"Oh, I'd made sure of him beforehand. He and I understood each other perfectly. He would have let it go at a million and a half. He was next door to being in love with her besides. All he wanted was to be well established, poor boy! But I meant to go up to two millions, anyhow. I could afford it."
"Four hundred thousand dollars," Davenant said, with an idea that he might convey a hint to her, "would be practically the sum--"
"I could afford it," she went on, "because of those ridiculous copper-mines--the Hamlet and Tecla. I wasn't rich before that. My _dot_ was small. No Guion I ever heard of was able to save money. My father was no exception."
"You are in the Hamlet and Tecla!" Davenant's blue eyes were wide open. He was on his own ground. The history of the Hamlet and Tecla Mines had been in his own lifetime a fairy-tale come true.
Madame de Melcourt nodded proudly. "My father had bought nearly two thousand shares when they were down to next to nothing. They came to me when he died. It was mere waste paper for years and years. Then all of a sudden--pouff!--they began to go up and up--and I sold them when they were near a thousand. I could have afforded the two millions of francs--and I promised to settle Melcourt-le-Danois on them into the bargain, when I--if I ever should--But my niece wouldn't take him--simply--would--not. Ah," she cried, in a strangled voice, "c'était trop fort!"
"But did she know you were--what shall I say?--negotiating?"
"She was in that stupid England. It wasn't a thing I could write to her about. I meant it as a surprise. When all was settled I sent for her--and told her. Oh, monsieur, vous n'avez pas d'idée! Queue scène! Queue scène! J'ai failli en mourir." She wrung her clasped hands at the recollection.
"That girl has an anger like a storm. Avec tous ses airs de reine et de sainte--she was terrible. Never shall I forget it--jamais! jam-ais! au grand jamais! Et puis," she added, with a fatalistic toss of her hands, "c'était fini. It was all over. Since then--nothing!"
She made a little dash as if to leave him, returning to utter what seemed like an afterthought. "It would have made her. It would have made _me_. We could have dictated to the Faubourg. We could have humiliated them--like that." She stamped her foot. "It would have been a great alliance--what I've been so much in need of. The Melcourt--well, they're all very well--old noblesse de la Normandie, and all that--but poor!--mais pauvres!--and as provincial as a curé de campagne. When I married my poor husband--but we won't go into that--I've been a widow since I was so high--ever since 1870--with my own way to make. If my niece hadn't deserted me I could have made it. Now all that is past--fini-ni-ni! The clan Berteuil has set the Faubourg against me. They've the power, too. It's all so intricate, so silent, such wheels within wheels--but it's done. They've never wanted me. They don't want any of us--not for ourselves. It's the sou!--the sou!--the everlasting sou! Noble or peasant--it makes no difference. But if my niece hadn't abandoned me--"