"The proceeds of your labour! What! do you intend—"
"To remain in your office if you do not consider me unworthy of your confidence."
"Remain a notary's clerk when you have an income of more than two hundred thousand francs a year?"
"I cannot and will not take possession of this immense fortune for a long time to come. Even when the death of my father has been legally established, I shall still feel a vague hope of again seeing the parent I so deeply mourn."
"Alas! I fear there is little hope of that, my poor Louis."
"Still, I shall cherish the hope as long as possible; and so long as I do, I shall not consider myself at liberty to dispose of my father's property,—at least only to the extent I have indicated to you. Will you not, therefore, continue to take charge of the estate exactly as you have done in the past?"
"I cannot but admire the course you have decided upon, my dear Louis," replied the notary, with unfeigned emotion. "Your conduct now conforms in every respect with that you have always maintained. You could not do greater honour to your father's memory than by acting thus. It shall be as you wish. I will remain the custodian of your fortune, and the annuity you spoke of shall be purchased this very day."
"There is a detail in relation to that matter, about which I should like to speak, trivial and almost absurd as it may appear to you."
"What do you mean?"
"The poor woman upon whom I desire to settle this annuity has seen so much trouble during her long life that her character has become embittered, and she feels no confidence in any one. Any promise would seem utterly valueless to her, if the promise was not based upon something tangible; so to convince the poor creature, I want to take her fifteen thousand francs in gold, which will represent very nearly the amount that will have to be expended for the annuity. It is the only way to thoroughly convince the poor creature of my good intentions."