David Séchard’s gesture of protest on behalf of his good faith was sublime in its simplicity.
“Not that fifty thousand francs thrown into the Charente would ruin us,” said Cointet, in reply to mute protest, “but we do not wish to be obliged to pay cash for everything in consequence of slanders that shake our credit; that would bring us to a standstill. We have reached the term fixed by our agreement, and we are bound on either side to think over our position.”
“He is right,” thought David. He had forgotten the routine work of the business, thoroughly absorbed as he had been in experiments on a large scale.
David went to Marsac. For the past six months he had gone over on Saturday evening, returning again to L’Houmeau on Tuesday morning. Eve, after much counsel from her father-in-law, had bought a house called the Verberie, with three acres of land and a croft planted with vines, which lay like a wedge in the old man’s vineyard. Here, with her mother and Marion, she lived a very frugal life, for five thousand francs of the purchase money still remained unpaid. It was a charming little domain, the prettiest bit of property in Marsac. The house, with a garden before it and a yard at the back, was built of white tufa ornamented with carvings, cut without great expense in that easily wrought stone, and roofed with slate. The pretty furniture from the house in Angoulême looked prettier still at Marsac, for there was not the slightest attempt at comfort or luxury in the country in those days. A row of orange-trees, pomegranates, and rare plants stood before the house on the side of the garden, set there by the last owner, an old general who died under M. Marron’s hands.
David was enjoying his holiday sitting under an orange-tree with his wife, and father, and little Lucien, when the bailiff from Mansle appeared. Cointet Brothers gave their partner formal notice to appoint an arbitrator to settle disputes, in accordance with a clause in the agreement. The Cointets demanded that the six thousand francs should be refunded, and the patent surrendered in consideration of the enormous outlay made to no purpose.
“People say that you are ruining them,” said old Séchard. “Well, well, of all that you have done, that is the one thing that I am glad to know.”
At nine o’clock the next morning Eve and David stood in Petit-Claud’s waiting-room. The little lawyer was the guardian of the widow and orphan by virtue of his office, and it seemed to them that they could take no other advice. Petit-Claud was delighted to see his clients, and insisted that M. and Mme. Séchard should do him the pleasure of breakfasting with him.
“Do the Cointets want six thousand francs of you?” he asked, smiling. “How much is still owing of the purchase-money of the Verberie?”
“Five thousand francs, monsieur,” said Eve, “but I have two thousand—”
“Keep your money,” Petit-Claud broke in. “Let us see: five thousand—why, you want quite another ten thousand francs to settle yourselves comfortably down yonder. Very good, in two hours’ time the Cointets shall bring you fifteen thousand francs—”
Eve started with surprise.
“If you will renounce all claims to the profits under the deed of partnership, and come to an amicable settlement,” said Petit-Claud. “Does that suit you?”
“Will it really be lawfully ours?” asked Eve.
“Very much so,” said the lawyer, smiling. “The Cointets have worked you trouble enough; I should like to make an end of their pretensions. Listen to me; I am a magistrate now, and it is my duty to tell you the truth. Very good. The Cointets are playing you false at this moment, but you are in their hands. If you accept battle, you might possibly gain the lawsuit which they will bring. Do you wish to be where you are now after ten years of litigation? Experts’ fees and expenses of arbitration will be multiplied, the most contradictory opinions will be given, and you must take your chance. And,” he added, smiling again, “there is no attorney here that can defend you, so far as I see. My successor has not much ability. There, a bad compromise is better than a successful lawsuit.”
“Any arrangement that will give us a quiet life will do for me,” said David.
Petit-Claud called to his servant.
“Paul! go and ask M. Ségaud, my successor, to come here.—He shall go to see the Cointets while we breakfast” said Petit-Claud, addressing his former clients, “and in a few hours’ time you will be on your way home to Marsac, ruined, but with minds at rest. Ten thousand francs will bring you in another five hundred francs of income, and you will live comfortably on your bit of property.”
Two hours later, as Petit-Claud had prophesied, Maître Ségaud came back with an agreement duly drawn up and signed by the Cointets, and fifteen notes each for a thousand francs.
“We are much indebted to you,” said Séchard, turning to Petit-Claud.
“Why, I have just this moment ruined you,” said Petit-Claud, looking at his astonished former clients. “I tell you again, I have ruined you, as you will see as time goes on; but I know you, you would rather be ruined than wait for a fortune which perhaps might come too late.”
“We are not mercenary, monsieur,” said Madame Eve. “We thank you for giving us the means of happiness; we shall always feel grateful to you.”
“Great heavens! don’t call down blessings on me!” cried Petit-Claud. “It fills me with remorse; but today, I think, I have made full reparation. If I am a magistrate, it is entirely owing to you; and if anybody is to feel grateful, it is I. Goodbye.”
As time went on, Kolb changed his opinion of Séchard senior; and as for the old man, he took a liking to Kolb when he found that, like himself, the Alsacien could neither write
