“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“Some wandering creature, that Gabriel says he met in America, where she saved his life.”
“And how could this woman be there—how could she know the existence of this codicil?”
“I think it was all arranged with a miserable Jew, the guardian of the house, whose family has had charge of the funds for three generations; he had no doubt some secret instructions, in case he suspected the detention of any of the heirs, for this Marius de Rennepont had foreseen that our Company would keep their eyes upon his race.”
“But can you not dispute the validity of this codicil?”
“What, go to law in these times—litigate about a will—incur the certainty of a thousand clamors, with no security for success?—It is bad enough, that even this should get wind. Alas! it is terrible. So near the goal! after so much care and trouble. An affair that had been followed up with so much perseverance during a century and a half!”
“Two hundred and twelve millions!” said the princess. “The Order would have had no need to look for establishments in foreign countries; with such resources, it would have been able to impose itself upon France.”
“Yes,” resumed Father d’Aigrigny, with bitterness; “by means of education, we might have possessed ourselves of the rising generation. The power is altogether incalculable.” Then, stamping with his foot, he resumed: “I tell you, that it is enough to drive one mad with rage! an affair so wisely, ably, patiently conducted!”
“Is there no hope?”