entrusted the management of his policy to the Prince de Polignac. When time enough had elapsed in talking over matters for the doctor to have no appearance of revenging himself, he presented the old lady, almost jestingly, with the notes of proceedings and the receipted bills that verified the account made by his notary.
“Has my son acknowledged it?” she said, giving Savinien a look which he answered by a bow of the head. “Well, then, that returns to Dionis,” she added, pushing away the papers and treating this matter with the scorn that in her eyes money deserved.
To disparage wealth was, in Madame de Portenduère’s opinion, to exalt the nobility and rob the bourgeoisie of its importance. A few minutes after, Goupil came, on behalf of his employer, to ask for the accounts between Savinien and Monsieur Minoret.
“And why?” said the old lady.
“To form the basis of the bond; there is no payment in specie,” replied the head clerk, casting impudent looks around him.
Ursule and Savinien, who for the first time exchanged glances with this horrible person, experienced the same sensation that is caused by a toad, but aggravated by a sinister presentiment. Both had that indefinable, confused vision of the future, which is nameless, but which could be explained as an action of the inner being of which the Swedenborgian had spoken to the doctor. The conviction
