"Some folly, without doubt! Be inexorable, my dear Puritan," cried Madame d'Orbigny, laughing. "You hear, sir; I cannot act contrary to the advice of so handsome a lady."

"My dear M. Ferrand, let us speak seriously of serious things, and you know that this is so. You refuse decidedly?" asked the viscount, with anguish he could not conceal.

The notary was cruel enough to appear to hesitate; Saint Remy had a moment of hope.

"How, man of iron, you relent?" said the step-mother of Madame d'Harville, laughing; "you submit also to the charms of the irresistible?"

"Faith, madame, I was on the point of yielding, as you say, but you make me blush for my weakness," said Ferrand; then turning to the viscount, with an expression of which he comprehended all the signification, he continued, "There, seriously, it is impossible; I will not suffer that, through caprice, you should commit such an absurdity. M. le Vicomte, I regard myself as the mentor of my clients; I have no other family, and I should regard myself as an accomplice of any errors I should allow them to commit."

"Oh! the Puritan, the Puritan!" cried Madame d'Orbigny.

"Yet, see M. Pet.i.t Jean; he will think, I am sure, as I do; and, like me, he will refuse."

Saint Remy left in a state of desperation. After a moment's thought, he said, "It must be!" Then, addressing his footman, who held open the door of the carriage, "To Lucenay House." While Saint Remy is on his way to the d.u.c.h.ess, we will be present with the reader at the interview between Ferrand and the stepmother of Madame d'Harville.

CHAPTER VII.

THE WILL.

Madame D'Orbigny was a slender blonde, with eyebrows nearly white, and pale blue eyes, almost round; her speech honeyed, her look hypocritical, her manners insinuating and insidious.

"What a charming young man is the Viscount de Saint Remy!" said she to Jacques Ferrand, when the viscount had gone.

"Charming; but, madame, let us talk of business. You wrote me from Normandy that you wished to consult me on some grave affairs."

"Have you not always been my adviser since good Dr. Polidori referred me to you? Apropos, have you heard from him?" asked Madame d'Orbigny, in a careless manner.

"Since his departure from Paris he has not written me once," answered the notary, no less indifferently. We must inform the reader that these two personages lied most boldly to each other. The notary had seen Polidori recently (one of his two accomplices), and had proposed to him to go to Asnieres, to the Martials, the freshwater pirates (of whom we shall speak presently), under the name of Dr. Vincent, to poison Louise Morel. The stepmother of Madame d'Harville came to Paris expressly to have a conference with this scoundrel, who now went by the name of Caesar Bradamanti.

"But it is not concerning the good doctor," said Madame d'Orbigny, "you see me much troubled; my husband is sick--he grows worse daily.

Without causing me serious fears, his condition troubles me, or, rather, troubles him," continued she, wiping her tearless eyes.

"What is the matter?"

"He continually speaks of his final arrangements--of his will." Here Madame d'Orbigny hid her face in her handkerchief for some moments.

"That is sad, doubtless," said the notary; "but this precaution is not alarming. What are his intentions, madame?"

"How can I tell? You know well, when he touches on this subject I change it."

"But has he said nothing positive?"

"I believe," said Madaine d'Orbigny, in a most disinterested manner, "I believe he wishes not only to give me all the law allows--but--oh!

hold, I beg you, let us not speak of this!"

"What shall we speak of?"

"Alas! you are right, relentless man; we must return to the sad subject which brought me here. Well, D'Orbigny carries his kindness so far as to wish to convert a part of his fortune, and give me a considerable sum."

"But his daughter--his daughter?" cried Ferrand, with severity. "I ought to tell you that, for a year past, M. d'Harville has given me charge of his affairs. I have lately bought for him a magnificent property. You know my roughness in business. It imports little to me that M. d'Harville is my client; that which I plead is the cause of justice. If your husband takes toward his daughter, Madame d'Harville, a determination which seems to me not proper, I tell you plainly he must not count on me. Straightforward! such has always been my line of conduct."

"And mine also. Thus I repeat to my husband always just as you have said: 'Your daughter has treated you badly; so be it; but that is no reason to disinherit her.'"

"Very well--all right; and what did he answer?"

"He answered, 'I will leave my daughter twenty-five thousand francs a year. She had more than a million from her mother; her husband has an enormous income. Can I not leave the rest to you, my tender friend, the sole support, the sole consolation of my old age, my guardian angel?' I repeat these too flattering words," said Madame d'Orbigny, with a modest sigh, "to show you his goodness toward me; yet I have always refused his offers; seeing which, he decided to beg me to come and find you."

"But I do not know M. d'Orbigny."

"But he, like every one else, knows your probity."

"But how did he address you to me?"

"To silence my scruples. He said, 'I do not ask you to consult my notary, you will think him too much under my orders; but I will leave it to the decision of a man whose honesty is proverbial, M. Ferrand.

If he finds your delicacy compromised by your acceptance of my offer, we will talk no more about it; if not, you acquiesce.' 'I consent,'

said I, and in this way you have become our arbitrator. 'If he approves,' added my husband, 'I will send him a power of attorney to realize, in my name, my real estate and bank stock; he will keep this sum on deposit, and, after my death, you will at least have an income worthy of you."

Never, perhaps, had Ferrand felt more the value of his spectacles than at this moment. Without them, Madame d'Orbigny would have seen how his eyes sparkled at the word "deposit."

He answered, however, in a morose tone, "This is troublesome; this is for the tenth or twelfth time that I have been chosen an arbiter, always under pretext of my probity; that is the only word in their mouths--my probity! my probity! Great advantage; it only gives me trouble and--"

"My good M. Ferrand, come, don't scold; you will write to M.

d'Orbigny; he awaits your letter, to send you his full power to realize the sum."

"How much is it?"

"He said, I believe, that it was about four or five hundred thousand francs."

"The amount is not so large as I thought. After all, you have devoted yourself to M. d'Orbigny. His daughter is very rich--you have nothing; I can approve of this. It appears to me you might accept."

"Really, you think so?" said Madame d'Orbigny, dupe, like every one else, of the proverbial honesty of the notary, and not undeceived in this respect by Polidori.

"You may accept," said he.

"I shall accept then," said Madame d'Orbigny, with a sigh.

The clerk knocked at the door. "Who is it?" demanded Ferrand.

"Her ladyship, the Countess M'Gregor."

"Let her wait a moment."

"I leave you, then, my dear M. Ferrand," said Madame d'Orbigny; "you will write to my husband, since he desires it, and he will send you full powers tomorrow."