fresh obstacles to her marriage. She was so much hurt at Savinien’s sadness at seeing her so reduced, that she was obliged to whisper to him, coming out from mass on the morning of her entry into her new house:
“Love does not thrive without patience, we will wait!”
As soon as the title deeds of the inventory were drawn up, Massin, by the advice of Goupil, who had changed over to him out of secret hatred for Minoret, hoping something better from the usurer’s selfishness than from Zélie’s cautiousness, sued Monsieur and Madame de Portenduère, whose payments had fallen due. The old lady was stunned at being called upon to pay one hundred and twenty-nine thousand five hundred and seventeen francs fifty-five centimes to the heirs at twenty-four hours’ notice, and the interest from the day of the application, at the risk of seizure of her property. To borrow was impossible. Savinien went to consult a solicitor at Fontainebleau.
“You have to deal with bad people who will never compromise; they will prosecute unmercifully to get possession of the farm of Bordières,” said the solicitor. “It would be best to convert the sale into a voluntary auction, so as to avoid expense.”
This sad news crushed the old Bretonne, to whom her son mildly observed, that, had she consented to his marriage during Minoret’s lifetime, the doctor would have given her estates to Ursule’s husband. Their household would now have been in wealth
