“Then they might sue,” said M. Chapelain, laughing. “People can always sue; only when the papers are well drawn—”
Mlle. Gilberte stood dismayed. She thought of Marius de Tregars giving up his mother’s fortune to pay his father’s debts.
“What would he say,” thought she, “should he hear such opinions!”
The cashier of the Mutual Credit resumed:
“Surely I blame every species of fraud. But I pretend, and I maintain, that a man who has worked twenty years to give a handsome dowry to his daughter has the right to demand of his son-in-law certain conservative measures to guarantee the money, which, after all, is his own, and which is to benefit no one but his own family.”
This declaration closed the evening. It was getting late. The Saturday guests put on their overcoats; and, as they were walking home,
“Can you understand that little Gilberte?” said Mme. Desclavettes. “I’d like to see a daughter of mine have such fancies! But her poor mother is so weak!”
“Yes; but friend Favoral is firm enough for both,” interrupted M. Desormeaux; “and it is more than probable that at this very moment he is correcting his daughter of the sin of sloth.”
Well, not at all. Extremely angry as M. Favoral must have been, neither that evening, nor the next day, did he make the remotest allusion to what had taken place.
The following Monday only, before leaving for his office, casting upon his wife and daughter one of his ugliest looks: