situated at the extremity of the island, almost facing the Hotel Lambert. His wife had died young. Some secret tragedy, whose wound remained unhealed, added still further to the gloom of the magistrate’s countenance. He was already the father of an eight-year-old daughter, Renée, when his wife expired in giving birth to a second. The latter, who was called Christine, was taken charge of by a sister of M. Béraud du Châtel, the wife of Aubertot the notary. Renée went to a convent. Madame Aubertot, who had no children, took a maternal fondness for Christine, whom she brought up by her side. On her husband’s death, she brought back the little one to its father, and continued to live with the silent old man and the smiling, fair-haired child. Renée was forgotten at her school. During the holidays she filled the house with such an uproar that her aunt heaved a great sigh of relief when she had at last escorted her back to the ladies of the Visitation, where she had been a boarder since her eighth year. She did not leave the convent until she was nineteen, and went straight to spend the fine season at the home of her friend Adeline, whose parents owned a beautiful estate in the Nivernais. When she returned in October, her Aunt Elisabeth was surprised to find her serious and profoundly melancholy. One evening she discovered her stifling her sobs in her pillow, writhing on her bed in a paroxysm of uncontrollable grief. In the unconstraint of her despair the girl told her a heartrending story: how a man of forty, rich, married — his wife, a young and charming woman, was there — had violated her in a field, without her daring or knowing how to defend herself. This confession terrified Aunt Elisabeth; she accused herself, as though she felt herself to be to blame; her preference for Christine made her deeply unhappy; she thought that, had she kept Renée also beside her, the poor child would not have succumbed. Henceforth, in order to drive away this exquisite remorse, which was rendered still more acute by the tenderness of her nature, she sustained the erring one; she bore the brunt of the anger of the father, to whom they both revealed the horrible truth by the very excess of their precautions; she invented, in the bewilderment of her solicitude, this strange project of matrimony, which to her idea would settle the whole affair, appease the father, and restore Renée to the world of honest women, and she refused to perceive its shameful side or foresee its disastrous consequences.
Nobody ever knew how Madame Sidonie had got wind of this good bit of business. The honour of the Bérauds had been dragged about in her basket among the protested bills of every strumpet in Paris. Once she knew the story, she almost forced her brother, whose wife lay dying, upon them. Aunt Elisabeth ended by believing that she was under an obligation to this gentle, humble lady, who was devoting herself to the unhappy Renée to the degree of finding a husband for her in her own family. The first interview between the aunt and Saccard took place on the entresol in the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonnière. The clerk, who had arrived by the carriage-entrance in the Rue Papillon, realized, when he saw Madame Aubertot coming through the shop and the little staircase, the ingenious arrangement of the two entrances. He was full of tact and propriety. He treated the marriage as a matter of business, but in the fashion of a man of the world settling his debts of honour. Aunt Elisabeth was far less at ease than he; she stammered, she had not the courage to mention the hundred thousand francs she had promised him.
It was he who first broached the question of money, with the manner of a solicitor discussing a client’s case. According to him a hundred thousand francs was a ridiculous sum for the husband of Mademoiselle Renée to bring into settlement. He laid a little stress on the “mademoiselle.” M. Béraud du Châtel would still more despise a poor son-in-law: he would accuse him of having seduced his daughter for the sake of her fortune; perhaps it might even occur to him to make some private enquiries. Startled and dismayed by Saccard’s calm and polite phrases, Madame Aubertot lost her head and consented to double the amount when he declared that he would never dare to propose for Renée with less than two hundred thousand francs in his pocket; he did not wish to be taken for a contemptible fortune-hunter. The good lady departed quite confused, not knowing what to think of a man capable of so much indignation, and yet willing to accept a bargain of such a nature.
This first interview was followed by an official visit which Aunt Elisabeth paid Saccard at his rooms in the Rue Payenne. This time she came in the name of M. Béraud. The ex-magistrate had refused to see “that man,” as he called his daughter’s seducer, so long as he was not married to Renée, to whom furthermore he had also forbidden his house. Madame Aubertot had full powers of treaty. She seemed pleased with the clerk’s luxurious surroundings; she had feared that the brother of that Madame Sidonie, with her draggled skirts, might be a disreputable-looking person. He received her swathed in a delightful dressing-gown. It was at the time when the adventurers of the 2 December, after paying their debts, flung their worn boots and frayed coats into the sewers, shaved their eight days’ beards, and became respectable men. Saccard was at last to join the band; he cleaned his nails and washed exclusively with powders and perfumes of inestimable value. He made himself gallant; he changed his tactics and shewed himself wonderfully disinterested. When the old lady began to talk of the contract, he made a gesture as though to say what did he mind. For a week past he had been studying the Code, pondering this serious question on which would depend his future liberty of action as a sharp business practitioner.
“I beg you,” he said, “let us hear no more of this disagreeable question of money…. My opinion is that Mademoiselle Renée should remain mistress of her fortune and I master of mine. The notary will put that right.”
Aunt Elisabeth approved of this manner of looking at things; she trembled lest this fellow, whose iron grip she could vaguely perceive, should wish to thrust his fingers into her niece’s dowry. She next entered into the matter of this dowry.
“My brother’s fortune,” she said, “consists mainly of houses and landed property. He is not the man to punish his daughter by reducing the share he intended for her. He will give her an estate in the Sologne valued at three hundred thousand francs, in addition to a house in Paris which is worth about two hundred thousand francs.”
Saccard was dazzled; he had expected no such amount; he turned half away so as to hide the rush of blood that came to his face.
“That will make five hundred thousand francs,” continued the aunt; “but I am bound to add that the Sologne property yields only two per cent.”
He smiled, repeating his disinterested gesture, implying that that could not concern him, as he declined to interfere with his wife’s property. He sat in his armchair in an adorable attitude of indifference, absent-minded, balancing his slipper on his foot, seeming to listen from sheer politeness. Mme. Aubertot, with her simpleminded goodnature, spoke with difficulty, picking her words so as not to wound him. She continued:
“And lastly, I want to make Renée a present myself. I have no children, my property will some day revert to my nieces, and I am not going to close my hands now because one of them is in trouble. Both their wedding-presents were ready for them. Renée’s consists of some extensive plots of land up Charonne way, which I can safely value at two hundred thousand francs. Only….”
At the word land Saccard started slightly. In spite of his assumed indifference he was listening intently. Aunt Elisabeth became confused, apparently at a loss for the right expression, and continued, blushing:
“Only, I wish the ownership of this land to be settled on Renée’s first child. You understand my reason. I do not wish this child ever to be of any expense to you. In the event of its dying, Renée would become the sole owner.”
He made no sign, but his knit brows revealed great inward preoccupation. The mention of the land at Charonne had aroused within him a world of ideas. Mme. Aubertot feared she had offended him by speaking of Renée’s child, and she remained abashed, not knowing how to follow up the conversation.
“You have not told me in what street the house worth two hundred thousand francs stands,” he said, resuming his smiling, genial air.
“In the Rue de la Pépinière,” she replied; “almost at the corner of the Rue d’Astorg.”
This simple sentence produced a decided effect on him. He could no longer conceal his delight; he drew up his chair, and with his Provençal volubility, in coaxing tones:
“Dear lady,” he said, “have we not said enough,