“It need make no difference to Bertrand’s plans,” the old Comtesse was saying in that hard, decisive tone which seemed to dispose of the destinies of her whole family.
Hers was the only voice that penetrated as far as the vestibule where Nicolette had remained standing; the soft, wearied tones of the Comtesse Marcelle, and the uncertain ones of Micheline did not reach the listener’s ears.
“No. Perhaps not for the New Year,” the old Comtesse said presently in response to a remark from one of the others; “but soon, you may be sure. The will will be read directly after the funeral, and there is no reason why Bertrand should not be here a week later.”
Again there was a pause, during which all that Nicolette heard was a weary sigh. Then Madame’s harsh voice was raised again.
“You are a fool, my good Marcelle! What should go wrong, I should like to know?...”
Then once more a pause and presently a loud, hard laugh.
“Pardi! but I should not have credited you with such a talent for raising bogeys, my dear. Have I not told you, over and over again, that I had Sybille de Mont-Pahon’s definite promise that the two young people shall be co-heirs of her fortune? Instead of lamenting there, you should rejoice. Sybille has died most opportunely, for now Bertrand can pay his debts even before his marriage, and the young couple can make a start without a cloud upon the horizon of their lives!”
At this point Nicolette felt that she had no right to listen further. She deposited her two baskets upon the table in the vestibule, and tiptoed back to the door. Even as she did so she heard old Madame’s unpleasant voice raised once more.
“You should thank me on your knees,” she said tartly, “for all I have done. Debts, you call them? and dare to upbraid me for having contracted them? Let me tell you this: Rixende de Peyron-Bompar would never have tolerated this old barrack at all, had she seen it as it was. The stuffs which I bought, the carpets, the liveries for those loutish servants were so much capital invested to secure the Mont-Pahon millions. What did they amount to? Five thousand louis at most! and we have secured five millions and Bertrand’s happiness.”
And Nicolette, as she finally ran out of the house, heard a murmur, like a sigh of longing: