"I will accept, then," said Madame d"Orbigny, with a sigh.
The chief clerk knocked at the door.
"Who is there?" inquired M. Ferrand.
"Madame the Countess Macgregor."
"Request her to wait a moment."
"I will go, then, my dear M. Ferrand," said Madame d"Orbigny. "You will write to my husband, since he wishes it, and he will send you the requisite authority by return of post?"
"I will write."
"Adieu, my worthy and excellent counsellor!"
"Ah, you do not know, you people of the world, how disagreeable it is to take charge of such deposits,--the responsibility which we then a.s.sume.
I tell you that there is nothing more detestable in the world than this fine character for probity, which brings down upon one all these turmoils and troubles."
"And the admiration of all good people."
"Thank Heaven, I place otherwise than here below the hopes of the reward at which I aim!" said M. Ferrand, in a hypocritical tone.
To Madame d"Orbigny succeeded Sarah Macgregor.
Sarah entered the cabinet of the notary with her usual coolness and a.s.surance. Jacques Ferrand did not know her, nor the motives of her visit, and he therefore scrutinised her carefully in the hope of catching another dupe. He looked most attentively at the countess; and, despite the imperturbability of this marble-fronted woman, he observed a slight working of the eyebrows, which betrayed a repressed embarra.s.sment. The notary rose from his seat, handed a chair, and, motioning to Sarah to sit down, thus accosted her:
"You have requested of me, madame, an interview for to-day. I was very much engaged yesterday, and could not reply until this morning. I beg you will accept my apology for the delay."
"I was desirous of seeing you, sir, on a matter of the greatest importance. Your reputation for honesty, kindness, and complaisance has made me hope that the step I have taken with you will be successful."
The notary bent forward slightly in his chair.
"I know, sir, that your discretion is perfect."
"It is my duty, madame."
"You are, sir, a man of rigid, moral, and incorruptible character."
"Yes, madame."
"Yet, sir, if you were told that it depended on you to restore life--more than life, reason--to an unhappy mother, should you have the courage to refuse her?"
"If you will state the circ.u.mstances, madame, I shall be better able to reply."
"It is fourteen years since, at the end of the month of December, 1824, a man in the prime of life, and dressed in deep mourning, came to ask you to take, by way of life-annuity, the sum of a hundred and fifty thousand francs (6,000_l._), which it was desired should be sunk in favour of a child of three years of age, whose parents were desirous of remaining unknown."
"Well, madame?" said the notary, careful not to reply in the affirmative.
"You a.s.sented, and took charge of this sum, agreeing to insure the child a yearly pension of eight thousand francs (320_l._). Half this income was to acc.u.mulate for the child"s benefit until of age; the other half was to be paid by you to the person who took care of this little girl."
"Well, madame?"
"At the end of two years," said Sarah, unable to repress a slight emotion, "on the 28th of November, 1827, the child died."
"Before we proceed any farther, madame, with this conversation, I must know what interest you take in this matter?"
"The mother of this little girl, sir, was--my sister.[2] I have here proofs of what I advance: the declaration of the poor child"s death, the letters of the person who took charge of her, and the acknowledgment of one of your clients with whom you have placed the hundred and fifty thousand francs."
[2] It is, perhaps, unnecessary to remind the reader that the child in question is Fleur-de-Marie, daughter of Rodolph and Sarah, and that the latter, in speaking of a pretended sister, tells a falsehood necessary for her plans, as will be seen. Sarah was convinced, as was Rodolph, also, of the death of the little girl.
"Allow me to see those papers, madame."
Somewhat astonished at not being believed on her word, Sarah drew from a pocket-book several papers, which the notary examined with great attention.
"Well, madame, what do you desire? The declaration of decease is perfectly in order. The hundred and fifty thousand francs came to my client, M. Pet.i.t-Jean, on the death of the child. It is one of the chances of life-annuities, as I remarked to the person who placed the affair in my hands. As to the pension, it was duly paid by me up to the time of the child"s decease."
"I am ready to declare, sir, that nothing could be more satisfactory than your conduct throughout the whole of the affair. The female who had charge of the child is also ent.i.tled to our grat.i.tude, for she took the greatest care of my poor little niece."
"True, madame. And I was so much satisfied with her conduct, that, seeing her out of place after the death of the child, I took her into my employment; and, since that time, she has remained with me."
"Is Madame Seraphin in your service, sir?"
"She has been my housekeeper these fourteen years, and I must ever speak in her praise."
"Since that is the case, sir, she may be of the greatest use to us, if you will kindly grant me a request, which may appear strange, perhaps even culpable, at first sight, but when you know the motive--"
"A culpable request, madame, is what I cannot believe you capable of addressing to me."
"Sir, I am acquainted with the rect.i.tude of your principles; but all my hope--my only hope--is in your pity. Under any event, I may rely on your discretion?"
"Madame, you may."
"Well, then, I will proceed. The death of this poor child was so great a shock to her mother, that her grief is as great now as it was fourteen years since, and, having then feared for her life, we are now in dread for her reason."
"Poor mother!" said M. Ferrand, in a tone of sympathy.
"Oh, yes, poor unhappy mother, indeed, sir! for she could only blush at the birth of her child at the time when she lost it; whilst now circ.u.mstances are such, that, if the child were still alive, my sister could render her legitimate, be proud of her, and never again allow her to quit her. Thus this incessant regret, coming to add to her other sorrows, we are afraid every hour lest she should be bereft of her senses."
"It is unfortunate that nothing can be done in the matter."
"Yes, sir--"
"What, madame?"
"Suppose some one told the poor mother, "Your child was reported to be dead, but she did not die: the woman who had charge of her when she was little could vouch for this.""
"Such a falsehood, madame, would be cruel. Why give so vain a hope to the poor mother?"