“Come up, do, Monsieur Bongrand!” cried La Bougival to the justice of the peace, who was passing.
Bongrand arrived just as the curé was putting on his spectacles to read three numbers written in the hand of the late Minoret on the fly-leaf of colored vellum, gummed inside the cover by the binder, and which Ursule had just discovered.
“What is the meaning of this? Our dear doctor was too great a lover of books to spoil the fly-leaf of a cover,” said the Abbé Chaperon, “here are three numbers entered between a first number preceded by an M, and another number preceded by a U.”
“What do you say?” replied Bongrand, “let me see.” “Mon Dieu!” cried the justice of the peace, “is not this enough to open the eyes of an atheist by proving the existence of a Providence? I think that human justice is the development of a divine idea that hovers over communities!”
He seized Ursule and kissed her on the forehead.
“Oh! my child, you will be happy and rich, and through me!”
“What is the matter?” said the curé.
“My dear monsieur,” cried La Bougival, catching hold of the justice’s blue frock-coat, “oh! do let me embrace you for what you have just said.”
“Explain yourself, so as to spare any false joy,” said the curé.
“If, to become rich, I have to cause pain to anyone,” said Ursule, anticipating criminal proceedings, “I—”
“Eh!” said the justice of the peace, interrupting
