M. Hervieu looked at the big coureur de bois with attention, then he clapped him on the shoulder. “Surely I should know Marc Lenoir. No, no, let us say nothing of those old days. We know only these new ones. We are friends all, yes?” Yet when he looked around it was Alaine who turned away her head. Madam had not bestowed upon her the greeting one gives a daughter.
“I am not a rich man,” M. Hervieu went on, “but I am a very fortunate one, or I have good friends, and I have enough to begin the world anew. I already have made my plans to go to Manhatte and engage in trade there. We shall be quite comfortable, my daughter and I, and I trust we shall be content.”
Petit Marc had taken a packet from his blouse. “There is a small matter here that I wish to talk about,” he said. “Perhaps we older ones would best discuss it by ourselves at first.”
Mathilde, who had come in some time before, now led the way out. Lendert and Alaine followed. “They do not want us to hear,” Mathilde remarked, “yet I am consumed with curiosity.”
Alaine walked by Mathilde’s side. She did not look at Lendert, but kept her eyes cast down as she walked, and the young man looked troubled. “She does not forgive me,” Alaine’s look said.
Petit Marc drew his chair up to the table; the others followed his example. He slowly opened the paper he held. “I have here a copy of the last will and testament of François Dupont,” he began. “Before the death of the testator he converted all his estates in France into English moneys. The amount is deposited in Orange with trustworthy persons. It is not a sum to be despised. This he leaves share and share alike to Lendert Verplanck and Alaine Hervieu should they marry. If, for any reason, there are objections raised to the marriage of Lendert Verplanck to Alaine Hervieu, he foregoes his share, and it is to be given for the sole use of Alaine Heirvieu. Has any one here a word to say?” His eyes glanced from M. Hervieu to Madam De Vries.
The latter nervously fingered a hand-screen upon the table before her. M. Hervieu looked at her inquiringly. “Madam, I would know your desires in this matter. We are among those who are aware of the attachment of these two, and we need not seem blind to it.”
“My son is all I have in the world,” began Madam.
“My daughter is all I have,” returned M. Hervieu. “I am not anxious that she should marry. I can maintain her in comfort, and she goes into no family not proud to receive her.”
“She’ll have no lack of suitors either,” put in Jeanne’s gruff voice.