary problem of sizing the pulp, and to pass over the discovery of cheap raw material, and for the following reasons:
The Angoulême paper mills manufacture paper for stationers. Notepaper, foolscap, crown, and post-demy are all necessarily sized; and these papers have been the pride of the Angoulême mills for a long while past, stationery being the specialty of the Charente. This fact gave color to the Cointet’s urgency upon the point of sizing in the pulping-trough; but, as a matter of fact, they cared nothing for this part of David’s researches. The demand for writing-paper is exceedingly small compared with the almost unlimited demand for unsized paper for printers. As Boniface Cointet traveled to Paris to take out the patent in his own name, he was projecting plans that were like to work a revolution in his paper mill. Arrived in Paris, he took up his quarters with Métivier, and gave his instructions to his agent. Métivier was to call upon the proprietors of newspapers, and offer to deliver paper at prices below those quoted by all other houses; he could guarantee in each case that the paper should be a better color, and in every way superior to the best kinds
