The Marriage Contract

THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT—­FIRST DAY

At the beginning of the winter of 1822, Paul de Manerville made a formal request, through his great-aunt, the Baronne de Maulincour, for the hand of Mademoiselle Natalie Evangelista.  Though the baroness never stayed more than two months in Medoc, she remained on this occasion till the last of October, in order to assist her nephew through the affair and play the part of a mother to him.  After conveying the first suggestions to Madame Evangelista the experienced old woman returned to inform Paul of the results of the overture.

“My child,” she said, “the affair is won.  In talking of property, I found that Madame Evangelista gives nothing of her own to her daughter.  Mademoiselle Natalie’s dowry is her patrimony.  Marry her, my dear boy.  Men who have a name and an estate to transmit, a family to continue, must, sooner or later, end in marriage.  I wish I could see my dear Auguste taking that course.  You can now carry on the marriage without me; I have nothing to give you but my blessing, and women as old as I are out of place at a wedding.  I leave for Paris to-morrow.  When you present your wife in society I shall be able to see her and assist her far more to the purpose than now.  If you had had no house in Paris I would gladly have arranged the second floor of mine for you.”

“Dear aunt,” said Paul, “I thank you heartily.  But what do you mean when you say that the mother gives nothing of her own, and that the daughter’s dowry is her patrimony?”

“The mother, my dear boy, is a sly cat, who takes advantage of her daughter’s beauty to impose conditions and allow you only that which she cannot prevent you from having; namely, the daughter’s fortune from her father.  We old people know the importance of inquiring closely, What has he?  What has she?  I advise you therefore to give particular instructions to your notary.  The marriage contract, my dear child, is the most sacred of all duties.  If your father and your mother had not made their bed properly you might now be sleeping without sheets.  You will have children, they are the commonest result of marriage, and you must think of them.  Consult Maitre Mathias our old notary.”

Madame de Maulincour departed, having plunged Paul into a state of extreme perplexity.  His mother-in-law a sly cat!  Must he struggle for his interests in the marriage contract?  Was it necessary to defend them?  Who was likely to attack them?

He followed the advice of his aunt and confided the drawing-up of the marriage contract to Maitre Mathias.  But these threatened discussions oppressed him, and he went to see Madame Evangelista and announce his intentions in a state of rather lively agitation.  Like all timid men, he shrank from allowing the distrust his aunt had put into his mind to be seen; in fact, he considered it insulting.  To avoid even a slight jar with a person so imposing to his mind as his future mother-in-law, he proceeded to state his intentions with the circumlocution natural to persons who dare not face a difficulty.

“Madame,” he said, choosing a moment when Natalie was absent from the room, “you know, of course, what a family notary is.  Mine is a worthy old man, to whom it would be a sincere grief if he were not entrusted with the drawing of my marriage contract.”

“Why, of course!” said Madame Evangelista, interrupting him, “but are not marriage contracts always made by agreement of the notaries of both families?”

The time that Paul took to reply to this question was occupied by Madame Evangelista in asking herself, “What is he thinking of?” for women possess in an eminent degree the art of reading thoughts from the play of countenance.  She divined the instigations of the great-aunt in the embarrassed glance and the agitated tone of voice which betrayed an inward struggle in Paul’s mind.

“At last,” she thought to herself, “the fatal day has come; the crisis begins—­how will it end?  My notary is Monsieur Solonet,” she said, after a pause.  “Yours, I think you said, is Monsieur Mathias; I will invite them to dinner to-morrow, and they can come to an understanding then.  It is their business to conciliate our interests without our interference; just as good cooks are expected to furnish good food without instructions.”

“Yes, you are right,” said Paul, letting a faint sigh of relief escape from him.

By a singular transposition of parts, Paul, innocent of all wrong-doing, trembled, while Madame Evangelista, though a prey to the utmost anxiety, was outwardly calm.

The widow owed her daughter one-third of the fortune left by Monsieur Evangelista,—­namely, nearly twelve hundred thousand francs,—­and she knew herself unable to pay it, even by taking the whole of her property to do so.  She would therefore be placed at the mercy of a son-in-law.  Though she might be able to control Paul if left to himself, would he, when enlightened by his notary, agree to release her from rendering her account as guardian of her daughter’s patrimony?  If Paul withdrew his proposals all Bordeaux would know the reason and Natalie’s future marriage would be made impossible.  This mother, who desired the happiness of her daughter, this woman, who from infancy had lived honorably, was aware that on the morrow she must become dishonest.  Like those great warriors who fain would blot from their lives the moment when they had felt a secret cowardice, she ardently desired to cut this inevitable day from the record of hers.  Most assuredly some hairs on her head must have whitened during the night, when, face to face with facts, she bitterly regretted her extravagance as she felt the hard necessities of the situation.

Among these necessities was that of confiding the truth to her notary, for whom she sent in the morning as soon as she rose.  She was forced to reveal to him a secret defaulting she had never been willing to admit to herself, for she had steadily advanced to the abyss, relying on some chance accident, which never happened, to relieve her.  There rose in her soul a feeling against Paul, that was neither dislike, nor aversion, nor anything, as yet, unkind; but he was the cause of this crisis; the opposing party in this secret suit; he became, without knowing it, an innocent enemy she was forced to conquer.  What human being did ever yet love his or her dupe?  Compelled to deceive and trick him if she could, the Spanish woman resolved, like other women, to put her whole force of character into the struggle, the dishonor of which could be absolved by victory only.

In the stillness of the night she excused her conduct to her own mind by a tissue of arguments in which her pride predominated.  Natalie had shared the benefit of her extravagance.  There was not a single base or ignoble motive in what she had done.  She was no accountant, but was that a crime, a delinquency?  A man was only too lucky to obtain a wife like Natalie without a penny.  Such a treasure bestowed upon him might surely release her from a guardianship account.  How many men had bought the women they loved by greater sacrifices?  Why should a man do less for a wife than for a mistress?  Besides, Paul was a nullity, a man of no force, incapable; she would spend the best resources of her mind upon him and open to him a fine career; he should owe his future power and position to her influence; in that way she could pay her debt.  He would indeed be a fool to refuse such a future; and for what? a few paltry thousands, more or less.  He would be infamous if he withdrew for such a reason.

“But,” she added, to herself, “if the negotiation does not succeed at once, I shall leave Bordeaux.  I can still find a good marriage for Natalie by investing the proceeds of what is left, house and diamonds and furniture,—­keeping only a small income for myself.”

When a strong soul constructs a way of ultimate escape,—­as Richelieu did at Brouage,—­and holds in reserve a vigorous end, the resolution becomes a lever which strengthens its immediate way.  The thought of this finale in case of failure comforted Madame Evangelista, who fell asleep with all the more confidence as she remembered her assistance in the coming duel.

This was a young man named Solonet, considered the ablest notary in Bordeaux; now twenty-seven years of age and decorated with the Legion of honor for having actively contributed to the second return of the Bourbons.  Proud and happy to be received in the home of Madame Evangelista, less as a notary than as belonging to the royalist society of Bordeaux, Solonet had conceived for that fine setting sun one of those passions which women like Madame Evangelista repulse, although flattered and graciously allowing them to exist upon the surface.  Solonet remained therefore in a self-satisfied condition of hope and becoming respect.  Being sent for, he arrived the next morning with the promptitude of a slave and was received by the coquettish widow in her bedroom, where she allowed him to find her in a very becoming dishabille.

“Can I,” she said, “count upon your discretion and your entire devotion in a discussion which will take place in my house this evening?  You will readily understand that it relates to the marriage of my daughter.”

The young man expended himself in gallant protestations.

“Now to the point,” she said.

“I am listening,” he replied, checking his ardor.

Madame Evangelista then stated her position baldly.

“My dear lady, that is nothing to be troubled about,” said Maitre Solonet, assuming a confident air as soon as his client had given him the exact figures.  “The question is how have you conducted yourself toward Monsieur de Manerville?  In this matter questions of manner and deportment are of greater importance than those of law and finance.”

Madame Evangelista wrapped herself in dignity.  The notary learned to his satisfaction that until the present moment his client’s relations to Paul had been distant and reserved, and that partly from native pride and partly from involuntary shrewdness she had treated the Comte de Manerville as in some sense her inferior and as though it were an honor for him to be allowed to marry Mademoiselle Evangelista.  She assured Solonet that neither she nor her daughter could be suspected of any mercenary interests in the marriage; that they had the right, should Paul make any financial difficulties, to retreat from the affair to an illimitable distance; and finally, that she had already acquired over her future son-in-law a very remarkable ascendancy.

“If that is so,” said Solonet, “tell me what are the utmost concessions you are willing to make.”

“I wish to make as few as possible,” she answered, laughing.

“A woman’s answer,” cried Solonet.  “Madame, are you anxious to marry Mademoiselle Natalie?”

“Yes.”

“And you want a receipt for the eleven hundred and fifty-six thousand francs, for which you are responsible on the guardianship account which the law obliges you to render to your son-in-law?”

“Yes.”

“How much do you want to keep back?”

“Thirty thousand a year, at least.”

“It is a question of conquer or die, is it?”

“It is.”

“Well, then, I must reflect on the necessary means to that end; it will need all our cleverness to manage our forces.  I will give you some instructions on my arrival this evening; follow them carefully, and I think I may promise you a successful issue.  Is the Comte de Manerville in love with Mademoiselle Natalie?” he asked as he rose to take leave.

“He adores her.”

“That is not enough.  Does he desire her to the point of disregarding all pecuniary difficulties?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I call having a lien upon a daughter’s property,” cried the notary.  “Make her look her best to-night,” he added with a sly glance.

“She has a most charming dress for the occasion.”

“The marriage-contract dress is, in my opinion, half the battle,” said Solonet.

This last argument seemed so cogent to Madame Evangelista that she superintended Natalie’s toilet herself, as much perhaps to watch her daughter as to make her the innocent accomplice of her financial conspiracy.

With her hair dressed a la Sevigne and wearing a gown of white tulle adorned with pink ribbons, Natalie seemed to her mother so beautiful as to guarantee victory.  When the lady’s-maid left the room and Madame Evangelista was certain that no one could overhear her, she arranged a few curls on her daughter’s head by way of exordium.

“Dear child,” she said, in a voice that was firm apparently, “do you sincerely love the Comte de Manerville?”

Mother and daughter cast strange looks at each other.

“Why do you ask that question, little mother? and to-day more than yesterday> Why have you thrown me with him?”

“If you and I had to part forever would you still persist in the marriage?”

“I should give it up—­and I should not die of grief.”

“You do not love him, my dear,” said the mother, kissing her daughter’s forehead.

“But why, my dear mother, are you playing the Grand Inquisitor?”

“I wished to know if you desired the marriage without being madly in love with the husband.”

“I love him.”

“And you are right.  He is a count; we will make him a peer of France between us; nevertheless, there are certain difficulties.”

“Difficulties between persons who love each other?  Oh, no.  The heart of the Pink of Fashion is too firmly planted here,” she said, with a pretty gesture, “to make the very slightest objection.  I am sure of that.”

“But suppose it were otherwise?” persisted Madame Evangelista.

“He would be profoundly and forever forgotten,” replied Natalie.

“Good!  You are a Casa-Reale.  But suppose, though he madly loves you, suppose certain discussions and difficulties should arise, not of his own making, but which he must decide in your interests as well as in mine—­hey, Natalie, what then?  Without lowering your dignity, perhaps a little softness in your manner might decide him—­a word, a tone, a mere nothing.  Men are so made; they resist a serious argument, but they yield to a tender look.”

“I understand! a little touch to make my Favori leap the barrier,” said Natalie, making the gesture of striking a horse with her whip.

“My darling!  I ask nothing that resembles seduction.  You and I have sentiments of the old Castilian honor which will never permit us to pass certain limits.  Count Paul shall know our situation.”

“What situation?”

“You would not understand it.  But I tell you now that if after seeing you in all your glory his look betrays the slightest hesitation,—­and I shall watch him,—­on that instant I shall break off the marriage; I will liquidate my property, leave Bordeaux, and go to Douai, to be near the Claes.  Madame Claes is our relation through the Temnincks.  Then I’ll marry you to a peer of France, and take refuge in a convent myself, that I may give up to you my whole fortune.”

“Mother, what am I to do to prevent such misfortunes?” cried Natalie.

“I have never seen you so beautiful as you are now,” replied her mother.  “Be a little coquettish, and all is well.”

Madame Evangelista left Natalie to her thoughts, and went to arrange her own toilet in such a way that would bear comparison with that of her daughter.  If Natalie ought to make herself attractive to Paul she ought, none the less, to inflame the ardor of her champion Solonet.  The mother and daughter were therefore under arms when Paul arrived, bearing the bouquet which for the last few months he had daily offered to his love.  All three conversed pleasantly while awaiting the arrival of the notaries.

This day brought to Paul the first skirmish of that long and wearisome warfare called marriage.  It is therefore necessary to state the forces on both sides, the position of the belligerent bodies, and the ground on which they are about to manoeuvre.

To maintain a struggle, the importance of which had wholly escaped him, Paul’s only auxiliary was the old notary, Mathias.  Both were about to be confronted, unaware and defenceless, by a most unexpected circumstance; to be pressed by an enemy whose strategy was planned, and driven to decide on a course without having time to reflect upon it.  Where is the man who would not have succumbed, even though assisted by Cujas and Barthole?  How should he look for deceit and treachery where all seemed compliant and natural?  What could old Mathias do alone against Madame Evangelista, against Solonet, against Natalie, especially when a client in love goes over to the enemy as soon as the rising conflict threatens his happiness?  Already Paul was damaging his cause by making the customary lover’s speeches, to which his passion gave excessive value in the ears of Madame Evangelista, whose object it was to drive him to commit himself.

The matrimonial condottieri now about to fight for their clients, whose personal powers were to be so vitally important in this solemn encounter, the two notaries, on short, represent individually the old and the new systems,—­old fashioned notarial usage, and the new-fangled modern procedure.

Maitre Mathias was a worthy old gentleman sixty-nine years of age, who took great pride in his forty years’ exercise of the profession.  His huge gouty feet were encased in shoes with silver buckles, making a ridiculous termination to legs so spindling, with knees so bony, that when he crossed them they made you think of the emblems on a tombstone.  His puny little thighs, lost in a pair of wide black breeches fastened with buckles, seemed to bend beneath the weight of a round stomach and a torso developed, like that of most sedentary persons, into a stout barrel, always buttoned into a green coat with square tails, which no man could remember to have ever seen new.  His hair, well brushed and powdered, was tied in a rat’s tail that lay between the collar of his coat and that of his waistcoat, which was white, with a pattern of flowers.  With his round head, his face the color of a vine-leaf, his blue eyes, a trumpet nose, a thick-lipped mouth, and a double-chin, the dear old fellow excited, whenever he appeared among strangers who did not know him, that satirical laugh which Frenchmen so generously bestow on the ludicrous creations Dame Nature occasionally allows herself, which Art delights in exaggerating under the name of caricatures.

But in Maitre Mathias, mind had triumphed over form; the qualities of his soul had vanquished the oddities of his body.  The inhabitants of Bordeaux, as a rule, testified a friendly respect and a deference that was full of esteem for him.  The old man’s voice went to their hearts and sounded there with the eloquence of uprightness.  His craft consisted in going straight to the fact, overturning all subterfuge and evil devices by plain questionings.  His quick perception, his long training in his profession gave him that divining sense which goes to the depths of conscience and reads its secret thoughts.  Though grave and deliberate in business, the patriarch could be gay with the gaiety of our ancestors.  He could risk a song after dinner, enjoy all family festivities, celebrate the birthdays of grandmothers and children, and bury with due solemnity the Christmas log.  He loved to send presents at New Year, and eggs at Easter; he believed in the duties of a godfather, and never deserted the customs which colored the life of the olden time.  Maitre Mathias was a noble and venerable relic of the notaries, obscure great men, who gave no receipt for the millions entrusted to them, but returned those millions in the sacks they were delivered in, tied with the same twine; men who fulfilled their trusts to the letter, drew honest inventories, took fatherly interest in their clients, often barring the way to extravagance and dissipation, —­men to whom families confided their secrets, and who felt so responsible for any error in their deeds that they meditated long and carefully over them.  Never during his whole notarial life, had any client found reason to complain of a bad investment or an ill-placed mortgage.  His own fortune, slowly but honorably acquired, had come to him as the result of a thirty years’ practice and careful economy.  He had established in life fourteen of his clerks.  Religious, and generous in secret, Mathias was found whenever good was to be done without remuneration.  An active member on hospital and other benevolent committees, he subscribed the largest sums to relieve all sudden misfortunes and emergencies, as well as to create certain useful permanent institutions; consequently, neither he nor his wife kept a carriage.  Also his word was felt to be sacred, and his coffers held as much of the money of others as a bank; and also, we may add, he went by the name of “Our good Monsieur Mathias,” and when he died, three thousand persons followed him to his grave.

Solonet was the style of young notary who comes in humming a tune, affects light-heartedness, declares that business is better done with a laugh than seriously.  He is the notary captain of the national guard, who dislikes to be taken for a notary, solicits the cross of the Legion of honor, keeps his cabriolet, and leaves the verification of his deeds to his clerks; he is the notary who goes to balls and theatres, buys pictures and plays at ecarte; he has coffers in which gold is received on deposit and is later returned in bank-bills,—­a notary who follows his epoch, risks capital in doubtful investments, speculates with all he can lay his hands on, and expects to retire with an income of thirty thousand francs after ten years’ practice; in short, the notary whose cleverness comes of his duplicity, whom many men fear as an accomplice possessing their secrets, and who sees in his practice a means of ultimately marrying some blue-stockinged heiress.

When the slender, fair-haired Solonet, curled, perfumed, and booted like the leading gentleman at the Vaudeville, and dressed like a dandy whose most important business is a duel, entered Madame Evangelista’s salon, preceding his brother notary, whose advance was delayed by a twinge of the gout, the two men presented to the life one of those famous caricatures entitled “Former Times and the Present Day,” which had such eminent success under the Empire.  If Madame and Mademoiselle Evangelista to whom the “good Monsieur Mathias,” was personally unknown, felt, on first seeing him, a slight inclination to laugh, they were soon touched by the old-fashioned grace with which he greeted them.  The words he used were full of that amenity which amiable old men convey as much by the ideas they suggest as by the manner in which they express them.  The younger notary, with his flippant tone, seemed on a lower plane.  Mathias showed his superior knowledge of life by the reserved manner with which he accosted Paul.  Without compromising his white hairs, he showed that he respected the young man’s nobility, while at the same time he claimed the honor due to old age, and made it felt that social rights are natural.  Solonet’s bow and greeting, on the contrary, expressed a sense of perfect equality, which would naturally affront the pretensions of a man of society and make the notary ridiculous in the eyes of a real noble.  Solonet made a motion, somewhat too familiar, to Madame Evangelista, inviting her to a private conference in the recess of a window.  For some minutes they talked to each other in a low voice, giving way now and then to laughter,—­no doubt to lessen in the minds of others the importance of the conversation, in which Solonet was really communicating to his sovereign lady the plan of battle.

“But,” he said, as he ended, “will you have the courage to sell your house?”

“Undoubtedly,” she replied.

Madame Evangelista did not choose to tell her notary the motive of this heroism, which struck him greatly.  Solonet’s zeal might have cooled had he known that his client was really intending to leave Bordeaux.  She had not as yet said anything about that intention to Paul, in order not to alarm him with the preliminary steps and circumlocutions which must be taken before he entered on the political life she planned for him.

After dinner the two plenipotentiaries left the loving pair with the mother, and betook themselves to an adjoining salon where their conference was arranged to take place.  A dual scene then followed on this domestic stage:  in the chimney-corner of the great salon a scene of love, in which to all appearances life was smiles and joy; in the other room, a scene of gravity and gloom, where selfish interests, baldly proclaimed, openly took the part they play in life under flowery disguises.

“My dear master,” said Solonet, “the document can remain under your lock and key; I know very well what I owe to my old preceptor.”  Mathias bowed gravely.  “But,” continued Solonet, unfolding the rough copy of a deed he had made his clerk draw up, “as we are the oppressed party, I mean the daughter, I have written the contract—­which will save you trouble.  We marry with our rights under the rule of community of interests; with general donation of our property to each other in case of death without heirs; if not, donation of one-fourth as life interest, and one-fourth in fee; the sum placed in community of interests to be one-fourth of the respective property of each party; the survivor to possess the furniture without appraisal.  It’s all as simple as how d’ye do.”

“Ta, ta, ta, ta,” said Mathias, “I don’t do business as one sings a tune.  What are your claims?”

“What are yours?” said Solonet.

“Our property,” replied Mathias, “is:  the estate of Lanstrac, which brings in a rental of twenty-three thousand francs a year, not counting the natural products.  Item:  the farms of Grassol and Guadet, each worth three thousand six hundred francs a year.  Item:  the vineyard of Belle-Rose, yielding in ordinary years sixteen thousand francs; total, forty-six thousand two hundred francs a year.  Item:  the patrimonial mansion at Bordeaux taxed for nine hundred francs.  Item:  a handsome house, between court and garden in Paris, rue de la Pepiniere, taxed for fifteen hundred francs.  These pieces of property, the title-deeds of which I hold, are derived from our father and mother, except the house in Paris, which we bought ourselves.  We must also reckon in the furniture of the two houses, and that of the chateau of Lanstrac, estimated at four hundred and fifty thousand francs.  There’s the table, the cloth, and the first course.  What do you bring for the second course and the dessert?”

“Our rights,” replied Solonet.

“Specify them, my friend,” said Mathias.  “What do you bring us?  Where is the inventory of the property left by Monsieur Evangelista?  Show me the liquidation, the investment of the amount.  Where is your capital? —­if there is any capital.  Where is your landed property?—­if you have any.  In short, let us see your guardianship account, and tell us what you bring and what your mother will secure to us.”

“Does Monsieur le Comte de Manerville love Mademoiselle Evangelista?”

“He wishes to make her his wife if the marriage can be suitably arranged,” said the old notary.  “I am not a child; this matter concerns our business, and not our feelings.”

“The marriage will be off unless you show generous feeling; and for this reason,” continued Solonet.  “No inventory was made at the death of our husband; we are Spaniards, Creoles, and know nothing of French laws.  Besides, we were too deeply grieved at our loss to think at such a time of the miserable formalities which occupy cold hearts.  It is publicly well known that our late husband adored us, and that we mourned for him sincerely.  If we did have a settlement of accounts with a short inventory attached, made, as one may say, by common report, you can thank our surrogate guardian, who obliged us to establish a status and assign to our daughter a fortune, such as it is, at a time when we were forced to withdraw from London our English securities, the capital of which was immense, and re-invest the proceeds in Paris, where interests were doubled.”

“Don’t talk nonsense to me.  There are various ways of verifying the property.  What was the amount of your legacy tax?  Those figures will enable us to get at the total.  Come to the point.  Tell us frankly what you received from the father’s estate and how much remains of it.  If we are very much in love we’ll see then what we can do.”

“If you are marrying us for our money you can go about your business.  We have claims to more than a million; but all that remains to our mother is this house and furniture and four hundred odd thousand francs invested about 1817 in the Five-per-cents, which yield about forty-thousand francs a year.”

“Then why do you live in a style that requires one hundred thousand a year at the least?” cried Mathias, horror-stricken.

“Our daughter has cost us the eyes out of our head,” replied Solonet.  “Besides, we like to spend money.  Your jeremiads, let me tell you, won’t recover two farthings of the money.”

“With the fifty thousand francs a year which belong to Mademoiselle Natalie you could have brought her up handsomely without coming to ruin.  But if you have squandered everything while you were a girl what will it be when you are a married woman?”

“Then drop us altogether,” said Solonet.  “The handsomest girl in Bordeaux has a right to spend more than she has, if she likes.”

“I’ll talk to my client about that,” said the old notary.

“Very good, old father Cassandra, go and tell your client that we haven’t a penny,” thought Solonet, who, in the solitude of his study, had strategically massed his forces, drawn up his propositions, manned the drawbridge of discussion, and prepared the point at which the opposing party, thinking the affair a failure, could suddenly be led into a compromise which would end in the triumph of his client.

The white dress with its rose-colored ribbons, the Sevigne curls, Natalie’s tiny foot, her winning glance, her pretty fingers constantly employed in adjusting curls that needed no adjustment, these girlish manoeuvres like those of a peacock spreading his tail, had brought Paul to the point at which his future mother-in-law desired to see him.  He was intoxicated with love, and his eyes, the sure thermometer of the soul, indicated the degree of passion at which a man commits a thousand follies.

“Natalie is so beautiful,” he whispered to the mother, “that I can conceive the frenzy which leads a man to pay for his happiness by death.”

Madame Evangelista replied with a shake of her head:—­

“Lover’s talk, my dear count.  My husband never said such charming things to me; but he married me without a fortune and for thirteen years he never caused me one moment’s pain.”

“Is that a lesson you are giving me?” said Paul, laughing.

“You know how I love you, my dear son,” she answered, pressing his hand.  “I must indeed love you well to give you my Natalie.”

“Give me, give me?” said the young girl, waving a screen of Indian feathers, “what are you whispering about me?”

“I was telling her,” replied Paul, “how much I love you, since etiquette forbids me to tell it to you.”

“Why?”

“I fear to say too much.”

“Ah! you know too well how to offer the jewels of flattery.  Shall I tell you my private opinion about you?  Well, I think you have more mind than a lover ought to have.  To be the Pink of Fashion and a wit as well,” she added, dropping her eyes, “is to have too many advantages:  a man should choose between them.  I fear too, myself.”

“And why?”

“We must not talk in this way.  Mamma, do you not think that this conversation is dangerous inasmuch as the contract is not yet signed?”

“It soon will be,” said Paul.

“I should like to know what Achilles and Nestor are saying to each other in the next room,” said Natalie, nodding toward the door of the little salon with a childlike expression of curiosity.

“They are talking of our children and our death and a lot of other such trifles; they are counting our gold to see if we can keep five horses in the stables.  They are talking also of deeds of gift; but there, I have forestalled them.”

“How so?”

“Have I not given myself wholly to you?” he said, looking straight at the girl, whose beauty was enhanced by the blush which the pleasure of this answer brought to her face.

“Mamma, how can I acknowledge so much generosity.”

“My dear child, you have a lifetime before you in which to return it.  To make the daily happiness of a home, is to bring a treasure into it.  I had no other fortune when I married.”

“Do you like Lanstrac?” asked Paul, addressing Natalie.

“How could I fail to like the place where you were born?” she answered.  “I wish I could see your house.”

“Our house,” said Paul.  “Do you not want to know if I shall understand your tastes and arrange the house to suit you?  Your mother had made a husband’s task most difficult; you have always been so happy!  But where love is infinite, nothing is impossible.”

“My dear children,” said Madame Evangelista, “do you feel willing to stay in Bordeaux after your marriage?  If you have the courage to face the people here who know you and will watch and hamper you, so be it!  But if you feel that desire for a solitude together which can hardly be expressed, let us go to Paris were the life of a young couple can pass unnoticed in the stream.  There alone you can behave as lovers without fearing to seem ridiculous.”

“You are quite right,” said Paul, “but I shall hardly have time to get my house ready.  However, I will write to-night to de Marsay, the friend on whom I can always count to get things done for me.”

At the moment when Paul, like all young men accustomed to satisfy their desires without previous calculation, was inconsiderately binding himself to the expenses of a stay in Paris, Maitre Mathias entered the salon and made a sign to his client that he wished to speak to him.

“What is it, my friend?” asked Paul, following the old man to the recess of a window.

“Monsieur le comte,” said the honest lawyer, “there is not a penny of dowry.  My advice is:  put off the conference to another day, so that you may gain time to consider your proper course.”

“Monsieur Paul,” said Natalie, “I have a word to say in private to you.”

Though Madame Evangelista’s face was calm, no Jew of the middle ages ever suffered greater torture in his caldron of boiling oil than she was enduring in her violet velvet gown.  Solonet had pledged the marriage to her, but she was ignorant of the means and conditions of success.  The anguish of this uncertainty was intolerable.  Possibly she owed her safety to her daughter’s disobedience.  Natalie had considered the advice of her mother and noted her anxiety.  When she saw the success of her own coquetry she was struck to the heart with a variety of contradictory thoughts.  Without blaming her mother, she was half-ashamed of manoeuvres the object of which was, undoubtedly, some personal game.  She was also seized with a jealous curiosity which is easily conceived.  She wanted to find out if Paul loved her well enough to rise above the obstacles that her mother foresaw and which she now saw clouding the face of the old lawyer.  These ideas and sentiments prompted her to an action of loyalty which became her well.  But, for all that, the blackest perfidy could not have been as dangerous as her present innocence.

“Paul,” she said in a low voice, and she so called him for the first time, “if any difficulties as to property arise to separate us, remember that I free you from all engagements, and will allow you to let the blame of such a rupture rest on me.”

She put such dignity into this expression of her generosity that Paul believed in her disinterestedness and in her ignorance of the strange fact that his notary had just told to him.  He pressed the young girl’s hand and kissed it like a man to whom love is more precious than wealth.  Natalie left the room.

“Sac-a-papier!  Monsieur le comte, you are committing a great folly,” said the old notary, rejoining his client.

Paul grew thoughtful.  He had expected to unite Natalie’s fortune with his own and thus obtain for his married life an income of one hundred thousand francs a year; and however much a man may be in love he cannot pass without emotion and anxiety from the prospect of a hundred thousand to the certainty of forty-six thousand a year and the duty of providing for a woman accustomed to every luxury.

“My daughter is no longer here,” said Madame Evangelista, advancing almost regally toward her son-in-law and his notary.  “May I be told what is happening?”

“Madame,” replied Mathias, alarmed at Paul’s silence, “an obstacle which I fear will delay us has arisen—­”

At these words, Maitre Solonet issued from the little salon and cut short the old man’s speech by a remark which restored Paul’s composure.  Overcome by the remembrance of his gallant speeches and his lover-like behavior, he felt unable to disown them or to change his course.  He longed, for the moment, to fling himself into a gulf; Solonet’s words relieved him.

“There is a way,” said the younger notary, with an easy air, “by which madame can meet the payment which is due to her daughter.  Madame Evangelista possesses forty thousand francs a year from an investment in the Five-per-cents, the capital of which will soon be at par, if not above it.  We may therefore reckon it at eight hundred thousand francs.  This house and garden are fully worth two hundred thousand.  On that estimate, Madame can convey by the marriage contract the titles of that property to her daughter, reserving only a life interest in it —­for I conclude that Monsieur le comte could hardly wish to leave his mother-in-law without means?  Though Madame has certainly run through her fortune, she is still able to make good that of her daughter, or very nearly so.”

“Women are most unfortunate in having no knowledge of business,” said Madame Evangelista.  “Have I titles to property? and what are life-interests?”

Paul was in a sort of ecstasy as he listened to this proposed arrangement.  The old notary, seeing the trap, and his client with one foot caught in it, was petrified for a moment, as he said to himself:—­

“I am certain they are tricking us.”

“If madame will follow my advice,” said Solonet, “she will secure her own tranquillity.  By sacrificing herself in this way she may be sure that no minors will ultimately harass her—­for we never know who may live and who may die!  Monsieur le comte will then give due acknowledgment in the marriage contract of having received the sum total of Mademoiselle Evangelista’s patrimonial inheritance.”

Mathias could not restrain the indignation which shone in his eyes and flushed his face.

“And that sum,” he said, shaking, “is—­”

“One million, one hundred and fifty-six thousand francs according to the document—­”

“Why don’t you ask Monsieur le comte to make over ‘hic et nunc’ his whole fortune to his future wife?” said Mathias.  “It would be more honest than what you now propose.  I will not allow the ruin of the Comte de Manerville to take place under my very eyes—­”

He made a step as if to address his client, who was silent throughout this scene as if dazed by it; but he turned and said, addressing Madame Evangelista:—­

“Do not suppose, madame, that I think you a party to these ideas of my brother notary.  I consider you an honest woman and a lady who knows nothing of business.”

“Thank you, brother notary,” said Solonet.

“You know that there can be no offence between you and me,” replied Mathias.  “Madame,” he added, “you ought to know the result of this proposed arrangement.  You are still young and beautiful enough to marry again—­Ah! madame,” said the old man, noting her gesture, “who can answer for themselves on that point?”

“I did not suppose, monsieur,” said Madame Evangelista, “that, after remaining a widow for the seven best years of my life, and refusing the most brilliant offers for my daughter’s sake, I should be suspected of such a piece of folly as marrying again at thirty-nine years of age.  If we were not talking business I should regard your suggestion as an impertinence.”

“Would it not be more impertinent if I suggested that you could not marry again?”

“Can and will are separate terms,” remarked Solonet, gallantly.

“Well,” resumed Maitre Mathias, “we will say nothing of your marriage.  You may, and we all desire it, live for forty-five years to come.  Now, if you keep for yourself the life-interest in your daughter’s patrimony, your children are laid on the shelf for the best years of their lives.”

“What does that mean?” said the widow.  “I don’t understand being laid on a shelf.”

Solonet, the man of elegance and good taste, began to laugh.

“I’ll translate it for you,” said Mathias.  “If your children are wise they will think of the future.  To think of the future means laying by half our income, provided we have only two children, to whom we are bound to give a fine education and a handsome dowry.  Your daughter and son-in-law will, therefore, be reduced to live on twenty thousand francs a year, though each has spent fifty thousand while still unmarried.  But that is nothing.  The law obliges my client to account, hereafter, to his children for the eleven hundred and fifty-six thousand francs of their mother’s patrimony; yet he may not have received them if his wife should die and madame should survive her, which may very well happen.  To sign such a contract is to fling one’s self into the river, bound hand and foot.  You wish to make your daughter happy, do you not?  If she loves her husband, a fact which notaries never doubt, she will share his troubles.  Madame, I see enough in this scheme to make her die of grief and anxiety; you are consigning her to poverty.  Yes, madame, poverty; to persons accustomed to the use of one hundred thousand francs a year, twenty thousand is poverty.  Moreover, if Monsieur le comte, out of love for his wife, were guilty of extravagance, she could ruin him by exercising her rights when misfortunes overtook him.  I plead now for you, for them, for their children, for every one.”

“The old fellow makes a lot of smoke with his cannon,” thought Maitre Solonet, giving his client a look, which meant, “Keep on!”

“There is one way of combining all interests,” replied Madame Evangelista, calmly.  “I can reserve to myself only the necessary cost of living in a convent, and my children can have my property at once.  I can renounce the world, if such anticipated death conduces to the welfare of my daughter.”

“Madame,” said the old notary, “let us take time to consider and weigh, deliberately, the course we had best pursue to conciliate all interests.”

“Good heavens! monsieur,” cried Madame Evangelista, who saw defeat in delay, “everything has already been considered and weighed.  I was ignorant of what the process of marriage is in France; I am a Spaniard and a Creole.  I did not know that in order to marry my daughter it was necessary to reckon up the days which God may still grant me; that my child would suffer because I live; that I do harm by living, and by having lived!  When my husband married me I had nothing but my name and my person.  My name alone was a fortune to him, which dwarfed his own.  What wealth can equal that of a great name?  My dowry was beauty, virtue, happiness, birth, education.  Can money give those treasures?  If Natalie’s father could overhear this conversation, his generous soul would be wounded forever, and his happiness in paradise destroyed.  I dissipated, foolishly, perhaps, a few of his millions without a quiver ever coming to his eyelids.  Since his death, I have grown economical and orderly in comparison with the life he encouraged me to lead—­Come, let us break this thing off!  Monsieur de Manerville is so disappointed that I—­”

No descriptive language can express the confusion and shock which the words, “break off,” introduced into the conversation.  It is enough to say that these four apparently well-bred persons all talked at once.

“In Spain people marry in the Spanish fashion, or as they please; but in France they marry according to French law, sensibly, and as best they can,” said Mathias.

“Ah, madame,” cried Paul, coming out of his stupefaction, “you mistake my feelings.”

“This is not a matter of feeling,” said the old notary, trying to stop his client from concessions.  “We are concerned now with the interests and welfare of three generations.  Have we wasted the missing millions?  We are simply endeavoring to solve difficulties of which we are wholly guiltless.”

“Marry us, and don’t haggle,” said Solonet.

“Haggle! do you call it haggling to defend the interests of father and mother and children?” said Mathias.

“Yes,” said Paul, continuing his remarks to Madame Evangelista, “I deplore the extravagance of my youth, which does not permit me to stop this discussion, as you deplore your ignorance of business and your involuntary wastefulness.  God is my witness that I am not thinking, at this moment, of myself.  A simple life at Lanstrac does not alarm me; but how can I ask Mademoiselle Natalie to renounce her tastes, her habits?  Her very existence would be changed.”

“Where did Evangelista get his millions?” said the widow.

“Monsieur Evangelista was in business,” replied the old notary; “he played in the great game of commerce; he despatched ships and made enormous sums; we are simply a landowner, whose capital is invested, whose income is fixed.”

“There is still a way to harmonize all interests,” said Solonet, uttering this sentence in a high falsetto tone, which silenced the other three and drew their eyes and their attention upon himself.

This young man was not unlike a skilful coachman who holds the reins of four horses, and amuses himself by first exciting his animals and then subduing them.  He had let loose these passions, and then, in turn, he calmed them, making Paul, whose life and happiness were in the balance, sweat in his harness, as well as his own client, who could not clearly see her way through this involved discussion.

“Madame Evangelista,” he continued, after a slight pause, “can resign her investment in the Five-per-cents at once, and she can sell this house.  I can get three hundred thousand francs for it by cutting the land into small lots.  Out of that sum she can give you one hundred and fifty thousand francs.  In this way she pays down nine hundred thousand of her daughter’s patrimony, immediately.  That, to be sure, is not all that she owes her daughter, but where will you find, in France, a better dowry?”

“Very good,” said Maitre Mathias; “but what, then, becomes of madame?”

At this question, which appeared to imply consent, Solonet said, softly, to himself, “Well done, old fox!  I’ve caught you!”

“Madame,” he replied, aloud, “will keep the hundred and fifty thousand francs remaining from the sale of the house.  This sum, added to the value of her furniture, can be invested in an annuity which will give her twenty thousand francs a year.  Monsieur le comte can arrange to provide a residence for her under his roof.  Lanstrac is a large house.  You have also a house in Paris,” he went on, addressing himself to Paul.  “Madame can, therefore, live with you wherever you are.  A widow with twenty thousand francs a year, and no household to maintain, is richer than madame was when she possessed her whole fortune.  Madame Evangelista has only this one daughter; Monsieur le comte is without relations; it will be many years before your heirs attain their majority; no conflict of interests is, therefore, to be feared.  A mother-in-law and a son-in-law placed in such relations will form a household of united interests.  Madame Evangelista can make up for the remaining deficit by paying a certain sum for her support from her annuity, which will ease your way.  We know that madame is too generous and too large-minded to be willing to be a burden on her children.  In this way you can make one household, united and happy, and be able to spend, in your own right, one hundred thousand francs a year.  Is not that sum sufficient, Monsieur le comte, to enjoy, in all countries, the luxuries of life, and to satisfy all your wants and caprices?  Believe me, a young couple often feel the need of a third member of the household; and, I ask you, what third member could be so desirable as a good mother?”

“A little paradise!” exclaimed the old notary.

Shocked to see his client’s joy at this proposal, Mathias sat down on an ottoman, his head in his hands, plunged in reflections that were evidently painful.  He knew well the involved phraseology in which notaries and lawyers wrap up, intentionally, malicious schemes, and he was not the man to be taken in by it.  He now began, furtively, to watch his brother notary and Madame Evangelista as they conversed with Paul, endeavoring to detect some clew to the deep-laid plot which was beginning to appear upon the surface.

“Monsieur,” said Paul to Solonet, “I thank you for the pains you take to conciliate our interests.  This arrangement will solve all difficulties far more happily than I expected—­if,” he added, turning to Madame Evangelista, “it is agreeable to you, madame; for I could not desire anything that did not equally please you.”

“I?” she said; “all that makes the happiness of my children is joy to me.  Do not consider me in any way.”

“That would not be right,” said Paul, eagerly.  “If your future is not honorably provided for, Natalie and I would suffer more than you would suffer for yourself.”

“Don’t be uneasy, Monsieur le comte,” interposed Solonet.

“Ah!” thought old Mathias, “they’ll make him kiss the rod before they scourge him.”

“You may feel quite satisfied,” continued Solonet.  “There are so many enterprises going on in Bordeaux at this moment that investments for annuities can be negotiated on very advantageous terms.  After deducting from the proceeds of the house and furniture the hundred and fifty thousand francs we owe you, I think I can guarantee to madame that two hundred and fifty thousand will remain to her.  I take upon myself to invest that sum in a first mortgage on property worth a million, and to obtain ten per cent for it,—­twenty-five thousand francs a year.  Consequently, we are marrying on nearly equal fortunes.  In fact, against your forty-six thousand francs a year, Mademoiselle Natalie brings you forty thousand a year in the Five-per-cents, and one hundred and fifty thousand in a round sum, which gives, in all, forty-seven thousand francs a year.”

“That is evident,” said Paul.

As he ended his speech, Solonet had cast a sidelong glance at his client, intercepted by Mathias, which meant:  “Bring up your reserves.”

“But,” exclaimed Madame Evangelista, in tones of joy that did not seem to be feigned, “I can give Natalie my diamonds; they are worth, at least, a hundred thousand francs.”

“We can have them appraised,” said the notary.  “This will change the whole face of things.  Madame can then keep the proceeds of her house, all but fifty thousand francs.  Nothing will prevent Monsieur le comte from giving us a receipt in due form, as having received, in full, Mademoiselle Natalie’s inheritance from her father; this will close, of course, the guardianship account.  If madame, with Spanish generosity, robs herself in this way to fulfil her obligations, the least that her children can do is to give her a full receipt.”

“Nothing could be more just than that,” said Paul.  “I am simply overwhelmed by these generous proposals.”

“My daughter is another myself,” said Madame Evangelista, softly.

Maitre Mathias detected a look of joy on her face when she saw that the difficulties were being removed:  that joy, and the previous forgetfulness of the diamonds, which were now brought forward like fresh troops, confirmed his suspicions.

“The scene has been prepared between them as gamblers prepare the cards to ruin a pigeon,” thought the old notary.  “Is this poor boy, whom I saw born, doomed to be plucked alive by that woman, roasted by his very love, and devoured by his wife?  I, who have nursed these fine estates for years with such care, am I to see them ruined in a single night?  Three million and a half to be hypothecated for eleven hundred thousand francs these women will force him to squander!”

Discovering thus in the soul of the elder woman intentions which, without involving crime, theft, swindling, or any actually evil or blameworthy action, nevertheless belonged to all those criminalities in embryo, Maitre Mathias felt neither sorrow nor generous indignation.  He was not the Misanthrope; he was an old notary, accustomed in his business to the shrewd calculations of worldly people, to those clever bits of treachery which do more fatal injury than open murder on the high-road committed by some poor devil, who is guillotined in consequence.  To the upper classes of society these passages in life, these diplomatic meetings and discussions are like the necessary cesspools where the filth of life is thrown.  Full of pity for his client, Mathias cast a foreseeing eye into the future and saw nothing good.

“We’ll take the field with the same weapons,” thought he, “and beat them.”

At this moment, Paul, Solonet and Madame Evangelista, becoming embarrassed by the old man’s silence, felt that the approval of that censor was necessary to carry out the transaction, and all three turned to him simultaneously.

“Well, my dear Monsieur Mathias, what do you think of it?” said Paul.

“This is what I think,” said the conscientious and uncompromising notary.  “You are not rich enough to commit such regal folly.  The estate of Lanstrac, if estimated at three per cent on its rentals, represents, with its furniture, one million; the farms of Grassol and Guadet and your vineyard of Belle-Rose are worth another million; your two houses in Bordeaux and Paris, with their furniture, a third million.  Against those three millions, yielding forty-seven thousand francs a year, Mademoiselle Natalie brings eight hundred thousand francs in the Five-per-cents, the diamonds (supposing them to be worth a hundred thousand francs, which is still problematical) and fifty thousand francs in money; in all, one million and fifty thousand francs.  In presence of such facts my brother notary tells you boastfully that we are marrying equal fortunes!  He expects us to encumber ourselves with a debt of eleven hundred and fifty-six thousand francs to our children by acknowledging the receipt of our wife’s patrimony, when we have actually received but little more than a doubtful million.  You are listening to such stuff with the rapture of a lover, and you think that old Mathias, who is not in love, can forget arithmetic, and will not point out the difference between landed estate, the actual value of which is enormous and constantly increasing, and the revenues of personal property, the capital of which is subject to fluctuations and diminishment of income.  I am old enough to have learned that money dwindles and land augments.  You have called me in, Monsieur le comte, to stipulate for your interests; either let me defend those interests, or dismiss me.”

“If monsieur is seeking a fortune equal in capital to his own,” said Solonet, “we certainly cannot give it to him.  We do not possess three millions and a half; nothing can be more evident.  While you can boast of your three overwhelming millions, we can only produce our poor one million,—­a mere nothing in your eyes, though three times the dowry of an archduchess of Austria.  Bonaparte received only two hundred and fifty thousand francs with Maria-Louisa.”

“Maria-Louisa was the ruin of Bonaparte,” muttered Mathias.

Natalie’s mother caught the words.

“If my sacrifices are worth nothing,” she cried, “I do not choose to continue such a discussion; I trust to the discretion of Monsieur le comte, and I renounce the honor of his hand for my daughter.”

According to the strategy marked out by the younger notary, this battle of contending interests had now reached the point where victory was certain for Madame Evangelista.  The mother-in-law had opened her heart, delivered up her property, and was therefore practically released as her daughter’s guardian.  The future husband, under pain of ignoring the laws of generous propriety and being false to love, ought now to accept these conditions previously planned, and cleverly led up to by Solonet and Madame Evangelista.  Like the hands of a clock turned by mechanism, Paul came faithfully up to time.

“Madame!” he exclaimed, “is it possible you can think of breaking off the marriage?”

“Monsieur,” she replied, “to whom am I accountable?  To my daughter.  When she is twenty-one years of age she will receive my guardianship account and release me.  She will then possess a million, and can, if she likes, choose her husband among the sons of the peers of France.  She is a daughter of the Casa-Reale.”

“Madame is right,” remarked Solonet.  “Why should she be more hardly pushed to-day than she will be fourteen months hence?  You ought not to deprive her of the benefits of her maternity.”

“Mathias,” cried Paul, in deep distress, “there are two sorts of ruin, and you are bringing one upon me at this moment.”

He made a step towards the old notary, no doubt intending to tell him that the contract must be drawn at once.  But Mathias stopped that disaster with a glance which said, distinctly, “Wait!” He saw the tears in Paul’s eyes,—­tears drawn from an honorable man by the shame of this discussion as much as by the peremptory speech of Madame Evangelista, threatening rupture,—­and the old man stanched them with a gesture like that of Archimedes when he cried, “Eureka!” The words “peer of France” had been to him like a torch in a dark crypt.

Natalie appeared at this moment, dazzling as the dawn, saying, with infantine look and manner, “Am I in the way?”

“Singularly so, my child,” answered her mother, in a bitter tone.

“Come in, dear Natalie,” said Paul, taking her hand and leading her to a chair near the fireplace.  “All is settled.”

He felt it impossible to endure the overthrow of their mutual hopes.

“Yes, all can be settled,” said Mathias, hastily interposing.

Like a general who, in a moment, upsets the plans skilfully laid and prepared by the enemy, the old notary, enlightened by that genius which presides over notaries, saw an idea, capable of saving the future of Paul and his children, unfolding itself in legal form before his eyes.

Maitre Solonet, who perceived no other way out of these irreconcilable difficulties than the resolution with which Paul’s love inspired him, and to which this conflict of feelings and thwarted interests had brought him, was extremely surprised at the sudden exclamation of his brother notary.  Curious to know the remedy that Mathias had found in a state of things which had seemed to him beyond all other relief, he said, addressing the old man:—­

“What is it you propose?”

“Natalie, my dear child, leave us,” said Madame Evangelista.

“Mademoiselle is not in the way,” replied Mathias, smiling.  “I am going to speak in her interests as well as in those of Monsieur le comte.”

Silence reigned for a moment, during which time everybody present, oppressed with anxiety, awaited the allocution of the venerable notary with unspeakable curiosity.

“In these days,” continued Maitre Mathias, after a pause, “the profession of notary has changed from what it was.  Political revolutions now exert an influence over the prospects of families, which never happened in former times.  In those days existences were clearly defined; so were rank and position—­”

“We are not here for a lecture on political ceremony, but to draw up a marriage contract,” said Solonet, interrupting the old man, impatiently.

“I beg you to allow me to speak in my turn as I see fit,” replied the other.

Solonet turned away and sat down on the ottoman, saying, in a low voice, to Madame Evangelista:—­

“You will now hear what we call in the profession ‘balderdash.’”

“Notaries are therefore compelled to follow the course of political events, which are now intimately connected with private interests.  Here is an example:  formerly noble families owned fortunes that were never shaken, but which the laws, promulgated by the Revolution, destroyed, and the present system tends to reconstruct,” resumed the old notary, yielding to the loquacity of the “tabellionaris boa-constrictor” (boa-notary).  “Monsieur le comte by his name, his talents, and his fortune is called upon to sit some day in the elective Chamber.  Perhaps his destiny will take him to the hereditary Chamber, for we know that he has talent and means enough to fulfil that expectation.  Do you not agree with me, madame?” he added, turning to the widow.

“You anticipate my dearest hope,” she replied.  “Monsieur de Manerville must be a peer of France, or I shall die of mortification.”

“Therefore all that leads to that end—­” continued Mathias with a cordial gesture to the astute mother-in-law.

“—­will promote my eager desire,” she replied.

“Well, then,” said Mathias, “is not this marriage the proper occasion on which to entail the estate and create the family?  Such a course would, undoubtedly, militate in the mind of the present government in favor of the nomination of my client whenever a batch of appointments is sent in.  Monsieur le comte can very well afford to devote the estate of Lanstrac (which is worth a million) to this purpose.  I do not ask that mademoiselle should contribute an equal sum; that would not be just.  But we can surely apply eight hundred thousand of her patrimony to this object.  There are two domains adjoining Lanstrac now to be sold, which can be purchased for that sum, which will return in rentals four and a half per cent.  The house in Paris should be included in the entail.  The surplus of the two fortunes, if judiciously managed, will amply suffice for the fortunes of the younger children.  If the contracting parties will agree to this arrangement, Monsieur ought certainly to accept your guardianship account with its deficiency.  I consent to that.”

“Questa coda non e di questo gatto (That tail doesn’t belong to that cat),” murmured Madame Evangelista, appealing to Solonet.

“There’s a snake in the grass somewhere,” answered Solonet, in a low voice, replying to the Italian proverb with a French one.

“Why do you make this fuss?” asked Paul, leading Mathias into the adjoining salon.

“To save you from being ruined,” replied the old notary, in a whisper.  “You are determined to marry a girl and her mother who have already squandered two millions in seven years; you are pledging yourself to a debt of eleven hundred thousand francs to your children, to whom you will have to account for the fortune you are acknowledging to have received with their mother.  You risk having your own fortune squandered in five years, and to be left as naked as Saint-John himself, besides being a debtor to your wife and children for enormous sums.  If you are determined to put your life in that boat, Monsieur le comte, of course you can do as you choose; but at least let me, your old friend, try to save the house of Manerville.”

“How is this scheme going to save it?” asked Paul.

“Monsieur le comte, you are in love—­”

“Yes.”

“A lover is about as discreet as a cannon-ball; therefore, I shall not explain.  If you repeated what I should say, your marriage would probably be broken off.  I protect your love by my silence.  Have you confidence in my devotion?”

“A fine question!”

“Well, then, believe me when I tell you that Madame Evangelista, her notary, and her daughter, are tricking us through thick and thin; they are more than clever.  Tudieu! what a sly game!”

“Not Natalie,” cried Paul.

“I sha’n’t put my fingers between the bark and the tree,” said the old man.  “You want her, take her!  But I wish you were well out of this marriage, if it could be done without the least wrong-doing on your part.”

“Why do you wish it?”

“Because that girl will spend the mines of Peru.  Besides, see how she rides a horse,—­like the groom of a circus; she is half emancipated already.  Such girls make bad wives.”

Paul pressed the old man’s hand, saying, with a confident air of self-conceit:—­

“Don’t be uneasy as to that!  But now, at this moment, what am I to do?”

“Hold firm to my conditions.  They will consent, for no one’s apparent interest is injured.  Madame Evangelista is very anxious to marry her daughter; I see that in her little game—­Beware of her!”

Paul returned to the salon, where he found his future mother-in-law conversing in a low tone with Solonet.  Natalie, kept outside of these mysterious conferences, was playing with a screen.  Embarrassed by her position, she was thinking to herself:  “How odd it is that they tell me nothing of my own affairs.”

The younger notary had seized, in the main, the future effect of the new proposal, based, as it was, on the self-love of both parties, into which his client had fallen headlong.  Now, while Mathias was more than a mere notary, Solonet was still a young man, and brought into his business the vanity of youth.  It often happens that personal conceit makes a man forgetful of the interests of his client.  In this case, Maitre Solonet, who would not suffer the widow to think that Nestor had vanquished Achilles, advised her to conclude the marriage on the terms proposed.  Little he cared for the future working of the marriage contract; to him, the conditions of victory were:  Madame Evangelista released from her obligations as guardian, her future secured, and Natalie married.

“Bordeaux shall know that you have ceded eleven hundred thousand francs to your daughter, and that you still have twenty-five thousand francs a year left,” whispered Solonet to his client.  “For my part, I did not expect to obtain such a fine result.”

“But,” she said, “explain to me why the creation of this entail should have calmed the storm at once.”

“It relieves their distrust of you and your daughter.  An entail is unchangeable; neither husband nor wife can touch that capital.”

“Then this arrangement is positively insulting!”

“No; we call it simply precaution.  The old fellow has caught you in a net.  If you refuse to consent to the entail, he can reply:  ’Then your object is to squander the fortune of my client, who, by the creation of this entail, is protected from all such injury as securely as if the marriage took place under the “regime dotal.”’”

Solonet quieted his own scruples by reflecting:  “After all, these stipulations will take effect only in the future, by which time Madame Evangelista will be dead and buried.”

Madame Evangelista contented herself, for the present, with these explanations, having full confidence in Solonet.  She was wholly ignorant of law; considering her daughter as good as married, she thought she had gained her end, and was filled with the joy of success.  Thus, as Mathias had shrewdly calculated, neither Solonet nor Madame Evangelista understood as yet, to its full extent, this scheme which he had based on reasons that were undeniable.

“Well, Monsieur Mathias,” said the widow, “all is for the best, is it not?”

“Madame, if you and Monsieur le comte consent to this arrangement you ought to exchange pledges.  It is fully understood, I suppose,” he continued, looking from one to the other, “that the marriage will only take place on condition of creating an entail upon the estate of Lanstrac and the house in the rue de la Pepiniere, together with eight hundred thousand francs in money brought by the future wife, the said sum to be invested in landed property?  Pardon me the repetition, madame; but a positive and solemn engagement becomes absolutely necessary.  The creation of an entail requires formalities, application to the chancellor, a royal ordinance, and we ought at once to conclude the purchase of the new estate in order that the property be included in the royal ordinance by virtue of which it becomes inalienable.  In many families this would be reduced to writing, but on this occasion I think a simple consent would suffice.  Do you consent?”

“Yes,” replied Madame Evangelista.

“Yes,” said Paul.

“And I?” asked Natalie, laughing.

“You are a minor, mademoiselle,” replied Solonet; “don’t complain of that.”

It was then agreed that Maitre Mathias should draw up the contract, Maitre Solonet the guardianship account and release, and that both documents should be signed, as the law requires some days before the celebration of the marriage.  After a few polite salutations the notaries withdrew.

“It rains, Mathias; shall I take you home?” said Solonet.  “My cabriolet is here.”

“My carriage is here too,” said Paul, manifesting an intention to accompany the old man.

“I won’t rob you of a moment’s pleasure,” said Mathias.  “I accept my friend Solonet’s offer.”

“Well,” said Achilles to Nestor, as the cabriolet rolled away, “you have been truly patriarchal to-night.  The fact is, those young people would certainly have ruined themselves.”

“I felt anxious about their future,” replied Mathias, keeping silent as to the real motives of his proposition.

At this moment the two notaries were like a pair of actors arm in arm behind the stage on which they have played a scene of hatred and provocation.

“But,” said Solonet, thinking of his rights as notary, “isn’t it my place to buy that land you mentioned?  The money is part of our dowry.”

“How can you put property bought in the name of Mademoiselle Evangelista into the creation of an entail by the Comte de Manerville?” replied Mathias.

“We shall have to ask the chancellor about that,” said Solonet.

“But I am the notary of the seller as well as of the buyer of that land,” said Mathias.  “Besides, Monsieur de Manerville can buy in his own name.  At the time of payment we can make mention of the fact that the dowry funds are put into it.”

“You’ve an answer for everything, old man,” said Solonet, laughing.  “You were really surpassing to-night; you beat us squarely.”

“For an old fellow who didn’t expect your batteries of grape-shot, I did pretty well, didn’t I?”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Solonet.

The odious struggle in which the material welfare of a family had been so perilously near destruction was to the two notaries nothing more than a matter of professional polemics.

“I haven’t been forty years in harness for nothing,” remarked Mathias.  “Look here, Solonet,” he added, “I’m a good fellow; you shall help in drawing the deeds for the sale of those lands.”

“Thanks, my dear Mathias.  I’ll serve you in return on the very first occasion.”

While the two notaries were peacefully returning homeward, with no other sensations than a little throaty warmth, Paul and Madame Evangelista were left a prey to the nervous trepidation, the quivering of the flesh and brain which excitable natures pass through after a scene in which their interests and their feelings have been violently shaken.  In Madame Evangelista these last mutterings of the storm were overshadowed by a terrible reflection, a lurid gleam which she wanted, at any cost, to dispel.

“Has Maitre Mathias destroyed in a few minutes the work I have been doing for six months?” she asked herself.  “Was he withdrawing Paul from my influence by filling his mind with suspicion during their secret conference in the next room?”

She was standing absorbed in these thoughts before the fireplace, her elbow resting on the marble mantel-shelf.  When the porte-cochere closed behind the carriage of the two notaries, she turned to her future son-in-law, impatient to solve her doubts.

“This has been the most terrible day of my life,” cried Paul, overjoyed to see all difficulties vanish.  “I know no one so downright in speech as that old Mathias.  May God hear him, and make me peer of France!  Dear Natalie, I desire this for your sake more than for my own.  You are my ambition; I live only in you.”

Hearing this speech uttered in the accents of the heart, and noting, more especially, the limpid azure of Paul’s eyes, whose glance betrayed no thought of double meaning, Madame Evangelista’s satisfaction was complete.  She regretted the sharp language with which she had spurred him, and in the joy of success she resolved to reassure him as to the future.  Calming her countenance, and giving to her eyes that expression of tender friendship which made her so attractive, she smiled and answered:—­

“I can say as much to you.  Perhaps, dear Paul, my Spanish nature has led me farther than my heart desired.  Be what you are,—­kind as God himself,—­and do not be angry with me for a few hasty words.  Shake hands.”

Paul was abashed; he fancied himself to blame, and he kissed Madame Evangelista.

“Dear Paul,” she said with much emotion, “why could not those two sharks have settled this matter without dragging us into it, since it was so easy to settle?”

“In that case I should not have known how grand and generous you can be,” replied Paul.

“Indeed she is, Paul,” cried Natalie, pressing his hand.

“We have still a few little matters to settle, my dear son,” said Madame Evangelista.  “My daughter and I are above the foolish vanities to which so many persons cling.  Natalie does not need my diamonds, but I am glad to give them to her.”

“Ah! my dear mother, do you suppose that I will accept them?”

“Yes, my child; they are one of the conditions of the contract.”

“I will not allow it; I will not marry at all,” cried Natalie, vehemently.  “Keep those jewels which my father took such pride in collecting for you.  How could Monsieur Paul exact—­”

“Hush, my dear,” said her mother, whose eyes now filled with tears.  “My ignorance of business compels me to a greater sacrifice than that.”

“What sacrifice?”

“I must sell my house in order to pay the money that I owe to you.”

“What money can you possibly owe to me?” she said; “to me, who owe you life!  If my marriage costs you the slightest sacrifice, I will not marry.”

“Child!”

“Dear Natalie, try to understand that neither I, nor your mother, nor you yourself, require these sacrifices, but our children.”

“Suppose I do not marry at all?”

“Do you not love me?” said Paul, tenderly.

“Come, come, my silly child; do you imagine that a contract is like a house of cards which you can blow down at will?  Dear little ignoramus, you don’t know what trouble we have had to found an entail for the benefit of your eldest son.  Don’t cast us back into the discussions from which we have just escaped.”

“Why do you wish to ruin my mother?” said Natalie, looking at Paul.

“Why are you so rich?” he replied, smiling.

“Don’t quarrel, my children, you are not yet married,” said Madame Evangelista.  “Paul,” she continued, “you are not to give either corbeille, or jewels, or trousseau.  Natalie has everything in profusion.  Lay by the money you would otherwise put into wedding presents.  I know nothing more stupidly bourgeois and commonplace than to spend a hundred thousand francs on a corbeille, when five thousand a year given to a young woman saves her much anxiety and lasts her lifetime.  Besides, the money for a corbeille is needed to decorate your house in Paris.  We will return to Lanstrac in the spring; for Solonet is to settle my debts during the winter.”

“All is for the best,” cried Paul, at the summit of happiness.

“So I shall see Paris!” cried Natalie, in a tone that would justly have alarmed de Marsay.

“If we decide upon this plan,” said Paul, “I’ll write to de Marsay and get him to take a box for me at the Bouffons and also at the Italian opera.”

“You are very kind; I should never have dared to ask for it,” said Natalie.  “Marriage is a very agreeable institution if it gives husbands a talent for divining the wishes of their wives.”

“It is nothing else,” replied Paul.  “But see how late it is; I ought to go.”

“Why leave so soon to-night?” said Madame Evangelista, employing those coaxing ways to which men are so sensitive.

Though all this passed on the best of terms, and according to the laws of the most exquisite politeness, the effect of the discussion of these contending interests had, nevertheless, cast between son and mother-in-law a seed of distrust and enmity which was liable to sprout under the first heat of anger, or the warmth of a feeling too harshly bruised.  In most families the settlement of “dots” and the deeds of gift required by a marriage contract give rise to primitive emotions of hostility, caused by self-love, by the lesion of certain sentiments, by regret for the sacrifices made, and by the desire to diminish them.  When difficulties arise there is always a victorious side and a vanquished one.  The parents of the future pair try to conclude the matter, which is purely commercial in their eyes, to their own advantage; and this leads to the trickery, shrewdness, and deception of such negotiations.  Generally the husband alone is initiated into the secret of these discussions, and the wife is kept, like Natalie, in ignorance of the stipulations which make her rich or poor.

As he left the house, Paul reflected that, thanks to the cleverness of his notary, his fortune was almost entirely secured from injury.  If Madame Evangelista did not live apart from her daughter their united household would have an income of more than a hundred thousand francs to spend.  All his expectations of a happy and comfortable life would be realized.

“My mother-in-law seems to me an excellent woman,” he thought, still under the influence of the cajoling manner by which she had endeavored to disperse the clouds raised by the discussion.  “Mathias is mistaken.  These notaries are strange fellows; they envenom everything.  The harm started from that little cock-sparrow Solonet, who wanted to play a clever game.”

While Paul went to bed recapitulating the advantages he had won during the evening, Madame Evangelista was congratulating herself equally on her victory.

“Well, darling mother, are you satisfied?” said Natalie, following Madame Evangelista into her bedroom.

“Yes, love,” replied the mother, “everything went well, according to my wishes; I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders which was crushing me.  Paul is a most easy-going man.  Dear fellow! yes, certainly, we must make his life prosperous.  You will make him happy, and I will be responsible for his political success.  The Spanish ambassador used to be a friend of mine, and I’ll renew the relation—­as I will with the rest of my old acquaintance.  Oh! you’ll see! we shall soon be in the very heart of Parisian life; all will be enjoyment for us.  You shall have the pleasures, my dearest, and I the last occupation of existence,—­the game of ambition!  Don’t be alarmed when you see me selling this house.  Do you suppose we shall ever come back to live in Bordeaux? no.  Lanstrac? yes.  But we shall spend all our winters in Paris, where our real interests lie.  Well, Natalie, tell me, was it very difficult to do what I asked of you?”

“My little mamma! every now and then I felt ashamed.”

“Solonet advises me to put the proceeds of this house into an annuity,” said Madame Evangelista, “but I shall do otherwise; I won’t take a penny of my fortune from you.”

“I saw you were all very angry,” said Natalie.  “How did the tempest calm down?”

“By an offer of my diamonds,” replied Madame Evangelista.  “Solonet was right.  How ably he conducted the whole affair.  Get out my jewel-case, Natalie.  I have never seriously considered what my diamonds are worth.  When I said a hundred thousand francs I talked nonsense.  Madame de Gyas always declared that the necklace and ear-rings your father gave me on our marriage day were worth at least that sum.  My poor husband was so lavish!  Then my family diamond, the one Philip the Second gave to the Duke of Alba, and which my aunt bequeathed to me, the ‘Discreto,’ was, I think, appraised in former times at four thousand quadruples,—­one of our Spanish gold coins.”

Natalie laid out upon her mother’s toilet-table the pearl necklace, the sets of jewels, the gold bracelets and precious stones of all description, with that inexpressible sensation enjoyed by certain women at the sight of such treasures, by which—­so commentators on the Talmud say—­the fallen angels seduce the daughters of men, having sought these flowers of celestial fire in the bowels of the earth.

“Certainly,” said Madame Evangelista, “though I know nothing about jewels except how to accept and wear them, I think there must be a great deal of money in these.  Then, if we make but one household, I can sell my plate, the weight of which, as mere silver, would bring thirty thousand francs.  I remember when we brought it from Lima, the custom-house officers weighed and appraised it.  Solonet is right, I’ll send to-morrow to Elie Magus.  The Jew shall estimate the value of these things.  Perhaps I can avoid sinking any of my fortune in an annuity.”

“What a beautiful pearl necklace!” said Natalie.

“He ought to give it to you, if he loves you,” replied her mother; “and I think he might have all my other jewels reset and let you keep them.  The diamonds are a part of your property in the contract.  And now, good-night, my darling.  After the fatigues of this day we both need rest.”

The woman of luxury, the Creole, the great lady, incapable of analyzing the results of a contract which was not yet in force, went to sleep in the joy of seeing her daughter married to a man who was easy to manage, who would let them both be mistresses of his home, and whose fortune, united to theirs, would require no change in their way of living.  Thus having settled her account with her daughter, whose patrimony was acknowledged in the contract, Madame Evangelista could feel at her ease.

“How foolish of me to worry as I did,” she thought.  “But I wish the marriage were well over.”

So Madame Evangelista, Paul, Natalie, and the two notaries were equally satisfied with the first day’s result.  The Te Deum was sung in both camps,—­a dangerous situation; for there comes a moment when the vanquished side is aware of its mistake.  To Madame Evangelista’s mind, her son-in-law was the vanquished side.