"If I had been criminal enough for that, instead of causing its disappearance, I should have killed it!"
Sarah started with surprise, remained silent for a moment, and then said, with bitterness:
"For a pious man, this is an idea of crime deeply reflective! Can I by chance, then, have hit the mark when I fired at random? I must think of this,—and think I will. One other word. You see the sort of woman I am: I crush without remorse all obstacles that lie in my onward path. Reflect well, then, for to-morrow this must be decided on. You may do what I ask you with impunity. In his joy, the father of my daughter will not think of doubting the possibility of his child's restoration, if our falsehoods, which will make him happy, are adroitly combined. Besides, he has no other proofs of the death of our daughter than those I wrote to him of fourteen years ago, and I could easily persuade him that I had deceived him on this subject; for then I had real causes of complaint against him. I will tell him that in my grief I was desirous of breaking every existing tie that bound us to each other. You cannot, therefore, be compromised in any way. Affirm only, irreproachable man. Affirm that all was in former days concerted between us,—you and me and Madame Séraphin,—and you will be credited. As to the fifteen thousand francs sunk in an annuity for my child, that is my affair solely. They will remain acquired by your client, who must be kept profoundly ignorant of this; and, moreover, you shall yourself name your own recompense."
Jacques Ferrand maintained all his sang-froid in spite of the singularity of his situation, remarkable and dangerous as it was. The countess, really believing in the death of her daughter, had proposed to the notary to pass off the dead child as living, whom, living, he had declared to have died fourteen years before. He was too clever, and too well acquainted with the perils of his position, not to understand the effect of all Sarah's threats. His reputation, although admirably and laboriously built up, was based on a substructure of sand. The public detaches itself as easily as it becomes infatuated, liking to have the right to trample under foot him whom but just now it elevated to the skies. How could the consequences of the first assault on the reputation of Jacques Ferrand be foreseen? However absurd the attack might be, its very boldness might give rise to suspicions. Wishing to gain time to determine on the mode by which he would seek to parry the dangerous blow, the notary said, frigidly, to Sarah:
"You have given me, madame, until to-morrow at noon; I give you until the next day to renounce a plot whose serious nature you do not seem to have contemplated. If, between this and then, I do not receive from you a letter informing me that you have abandoned this criminal and crazy enterprise, you will learn to your cost that Justice knows how to protect honest people who refuse guilty associations, and what may happen to the concoctors of hateful machinations."
"You mean to say, sir, that you ask from me one more day to reflect on my proposals? That is a good sign, and I grant the delay. The day after to-morrow, at this hour, I will come here again, and it shall be between us peace or war,—I repeat it,—but a 'war to the knife,' without mercy or pity."
And Sarah left the room.
"All goes well," she said. "This miserable girl, in whom Rodolph capriciously takes so much interest, and has sent to the farm at Bouqueval, in order, no doubt, to make her his mistress hereafter, is no longer to be feared,—thanks to the one-eyed woman who has freed me from her. Rodolph's adroitness has saved Madame d'Harville from the snare into which I meant she should fall; but it is impossible that she can escape from the fresh plot I have laid for her, and thus she must be for ever lost to Rodolph. Thus, saddened, discouraged, isolated from all affection, will he not be in a frame of mind such as will best suit my purpose of making him the dupe of a falsehood to which, by the notary's aid, I can give every impress of truth? And the notary will aid me, for I have frightened him. I shall easily find a young orphan girl, interesting and poor, who, taught her lesson by me, will fill the character of our child so bitterly mourned by Rodolph. I know the expansiveness, the generosity of his heart,—yes, to give a name, a rank to her whom he will believe to be his daughter, till now forsaken and abandoned, he will renew those bonds between us which I believed indissoluble. The predictions of my nurse will be at length realised, and I shall thus and then attain the constant aim of my life,—a crown!"