“Women are most unfortunate in having no knowledge of business,” said Madame Evangelista.  “Have I titles to property? and what are life-interests?”

Paul was in a sort of ecstasy as he listened to this proposed arrangement.  The old notary, seeing the trap, and his client with one foot caught in it, was petrified for a moment, as he said to himself:—­

“I am certain they are tricking us.”

“If madame will follow my advice,” said Solonet, “she will secure her own tranquillity.  By sacrificing herself in this way she may be sure that no minors will ultimately harass her—­for we never know who may live and who may die!  Monsieur le comte will then give due acknowledgment in the marriage contract of having received the sum total of Mademoiselle Evangelista’s patrimonial inheritance.”

Mathias could not restrain the indignation which shone in his eyes and flushed his face.

“And that sum,” he said, shaking, “is—­”

“One million, one hundred and fifty-six thousand francs according to the document—­”

“Why don’t you ask Monsieur le comte to make over ‘hic et nunc’ his whole fortune to his future wife?” said Mathias.  “It would be more honest than what you now propose.  I will not allow the ruin of the Comte de Manerville to take place under my very eyes—­”

He made a step as if to address his client, who was silent throughout this scene as if dazed by it; but he turned and said, addressing Madame Evangelista:—­

“Do not suppose, madame, that I think you a party to these ideas of my brother notary.  I consider you an honest woman and a lady who knows nothing of business.”

“Thank you, brother notary,” said Solonet.

“You know that there can be no offence between you and me,” replied Mathias.  “Madame,” he added, “you ought to know the result of this proposed arrangement.  You are still young and beautiful enough to marry again—­Ah! madame,” said the old man, noting her gesture, “who can answer for themselves on that point?”

“I did not suppose, monsieur,” said Madame Evangelista, “that, after remaining a widow for the seven best years of my life, and refusing the most brilliant offers for my daughter’s sake, I should be suspected of such a piece of folly as marrying again at thirty-nine years of age.  If we were not talking business I should regard your suggestion as an impertinence.”

“Would it not be more impertinent if I suggested that you could not marry again?”

“Can and will are separate terms,” remarked Solonet, gallantly.

“Well,” resumed Maitre Mathias, “we will say nothing of your marriage.  You may, and we all desire it, live for forty-five years to come.  Now, if you keep for yourself the life-interest in your daughter’s patrimony, your children are laid on the shelf for the best years of their lives.”

“What does that mean?” said the widow.  “I don’t understand being laid on a shelf.”