"Come in an hour's time to the Hôtel de Lucenay, sir: I will sign at home what is necessary to be signed."
"Will his grace sign also?"
"I do not understand you, sir."
"Your signature alone is of no value to me, madame."
Jacques Ferrand enjoyed with cruel delight the impatience of the duchess, who, under the appearance of sang froid and disdain, concealed the most painful anguish. She was for a moment at the end of her resources. The evening previous, her jeweler had advanced her a considerable sum on her diamonds, some of which were confided to Morel, the artisan. This sum had served to pay the bills of Saint Remy, and disarm other creditors; Dubreul, the farmer at Arnouville, was more than a year in advance, and besides, time was wanting; unfortunately for Madame de Lucenay, two of her friends, to whom she could have had recourse in an extreme situation, were then absent from Paris. In her eyes, the viscount was innocent; he had told her, and she believed it, that he was the dupe of two rogues; but her situation was none the less terrible. He accused, he dragged to prison! Then, even if he should take to flight would his name be any less dishonored by such a suspicion?
"Since you possess the sum I ask for, sir, and my guarantee is sufficient, why do you refuse me?"
"Because men have their caprices as well as women, madame."
"But what is this caprice, which makes you act thus against your interest? for, I repeat to you, make your conditions; whatever they may be, I accept them!"
"Your grace will accept all the conditions?" said the notary, with a singular expression.
"All! two, three, four thousand francs—more, if you will; for I tell you," added the duchess, frankly, in a tone almost affectionate, "I have no resource but in you, sir—in you alone. It will be impossible for me to find elsewhere that which I ask you for to-morrow; and it must be—you understand—it must be absolutely. Thus, I repeat to you, whatever condition you impose on me for this service, I accept."