“Eh! let David get out of it as best he may. I am thinking of this child here,” cried the old grandfather, “and the child’s mother will approve of that. David that knows so much must know how to pay his debts.”
“Now I will just put your meaning into plain language,” said Petit-Claud ironically. “Look here, Papa Séchard, you are jealous of your son. Hear the truth! you put David into his present position by selling the business to him for three times its value. You ruined him to make an extortionate bargain! Yes, don’t you shake your head; you sold the newspaper to the Cointets and pocketed all the proceeds, and that was as much as the whole business was worth. You bear David a grudge, not merely because you have plundered him, but because, also, your own son is a man far above yourself. You profess to be prodigiously fond of your grandson, to cloak your want of feeling for your son and his wife, because you ought to pay down money hic et nunc for them, while you need only show a posthumous affection for your grandson. You pretend to be fond of the little fellow, lest you should be taxed with want of feeling for your own flesh and blood. That is the bottom of it, Papa Séchard.”
“Did you fetch me over to hear this?” asked the old man, glowering at his lawyer, his daughter-in-law, and his son in turn.
“Monsieur!” protested poor Eve, turning to Petit-Claud, “have you vowed to ruin us? My husband had never uttered a word against his father.” (Here the old man looked cunningly at her.) “David has told me scores of times that you loved him in your way,” she added, looking at her father-in-law, and understanding his suspicions.
Petit-Claud was only following out the tall Cointet’s instructions. He was widening the breach between the father and son, lest Séchard senior should extricate David from his intolerable position. “The day that David Séchard goes to prison shall be the day of your introduction to Mme. de Senonches,” the “tall Cointet” had said no longer ago than yesterday.
Mme. Séchard, with the quick insight of love, had divined Petit-Claud’s mercenary hostility, even as she had once before felt instinctively that Cérizet was a traitor. As for David, his astonishment may be imagined; he could not understand how Petit-Claud came to know so much of his father’s nature and his own history. Upright and honorable as he was, he did not dream of the relations between his lawyer and the Cointets; nor, for that matter, did he know that the Cointets were at work behind Métivier. Meanwhile old Séchard took his son’s silence as an insult, and Petit-Claud, taking advantage of his client’s bewilderment, beat a retreat.
“Good-bye, my dear David; you have had warning, notice of appeal doesn’t invalidate the warrant for arrest. It is the only course left open to your creditors, and it will not be long before they take it. So, go away at once——Or, rather, if you will take my advice, go to the Cointets and see them about it. They have capital. If your invention is perfected and answers the purpose, go into partnership with them. After all, they are very good fellows——”
“Your invention?” broke in old Séchard.
“Why, do you suppose that your son is fool enough to let his business slip away from him without thinking of something else?” exclaimed the attorney. “He is on the brink of the discovery of a way of making paper at a cost of three francs per ream, instead of ten, he tells me.”
“One more dodge for taking me in! You are all as thick as thieves in a fair. If David has found out such a plan, he has no need of me—he is a millionaire! Good-bye, my dears, and a good-day to you all,” and the old man disappeared down the staircase.