The millionairess aunt, however, was dismayed by their childlessness and advised them how to reverse it. She herself had tried out, with obvious lack of success, thousands of tips offered by friends and fortune-tellers alike and now, past childbearing age, she had heard thousands more, all allegedly infallible. She grieved over their present uselessness to her and redoubled her efforts to have her family put them into practice. ‘Well?’ she would incessantly ask, ‘Have you tried what I was recommending to you the other day?’

She died. In the hearts of the young couple a joy was born, concealed from both themselves and from others by mourning. The deep black veil of conscience hid eyes that sparkled with delight. They were advised that the will was deposited with a certain notary, to whom they rushed directly after the funeral service.

The aunt, true to her apparently lifelong intent, had left her million to their first-born with the usufruct to the parents during their lifetime. If, after three years, the young couple still had no heir the fortune was to go to charity.

They were stunned, prostrated. The husband became ill and stayed off work for a whole week. Then, when he had recovered, he swore he would become a father.

For six months he tried so hard that he became a mere shadow of his former self. He recalled all his aunt’s helpful hints and conscientiously put them into practice but to absolutely no avail. His unflagging determination gave him a kind of artificial energy which proved nearly fatal. He was consumed by anaemia. Tuberculosis was suspected. The prognosis of a doctor he consulted frightened him so much that he reverted to the comfortable routine of his former life and returned to even greater peace and quiet than before.

At the Ministry there was much hilarity and mirth. The contents of the disappointing will were public knowledge and in every department there were sniggers about the ‘missed million’. Bonnin was given some dubiously helpful suggestions and some offers to fulfil the conditions of the will on his behalf. One young bachelor in particular, allegedly a great ladies’ man, whose exploits were office legend, kept making crude digs at him and saying he could make him inherit in twenty minutes. One day Léopold Bonnin lost his temper and, rising suddenly, pen behind the ear, flung at him: ‘Monsieur, you are disgusting! If I hadn’t more respect for myself I’d spit in your eye!’

Witnesses and seconds were called and there ensued a great to-do at the Ministry lasting three entire days. The corridors were full of people sending affidavits and opinions back and forth about the whole affair. Finally an agreement was reached by the four delegates involved and accepted by the two interested parties who, in the presence of the department head, bowed gravely to each other, murmured mutual apologies and formally shook hands.