Never, perhaps, had Ferrand felt more the value of his spectacles than at this moment. Without them, Madame d'Orbigny would have seen how his eyes sparkled at the word "deposit."
He answered, however, in a morose tone, "This is troublesome; this is for the tenth or twelfth time that I have been chosen an arbiter, always under pretext of my probity; that is the only word in their mouths—my probity! my probity! Great advantage; it only gives me trouble and—"
"My good M. Ferrand, come, don't scold; you will write to M. d'Orbigny; he awaits your letter, to send you his full power to realize the sum."
"How much is it?"
"He said, I believe, that it was about four or five hundred thousand francs."
"The amount is not so large as I thought. After all, you have devoted yourself to M. d'Orbigny. His daughter is very rich—you have nothing; I can approve of this. It appears to me you might accept."
"Really, you think so?" said Madame d'Orbigny, dupe, like every one else, of the proverbial honesty of the notary, and not undeceived in this respect by Polidori.
"You may accept," said he.
"I shall accept then," said Madame d'Orbigny, with a sigh.
The clerk knocked at the door. "Who is it?" demanded Ferrand.