This half-promise, extracted some few days before Fraisier’s visit, had plunged the Presidente into depths of affliction.  It was doubtful whether the ex-proprietor of Marville was eligible for re-election without the land qualification.

Fraisier found no difficulty in obtaining speech of Madeleine Vivet; such viper natures own their kinship at once.

“I should like to see Mme. la Presidente for a few moments, mademoiselle,” Fraisier said in bland accents; “I have come on a matter of business which touches her fortune; it is a question of a legacy, be sure to mention that.  I have not the honor of being known to Mme. la Presidente, so my name is of no consequence.  I am not in the habit of leaving my chambers, but I know the respect that is due to a President’s wife, and I took the trouble of coming myself to save all possible delay.”

The matter thus broached, when repeated and amplified by the waiting-maid, naturally brought a favorable answer.  It was a decisive moment for the double ambition hidden in Fraisier’s mind.  Bold as a petty provincial attorney, sharp, rough-spoken, and curt as he was, he felt as captains feel before the decisive battle of a campaign.  As he went into the little drawing-room where Amelie was waiting for him, he felt a slight perspiration breaking out upon his forehead and down his back.  Every sudorific hitherto employed had failed to produce this result upon a skin which horrible diseases had left impervious.  “Even if I fail to make my fortune,” said he to himself, “I shall recover.  Poulain said that if I could only perspire I should recover.”

The Presidente came forward in her morning gown.

“Madame—­” said Fraisier, stopping short to bow with the humility by which officials recognize the superior rank of the person whom they address.

“Take a seat, monsieur,” said the Presidente.  She saw at a glance that this was a man of law.

“Mme. la Presidente, if I take the liberty of calling your attention to a matter which concerns M. le President, it is because I am sure that M. de Marville, occupying, as he does, a high position, would leave matters to take their natural course, and so lose seven or eight hundred thousand francs, a sum which ladies (who, in my opinion, have a far better understanding of private business than the best of magistrates)—­a sum which ladies, I repeat, would by no means despise—­”

“You spoke of a legacy,” interrupted the lady, dazzled by the wealth, and anxious to hide her surprise.  Amelie de Marville, like an impatient novel-reader, wanted the end of the story.

“Yes, madame, a legacy that you are like to lose; yes, to lose altogether; but I can, that is, I could, recover it for you, if—­”

“Speak out, monsieur.”  Mme. de Marville spoke frigidly, scanning Fraisier as she spoke with a sagacious eye.

“Madame, your eminent capacity is known to me; I was once at Mantes.  M. Leboeuf, President of the Tribunal, is acquainted with M. de Marville, and can answer inquiries about me—­”