“A lawyer!” cried Sechard; “the very word gives me the colic!” “Thank you!” said the Maire of Marsac, named Cachan, who for twenty years had been an attorney at Angouleme, and who had once been required to prosecute Sechard. “My poor David will never improve; he will always be absent-minded!” said Eve, smiling. “A lawyer from Paris,” said Courtois. “Have you any business in Paris?” “No,” said Eve. “But you have a brother there,” observed Courtois. “Take care lest he should have anything to say about old Sechard’s estate,” said Cachan. “_He_ had his finger in some very queer concerns, worthy man!” Corentin and Derville, on entering the room, after bowing to the company, and giving their names, begged to have a private interview with Monsieur and Madame Sechard. “By all means,” said Sechard. “But is it a matter of business?” “Solely a matter regarding your father’s property,” said Corentin. “Then I beg you will allow monsieur--the Maire, a lawyer formerly at Angouleme--to be present also.” “Are you Monsieur Derville?” said Cachan, addressing Corentin. “No, monsieur, this is Monsieur Derville,” replied Corentin, introducing the lawyer, who bowed. “But,” said Sechard, “we are, so to speak, a family party; we have no secrets from our neighbors; there is no need to retire to my study, where there is no fire--our life is in the sight of all men----” “But your father’s,” said Corentin, “was involved in certain mysteries which perhaps you would rather not make public.” “Is it anything we need blush for?” said Eve, in alarm. “Oh, no! a sin of his youth,” said Corentin, coldly setting one of his mouse-traps. “Monsieur, your father left an elder son----” “Oh, the old rascal!” cried Courtois. “He was never very fond of you, Monsieur Sechard, and he kept that secret from you, the deep old dog!--Now I understand what he meant when he used to say to me, ‘You shall see what you shall see when I am under the turf.’” “Do not be dismayed, monsieur,” said Corentin to Sechard, while he watched Eve out of the corner of his eye. “A brother!” exclaimed the doctor. “Then your inheritance is divided into two!” Derville was affecting to examine the fine engravings, proofs before letters, which hung on the drawing-room walls. “Do not be dismayed, madame,” Corentin went on, seeing amazement written on Madame Sechard’s handsome features, “it is only a natural son. The rights of a natural son are not the same as those of a legitimate child. This man is in the depths of poverty, and he has a right to a certain sum calculated on the amount of the estate. The millions left by your father----” At the word millions there was a perfectly unanimous cry from all the persons present. And now Derville ceased to study the prints. “Old Sechard?--Millions?” said Courtois. “Who on earth told you that? Some peasant----” “Monsieur,” said Cachan, “you are not attached to the Treasury? You may be told all the facts----”