Old Perdreau, the notary, passed for one of the most honest men in his profession. For thirty years M. le Marquis had closed his eyes and left him the entire control of his affairs, which, truth to say, were not very complicated, as the principal wealth of the château consisted of fertile land, woods, meadows, and vineyards, the revenues of which he received and controlled.
More than that—and this was the worst—our master made him the special confidant of his most secret expeditions. Thus, when he left home on one of his mysterious journeys, where he expected to encounter great dangers, Perdreau alone knew exactly the hiding-places of M. le Marquis, the plots that were there concocted—in a word, the great conspiracies that monsieur and his friends thought legitimate in their souls and consciences, although they could scarcely be called such in my opinion.
This was very astonishing, it must be acknowledged, as it bound M. le Marquis hand and foot to his notary. But what could you expect? My late beloved father, who had been an enthusiastic Chouan, contrary to most of the people of his province, who did not care a fig for all that fuss, said that perfectly honest souls can never think ill of any one, and that is the reason they are often duped and vilified without their even dreaming of it.
For it is time to let you know that Master Perdreau, the notary of Val-Saint, was, and had been always, the most cunning rascal, not only of our neighborhood, but of the whole country for twenty leagues around, including all the towns, little and big. His only idea was to make money, and for that he would have sold his master, his conscience—in case he had one—his best friends, his soul, and even the sacred vessels of the tabernacle. In the way of hypocrisy, deep wickedness, theft, stinginess, and falsehood he had nothing to fear from any rival, saving, perhaps, his only son, Isidore, who was rapidly learning to play the knave, and promised, with the help of the devil, to become very soon the true pendant of monsieur, his father.
In order to perfect this shameful education, Isidore had finished his studies in Paris, and Master Perdreau, I need not say, had chosen a college for him where he would neither learn virtue nor the fear of God.
For the consolation of good people, evil-doers seldom profit by their crimes. Thus, at this period of our story, Master Perdreau was on the eve of reaping the fruits of thirty years of criminal conduct, and it was precisely the opposite of what he had sought all his life that was about to happen to him.
Holding in his hand the secrets of M. le Marquis, he had used them to obtain large sums from the poor deluded man, under the pretence of advancing his interests; and with this money, added to other thefts, he had first supplied his son with means for continuing his dissipation in Paris, and then speculated so often and so well in a place not very Christian—called, I believe, the Exchange—that he had nothing left he could call his own but his little country office and debts enough to drive him crazy. Judge, then, if he thought himself favored by fortune when M. le Marquis came and proposed Jeanne Ragaud to him for daughter-in-law. Never did a drowning man grasp more eagerly at the plank held out to keep him from death. The girl's fortune was well known. Muiceron and the adjoining property was worth at least one hundred thousand francs; and to rightly estimate the money good Ragaud laid by every year, one would have to count on his fingers a tolerably long while. Further, Jeannette was an extremely pretty girl, brought up as a young lady, and there was no doubt her godmother would leave her—perhaps might give her at her marriage—a very handsome present. All being thus arranged to the satisfaction of this scoundrel of a notary, he had only to rub his hands and chuckle at the idea of having fooled everybody during his whole life.
I will not sadden you by relating what was the conversation on the subject between father and son on the evening of Isidore's arrival in the village, and the means which they proposed to accomplish their ends, which was to wheedle old Ragaud into giving up all the property to his daughter, only reserving for himself a modest annuity. As for the shameful way in which these arrant swindlers held up to ridicule M. le Marquis, whom they called "old fool," and mademoiselle, whom they stigmatized as the "yellow dwarf," on account of her crooked figure, it would make me sick to relate all they said. However, in saying that Perdreau deceived everybody, I have rather exaggerated, for two men in the village saw through his villany, and, thank God, they were two of the most worthy—namely, Jacques Michou, and our dear, holy curé. The first, who, as you know, had never been drawn into the promising conspiracies of his good lord, had always suspected Perdreau for catching so readily at the alluring bait. He had watched him closely, and, to fully unravel his plans, pretended to become very intimate with M. Riponin, the steward, who was scarcely any better than the notary, but who owed Perdreau a grudge for his having duped him in some knavish trick they undertook together. Since then, Michou, who knew how to play one against the other, in order to serve his master, made one thief steal from the other, and fully succeeded in his design. As for our curé, he knew both the good and the bad, and looked out for a squall. The great misfortune was that mademoiselle was so fully possessed with her idea of the marriage she neglected to consult him and ask his advice.
Alas! I am bound now to avow that poor little Jeannette, whose sin was more of the head than the heart, allowed herself to be very quickly caught in the net held out to her. Never did a giddy, inconstant little fish make the leap as willingly as she. In a village marriages are soon arranged. The parties are supposed to be well acquainted. At the first proposition, when the interests agree, they have only to say yes; and so it happened no later than the second Sunday after the arrival of Isidore Perdreau.
Every one assisted to hurry up the affair with lightning speed. Jeanne solemnly believed all the nonsense poured into her ear by Isidore, thought herself adored by him, and regarded him as infinitely superior to all other men in style, manner, and fine speeches. Ragaud and Pierrette were puffed up with pride; monsieur and mademoiselle did not conceal their satisfaction; and the people around, with the sole exception of Michou, who was looked upon as a cross, peevish old fellow, hastened to congratulate the fortunate couple.