France -- History -- Wars of the Vendée, 1793-1832 -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction
If Josephine was inferior to the notary in petty sharpness, she was
his superior in the higher kinds of sagacity; and particularly in
instinctive perception of character. Her eye flashed with delight at the
line Perrin was now taking with Raynal. The latter speedily justified
her expectations: he just told Perrin to be off, and send him a more
accommodating notary.
“A more accommodating notary!” screamed Perrin, stung to madness by
this reproach. “There is not a more accommodating notary in Europe.
Ungrateful man! is this the return for all my zeal, my integrity, my
unselfishness? Is there another agent in the world who would have let
such a bargain as Beaurepaire fall into your hands? It serves me right
for deviating from the rules of business. Send me another agent--oh!”
The honest soldier was confused. The lawyer’s eloquence overpowered
him. He felt guilty. Josephine saw his simplicity, and made a cut with
a woman’s two-edged sword. “Sir,” said she coolly, “do you not see it is
an affair of money? This is his way of saying, Pay me handsomely for so
unusual a commission.”
“And I’ll pay him double,” cried Raynal, catching the idea; “don’t be
alarmed, I’ll pay you for it.”
“And my zeal, my devotion?”
“Put ‘em in figures.”
“And my prob--?”
“Add it up.”
“And my integ--?”
“Add them together: and don’t bother me.”
“I see! I see! my poor soldier. You are no match for a woman’s tongue.”
“Nor, for a notary’s. Go to h---, and send in your bill!” roared the
soldier in a fury. “Well, will you go?” and he marched at him.
The notary scuttled out, with something between a snarl and a squeak.
Josephine hid her face in her hands.
“What is the matter with you?” inquired Raynal. “Not crying again,
surely!”
“Me! I never cry--hardly. I hid my face because I could not help
laughing. You frightened me, sir,” said she: then very demurely, “I was
afraid you were going to beat him.”
“No, no; a good soldier never leathers a civilian if he can possibly
help it; it looks so bad; and before a lady!”
“Oh, I would have forgiven you, monsieur,” said Josephine benignly, and
something like a little sun danced in her eye.
“Now, mademoiselle, since my referee has proved a pig, it is your turn.
Choose you a mutual friend.”
Josephine hesitated. “Ours is so young. You know him very well. You
are doubtless the commandant of whom I once heard him speak with such
admiration: his name is Riviere, Edouard Riviere.”
“Know him? he is my best officer, out and out.” And without a moment’s
hesitation he took Edouard’s present address, and accepted that youthful
Daniel as their referee; then looked at his watch and marched off to his
public duties with sabre clanking at his heels.
The notary went home gnashing his teeth. His sweet revenge was turned to
wormwood this day. Raynal’s parting commissions rang in his ear; in his
bitter mood the want of logical sequence in the two orders disgusted
him.
So he inverted them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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