Although M. de Chandore was literally worshipping his grandchild on his knees, and had transferred all his hopes and his affections to her who alone survived of his large family, he had still had his thoughts when he went up stairs to take from his money-box so large a sum of money. As soon, therefore, as they were outside of the house, he said,--"Now that we are alone, my dear child, will you tell me what you mean to do with all this money?""That is my secret," she replied.
"And you have not confidence enough in your old grandfather to tell him what it is, darling?"He stopped a moment; but she drew him on, saying,--"You shall know it all, and in less than an hour. But, oh! You must not be angry, grandpapa. I have a plan, which is no doubt very foolish. If I told you, I am afraid you would stop me; and if you succeeded, and then something happened to Jacques, I should not survive the misery. And think of it, what you would feel, if you were to think afterwards, 'If I had only let her have her way!' ""Dionysia, you are cruel!"
"On the other hand, if you did not induce me to give up my project, you would certainly take away all my courage; and I need it all, Itell you, grandpapa, for what I am going to risk.""You see, my dear child, and you must pardon me for repeating it once more, twenty thousand francs are a big sum of money; and there are many excellent and clever people who work hard, and deny themselves every thing, a whole life long, without laying up that much.""Ah, so much the better!" cried the young girl. "So much the better. Ido hope there will be enough so as to meet with no refusal!"Grandpapa Chandore began to comprehend.
"After all," he said, "you have not told me where we are going.""To my dressmakers."
"To the Misses Mechinet?"
"Yes."
M. de Chandore was sure now.
"We shall not find them at home," he said. "This is Sunday; and they are no doubt at church.""We shall find them, grandpapa; for they always take tea at half-past seven, for their brother's, the clerk's sake. But we must make haste."The old gentleman did make haste; but it is a long way from the New-Market Place to Hill Street; for the sisters Mechinet lived on the Square, and, if you please, in a house of their own,--a house which was to be the delight of their days, and which had become the trouble of their nights.
They bought the house the year before the war, upon their brother's advice, and going halves with him, paying a sum of forty-seven thousand francs, every thing included. It was a capital bargain; for they rented out the basement and the first story to the first grocer in Sauveterre. The sisters did not think they were imprudent in paying down ten thousand francs in cash, and in binding themselves to pay the rest in three yearly instalments. The first year all went well; but then came the war and numerous disasters. The income of the sisters and of the brother was much reduced, and they had nothing to live upon but his pay as clerk; so that they had to use the utmost economy, and even contract some debts, in order to pay the second instalment. When peace came, their income increased again, and no one doubted in Sauveterre but that they would manage to get out of their difficulties, as the brother was one of the hardest working men, and the sisters were patronized by "the most distinguished" ladies of the whole country.
"Grandpapa, they are at home," said Dionysia, when they reached the Square.
"Do you think so?"
"I am sure. I see light in their windows."M. de Chandore stopped.
"What am I to do next?" he asked.
"You are going to give me the bonds, grandpapa, and to wait for me here, walking up and down, whilst I am going to the Misses Mechinet. Iwould ask you to come up too; but they would be frightened at seeing you. Moreover, if my enterprise does not succeed, it would not matter much as long as it concerned only a little girl."The old gentleman's last doubts began to vanish.
"You won't succeed, my poor girl," he said.
"O God!" she replied, checking her tears with difficulty, "why will you discourage me?"He said nothing. Suppressing a sigh, he pulled the papers out of his pockets, and helped Dionysia to stuff them, as well as she could, into her pocket and a little bag she had in her hand. When she had done, she said,--"Well, good-bye, grandpapa. I won't be long."And lightly, like a bird, she crossed the street, and ran up to her dressmakers. The old ladies and their brother were just finishing their supper, which consisted of a small piece of port and a light salad, with an abundance of vinegar. At the unexpected entrance of Miss Chandore they all started up.
"You, miss," cried the elder of the two,--"you!"Dionysia understood perfectly well what that simple "you" meant. It meant, with the help of the tone of voice, "What? your betrothed is charged with an abominable crime; there is overwhelming evidence against him; he is in jail, in close confinement; everybody knows he will be tried at the assizes, and he will be condemned--and you are here?"But Dionysia kept on smiling, as she had entered.
"Yes," she replied, "it is I. I must have two dresses for next week;and I come to ask you to show me some samples."The Misses Mechinet, always acting upon their brother's advice, had made an arrangement with a large house in Bordeaux, by which they received samples of all their goods, and were allowed a discount on whatever they sold.
"I will do so with pleasure," said the older sister. "Just allow me to light a lamp. It is almost dark."While she was wiping the chimney, and trimming the wick, she asked her brother,--"Are you not going to the Orpheon?"
"Not to-night," he replied.
"Are you not expected to be there?"
"No: I sent them word I would not come. I have to lithograph two plates for the printer, and some very urgent copying to do for the court."While he was thus replying, he had folded up his napkin, and lighted a candle.
"Good-night!" he said to his sisters. "I won't see you again to-night," and, bowing deeply to Miss Chandore, he went out, his candle in his hand.
