“I always said so!” interrupted Madame Phellion. “I knew that Provencal was no good at all.”
“It seems,” continued the mayor, “that he had placed in Dupuis’s hands all the savings of an old housekeeper, pious herself, amounting to a pretty little sum. Faith! I think myself it was worth some trouble. How much do you suppose it was? Twenty-five thousand francs, if you please! This housekeeper, whose name is Madame Lambert—”
“Madame Lambert!” cried Felix; “why, that’s Monsieur Picot’s housekeeper; close cap, pale, thin face, speaks always with her eyes lowered, shows no hair?”
“That’s she,” said Minard,—“a regular hypocrite!”
“Twenty-five thousand francs of savings!” said Felix. “I don’t wonder that poor pere Picot is always out of money.”
“And that someone had to meddle with the sale of his book,” said Minard, slyly. “However that may be, you can imagine that the woman was in a fine state of mind on hearing of the flight of the notary. Off she went to la Peyrade’s lodgings; there she was told he was dining at the Thuilliers’; to the Thuilliers’ she came, after running about the streets—for they didn’t give her quite the right address—till ten o’clock; but she got there while the company were still sitting round waiting for the notary, and gaping at each other, no one knowing what to say and do, for neither Brigitte nor Thuillier have faculty enough to get out of such a scrape with credit; and we all missed the voice of Madame de Godollo and the talent of Madame Phellion.”
“Oh! you are too polite, Monsieur le maire,” said Madame Phellion, bridling.
“Well, as I said,” continued Minard, “at ten o’clock Madame Lambert reached the antechamber of Monsieur the general-councillor, and there she asked, in great excitement, to see la Peyrade.”
“That was natural,” said Phellion; “he being the intermediary of the investment, this woman had a right to question him.”
“You should just have seen that Tartuffe!” continued Minard. “He had no sooner gone out than he returned, bringing the news. As everybody was longing to get away, there followed a general helter-skelter. And then what does our man do? He goes back to Madame Lambert, who was crying that she was ruined! she was lost!—which might very well be true, but it might also be only a scene arranged between them in presence of the company, whom the woman’s outcries detained in the antechamber. ‘Don’t be anxious, my good woman,’ said la Peyrade; ‘the investment was made at your request, consequently, I owe you nothing; BUT it is enough that the money passed through my hands to make my conscience tell me I am responsible. If the notary’s assets are not enough to pay you I will do so.’”