Discovering thus in the soul of the elder woman intentions which, without involving crime, theft, swindling, or any actually evil or blameworthy action, nevertheless belonged to all those criminalities in embryo, Maitre Mathias felt neither sorrow nor generous indignation.  He was not the Misanthrope; he was an old notary, accustomed in his business to the shrewd calculations of worldly people, to those clever bits of treachery which do more fatal injury than open murder on the high-road committed by some poor devil, who is guillotined in consequence.  To the upper classes of society these passages in life, these diplomatic meetings and discussions are like the necessary cesspools where the filth of life is thrown.  Full of pity for his client, Mathias cast a foreseeing eye into the future and saw nothing good.

“We’ll take the field with the same weapons,” thought he, “and beat them.”

At this moment, Paul, Solonet and Madame Evangelista, becoming embarrassed by the old man’s silence, felt that the approval of that censor was necessary to carry out the transaction, and all three turned to him simultaneously.

“Well, my dear Monsieur Mathias, what do you think of it?” said Paul.

“This is what I think,” said the conscientious and uncompromising notary.  “You are not rich enough to commit such regal folly.  The estate of Lanstrac, if estimated at three per cent on its rentals, represents, with its furniture, one million; the farms of Grassol and Guadet and your vineyard of Belle-Rose are worth another million; your two houses in Bordeaux and Paris, with their furniture, a third million.  Against those three millions, yielding forty-seven thousand francs a year, Mademoiselle Natalie brings eight hundred thousand francs in the Five-per-cents, the diamonds (supposing them to be worth a hundred thousand francs, which is still problematical) and fifty thousand francs in money; in all, one million and fifty thousand francs.  In presence of such facts my brother notary tells you boastfully that we are marrying equal fortunes!  He expects us to encumber ourselves with a debt of eleven hundred and fifty-six thousand francs to our children by acknowledging the receipt of our wife’s patrimony, when we have actually received but little more than a doubtful million.  You are listening to such stuff with the rapture of a lover, and you think that old Mathias, who is not in love, can forget arithmetic, and will not point out the difference between landed estate, the actual value of which is enormous and constantly increasing, and the revenues of personal property, the capital of which is subject to fluctuations and diminishment of income.  I am old enough to have learned that money dwindles and land augments.  You have called me in, Monsieur le comte, to stipulate for your interests; either let me defend those interests, or dismiss me.”

“If monsieur is seeking a fortune equal in capital to his own,” said Solonet, “we certainly cannot give it to him.  We do not possess three millions and a half; nothing can be more evident.  While you can boast of your three overwhelming millions, we can only produce our poor one million,—­a mere nothing in your eyes, though three times the dowry of an archduchess of Austria.  Bonaparte received only two hundred and fifty thousand francs with Maria-Louisa.”