th," murmured the magistrate.

"You are then very rich?"

"I inherited, madame, from my mother, about twenty thousand francs a
year. One of my uncles, who died last year, bequeathed me over a hundred
thousand crowns. My father is worth about a million. Were I to ask him
for the half to-morrow, he would give it to me; he would give me all
his fortune, if it were necessary to my happiness, and be but too well
contented, should I leave him the administration of it."

Madame d'Arlange signed to him to be silent; and, for five good minutes
at least, she remained plunged in reflection, her forehead resting in
her hands. At length she raised her head.

"Listen," said she. "Had you been so bold as to make this proposal to
Claire's father, he would have called his servants to show you the door.
For the sake of our name I ought to do the same; but I cannot do so. I
am old and desolate; I am poor; my grandchild's prospects disquiet me;
that is my excuse. I cannot, however, consent to speak to Claire of this
horrible misalliance. What I can promise you, and that is too much,
is that I will not be against you. Take your own measures; pay your
addresses to Mademoiselle d'Arlange, and try to persuade her. If she
says 'yes,' of her own free will, I shall not say 'no.'"

M. Daburon, transported with happiness, could almost have embraced the
old lady. He thought her the best, the most excellent of women, not
noticing the facility with which this proud spirit had been brought to
yield. He was delirious, almost mad.

"Wait!" said the old lady; "your cause is not yet gained. Your mother,
it is true, was a Cottevise, and I must excuse her for marrying so
wretchedly; but your father is simple M. Daburon. This name, my dear
friend, is simply ridiculous. Do you think it will be easy to make a
Daburon of a young girl who for nearly eighteen years has been called
d'Arlange?"

This objection did not seem to trouble the magistrate.

"After all," continued the old lady, "your father gained a Cottevise,
so you may win a d'Arlange. On the strength of marrying into noble
families, the Daburons may perhaps end by ennobling themselves. One last
piece of advice; you believe Claire to be just as she looks,--timid,
sweet, obedient. Undeceive yourself, my friend. Despite her innocent
air, she is hardy, fierce, and obstinate as the marquis her father, who
was worse than an Auvergne mule. Now you are warned. Our conditions are
agreed to, are they not?