“At your house? My excellent Monsieur Roulleau, is such an arrangement practicable?”
“There are drawbacks, certainly. But I would do any thing to assist you in such an emergency.”
“Let me hear the drawbacks.”
“There is my wife. She is admirable—she is devoted—a paragon!” exclaimed the little notary, enthusiastically, “nevertheless, monsieur, she is a woman, and women are but human.”
“Is that peculiarity confined to them?” asked M. Deshoulières, dryly. “Go on, M. Ignace, I fully comprehend that you must consult your wife.”
“Monsieur is too considerate. The other drawback I am averse to mentioning. Alas, it is not every one who can follow the dictates of his heart—the sum bequeathed by Monsieur Moreau is so trifling, so inadequate.”
“I will double it,” promptly replied the doctor. “So long as Mdlle. Veuillot remains in your house, and is supplied with all that is necessary and fitting, I will undertake to pay you twice the sum named by Monsieur Moreau. When the heir comes, of course he will take the arrangements in his own hands.”
“Without doubt, without doubt,” said Roulleau, quickly. “You are generous indeed, monsieur. When the young lady is aware of what you have done in her behalf—”
“She will be aware of nothing,” M. Deshoulières interrupted with decision. “The money matters do not go beyond us. You will find out from Madame Roulleau whether the arrangement is agreeable to herself, and if it meets with no opposition from Mademoiselle Veuillot, it may be considered an affair settled. I shall go to sleep with a mind relieved.”
When M. Deshoulières was asleep, the little notary took out a pocket-book, looked at the superscription of two letters, each addressed to M. Moreau, Château Ardron, and replaced them in his pocket with a grimace of satisfaction.