“To-morrow, then,” said Pierquin.

“Come to breakfast,” said Claes; then he seemed to gather his scattered senses together and exclaimed:  “But in my marriage contract, which was drawn under the laws of Hainault, I released my wife from the obligation of making an inventory, in order that she might not be annoyed by it:  it is very probable that I was equally released—­”

“Oh, what happiness!” cried Marguerite.  “It would have been so distressing to us.”

“Well, I will look into your marriage contract to-morrow,” said the notary, rather confused.

“Then you did not know of this?” said Marguerite.

This remark closed the interview; the lawyer was far too much confused to continue it after the young girl’s comment.

“The devil is in it!” he said to himself as he crossed the court-yard.  “That man’s wandering memory comes back to him in the nick of time, —­just when he needed it to hinder us from taking precautions against him!  I have cracked my brains to save the property of those children.  I meant to proceed regularly and come to an understanding with old Conyncks, and here’s the end of it!  I shall lose ground with Marguerite, for she will certainly ask her father why I wanted an inventory of the property, which she now sees was not necessary; and Claes will tell her that notaries have a passion for writing documents, that we are lawyers above all, above cousins or friends or relatives, and all such stuff as that.”

He slammed the street door violently, railing at clients who ruin themselves by sensitiveness.

Balthazar was right.  No inventory could be made.  Nothing, therefore, was done to settle the relation of the father to the children in the matter of property.

CHAPTER XI

Several months went by and brought no change to the House of Claes.  Gabriel, under the wise management of his tutor, Monsieur de Solis, worked studiously, acquired foreign languages, and prepared to pass the necessary examinations to enter the Ecole Polytechnique.  Marguerite and Felicie lived in absolute retirement, going in summer to their father’s country place as a measure of economy.  Monsieur Claes attended to his business affairs, paid his debts by borrowing a considerable sum of money on his property, and went to see the forest at Waignies.

About the middle of the year 1817, his grief, slowly abating, left him a prey to solitude and defenceless under the monotony of the life he was leading, which heavily oppressed him.  At first he struggled bravely against the allurements of Science as they gradually beset him; he forbade himself even to think of Chemistry.  Then he did think of it.  Still, he would not actively take it up, and only gave his mind to his researches theoretically.  Such constant study, however, swelled his passion which soon became exacting.  He asked himself whether he was really bound not to continue his researches, and remembered that his wife had refused his oath.  Though he had pledged his word to himself that he would never pursue the solution of the great Problem, might he not change that determination at a moment when he foresaw success?  He was now fifty-nine years old.  At that age a predominant idea contracts a certain peevish fixedness which is the first stage of monomania.