"
"There is no will to make here, but contracts of marriage there may
be, perhaps," said the scholar, who had made a satisfactory
arrangement for the first time in twelve months.
"Oh! Oh!"
"Ah! Ah!"
"One moment," cried Cardot, fairly deafened by a chorus of wretched
jokes. "I came here on serious business. I am bringing six millions
for one of you." (Dead silence.) "Monsieur," he went on, turning to
Raphael, who at the moment was unceremoniously wiping his eyes on a
corner of the table-napkin, "was not your mother a Mlle. O'Flaharty?"
"Yes," said Raphael mechanically enough; "Barbara Marie."
"Have you your certificate of birth about you," Cardot went on, "and
Mme. de Valentin's as well?"
"I believe so."
"Very well then, monsieur; you are the sole heir of Major O'Flaharty,
who died in August 1828 at Calcutta."
"An _incalcuttable_ fortune," said the critic.
"The Major having bequeathed several amounts to public institutions in
his will, the French Government sent in a claim for the remainder to
the East India Company," the notary continued. "The estate is clear
and ready to be transferred at this moment. I have been looking in
vain for the heirs and assigns of Mlle. Barbara Marie O'Flaharty for a
fortnight past, when yesterday at dinner----"
Just then Raphael suddenly staggered to his feet; he looked like a man
who has just received a blow.
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