The old man smiled to himself as he looked from his goddaughter to Savinien.  To show offence or to complain of Madame de Portenduere’s manners was a rock on which a man of small mind might have struck, but Minoret was too accomplished in the ways of the world not to avoid it.  He began to talk to the viscount of the danger Charles X. was then running by confiding the affairs of the nation to the Prince de Polignac.  When sufficient time had been spent on the subject to avoid all appearance of revenging himself by so doing, he handed the old lady, in an easy, jesting way, a packet of legal papers and receipted bills, together with the account of his notary.

“Has my son verified them?” she said, giving Savinien a look, to which he replied by bending his head.  “Well, then the rest is my notary’s business,” she added, pushing away the papers and treating the affair with the disdain she wished to show for money.

To abase wealth was, according to Madame de Portenduere’s ideas, to elevate the nobility and rob the bourgeoisie of their importance.

A few moments later Goupil came from his employer, Dionis, to ask for the accounts of the transaction between the doctor and Savinien.

“Why do you want them?” said the old lady.

“To put the matter in legal form; there have been no cash payments.”

Ursula and Savinien, who both for the first time exchanged a glance with offensive personage, were conscious of a sensation like that of touching a toad, aggravated by a dark presentiment of evil.  They both had the same indefinable and confused vision into the future, which has no name in any language, but which is capable of explanation as the action of the inward being of which the mysterious Swedenborgian had spoken to Doctor Minoret.  The certainty that the venomous Goupil would in some way be fatal to them made Ursula tremble; but she controlled herself, conscious of unspeakable pleasure in seeing that Savinien shared her emotion.

“He is not handsome, that clerk of Monsieur Dionis,” said Savinien, when Goupil had closed the door.

“What does it signify whether such persons are handsome or ugly?” said Madame de Portenduere.

“I don’t complain of his ugliness,” said the abbe, “but I do of his wickedness, which passes all bounds; he is a villain.”

The doctor, in spite of his desire to be amiable, grew cold and dignified.  The lovers were embarrassed.  If it had not been for the kindly good-humor of the abbe, whose gentle gayety enlivened the dinner, the position of the doctor and his niece would have been almost intolerable.  At dessert, seeing Ursula turn pale, he said to her:—­

“If you don’t feel well, dear child, we have only the street to cross.”

“What is the matter, my dear?” said the old lady to the girl.

“Madame,” said the doctor severely, “her soul is chilled, accustomed as she is to be met by smiles.”