The notary sat down at his desk; the rest of us sat in a circle around him, and the reading of the first document began.Its purport was to establish, authentically, the recognition made by Francois-Henri-Pantaleon Dumirail, Marquis de Sallenauve, of me, his son.But in the course of the reading a difficulty came up.Notarial deeds must, under pain of being null and void, state the domicile of all contracting parties.Now, where was my father's domicile? This part had been left in blank by the notary, who now insisted on filling it before proceeding farther.
"As for this domicile," said Achille Pigoult, "Monsieur le marquis appears to have none in France, as he does not reside in this country, and has owned no property here for a long time.""It is true," said the marquis, seeming to put more meaning into his words than they naturally carried, "I am a mere vagabond in France.""Ah!" said Jacques Bricheteau, "vagabonds like you, who can present their sons with the necessary sums to buy estates, are not to be pitied.Still, the remark is a just one, not only as to France, but as to your residence in foreign countries.With your eternal mania for roving, it is really very difficult to assign you a domicile.""Well," said Achille Pigoult, "it does not seem worth while to let so small a matter stop us.Monsieur," he continued, motioning to me, "is now the owner of the Chateau d'Arcis, for an engagement to sell is as good as the sale itself.What more natural, therefore, than that the father's domicile should be stated as being on his son's estate, especially as this is really the family property now returned into the hands of the family, being purchased by the father for the son, particularly as that father is known and recognized by some of the oldest and most important inhabitants of the place?""Yes, that is true," said old Pigoult, adopting his son's opinion without hesitation.
"In short," said Jacques Bricheteau, "you think the matter can go on.""You see that my father, a man of great experience, did not hesitate to agree with me.We say, therefore," continued the notary, taking up his pen, "Francois-Henri-Pantaleon Dumirail, Marquis de Sallenauve, domiciled with Monsieur Charles de Sallenauve, his natural son, by him legally recognized, in the house known as the Chateau d'Arcis, arrondissement of Arcis-sur-Aube, department of the Aube."The rest of the deed was read and executed without comment.
Then followed a rather ridiculous scene.
"Now, Monsieur le comte," said Jacques Bricheteau, "embrace your father."The marquis opened his arms rather indifferently, and I coldly fell into them, vexed with myself for not being deeply moved and for not hearing in my heart the voice of kindred.Was this barrenness of emotion the result of my sudden accession to wealth? A moment later a second deed made me possessor, on payment of one hundred and eighty thousand francs in ready money, of the Chateau d'Arcis,--a grand edifice which had caught my eye, on my first arrival in the town, by its lordly and feudal air.
"You may congratulate yourselves," said Achille Pigoult, "that you have got that estate for a song.""Come, come!" said Jacques Bricheteau, "how long have you had it on your hands to sell? Your client would have let it go for one hundred and fifty thousand to others, but, as family property, you thought you could get more from us.We shall have to spend twenty thousand to make the house habitable; the land doesn't return a rental of more than four thousand; so that our money, all expenses deducted, won't return us more than two and a half per cent.""What are you complaining about?" returned Achille Pigoult."You have employment to give and money to pay in the neighborhood, and what can be better for a candidate?""Ah! that electoral business," said Jacques Bricheteau; "we will talk about that to-morrow when we bring you the purchase-money and your fees."Thereupon we took leave, and returned to the Hotel de la Poste, where I bade good-night to my father and came to my room to write to you.
Now I must tell you the terrible idea that drove sleep from my brain and put the pen once more in my hand,--although I am somewhat distracted from it by writing the foregoing two pages, and I do not see quite as much evidence for my notion as I did before I renewed this letter.
One thing is certain: during the last year many romantic incidents have happened to me.You may say that adventure seems to be the logical way of life for one in my position; that my birth, the chances that brought you (whose fate is so like mine) and me together, my relations with Marianina and my handsome housekeeper, and perhaps Imight say with Madame de l'Estorade, all point to the possession of a fickle star, and that my present affair is only one of its caprices.
True; but what if, at the present moment under the influence of that star, I were implicated without my knowledge in some infernal plot of which I was made the passive instrument?
To put some order into my ideas, I begin by this half-million spent for an interest which you must agree is very nebulous,--that of fitting me to succeed my father in the ministry of some imaginary country, the name of which is carefully concealed from me.
Next: who is spending these fabulous sums on me? Is it a father tenderly attached to a child of love? No, it is a father who shows me the utmost coldness, who goes to sleep when deeds which concern our mutual existence are being drawn, and for whom I, on my side, am conscious of no feeling; in fact, not to mince my words, I should think him a great booby of an emigre if it were not for the filial respect and duty I force myself to feel for him.
