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diff --git a/28489-8.txt b/28489-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef33222 --- /dev/null +++ b/28489-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10684 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Belovéd Vagabond, by William J. Locke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Belovéd Vagabond + +Author: William J. Locke + +Release Date: April 4, 2009 [EBook #28489] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BELOVÉD VAGABOND *** + + + + +Produced by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + + +THE BELOVÉD VAGABOND + + + + +THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM J. LOCKE + + IDOLS + SEPTIMUS + DERELICTS + THE USURPER + WHERE LOVE IS + THE WHITE DOVE + SIMON THE JESTER + A STUDY IN SHADOWS + THE BELOVÉD VAGABOND + AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA + THE MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE + THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAYRE + + + + +The Belovéd Vagabond + +By William J. Locke + +Author of + +"Septimus," "Idols," Etc. + +[Illustration] + + A. L. BURT COMPANY + Publishers New York + + + + + Copyright, 1905 + + BY JOHN LANE + Copyright, 1900 + + BY JOHN LANE COMPANY + + + SET UP, ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY + THE PUBLISHERS PRINTING CO., NEW YORK + + + + +THE BELOVÉD VAGABOND + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +THIS is not a story about myself. Like Canning's organ-grinder I have +none to tell. It is the story of Paragot, the belovéd vagabond--please +pronounce his name French-fashion--and if I obtrude myself on your +notice it is because I was so much involved in the medley of farce and +tragedy which made up some years of his life, that I don't know how to +tell the story otherwise. To Paragot I owe everything. He is at once my +benefactor, my venerated master, my beloved friend, my creator. Clay in +his hands, he moulded me according to his caprice, and inspired me with +the breath of life. My existence is drenched with the colour of Paragot. +I lay claim to no personality of my own, and any _obiter dicta_ that may +fall from my pen in the course of the ensuing narrative are but +reflections of Paragot's philosophy. Men have spoken evil of him. He +snapped his fingers at calumny, but I winced, never having reached the +calm altitudes of scorn wherein his soul has its habitation. I burned to +defend him, and I burn now; and that is why I propose to write his +_apologia_, his justification. + +Why he singled me out for adoption from among the unwashed urchins of +London I never could conjecture. Once I asked him. + +"Because," said he, "you were ugly, dirty, ricketty, under-sized, +underfed and wholly uninteresting. Also because your mother was the very +worst washer-woman that ever breathed gin into a shirt-front." + +I did not resent these charges, direct and implied, against my mother. +She did launder villainously, and she did drink gin, and of the nine +uncared-for gutter-snipes she brought into the world, I think I was the +most unkempt and neglected. I know that Sunday-school books tell you to +love your mother; but if the only maternal caresses you could remember +were administered by means of a wet pair of woollen drawers or the edge +of a hot flat-iron, you would find filial piety a virtue somewhat +abstract. Verily do earwigs care more for their progeny than did my +mother. She sold me body and soul to Paragot for half-a-crown. + +It fell out thus. + +One morning, laden with his--technically speaking--clean linen, I +knocked at the door of Paragot's chambers. He called them chambers, for +he was nothing if not grandiloquent, but really they consisted in an +attic in Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, above the curious club over +which he presided. I knocked, then, at the door. A sonorous voice bade +me enter. Paragot lay in bed, smoking a huge pipe with a porcelain bowl +and reading a book. The fact of one individual having a room all to +himself impressed me so greatly with a sense of luxury, refinement and +power, that I neglected to observe its pitifulness and squalor. Nor of +Paragot's personal appearance was I critical. He had long black hair, +and a long black beard, and long black finger-nails. The last were so +long and commanding that I thought ashamedly of my own bitten +fingertips, and vowed that when I too became a great man, able to smoke +a porcelain pipe of mornings in my own room, my nails should equal his +in splendour. + +"I have brought the washing, Sir," I announced, "and, please, Sir, +mother says I'm not to let you have it unless you settle up for the last +three weeks." + +I had a transient vision of swarthy, hairy legs, as Paragot leaped out +of bed. He stood over me, man of all the luxuries that he was, in his +nightshirt. Fancy having a shirt for the day and a shirt for the night! + +"Do you mean that you will dispute possession of it with me, _vi et +armis_?" + +"Yes, Sir," said I, confused. + +He laughed, clapped me on the shoulder, called me David, Jack the +Giant-Killer, and bade me deliver the washing-book. I fumbled in the +pocket of my torn jacket and handed him a greasy, dog's-eared mass of +paper. As soon as his eyes fell on it, I realised my mistake, and +produced the washing book from the other pocket. + +"I've given you the wrong one, Sir," said I, reaching for the treasure I +had surrendered. + +But he threw himself on his bed and dived his legs beneath the clothes. + +"Wonderful!" he cried. "He is four foot nothing, he looks like a yard of +pack-thread, he would fight me for an ill-washed shirt and a pair of +holes with bits of sock round them, and he reads 'Paradise Lost'!" + +He made a gesture of throwing the disreputable epic at my head, and I +curved my arm in an attitude only too familiarly defensive. + +"I found it in a bundle of washing, Sir," I cried apologetically. + +At home reading was the unforgivable sin. Had my mother discovered me +poring over the half intelligible but wholly fascinating story of Adam +and Eve and the Devil, she would have beaten me with the first implement +to her hand. I had a moment's terror lest the possession of a work of +literature should be so horrible a crime that even Paragot would +chastise me. + +To my consternation he thrust the tattered thing--it was an antiquated +sixpenny edition--under my nose and commanded me to read. + +"'Of Man's first disobedience'--Go on. If you can read it intelligently +I'll pay your mother. If you can't I'll write to her politely to say +that I resent having my washing sent home by persons of no education." + +I began in great fear, but having, I suppose, an instinctive +appreciation of letters, I mouthed the rolling lines not too brokenly. + +"What's a Heavenly Muse?" asked Paragot, as soon as I paused. I had not +the faintest idea. + +"Do you think it's a Paradisiacal back yard where they keep the Horse of +the Apocalypse?" + +I caught a twinkle in the blue eyes which he bent fiercely upon me. + +"If you please, Sir," said I, "I think it is the Bird of Paradise." + +Then we both laughed; and Paragot bidding me sit on the wreck of a +cane-bottomed chair, gave me my first lesson in Greek Mythology. He +talked for nearly an hour, and I, ragged urchin of the London streets, +my wits sharpened by hunger and ill-usage, sat spell-bound on my +comfortless perch, while he unfolded the tale of Gods and Goddesses, and +unveiled Olympus before my enraptured vision. + +"Boy," said he suddenly, "can you cook a herring?" + +I came down to earth with a bang. Stunned I stared at him. I distinctly +remember wondering where I was. + +"Can you cook a herring?" he shouted. + +"Yes, Sir," I cried, jumping to my feet. + +"Then cook two--one for you and one for me. You'll find them somewhere +about the room, also tea and bread and butter and a gas-stove, and when +all is ready let me know." + +He settled himself comfortably in bed and went on reading his book. It +was Hegel's Philosophy of History. I tried to read it afterwards and +found that it passed my understanding. + +In a confused dream of gods and herrings, I set about my task. Heaven +only knows how I managed to succeed. In my childish imagination Jupiter +was clothed in the hirsute majesty of Paragot. + +And I was to breakfast with him! + +The herrings and a half-smoked pipe shared a plate on the top of the +ricketty chest of drawers. I had to blow the ash off the fish. A paper +of tea and a loaf of bread I found in a higgledy-piggledy mixture of +clothes, books and papers. My godlike friend had carelessly put his +hair-brush into the butter. The condition of the sole cooking utensil +warred even against my sense of the fitness of gridirons, and I cleansed +it with his towel. + +Since then I have breakfasted in the houses of the wealthy, I have +lunched at the Café Anglais, I have dined at the Savoy but never have I +eaten, never till they give me a welcoming banquet in the Elysian fields, +shall I eat so ambrosial a meal as that first herring with Paragot. + +When I had set it on the little deal table, he deigned to remember my +existence, and closing his book, rose, donned a pair of trousers and sat +down. He gave me my first lesson in table-manners. + +"Boy," said he, "if you wish to adorn the high social spheres for which +you are destined, you must learn the value of convention. Bread and +cheese-straws and asparagus and the leaves of an artichoke are eaten +with the fingers; but not herrings or sweetbreads or ice cream. As +regards the last you are doubtless in the habit of extracting it from a +disappointing wine-glass with your tongue. This in _notre monde_ is +regarded as bad form. '_Notre Monde_' is French, a language which you +will have to learn. Its great use is in talking to English people when +you don't want them to understand what you say. They pretend they do, +for they are too vain to admit their ignorance. The wise man profits by +the vanity of his fellow-creatures. If I were not wise after this +manner, should I be here eating herrings in Tavistock Street, Covent +Garden?" + +I was too full of food and adoration to reply. I gazed at him dumbly +worshipping and choked over a cup of tea. When I recovered he questioned +me as to my home life, my schooling, my ideas of a future state and my +notions of a career in this world. The height of my then ambition was to +keep a fried-fish shop. The restaurateur with whom my good mother dealt +used to sit for hours in his doorway in Drury Lane reading a book, and I +considered this a most dignified and scholarly avocation. When I made +this naïve avowal to Paragot, he looked at me with a queer pity in his +eyes, and muttered an exclamation in a foreign tongue. I have never met +anyone so full of strange oaths as Paragot. As to my religious +convictions, they were chiefly limited to a terrifying conception of the +hell to which my mother daily consigned me. In devils, fires, chains and +pitchforks its establishment was as complete as any _inferno_ depicted +by Orcagna. I used to wake up of nights in a cold sweat through dreaming +of it. + +"My son," said Paragot, "the most eminent divines of the Church of +England will tell you that a material hell with consuming flames is an +exploded fallacy. I can tell you the same without being an eminent +divine. The wicked carry their own hell about with them during +life--here, somewhere between the gullet and the pit of the stomach, and +it prevents their enjoyment of herrings which smell vilely of gas." + +"There ain't no devils, then?" I asked. + +"_Sacré mille diables_, No!" he shouted. "Haven't I been exhausting +myself with telling you so?" + +I said little, but to this day I remember the thrilling sense of +deliverance from a horror which had gone far to crush the little +childish joy allowed me by circumstance. There was no fiery hell, no +red-hot pincers, no eternal frizzling and sizzling of the flesh, like +unto that of the fish in Mr. Samuel's fish-shop. Paragot had transformed +me by a word into a happy young pagan. My eyes swam as I swallowed my +last bit of bread and butter. + +"What is your name?" asked Paragot. + +"Augustus, Sir." + +"Augustus, what?" + +"Smith," I murmured. "Same as mother's." + +"I was forgetting," said he. "Now if there is one name I dislike more +than Smith it is Augustus. I have been thinking of a very nice name for +you. It is Asticot. It expresses you better than Augustus Smith." + +"It is a very good name, Sir," said I politely. + +I learned soon after that it is a French word meaning the little grey +worms which fishermen call "gentles," and that it was not such a +complimentary appellation as I had imagined; but Asticot I became, and +Asticot I remained for many a year. + +"Wash up the things, my little Asticot," said he, "and afterwards we +will discuss future arrangements." + +According to his directions I took the tray down to a kind of scullery +on the floor below. The wet plates and cups I dried on a greasy rag +which I found lying on the sink; and this seemed to me a refinement of +luxurious living; for at home, when we did wash plates, we merely held +them under the tap till the remains of food ran off, and we never +thought of drying them. When I returned to the bedroom Paragot was +dressed for the day. His long lean wrists and hands protruded far +through the sleeves of an old brown jacket. He wore a grey flannel shirt +and an old bit of black ribbon done up in a bow by way of a tie; his +slouch hat, once black, was now green with age, and his boots were +innocent of blacking. But my eyes were dazzled by a heavy gold watch +chain across his waistcoat and I thought him the most glorious of +betailored beings. + +"My little Asticot," said he, "would you like to forsake your gentle +mother's wash-tub and your dreams of a fried-fish shop and enter my +service? I, the heir of all the ages, am driven by Destiny to running +The Lotus Club downstairs. We call it 'Lotus' because we eat tripe to +banish memory. The members meet together in order to eat tripe, drink +beer and hear me talk. You can eat tripe and hear me talk too, and that +will improve both your mind and your body. While Cherubino, the waiter, +teaches you how to be a scullion, I will instruct you in philosophy. The +sofa in the Club will make an excellent bed for you, and your wages will +be eighteen pence a week." + +He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets, and rattling his money +looked at me with an enquiring air. I returned his gaze for a while, +lost in a delirious wonder. I tried to speak. Something stuck in my +throat. I broke into a blubber and dried my eyes with my knuckles. + +It was an intoxicated little Asticot that trotted by his side to my +mother's residence. There over gin-and-water the bargain was struck. My +mother pocketed half-a-crown and with shaky unaccustomed fingers signed +her name across a penny-stamp at the foot of a document which Paragot +had drawn up. I believe each of them was convinced that they had +executed a legal deed. My mother after inspecting me critically for a +moment wiped my nose with the piece of sacking that served as her apron +and handed me over to Paragot, who marched away with his purchase as +proud as if I had been a piece of second-hand furniture picked up cheap. + +I may as well remark here that Paragot was not his real name; neither +was Josiah Henkendyke by which he was then known to me. He had a +harmless mania for names, and I have known him use half a dozen. But +that of Paragot which he assumed later as his final alias is the one +with which he is most associated in my mind, and to avoid confusion I +must call him that from the start. Indeed, looking backward down the +years, I wonder how he could ever have been anything else than Paragot. +That Phoebus Apollo could once have borne the name of John Jones is +unimaginable. + +"Boy," said he, as we retraced our steps to Tavistock Street, "you are +my thing, my chattel, my _famulus_. No slave of old belonged more +completely to a free-born citizen. You will address me as 'master'!" + +"Yes, Sir," said I. + +"Master!" he shouted. "_Master_ or _maître_ or _maestro_ or _magister_ +according to the language you are speaking. Now do you understand?" + +"Yes, Master," said I. + +He nodded approval. At the corner of a by-street he stopped short and +held me at arm's length. + +"You are a horrible object, my little Asticot," said he. "I must clothe +you in a manner befitting the Lotus Club." + +He ran me into a slop-dealer's and fitted me out in sundry garments in +which, although they were several sizes too large for me, I felt myself +clad like Solomon in all his glory. Then we went home. On the way up to +his room he paused at the scullery. A dishevelled woman was tidying up. + +"Mrs. Housekeeper," said he, "allow me to present you our new scullion +pupil. Kindly instruct him in his duties, feed him and wash his head. +Also please remember that he answers to the name of Asticot." + +He swung on his heel and went downstairs humming a tune. I remained with +Mrs. Housekeeper who carried out his instructions zealously. I can feel +the soreness on my scalp to this day. + +Thus it fell out that I quitted the maternal roof and entered the +service of Paragot. I never saw my mother again, as she died soon +afterwards; and as my brood of brothers and sisters vanished down the +diverse gutters of London, I found myself with Paragot for all my +family; and now that I have arrived at an age when a man can look back +dispassionately on his past, it is my pride that I can lay my hand on my +heart and avow him to be the best family that boy ever had. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE Lotus Club was the oddest society I have met. The premises +consisted of one long dingy room with two dingy windows: the +furniture of a long table covered with dirty American cloth, a +multitude of wooden chairs, an old sofa, two dilapidated dinner-waggons, +and a frame against the wall from which, by means of clips, churchwarden +pipes depended stem downwards; and by each clip was a label bearing a +name. On the table stood an enormous jar of tobacco. A number of +ill-washed glasses decorated the dinner-waggons. There was not a curtain, +not a blind, not a picture. The further end of the room away from the +door contained a huge fireplace, and on the wooden mantelpiece ticked +a three-and-sixpenny clock. + +During the daytime it was an abode of abominable desolation. No one came +near it until nine o'clock in the evening, when one or two members +straggled in, took down their long pipes and called for whisky or beer, +the only alcoholic beverages the club provided. These were kept in great +barrels in the scullery, presided over by Mrs. Housekeeper until it was +time to prepare the supper, when Cherubino and I helped ourselves. At +eleven the cloth was laid. From then till half past members came in +considerable numbers. At half past supper was served. A steaming dish of +tripe furnished the head of the table in front of Paragot, and a cut of +cold beef the foot. + +There were generally from fifteen to thirty present; men of all classes: +Journalists, actors, lawyers, out-at-elbows nondescripts. I have seen +one of Her Majesty's Judges and a prizefighter exchanging views across +the table. A few attended regularly; but the majority seemed to be +always new-comers. They supped, talked, smoked, and drank whisky until +two or three o'clock in the morning and appeared to enjoy themselves +prodigiously. I noticed that on departing they wrung Paragot fervently +by the hand and thanked him for their delightful evening. I remembered +his telling me that they came to hear him talk. He did talk: sometimes +so compellingly that I would stand stock-still rapt in reverential +ecstasy: once to the point of letting the potatoes I was handing round +roll off the dish on to the floor. I never was so rapt again; for +Cherubino picking up the potatoes and following my frightened exit, +broke them over my head on the landing, by way of chastisement. The best +barbers do not use hot mealy potatoes for the hair. + +When the last guest had departed, Paragot mounted to his attic, Mrs. +Housekeeper and Cherubino went their several ways--each went several +ways, I think, for they had unchecked command during the evening over +the whisky and beer barrels--and I, dragging a bundle of bedclothes from +beneath the sofa, went to bed amid the fumes of tripe, gas, tobacco, +alcohol and humanity, and slept the sleep of perfect happiness. + +In the morning, at about eleven, I rose and prepared breakfast for +Paragot and myself, which we ate together in his room. For a couple of +hours he instructed me in what he was pleased to call the humanities. +Then he sent me out into the street for air and exercise, with +instructions to walk to Hyde Park, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's +Cathedral, Whiteley's--he always had a fresh objective for me--and to +bring him back my views thereon and an account of what I had noticed on +the way. When I came home I delivered myself into the hands of Mrs. +Housekeeper and turned scullion again. The plates, glasses, knives and +forks of the previous evening's orgy were washed and cleaned, the room +swept and aired, and a meal cooked for Mrs. Housekeeper and myself which +we ate at a corner of the long table. Paragot himself dined out. + +On Sunday evenings the Club was shut, and as Mrs. Housekeeper did not +make her appearance on the Sabbath, the remains of Saturday night's +supper stayed on the table till Monday afternoon. Imagine remains of +tripe thirty six hours old! + +I mention this, not because it is of any great interest, but because it +exhibits a certain side of Paragot's character. In those early days I +was not critical. I lived in a maze of delight. Paragot was the Wonder +of the Earth, my bedroom a palace chamber, and the abominable Sunday +night smell pervaded my senses like the perfumes of all the Arabies. + +"My son," said Paragot one morning, in the middle of a French +lesson--from the first he was bent on my learning the language--"My son, +I wonder whether you are going to turn out a young Caliban, and after I +have shewn you the True Divinity of Things, return to your dam's god +Setebos?" + +He regarded me earnestly with his light blue eyes which looked so odd in +his swarthy black-bearded face. + +"Is there any hope for the race of Sycorax?" + +As we had read "The Tempest" the day before, I understood the +allusions. + +"I would sooner be Ariel, Master," said I, by way of showing off my +learning. + +"He was an ungrateful beggar too," said Paragot. He went on talking, but +I heard him not; for my childish mind quickly associated him with +Prospero, and I wondered where lay his magic staff with which he could +split pines and liberate tricksy spirits, and whether he had a beautiful +daughter hidden in some bower of Tavistock Street, and whether the +cadaverous Cherubino might not be a metamorphosed Ferdinand. He appeared +the embodiment of all wisdom and power, and yet he had the air of one +cheated of his kingdom. He seemed also to be of reverential age. As a +matter of fact he was not yet forty. + +My attention was recalled by his rising and walking about the room. + +"I am making this experiment on your vile body, my little Asticot," said +he, "to prove my Theory of Education. You have had, so far as it goes, +what is called an excellent Board School Training. You can read and +write and multiply sixty-four by thirty-seven in your head, and you can +repeat the Kings of England. If you had been fortunate and gone to a +Public school they would have stuffed your brain full of Greek verbs and +damned facts about triangles. But of the meaning of life, the value of +life, the art of life, you would never have had a glimmering perception. +I am going to educate you, my little Asticot, through the imagination. +The intellect can look after itself. We will go now to the National +Gallery." + +He caught up his hat and threw me my cap, and we went out. He had a +sudden, breathless way of doing things. I am sure thirty seconds had +not elapsed between the idea of the National Gallery entering his head +and our finding ourselves on the stairs. + +We went to the National Gallery. I came away with a reeling +undistinguishable mass of form and colour before my eyes. I felt sick. +Only one single picture stood out clear. Paragot talked Italian art to +my uncomprehending ears all the way home. + +"Now," said he, when he had settled himself comfortably in his old +wicker-work chair again, "which of the pictures did you like best?" + +Why that particular picture (save that it is the supreme art of a +supreme genius) should have alone fixed itself on my mind, I do not +know. It has been one of the psychological puzzles of my life. + +"A man's head, master," said I; "I can't describe it, but I think I +could draw it." + +"Draw it?" he echoed incredulously. + +"Yes, Master." + +He pulled a stump of pencil from his pocket and threw it to me. I felt +luminously certain I could draw the head. A curious exaltation filled me +as I sat at a corner of the table before a flattened-out piece of paper +that had wrapped up tea. Paragot stood over me, as I drew. + +"_Nom de Dieu de nom de Dieu!_" cried he. "It is Gian Bellini's Doge +Loredano. But what made you remember that picture, and how in the name +of Board schools could you manage to draw it?" + +He walked swiftly up and down the room. + +"_Nom de Dieu de nom de Dieu!_" + +"I used to draw horses and men on my slate at school," said I modestly. + +Paragot filled his porcelain pipe and walked about strangely excited. +Suddenly he stopped. + +"My little Asticot," said he, "you had better go down and help Mrs. +Housekeeper to wash up the dirty plates and dishes, for your soul's +sake." + +What my soul had to do with greasy crockery I could not in the least +fathom; but the next morning Paragot gave me a drawing lesson. It would +be false modesty for me to say that I did not show talent, since the +making of pictures is the means whereby I earn my living at the present +moment. The gift once discovered, I exercised it in and out of season. + +"My son," said Paragot, when I showed him a sketch of Mrs. Housekeeper +as she lay on the scullery floor one Saturday night, unable to go any +one of her several ways, "I am afraid you are an artist. Do you know +what an artist is?" + +I didn't. He pronounced the word in tones of such deep melancholy that I +felt it must denote something particularly depraved. + +"It is the man who has the power of doing up his soul in whitey-brown +paper parcels and selling them at three halfpence apiece." + +This was at breakfast one morning while he was chipping an egg. Only two +eggs furnished forth our repast, and I was already deep in mine. He +scooped off the top of the shell, regarded it for a second and then rose +with the egg and went to the window. + +"Since you have wings you had better fly," said he, and he threw it into +the street. + +"My little Asticot," he added, resuming his seat. "I myself was once an +artist: now I am a philosopher: it is much better." + +He cheerfully attacked his bread and butter. Whether it was a sense of +his goodness or my own greediness that prompted me I know not, but I +pushed my half eaten egg across to him and begged him to finish it. He +looked queerly at me for a moment. + +"I accept it," said he, "in the spirit in which it is offered." + +The great man solemnly ate my egg, and pride so filled my heart that I +could scarcely swallow. A smaller man than Paragot would have refused. + +From what I gathered from conversations overheard whilst I was serving +members with tripe and alcohol, it appeared that my revered master was a +mysterious personage. About eight months before, he had entered the then +unprosperous Club for the first time as a guest of the founder and +proprietor, an old actor who was growing infirm. He talked vehemently. +The next night he took the presidential chair which he since occupied, +to the Club's greater glory. But whence he came, who and what he was, no +one seemed to know. One fat man whose air of portentous wisdom (and +insatiable appetite) caused me much annoyance, proclaimed him a Russian +Nihilist and asked me whether there were any bombs in his bedroom. +Another man declared that he had seen him leading a bear in the streets +of Warsaw. His manner offended me. + +"Have you ever been to Warsaw, Mr. Ulysses?" asked the fat man. Mr. +Ulysses was the traditional title of the head of the Lotus Club. + +"This gentleman says he saw you leading a bear there, Master," I piped, +wrathfully, in my shrill treble. + +There was the sudden silence of consternation. All, some five and +twenty, laid down their knives and forks and looked at Paragot, who rose +from his seat. Throwing out his right hand he declaimed: + + [Greek: "Andra moi ennepe, Mousa, polutropon, os mala polla + plagchthê, epei Troiês Ieron ptoliethron epersen + pollôn d' anthrôpôn iden astea, kai noon egnô.] + +"Does anyone know what that is?" + +A young fellow at the end of the table said it was the opening lines of +the Odyssey. + +"You are right, sir," said Paragot, threading his fingers through his +long black hair. "They tell of my predecessor in office, the first +President of this Club, who was a man of many wanderings and many +sufferings and had seen many cities and knew the hearts of men. I, +gentlemen, have had my Odyssey, and I have been to Warsaw, and," with a +rapier flash of a glance at the gentleman who had accused him of leading +bears, "I know the miserable hearts of men." He rapped on the table with +his hammer. "Asticot, come here," he shouted. + +I obeyed trembling. + +"If ever you lift up your voice again in this assembly, I will have you +boiled and served up with onion sauce, second-hand tripe that you are, +and you shall be eaten underdone. Now go." + +I felt shrivelled to the size of a pea. Beneath Paragot's grotesqueness +ran an unprecedented severity. I was conscious of the accusing glare of +every eye. In my blind bolt to the door I had the good fortune to run +headlong into a tray of drinks which Cherubino was carrying. + +The disaster saved the situation. Laughter rang out loud and the talk +became general. The interlude was forgotten; but the man who said he had +seen my master leading bears in Warsaw vanished from the Club for ever +after. + +The next morning when I entered Paragot's room to wake him I found him +reading in bed. He looked up from his book. + +"My little Asticot," said he, "leading bears is better than calumny, but +indiscretion is worse than both." + +And that is all I heard of the matter. I never lifted up my voice in the +Club again. + +There was a curious black case on the top of a cupboard in his room +which for some time aroused my curiosity. It was like no box I had seen +before. But one afternoon Paragot took it down and extracted therefrom a +violin which after tuning he began to play. Now although fond of music I +have never been able to learn any instrument save the tambourine--my +highest success otherwise has been to finger out "God save the Queen" +and "We won't go home till morning" on the ocarina--and to this day a +person able to play the piano or the fiddle seems possessed of an +uncanny gift; but in that remote period of my fresh rescue from the +gutter, an executant appeared something superhuman. I stared at him with +stupid open mouth. He played what I afterwards learned was one of +Brahms's Hungarian dances. His lank figure and long hair worked in +unison with the music which filled the room with a wild tumult of +movement. I had not heard anything like it in my life. It set every +nerve of me dancing. I suppose Paragot found his interest in me because +I was such an impressionable youngster. When, at the abrupt finale, he +asked me what I thought of it, I could scarce stammer a word. + +He gave me one of his queer kind looks while he tuned a string. + +"I still wonder, my son, whether it would not be better for your soul +that you should go on scullioning to the end of time." + +"Why, Master?" I asked. + +"_Sacré mille diables_," he cried, "do you think I am going to give you +a reason for everything? You'll learn fast enough." + +He laughed and went on playing, and, as I listened, the more godlike he +grew. + +"The streets of Paris," said he, returning the fiddle to its case, "are +strewn with the wrecked souls of artists." + +"And not London?" + +"My little Asticot," he replied, "I am a Frenchman, and it is our +fondest illusion that no art can possibly exist out of Paris." + +I discovered later that he was the son of a Gascon father and an Irish +mother, which accounted for his being absolutely bilingual and, indeed, +for many oddities of temperament. But now he proclaimed himself a +Frenchman, and for a time I was oppressed with a sense of +disappointment. + +At the Board School I had bolted enough indigestible historical facts to +know that the English had always beaten the French, and I had drawn the +natural conclusion that the French were a vastly inferior race of +beings. It was, I verily believe, the first step in my spiritual +education to realise that the god of my idolatry suffered no diminution +of grandeur by reason of his nationality. Indeed he gained accession, +for after this he talked often to me of France in his magniloquent way, +until I began secretly to be ashamed of being English. This had one +advantage, in that I set myself with redoubled vigour to learn his +language. + +So extraordinary was the veneration I had for the man who had +transplanted me from the kicks and soapsuds of my former life into this +bewildering land of Greek gods and Ariels and pictures and music; for +the man who spoke many unknown tongues, wore a gold watch chain, had +been to Warsaw and every city mentioned in my school geography, and +presided like a king over an assembly of those whom as a gutter urchin I +had been wont to designate "toffs"; for the beneficent being who had +provided me, Gus Smith alias Asticot, with a nightshirt, condescended to +eat half my egg and to allow me to supervise his bedchamber and maintain +it in an orderly state of disintegration, hair-brushes from butter and +tobacco-ash from fish; for the man who, God knows, was the first of +human creatures to awaken the emotion of love within my child's +breast--so extraordinary was the veneration I had for him, that although +I started out on this narrative by saying it was Paragot's story and not +my own I proposed to tell, I hope to be pardoned for a brief egotistical +excursion. + +Like the gentleman in Chaucer, Paragot had over "his beddes hedde" a +shelf of books to which, careless creature that he was, he did not dream +of denying me access. In that attic in Tavistock Street I read Smollett +and Byron and somehow spelt through "Nana." I also found there the _De +Imitatione Christi_, which I read with much the same enjoyment as I did +the others. You must not think this priggish of me. The impressionable +child of starved imagination will read anything that is printed. In my +mother's house I used to purloin the squares of newspaper in which the +fried fish from Mr. Samuel's had been wrapped, and surreptitiously read +them. Why not Saint Thomas à Kempis? + +I have in my possession now a filthy piece of paper, dropping to bits, +on which is copied, in my round Board School boy handwriting, the +eleventh chapter of the _De Imitatione_. + +It runs: + +"_My Son, thou hast still many things to learn, which thou hast not well +learned yet._" + +"_What are they, Lord_?" + +"_To place thy desire altogether in subjection to my good pleasure and +not to be a lover of thyself, but an earnest seeker of my will. Thy +desires often excite and urge thee forward: but consider with thyself +whether thou art not more moved for thine own objects than for my +honour. If it is myself that thou seekest thou shalt be well content +with whatsoever I shall ordain; but if any pursuit of thine own lieth +hidden within thee, behold it is this which hindreth and weigheth thee +down._ + +"_Beware, therefore, lest thou strive too earnestly after some desire +which thou hast conceived, without taking counsel of me: lest haply it +repent thee afterwards, and that displease thee which before pleased, +and for which thou didst long as for a great good. For not every +affection which seemeth good is to be forthwith followed: neither is +every opposite affection to be immediately avoided. Sometimes it is +expedient to use restraint even in good desires and wishes, lest through +importunity thou fall into distraction of mind, lest through want of +discipline thou become a stumbling-block to others, or lest by the +resistance of others thou be suddenly disturbed and brought to +confusion._ + +"_Sometimes indeed it is needful to use violence, and manfully to strive +against the sensual appetite, and not to consider what the flesh may or +not will; but rather to strive after this, that it may become subject, +however unwillingly, to the spirit. And for so long it ought to be +chastised and compelled to undergo slavery, even until it be ready for +all things; and learn to be contented with little, to be delighted with +things simple, and never to murmur at any inconvenience._" + +Let no one be shocked. It was one of the great acts of devotion of my +life. I copied this out as a boy, not because it counselled me in my +duty towards God, but because it summed up my whole duty to Paragot. +Paragot was "Me." I saw the relation between Paragot and myself in every +line. Had not I often fallen into distraction of mind over my drawing +and books when I ought to have been helping Mrs. Housekeeper downstairs? +Was it not want of discipline that made me a stumbling-block that +memorable night in the Club? Ought I not to be content with everything +Paragot should ordain? And was it not my duty to murmur at no +inconvenience? + +Years afterwards I showed this paper to Paragot. He wept. Alas! I had +not well chosen my opportunity. + +I remember, the night after I copied the chapter, Cherubino and I helped +Paragot up the stairs and put him to bed. It was the first time I had +seen him the worse for liquor. But when one has been accustomed to see +one's mother and all her adult acquaintances dead drunk, the spectacle +of a god slightly overcome with wine is neither here nor there. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +THERE was one merit (if merit it was) of my mother's establishment. No +skeletons lurked in cupboards. They flaunted their grimness all over the +place. Such letters as she received trailed about the kitchen, for all +who chose to read, until they were caught up to cleanse a frying-pan. As +she possessed no private papers their sanctity was never inculcated; and +I could have rummaged, had I so desired, in every drawer or box in the +house without fear of correction. When I took up my abode with Paragot, +he laid no embargo on any of his belongings. The attic, except for +sleeping purposes, was as much mine as his, and it did not occur to me +that anything it contained could not be at my disposal. + +This must be my apologia for reading, in all innocence, but with much +enjoyment, some documents of a private nature which I discovered one +day, about a year after I had entered Paragot's service, stuffed by way +of keeping them together in an old woollen stocking. They have been put +into my possession now for the purpose of writing this narrative, so my +original offence having been purged, I need offer no apology for +referring to them. There was no sort of order in the bundle of +documents; you might as well look for the quality of humour in a +dromedary, or of mercy in a pianist, as that of method in Paragot. I +managed however to disentangle two main sets, one a series of love +letters and the other disconnected notes of travel. In both was I +mightily interested. + +The love-letters, some of which were written in English and some in +French, were addressed to a beautiful lady named Joanna. I knew she was +beautiful because Paragot himself said so. "_Pure et ravissante comme +une aube d'avril_," "My dear dream of English loveliness," "the fair +flower of my life" and remarks such as these were proof positive. The +odd part of it was that they seemed not to have been posted. He wrote: +"not till my arms are again around you will your beloved eyes behold +these outpourings of my heart." The paper heading bore the word "Paris." +Allusions to a great artistic project on which he was working baffled my +young and ignorant curiosity. "I have Love, Youth, Genius, Beauty on my +side," he wrote, "and I shall conquer. We shall be irresistible. Fame +will attend my genius, homage your Beauty; we shall walk on roses and +dwell in the Palaces of the Earth." My heart thrilled when I read these +lines. _I knew_ that Paragot was a great man. Here, again, was proof. I +did not reflect that this vision splendid of earth's palaces had faded +into the twilight of the Tavistock Street garret. Thank heaven we have +had years of remembered life before we learned to reason. + +I had many pictures of my hero in those strange letter days, so remote +to my childish mind. He crosses the Channel in December, just to skulk +for one dark night against the railings of the London Square where she +dwelt, in the hope of seeing her shadow on the blind. For some reason +which I could not comprehend, the lovers were forbidden to meet. It +rains, he sees nothing, but he returns to Paris with contentment in his +heart and a terrible cold in his head. But, "I have seen the doorstep," +he writes, "_qu'effleurent tous les jours ces petits pieds si adorés_." + +I hate your modern manner of wooing. A few weeks ago a young woman in +need of my elderly counsel showed me a letter from her betrothed. He had +been educated at Oxford University and possessed a motor-car, and yet he +addressed her as "old girl" and alluded to "the regular beanfeast" they +would have when they were married; and the damsel not only found nothing +wanting in the missive, but treasured it as if it had been an +impapyrated kiss. "_Joie de mon âme_," wrote Paragot, "I have seen the +doorstep which your little feet so adored touch lightly every day." I +like that better. But this is the opinion of the Asticot of a hundred +and fifty. The Asticot of fourteen could not contrast: for him sufficed +the Absolute of the romance of Paragot's love-making. Yet I did have a +standard of comparison--Ferdinand, whom till then I had regarded as the +Prince of Lovers. But he paled into the most prosaic young man before +the newly illuminated Paragot, and as for Miranda I sent her packing +from her throne in my heart and Joanna reigned in her stead. Little +idiot that I was, I set to dreaming of Joanna. You may not like the +name, but to me it held and still holds unspeakable music. + +The other papers, as I have said, were records of travel, and I +instinctively recognized that they referred to subsequent Joanna-less +days. They were written on the backs of bills in outlandish languages, +leaves torn from greasy note-books, waste stuff exhaling exotic odours, +and odds and scraps of paper indescribable. In after years in Paris I +besought Paragot, almost on my knees, to write an account of the years +of vagabondage to which these papers refer. It would make, I told him, a +_picaresque_ romance compared with which that of Gil Bias de Santillane +were the tale of wanderings round a village pump. Such, said I, is given +to few men to produce. But Paragot only smiled, and sipped his absinthe. +It was against his principles, he said. The world would be a gentler +habitat if there had never been written or graven record of a human +action, and he refused to pander to the obscene curiosity of the +multitude as to the thoughts and doings of an entire stranger. Besides, +literary composition was beset with too many difficulties. One's method +of expression had always to be in evening dress which he abhorred, and +he could not abide the violet ink and pin-pointed pens supplied in cafés +and places where one writes. So the world has lost a new Odyssey. + +The notes formed reading as disconnected as a dictionary. They were so +abrupt. Incidents were noted which stimulated my young imagination like +stinging-nettles; and then nothing more. + +"As soon as Hedwige had taught me German, she grew sick and tired of me; +and when she wanted to marry an under-officer of cavalry with moustaches +reaching to the top of his _Pikelhaube_, who tried to run me through the +body when he saw such a scarecrow walking out with her, I left Cassel." + +And that was all I learned with regard to Cassel, Hedwige, (save from +two other notes) or his learning the German tongue. + +The following note is the only one he thought worth while to make of a +journey through Russia. + +"Novotorshakaya is a beastly hole (_un trou infect_). The bugs are the +most companionable creatures in it, and they are the cleanest." + +"At Prague," he scribbles on a sheet of paper stained with coffee-cup +rings, "I made the acquaintance of a polite burglar, who introduced me +to his lady wife, and to other courteous criminals, their spouses and +families. My slight knowledge of Czech, which I had by this time +acquired, enabled me to take vast pleasure in their society. Granted +their sociological premises, based on Proudhon, they are too logical. +The lack of imaginative power to break away from convention, _their +convention_, is a serious defect in their character. They take their +gospel of _tuum est meum_ too seriously. I do not inordinately +sympathise with people who get themselves hanged for a principle. And +that is what my friend Mysdrizin did. An old lady of Prague, obstinate +as the old sometimes are, on whom he called professionally, disputed his +theories; whereupon, instead of smiling with the indulgence of one who +knows the art of living, and letting her have her own way, he convinced +her with a life-preserver. His widow, like her predecessor of Ephesus, +desiring speedy consolation, I fled the city. My Epicureanism and her +iron-bound individualism would have clashed. I had played the Battle of +Prague _à quatre mains_ sufficiently in my tender childhood. I had no +wild yearning to recommence." + +Here is another: + +"Verona----" + +There is no date. None of these jottings bear a date, and when I last +saw Paragot he had not the patience to arrange these far off memories. +Verona! To me the word recalls immemorable associations--vistas of +narrow old streets redolent of the Renaissance, echoing still with brawl +and clash of arms, and haunted by the general stock in trade of the +artist's historical fancy. But did Verona appeal to Paragot's romantic +sense? Not a bit of it. + +"At Verona," runs the jotting, "I lodged with the cheeriest little +undertaker in the world, who had a capital low-class practice. His wife, +four children, and whoever happened to be the lodger, were all pressed +into the merry service. We sang _Funiculi funiculà_ as we drove in the +nails. When I make coffins again I shall sing that refrain. It has an +unisonal value that is positively captivating. Had it not been that a +diet of spaghetti and anæmic wine, a _tord-boyau_ (intestine-twister) of +unparalleled virulence undermined my constitution, and that the four +children, whose bedroom I shared, all took whooping-cough at once and +thus robbed me of sleep, I might have been coffin-making to the tune of +_Funiculi, Funiculà_ to the present day." + +Here and there were jottings of figures. I know now they refer to +Paragot's tiny patrimony on which he--and I, in after years--subsisted. +It was so small that no wonder he worked now and then for a living wage. + +I also see now, as of course I could not be expected to see then, that +Paragot, being a creature of extremes, would either have the highest or +the lowest. In these travel-sketches, as he cannot go to Grand Hotels, I +find him avoiding like lazar-houses the commercial or family hostelries +where he will foregather with the half-educated, the half-bred, the +half-souled; the offence of them is too rank for his spirit. The +pretending simian class, aping the vices of the rich and instinct with +the vices of the low, and frank in neither, moves the man's furious +scorn. He will have realities at any cost. All said and done, the bugs +of Novortovshakaya did not masquerade as hummingbirds, nor merry +Giuseppi Sacconi of Verona as a critic of Girolami dai Libri. + +"I don't mind," he writes on a loose sheet, apropos of nothing, "the +frank dunghill outside a German peasant's kitchen window. It is a matter +of family pride. The higher it can be piled the greater his +consideration. But what I loathe and abominate is the dungheap hidden +beneath Hedwige's draper papa's parlour floor." + +When I came to this in my wrongful search through Paragot's papers, I +felt greatly relieved. I thought Hedwige had seduced him from his +allegiance to Joanna, and that he was sorry she had married the sergeant +with moustaches reaching to his _Pikelhaube_, though what part of his +person his _Pikelhaube_ was, I could not for the life of me imagine. I +pictured Hedwige as a gigantic awe-compelling lady. The name somehow +conveyed the idea to me. It was peculiarly comforting to learn that she +was a horrid girl whose papa had a draper's shop over a dunghill. I no +longer bothered my head concerning her, for soon I came across a +reference to Joanna. + +"I was lounging one day in the Puerta del Sol, that swarming central +parallelogram of Madrid, and musing on the possibilities of progress in +a nation which contents itself with ox-transport in the heart of its +capital, when a carriage drove past me in which I can almost still swear +I saw Joanna. It entered the Calle de San Hieronimo. I started in racing +pursuit and fell into the arms of a green-gloved soldier. To avoid +arrest as a madman or a murderer, for no sane man runs in Spain, I +leaped into a fiacre and gave such chase as tomorrow's victim of the +bull-ring would allow. We came up with the carriage on the Prado, just +in time to see the skirts of a lady vanish through the door of a house. +I dismissed my cab and waited. I waited two solid hours. That attracted +no attention. Everyone waits in Spain. To stand interminably at a +street corner is to take out a patent of respectability. But my +confounded heart beat wildly. I had an _agonized desire_ to see her +again. I addressed the liveried coachman in my best Spanish, taking off +my hat and bowing low. + +"'Señor, will you have the great goodness to tell me who is that lady?' + +"'Señor,' he replied with equal urbanity, 'it is not correct for +coachmen to give rapscallions information as to their employers.' + +"'When your Señora bids the rapscallion sit beside her in the carriage +and orders you to drive, you will regret your insolence,' said I. + +"I turned a haughty back on him; but I felt his lackey's eye fixed +disapprovingly on my rags. + +"'I will hear the sound,' said I to myself, 'of her silvery English +voice, or I will die.' + +"Then the door opened, and the beautiful lady entered the carriage; _and +it was not Joanna_. + +"The gods were without bowels of compassion for me that day." + +Another scrap contains the following: + +"Thus have I come to the end of a five years' vagabondage. I started out +as a Pilgrim to the Inner Shrine of Truth which I have sought from St. +Petersburg to Lisbon, from Taormina to Christiania. I have lived in a +spiritual shadowland, dreaming elusive dreams, my better part stayed by +the fitful vision of things unseen. Such an exquisite wild-goose-chase +has never man undertaken before or since the dear Knight of La Mancha. +And now I come to think of it, I don't know what the deuce I have been +after, save that instead of pursuing I have all the time been running +away. + +"In my next quest I must not proclaim my Dulcinea too loudly. When +Hedwige's little sister came to me with a doll into which Hedwige had +savagely run hatpins so that the stuffing came out, I consoled the +weeping infant with a new doll and the assurance that Hedwige was the +spitefullest cat as yet evolved from a feline sex. I had no notion at +the time of the reason for Hedwige's viciousness. But now I fancy she +must have acted according to mediæval superstition and used the doll as +Joanna's hated effigy. I remember that the next time I saw her I +criticised her straight Teutonic fringe and fanfaronaded on the +captivating frizziness of Joanna's hair. The wonder is that Hedwige did +not run hatpins into _me_. The murderer's widow of Prague was built of +sterner stuff; she cared not a hempen strand for Joanna, a pale +consumptive doxy, according to her picturing, who had jilted me for an +eminent swell-mobsman in London." + +I spent many happy hours over these scraps, building up the fantastic +fairy tale of Paragot's antecedents, and should have gone on reading +them for an indefinite time had not Paragot one day discovered me. It +was then that I learned the sacrosanctity of private papers. + +"I thought, my little Asticot," said he, bending his blue eyes on me, "I +thought you were a gentleman." + +Only Paragot could have had so crazy a thought. I could not be a +gentleman, I reflected, till I had a gold watch-chain. However Paragot +expected me to be one without the seal and token of outward adornments, +and I promised faithfully to mould myself according to his +expectations. + +"How much of this nightmare farrago have you read?" + +"I know it all by heart, Master," said I. + +He took off his old hat and threw it on the bed, and ran his fingers +through his hair perplexedly. + +"My son," said he at last, "if you were just a common boy I should make +you go on your bended knees and lift up your hand and swear that you +would not reveal to a living soul the mysteries which these papers +contain, and then I should send you to dwell for ever among the +tripe-plates. But I see before me a gentleman, a scholar and an artist +and I will not submit him to such an indignity." + +He put his hand on my head and looked at me in kind irony. + +"I will never tell no one, Master," I promised. + +"Anyone," he corrected. + +"Anyone, Master," I repeated meekly. + +"You will wipe it all out of your memory." + +I was habitually truthful with Paragot, because he never gave me cause +to lie. + +"I can't, Master," said I, thinking of my dreams of Joanna. + +The seriousness of my tone amused him. + +"What has made such an indelible impression on your mind?" + +"I can't forget----" I blurted out, moved both by reluctance to yield +over my dreams of Joanna and by a desire to show off my familiarity with +French, "I can't forget about _ces petits pieds si adorés_." + +The smile died from his face, which assumed a queer, scared expression. +He went to the window and stood there so long, that I, in my turn grew +scared. I realised dimly what I had done, and I could have bitten my +tongue out. I drew near him. + +"Master," said I timidly. + +He did not seem to hear; presently he picked up his hat from the bed and +walked out without taking any notice of me. + +We did not refer to the papers again until long afterwards, and though +they lay unguarded as before in the old stocking, never till this +present day have I set my eyes on them. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +ONE May morning a year after my surprising of Paragot's secret, I awoke +later than usual, the three-and-sixpenny clock on the mantelpiece +marking eleven, and huddling on my clothes in alarm I left the foul +smelling Club room, and ran upstairs to arouse my master. + +To my astonishment he was not alone. A stout florid man, wearing a white +waistcoat which bellied out like the sail of a racing yacht, a frock +coat and general resplendency of garb, stood planted in the middle of +the room, while Paragot still in nightshirt but trousered, sat swinging +his leg on a corner of the deal table. I noticed the fiddle which +Paragot had evidently been playing before his visitor's arrival, lying +on the disordered bed. + +"Who the devil is this?" cried the fat man angrily. + +"This is Mr. Asticot, my private secretary, who cooks my herrings and +attends to my correspondence. Usually he cooks two, but if you will join +us at breakfast Mr. Hogson----" + +"Pogson," bawled the fat man. + +"I beg your pardon," said my master sweetly. "If you will join us at +breakfast he will cook three." + +"Damn your breakfast," said Mr. Pogson. + +"Only two then, Asticot. This gentleman has already breakfasted. You +will forgive us for not treating you as a stranger." + +Mr. Pogson, who was in a rage, thumped the table with his hand. + +"I'll give you to understand Mr. Henkendyke, that I am the proprietor of +this club. I have bought it with my money, and I'm not going to see it +go to eternal glory as it's doing under your management. I'm not like +that old ass Ballantyne. I'm a business man and I'm going to run this +club for a profit, and if you continue to be manager you'll jolly well +have to turn over a new leaf." + +"My good friend," said my master, rising and thrusting his hands in his +pockets, "you have told me that about ten times; it is getting +monotonous." + +"The way this place is run," continued Mr. Pogson, unheeding, "is +scandalous. Not a blessed account kept. No check on provisions or drink. +Every night your servants are drunk." + +"As owls," said Paragot. + +"And what the dickens do you do?" + +"I give the Lotus Club the prestige of my presidency. I accept a salary +and this presidential residence as my remuneration. You do not expect a +man like me to keep ledgers and check butcher's bills like a +twopennyhalfpenny clerk in the City. It is you, my dear Mr. Pogson, who +have curious ideas of club management. You should put this sort of thing +into the hands of some arithmetical hireling. I--" he waved his long +fingers tipped with their long nails, magnificently--"am the +picturesque, the intellectual, the spiritual guide of the club." + +"You are a ---- fraud," cried Mr. Pogson, using so dreadful an adjective +that I dropped the gridiron. Paragot had trained me to a distaste of +foul language. "You are a drunken incompetent thief." + +Paragot took his guest's glossy silk hat and gold mounted cane from the +table and put them into his hands. He pointed to the door. + +"Get out--quickly," said he. + +He turned on his heel and sitting on the bed began to play the fiddle. +Mr. Pogson instead of getting out stood in front of him quivering like +an infuriated jelly, and informed him that it was his blooming club and +his blooming room, that he would choose the moment of exit most +convenient to his own blooming self; also that Paragot's speedy exit was +a matter for his decision. In a dancing fury he heaped abuse on Paragot +who played "The Last Rose of Summer," with rather more tremolo than +usual. Even I saw that he was dangerous. Mr. Pogson did not heed. +Suddenly Paragot sprang to his feet towering over the fat man and swung +his fiddle on high like Thor's hammer. With a splitting crash it came +down on Mr. Pogson's head. Then Paragot gripped him and running with him +to the door, shot him down the stairs. + +"That, my little Asticot," said he, "is the present proprietor of the +Lotus Club, and this is the late manager." + +I ran to the door for the purpose of locking it. Paragot smiled. + +"He will not come back. When he has mended what Fluellen calls his +'ploody coxcomb,' he will take out a summons against me for assault." + +He threw himself on the bed, while I, in trembling bewilderment, +prepared the breakfast. Presently he broke into a loud laugh. + +"The fool! The mammonite fool, Asticot! Does he think that Mr. +Ulysses-es are picked up by the hundred among the smug young men of the +Polytechnic who add up figures, and keep books by double entry? Do you +know what double entry is?" + +"No, Master," said I from my squatting seat on the floor by the gas +stove. + +"Thank the gods for your ignorance. It is a nescience whereby human +aspirations are cribbed within ruled lines and made to balance on the +opposite side. Would you like to see me obey Mr. Mammon's behest and +crib my aspirations within ruled lines?" + +"No, Master," said I. + +"The gods have given you understanding," said he, "which is better than +book-keeping by double entry." + +At the time I thought my master's attitude magnificent and I despised +Mr. Pogson from the bottom of my heart. But since then I have wondered +how the deuce the Lotus Club survived a month of Paragot's management. +In after years when I questioned him, he said airily that he left all +financial questions to Ballantyne, the old actor proprietor, who had +grown infirm, and that he was president and not manager. Yet to my +certain knowledge he paid wages to Mrs. Housekeeper, Cherubino and +myself, and as for tradesmen's bills they were strewn about Paragot's +bedchamber like the autumn leaves of Vallombrosa, in greater numbers +than the articles of his attire. On the other hand, I have no +recollection of moneys coming in. There must have been some loose +unbusinesslike arrangement between Ballantyne and himself which most +justifiably shocked the business instincts of Mr. Pogson. There I +sympathise with the latter. But I must admit that he showed a want of +tact in dealing with Paragot. + +My master was in gay spirits during breakfast. When he had finished, he +declared the meal to be the most enjoyable he had eaten in Tavistock +Street. My insensate conceit regarded the statement as a tribute to my +culinary skill and I glowed with pride. I informed him that my herring +cookery was nothing to what I could do with sprats. + +"My little Asticot," said he, filling his porcelain pipe, "I have to +offer you my joint congratulation and commiseration. I congratulate you +on your being no longer a scullion. I commiserate with you on the loss +of your salary of eighteen pence a week. Your sensitive spirit would +revolt against taking service under anyone of Mr. Mammon's myrmidons, +and even if it didn't, I am sure he would not employ you. Like Caliban +no longer will you 'scrape trencher nor wash dish'--at least in the +Lotus Club--for from this hour I dismiss you from its service." + +He smoked silently in his wicker chair, giving me time to realise the +sudden change in my fortunes. Then only did I understand. I saw myself +for a desolate moment, cast motherless, rudderless on the wide world +where art and scholarship met with contumely and undergrown youth was +buffeted and despised. My gorgeous dreams were at an end. The blighting +commonplace overspread my soul. + +"What would you like to do, my little Asticot?" he asked. + +I pulled myself together and looked at him heroically. + +"I could be a butcher's boy." + +The corners of my mouth twitched. It was a shuddersome avocation, and +the prospect of the companionship of other butcher boys who could not +draw, did not know French, and had never heard of Joanna filled me with +a horrible sense of doom. + +Suddenly Paragot leaped up in his wild way to his feet and clapped me so +heartily on the shoulder that I staggered. + +"My son," cried he, "I have an inspiration. It is spring, and the +hedgerows are greener than the pavement, and the high roads of Europe +are wider than Tavistock Street. We will seek them to-day, Asticot _de +mon coeur_; I'll be Don Quixote and you'll be my Sancho, and we'll go +again in quest of adventures." He laughed aloud, and shook me like a +little rat. "_Cela te tape dans l'oeil, mon petit Asticot?_" + +Without waiting for me to reply, he rushed to the ricketty washstand, +poured out water from the broken ewer, and after washing, began to dress +in feverish haste, talking all the time. Used as I was to his suddenness +my wits could not move fast enough to follow him. + +"Then I needn't be a butcher's boy?" I said at last. + +He paused in the act of drawing on a boot. + +"Butcher's boy? Do you want to be a butcher's boy?" + +"No, Master," said I fervently. + +"Then what are you talking of?" He had evidently not heard my answer to +his question. "I am going to educate you in the High School of the +Earth, the University of the Universe, and to-morrow you shall see a cow +and a dandelion. And before then you will be disastrously seasick." + +"The sea!" I cried in delirious amazement. "We are going on the sea? +Where are we going?" + +"To France, _petit imbécile_," he cried. "Why are you not getting ready +to go there?" + +I might have answered that I had no personal preparations to make; but +feeling rebuked for idleness while he was so busy, I began to clear away +the breakfast things. He stopped me. + +"_Nom de Dieu_, we are not going to travel with cups and saucers!" + +He dragged from the top of the cupboard an incredibly dirty carpet bag +of huge dimensions and decayed antiquity, and bade me pack therein our +belongings. The process was not a lengthy one; we had so few. When we +had little more than half filled the bag with articles of attire and the +toilette stuffed in pell-mell, we looked around for ballast. + +"The books, Master," said I. + +"We will take the immortal works of Maître François Rabelais, and the +dirty little edition of 'David Copperfield.' The remainder of the +library we will sell in Holywell Street." + +"And the violin?" + +He picked up the maimed instrument and, after looking at it critically, +threw it into a corner. + +"For Pogson," said he. + +When we had tied up the books with a piece of stout string +providentially lying at the bottom of the cupboard, our preparations +were complete. Paragot donned his cap and a storm-stained Inverness +cape, grasped the carpet bag and looked round the room. + +"_En route_," said he, and I followed with the books. We gained the +street and left the Lotus Club behind us for ever. + +What Mrs. Housekeeper said, what Cherubino said, what the members said +when they found no Mr. Ulysses presiding at the supper table that +evening, what Mr. Pogson said when he learned that his assailant had +shaken the dust of the Lotus Club from off his feet and strolled into +the wide world without giving him the opportunity of serving a summons +for assault, I have never been able to discover. Nor have I learned who +succeeded Paragot as president and occupied the palatial chamber of all +the harmonies that was Paragot's squalid attic. When, in after years, I +returned to London the Lotus Club had passed from human memory, and at +the present day a perky set of office premises stands on its site. The +morality of Paragot's precipitate exodus I am not in a position to +discuss. From his point of view the fact of having disliked the new +proprietor from their first interview, and broken a fiddle over his +head, rendered his position as president untenable. Paragot walked out. + +After having sold the books for a few shillings in Holywell Street, we +marched up Fleet Street into the City, and entered a stupendous, +unimagined building which Paragot informed me was his bank. Elegant +gentlemen behind the counter shovelled gold to and fro with the same +casual indifference as I had seen grocers' assistants shovel tea. One of +them, a gorgeous fellow wearing a white piqué tie and a horse-shoe pin, +paid such deference to Paragot that I went out prodigiously impressed by +my master's importance. I was convinced that he owned the establishment, +and during the next quarter of an hour I could not speak to him for awe. + +It was about two o'clock when we reached Victoria Station. There Paragot +discovered, for the first time, that there was not a train till nine in +the evening. It had not occurred to him that trains did not start for +Paris at quarter of an hour intervals during the day. + +"My son," said he, "now is the time to make practical use of our +philosophy. Instead of heaping vain maledictions on the Railway Company, +let us deposit our luggage in the cloak room and take a walk on the +Thames Embankment." + +We walked thither and sat on a vacant bench beside the Cleopatra's +Needle. It was a warm May afternoon. My young mind and body fired by the +excitements of the day found rest in the sunny idleness. It was +delicious to be here, instead of washing up plates and dishes with Mrs. +Housekeeper. Paragot took off his old slouch hat, stretched himself +easefully and sighed. + +"I am anxious to get to Paris to consult Henri Quatre." + +"Who is Henri Quatre, Master?" I asked. + +"Henri Quatre is on the Pont Neuf. That is a French saying which means +that Queen Anne is dead. He was a great King of France and his statue on +horseback is in the middle of a great bridge across the Seine called the +Pont Neuf. He is a great friend of mine. I will tell you a story. Once +upon a time there lived in Paris a magnificent young man who thought +himself a genius. He _was_ a genius, my little Asticot. A genius is a +man who writes immortal books, paints immortal pictures, rears immortal +buildings and commits immortal follies. Don't be a genius, my son, it +isn't good for anybody. Well, this young man was clad in purple and fine +linen and fared sumptuously every day. He also had valuable furniture. +One evening something happened to annoy him." + +Paragot paused. + +"What annoyed him?" I asked. + +"A flaw in what he had conceived to be the scheme of the universe," +replied my master. "It annoys many people. The young man being annoyed, +cast the fruits of his genius into the fire, tore up his purple and fine +linen and smashed his furniture with a Crusader's mace which happened to +be hanging by way of an ornament on the wall. It's made of steel with a +knob full of spikes, and weighs about nine pounds. I know nothing like +it for destroying a Louis Quinze table, or for knocking the works out of +a clock. If you're good, my son, you shall have one when you grow up." + +I looked gratefully at him. Not content with his kindness to me then, he +would be my benefactor still when I reached manhood. + +"The young man then packed a valise full of necessaries and went out +into the street. It was a rainy November evening. He walked along the +quays through the lamp-lit drizzle till he came to the statue of Henri +Quatre. The Pont Neuf was alive with traffic and the swiftly passing +lights of vehicles threw conflicting gleams over the wet statue. The +gas-lamps flickered in the wind." Paragot flickered his long fingers +dramatically, to illustrate the gas-lamps. "On all sides rose vague +masses of building--the Louvre away beyond the bridge, the frowning mass +of the Conciergerie--the towering turrets of Notre Dame--swelling like +billows against the sky. Pale reflections came from the river. Do you +see the picture, my little Asticot? And the young man clutched the +railings that surround the plinth of the statue, and caught sight of the +face of Henri Quatre, and Henri Quatre looked at him so kindly that he +said: '_Mon bon roi_, you are of the South like myself: I am leaving +Paris to go into the wide world, but I don't know where in the wide +world to go to.' _And the King nodded his head and pointed to the Gare +de Lyon._ And the young man took off his hat and said, '_Mon bon roi_, I +thank you!' He went to the Gare de Lyon and found a train just starting +for Italy. So he went to Italy. I have a great respect for Henri +Quatre." + +"And what happened to him then, Master?" I asked, after a breathless +pause. + +"He became a vagabond philosopher," replied Paragot, refilling his +porcelain pipe. + +No argument has ever been able to convince Paragot that the statue did +not nod its head and point the way to Italy. For some years I myself +believed it; but at last it became obvious that the flashing gleams of +light over the wet statue had made him the victim of a trick of the +eyes. I think the only serious offence I ever gave Paragot was when I +presented to him this solution of the mystery. + +Varied discourse and a meal in a Strand eating-house filled up the hours +till nine o'clock. And then I started for Wonderland with Paragot. + + * * * * * + +We stayed in Paris but two days. When I asked my master why our sojourn +was not longer, he said something about the "bitter-sweet" of it, which +I could not understand. I have only two clear memories of Paris. He took +me to see Henri Quatre, and explained how the statue nodded and how the +hand which held the reins lifted and pointed to the Gare de Lyon. What +more conclusive proof of his veracity need I have than actual +confrontation with Henri Quatre? The other scene fixed on my mind is a +narrow dark street with tall houses on either side; an awning outside a +humble café; a little table beneath it at which Paragot and myself were +seated. I sipped luxuriously a celestial liquor which I have since +learned was grenadine syrup and water; in front of Paragot was a curious +opalescent milky fluid of which he drank great quantities during those +two days and ever afterwards. + +"The time has come," said he, rolling his eyes at me with an awful +solemnity and speaking in a thick voice, "the time has come to talk of +affairs. First let me impress on you that Henkendyke is an appellation +offensive to French ears. Henceforward my name is Pradel--Polydore +Pradel. And as it is necessary for you to have an _état civil_, I hereby +adopt you as my son. Your name is therefore Asticot Pradel. I hope you +like it. You have never known what it is to have a father. Now the +possession of a father is a privilege to which every human being has a +right. I, Polydore Pradel, confer on you that privilege. My son--" + +He raised his glass, clinked it against mine and pledged me. + +"Henceforward," said Paragot, "what is good enough for me will I hope +not be good enough for you, and what is too bad for me shall never be +your portion. I swear it by the devil that dwells in this entrancing but +execrated form of alcohol." + +He finished his drink and called for another. As soon as the absinthe +had curdled with the dropping water, he filled up the glass and drank it +off. Then he sat for a long time in bemused silence, while I, perched on +my chair, reflected on his great goodness and wondered how I should help +him up the darksome stairs of our hotel without the aid of Cherubino. + +The next day we started on our pilgrimage. Why we went in one direction +more than another, why we went to one place rather than to another, +neither he nor I could tell. I never questioned. Sometimes we wandered +for days on foot, sleeping in village inns or farm-houses--occasionally +under a hedge when the nights were warm. Sometimes we spent two or three +days in an old world town, and Paragot would show me cathedrals and +churches and lecture me on the history of the place, and set me to +sketch bits of the picturesque that took his fancy. In the cool, +exquisite cloister of the Chateau of Jacques Coeur at Bourges I +learned more of the history of Charles VII than any English boy of my +generation. In the Chateau of Blois, the salamanders of François +Premier, the statue of Diane de Poictiers, the poison cabinet of +Catherine de Medici, the dungeons of the Cardinal de Lorraine, became +living testimonies of the past under Paragot's imaginative teaching. He +had set his heart on educating me; suddenly as the original impulse had +seized him, yet it lasted strong and became the object of his disordered +and otherwise aimless life. Books we always had in plenty. Tattered +classics are cheap enough in France, and what mattered it if pages were +missing? When done with we threw them away. We might have been tracked +through the country, like the hares in a paper chase, by the trail of +literature we left behind us. + +In spite of his unmethodical temperament Paragot made one fixed rule for +my habits. In towns and larger villages, I went to bed at nine o'clock. +What he did with himself by way of amusement in the evenings I never +knew. Nor did it occur to me to conjecture. Healthily tired after a +happy day I was only too glad to crawl to whatever queer resting place +chance provided, and to sleep the sound sleep of boyhood. To be for ever +moving amid a fairyland of novelty, to have no care for the morrow, to +have no tasks save those that were a delight, to be under the protecting +guidance of a godlike being whose very reproofs were couched in terms of +humorous kindness, to eat strange unexpected things, to fraternise in a +new tongue, which daily grew more familiar, with any urchin on the +high-road or city byway, to pass wondering days among country sights +and country sounds--to be in short the perfect vagabond, could boy dream +of a more glorious life? + +Now and again a whimsy seized my master and he declared that we must +work and earn our daily bread by the sweat of our brows. At a farm near +Chartres we hired ourselves out to an elderly couple, Monsieur and +Madame Dubosc, and spent toilsome but healthy days carting manure. +Although Paragot wrought miracles with his pitchfork, I don't think +Monsieur Dubosc took him seriously. Peasant shrewdness penetrated to the +gentleman beneath Paragot's blouse, and peasant ignorance attributed to +him the riches which he did not possess. They became great friends, +however, and before we left he succeeded in establishing himself as a +kind of oracle by curing a pig of some mysterious disease by means of a +remedy which he said he had learned in Dalmatia. Old Madame Dubosc shed +tears when we left La Haye. + +Sometimes Paragot grew tired of tramping, and we travelled by rail, in +the wooden third class compartments of omnibus trains that stopped at +every station. Now and then pure chance took us to any particular town. +It was at Nancy that Paragot went to the ticket office and said with the +utmost politeness:-- + +"Monsieur, will you have the kindness to give me a ticket?" + +"To what destination?" asked the clerk peering through his pigeon hole. + +"_Parbleu_," said Paragot, "to any destination you like provided it is +not too expensive." + +The clerk called him a _farceur_ and would have nothing to do with him, +but Paragot protested. + +"Pardon, Monsieur, I have but one wish, to get away from Nancy. I have +seen the Episcopal Palace on the Place Stanislas, the Cathedral, and I +have viewed but I have not read the seventy-five thousand volumes in the +University Library. You know the places one gets to from Nancy, which I +do not. I am a stranger, in your hands. If you could suggest to me a +town about 100 kilometres distant----" + +"There is Longwy," said the haughty official. + +"Then have the kindness to give me two third class tickets to Longwy," +said Paragot. + +And to Longwy we went. Paragot contemplated the lack of interest in the +smug little town. + +"To hold out Longwy as a goal to the enthusiastic Pilgrim to the Shrine +of Truth," said he, "could only enter the timber-built mind of a French +railway official." + +The record of our wanderings would mark the stages of my own +development, but would be of little count as a history of Paragot. We +tramped and trained south through Italy and spent the winter in Rome. +Then it entered his head to obtain employment for both of us, as workman +and boy, on the excavations of the Forum. We lived in the slums with our +brother excavators, and were completely happy. So happy that though we +wandered the next year over France and part of Germany the winter again +found us working in Rome. In the following Spring we set our faces +northward, and in July Destiny overtook us in Savoy. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +IT was the late afternoon of a sweltering July day. The near hills +slumbered in the sunshine. Far away beyond them grey peaks of Alpine +spurs, patched with snow, rose in faint outline against the sky. The +valley lay in rich idleness, green and gold and fruitful, yielding +itself with a maternal largeness to the white fifteenth century château +on the hillside. A long white road stretched away to the left following +the convolutions of the valley, until it became a thread; on the right +it turned sharply by a clump of trees which marked a farm. In the middle +of it all, in the grateful shadow cast by a wayside café, sat Paragot +and myself, watching with thirsty eyes the buxom but slatternly +_patronne_ pour out beer from a bottle. A dirty, long-haired mongrel +terrier lapped water from an earthenware bowl, at the foot of the wooden +table at which we sat. This was Narcisse, a recent member of our +vagabond family, whom my master had casually adopted some weeks before +and had christened according to some _lucus a non lucendo_ principle of +his own. I think he was the least beautiful dog I have ever met; but I +loved him dearly. + +Paragot drained his tumbler, handed it back to be refilled, drained it +again and cleared his throat with the contentment of a man whose thirst +has been slaked. + +"Now one can spit," he exclaimed heartily. + +"That is always a comfort to a man," remarked the _patronne_. + +"It is the potentiality that is the comfort. Have you apartments for the +night, Madame?" + +"They are for _des messieurs_--for gentlemen," said the patronne +diffidently. + +Narcisse having also finished his draught stretched himself out on the +ground, his chin on his fore paws, and glanced furtively upwards at the +disparaging lady. + +"_Tron de l'air!_" cried Paragot, "are we not gentlemen?" + +"_Tiens_, you are of the Midi," cried the woman, recognising the +expletive--for no one born north of Avignon says "_Tron de l'air_"--"I +too am from Marseilles. My husband was a Savoyard. That is why I am +here." + +"I am a gentleman of Gascony," said my master, "and this is my son +Asticot." + +"It is a droll name," said the _patronne_. + +"We are commercial travellers on our rounds with samples of philosophy." + +"It is a droll trade," said the _patronne_. + +We were greasy and dirty, sunburnt to the colour of Egyptian felaheen +and dressed in the peasant's blue blouse. Creatures more unlike +professors of philosophy could not be conceived. But the _patronne_ +seemed to be impressed--as who was not?--by Paragot. + +"The rooms will be three francs, Monsieur," she said after a calculating +pause. + +"I engage them," said my master. "Asticot, aid Madame to take our +luggage up to our bedchambers." I grasped my bundle and handed Paragot's +dilapidated canvas gripsack to the _patronne_. He arrested her. + +"One moment, Madame. As you see, my portmanteau contains a shirt, a +pair of socks, a comb and a toothbrush. Also a copy of the works of the +divine vagrant Maître François Villon, which I will take out at once. He +was a thief and a reprobate and got nearer hanged than any man who ever +lived, and he is the dearest friend I have." + +"You have droll friends," remarked the _patronne_ continuing her litany. + +"And to think that he died four hundred years ago," sighed my master. +"Isn't it strange, Madame, that all the bravest men and most beautiful +women are those that are dead?" + +The landlady laughed. "You talk like a true Gascon, Monsieur. In this +country people are so silent that one loses the use of one's tongue." + +I departed with her to see after domestic arrangements and when I +returned I found Paragot smoking his porcelain pipe, and talking to a +dusty child in charge of a goat. Having, at that period, a soul above +dusty children in charge of goats. I sprawled on the ground beside +Narcisse, and being tired by the day's tramp fell into a doze. The good +earth, when you have a casing of it already on clothes and person, is a +comfortable couch; but I think you must be in your teens to enjoy it. + +I awoke to the sound of Paragot's voice talking to Narcisse. The goat +child had slipped away. An ox cart laden with hay lumbered past. The +mellowness of late afternoon lay over the land. The shadow cast by the +little white café had deepened gradually far beyond the table. From +within the house came the faint clatter of footsteps and cooking +utensils. Paragot was still smoking. Narcisse sat on his haunches, his +ill shaped head to one side and his ears cocked. After making a vicious +dig at a flea, he yawned and trotted about after the manner of his kind +in search of adventure. Paragot summoned him back. + +"My good Narcisse, every spot on the earth has its essential quality +which the wise man or dog knows how to enjoy in its entirety. In great +cities where life is pulsating around you, you are alert for the +unexpected. The underlying principle of a world's backwater like this is +restful stagnation. Here you must wallow in the uneventful. In vain you +sniff around in quest of the exciting, mistaking like your fellow in the +fable the shadow for the substance. The substance here is rest. Here +nothing ever happens." + +"Pardon, Monsieur," said a voice close upon us. "Is it very far to +Chambéry?" + +"It does not matter," said a second voice following hard on the first, +"for I can go no further." + +I jumped to my feet and my master started round in his chair. The first +speaker was a girl, the second an old man. She had merely the comeliness +of tanned and hair-bleached peasant youth; he was wizened, lined, +browned and bent. A cotton umbrella shaded the girl's bare head and she +carried in her hand a cane valise covered with grey canvas. The old man +was burdened with two ancient shabby cases, one evidently containing a +violin and the other some queerly shaped musical instrument. Both the +new comers were wayworn and dirty, and my master seeing suffering on the +old man's face rose and courteously offered him a chair. + +"Sit down and rest," said he, "and Mademoiselle, you are thinking of +going to Chambéry? But it is nearly a day's journey on foot." + +"We have to play at a wedding tomorrow, Monsieur," said the girl +piteously. "It was arranged two months ago, and we must get there in +some manner." + +"There is a railway station not far off," said I. + +"Alas! we have only ten sous in the world, which is not enough to pay +for our tickets," she answered. "Imagine, Monsieur, I had a piece of +twenty francs in my pocket this morning, and I went to the station to +get a ticket, for I had counted on going by railway, as my grandfather +is so ill, and when I came to pay, I found I had lost my louis. How, the +_bon Dieu_ only knows. It is desolating, Monsieur; we had to walk so as +to keep our engagement at Chambéry. If we miss it, _nous sommes dans la +purée pour tout de bon_." + +To be in the _purée_ is to be in a very bad mess indeed. The prospect of +abject pennilessness filled the damsel's eyes with woe. + +"You earn your living by playing at weddings for folks to dance?" asked +my master. + +"Yes, Monsieur. My grandfather plays the violin and I the zither--we +also go to fairs. In the winter we play at cafés in large towns. Life is +hard, Monsieur, is it not?" + +She closed her umbrella and laid it on the valise. The old man sat by +the table, his head resting on his hands, saying nothing. + +"When I think of my good louis that is gone!" she added tragically. + +The only feature making for charm in a coarse homely face was a set of +white even teeth. I found her singularly unattractive. A tear rolled +down her cheek and its course was that of a rill in a dusty plain. + +"Suppose I lend you the money for the railway tickets?" said my master +kindly. + +"O Monsieur," she cried, "I should thank you from the depths of my +heart. _Grandpère_," she turned to the old man who, ashen faced, was +staring in front of him, "Monsieur will lend us enough money to get to +Chambéry." + +"I can go no further," he murmured. + +Then his eyelids quivered, his body moved spasmodically, and he swayed +sideways off the chair on to the ground. + +We rushed to aid him. The girl put his head on her lap. My master bade +me run into the café for brandy. When I returned the old man was dead. + +Narcisse sat placidly by, with his tongue out, eyeing his master +ironically. + +"You are the man," his glance implied, "who said that nothing happens +here." + +I have known many dogs in my life, but never so mocking and cynical a +dog as Narcisse. + + * * * * * + +It was nearly midnight before my master and I sat down again outside the +café. The intervening hours had been spent in journeying to and from the +nearest village, and obtaining the necessary services of doctor and +curé. My master was smoking his porcelain pipe, as usual, but strangely +silent. A faint circle of light came from the open ground-floor window +of the café. The white road gleamed dimly, and beyond the hushed valley +the hills loomed vague against a black, starlit sky. In the lighted room +a few peasants from neighbouring farms drank their sour white wine and +discussed the death in low voices. In other circumstances my master +would have joined them under pretext of getting nearer the Heart of +Life, and would have told them amazing tales of Ekaterinoslav or +Valladolid till they reeled home drunk with wine and wonder. And I +should have been abed. But to-night Paragot seemed to prefer the silent +company of Narcisse and myself. + +"What do you think of it all, Asticot?" he asked at length. + +"Of what, master?" + +"Death." + +"It frightens me," was all I could answer. + +"What I resent about it," said my master reflectively, "is that one is +not able to have any personal concern in the most interesting event in +one's career. If you could even follow your own funeral and have a +chance of weeping for yourself! You are never so important as when you +are a corpse--and you miss it all. I have a good mind not to die. It is +either the silliest or the wisest action of one's life; I wonder which." + +Presently the girl came down the passage of the café, stood for a moment +in the doorway, and seeing Paragot advanced to the table. + +"You are very kind, Monsieur," she said, "and for what you have done I +thank you from my heart." + +"It was very little," said my master. "Asticot, why do you not give +Mademoiselle your chair? Your manners are worse than those of Narcisse. +Mademoiselle, do me the pleasure of being seated." + +She sat down, her feet apart, peasant fashion, her hands in her lap. + +"If I had not lost the twenty francs he would not have died," she said +dejectedly. + +"He would have died if you had brought him here in a carriage. He had +aneurism of the heart, the doctor says. He might have died any moment +the last ten years. How old was he?" + +"Seventy, eighty, ninety--how should I know?" + +"But he was your grandfather." + +"Ah, no, indeed, Monsieur," she replied in a more animated manner. "He +was not a relative. My mother was poor and she sold me to him three +years ago." + +"Why that is like me, Master!" I cried, vastly interested. + +"My son," said he in English, "that is one of the things that must be +forgotten. And then, Mademoiselle?" he asked in French. + +"Then he taught me to play the zither and to dance. I am sorry he is +dead. _Dame, oui, par exemple!_ But I do not weep for him as for a +grandfather. Oh, no!" + +"And your mother?" + +"She died last year. So I am all alone." + +He asked her what she thought of doing for her livelihood. She shrugged +her shoulders with the resignation of her class. + +"I can always earn my living. There are brasseries, cafés-concerts in +all the towns--I am fairly well known. They will give me an engagement. +_Il faut passer par là comme les autres._" + +"You must go through it like the others?" repeated my master. "But you +are very young, my poor child." + +"I am eighteen, Monsieur, I know I shall not make a fortune. I am not +pretty enough even when I paint, and my figure is heavy. That is what +Père Paragot used to complain of." + +"What was his name?" asked my master, pricking up his ears. + +"Berzélius Paragot--and he took the name of Nibbidard, which means 'no +luck'--so he loved to call himself Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot." + +"Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot," mouthed my master joyously. "I would give +anything for a name like that!" + +"It is yours if you like to take it," she said quite seriously. "No one +will want it any more." + +"Little Asticot of my heart," said he, "what do you think of it?" + +It struck me as a most aristocratically romantic appellation. I was used +to his aliases by this time. He had long ceased to call himself +"Pradel," and what was our surname for the moment I am now unable to +recollect. + +"You look like 'Paragot,' Master," said I, and, in an inexplicable way, +he did--as I have before remarked. He called me a psychometrical genius +and enquired the name of the young lady. + +"Amélie Duprat, Monsieur," she said. "But _pour le métier_--we must have +professional names for the cafés--Père Paragot called me 'Blanquette de +Veau.'" + +"Delicious!" cried he. + +"So everyone calls me Blanquette," she explained gravely. There was a +silence. Paragot--he really assumed the name from this moment--refilled +his pipe. The belated peasants, having finished their wine, clattered +out of the café, and took off their hats as they passed us. + +"Life is very hard, is it not, Messieurs?" remarked Blanquette. It +seemed to be her favourite philosophic proposition. She sighed. "If Père +Paragot had only lived to play at the wedding tomorrow!" + +"What then?" + +"I should have had ten francs." + +"Ah!" said my master. + +"First I lose my louis, and now I lose my ten francs! ah! _Sainte Vierge +de Miséricorde!_" + +It was heart-rending. Sometimes they received more than the stipulated +fee at these village weddings. They passed the hat round. If the guests +were mellow with good wine, which makes folks generous, they often +earned double the amount. And they always had as much as they liked to +eat, and could take away scraps in a handkerchief. + +"And good wholesome nourishment, Monsieur. Once it was half a goose." + +And now there was nothing, nothing. Blanquette did not believe in the +_bon Dieu_ any longer. She buried her face in her arms and wept. Paragot +smoked helplessly for a few moments. I, unused to women's tears, felt +the desolation of the race of Blanquette de Veau overspread me. But that +I considered it to be beneath my dignity as a man, I should have wept +too. + +Suddenly Paragot brought his fist down on the table and started to his +feet. Blanquette lifted a scared wet face, dimly seen in the half light. + +"_Tonnerre de Dieu!_" cried he, "If you hold so much to your ten francs +and half a goose, I myself will come with you to Chambéry tomorrow and +fiddle at the wedding." + +"You, Monsieur?" she gasped. + +"Yes, I. Why not? Do you think I can't scrape catgut as well as Père +Paragot?" + +He walked to and fro declaring his musical powers in his boastful way. +If he chose he could rip out the hearts of a dead Municipal Council +with a violin, and could set a hospital for paralytics a-dancing. He +would have fiddled the children of Hamelin away from the Pied Piper. +Didn't Blanquette believe him? + +"But yes, Monsieur," she said fervently. + +"Ask Asticot." + +My faith in him was absolute. To my mind he had even understated his +abilities. The experience of the disillusioning years has since caused +me to modify my opinions; but Paragot's boastfulness has not lessened +him in my eyes. And this leads to a curious reflection. When a Gascon +boasts, you love him for it; when a Prussian does it, your toes tingle +to kick him to Berlin. His very whimsical braggadocio made Paragot +adorable, and I am at a loss to think what he would have been without +it. + +"Of course," said he, "if you are proud, if you don't want to be seen in +the company of a scarecrow like me, there is nothing more to be said." + +Blanquette humbly repudiated the charge of pride. Her soul was set on +her ten francs and she didn't care how she got them. She accepted +Monsieur's generous offer out of a full heart. + +"That's sense," said my master. "We shall rehearse at daybreak." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +DAWN found us all in a field some distance from the café--Paragot, +Blanquette, Narcisse, the zither, the fiddle and I, and while the two +musicians rehearsed the jingly waltzes and polkas that made up the old +man's répertoire, I tried to explain the situation to Narcisse who sat +with his ears cocked wondering what the deuce all the noise was about. + +"Ah, Monsieur," said Blanquette, during a pause, "you play like a great +artist." + +"Didn't I tell you so?" he cried triumphantly. + +"You must have studied much." + +"Prodigiously," said he. + +"Père Paragot had played the violin for sixty years, but he could not +make it sing like that." + +"You would not compare Père Paragot with my master?" I exclaimed by way +of rebuke. + +Blanquette acquiesced humbly. + +"When one hears Monsieur, one has the devil in one's body." + +"Listen to this," said the delighted Paragot jumping on to his feet and +tucking the fiddle beneath his chin. + +And there in the pure dawn with nothing but God's sky and green fields +around us, he played Gounod's "Ave Maria," putting into his execution +all his imaginative fervour, and accentuating the tremolo passages in a +vibrating ecstasy which to Blanquette's uncultured soul was the very +passion of music. I have since learned that the greatest violinists do +not overemphasise the tremolo. + +"Ah Dieu! it is beautiful," she murmured. + +"Isn't it?" cried Paragot. "And it touches your heart, my little +Blanquette, eh? We are all artists together." + +"I, Monsieur?" + +She laughed and ran her hands over the zither strings. + +"I ought to be at work in the fields. So Père Paragot used to say. I +make no progress--I am as stupid as a goose." + + * * * * * + +Two hours afterwards we started for Chambéry, as odd a procession as +ever gave food for a high-road's gaiety. From the old grey valise +carried the previous day by Blanquette she had produced much property +finery. A black velveteen jacket resplendent with pearl-buttons, +velveteen knee-breeches tied with ribbons at the knees, and a rakish +Alpine hat with a feather adorned my master's person. His own +disreputable heavy boots and a pair of grey worsted stockings may not +have formed a fastidious finish to the costume; but in my eyes he looked +magnificent. Towards the transfiguration of Blanquette a Pandora box +could not have effected more. She was attired in a short skirt, a white +_fichu_ moderately fresh, a kind of Italian head-dress and scarlet +stockings. Enormous gilt ear-rings swung from her ears; a cable of blue +beads encircled her neck; her lips were dyed pomegranate, her eyes +darkened and her cheeks touched with rouge. A pair of substantial gilt +shoes slung over her shoulders clinked their heels together as she +walked. Narcisse barked his ecstatic admiration around this beauteous +creature, and had I been a dog I should have barked mine too. My dignity +as a man only allowed me to cast sidelong glances at her and hope that +she would soon put on the gilt shoes. As for my master, on beholding +her, he doffed his hat and saluted her with a fantastic compliment, +whereat the girl blushed brick-red and turned her head away. + +"Motley's the only wear, my son," he cried gaily. "In this cap and +bells, I see life under a different aspect. Never has it appeared to me +sweeter and more irresponsible. Don't you feel it? But I forgot. You +haven't any motley. I apologise for my want of tact. Blanquette," he +added in French, "why haven't you found a costume for Asticot?" + +Blanquette replied in her matter-of-fact way that she hadn't any. They +walked on together, and I dropped behind suddenly realising my +pariahdom. I wondered whether these magnificent beings would be ashamed +of my company when we arrived at Chambéry. I pictured myself sitting +lonesome with Narcisse in the market-place while they revelled in their +splendour, and the self-pity of the child overcame me. + +"Master," said I dismally, "what shall Narcisse and I do while you are +at the wedding?" + +He wheeled round and regarded me, and I knew by the light in his eyes +that an inspiration was taking shape behind them. + +"I'll buy you a red shirt and pomade your hair, and you shall be one of +us, my son, and go round with the hat." + +I exulted obviously. + +"Now the dog will feel out of it," said he, perplexed. "I will consult +Blanquette. Do you think we could shave Narcisse and make him think he's +a poodle?" + +"That would be impossible, Monsieur," replied Blanquette gravely. + +As Narcisse was enjoying himself to his heart's content, darting from +side to side of the road and sniffing for the smells his soul delighted +in, I did not concern myself about his feelings. + +For Paragot's suggestion which I knew was ironically directed against +myself, I did not care. So long as I was to be with my companions and of +them, irony did not matter. I caught the twinkle in his eye and laughed. +He was as joyous as Narcisse. The gladness of the July morning danced in +his veins. He pulled the violin and bow out of the old baize bag and +fiddled as we walked. It must have been an amazing procession. + + * * * * * + +And the old man whose clothes and functions we had assumed lay cold and +stiff in the little lonely room with candles at his head and his feet. +During our railway journey to Chambéry Blanquette told us in her artless +way what she knew of his history. In the flesh he had been a crabbed and +crotchety ancient addicted to drink. He had passed some years of his +middle life in prison for petty thefts. In his youth--Blanquette's mind +could not grasp the idea of Père Paragot having once been young--he must +have been an astonishing blackguard. He had been wont to beat +Blanquette, until one day realising her young strength she held him firm +in her grip and threatened to throw him into a pond if he persisted in +his attempted chastisement. Since then he had respected her person, but +to the day of his death he had cursed her for anserine stupidity. An +unlovely, loveless and unloved old man. Why should Blanquette have wept +over him? She had not the Parisian's highly strung temperament and +capacity for facile emotion. She was peasant to the core, slow to +rejoice, and slow to grieve, and she had the peasant's remorseless +logic in envisaging the elemental facts of existence. Père Paragot was +wicked. He was dead. _Tant mieux._ + + * * * * * + +Blanquette had not the divine sense of humour which rainbows the tears +of the world. That was my dear master's possession. But at the obvious +she could laugh like any child of unsophistication. In the long shaded +avenue of Chambéry, with its crowded market-stalls on either +side--stalls where you saw displayed for sale rolls of calico and boots +and gauffrettes and rusty locks and melons and rosaries and flyblown +books--Paragot bought me my red shirt (which--_mirabile dictu!_--had +tasselled cords to tie the collar) and pomade for my hair. He also +purchased a yard of blue chiffon which he tied in an artistic bow round +Narcisse's neck, whereat Blanquette laughed heartily; and when Narcisse +bolted beneath a flower-stall and growling dispossessed himself of the +adornment, and set to with tooth and claw to rend it into fragments, she +threw herself on a bench convulsed with mirth. As Paragot had spent +fifty centimes on the chiffon I thought this hilarity exceedingly +ill-natured; but when another and a larger dog came up to see what +Narcisse was doing and in half a minute was whirling about with Narcisse +in a death grapple, and Blanquette sprang forward, separated the two +dogs at some risk and took our bleeding mongrel to her bosom, consoling +him with womanly words of pity, I saw there was something tender in +Blanquette which mitigated my resentment. + + * * * * * + +The Restaurant du Soleil, where the marriage feast was held, was an +earwiggy hostelry on the outskirts of the town, sheltered from the +prying roadway by a screen of green lattice and a series of _tonnelles_, +the dusty arbours, each furnished with table and chairs, beloved of +French revellers. Above the entrance gate stretched the semi-circular +sign-board bearing in addition to the name, the legend "Jardin. Noces. +Fêtes." Within, a few lime-trees closely planted threw deep shadow over +the grassless garden; shrubs and flowers wilted in a neglected bed. + +Usually the forlorn demesne was supervised by a mangy waiter brooding +over mangy tables and by a mangier cat who kept a furtive eye on the +placarded list of each day's _plat du jour_ and wondered when her turn +would come for Thursday's _Sauté de lapin_. But tables, cat and waiter +cast manginess aside when _we_(the pride of that day still remains and +makes me italicise the word) came down to play at the wedding of Adolphe +Querlat and Léontine Bringuet. + +"_Tiens!_ where is Père Paragot?" asked fat Madame Bringuet--perspiring +in unaccustomed corset and black bombazine. + +"Alas! he is no longer, Madame," explained Blanquette. "He had a seizure +yesterday. He fell off his chair, and we picked him up stone dead." + +"_Tiens, tiens_, but it is sad." + +"But no. It does not matter. This gentleman will make you dance much +better than Père Paragot," and she whispered encomiums into Madame's +ear. + +"Enchanted, Monsieur. And your name?" + +My master swept a courtly bow with his feathered hat--no one ever bowed +so magnificently as he. + +"Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot, _cadet_, at your service." + +"You must be hungry, Monsieur Paragot--and Mademoiselle and this little +monsieur," said Madame Bringuet hospitably. "We are at table in the +_salle à manger_. You will join us." + +We entered the long narrow room and sat down to the banquet. Heavens! +what a feast! There were omelettes and geese and eels and duck and tripe +and onion soup and sausages and succulences inconceivable. Accustomed to +the Spartan fare of vagabondage I plunged into the dishes head foremost +like a hungry puppy. Should I eat such a meal as that to-day it would be +my death. Hey for the light heart and elastic stomach of youth! Some +fifty persons, the _ban and arrière ban_ of the relations of the young +couple, guzzled in a wedged and weltering mass. Wizened grandfathers and +stolid large-eyed children ate and panted in the suffocating heat, and +gorged again. Not till half way through the repast did tongues begin to +wag freely. At last the tisane of champagne--syrupy paradise to my +uncultivated palate--was handed round and the toasts were drunk. The +bride's garter was secured amid boisterous shouts and innuendos, and +then we left the stifling room and entered the garden, the elders to +smoke and drink and gossip at the little tables beneath the verandah, +the younger folk to dance on the uneven gravel. Young as I was, I felt +grateful that no physical exercise was required of me for some hours to +come. Even Narcisse and the cat (which followed him) waddled heavily to +the verandah where we were to play. + +The signal to start was soon given. Paragot tucked his violin under his +chin, tuned up, waved one, two, three with his bow; Blanquette struck a +cord on her zither and the dance began. At first all was desperately +correct. The men in their ill-fitting broadcloth and white ties and +enormous wedding favours, the women in their tight and decent finery, +gyrated with solemn circumspection. But by degrees the music and the +good Savoy wines and the abominable cognac flushed faces and set heads +a-swimming. The sweltering heat caused a gradual discarding of garments. +Arms took a closer grip of waists. Loud laughter and free jests replaced +formal conversation; steps were performed of Southern fantasy; the dust +rose in clouds; throats were choked though countenances streamed; the +consumption of wine was Rabelaisian. And all through the orgy Paragot +fiddled with strenuous light-heartedness, and Blanquette thrummed her +zither with the awful earnestness of a woman on whose efforts ten francs +and perhaps half a goose depended. But it was Paragot who made the +people dance. To me, sitting in red shirt and pomaded hair at his feet, +it seemed as if he were a magician. He threw his bow across the strings +and compelled them to do his bidding. He was the great, the omnipotent +personage of the feast. I sunned myself in his glory. + +Indeed, he had the incommunicable gift of setting his soul a-dancing as +he played, of putting the devil into the feet of those who danced. The +wedding party were enraptured. If he had consumed all the bumpers he was +offered, he would have been as drunk as a fiddler at an Irish wake. +During a much needed interval in the dancing he advanced to the edge of +the verandah and as a solo played Stephen Heller's "Tarantella," which +crowned his triumph. With his unkempt beard and swarthy face and +ridiculous pearl-buttoned velveteens, there was an air of rakish +picturesqueness about Paragot, and he retained, what indeed he never +quite lost, a certain aristocracy of demeanour. Wild cries of "_Bis!_" +saluted him when he stopped. Men clapped each other on the shoulder +uttering clumsy oaths, women smiled at him largely. Madame Bringuet, +reeking in her tight gown, held up to him a brimming glass of champagne; +the bride threw him a rose. He kissed the flower, put it in his +button-hole and after bowing low drank to her health. I recalled my +childish ambition to keep a fried fish shop and despised it heartily. If +I only could play the violin like Paragot, thought I, and win the +plaudits of the multitude, what greater glory could the earth hold? The +practical Blanquette woke me from my dreams. Now was the moment, said +she, to go round with the hat. I swung myself down from the verandah, +the traditional shell (in lieu of a hat) in my hand, and went my round. +Money was poured into it. Time after time I emptied it into my bulging +pockets. When I returned to the verandah, Blanquette's eyes distended +strangely. She glanced at Paragot, who smiled at her in an absent +manner. For the moment the artist in him was predominant. He was the +centre of his little world, and its adulation was as breath to his +nostrils. + +This is what I, the mature man, know to be the case. To me, then, he was +but the King receiving tribute from his subjects. When Paragot with a +flourish of his bow responded to the encore, I found my hand slip into +Blanquette's and there it remained in a tight grip till flushed and +triumphant he again acknowledged the applause. Nothing was said between +Blanquette and myself, but she became my sworn sister from that moment. +And Narcisse sat at our feet looking down on the crowd, his tongue +lolling out mockingly and a satiric leer on his face. + +"My children," said Paragot, on our return journey in the close, +ill-lighted, wooden-seated third-class compartment, "we have had a +glorious day. One of those sun-kissed, snow-capped peaks that rise here +and there in the monotonous range of life. It fills the soul with poetry +and makes one talk in metaphor. In such moments as these we are all +metaphors, my son. We are illuminated expressions of the divine standing +for the commonplace things of yesterday and tomorrow. We have +accomplished what millions and millions are striving and struggling and +failing to do at this very hour. We have achieved _success_! We have +left on human souls the impress of our mastery! We are also all of us +dog-tired and, I perceive, disinclined to listen to transcendental +conversation." + +"I'm not tired, master," I declared as stoutly as the effort of keeping +open two leaden eyelids would allow. + +"And you?" he asked turning to Blanquette by his side--I occupied the +opposite corner. + +She confessed. A very little. But she had listened to all Monsieur had +said, and if he continued to talk she would not think of going to sleep. +Whereupon she closed her eyes, and when I opened mine I saw that her +head had slipped along the smooth wooden back of the carriage and rested +on Paragot's shoulder. Through sheer kindliness and pity he had put his +arm around her so as to settle her comfortably as she slept. I envied +her. + +When she awoke at the first stoppage of the train, she started away from +him with a little gasp. + +"O Monsieur! I did not know. You should have told me." + +"I am only Père Paragot," said he. "You must often have had your head +against this mountebank jacket of mine." + +She misunderstood him. Her eyes flashed. + +"It is the first time in my life--I swear it." She held up her two +forefingers crossed and kissed them. "Père Paragot! _ah non!_ neither he +nor another. I am an honest girl, though you may not think so." + +"My good Blanquette," said he kindly, taking her scarred coarse hand in +his, "you are as honest a girl as ever breathed, and if Père Paragot +didn't let you put your sleepy little head on his shoulder he must have +been a stonier hearted old curmudgeon than you have given one to +believe." + +So he soothed her and explained, while our two fellow passengers, a +wizened old peasant and his wife, regarded them stolidly. + +"_Mon Dieu_, it is hot," said Blanquette. "Don't you think so, Asticot? +I wish I had a fan." + +"I will make you one out of the paper the fowl is wrapped in," said +Paragot. + +Not half a goose, but a cold fowl minus half a wing had been our +supplementary guerdon. Decently enveloped in a sheet of newspaper it lay +on her lap. When he had divested it of its covering, which he proceeded +to twist into a fan, it still lay on her lap, looking astonishingly +naked. + +At the next station the old peasant and his wife got out and we had the +compartment to ourselves. Blanquette produced from her pocket a +handkerchief knotted over an enormous lump. + +"These are the takings, Monsieur. It looks small; but they changed the +coppers into silver at the restaurant for me." + +"It's a fortune," laughed my master. + +"It is much," she replied gravely, and undoing the knot she offered him +with both hands the glittering treasure. "I hope you will be a little +generous, Monsieur--I know it was you who gained the _quête_." + +"My good child!" cried he, interrupting her and pushing back her hands, +"what lunacy are you uttering? Do you imagine that I go about fiddling +for pence at village weddings?" + +"But Monsieur--" + +"But little imbecile, I did it to help you, to enable you to get your +ten francs and half a goose. Asticot too. Haven't you been enchanted all +day to be of service to Mademoiselle? Do you want to be paid for wearing +a red shirt with a tasselled collar and pommade in your hair? Aren't we +going about the world like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza rescuing damsels +in distress? Isn't that the lodestar of our wanderings?" + +"Yes, master," said I. + +Blanquette looked open-mouthed from him to me, from me to him, scarce +able to grasp such magnanimity. To the peasant, money is a commodity to +be struggled for, fought for, grasped, prized; to be doled out like the +drops of a priceless Elixir Vitæ. Paragot had the aristocratic, artistic +scorn of it; and I, as I have said before, was the pale reflexion of +Paragot. + +"It is yours," I explained, as might a great prince's chamberlain, "the +master gained it for you." + +The tears came into her eyes. The corners of her lips went down. Paragot +turned half round in his seat and put his hands on her shoulders. + +"If you spill tears on the fowl you will make it too salt, and I shall +throw it out of the window." + + * * * * * + +Paragot paid the modest funeral expenses of the worn-out fiddler. Asked +why he did not leave the matter in the hands of the communal +authorities he replied that he could not take a man's name without +paying for it. Such an appellation as Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot was +worth a deal coffin and a mass or two. This fine sense of integrity was +above Blanquette's comprehension. She thought the funeral was a waste of +money. + +"It should go to benefit the living and not the dead," she argued. + +"Wait till you are dead yourself," he replied, "and see how you would +like to be robbed of your name. There are many things for you to learn, +my child." + +"_Il n'y a pas beaucoup_--not many," she said with a sigh. "We who are +poor and live on the high-roads learn very quickly. If you are hungry +and have two sous you can buy bread. If you only have two sous and you +throw them to a dog who doesn't need them, you have nothing to buy bread +with, and you starve. And it is not so easy to gain two sous." + +Paragot sucked reflectively at his porcelain pipe. + +"Asticot," said he, "the _argumentum ad ventrem_ is irrefutable." + +"Now I must go and make my _malle_" she said. "I return to Chambéry to +try to earn my two sous." + +"Won't you stay here over the night? You must be very tired." + +"One must work for one's living, Monsieur," she said moving away. + +It was afternoon. We had trudged the three dusty miles back from the +tiny churchyard where we had left the old man's unlamented grave, and +Paragot, as usual, was washing his throat with beer. It must be noted, +not to his glorification, that about this time a chronic dryness began +to be the main characteristic of Paragot's throat, and the only +humectant that seemed to be of no avail was water. + +The sun still blazed and the hush of the July afternoon lay over the +valley. Paragot watched the thickset form of Blanquette disappear into +the café; he poured out another bottle of beer and addressed Narcisse +who was blinking idly up at him. + +"If she had a pair of decent stays, my dog, or no stays at all, she +might have something of a figure. What do you think? On the whole--no." + +Narcisse stood on his hind legs, his forepaws on his master's arm, and +uttered little plaintive whines. Paragot patted him on the head. + +As I was engaged a yard or two away, elbows on knees, in what Paragot +was pleased to call my studies--Thierry's "Récits des Temps +Mérovingiens," a tattered, flyblown copy of which he had bought at +Chambéry--he was careful not to interrupt me; he talked to the dog. +Paragot had to talk to something. If he were alone he would have talked +to his shadow; in his coffin he would have apostrophised the worms. + +"Yes, my dog," said he, after a draught of beer. "We have passed through +more than we wotted of these two days. We have held a human being by the +hand and have faced with her the eternal verities. Now she is going to +earn her two sous in the whirlpool, and the whirlpool will suck her +down, and as she has not claims to beauty, Narcisse, of any kind +whatsoever, either of face or figure, hers will be a shuddersome career +and end. Say you are sorry for poor Blanquette de Veau." + +Narcisse sniffed at the table, but finding it bare of everything but +beer, in which he took no interest, dropped on his four legs and curled +himself up in dudgeon. + +"You damned cynical sensualist," cried my master. "I have wasted the +breath of my sentiment upon you." And he called out for the landlady and +more beer. + +Presently Blanquette emerged laden with zither case and fiddle and +little grey valise and the pearl-buttoned suit which was slung over one +arm. + +"Monsieur," she said, putting down her impedimenta, "the _patronne_ has +told me that you have paid for my lodging and my nourishment. I am very +grateful, Monsieur. And if you will accept this costume it will be a way +of repaying your kindness." + +Paragot rose, took the suit and laid it on his chair. + +"I accept it loyally," said he, with a bow, as if Blanquette had been a +duchess. + +"_Adieu, Monsieur, et merci_," she said holding out her hand. + +Paragot stuck both his hands in his trousers pockets. + +"My good child," said he, "you are bound straight for the most cheerless +hell that was ever inhabited by unamusing devils." + +Blanquette shrugged her shoulders and spoke in her dull fatalistic way. + +"_Que voulez-vous?_ I know it is not gay. But it is in the _métier_. +When Père Paragot was alive it was different. He had his good qualities, +Père Paragot. He was like a watch-dog. If any man came near me he was +fierce. I did not amuse myself, it is true, but I remained an honest +girl. Now it is changed. I am alone. I go into a brasserie to play and +dance. I can get an engagement at the Café Brasserie Tissot," and then +after a pause, turning her head away, she added the fatalistic words +she had used before: "_If faut passer par là, comme les autres_." + +"I forbid you!" cried my master, striding up and down in front of her +and ejaculating horrible oaths. He invoked the sacred name of pigs and +of all kinds of other things. My attention had long since been diverted +from the learned Monsieur Thierry, and I wondered what she had to pass +through like the others. It must be something dreadful, or my master +would not be raving so profanely. I learned in after years. Of all +mutilated lives there are few more ghastly than those of the _fille de +brasserie_ in a small French provincial town. And here was Blanquette +about to abandon herself to it with stolid, hopeless resignation. There +was no question of vicious instinct. What semblance of glamour the life +presented did not attract her in the least. A sweated alien faces +rabbit-pulling in the East End with more pleasurable anticipation. + +"I am not going to allow you to take an engagement in a brasserie!" +shouted my master. "Do you hear? I forbid you!" + +"But Monsieur----" began Blanquette piteously. + +Then Paragot had one of his sudden inspirations. He crashed his fist on +the little table so that the glass and bottles leaped and Narcisse +darted for shelter into the café. + +"_Tron de l'air!_" he cried. "I have it. It is an illumination. +Asticot--here! Leave your book. I shall be Paragot in character as well +as name. We shall fiddle with Blanquette as we fiddled yesterday--and I +shall be a watch-dog like Père Paragot and keep her an honest girl. +We'll make it a firm, Paragot and Company, and there will always be two +sous for bread and two to throw to a dog. I like throwing sous to dogs. +It is my nature. Now I know why I was sent into the world. It was to +play the fiddle up and down the sunny land of France. My little Asticot, +why haven't we thought of it before? You shall learn to play the +trumpet, Asticot, and Narcisse shall walk on his hind legs and collect +the money. It will be magnificent!" + +"Are you serious, Monsieur?" asked Blanquette, trembling. + +"Serious? Over an inspiration that came straight from the _bon Dieu_? +But yes, I am serious. _Et toi?_" he added sharply using for the first +time the familiar pronoun, "are you afraid I will beat you like Père +Paragot?" + +"You can if you like," she said huskily; and I wondered why on earth she +should have turned the colour of cream cheese. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +NOT being content with having attached to his person a stray dog and a +mongrel boy and rendering himself responsible for their destinies, +Paragot must now saddle himself with a young woman. Had she been a +beautiful gipsy, holding fascinating allurements in lustrous eyes and +pomegranate lips, and witchery in a supple figure, the act would have +been a commonplace of human weakness. But in the case of poor +Blanquette, squat and coarse, her heavy features only redeemed from +ugliness by youth, honesty and clean teeth, the eternal attraction of +sex was absent. + +From the decorative point of view she was as unlovely as Narcisse or +myself. She was dull, unimaginative, ignorant, as far removed from +Paragot as Narcisse from a greyhound. Why then, in the name of men and +angels, should Paragot have taken her under his protection? My only +answer to the question is that he was Paragot. Judge other men by +whatever standard you have to hand; it will serve its purpose in a rough +and ready manner; but Paragot--unless with me idolatry has obscured +reason--Paragot can only be measured by that absolute standard which +lies awful and unerring on the knees of the high gods. + +Of course he saved the girl from a hideous doom. Thousands of kindly, +earnest men have done the same in one way or another. But Paragot's way +was different from anyone else's. Its glorious lunacy lifted it above +ordinary human methods. + +So many of your wildly impulsive people repent them of their +generosities as soon as the magnanimous fervour has cooled. The grandeur +of Paragot lay in the fact that he never repented. He was fantastic, +self-indulgent, wastrel, braggart, what you will; but he had an +exaggerated notion of the value of every human soul save his own. The +destiny of poor Blanquette was to him of infinitely more importance than +that of the wayward genius that was Paragot. The pathos of his point of +view had struck me, even as a child, when he discoursed on my prospects. + +"I am Paragot, my son," he would say, "a film full of wind and wonder, +fantasy and folly, driven like thistledown about the world. I do not +count. But you, my little Asticot, have the Great Responsibility before +you. It is for you to uplift a corner of the veil of Life and show joy +to men and women where they would not have sought it. Work now and +gather wisdom, my son, so that when the Great Day comes you may not miss +your destiny." And once, he added wistfully--"as I have missed mine." + + * * * * * + +As Paragot decided that we should not start off then and there into the +unknown but remain at the café until we had laid our plan of campaign, +Blanquette took her valise into the house, and, for the rest of the day, +busied herself in the kitchen with the _patronne_; Paragot drank with +the villagers in the café; and I, when Thierry and Narcisse had given me +all the companionship they had to offer, curled myself up on the +mattress spread in a corner of the tiny _salle à manger_ and went to +sleep. + +The next morning Paragot awakened with an Idea. He would go to +Aix-les-Bains which was close by, and would return in the evening. The +nature of his errand he would not tell me. Who was I, little grey worm +that I was, to question his outgoings and his incomings? The little grey +worm would stay with Blanquette and Narcisse and see to it that they did +not bite each other. I humbly accepted the rebuke and obeyed the behest. +The afternoon found the three of us in a field under a tree; Blanquette +embracing her knees, and the dog asleep with his throat across her feet. +She was wearing her old cotton dress, and as she had been helping the +_patronne_ all the morning, her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows +displaying stout, stubby arms. The top button of her bodice was open; +she was bare-headed, but her hair, little deeper in shade than her +tanned face and neck, was coiled neatly. Had it not been for the hard +grip of the day before I should have jealously resented her admission +into our vagabond fraternity. As it was, from the height of my +sixteen-year-old masculinity I somewhat looked down upon her: not as +poor Blanquette, the zither-playing vagrant; but as a girl. Could we, +creation's lords, do with a creature of an inferior sex in our +wanderings? Could she perform our feats of endurance? I questioned her +anxiously. + +"_Moi?_" she laughed, "I am as strong as any man. You will see." + +She leaped to her feet and, before I could protest, had picked me off +the ground like a kitten and was tossing me in her arms. + +"_Voilà!_" she said, depositing me tenderly on the grass; and having +collected the dislodged Narcisse she embraced her knees and laughed +again. It was a kind honest laugh; a good-natured, big boy's laugh, +coming full out of her eyes and shewing her strong white teeth. I lost +the sense of insult in admiration of her strength. + +"You should have been a boy, Blanquette," said I. + +She assented, acknowledging at once her inferiority and thus restoring +my self respect. + +"You are lucky, you, to be one. In this world the egg is for the men and +the shell is for the women." + +"Why don't you cut off your hair and put on boy's clothes?" I asked. +"Then you would get the egg. No one could tell the difference." + +"You don't think I look like a woman? I? _Mon Dieu!_ Where are your +eyes?" + +She was actually indignant with me who had thought to please her: my +first encounter with the bewildering paradox of woman. + +"_Ah! mais non_," she panted. "I may be strong like a man, but _grâce à +Dieu_, I don't resemble one. Look." + +And she sat bolt upright, her hands at her waist developing her bust to +its full extent. She was not _jolie, jolie_, she explained, but she was +as solidly built as another; I was to examine myself and see how like I +was to the flattest of boards. Routed I chewed blades of grass in +silence until she spoke again. + +"Tell me of the _patron_." + +"The _patron_?" I asked, puzzled. + +"Yes--Monsieur--your master." + +"You must call him _maître_," said I, "not _patron_." For the _patron_ +was any peddling "boss," the leader of a troupe of performing dogs or +the miserable landlord of a village inn, Paragot a _patron_! + +"I meant no harm. I have too much respect for him," said Blanquette, +humbly. + +Again reinstated in my position of superiority I explained the Master to +her feminine intelligence. + +"He has been to every place in the world and knows everything that is to +be known, and speaks every language that is spoken under the sun, and +has read every book that ever was written, and I have seen him break a +violin over a man's head." + +"_Tiens!_" said Blanquette. + +"In the Forum at Rome last winter he had an argument with the most +learned professor in Europe who is making the excavations, and proved +him to be wrong." + +"_Tiens!_" repeated Blanquette, much impressed, though of Forum or +excavations she had no more notion than Narcisse. + +"If he wanted to be a king tomorrow, he would only have to go up to a +throne and sit upon it." + +"But no," said Blanquette. "To be a king one must be a king's son." + +"How do you know that he isn't?" I asked with a could-and if-I-would +expression of mystery. + +"King's sons don't go about the high roads with little _gamins_ like +you," replied the practical Blanquette. + +"How do you know that I am not a king's son too?" I asked, less with the +idea of self-aggrandisement than that of vindication of Paragot. + +"Because you yourself said that your mother sold you as my mother sold +me to Père Paragot." + +Whereupon it suddenly occurred to me that as far as retentiveness of +memory was concerned, Blanquette was not such a fool as in my arrogance +I had set her down to be. I was going to retort that his magnificence +in purchasing me proved him a personage of high order, but as I quickly +reflected that the same argument might apply to the rank of the +contemned Père Paragot, I refrained. A silence ensuing, I uncomfortably +resolved to study my master with a view to acquiring his skill in +repartee. + +"But what does he do, the Master?" enquired Blanquette. + +"Do? What do you mean?" + +"How does he earn his living?" + +"That shows you know nothing about him," I cried triumphantly. "King's +sons do not earn their living. They have got it already. Haven't you +ever read that in books?" + +"I can read and write, but I don't read books," sighed Blanquette. "I am +not clever. You will have to teach me." + +"This is the book I am reading," said I, taking the "Récits des Temps +Mérovingiens" from my pocket. + +Again Blanquette sighed. "You must be very clever, Asticot." + +"Not at all," said I modestly, but I felt that it was nice of Blanquette +to realise the intellectual gulf between us. "It is the Master who has +taught me all I know." I spoke, God wot, as if my knowledge would have +burst through the covers of an Encyclopædia--"Three years ago I could +not speak a word of French. Fancy. And now----" + +"You still talk like an Englishman," said Blanquette. + +Looking back now on those absurd far-off days, I wonder whether after +all I did not learn as much that was vital from Blanquette as from +Paragot. Her downright, direct, unimaginative common-sense amounted to +genius. At the time I preferred genius in the fantastic form which +inflated my bubbles of self-conceit, instead of bursting them; but in +after life one has a high appreciation of the burster. + +In the moment's mortification, however, I recriminated. + +"You make worse mistakes than I do. You say '_j'allons faire_,' when you +ought to say '_je vais faire_' and I heard you talk about _une chien_." + +"That is because I have no education," replied Blanquette, with her +grave humility. "I speak like the peasants; not like instructed +people--not like the Master, for instance." + +"No one could speak like the Master," said I. + +There was a long silence. Blanquette hugged her knees and Narcisse +snored at her feet, accepting her as vagabond comrade. I lay on my back +and forgot Blanquette; and out of the intricacies of myriad leaf and +branch against the sky wove pictures of Merovingian women. There where +the black branches cut a lozenge of blue was the pale Queen Galeswinthe +lying on her bed. Through yon dark cluster of under-leaves one could +discern the strangler sent by King Hilperic to murder her. And in that +radiant patch silhouetted clear and cold and fierce in loveliness was +Frédégonde waiting for the King. She was a glittering sword of a woman +whose slayings fascinated me. I much preferred her to the gentler +Brunehilde whose form I saw outlined in a soft shadow of green. I tried +to find frames in my aerial gallery for Brunehilde's two daughters, +Ingonde and Chlodoswinde, especially the latter whose name appealed to +my acquired taste for odd nomenclature, and the conscious effort brought +me back to the modern world, and the sound of Blanquette's voice. + +"_Tu sais_, Asticot, I can wash the Master's shirts and mend his +clothes. I can also make his coffee in the morning." + +Her eyes had a far-away look. She was living in the land of day dreams +even as I had been. + +"I always prepare the Master's breakfast," said I jealously. + +"It is the woman's duty." + +"I don't care," I retorted. + +She unclasped her hands, and coming forward on to her knees and bending +over me, brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. + +"I will prepare yours too, Asticot," she said gently, "and you will see +how nice that will be. Men can't do these things where there is a woman +to look after them. It is not proper." + +So, flattered in my masculinity, being ranked with Paragot as a "man," I +took a sultanesque view of the situation and graciously consented to her +proposed ministrations. + + * * * * * + +Paragot came back triumphant from Aix-les-Bains. Hadn't he told me he +had been inspired to go there? The man who played the violin at the +open-air Restaurant by the Lac de Bourget had just that day fallen ill. +The result, a week's engagement for Blanquette and himself. + +"But, my child," said he, "you will have to suffer an inharmonious son +of Satan who makes a discordant Hades out of an execrable piano. He had +the impudence to tell me that he came from the Conservatoire. He, with +as much ear for music as an organ-grinder's monkey! He said to +me--Paragot--that I played the violin not too badly! I foresee a hideous +doom overhanging that young man, my children. Before the week is out I +will throw him into the maw of his soul-devouring piano. Ha! my +children, give me to drink, for I am thirsty." + +Mindful of my dignity as a man, I glanced at Blanquette, who went into +the café obediently, while I stayed with my master. It was a sweet +moment. Paragot gripped me by the shoulder. + +"My son, while Blanquette and I work, which Carlyle says is the noblest +function of man, but concerning which I have my own ideas, you cannot +live in red-shirted, pomaded and otherwise picturesque and studious +laziness. Look," he cried, pointing to a round, flat object wrapped in +paper which he had brought with him. "Do you know what that is?" + +"That," said I, "is a cake." + +"It is a tambourine," said my master. + + * * * * * + +The next day found us in the garden of the little lake-side restaurant +at Aix-les-Bains playing at lunch time. The young man at the piano whom +I had expected to see a fiend in human shape was a harmless consumptive +fellow who played with the sweet patience of a musical box. He shook +hands with me and called me "_cher collègue_," and before nightfall told +me of a disastrous love-story in consequence of which, were it not for +his mother, he would drown himself in the lake. He effaced himself +before Paragot much as the bellows-blower does before the organist. His +politeness to Blanquette would have put to the blush any young man at +the Bon Marché or the Louvre. His name was Laripet. + +I was ordered to make modest use of my tambourine until sufficient +instruction from Paragot should authorise him to let me loose with it; I +was merely to add to the picturesqueness of the group on the platform, +and at intervals to go the round of the guests collecting money. I liked +this, for I could then jingle the tambourine without fear of reproof. +You have no idea what an ordeal it is for a boy to have a tambourine +which he must not jingle. But the shady charm of the garden compensated +for the repression of noisy instincts. After months of tramping in the +broiling sun, free and perfect as it was, the easy loafing life seemed +sweet. We went little into the gay town itself. For my part I did not +like it. Aix-les-Bains consisted of a vast Enchanted Garden set in a +valley, great mountains hemming it round. Skirting the Enchanted Garden +were shady streets and mysterious palaces, some having gardens of their +own of a secondary enchantment, and shops where jewels and perfumes and +white ties and flowers and other objects of strange luxury were +exhibited in the windows. But these took the humble place of mere +accessories to the Enchanted Garden, jealously guarded against Asticot +by great high gilded railings and by blue-coated, silver-buttoned +functionaries at the gates. Within rose two Wonder Houses gorgeous with +dome and pinnacle, bewildering with gold and snow, displaying before the +aching sight the long cool stretch of verandahs, and offering the +baffling glimpse of vast interiors whence floated the dim sound of music +and laughter; and bright, happy beings, in wondrous raiment, wandered in +and out unchallenged, unconcerned, as if the Wonder Houses were their +birthright. + +I, a shabby, penniless little Peri, stood at the gilded gates +disconsolate. I didn't like it. The mystery of the unknown beatitude +within the Wonder Houses oppressed me to faintness. _It was +unimaginable._ Through the leaves of a tree I could see the pale Queen +Galeswinthe; but through those gay enchanting walls I could see nothing. +They baulked my soul. When I tried to explain my feelings to Paragot he +looked at me in his kind, sad way and shook his head. + +"My wonder-headed little Asticot," said he, "within those gewgaw Wonder +Houses----" Then he stopped abruptly and waved me away, "No. It's a +devilish good thing for you to have something your imagination boggles +at. Stick to the Ideal, my son, and hug the Unexplained. The people who +have solved the Riddle of the Universe at fifteen are bowled over by the +Enigma of their cook at fifty. Plug your life as full as it can hold +with fantasy and fairy-tale, and thank God that your soul is baulked by +the Mysteries of the Casinos of Aix-les-Bains." + +"But what do they do there, Master?" I persisted. + +"The men worship strange goddesses and the women run after false gods, +and all practice fascinating idolatries." + +I did not in the least know what he meant, which was what he intended. +When I consulted Blanquette one morning, as she and I alone were +sauntering down the long shady avenue which connects the town with the +little-port of the lake, she said that people went into the Cercle and +the Villa des Fleurs, the two Wonder Houses aforesaid, merely to gamble. +I pooh-poohed the notion. + +"The Master says they are Temples of great strange gods, where people +worship." + +"Gods! What an idea! _Il n'y a que le bon Dieu_," quoth Blanquette. + +"You have evidently not heard of the gods of Greece and Rome, Jupiter +and Apollo and Venus and Bacchus." + +"_Ah, tiens_," said Blanquette. "I have heard Italians swear 'Corpo di +Bacco.' That is why?" + +"Of course," said I in my grandest manner, "and there are heaps of other +gods besides." + +"All the same," she objected, "I always thought the Italians were good +Catholics." + +"So they may be," said I, "but that doesn't prove that there are not +beautiful gods and goddesses and idols and shrines in the Cercle and the +Villa des Fleurs." + +As this was unanswerable Blanquette diverted the conversation to the +less transcendental topic of the premature baldness of Monsieur Laripet. + + * * * * * + +If the doings of the bright happy beings were hidden from me while they +worshipped in the Casinos, I at least met them at close quarters in the +garden of the Restaurant du Lac. In some respects this garden resembled +that of the Restaurant du Soleil at Chambéry. There was a verandah round +the restaurant itself, there were trees in joyous leafage, there were +little tables, and there were waiters hurrying to and fro with napkins +under their arms. But that was all the resemblance. Our little platform +stood against the railings separating the garden from the quay. Behind +us shimmered the blue lake, great mountains rising behind; away on the +right, embosomed in the green mountainside, flashed the white Château de +Hautecombe. Always in mid-lake a tiny paddle-steamer churned up a wake +of white foam. On the quay itself stood an enchanting little box--a +_camera obscura_--to which I as a fellow artist was given the _entrée_ +by the proprietor, and in which one could see heavenly pictures of the +surrounding landscape; there were also idle cabs with white awnings, and +fezzed Turks perspiring under furs and rugs which they hawked for sale. +In front of us, within the garden, a joyous crowd of the radiantly +raimented laughed over dainty food set on snowy cloths. Here and there a +lobster struck a note of colour, or a ray of sunlight striking through +the red or gold translucencies of wine in a glass: which distracted my +attention from my orchestral duties and caused an absent-minded jingle +of my tambourine. + +What I loved most was to make my round among the tables and mingle +closely with the worshippers. Of the men, clean and correct in their +perfectly fitting flannels, sometimes stern, sometimes mocking, +sometimes pettishly cross, I was rather shy; but I was quite at my ease +with the women, even with those whose many rings and jewels, violent +perfumes and daring effects of dress made me instinctively differentiate +from their quieter and less bejewelled sisters. Blanquette laughingly +called me a "_petit polisson_" and said that I made soft eyes at them. +Perhaps I did. When one is a hundred and fifty it is hard to realise +that one's little scarecrow boy's eyes may have touched the hearts of +women. But the appeal of the outstretched tambourine was rarely refused. + +"Get out of this," the man would say. + +"But no. Remain. _Il a l'air si drôle_--what is your name?" + +"_Je m'appelle Asticot, Madame, à votre service._" + +This always amused the lady. She would search through an invariably +empty purse. + +"Give him fifty centimes." + +And the man would throw a silver piece into the tambourine. + +Once I was in luck. The lady found a ten-franc piece in her purse. + +"That is all I have." + +"I have no change," growled the man. + +"If I give you this," said the lady, "what would you do with it?" + +"If Madame would tell me where to get it, I would buy a photograph of +Madame," said I, with one of Paragot's "inspirations"; for she was very +pretty. + +"_Voilà_," she laughed putting the gold into my hand. "_Tu me fais la +cour, maintenant._ Come and see me at the Villa Marcelle and I will give +you a photograph gratis." + +But Paragot when I repeated the conversation to him called the lady +shocking names, and forbade me to go within a mile of the Villa +Marcelle. So I did not get the photograph. + +The next best thing I loved was to see Blanquette's eyes glitter when I +returned to the platform and poured silver and copper into her lap. She +uttered strange little exclamations under her breath, and her fingers +played caressingly with the coins. + +"We gain more here in a day than Père Paragot did in a week. It is +wonderful. _N'est-ce pas, Maître?_" she said one morning. + +Paragot tuned his violin and looked down on her. + +"Money pleases you, Blanquette?" + +"Of course." + +She counted the takings sou by sou. + +"Yet you did not want to accept your just share." + +"What you make me take is not just, Master," she said, simply. + +Much as she loved money, her sense of justice rebelled against Paragot's +division of the takings--a third for Laripet, a third for Blanquette and +a third for himself which he generously shared with me. Père Paragot +used to sweep into his pockets every sou and Blanquette had to subsist +on whatever he chose to allow for joint expenses. Her new position of +independence was a subject for much inward pride, mingled however with a +consciousness of her own unworthiness. Monsieur Laripet, yes; she would +grant that he was entitled to the same as the Master; but herself--no. +Was not the Master the great artist, and she but the clumsy strummer? +Was he not also a man, with more requirements than she--tobacco, +absinthe, brandy and the like? + +"A third is too much," she added. + +"If you argue," said he, "I will divide it in halves for Laripet and +yourself, and I won't touch a penny." + +"That would be idiotic," said Blanquette. + +"It would be in keeping with life generally," he answered. "In a comic +opera one thing is not more idiotic than another. Yes, Monsieur Laripet, +we will give them _Funiculi, Funiculà_. I once drove in coffin nails to +that tune in Verona. Now we will set people eating to it in +Aix-les-Bains--we, Monsieur Laripet, you and I, who ought to be the +petted minions of great capitals! It is a comic opera." + +"One has to get bread or one would starve," said Blanquette pursuing her +argument. "And to get bread one must have money. If I had all the money +you would not eat bread." + +"I should eat _brioches_," laughed Paragot quoting Marie Antoinette. + +"You always laugh at me, Master," said Blanquette wistfully. + +Paragot drew his bow across the strings. + +"There is nothing in this comical universe I don't laugh at, my little +Blanquette," said he. "I am like good old Montaigne--I rather laugh than +weep, because to laugh is the more dignified." + +Laripet struck a chord on the piano. Paragot joined in and played three +bars. Then he stopped short. There was not the vestige of a laugh on his +face. It was deadly white, and his eyes were those of a man who sees a +ghost. + +The four bright happy beings, two ladies and two men who had just +entered the garden and at whom his stare was directed, took no notice, +but followed a bowing maître d'hôtel to a table that had been reserved +for them. + +I sprang to the platform, on the edge of which I had been squatting at +Blanquette's feet. + +"Are you ill, Master?" + +He started. "Ill? Of course not. Pardon, Monsieur Laripet. +_Recommençons._" + +He plunged into the merry tune and fiddled with all his might, as if +nothing had happened. But I saw his nostrils quivering and the sweat +running down his face into his beard. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +WHEN _Funiculi Funiculà_ was over he sat on the wooden chair provided +for him and wiped his face. His hands shook. He beckoned me to come +near. + +"Do I look too grotesque a mountebank Tomfool?" he asked in English. + +He was wearing the pearl-buttoned velveteen suit whose magnificence he +had enhanced by newly purchased steel-buckled shoes and black stockings, +and to a less bigoted worshipper than me I suppose he must have looked a +mountebank Tomfool; but I only gaped at his question. + +"Do I?" he repeated almost fiercely. + +"You look beautiful, Master," said I. + +He passed his lean fingers wearily over his eyes. "Pardon, my little +Asticot. There are things in Heaven and Earth etc. Myriads of Mysteries. +As many in the heart of man as in your Wonder Houses yonder. Get me some +brandy. Three _petits verres_ poured into a tumbler." + +I went off to the restaurant and obtained the drink. When I returned +they were playing the mocking chorus that runs through "Orphée aux +Enfers." + +The number over, Paragot drained the glass at one gulp. The company +broke into unusual applause. Some one shouted "_Bis!_" + +"Get me some more," said he. "Do you know why I chose that tune?" + +"No, Master." + +"Because twenty devils entered into me and played leapfrog over one +another." + +"I am very fond of that little tune. It is so gay," said Blanquette, as +if she were introducing a fresh topic of conversation. + +"I detest it," said my master. + +The maître d'hôtel came up and asked that the chorus should be played +again as an encore. I fetched Paragot's drink and having set it down +beside him on the platform, went round with my tambourine. When I +reached the table at which the four new comers were seated I found that +they spoke English. They were a young man in a straw hat, a young girl, +a forbidding looking man of forty with a beaky nose, and the loveliest +lady I have ever seen in my life. She had the complexion of a sea-shell. +Her eyes were the blue of glaciers, and they shone cold and steadfast; +but her lips were kind. Her black hair under the large white tulle hat +had the rare bluish tinge, looking as if cigarette smoke had been blown +through it. Small and exquisitely made she sat the princess of my boyish +dreams. + +"I call it a ripping tune," cried the young girl. + +"I hate it more than any other tune in the world," said the lovely lady +with a shiver. + +Her voice was like a peal of bells or running water or whatever silvery +sounding things you will. + +"It is very absurd to have such prejudices," said the beaky-nosed man of +forty. He spoke like a Frenchman, and like a very disagreeable +Frenchman. How dared he address my princess in that tone? + +I extended my tambourine. + +"_Qu'est-ce que vous désirez?_" asked the straw-hatted young man in an +accent as Britannic as the main deck of the Bellerophon. + +"Anything that the ladies will kindly give me, Sir," I replied in our +native tongue. + +"Hullo! English? What are you knocking about France for?" + +I glanced at the lovely lady. She was crumbling bread and not taking the +least notice of me. I was piqued. + +"My Master thinks it the best way to teach me philosophy, Sir," said I +politely. If I had not learned much philosophy from him I had at least +learned politeness. The lady looked up with a smile. The young girl +exclaimed that either my remark or myself--I forget which--was ripping. +I paid little heed to her. I have always disregarded the people of one +adjective; they seem poverty-stricken to one who has sunned himself in +the wealth of Paragot's epithets. + +"Your master is the gentleman in the pearl buttons?" enquired the young +man. + +"Yes, Sir." + +"What's his name?" + +"Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot, Sir," said I so proudly that the lovely +princess laughed. + +"I must look at him," she said turning round in her chair. + +I too glanced at the familiar group on the platform: Laripet with his +back to us, working his arms and shoulders at the piano; Blanquette +seated on the other side, thrumming away at the zither on her lap; +Narcisse lolling his tongue in that cynical grin of his; and Paragot +fiddling in front, like a fiddler possessed, his clear eyes fixed on the +lady in a most uncanny stare. + +When she turned again, she shivered once more. She did not look up but +went on crumbling bread. It shocked me to notice that the pink of her +sea-shell face had gone and that her fingers trembled. Then a wild +conjecture danced through my brain and I forgot my tambourine. + +"You still here?" laughed the young man. "What are you waiting for?" + +I started. "I beg your pardon, Sir," said I moving away. He laughed and +called me back. + +"Here are two francs to buy a philosophy book." + +"And here are five sous not to come and worry us again," said the older +man in French. While I was wondering why they tolerated such a +disagreeable man in the party my beautiful lady's fingers flew to the +gilt chain purse by her side. "And here are five francs because you are +English!" she exclaimed; and as she held me for a second with her eyes I +saw in them infinite depths of sadness and longing. + +When I returned to the platform the piece had just been brought to an +end. Paragot poured his second brandy down his throat and sat with his +head in his hands. I shed, as usual, my takings into Blanquette's lap. +On seeing the five-franc piece her eyes equalled it in size. + +"_Tiens! Cent sous!_ who gave it you?" + +I explained. The most beautiful lady in the world. Paragot raised his +head and looked at me haggardly. + +"Why did she give you five francs?" + +"Because I was English, she said." + +"Did she talk to you?" + +"Yes, Master, and I have never heard anyone speak so beautifully." + +Paragot made no answer, but began to tune his violin. + +During the next interval my quartette left the restaurant. I ran to the +gate, and bowed as they passed by. + +The young fellow gave me a friendly nod, but the lovely lady swept out +cold-eyed, looking neither to right nor left. A large two-horsed cab +with a gay awning awaited them on the quay. As my lady entered, her +skirt uplifted ever so little disclosed the most delicately shaped, tiny +foot that has ever been attached to woman, and then I felt sure. + +"Those little feet so adored." The haunting phrase leaped to my brain +and I stood staring at the departing carriage athrill with excitement. + +It was Joanna--lovelier than I had pictured her in my Lotus Club dreams, +more gracious than Ingonde or Chlodoswinde or any of the _belles dames +du temps jadis_ whose ballade by Maître François Villon my master had +but lately made me learn by heart and whose names were so many "sweet +symphonies." It was Joanna, "pure and ravishing as an April dawn"; +Joanna beloved of Paragot in those elusive days when I could not picture +him, before he smashed his furniture with a crusader's mace and started +on his wanderings under the guidance of Henri Quatre. It was Joanna whom +he had an agonized desire to see in Madrid and whose silvery English +voice he had longed to hear. And I, Asticot, had seen her and had heard +her silvery voice. Among boys assuredly I was the most blessed. + +But Paragot seemed that day of all men the most miserable, and I more +dog-like than Narcisse in my sympathy with his moods, almost lifted up +my nose and whined for woe. All my thrill died away. I felt guilty, +oddly ashamed of myself. I took a pessimistic view of life. What, +thought I, are Joannas sent into the world for, save to play havoc with +men's happiness? Maître François Villon was quite right. Samson, +Sardanapalus, David, Maître François himself, all came to grief over +Joannas. "_Bien heureux qui rien n'y a._" Happy is he who has nothing to +do with 'em. + +As soon as we were free Paragot left us, and went off by himself; +whereupon I, mimetic as an ape, rejected the humble Blanquette's +invitation to take a walk with her, and strolled moodily into the town +with Narcisse at my heels. A dog fight or two and a Byronic talk with a +little towheaded flower-seller who gave me a dusty bunch of cyclamen--as +a _porte-bonheur_ she said prettily--whiled away the time until the +people began to drift out of the Wonder Houses to dress for dinner. I +lingered at the gates, going from one to the other, in the unavowed +hope, little idiot that I was, of seeing Joanna. At last, at the main +entrance to the Villa des Fleurs I caught sight of Paragot. He had +changed from the velveteens into his vagabond clothes, and was evidently +on the same errand as myself. I did not venture near, respecting his +desire for solitude, but lounged at the corner of the main street and +the road leading down to the Villa, playing with Narcisse and longing +for something to happen. You see it is not given every day to an +impressionable youngster, his brain stuffed with poetry, pictures, and +such like delusive visionary things, to tumble head first into the +romance of the actual world. For the moment the romance was at a +standstill. I longed for a further chapter. It was a pity, I reflected, +that we did not live in Merovingian times. Then Paragot and I could have +lain in wait with our horses--everyone had horses in knightly days--and +when Joanna came near, we should have killed the beaky-nosed man, and +Paragot would have swung her on his saddlebow and we should have +galloped away to his castle in the next kingdom, where Paragot, and +Joanna and I, with Blanquette to be tirewoman to our princess, would +have lived happy ever after. What I expected to get for myself, heaven +knows: it did not strike me that perennial contemplation of another's +bliss might wear out the stoutest altruism. + +Then suddenly out of the door of the Villa came two ladies, one of whom +I recognised as Joanna and the other as the young girl of the luncheon +party. The façade of the villa stretches across the road and is about a +hundred yards from the corner. I saw Paragot stand rigid, and make no +sign of recognition as she passed him by, with her head up, like a proud +queen. I felt an odd pain at my heart. Why was she so cruel? Her eyes +were of the blue of glaciers, but all the rest of her face had seemed +tender and kind. I was aware, in a general way, that radiantly attired +ladies do not shake hands with ragamuffins in public places, but you +must please to remember that I no more considered Paragot a ragamuffin +than I thought Blanquette the equal of Joanna. Paragot to me was the +peer of kings. + +I turned away sorrowing and sauntered up the little street that leads to +the Etablissement des Bains. I was disappointed in Joanna and did not +want to see her again. She should be punished for her cruelty. I sat +down on one of the benches on the Place, and looking at the Mairie clock +stolidly thought of supper. They made famous onion soup at the little +auberge where we lodged, and Paragot, himself a connoisseur, had +pronounced their _tripes à la mode de Caen_ superior to anything that +Mrs. Housekeeper had executed for the Lotus Club. Besides I was getting +hungry. With youth a full heart rarely compensates an empty stomach, and +now even my heart was growing empty. + +Presently who should emerge into the Place but the two ladies. I sat on +my bench and watched them cross. They were evidently going up the hill +to one of the hotels behind the Etablissement. In her white dress and +white tulle hat coloured by three great roses, with her beautiful hair +and sea-shell face and swaying supple figure, she looked the incarnation +of all that was worshipful in woman. I could have knelt and prayed to +her. Why was she so cruel to my master? I regarded her with mingled +reproach and adoration. But the mixed feeling gave place to one of +amazement when I saw her separate from her companion, who continued her +way up the hill, and strike straight across the Place in my direction. + +_She was coming to me._ + +I rose, took off my ragged hat and twirled it in my fingers, which was +the way that Paragot had taught me to be polite in France. + +"I want to speak to you," she said quickly. "You are the boy with the +tambourine, aren't you?" + +"Yes, Mademoiselle." + +Paragot had threatened to shoot me if I called any young lady "Miss." + +"What is the name of the--the gentleman who played the violin?" + +"Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot." + +"That is not his real name?" + +"No, Mademoiselle," said I. + +"What is it?" + +"I don't know," said I. "This is a new name; he has only had it a week." + +"How long have you known him?" + +"A long, long time, Mademoiselle. He adopted me when I was quite small." + +"You are not very big now," she said with a smile. + +"I am nearly sixteen," said I proudly. + +To herself she murmured, "I don't think I can be mistaken." + +In a different tone she continued, "You spoke some nonsense about his +being your master and teaching you philosophy." + +"It wasn't nonsense," I replied stoutly. "He teaches me everything. He +teaches me history and Shakespeare and François Villon, and painting and +Schopenhauer and the tambourine." + +Her pretty lips pouted in a little gasp of astonishment as she leaned on +her long parasol and looked at me. + +"You are the oddest little freak I have come across for a long time." + +I smiled happily. She could have called me anything opprobrious in that +silvery voice of hers and I should have smiled. Now I come to think of +it "smile" is the wrong word. The man smiles, the boy grins. I grinned +happily. + +"Has your master always played the violin in orchestras like this?" + +"Oh, no, Mademoiselle," said I. "Of course not. He only began four days +ago." + +"What was his employment till then?" + +"Why, none," said I. + +It seemed absurd for Paragot to have employment like a man behind a +shop-counter. I remembered acquaintances of my mother's who were "out of +employment" and their unspeakable vileness. Then, echo of Paragot (for +what else could I be?), I added: "We just walk about Europe for the sake +of my education. My master said I was to learn Life from the Book of the +Universe." + +The lovely lady sat down. + +"I believe you are nothing more nor less than an amazing little parrot. +I'm sure you speak exactly like your master." + +"Oh, no, Mademoiselle," said I modestly, "I wish I could. There is no +one who can talk like him in all the world." + +She gave me a long, steady, half-frightened look out of her blue eyes. I +know now that I had struck a chord of memory; that I had established +beyond question in her mind Paragot's identity with the man who had +loved her in days past; that old things sweet and terrifying surged +within her heart. Even then, holding their secret, I saw that she had +recognised Paragot. + +"You must think me a very inquisitive lady," she said, with a forced +smile; "but you must forgive me. What you said this morning about your +master teaching you philosophy interested me greatly. One thing I should +like to know," and she dug at the gravel with the point of her parasol, +"and that I hardly like to ask. Is he--are you--very poor?" + +"Poor?" It was a totally new idea. "Why, no, Mademoiselle; he has a +great bank in London which sends him bank-notes whenever he wants them. +I once went with him. He has heaps of money." + +The lady rose. "So this going about as a mountebank is only a +masquerade," she said, with a touch of scorn. + +"He did it to help Blanquette," said I. + +"Blanquette?" + +"The girl who plays the zither. My master has adopted her too." + +"Oh, has he?" said the lady, the blue of her eyes becoming frosty again. +I dimly perceived that in mentioning Blanquette I had been indiscreet. +In what respect, I know not. I had intended my remark to be a tribute to +Paragot's wide-heartedness. She took it as if I had told her of a crime. +Women, even the loveliest of dream Joannas, are a mystifying race. +"_Bien heureux qui rien n'y a._" + +"Goodbye," she said. + +"Goodbye, Mademoiselle." + +She must have read mortification in my face, for she turned after a step +or two, and said more kindly. + +"You're not responsible, anyway." Then she paused, as if hesitating, +while I stood hat in hand, as I had done during our conversation. + +"I wonder if I can trust you." + +She took her purse from the bag hanging at her waist and drew out a gold +piece. + +"I will give you this if you promise not to tell your Master that you +have spoken to me this afternoon." + +I shrank back. Remember I had been for three years in the hourly +companionship of a man of lofty soul for all his waywardness, and he had +modelled me like wax to his liking. The gold piece was tempting. I had +never owned a gold piece in my life--and all the frost had melted from +Joanna's eyes. But I felt I should be dishonored in taking money. + +"I promise without that," I said. + +She put the coin back in her purse and held out her delicately gloved +hand. + +"Promise with this, then," she said. + +And then I knew for the first time what an exquisite sensitive thing is +a sweet, high-bred lady. Only such a one could have performed that act +of grace. She converted me into a besotted little imbecile weltering in +bliss. I would have pledged my soul's welfare to execute any +phantasmagoric behest she had chosen to ordain. + +"I am leaving Aix tomorrow morning--but if you are ever in any +trouble--by the way what is your name?" + +"Asticot Pradel," said I, reflecting for the first time that though +Polydore Pradel had perished and Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot reigned in +his stead, my own borrowed or invented name remained unaltered. Augustus +Smith lingered in my memory as a vague, mythical creature of no account. + +Joanna smiled. "You are a little masquerader too. Well--if you are ever +in any trouble, and I can help you--remember the Comtesse de Verneuil, 7 +Avenue de Messine, Paris." + +This offer of friendship took my breath away. I grinned stupidly at her. +I was also puzzled. + +"What is the matter?" she laughed. + +"The Comtesse de Verneuil?--but you are English," I stammered. + +"Yes. But my husband is French. He is the Comte de Verneuil. Remember 7 +Avenue de Messine." + +She nodded graciously and turned away leaving a stupefied Asticot +twirling his hat. Her husband! And I had been calling her Mademoiselle +all the time! And I had been weaving fairy tales of our riding off with +her to Paragot's castle! She was married. Her husband was the Comte de +Verneuil! Worse than that. Her husband was the disagreeable beaky-nosed +man who gave me five sous to go away. + +A sense of desolation, disaster, disillusionment overwhelmed me. I sat +on the bench and burst out crying and Narcisse jumped up and licked my +face. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +IT was nearly midnight when Paragot returned to our inn on the outskirts +of the town. He reeled up to the doorstep where I sat in the moonlight +awaiting his return. + +"Why aren't you in bed?" + +"It was too hot and I couldn't sleep, Master," said I. As a matter of +fact I had been dismally failing to compose a poem on Joanna after the +style of Maître François Villon. Just as youthful dramatists begin with +a five act tragedy, so do youthful poets begin with a double ballade. In +order to eke out the slender stock of rhymes to Joanna, I had to drag in +Indianna which somehow didn't fit. I remember also that she showered her +favours like manna, which was not very original. + +Paragot seated himself heavily by my side. + +"The moon has a baleful influence, my son," said he in a thick voice. +"And you'll come under it if you sit too long beneath its effulgence. +That's what has happened to me. It makes one talk unmentionable +imbecility." + +He just missed concertina-ing the last two words, and looked at me with +an air of solemn triumph. + +"It isn't the Man in the Moon's fault, my little Asticot," he continued. +"I've been having a very interesting conversation with him. He is a most +polite fellow. He said if I would go up and join him he would make room +for me. It's all a lie, you know, about his having been sent there for +gathering sticks on a Sunday. He went of his own accord, because it was +the only place where he could be four thousand miles away from any +woman. Think of it, little Asticot of my heart. There are lots of lies +told about the moon, he says. He looks down on the earth and sees all of +us little worms wriggling in and out and over one another and thinking +ourselves so important and he cracks his sides with laughing; and your +bald-headed idiots with spyglasses take the cracks for mountain ranges +and volcanoes. I'm going to live in the moon, away from female feminine +women, and if you are good my son, you shall come too." + +I explained to him as delicately as I could that I should regard such a +change rather as a punishment than as a reward. He broke into a laugh. + +"You too--with the milk of the feeding-bottle still wet on your lips? +The trail of the petticoat's over us all! What has been putting the sex +feminine into your little turnip-head? Have you fallen in love with +Blanquette?" + +"No, Master," said I. "When I fall in love it will be with a very +beautiful lady." + +Paragot pointed upwards. "I see another crack in my friend's sides. We +all fall in love with beautiful ladies, my poor Asticot, one after the +other, plunging into destruction with the comic sheep-headedness of the +muttons of Panurge. Another woolly one over? Ho! ho! laughs the man in +the moon, and crack go his sides." + +The door opened behind us and the proprietor of the auberge appeared on +the threshold. + +"Give me half a litre of red wine, Monsieur Bonnivard," cried Paragot. +"I am the descendant of Maître Jehan Cotard whose throat was so dry that +in this world he was never known to spit." + +"Bien, Monsieur," said the _patron_. + +Paragot filled his porcelain pipe and lit it with clumsy fingers, and +did not speak till his wine was brought. + +"My son, we are leaving Aix the first thing in the morning." + +I started up in alarm. We had not finished our engagement at the +Restaurant du Lac. + +"I care no more for the Restaurant du Lac than for the rest of the idiot +universe," he declared. + +"But Blanquette--it would break her heart." + +"All women's hearts can be mended for twopence." + +"And men's?" + +"They have to go about with them broken, my son, and the pieces clank +and jangle and chink and jingle inside like a crate of broken crockery. +We leave Aix tomorrow." + +"But Master," I cried, "there is no necessity." + +"What do you mean?" + +"She is leaving Aix herself tomorrow." + +"She!" he shouted, quite sober for the moment. "Who the devil do you +mean by 'she'?" + +I upbraided myself for a vain idiot. Here was I on the point of breaking +my oath sworn on Joanna's hand. I felt ashamed and frightened. He +grasped my shoulder roughly. + +"Who do you mean by 'she'? Tell me." + +"The Lady of the Lake, Master," said I. + +He looked at me for a moment keenly, then relaxed his grip and shrugged +his shoulders with the ghost of a laugh. + +"If you see holes in ladders in this perspicacious fashion you'll have +to forsake the paths of art for the higher walks of the Prefecture of +Police." + +He puffed silently at his pipe for a few moments and then turning his +head away asked me in a low voice: + +"How can you know that she is leaving tomorrow?" + +I lied for the first time to Paragot. + +"I overheard her say so while I was waiting with the tambourine." + +"Sure?" + +"Quite sure." + +This seemed to satisfy him, to my great relief. How my poor little oath +would have fared under cross examination I don't know. At any rate +honour was saved. Paragot laid aside his pipe and looked wistfully into +the past over his wine bowl. + +"The Lady of the Lake," he murmured. "I have called her many things good +and bad in my time, but never that. You are a genius, my little +Asticot." + +He finished his wine slowly, holding the bowl in both hands. The moon +smiled at us in a friendly way, sailing high over the mountains. There +entered my head the novel reflection that he was smiling on all men +alike, the good and the bad, the just and the unjust. He was smiling +just the same on Joanna's beaky-nosed husband. + +Her husband! Something caught at my heart. Did Paragot know? I debated +anxiously in my mind whether I should impart the disastrous information. +If he knew that she was a married woman he would put foolish thoughts +out of his head, for it was only in Merovingian and such like romantic +epochs that men loved other men's wives. I touched him timidly on the +arm. + +"Master,--I overheard something else." + +"Did you?" + +"She is married, and that is her husband." + +"Did he take off his hat?" + +"No, Master." + +"He is a scaly-headed vulture," said Paragot dreamily. + +"He only gave me five sous," said I, relieved and yet disappointed at +finding that my disclosure produced no agitation. + +Paragot fumbled in his pocket. "We will not batten on his charity," said +he, and he cast three or four coppers into the silent street. They +crashed, rolled and fell over with little chinks. Narcisse who had +hitherto been asleep trotted out and sniffed at them. Paragot laughed; +then checked himself, and holding up a long-nailed forefinger looked at +me with an air of awful solemnity. + +"Listen to the wisdom of Paragot. There is not a woman worth a clean man +that does not marry a scaly-headed vulture." + +He murmured an incoherence or two, and there was then a long silence. +Presently his head knocked sharply against the lintel. I roused him. + +"Master, it won't be good for us to sit any longer in the moonshine." + +He turned a glazed look on me. "Minerva's Owl," said he, "I am quite +aware of it." + +He rose and lumbered into the inn, and I, having guided him up the +narrow staircase to his room, descended to my bunk in a corner of the +tiny salon. My sleeping arrangements were always sketchy. + +In the morning when I questioned him as to our departure from Aix, he +affected not to understand, and told me that I had been dreaming and +that the moonshine had affected my brain. + +"Consider, my son," said he, "that when I returned last night, I found +you fast asleep on the doorstep, and you never woke up till this +morning." + +From this I gathered that for the second time he had dosed the book of +his life to my prying though innocent eyes. I also learned the peculiar +difference between Philip drunk and Philip sober. + +When our engagement at Aix was at an end, the proprietor of the +restaurant desired to renew it, but Paragot declined. The sick violinist +whom we had replaced had recovered and Paragot had seen him on the quay +looking through the railings with the hungry eyes of a sort of musical +Enoch Arden. Blanquette had some little difficulty in preventing him +from rushing out there and then and delivering his fiddle into the +other's hands. It was necessary to be reasonable, she said. + +"_Nom de Dieu!_" he cried, "if I were reasonable I should be lost. +Reason would set me down in Paris with gloves and an umbrella. Reason +would implant a sunny smile on my face above the red ribbon of the +Legion of Honour. It would marry me to the daughter of one of my +_confrères_ at the Académie des Beaux Arts. It would make me procreate +my species, _cré nom de Dieu_! It would make me send you and Asticot and +Narcisse to the devil. If I were reasonable I should not be Paragot. The +man who lives according to reason has the heart of a sewing-machine." + +But out of regard for Blanquette he served his time faithfully at the +Restaurant du Lac, and reconciled his conscience with reason by giving +the hungry violinist his own share of the takings. It was only when +Blanquette suggested the further exploitation of Aix that he showed his +Gascon obduracy. If there was one place in the world where the soul +sickened and festered it was Aix-les-Bains. Mammon was King thereof and +Astarte Queen. He was going to fiddle no more for sons of Belial and +daughters of Aholah. He had set out to travel to the Heart of Truth, and +the way thither did not lead through the Inner Shrine of Dagon and +Astaroth. Blanquette did not in the least know what he was talking +about, and I only had a vague glimmer of his meaning. But I see now that +his sensitive nature chafed at the false position. Among the simple +village folk he was a personality, compelling awe and admiration. Among +the idlers of Aix, whom in his loftiness he despised, he was but the +fiddling mountebank to whom any greasy wallower in riches could cast a +disdainful franc. + +So once more we took to the high road, and Paragot threw off the +depressing burden of Mammon (Joanna) and became his irresponsible self +again. + +I have but confused memories of our fantastic journeyings. Stretches of +long white road and blazing sun. Laughing valleys and corn fields and +white farmsteads among the trees. Now and then a village fête or wedding +at which we played to the enthusiasm of the sober vested peasantry. +Nights passed in barns, deserted byres, on the floor of cottages and +infinitesimal cafés. Hours of idleness by the wayside after the midday +meal, when the four of us sat round the fare provided by Blanquette, +black bread, cheese, charcuterie and the eternal bottle of thin wine. It +was rough, but there was plenty. Paragot saw to that, in spite of +Blanquette's economical endeavours. Sometimes he would sleep while she +and I chatted in low voices so as not to wake him. She told me of her +wanderings with the old man, the hardness of her former life. Often she +had cried herself to sleep for hunger, shivering in wet rags the long +night through. Now it was all changed: she ate too much and was getting +as fat as a pig. Did I not think so? _Voilà!_ In her artless way she +guided my finger into her waistband and then swelled herself out like +the frog in the fable to prove the increase in her girth. She spoke in +awestricken whispers of the Master himself. Save that he was utterly +kind, impulsive, generous, boastful, and according to her untrained ear +a violinist of the first quality, she knew not what manner of man he +was. She had enough imagination to feel vaguely that he had dropped from +vast spaces into her narrow world. But he was a mystery. + +Once, the previous summer, as she was resting by the roadside with the +old man, even as we were doing then, an amiable person, she told me, +with easel and stool and paint-box, came along and requested their +permission to make an oil sketch of them. While he painted he conversed, +telling them of Sicily whither he was going and of Paris whence he came. +In a dim way she associated him with Paragot. The two had the same trick +of voice and manner, and held unusual views as to the value of five +francs. But the amiable painter had been a gentleman elegantly dressed, +such as she saw in the large towns driving in cabs and consuming drinks +in expensive cafés, whereas the Master was attired like a peasant and +slept in barns and did everything that the elegantly dressed gentlemen +in cafés did not do. At all events she was penetrated with the +consciousness of a loftier mind and spirit, and she contented herself +even as I did with being his devoted slave. + +Often too she spoke of her own ambitions. If she were rich she would +have a little house of her own. Perhaps for company she would like +someone to stay with her. She would keep it so clean, and would mend all +the linen, and do the cooking, and save to go to market, would never +leave it from one year's end to the other. A good sleek cat to curl up +by the fireside would complete her felicity. + +"But Blanquette!" I would cry. "The sun and the stars and the high road +and the smell of spring and the fields and the freedom of this life--you +would miss them." + +"_J'aime le ménage, moi_," she would reply, shaking her head. + +Of all persons I have ever met the least imbued with the vagabond +instinct was the professional vagabond Blanquette de Veau. + +Sometimes, instead of sleeping, Paragot would talk to us from the +curious store of his learning, always bent on my education and desirous +too of improving the mind of Blanquette. Sometimes it was Blanquette who +slept, Narcisse huddled up against her, while Paragot and I read our +tattered books, or sketched, or discussed the theme which I had written +overnight as my evening task. It was an odd school; but though I could +not have passed any examination held by the sons of men, I verily +believe I had a wider culture, in the truest sense of the word, than +most youths of my age. I craved it, it is true, and I drank from an +inexhaustible source; but few men have the power of directing that +source so as to supply the soul's need of a boy of sixteen. + +Well, well--I suppose Allah Paragot is great and Mahomet Asticot is his +prophet. + + * * * * * + +We wandered and fiddled and zithered and tambourined through France +till the chills and rains of autumn rendered our vagabondage less merry. +The end of October found us fulfilling a week's engagement at a +brasserie on the outskirts of Tours. Two rooms over a stable and a +manger in an empty stall below were assigned to us; and every night we +crept to our resting places wearied to death by the evening's work. + +I have always found performance on a musical instrument exhausting in +itself: the tambourine, for instance, calls for considerable physical +energy; but when the instrument, tambourine, violin or zither, is +practised for several hours in a little stuffy room filled with three or +four dozen obviously unwashed humans, reeking with bad tobacco and worse +absinthe, and pervaded by the ghosts of inferior meals, it becomes more +penitential than the treadmill. A dog's life, said Paragot. Whereat +Narcisse sniffed. It was not at all the life for a philosopher's dog, +said he. + +On the morning of the last day of our engagement, Blanquette entered +Paragot's bedchamber as usual, with the bowls of coffee and hunks of +coarse bread that formed our early meal. I had risen from my manger and +crept into Paragot's room for warmth, and while he slept I sat on the +floor by the window reading a book. As for Blanquette she had dressed +and eaten long before and had helped the servant of the café to sweep +and wash the tables and make the coffee for the household. It was not in +her peasant's nature to be abed, which, now I come to think of it, must +be a characteristic of the artistic temperament. Paragot loved it. He +only woke when Blanquette brought him his coffee. Ordinarily he would +remonstrate with picturesque oaths at being aroused from his slumbers, +and having taken the coffee from her hands, would dismiss her with a +laugh. He observed the most rigid propriety in his relations with +Blanquette. But this morning he directed her to remain. + +"Sit down, my child; I have to speak to you." + +As there was no chair or stool in the uncomfortable room--it had lean-to +walls and bare dirty boards and contained only the bed and a table--she +sat obediently at the foot of the bed next to Narcisse and folded her +hands in her lap. Paragot broke his bread into his coffee and fed +himself with the sops by means of a battered table-spoon. When he had +swallowed two or three mouthfuls he addressed her. + +"My good Blanquette, I have been wandering through the world for many +years in search of the springs of Life. I do not find them by scraping +catgut in the Café Brasserie Dubois." + +"It would be better to go to Orléans," said Blanquette. "We were at the +Café de la Couronne there last winter and I danced." + +"Not even your dancing at Orléans would help me in my quest," said he. + +"I don't understand," murmured Blanquette looking at him helplessly. + +"Have the kindness," said he, pointing to the table, "to smash that +confounded violin into a thousand pieces." + +"_Mon Dieu!_ What is the matter?" cried Blanquette. + +"It does not please me." + +"I know it is not a good one," said Blanquette. "We will save money +until we can buy a better." + +"I would execrate it were it a Stradivarius," said he, his mouth full of +sop. "Asticot," he called, "don't you loathe your tambourine?" + +"Yes, Master," I replied from the floor. + +"Do you love playing the zither?" + +"But no, Maître," said Blanquette. + +"Why then," said my master, "should we pursue a career which is equally +abominable to the three of us? We are not slaves, _nom d'un chien_!" + +"We must work," said Blanquette, "or what would become of us?" + +Paragot finished his coffee and bread and handed the bowl to Blanquette +who nursed it in her lap, while he settled himself snugly beneath the +bedclothes. The autumn rain beat against the dirty little window and the +wind howled through chinks and crevices, filling the room with cold damp +air. I drew the old blanket which I had brought from my manger-bed +closer round my shoulders. Blanquette with her peasant's indifference to +change of temperature sat unconcerned in her thin cotton dress. + +"But what will become of us?" she repeated. + +"I shall continue to exist," said he. + +"But I, what shall I do?" + +"You can fill my porcelain pipe, and let me think," replied Paragot. + +She rose in her calm obedient way and, having carried out his orders, +reseated herself at the foot of the bed. + +"You are the most patient creature alive," said he, "otherwise you would +not be contented to go on playing the zither, which is not a very +exhilarating instrument, my little Blanquette. I am not patient, and I +am not going to play the violin again for a million years after tonight, +and the violin is superior to the zither." + +Blanquette regarded him uncomprehending. + +"If I were a king I would live in a palace and you should be my +housekeeper. But as I am a ragged vagabond too idle to work, I am +puzzled as to the disposal of you." + +She grew very white and rose to her feet. + +"I understand. You are driving me away. If it is your desire I will earn +my living alone. _Je ne vous serai pas sur le dos._" + +For all her vulgar asseveration that she would not be on his back, her +manner held a dignity which touched him. He held out his hand. + +"But I don't drive you away, little idiot," he laughed. "On the +contrary. You are like Asticot and Narcisse. You belong to me. But +Asticot is going to learn how to become an artist, and Narcisse when he +is bored can hunt for fleas. You are a young woman; things must arrange +themselves differently. But how? _Voilà tout!_" + +"It is very simple," said Blanquette. + +"How, simple?" + +"_Dame!_ I can work for you and Asticot." + +"The devil!" cried Paragot. + +"But yes," she went on earnestly. "I know that men are men, and +sometimes they do not like to work. It happens very often. _Tiens! mon +maître_, I am alone, all that is most alone. You are the only friends I +have in the world, you and Asticot. You have been kinder to me than any +one I have ever met. I put you in my prayers every night. It is a very +little thing that I should work for you, if it fatigues you to scrape +the fiddle in these holes of cabarets. It is true. True as the _bon +Dieu_. I would tear myself into four pieces for you. _Je suis brave +fille_, and I can work. But no!" she cried, looking deep into his eyes. +"You can't refuse. It is not possible." + +"Yes, I refuse," said Paragot. + +He had turned on his side, face on palm, elbow on pillow, had regarded +her sternly as she spoke. I saw that he was very angry. + +"For what do you take me, little imbecile? Do you know that you insult +me? I to be supported by a woman? _Nom de Dieu de Dieu!_" + +His ire blazed up suddenly. He cursed, scolded, boasted all in a breath. +Blanquette looked at him terrified. She could not understand. Great +tears rolled down her cheeks. + +"But I have made you angry," she wailed. + +The scornful spurning of her devotion hurt her less than the sense of +having caused his wrath. The primitive savage feminine is not +complicated by over-subtlety of feeling. As soon as she could speak she +broke into repentant protestation. She had not meant to anger him. She +had spoken from her heart. She was so ignorant. She would tear herself +into four pieces for him. She was _brave fille_. She was alone and he +was her only friend. He must forgive her. + +I, feeling monstrously tearful, jumped to my feet. + +"Yes, Master, forgive her." + +He burst out laughing. "Oh what three beautiful fools we are! Blanquette +to think of supporting two hulking men, I to be angry, and Asticot to +plead tragically as if I were a tyrant about to cut off her head. My +little Blanquette, you have touched my heart, and who touches the heart +of Paragot can eat Paragot's legs and liver if he is hungry and drink +his blood if he is thirsty. I will remember it all my life, and if you +will bring me my déjeuner I will stay in bed till this afternoon." + +"Then I am not to leave you?" she asked, somewhat bewildered. + +"Good heavens no!" he cried. "Because I am sick of fiddling do you +suppose I am going to send you adrift? We shall settle down for the +winter. Some capital. Which one would you like, Asticot?" + +"Buda-Pesth," said I at random. + +"Very well," said Paragot, "the day after tomorrow we start for +Buda-Pesth. Now let me go to sleep." + +We took exactly two months getting to Buda-Pesth. The only incident of +our journey which I clearly remember is a week's sojourn at the farm of +La Haye near Chartres where we had carted manure, and where we renewed +our acquaintance with Monsieur and Madame Dubosc. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +IN Buda-Pesth three things happened. + +First, Paragot slipped in the street and broke his ankle bone, so that +he lay seven weeks in hospital, during which time Blanquette and I and +Narcisse lived like sparrows on the housetops, dazed by the +incomprehensibilities of the strange city. + +Secondly, Paragot's aunt, his mother's sister, died intestate leaving a +small sum of money which he inherited as her nearest surviving relative. + +Thirdly, Paragot fell into the arms of Theodor Izelin the painter, an +old friend of Paris student days. + +The consequences of the first accident, though not immediate, were +lasting. Paragot walked for ever afterwards with a slight limp, and his +tramps along the high-roads of Europe had to be abandoned. + +The consequence of the second was that Paragot went to London. Some +legal formality, the establishment of identity or what not, necessitated +his presence. I daresay he could have arranged matters through consuls +and lawyers and such-like folk, but Paragot who was childishly simple in +business matters obeyed the summons to London without question. + +As a consequence of the third I became an inmate of the house of Theodor +Izelin. + +It was all very bewildering. + +It was arranged that during Paragot's absence in England I should board +with Izelin, Blanquette with Izelin's elderly model, a lady of +unimpeachable respectability and a rough and ready acquaintance with the +French language, and that Narcisse should alternate between the two +establishments. Paragot's business concluded, he would return to +Buda-Pesth, collect us and go whither the wind might drift him. I was +provided with a respectable outfit and with detailed instructions as to +correct behaviour in a lady's house. Theodor Izelin's wife was a +charming woman. + +Everything was arranged; but who could reckon on Paragot? + +On the night before his departure--indeed it must have been two or three +in the morning--Paragot burst into my little attic bedroom, candle in +hand, and before I had time to rub my startled eyes, sat down on the bed +and began to speak. + +"My son," said he, "I have had an inspiration!" + +Who but Paragot would have awakened a boy at two or three in the morning +to announce an inspiration? And who but Paragot would alter the course +of human lives on the flash of an impulse? + +"It came," he cried, "while I was supping with Izelin. I told him. I +worked it all out. He agreed. So it is settled." + +"What, Master?" I asked, sitting up. His slouch felt hat and his swarthy +bearded face, his glittering eyes and the candle on his knees gave him +the air of an excited Guy Fawkes. + +"Your career, my son. The money I am going to collect in London shall be +devoted to your education. You shall learn to paint, infant Raphael and +Izelin shall teach you. And you shall learn the manners of a gentleman, +and Madame Izelin shall teach you. And you shall learn what it is to +have a heart, and if you care a hang for Paragot two years' separation +shall teach you." + +"Two years!" I cried aghast. "But master I can't live two years here +without you!" + +"We find we can live without a devil of a lot of things when we have to, +my son. When I smashed my furniture with the crusader's mace I thought I +could not live anywhere without--something. But here I am as alive as a +dragon-fly." + +He went on talking. It was for my good. His broken ankle bone had +compelled him to resign his peripatetic tutorship in the University of +the Universe. In a narrower Academy he would be but a poor instructor. +If he had taught me to speak the truth and despise lies and shams, and +to love pictures and music and cathedrals and books and trees and all +beautiful things, _nom de Dieu!_ he had accomplished his mission. It was +time for other influences. When an inspiration such as tonight's came to +him he took it as a command from a Higher Power (I am convinced that he +believed it), against which he was powerless. + +"Providence ordains that you stay here with the Izelins. Afterwards you +shall go to Janot's studio in Paris. In the meantime you can attend +classes in the humanities at Buda-Pesth." + +"I can't understand the beastly language!" I grumbled. + +"You will learn it, my son." + +"No one ever speaks it out of Hungary," I contended. + +"My son," said he, "the value of a man is often measured by his useless +and fantastic attainments." + +Then the candle end sputtered out and we were in darkness. Paragot bade +me good night, and left me to a mingled sense of burned candle grease +and desolation. + +He departed the next day. Blanquette and I with a dejected Narcisse at +our heels, walked back from the railway station to the hotel, where +losing all sense of manly dignity I broke down crying and Blanquette put +her arm round my neck and comforted me motherwise. + +Two months afterwards Paragot wrote to Blanquette to join him in Paris, +and when the flutter of her wet handkerchief from the railway carriage +window became no longer visible, then indeed I felt myself to be a +stranger in a strange land. + + * * * * * + +Two years! I can remember even now their endless heartache. The Izelins +were kind; Madame Izelin, a refined Hungarian lady, became my staunch +friend as well as my instructress in manners; my life teemed with +interests, and I worked like a little maniac; but all the time I longed +for Paragot. Had it not been for his letters I should have scented my +way back to him like a dog, across Europe. Ah those letters of +Paragot--I have them still--what a treasury they are of grotesque +fantasy and philosophic wisdom! They gave me but little news of his +doings. He had settled down in Paris with Blanquette as his housekeeper. +His floridly anathematised ankle kept him hobbling about the streets +while his heart was chasing butterflies over the fields. He had founded +a coenaculum for the cultivation of the Higher Conversation at the Café +Delphine. He had taken up Persian and was saturating himself with Hafiz +and Firdusi. His health was good. Indeed he was a man of iron +constitution. + +Blanquette now and then supplemented these meagre details of objective +life. The master had taken a _bel appartement_. There were curtains to +his bed. Food was dear in Paris. They had been to Fontainebleau. +Narcisse had stolen the sausages of the concierge. The Master was always +talking of me and of the great future for which I was destined. But when +I became famous I was not to forget my little Blanquette. I see the +sprawling mis-spelt words now: "_Il ne fot jamés oublié ta petite +Blanquette_." + +As if I could ever forget her! + +I arrived in Paris one evening a day or two earlier than I was expected. +It had been ordained by Paragot that I should break my journey at +Berlin, in order to visit that capital, but affection tugged at my +heart-strings and compelled me to travel straight through from +Buda-Pesth. It was Paragot and Blanquette and Narcisse that I wanted to +see and not Berlin. + +Yet when I stepped out of the train on to the Paris platform, I was +conscious for the first time of development. I was decently attired. I +had a bag filled with the garments of respectability. I had money in my +pocket, also a packet of cigarettes. A porter took my luggage and +enquired in the third person whether Monsieur desired a cab. The +temptation was too great for eighteen. I took the cab in a lordly way +and drove to No. 11 Rue des Saladiers where Paragot had his "bel +appartement." And with the anticipatory throb of joy at beholding my +beloved Master was mingled a thrill of vain-glorious happiness. Asticot +in a cab! It was absurd, and yet it seemed to fall within the divine +fitness of things. + +The cab stopped in a narrow street. I had an impression of tall houses +looking fantastically dilapidated in the dim gas-light, of little shops +on the ground floor, and of little murky gateways leading to the +habitations above. Beside the gateway of No. 11 was a small workman's +drinking shop, sometimes called in Paris a _zinc_ on account of the +polished zinc bar which is its principal feature. Untidy, slouching +people filled the street. + +Directed by the concierge to the _cinquième à gauche_, I mounted narrow, +evil smelling, badly lighted stairs, and rang at the designated door. It +opened; Blanquette appeared with a lamp in her hand. + +"_Monsieur désire?_" + +"_Mais c'est moi, Blanquette._" + +In another minute she had ushered me in, set down the lamp and was +hugging me in her strong young arms. + +"But my little Asticot, I did not know you. You have changed. You are no +longer the same. _Tu es tout à fait monsieur!_ How proud the Master will +be." + +"Where is he?" + +Alas, the Master did not expect me to-day and was at the Café Delphine. +She would go straightway and tell him. I must be tired and hungry. She +would get me something to eat. But who would have thought I should have +come back a _monsieur_! How I had grown! I must see the _appartement_. +This was the salon. + +I looked around me for the first time. Nothing in it save the +rickettiness of a faded rep suite arranged primly around the walls, and +a few bookshelves stuffed with tattered volumes suggested Paragot. The +round centre table, covered with American cloth, and the polished floor +were spotless. Cheap print curtains adorned the windows and a cage +containing a canary hung between them. Three or four oleographs--one a +portrait of Garibaldi--in gilt frames formed the artistic decoration. + +"It was I who chose the pictures," said Blanquette proudly. + +She opened a door and disclosed the sleeping chamber of the Master, very +bare, but very clean. Another door led into the kitchen--a slip of a +place but glistening like the machine room of a man-of-war. + +"I have a bedroom upstairs, and there is one also for you which the +Master has taken. Come and I will show you." + +We mounted to the attics and I was duly installed. + +"I would have put some flowers if I had known you were coming," said +Blanquette. + +We went down again and she prepared food for me, her plain face beaming +as she talked. She was entirely happy. No one so perfect as the Master +had ever been the head of a household. Of course he was untidy. But such +was the nature of men. If he did not make stains on the floor with muddy +boots and lumps of meat thrown to Narcisse, and litter the rooms with +clothes and tobacco and books, what occupation would there be for a +housekeeper? As it was she worked from morning to night. And the result; +was it not neat and clean and beautiful? Ah! she was happy not to be +playing the zither in _brasseries_. All her dreams were realised. She +had a _ménage_. And she had the Master to serve. Now would she fetch him +from the Café Delphine. + + * * * * * + +Half an hour afterwards he strode into the room, followed by Blanquette +and Narcisse. He spoke in French and embraced me French fashion. Then he +cried out in English and wrung me by the hand. He was almost as excited +as Narcisse who leaped and barked frantically. + +"It is good to have him back, eh Blanquette?" + +"_Oui, Maître._ He does not know how sad it has been without him." + +Blanquette smiled, wept and removed the remains of my supper. Then she +set on the table glasses and a bottle of _tisane_ they had bought on the +way home. We drank the sour sweet champagne as if it were liquid gold +and clinked glasses, and with Narcisse all talked and barked together. +It was a glad home-coming. + +Paragot had changed very little. The hair on his temple was beginning to +turn grey and his sallow cheeks were thinner. But he was the same hairy +unkempt creature of prodigious finger nails and disreputable garments, +still full of strange oaths and picturesque fancy, and still smoking his +pipe with the porcelain bowl. + +Presently Blanquette retired to bed and Paragot and I talked far into +the night. Before we separated, with a comprehensive wave of the hand he +indicated the primly set furniture and polished floor. + +"Did you ever behold such exquisite discomfort?" + +Poor Blanquette! + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +HOW far away it all seems; Paris; the Rue des Saladiers: the _atelier_ +Janot where the illustrious painter called us his children and handed us +the sacred torch of his art for us to transmit, could we but keep it +aflame, to succeeding generations; the Café Delphine, with Madame Boin, +fat, pink, urbane, her hair a miracle of perrukery, enthroned behind the +counter; my dear Master, Paragot, himself! How far away! It is not good +to live to a hundred and fifty. The backward vista down the years is too +frighteningly long. + +I found Paragot established as the Dictator of the Café Delphine. No one +seemed to question his position. He ruled there autocratically, having +instituted sundry ordinances disobedience to which had exile as its +penalty. The most generous of creatures, he had nevertheless ordained +that as Dictator he should go scot-free. To have declined to pay for his +absinthe or _choucroute_ would have closed the Café Delphine in a +student's face. He had a prescriptive right to the table under the lee +of Madame Boin's counter, and the peg behind him was sacred to his green +hat. To the students he was a mystery. No one knew where he lived, how +he subsisted, what he had been. Various rumours filled the _Quartier_. +According to one he was a Russian Nihilist escaped from Siberia. +Another, and one nearer the mark, credited him with being a kind of Rip +van Winkle revisiting old student scenes after a twenty years' slumber. +He seemed to pass his life between the Luxembourg Gardens, the Pont +Neuf and the Café Delphine. "Paris," he used to say, "it is the Boul' +Mich'!" Although he would turn to the absolute stranger who had been +brought as a privilege to his table and say, using the familiar second +person singular, "Buy me an evening paper," or addressing the company at +large, "Somebody is going to offer me an absinthe," and promptly order +it, he was never known to borrow money. + +This eccentricity vexed the soul of the _Quartier_, where the chief use +of money is to be borrowed. To me the idea of Paragot asking needy +youngsters for the loan of five francs was exquisitely ludicrous; I am +only setting down the impression of the _Quartier_ regarding him. Not +only did he never borrow but sometimes gave whole francs in charity. One +evening an unseemly quarrel having arisen between two law-students from +Auvergne (the Boeotia of France) and the waiter as to an alleged +overcharge of two sous, Paragot arose in wrath, and dashing a louis on +the table with a "_Hercule paie-toi_," stalked majestically out of the +Café. A deputation waited on him next day with the object of refunding +the twenty francs. He refused (naturally) to take a penny. It would be a +lesson to them, said he, and they meekly accepted the rebuke. + +"But what did you study here, before you went to sleep?" an impudent +believer in the Rip van Winkle theory once asked him. + +"The lost arts of discretion and good manners, _mon petit_," retorted +Paragot, with a flash of his blue eyes which scorched the offender. + +The students paid his score willingly, for in his talk they had full +value for their money. I found the Café Delphine a Lotus Club, with a +difference. Instead of being the scullion I was a member, and took my +seat with the rest, and, though none suspected it, paid for Paragot's +drinks with Paragot's money. Our real relations were never divulged. It +would affect both our positions, said he. To explain our friendship, it +was only necessary to say that we had met at Buda-Pesth where I had been +sent to study with the famous Izelin, who was a friend of Paragot's. + +"My son," said he, "the fact of your being an Englishman who has studied +in Buda-Pesth and speaks French like a Frenchman will entitle you to +respect in the _Quartier_. Your previous acquaintance with me, on which +you need not insist too much, will bring you distinction." + +And so it turned out. I felt that around me also hung a little air of +mystery, which was by no means unprofitable or unpleasant. To avoid +complications, however, and also in order that I should have the freedom +befitting my man's estate and my true education in the _Quartier_, +Paragot threw me out of the nest in the Rue des Saladiers, and assigning +to me a fixed allowance bade me seek my own shelter and make my way in +the world. + +I made it as best I could, and the months went on. + + * * * * * + +Why I should have been dreaming outside the Hôtel Bristol that +afternoon, I cannot remember. If to Paragot Paris was the Boulevard +Saint-Michel, to me it spread itself a vaster fairyland through which I +loved to wander, and before whose magnificences I loved to dream. Why +not dream therefore in the Place Vendôme? Surely my aspirations in those +days soared as high as the Column, and surely the student's garb +(beloved and ordained by Paragot)--the mushroom-shaped cap, the tight +ankled, tight throated velveteens--rendered any eccentricity a +commonplace. Early Spring too was in the air, which encourages the young +visionary. Spruce young men and tripping _modistes_ with bandboxes under +their arms and the sun glinting over their trim bare heads hurried along +through the traffic across the Place and landed on the pavement by my +side. I must own to have been not unaffected by the tripping milliners. +Why should they not weave themselves too into a painter lad's spring +visions? + +Suddenly a lady--of so radiant a loveliness as to send _modistes_ +packing from my head--emerged from the Hôtel Bristol and crossed the +broad pavement to a waiting victoria. She had eyes like the blue of +glaciers and the tenderest mouth in the world. She glanced at me. A +floppy picturesque Paris student, lounging springlike in the Place +Vendôme, is worth a fair lady's glance of curiosity. I raised my cap. +She glanced at me again, haughtily; then again, puzzled; then stopped. + +"If I don't know you, you are a very ill-bred young man to have saluted +me," she said in French. "But I think I have seen you before." + +"If I had not met you before I should not have bowed. You are the +Comtesse de Verneuil," said I in English, very boyishly and eagerly. The +spring and the sight of Joanna had sent the blood into my pasty cheeks. + +"I once played the tambourine at Aix," I added. + +She grew suddenly pale, put her hand to her heart and clutched at a +bunch of Parma violets she was wearing. They fell to the ground. + +"No, no, it is nothing," she said, as I stepped forward. "Only a slight +shock. I remember you perfectly. You said your name was Asticot. I +asked you to come and see me. Why haven't you?" + +"You said I might come if I were in want. But thanks to my dear Master I +am not." I picked up the violets. + +"Your master?" She looked relieved, and thanked me with a smile for the +flowers. "He is well? He is with you in Paris? Is he still playing the +violin?" + +"He is well," said I. "He is in Paris, but he only plays the violin at +home when, as he says, he wants to have a conversation with his soul." + +The frost melted from her eyes and they smiled at me. + +"You have caught his trick of talking." + +"You once called me an amazing parrot, Madame," said I. "It is quite +true." + +"In the meantime," said she, "we can't stand in the Place Vendôme for +ever. Come for a drive and we can talk in the carriage." + +"In the----" I gasped stupefied, pointing to the victoria. + +"Why not?" she laughed. "Do you think it's dangerous?" + +"No," said I, "but----" + +But she was already in the carriage; and as I stepped in beside her I +noted the tips of her little feet so adored by Paragot. + +"I'm glad you're English," she remarked, arranging the rug. "A young +Frenchman would have replied with the obvious gallantry. I think the +young Englishman rather despises that kind of obviousness." + +The coachman turned on his seat and asked whither he should drive Madame +la Comtesse. + +"Anywhere. I don't know"--then desperately, "Drive to the +fortifications. Where the fortifications are I haven't the remotest +idea. I believe they are a kind of pleasure resort for people who want +to get murdered. You hear of them in the papers. We'll cross the river," +she said to the coachman. + +We started, drove down the Rue Castiglione, along the Rue de Rivoli, +struck off by the Louvre and over the Pont Neuf. Standing in +conversation with Joanna, I had the gutter urchin's confidence of the +pavement, the impudence of the street. Seated beside Madame la Comtesse +de Verneuil in an elegant victoria I was as dumb as a fish, until her +graciousness set me more at my ease. As we passed through the _Quartier_ +I trembled lest any of my fellow students should see me. "_Asticot avec +une femme du monde chic! Il court les bonnes fortunes ce sacré petit +diable. Ou l'as-tu pêchée?_" I shivered at their imagined ribaldries. +And all the time I was athrill with pride and joy--suffused therewith +into imbecility. Verily I must be a _monsieur_ to drive with Countesses! +And verily it must be fairyland for Asticot to be driving in Joanna's +carriage. + +"That is Henri Quatre," said she pointing to the statue as we crossed +the bridge. + +"It was the first thing my Master brought me to see in Paris--years +ago," I said, with the very young's curious mis-realisation of time. "He +is very fond of Henri Quatre." + +"Why?" she asked. + +I told her vaguely the story of the crusader's mace. She listened with a +somewhat startled interest. + +"I believe your Master is mad," she remarked. "Indeed," she added after +a pause, "I believe everyone is mad. I'm mad. You're mad." + +"Oh, I am not," I cried warmly. + +"You must be to set up a human god and worship him as you do your +Master. You are the maddest of all of us, Mr. Asticot." + +A touch of light scorn in her tone nettled me. Even Joanna should not +speak of him irreverently. + +"If he had bought you from your mother for half-a-crown," said I, "and +made you into a student at Janot's, you would worship him too, Madame." + +"I have been wondering whether you kept your promise to me," she said--I +wish women were not so disconcertingly irrelevant--"but now I am quite +sure." + +"Of course I didn't tell my master," I declared stoutly. + +"Good. And this little drive must be a secret too." + +"If you wish," I said. "But I don't like to have secrets from him." + +"Give me his address," she said after a pause, and I noticed she spoke +with some effort. "Does he still go by that absurd name? What was it?" + +"His name is Berzélius Paragot, and he lives at No. 11 Rue des +Saladiers." + +"Do you know his real name?" + +"Yes, Madame," said I. "It is Gaston de Nérac. I only learned it lately +through Monsieur Izelin." + +"Do you know Izelin, too?" she asked. + +I explained my stay in Buda-Pesth. I also mentioned Monsieur Izelin's +reticence in speaking of Paragot's early days. + +I think he was cautioned by my Master. + +"And who do you think I am?" The sudden question startled me. + +"You," said I, "are Joanna." + +"Indeed? How long have you known that, pray?" + +"When I came to you with the tambourine at Aix-les-Bains." + +"I don't understand," she said, the frozen blue coming into her eyes. +"Did he tell you then--a child like you?" + +"He has never mentioned your name to me, Madame," I said eagerly, for I +saw her resentment. + +"Then how did you know?" + +I recounted the history of the old stocking. I also mentioned Paragot's +appeal to me as a scholar and a gentleman. + +A wan smile played about her lips. + +"Was that soon after he bought you for half-a-crown?" + +"Yes, Madame," said I. + +"And an old stocking?" + +"Yes, Madame. And since then we have never spoken of the papers." + +"But how did you know I was the--the Joanna of the papers?" + +"I guessed," said I. I could not tell her of the _petits pieds si +adorés_. + +"You are an odd boy," she said. "Tell me all about yourself." + +Unversed in woman's wiles I flushed with pleasure at her flattering +interest. I did not perceive that it was an invitation to tell her all +about Paragot. I related, however, artlessly the story of my life from +the morning when I delivered my tattered copy of "Paradise Lost" to +Paragot instead of the greasy washing book: and if my narrative glowed +rosier with poetic illusion than the pages on which it has been set +down, pray forgive nineteen for seeing things in a different light and +perspective from a hundred and fifty. In my description of the Lotus +Club, for instance, I felt instinctively that Madame de Verneuil would +wince at the sound of tripe; I conveyed to her my own childish +impression of the magnificence of Paragot's bedchamber, and the story of +our wanderings became an Idyll of No Man's Land. + +"And what is he doing now?" We had grown so confidential that we +exchanged smiles. + +"He is cultivating philosophy," said I. + +Perhaps it was a sign of my development that I could detect a little +spot of clay in my idol. + +We had gone south, past the Observatoire to Montrouge, and had turned +back before I realised that we were in the Boulevard Saint-Michel again +near the prearranged end of my drive. + +"Do you know why I am so glad to have met you to-day?" she asked. "I +think--indeed I know I can trust you. I am in great trouble and I have +an idea that your Master can help me." + +She looked at me so earnestly, so wistfully, her face seemed to grow of +a sudden so young and helpless, that all my boy's fantastic chivalry was +roused. + +"My Master would lay down his life for you, Madame," I cried. "And so +would I." + +"Even if I never, never, in this world forgave him?" + +"You would forgive him in the next, Madame," I answered, scarce knowing +what I said, "and he would be contented." + +The carriage stopped at the appointed place. I felt as if I were about +to descend from the side of an Olympian goddess to sordid humanity, to +step from the Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon on to the common +earth. It was I who looked wistful. + +"May I come to see you, Madame?" + +The quick fear came into her eyes. + +"Not as yet, Mr. Asticot," she said holding out her hand. "My husband is +queer tempered at times. I will write to you." + +The carriage drove off. For the second time she had left me with her +husband on her lips. I had forgotten him completely. I stamped my foot +on the pavement. + +"He is a scaly vulture," said I, echoing Paragot. Gods! How I hated the +poor man. + + * * * * * + +One evening, about a week after this, some seven or eight of us were +gathered around Paragot's table at the Café Delphine. Two were +_rapins_--we have no word for the embryo painter--my companions in +Janot's _atelier_. Of the rest I only remember one--poor Cazalet. He +wore a self-tailored grotesque attire, a brown stuff tunic girt at the +waist by a leathern belt, shapeless trousers of the same material, and +sandals. He had long yellow hair and untrimmed chicken fluff grew +casually about his face. A sombre genius, he used to paint dark writhing +horrors of souls in pain, and in his hours of relaxation to drink litres +of anisette. At first he disliked and scoffed at me because I was an +Englishman, which grieved me sorely, for I regarded him as the greatest +genius, save Paragot, of my acquaintance. I found him ten years +afterwards a _sous-chef de gare_ on the Belgian frontier. + +It was about half past eleven. Our table gleamed a motley wilderness of +glasses and saucers. Only two other tables were occupied: at the one two +men and a woman played _manille_, on the other a pair of players rattled +dominoes, Madame Boin, sunk into her rolls of fat, drowsed on her throne +behind the counter. Hercule stood by, his dirty napkin tucked under his +arm, listening to Paragot's discourse. Through the glass side of the +café one could see the moving, flaring lights of the Boulevard +Saint-Michel. Paragot sipped absinthe and smoked his eternal pipe with +the porcelain bowl, and talked. + +"The _Quartier Latin_! Do you call this bourgeois-stricken aceldama the +_Quartier Latin_? Do you miserable little white mice in clean shirts +call this the _Vie de Bohème_? Is there a devil of a fellow among you, +save Cazalet whose chilblains make him indecent, who doesn't wear socks? +Haven't you all dress suits? Aren't you all suffocating with virtue? +Would any Marcel of you lie naked in bed for two days so that Rodolfe +could pawn your clothes for the wherewithal to nurse Mimi in sickness? +Is there a Mimi in the whole etiolated _Quartier_?" + +"But yes, _mon vieux_," said my friend Bringard who prided himself on +his intimacy with life. "There are even a great many." + +Paragot swept his skinny fingers in a circular gesture. + +"Where are they? Here? You see not. It is a stunted generation, my +gentle little lambs. Why _sacré nom de Saint-Antoine_!" he cried, with +one of his apposite oaths, "the very pigs in the good days could teach +you lessons in the romantic. Vices you have--but the noble passions? No! +Did you ever hear of the Café du Cochon Fidèle? Of course not. What do +you know? It was situated in the Rue des Cordiers. Mimi la Blonde was +the _demoiselle du comptoir_. Ah _bigre_! There are no such _demoiselles +du comptoir_ now. Exquisite. Ah!" He blew a kiss from the tips of his +long nails. + +"You are very impolite, Monsieur Paragot," cried Madame Boin from her +throne. + +"Listen, Madame," said he, "to the story of the pig and you shall judge. +The whole quartier was mad for Mimi, including a pig. Yes, a great fat +clean pig with sentimental eyes. He belonged to the _charcutier_ +opposite. I am telling you the authentic history of the _Quartier_. +Every day the devoted animal would stand at the door and gaze at Mimi +with adoration--ah! but such an adoration, my children, an adoration, +respectful, passionate, without hope. Only now and then his poor +sensitive snout quivered his despair. Sometimes happier rivals, with two +legs, _mais pour ça pas moins cochons que lui_, admitted him into the +café. He would sit before the counter, his little tail well arranged +behind him, his ears cocked up politely, his eyes full of tears--he wept +like a cow this poor Népomucène--they called him Népomucène--and when +Mimi looked at him he would utter little cries of the heart like a +strangulated troubadour. Ah, it was hopeless this passion; but for one +long year he never wavered. The _Quartier_ respected him. Of him it was +said: "Love is given to us as a measure to gauge our power of +suffering." Suddenly Mimi disappeared. She married a certain Godiveau, a +charcoal merchant in the vicinity. Népomucène stood all day by the door +with haggard eyes. Then knowing she would return no more, he walked with +a determined air to the roadway of the Boul' Mich' and cast himself +beneath the wheels of an omnibus. He committed suicide." + +Paragot stopped abruptly and finished his absinthe. There was vociferous +applause. I have never met anyone with his gift of magical narration. +Hercule was summoned amid a confused hubbub and received orders for +eight or nine different kinds of drink. We were fantastic in our +potations in those days. + +"Ah!" said Paragot, excited as usual by his success, "_ou sont les +neiges d'antan_? Where is the good Père Cordier of the Café Cordier? He +would play billiards with his nose, and a little pug nose at that, my +children. When it grew greasy he would chalk it deliberately. Once he +made a break of two hundred and forty-five. A champion! The Café Cordier +itself? Swept long ago into the limbo of dear immemorable dissolute +things. Then there was the Café du Bas-Rhin on the Boul' Mich' where +Marie la Démocrate drank fifty-five bocks in an evening against Hélène +la Sévère who drank fifty-three. Where are such women now, O generation +of slow worms? Where is----" + +He stopped. His jaw dropped. "My God!" he exclaimed in English, rising +from his chair. We followed his gaze. Astounded, I too sprang up. + +It was the Comtesse de Verneuil standing in the doorway and looking in +her frightened way into the café: Joanna in dark fitting toque and loose +jacket beneath which one saw a gleaming high evening dress. I noted +swiftly that she had violets in her toque. Her beauty, her rare +daintiness compelled a stupefied silence. I sped towards the door and +went with her into the street. A closed carriage stood by the kerb. + +She took me by the front of my loose jacket and twisted it nervously. + +"Get him out, Mr. Asticot. Tell him I must see him." + +"But how did you come here?" I asked. + +"I went first to the Rue des Saladiers. The servant told me I should +find him at the Café Delphine." + +I left her outside, and re-entering, met him in the middle of the Café, +grasping his green hat in one hand and the pipe with the porcelain bowl +in the other. All eyes were turned anxiously towards us. + +"She has come for you, Master," I whispered. "She needs you. Come." + +"What does she want with me? It was all over and done with thirteen +years ago." His voice shook. + +"She is waiting," said I. + +I drew him to the door and he obeyed me with strange docility. He drew a +deep breath as soon as we emerged on to the wind-swept pavement. + +"Gaston." + +"Yes," said he. + +They remained looking at each other for several seconds, agitated, +neither able to speak. + +"You were very cruel to me long ago," she said at last. + +My Master remained silent; the wooden stem of the pipe snapped between +his fingers and the porcelain bowl fell with a crash to the pavement. + +"Very cruel, Gaston. But you can make a little reparation now, if you +like." + +"I repair my cruelty to you?" He laughed as men laugh in great pain. +"Very well. It will be a fitting end to a topsy-turvy farce. What can I +do for Madame la Comtesse?" + +"My husband is ill. Come to him. My carriage is here. Oh, put on your +hat and don't stand there French fashion, bareheaded. We are English." + +"We are what you will," said my Master putting on his hat. "At present +however I am mystified by your lighting on me in the dustbin of Paris. +You must have done much sifting." + +"I will tell you as we drive," she said. + +I walked with them across the pavement and opened the carriage door. + +"Goodnight, Mr. Asticot," said Madame la Comtesse holding out her hand. + +Paragot looked from me to her, shrugged his shoulders and followed her +into the carriage. My master had many English attributes, but in the +shrug, the pantomime of Kismet, he was exclusively French. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"_Mais dis donc, Asticot_," said Blanquette holding a half egg-shell in +each hand while the yolk and white fell into the bowl, "who was the lady +that came last night and wanted to see the Master?" + +"You had better ask him," said I. + +"I have done so, but he will not tell me." + +"What did he say?" + +"He told me to ask the serpent. I don't know what he meant," said +Blanquette. + +I explained the allusion to the curiosity of Eve. + +"But," objected the literal Blanquette, "there is no serpent in the Rue +des Saladiers--unless it is you." + +"You have beaten those eggs enough," I remarked. + +"You can teach me many things, but how to make omelettes--ah no!" + +"All right," said I, "when your inordinate curiosity has spoiled the +thing, don't blame me." + +"She is very pretty," said Blanquette. + +"Pretty? She is entirely adorable." + +Blanquette sighed. "She must have a great many lovers." + +"Blanquette!" cried I scandalised, "she is married." + +"Naturally. If she weren't she could not have lovers. I wish I were only +half as beautiful." + +The lump of butter cast into the frying-pan sizzled, and Blanquette +sighed again. I must explain that I had come, as I often did, to share +Paragot's midday meal, but as he was still abed, Blanquette had enticed +me into her tiny kitchen. The omelette being for my sole consumption I +may be pardoned for my interest in its concoction. + +"So that you could be married and have lovers?" I asked in a superior +way. + +"Too many lovers make life unhappy," she replied sagely. "If I were +pretty I should only want one--one to love me for myself." + +"And for what are you loved now?" + +"For my omelettes," she said with a deft turn of the frying-pan. + +"Blanquette," said I, "_je t'adore_." + +She laughed with an "_es-tu bête!_" and ministered to my wants as I sat +down to my meal at a corner of the kitchen table. She loved this. Great +as was her pride in the speckless and orderly salon, she never felt at +her ease there. In the kitchen she was herself, at home, and could do +the honours as hostess. + +"Do you think the beautiful lady is in love with the Master?" + +"You have been reading the _feuilletons_ of the _Petit Journal_ and your +head is full of sentimental nonsense," I cried. + +"It is not nonsense for a woman to love the Master." + +"Oho!" I exclaimed teasingly, "perhaps you are in love with him too." + +She turned her back on me and began to clean a spotless casserole. + +"_Mange ton omelette_," she said. + +My meal over, I went to Paragot's room. I found him in bed, not as usual +pipe in mouth and a tattered volume in his hand, but lying on his back, +his arms crossed beneath his head, staring into the white curtains of +which Blanquette was so proud. + +"My son," said he, after he had enquired after my welfare and my lunch +and advised me as to cooling medicaments wherewith to mitigate a certain +pimplous condition of cheek, "My son, I want you to make me a promise. +Swear that if a hitch occurs in your scheme of the cosmos, you will not +break up your furniture with a crusader's mace. Such a proceeding has +infinite consequences of effraction. It disrupts your existence and ends +with the irreparable smash of your porcelain pipe." Whereupon he asked +me for a cigarette and began to smoke reflectively. + +"One ought to order one's scheme so that no hitch can occur," said I. + +"As far as I can gather from the theologians that is beyond the power +even of the Almighty," said Paragot. + +Blanquette appeared with the morning absinthe. + +"The hitch, my son, in my case was beyond mortal control," he said +looking up at the bed-curtains. "You may think that I caused it in the +first place. You heard me last night accused of cruelty. You, discreet +little image that you are, know more about things than I thought. And +yet you must wonder, now that you are nearly a man, what can be, what +can have been between this disreputable hairy scallywag who is eating +the bread of idleness and," with a sip of his absinthe, "drinking the +waters of destruction, and that fair creature of dainty life. Don't +judge anyone, my little Asticot '_Hi sumus, qui omnibus veris falsa +quædam esse dicamus, tanta similitudine, ut in iis nulla insit certe +judicandi et assentiendi nota._' That is Cicero, an author to whom I +regret I have not been able to introduce you, and it means that the +false is so mingled with the true and looks so like it, that there is no +sure mark whereby we may distinguish one from the other. It is a damned +fool of a world." + +In this chastened mood I left him. + +I learned later in the day that the appearance of the Comtesse in the +Café Delphine and the exodus of Paragot had caused no small sensation. +Cazalet had peeped through the glass door. + +"_Cré nom de nom_, she is driving him off in her own carriage!" + +He returned to the table and drank a glass of anisette to steady his +nerves. Who was the lady? Evidently Paragot was leading a double life. +Madame Boin nodded her head mysteriously as though possessed of secrets +she would not divulge. They spent the evening in profitless conjecture. +The fact remained that Paragot, the hairy disreputable scallywag, had +relations with a high born and beautiful woman. It was stupefying. +_C'était abracadabrant!_ That was the final word. When the Quartier +Latin calls a thing _abracadabrant_ there is no more to be said. + +The Café Delphine was far from being the school of discretion and good +manners that Paragot frequented in his youth, but such was his personal +influence that when he reappeared in his usual place no one dared allude +to the disconcerting incident. Paragot had recovered from the chastened +mood and was gay, Rabelaisian, and with great gestures talked of all +subjects under heaven. One of the International Exhibitions was in +prospect and many architects' offices were busy with projects for the +new buildings. A discussion on these having arisen--two of our company +were architectural students--Paragot declared that the Exhibition would +be incomplete without a Palais de Dipsomanie. Indeed it should be the +central feature. + +"_Tiens!_" he cried, "I have an inspiration! Some one give me a soft +black pencil. Hercule, clear the table." + +He caught the napkin from beneath Hercule's arm and as soon as the +glasses were removed, he dried the marble top, and holding the pencil +draughtsman's fashion, a couple of inches from the point, began to draw +with feverish haste. His long fingers worked magically. We bent over +him, holding our breath, as gradually emerged the most marvellous, +weird, riotous dream of drunken architecture the world could ever +behold. There were columns admirably indicated, upside down. The domes +looked like tops of half inflated balloons. Enormous buttresses +supporting nothing leaned incapable against the building. Bottles and +wine cups formed part of the mad construction. Satyrs' heads leered +instead of windows. The whole palace looked reeling drunk. It was a +tremendous feat of imagination and skill. The hour that he spent in +elaborating it passed like five minutes. When he had finished he threw +down his pencil. + +"_Voilà!_" + +Then he called for his drink and emptied the glass at a gulp. We all +clamoured our admiration. + +"But Paragot," cried one of the architectural students in considerable +excitement, "you are a trained architect, and a great architect! It is +the work of a genius. Garnier himself could not have done it." + +Paragot whipped up the napkin from the seat and, before we could +protest, rubbed the drawing into a black smudge. + +"I am a poet, painter, architect, musician and philosopher, _mon petit_ +Bibi," said he, "and my name is Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot." + +It was growing late and we all rose in a body--except Paragot, who made +a point of remaining after everyone had gone. He caught me by the +sleeve. + +"Stay a bit to-night, my little Asticot," said he. + +Usually he would not allow me to remain late at the Café. It was bad for +my health; and indeed I was not supposed to waste my time thus more than +two evenings a week. Paragot did not include my seeing him make a Helot +of himself as part of my education. This was the theory at the back of +his mind. In practice it had occurred at intervals since the days (or +nights) of the Lotus Club. + +Paragot ordered another drink. It was astonishing, said he, how +provocative of thirst was any diversion from the ordinary course of +life. + +"If the pig of the Café Cordier had been human," he remarked, "he would +have sat down and consumed intoxicating liquors instead of throwing +himself under the wheels of an omnibus. My son," he said with solemn +eyes, "reverence that pig. It is few of us who have his courage and +single-heartedness." + +He went on talking for some time in a semi-coherent strain, clouding +over with dim allusions the vital idea which, I verily believe, had I +been a kind woman of the world instead of a raw youth of nineteen, he +would have crystallised with flaming speech. I could only listen to him +dumbly, vaguely divinatory through my love for him and I suppose through +a certain temperamental sensitiveness, but alas! uncomprehending by +reason of my inexperience in the deeps of life. + +Presently he announced that he was ready to start. He walked somewhat +unsteadily to the door, his hand on my shoulder. + +"My little son Asticot," said he on the threshold, "I am so far on my +road to immortality that I ought to have vine-leaves in my hair; instead +of which I have wormwood in my heart. Will you kindly take me to the +Pont Neuf." + +"But dear Master," said I, "what on earth are you going to do there?" + +"I have something important to say to Henri Quatre." + +"You can say it better," I urged, "in the Rue des Saladiers." + +"To the Pont Neuf," said he brusquely, pushing me away. + +I had to humour him. We started up the Boulevard Saint-Michel. It was +drizzling with rain. + +"Master, we had better go home." + +He did not reply, but strode on. I have a catlike dislike of rain. I +bear it philosophically, but that is all. To carry on a conversation +during a persistent downpour is beyond my powers. I might as well try to +sing under water. Paragot, who ordinarily was indifferent to the +seasons' difference, and would discourse gaily in a deluge, walked on in +silence. We went along amid the umbrella-covered crowd, past the +steaming terraces of cafés, whose lights set the kiosques in a steady +glare and sent shafts of yellow from the tops of stationary cabs, and +caught the wet passing traffic in livid flashes, and illuminated faces +to an unreal significance; down the gloom-enveloped, silent quais +frowned upon by the dim and monstrous masses of architecture, guarding +the Seine like phantasmagorical bastions, none visible in outline, but +only felt looming in the rain-filled night, until we reached the statue +of Paragot's tutelary King. And the rain fell miserably. + +We were wet through. I put my hand on his dripping sleeve. + +"Master, let me see you home." + +He shook me off roughly. + +"You can go." + +"But dear Master," I implored. He put both hands behind his head and +threw out his arms in a great gesture. + +"Boy! Can't you see," cried he, "that I am in agony of soul?" + +I bent my head and went away. God knows what he said to Henri Quatre. I +suppose each of us has a pet Gethsemane of his own. + + * * * * * + +One night, a few weeks later, Blanquette appeared in my little student's +attic. Fired by the example of some of my comrades at Janot's who showed +glistening five-franc pieces as the rewards of industry, I was working +up a drawing which I fondly hoped I could sell to a comic paper. Youth +is the period of insensate ambitions. + +I put down my charcoal as Blanquette entered, bare-headed--wise girl, +she scorned hats and bonnets--and as neatly dressed as her figure daily +growing dumpier would allow. She was laughing. + +"Guess what your concierge said." + +"That it was improper for you to come to see me at this hour of the +night." + +"Improper? Bah!" cried Blanquette, for whom such conventions existed +not. "But she told me that it was _un joli petit amant_ that I had +upstairs. What an idea!" She laughed again. + +"You find that funny?" I asked, my dignity somewhat ruffled. "I suppose +I am as pretty a little lover as anyone else." + +"But you and me, Asticot, it is so droll." + +"If you put it that way," I admitted, "it is. But the concierge doesn't +think it possible that you are not my _maîtresse_. Why otherwise should +you be running in and out of my room, as if it belonged to you?" + +"You will be bringing a _maîtresse_ of your own here soon, and then you +won't want Blanquette any longer." + +I dismissed the idea as one too remote for contemplation. At the same +time I reflected that I kissed a pretty model at Janot's when we met +alone on the stairs. I wondered whether the diabolical perspicacity of +women had seen traces of the kiss on my lips. + +"I disturb you?" she asked drawing up my other wooden chair to the deal +table and sitting down. + +"Why, no. I can work while you talk." + +She put her elbow on a couple of pickled gherkins that remained casually +on the table after a perambulatory meal. + +"Oh, how dirty men are! You are worse than the Master. Oh la! la! and he +puts his boots and his dirty plates together on his bed! It is time that +you did have a _maîtresse_ to keep the place in order." + +"I believe you really do want to come here in that capacity," I said +laughingly. + +She flushed at the jest and drew herself up. "You have no right to say +that, Asticot. I would sooner be the Master's servant than the mistress +or even the wife of any man living. He is everything to me, my little +Asticot, everything, do you hear? although he loves me just as he loves +you and Narcisse. _Il ne faut pas te moquer de moi._ You must not laugh +at me. It hurts me." + +It was only then, for the first time, that I realised in Blanquette a +grown woman. Hitherto I had regarded her merely as a female waif picked +up like the dog and myself under Paragot's vagabond arm and attached to +him by ties of gratitude. Now, lo and behold! she was a woman talking of +deep things with a treacherous throb in her voice. + +I reached across the table and took one of her coarse hands. + +"_Mais tu l'aimes donc, ma pauvre Blanquette!_" I exclaimed in sympathy +and consternation. + +She looked down and nodded. I did not know what to say. A tear fell on +my hand. I knew still less. Then crying out she was very unhappy, she +began to sob. + +"He does not want me--even to pass the time. It has never entered his +head. I am too ugly. I do not demand that he should love me. It would be +asking for the moon." + +"But he does love you, like a father," I said, in vain consolation. "I +love him like a son and you should love him like a daughter." + +She did not even condescend to notice this counsel of perfection. She +was too ugly. She was built like a hayrick. The Master had never cast +his eyes on her, as doubtless he would have done, being a man, had she +any of the qualities of allurement. She suffered, poor Blanquette, from +the _spretæ injuria formæ_ with reason even more solid than the forsaken +Dido. She was humble, she sobbed; she did not demand a bit of love +bigger than that--and she clicked her finger nail. With that she would +be proud and happy. + +"If the master were as gay as he used to be, I should not mind," she +said, lifting a grotesquely stained face. "But when he goes drinking, +drinking so as to drown his love for another woman, _c'est plus fort que +moi_. It is more than I can bear." + +"Which other woman?" + +"You know very well. That beautiful lady. She has come more than once to +fetch him away. She is a wicked woman, for she does not love him; she +even detests him; one can see that. I should like to kill her," cried +Blanquette. + +The idea of anyone wanting to kill Joanna was so novel that I stared at +her speechless. It took some time for my wits to accommodate themselves +to the point of view. + +"If I were a man I would not drink myself to death for the sake of a +woman who treated me so," she remarked, recovering her composure. + +"Is it as bad as that?" I asked. + +She shrugged her shoulders. Men must drink. It is their nature. But +there should be limits. One ought to be reasonable, even a man. Did I +not think so? In her matter of fact way she gave me details of Paragot's +habits. The one morning absinthe had grown to two or three. There was +brandy too in his bedroom. + +"And it eats such a deal of money, my little Asticot," she remarked. + +After which, to relieve her feelings, she washed up my dirty plates, and +discoursed on the economics of catering. + +I walked with her through the two or three streets that separated me +from the Rue des Saladiers, and went upstairs with her to see whether +Paragot had returned. It was past midnight. There was no Paragot. I went +to the Café Delphine profoundly depressed by Blanquette's story. Here +was Blanquette eating her heart out for Paragot, who was killing his +soul for Joanna, who was miserably unhappy on account of her husband, +who was suffering some penalty for his scaly-headed vulturedom. It was a +kind of House-that-Jack-built tale of misery, of which I seemed to be +the foundation. + +Save for Paragot the café was empty. He was asleep in his usual corner, +breathing stertorously, his head against the wall. Madame Boin on her +throne was busy over accounts. Hercule dozed at a table by the door, his +napkin in the crook of his arm. He nodded towards Paragot as I entered +and made a helpless gesture. I looked at the huddled figure against the +wall and wondered how the deuce I was to take him home. I had no money +to pay for a cab. I tried in vain to rouse him. + +"Monsieur had better let him stay here," said Hercule. "It won't be the +first time." My heart grew even heavier than it was before. No wonder +poor Blanquette was dismayed. + +"He will catch his death of cold when the morning comes," said I, for +the night was fresh and three years of warm lying had softened the +Paragot of vagrant days. + +"One must die sooner or later," moralised Hercule inhumanly. + +I shook my master again. He grunted. I shook him more violently. To my +relief he opened his eyes, smiled at me and waved a limp salutation. + +"The Palace of Dipsomania," he murmured. + +"No, Master," said I. "This is the Café Delphine and you live in the Rue +des Saladiers." + +"It is a nuisance to live anywhere. I was born to be a bird--to roost +on trees." I had considerable difficulty in disentangling the words from +his thick speech. He shut his eyes--then opened them again. + +"How does a drunken owl stay on his twig?" + +As I felt no interest in the domestic habits of dissolute owls, I set +about getting him home. I took his green hat from the peg and put it on +his head, and with Hercule's help drew away the table and set him on his +feet. + +"A man like that! It goes to my heart," said Madame Boin in a low voice. + +I felt unreasonably angry that any one, save myself or perhaps +Blanquette, should pity my beloved master. I did not answer, whereby I +am afraid I was rude to the good Madame Boin. Paragot lurched forward +and would have fallen had not Hercule caught and steadied him. + +"Broken ankle," explained Paragot. + +"You must try to walk, Master," I urged anxiously. How was I going to +get him to the Rue des Saladiers? His arm round my neck weighed cruelly +on my frail body. + +"Put best foot forward," he murmured making a step and pausing. "That is +very easy; but the devil of it is when time comes for worst foot." + +"Try it, for goodness sake," said I. + +He tried it with a silly laugh. Then the swing door of the café opened +and Joanna with her sweet frightened face appeared on the threshold. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +THE sight of Joanna froze Paragot into momentary sobriety. He stood +rigid for a few seconds and then swayed into a chair by one of the +tables and sat with his head in his hands. I went up to Joanna. + +"He can't come to-night, Madame." + +"Why not?" + +"He is not fit." + +As she realised my meaning a look of great pain and repulsion passed +over her face. + +"But he must come. Perhaps he will be better presently. You will +accompany us and help me, Mr. Asticot, won't you?" + +As usual the frost melted from her eyes and her voice--the silvery +English voice--went to my heart. I bent over Paragot and whispered. + +"Take her from this pigstye and the sight of the hog," muttered Paragot. +His hands were clenched in a mighty effort to concentrate his wits. +Joanna approached and touched him on the shoulder. + +"Gaston." + +Suddenly he relaxed his grip and broke into a stupid laugh. + +"Very well. What does it matter? Sorry haven't got--velveteen suit." + +"What does he say?" she asked turning to me. + +"That he will come, Madame," said I. + +Hercule aided me to frog-march him out of the café and across the +pavement to the waiting carriage. Joanna took her seat by his side and I +sat opposite. Hercule shut the carriage door and we drove off. Paragot +relapsed into stupor. + +"I don't know how to ask you to forgive me, Mr. Asticot, for keeping you +out of your bed at this time of night," said Joanna. "But I am very +friendless here in Paris." + +We went along the Boul' Mich' by the quais to the Pont de la Concorde, +crossed the vast and now silent expanse of the Place de la Concorde and, +going by the Rue Royale and the long dull Boulevard Malesherbes and the +Boulevard Haussmann, entered the Avenue de Messine. It is a long drive +under the most cheerful circumstances; but at one o'clock in the morning +in the company of the dearest thing in the world to me half drunk, and +the dear lady whom he worshipped horrified and disgusted at the thought +thereof, it seemed interminable. At last we arrived at No. 7. At my ring +the door swung open drawn by the concierge within. I helped Paragot out +of the carriage. He made a desperate effort to stand and walk steadily. +Heaven knows how he managed to clamber with not too great indecency up +the stairs to the Comte de Verneuil's flat on the first floor. Joanna +opened the door with her latch key and we entered a softly-lit drawing +room. + +"Let me sit down," said Paragot. "I shall be better presently." + +He sank an ashamed heap on a sofa by the wall, and with his fingers +through his long black hair fought for mastery over his intoxication. +The Comtesse de Verneuil left us and presently returned, having taken +off her hat and evening wrap. She brought a little silver tray with +Madeira wine and biscuits. + +"We need something, Mr. Asticot," she said graciously. + +We drank the wine and sat down to wait for Paragot's recovery. Although +it was late May, a wood fire glowed beneath the great chimney-piece. +This made of blue and white ware with corbels of cherubs caught my +attention. I had seen things like it in the stately museums of Italy. + +"But this is Della Robbia," I exclaimed. + +She smiled, somewhat surprised. "You are a connoisseur as well as a +philosopher, Mr. Asticot? Yes, it is Della Robbia. The Comte de Verneuil +is a great collector." + +Then for the first time I looked about the room, and I caught my breath +as I realised its wealth and luxury. For a time I forgot Paragot, lost +in a dream of Florentine tapestries, priceless cabinets, porcelain, +silver, pictures, richly toned rugs, chairs with rhythmic lines, all +softened into harmonious mystery by the shaded light of the lamps. At +the end of a further room just visible through the looped curtains a +great piece of statuary gleamed white. I had never entered such a room +in my life before. My master had taken me through the show apartments of +great houses and palaces, but they were uninhabited, wanted the human +touch. It had not occurred to me that men and women could have such +wonder as their daily environment, or could invest it with the +indefinable charm of intimacy. I turned and looked at Joanna as she sat +by the Della Robbia chimney-piece, gracious and distinguished, and +Joanna became merged in the Countess de Verneuil, the great lady, as far +removed from me as my little bare attic from this treasure house of +luxury. She wore the room, so to speak, as I wore the attic. Overcome +by sudden timidity I could barely reply to her remarks. + +She was in no mood for conversation, poor lady; so there dropped upon us +a dead silence, during which she stared frozenly into the fire while I, +afraid to move, occupied the time by storing in my memory every +bewitching detail of her dress and person. The oil sketch of her I made +a day or two afterwards hangs before me as I write these lines. I prided +myself on having caught the colour of her hair--black with the blue +reflections like the blue of cigarette smoke. + +Suddenly the quietness was startled by loud groans of agony and +unintelligible speech coming from some room of the flat. Paragot +staggered noisily to his feet, a shaking, hairy, dishevelled spectre, +blinking glazed eyes. + +Madame de Verneuil started and leaned forward, her hands on the arms of +her chair. + +"My husband," she whispered, and for a few seconds we all listened to +the unearthly sounds. Then she rose and turned to me. + +"You had better see it through." + +She crossed to Paragot. + +"Are you better now?" + +"I can do what is required of me," said my master, humbly, though in his +ordinary voice. He was practically sober. + +"Then come," said Joanna. + +We followed her out of the room, through softly carpeted corridors full +of pictures and statues and beautiful vases, and entered a dimly lit +bedroom. A nurse rose from a chair by the bed, where lay a bald-headed, +beaky-nosed man groaning and raving in some terrible madness. Joanna +gripped my arm as Paragot went to the bedside. + +"I am Gaston de Nérac," said he. + +The Comte de Verneuil raised himself on his elbow and looked at him in a +wild way. I too should have liked to grip someone's arm, for the sight +of the man sent a shudder through me, but I braced myself up under the +consoling idea that I was protecting Joanna. + +"You are not dead then? I did not kill you?" said the Comte de Verneuil. + +"No, since I am here to tell you that I am alive." + +The sweat poured off the man's face. He lay back exhausted. + +"I do not know why," he gasped, "but I thought I had killed you." He +closed his eyes. + +"That is enough," said the nurse. + +Without a word, we all returned to the drawing-room. It was an +astounding comedy. + +"I am grateful," said Joanna to my master. "I wish there were some means +of repaying you." + +"I thought," said he, with a touch of irony which she did not notice, +"that it was I who was paying for a wrong I did you." + +She drew herself up and surveyed him from head to foot, with a little +air of disdain. + +"I forget," she said icily, "that you ever did me any wrong." + +"And I can't," said he; "I wish to heaven I could. You beheld me +to-night in the process of trying--an unedifying sight for Madame la +Comtesse de Verneuil." + +"An unedifying sight for anybody," said Joanna. + +He bowed his head. Something pathetic in his attitude touched her. She +was a tender-hearted woman. Her hand caught his sleeve. + +"Gaston, why have you come down to this? You of all men?" + +"Because I am the one poor fool of all poor fools who takes life +seriously." + +Joanna sighed. "I can't understand you." + +"Is there any necessity?" + +"You belong to a time when one wanted to understand everything. Now +nothing much matters. But curiously in your case the desire has +returned." + +"You understood me well enough to be sure that when you wanted me I +would be at your service." + +"I don't know," she said. "It was a desperate resort to save my +husband's reason. Oh, come," she cried, moving to the chairs by the +fire, "let us sit and talk for five minutes. The other times you came +and went and we scarcely spoke a word. Besides," with a forced laugh, +"it would not have been _convenable_. Now Mr. Asticot is here as +chaperon. It doesn't seem like real life, does it, that you and I should +be here? It is like some grotesque dream in which all sorts of +incoherences are mixed up together. Don't you at least find it +interesting?" + +"As interesting as toothache," replied Paragot. + +"If it is pain for you to talk to me, Gaston, I will not detain you," +said Joanna, rising from her chair. + +"Forgive me," said he; "I suppose my manners have gone with the rest. +You may help me to recover them if you allow me to talk to you." + +He passed his hand wearily over his face, which during the last minute +or two had been overspread by a queer pallor. He looked ghastly. + +"Tell me," said he, "why you come to that boozing-ken of a place? A +note would reach me and I would obey." + +She explained that there was no time for letter-writing. The Comte's +attacks came on suddenly at night. To soothe him it was necessary to +find the chief actor in the absurd comedy at once, at any cost to her +reputation. Besides, what did it matter? The only person who knew of her +escapade was the coachman, an old family servant of the Comte, as +discreet as death. + +"How long have these attacks been going on?" asked my master. + +Joanna poured out her story with the pathetic eagerness of a woman who +has kept hateful secrets in her heart too long and at last finds a human +soul in whom she can confide. I think she almost forgot my presence, for +I sat modestly apart, separated from them by the wide cone of light cast +by the shaded lamp. + +The first symptoms of mental derangement, she said, had manifested +themselves two years ago. They had gradually increased in frequency and +intensity. During the interval the Comte de Verneuil went about the +world a sane man. The attacks, as she had explained, came on suddenly, +always at night, and his fixed idea was that he had killed Gaston de +Nérac. Before Paragot had appeared they lasted two or three days, till +they spent themselves leaving the patient in great bodily prostration. +When she had met me taking the Spring outside the Hôtel Bristol, a wild +idea had entered her head that the confrontation of the Comte with the +living Gaston de Nérac might end his madness. On the occasion of the +next attack she had rushed in eager search for Paragot, had brought him +to the raving bedside, and the result had been magical. She had thought +the cure permanent; but a fortnight later the attack returned, as it had +returned again and again, and as it had returned to-night. + +"It is charitable of you to have come, Gaston," she said, in her sweet +way, "and I must ask you to forgive me for anything unkind I may have +said." + +He made some reply in a low voice which I did not hear, and for a little +time their talk was pitched in the same tone. I began to grow sleepy. I +aroused myself with a jerk to hear Joanna say, + +"Why did you play that detestable tune from 'Orphée aux Enfers'?" + +"To see if you would recognise it. Some mocking devil prompted me. It +was the last tune you and I heard together--the night of our engagement +party. The band played it in the garden." + +"Don't--don't!" exclaimed Joanna, putting up her hands to her face. + +This then was why each had cried out at Aix-les-Bains against the merry +little tune. It was interesting. I saw however that it must have jangled +horribly on tense nerves. + +She dashed away her hands suddenly and strained her face towards him. + +"Why, Gaston--why did you?" + +He rose with a deprecating gesture and there was a hunted look in his +eyes. During all this strange scene he was no longer Paragot, my master, +but Gaston de Nérac whom I did not know. His wild, picturesque speech, +his dear vagabond manner had gone. The haggardness of some desperate +illness changed his features and I grew frightened. I came to his side. + +"Master--we must take a cab. Have you any money?" + +"Yes," he said faintly, "let us go home." + +"But you are ill! You look as white as a ghost!" cried Joanna, in alarm. + +"I had a dinner of herbs--in the liquid form of absinthe," said my +master with a clutch at Paragot. "How does it go? Better a dinner of +herbs where love is----" + +"Ah! Monsieur has not yet gone," said the nurse, hurrying into the room. +"Monsieur le Comte begs me to give this to Monsieur." + +She held out a letter. + +"Monsieur le Comte made me open his despatch box, Madame," she added +apologetically. + +She left the room. Paragot stood twirling the letter between his +fingers. Joanna bade him open it. It might be something important +Paragot drew from the envelope half a sheet of note-paper. He looked at +it, made a staggering step to the door and fell sprawling prone upon the +carpet. + +Joanna uttered a little cry of fright, and, as I did, cast herself on +her knees beside him. He had fainted. Abstinence from food, drink, his +tremendous effort of will towards sobriety, the strain of the interview, +had brought him to the verge of the precipice, and it only required the +shock of the letter to send him toppling over. We propped his head on +cushions and loosened his collar. + +"What can we do?" gasped my dear lady. + +"I will call the nurse from Monsieur le Comte's room," said I. + +"She will know," said Joanna hopefully. + +I went to the Comte's room, opened the door and beckoned to the nurse. +She gave a glance at her sleeping patient and joined me in the corridor. +On my explanation she brought water and sal-volatile and returned with +me to the drawing-room. It was a night of stupefying surprises. The +_quartier_ would have called it _abracadabrant_ and they would not have +been far wrong. There was necromancy in the air. I felt it, as I +followed the nurse across the threshold. I anticipated something odd, +some grotesque development. In the atmosphere of those I loved in those +days I was as sensitive as a barometer. + +Paragot lay still as death, his wild hairy head on the satin cushions, +but Joanna was crouching on her knees in the midst of the cone of light +cast by the shaded lamp, reading, with parted lips and blanched face, +the half sheet of note-paper. As we entered she turned and looked at me +and her eyes were frozen hard blue. The nurse bent over by my master's +side. + +Joanna stretched out her arms full length towards me. + +"Read," she cried, and her voice was harsh with no silvery tone in it at +all. I took the paper wonderingly from her fingers. + +Why she should have shown it to me, the wretched little pasty-faced +gutter-bred art student, I could not conceive for many of the after +years during which I wrestled with the head- and heart-splitting +perplexities of women. But experience has taught me that human beings, +of whichever sex they may be, will do amazing things in times of +spiritual upheaval. I have known the primmest of vicar's churchwardens +curse like a coal-heaver when a new incumbent chose in his stead a less +prim man than he. + +I was just a human entity, I suppose, who had strayed into the sacred +and intimate sphere of her life--the only one perhaps in the world who +had done so. She was stricken to the soul. Instinct compelled my sharing +of her pain. + +She commanded me to read. I was only nineteen. Had she commanded me to +drink up eisel or eat a crocodile, I would have done it. I read. + +The address of the letter was Eaton Square: the date, the 20th of June +thirteen years before. The wording as follows:-- + +"In consideration of the sum of Ten thousand pounds I the undersigned +Gaston de Nérac promise and undertake from this moment not to hold any +communication by word or writing with Miss Joanna Rushworth for the +space of two years--that is to say until midnight of the 20th June 18--. +Should however Miss Joanna Rushworth be married in the meantime, I +solemnly undertake on my honour as a gentleman not of my own free will +to hold any communication with her whatever as long as I live, or should +circumstances force us to meet, not to acquaint her in any way with the +terms of this agreement, whereof I hold myself bound by the spirit as +well as by the letter. GASTON DE NÉRAC." + + * * * * * + +My young and unpractised mind required some minutes to realise the +meaning of this precious agreement. When it had done so I stared blankly +at Joanna. + +The nurse in her businesslike fashion drew the curtains and flung the +French windows wide open. + +"He has only fainted. He will soon come round." + +She returned to Paragot's side. Joanna and I remained staring at each +other. She rose, took me by the sleeve and dragged me to the fireplace. + +"The writing is my husband's," she said in a whisper. "The signature is +his," pointing to Paragot. "He sold me to my husband for ten thousand +pounds on the evening of our engagement party. What am I to do? I +haven't a friend in this hateful country." + +I longed to tell her she had at least one friend, but as I could neither +help nor advise her I said nothing. + +"No wonder he has a banking account," she said with a bitter laugh. I +noticed then that a strained woman's humour is unpleasant. She sat down. +The corners of her kind lips quivered. + +"The world is turned upside down," she said piteously. "There is no +love, honour or loyalty in it. I felt this evening as if I could forgive +him; but now--" She rose and wrung her hands and exclaimed sharply, "Oh, +it's hateful, it's hateful for men to be so base!" + +That it was a base action to sell Joanna for any sum of money, however +bewildering in largeness, I could not deny. But that Paragot should have +been guilty of it I would not have believed had the accusation come from +Joanna's own lips. The confounded scrap of paper, however, was proof. +Therein he had pledged himself to give up Joanna for ten thousand +pounds, and the scaly-headed vulture had paid the money. I turned away +sadly and went to help the nurse minister to my master. + +He opened his eyes and whispered that I must fetch a cab. + +"Or a dung-cart," he added, characteristically. + +Glad of action I went out into the long quiet avenue and after five +minutes' walk hailed a passing fiacre. The nurse admitted me when I rang +the bell. I found Paragot sitting on the sofa by the wall, and Joanna +where I had left her, by the Della Robbia chimney-piece. Apparently they +had not had a very companionable five minutes. He rose as I entered. + +"I thought you were never coming," said he. "Let us go." + +"I must say good-bye to Madame." + +"Be quick about it," he whispered. + +I crossed the room to Joanna's chair and made a French bow according to +my instruction in manners. + +"Good night, Madame." + +She held out her hand to me--such a delicate soft little hand, but quite +cold and nerveless. + +"Good night, Mr. Asticot. I am sorry our friendship has been so short." + +I joined Paragot. He said from where he stood by the door:-- + +"Good night, Madame la Comtesse." + +She made no reply. Instinctively both of us lingered a second on the +threshold, filling our eyes with the beauty and luxury that were all +part and parcel of Joanna, and as the door closed behind us we felt like +two bad angels turned out of Paradise. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +I CAME across him the next afternoon sitting on a stone bench in the +Luxembourg Gardens. His hat was slouched forward over his eyes. His hand +supported his chin so that his long straggling beard protruded in a +curious Egyptian horizontality. His ill-laced boots innocent as usual of +blacking, for he would not allow Blanquette to touch them, were stuck +out ostentatiously, and to the peril of the near passers-by. He had +never during our acquaintance manifested any sense of the dandified; on +our travels he had worn the casual, unnoticeable dress of the peasant, +save when he had masqueraded in the pearl-buttoned velveteens; in London +a swaggering air of braggadocio had set off his Bohemian garb: but never +had the demoralised disreputability of Paragot struck me until I saw him +in the Luxembourg Gardens. + +Everything else wore a startlingly fresh appearance, after the heavy +rains. The gravel walk had the prim neatness of a Peter de Hoogh garden +path. The white balustrades and flights of steps around the great +circle, the statuary and the fountains in the middle lake, flashed pure. +The enormous white caps of nurses, their gay silk streamers fluttering +behind them, the white-clad children, the light summer dresses of women; +the patches of white newspaper held by other loungers on the seats; a +dazzling bit of cirro-cumulus scudding across the clear Paris sky; the +pale dome of the Panthéon rising to the East; the background of the +Luxembourg itself in which one was only conscious of the high lights on +the long bold cornices; all set the key of the picture and gave it +symphonic value. The eye rejected everything but the whites and the +pearl greys, subordinating all other tones to its impression of +fantastic purity. + +And there like an ink blot splashed on the picture, sat Paragot. The +very foulest odd-volume of Montesquieu's "Esprit des Lois" which could +be picked up on the quays lay unopened on his knee. Not until Narcisse, +who was sleeping at his feet, jumped up and barked a welcome around me +did Paragot notice my approach. He held out his hand, and the +finger-nails seemed longer and dirtier than ever. He drew me down to the +seat beside him. + +"You were asleep when I ran in this morning, Master," said I +apologetically, for it was the first time I had seen him that day. + +"Since then I have been thinking, my little Asticot. It is a vain +occupation for a May afternoon, and it makes your head ache. I should be +much better employed carting manure for Madame Dubosc. We earned two +francs. Do you remember?" + +"I remember that my back ached terribly afterwards," said I laughing. + +"Ah, but the ease and comfort in your soul! Perhaps there's nothing much +the matter with yours yet, is there?" + +"I think it's all right," I answered. + +"Something must be wrong with mine," he remarked meditatively, "because +at a crisis in my life I haven't had an inspiration. It is sluggish. I +want a soul pill." + +This time it was I who had an inspiration--one of terrifying audacity. + +"Master, perhaps absinthe isn't good for it," said I all in a breath. + +"Infant Solomon," replied Paragot ironically, "where have you gathered +such a store of wisdom? Have you a scrap of paper in your pocket?" + +"Yes, Master," said I, producing a sketch-book and preparing to tear out +a leaf. He stopped my hand. + +"Leave it in. All the better. As I am sure you don't remember the +passage from Cicero's _De Natura Deorum_ which I quoted to you some time +ago, since you are unacquainted with the Latin tongue, I will dictate it +to you, and you can learn it by heart and say it like a Pater or an Ave +morning and evening." + +I wrote down at his dictation the passage concerning the impossibility +of judging between the false and true. And that is how I was able to set +it down in its proper place in a previous chapter. + +"Do you know why I have made you do this?" + +"Yes, Master," said I, for I knew that he referred to the sale of Joanna +for ten thousand pounds. + +"Circumstance flattens a man out sometimes," said he, "like a ribbon--as +if he had been carefully ironed by a hot steam roller. I suppose a +flattened man can't have an inspiration. I am my own tomb-stone and you +can chalk across me '_Hic jacet qui olim Paragotus fuit_.'" + +His tone was so dejected that I felt a sinking at my heart, a +scratchiness in my nose and a wateriness in my eyes. I suffered the +pangs of suppressed sympathy. What could a boy of nineteen say or do in +order to restore rotundity to a flattened hero? + +"Years ago," he continued after a pause, "I found the world a Lie and I +started off to chase the wild goose of Truth. I captured nothing but a +taste for alcohol which brought me eventually beneath the steam roller. +Were it not the silliest legend invented by man, I should say to you +'Beware of the steam roller.' But if a man's sober he can see the thing +himself; if he isn't, he can't read the warning. I can only tell you to +be unalcoholic and you'll be happy. You see, my little son Asticot, to +what depths I have descended in that I can be the Apostle of the +Platitudinous." + +He leaned forward, chin on knuckles, and his beard again stuck out +horizontally. Happy people passed us by. For many the work of the day +was already over and they had the lingering magic of the sunshine for +their own. A young blue-bloused workman and a girl hanging on his arm +brushed close by our seat. + +"_Si, nous aurons des enfants, et de beaux enfants_," she cried. + +"I hope they will," said Paragot, looking at them wistfully. Then after +a pause: "Has the Comtesse de Verneuil any children?" + +"No, Master," said I in a tone of conviction. It struck me later that I +had spoken from blank ignorance. But at the moment the question seemed +preposterous. In many ways I had still the unreasoning instincts of a +child. Because I had never contemplated my dear lady Joanna in the light +of a mother, I unhesitatingly proclaimed her childless. As a matter of +fact I was right. + +Paragot, satisfied with my reply, watched the endless stream of cheerful +folk. Once he quoted to himself:-- + +"'The golden foot of May is on the flowers'--and on the heads of all but +me." + +Suddenly he sat back and seized me by the arm. + +"Asticot, you are a man now, and you must see things with the eyes of a +man. I have loved you like my son--if you should turn away, thinking +evil things of me, like someone else, it would break my heart. Neither +she nor you ought to have seen that accursed paper. You and Blanquette +and the dog are all I have in the world to care for, and I want you all +to think well of me." + +Then the tears did spring into my eyes, for my beloved master's appeal +went home to that which was truest and best in me. I stammered out +something, I know not what; but it came from my heart. It pleased him. +He jumped to his feet in his old impetuous way. + +"Bravo, _petit Asticot de mon coeur_! The nightmare is over, and we +can enjoy the sunshine again. We will drag Blanquette from the Rue des +Saladiers which does not lay itself out for jollity, and we will dine at +a reckless restaurant. Blanquette shall eat the snails which she adores +and I shall eat pig's feet and you an underdone beefsteak to nourish +your little body. And we shall all eat with our dinner '_le pain bénit +de la gaîté_.'" + +He strode off eager as usual to put his idea into immediate execution. +He talked all the way to the Rue des Saladiers. Poor Blanquette! He had +been neglecting her. A girl of her age needed some amusement; we would +go to the Théâtre, the Porte Saint-Martin, like good bourgeois, and see +a melodrama so that Blanquette could weep. + +"They are playing 'Les Eventreurs de Paris.' I hear they rip each other +up on the stage and everybody is reeking with blood--good honest red +blood--carried in bladders under their costumes, my son. You turn up +what you can of your snub little superior artistic nose--but Blanquette +will be in Paradise." + +Blanquette was in the slip of a kitchen and a flurried temper when we +entered. + +"But, Master, you said you would not be home for dinner. There is +nothing in the house--only this which I was cooking for myself," and she +dived her fork into the pot and brought up on the prongs a diminutive +piece of beef. "And now you and Asticot demand dinner, as if dinners +came out of the pot of their own accord. Ah men! They are always like +that." + +I put my arm round her waist. "We are all dining out together, +Blanquette; but if you don't want to come, you shall stay at home." + +"And without dinner," said Paragot, taking the fork from her hand and +throwing the meat to Narcisse. + +"_Ah, mais non!_" cried Blanquette, whose sense of economy was outraged. +But when Narcisse sprang on the beef and finding it too hot, lay +growling at it until it should cool, she broke out laughing. + +"After all, it would have been very tough," she admitted. + +"Then why in the sacred name of shoe leather were you going to eat it?" +asked Paragot. + +"Food is to be eaten, not thrown away, Master," she replied +sententiously. + +We took the omnibus and crossed the river and went up the Grands +Boulevards, an unusual excursion for Paragot who kept obstinately to the +Boulevard Saint-Michel and the poorer streets of the _quartier_, +through fear, I believe, of meeting friends of former days. A restaurant +outside the Porte Saint-Martin provided a succulent meal. The place was +crowded. Two young soldiers sat at our table, and listened awe-stricken +to Paragot's conversation and were prodigiously polite to Blanquette, +who, they discovered, was from Normandy, like themselves. And when they +asked, after the frank manner of their kind, which of us had the honour +to be the lover of Mademoiselle, and she cried with scarlet face, "But +neither, Monsieur!" we all shouted together and laughed and became the +best friends in the world. Happy country of fraternity! The little +soldiers--they were dragoons and wore helmets too big for them and long +horsehair plumes--accompanied us with clanking sabres to the gallery of +the theatre, and at Paragot's invitation sat one on each side of +Blanquette, who, what with the unaccustomed bloodshed of the spectacle +and the gallantry of her neighbours, passed an evening of delirious +happiness. In those days I had an æsthetic soul above the 'Eventreurs de +Paris,' and I made fun of it to Paragot, whose thoughts were far away. +When I perceived this, I kept my withering sarcasm to myself, and +realised that a flattened man cannot be blown like a bladder into +permanent rotundity even by the faith and affection of a little +art-student. But I marvelled all the more at his gaiety during the +intervals, when we all went outside into the thronged boulevard and +drank bocks on the terrace of the café, and I learned how great a factor +in the continued existence of humanity is the Will-to-Laugh, which I +think the German philosopher has omitted from his system. + +I mention this incident to show how Paragot defied the effects of the +steam roller and became outwardly himself again. He did not visit the +Café Delphine that night, but went soberly home with Blanquette, and I +believe read himself to sleep with his tattered odd volume of +Montesquieu. The following evening however found him in his usual seat +under the lee of Madame Boin's counter, arguing on art, literature and +philosophy and consuming a vast quantity of ill-assorted alcohols. And +then his life resumed its normal course. + +It was about this time that Madame Boin seeing in Paragot an attractive +adjunct to her establishment and, with a Frenchwoman's business +instinct, desiring to make it permanent, paralysed him by an offer of +marriage. + +"Madame," said he, as soon as he had recovered, "if I accepted the great +honour which you propose, you would doubtless require me to abandon +certain personal habits which are dear to me, and also to trim my hair +and beard and cut my finger-nails of whose fantastic length I am +inordinately proud." + +"I think I should ask you to cut your nails," said Madame Boin +reflectively. + +"Then, Madame," said Paragot, "it would be impossible. Shorn of these +adornments I should lose the power of conversation and I should be a +helpless and useless Samson on your hands." + +"I don't see what long nails have to do with talking," argued Madame +Boin. + +"They give one the necessary thirst," replied Paragot. + +"My son," said he when relating to me this adventure, "do not cultivate +a habit of affability towards widows of the lower middle classes. There +was once a murderer's widow of Prague--" + +"I know," said I. + +"How?" + +"There was an old stocking." + +"I forgot," said he, and his laughing face darkened and I saw that he +fell to thinking of Joanna. + + * * * * * + +Although much of my leisure was absorbed by the companionship of my +beloved Master and Blanquette, I yet had an individual life of my own. I +made dozens of acquaintances and one or two friends. I had not a care in +the world. Bisard, the great man attached to the life school in Janot's +atelier, proclaimed me one of the best of my year, and sent my heart +leaping sky-high. I worked early and late. I also played the fool as +(worse luck) only boyhood can. With my fellows, arm in arm through the +streets, I shouted imbecile songs. I went to all kinds of reprehensible +places--to the _bals du quartier_, for instance, where we danced with +simple-minded damsels who thought _choucroute garnie_ a generous supper +and a bottle of _vin cacheté_ as setting the seal of all that was most +distinguished upon the host. With the first five francs that I made by +selling a drawing I treated Fanchette, the little model I kissed on the +stairs, to a trip to Saint-Cloud. Five francs went prodigiously far in +those days. They had to, as some of us were desperately poor and could +afford but one meal a day. Fortunate youth that I was, whenever money +ran short, instead of borrowing or starving, I had only to climb to +Blanquette and open my mouth like a young bird and she filled it with +nice fat things. Poor sandalled Cazalet of the yellow hair, on the other +hand, lived sometimes for a week on dry bread and water. It was partly +his own fault; for had he chosen to make saleable drawings he too might +have had five francs wherewith to take Fanchette to Saint-Cloud. Pretty +little Pierrettes in frills and pointed caps are more attractive to the +cheap purchaser than ugly souls writhing in torment; and really they are +quite as artistic. We quarrelled fiercely over this one day, and he +challenged me to a duel. I replied that I had no money to buy pistols. +Neither had he, he retorted, but I could borrow a sabre. He himself had +one. His father had been an officer. Whereupon the studio bawled in +gleeful unison "_Voici le sabre, le sabre de mon père_," and dragged us +in tumult to the Café opposite where we swore eternal friendship over +_grogs américains_. + +From this I do not mean you to infer that I was a devil of a fellow, the +mention of whose name spread a hush over godly families. God wot! I did +little harm. I only ate what Murger calls "the Blessed bread of gaiety," +the food of youth. Remember, too, it was the first time in my life that +I had companions of my own age. Indeed, so nearly had I modelled myself +on Paragot the ever young, that my comrades laughed at my old fashioned +ideas, and I found myself hopelessly behind the times. Youth hops an +inch sideways and thinks it has leaped a mile ahead. All is vanity, even +youth. + +'Tis a pleasant vanity though, on which the wise smile with regretful +indulgence; and therein lay the wisdom of Paragot. + +"Ah! confounded little cock-sparrow--I haven't seen you for a week," he +said one morning, shaking me by the shoulders till my teeth chattered. +"What about the other little sparrow you neglected me for on Sunday? Is +she at least good-looking? A model? And she is a good girl and supports +her widowed mother and ten brothers and sisters, I suppose? And she +calls herself Fanchette? Narcisse, the lady of Monsieur Asticot's +affections has the singular name of Fanchette." + +Whereupon Narcisse uncurled himself from slumber and planted himself on +his hindquarters in front of me and grinned at me with lolling tongue. + +"But she is quite a different kind of girl from all the other models!" I +cried eagerly. + +"What does she pose for?" + +"Well--of course--you know how it is--" I stammered, reddening. + +Paragot laughed and quoted something in Latin about an ingenuous boy. + +"Would she be a fit companion for Blanquette and Narcisse and myself?" + +Having deep convictions as to the essential virtues of Fanchette, I +swore that she could not disgrace so respectable a company. + +"We will all picnic together in the woods of Fontainebleau on Sunday," +said he. + +We picnic-ed. Fanchette had no shynesses. She found Paragot peculiarly +diverting, and though I enjoyed the day prodigiously, I realised +afterwards that I had spent most of it in the company of Blanquette. + +"My son," said he, "there never was a model so like all the other models +that have posed for the well-of-course-you-know-how-it-is, since the +world began." + +A week later, when I found my particular friend Ewing, whom as a +tongue-tied Englishman I had relieved of many embarrassments, and for +whom I had secured an easel, branding it myself in twenty places with +his name, and for whom I had engineered a good position next to mine in +the Life School--when I saw Ewing hugging Fanchette on the stairs, on +the very landing sacred to my embraces, I knew that Paragot was right, +and that Fanchette was just a fickle, naughty little model like the +others. But if Paragot had not taken her measure before my eyes at +Fontainebleau and made a figured drawing so to speak of her heart and +soul, shewing their exiguous dimensions, I might have cast myself +beneath the wheels of an omnibus like the pig Népomucène, or blacked the +eyes of Ewing who was smaller than myself. As it was, I put my hands in +my trousers' pockets and surveyed the abashed couple in Paragot's best +manner. + +"Amuse yourselves well, my children," I laughed, in French, and turned +away heart-whole. + +This is an instance of the wisdom of Paragot. He smiled on the vanity of +my youth, and personally conducted me to the barrenness whither it led. +In this particular case the result was more positive still. Ewing in +admiration of my magnanimity at the time, and a fortnight later of my +profound knowledge of women--for he in his turn witnessed the alien +osculations of Fanchette--cultivated my friendship to the extent of +urging me to spend some of the summer recess at his father's country +vicarage in Somerset. + +"But you'll have to get some other togs," said he, eyeing my attire +dubiously. "If you come like that to church on Sunday, my governor would +forget and want to baptise you. He was once a missionary, you know." + +When I mentioned the invitation, Paragot insisted on acceptance. + +"The Latin Quarter confers an exuberance of tone which conflicts with +the reposeful ideal of manners required in the _beau monde_ which I +destined you to grace when I took you from the maternal soapsuds. You +will find an English Parsonage exerts a repressive influence. But for +Heaven's sake don't fall in love with Ewing's eldest sister, who, I am +sure, is addicted to piety and good works. She will try to make a good +work of you and thus all my labour will have been in vain." + +In his heart, however, I believe he was immensely proud at having +trained me to meet gentlefolk on more or less equal terms. Ewing's +invitation was a tribute to himself. To fit me for church on Sunday and +other functions of civilisation he took Ewing (as counsellor) and myself +to a tailor's and plunged enthusiastically into the details of my +outfit. I can see him now, shaggy and shabby, fingering stuffs with the +anxious solicitude of a woman at a draper's counter. + +"That's a nice country suiting. It expresses its purpose, suggests the +right gaiety of mood. What says _Arbiter elegantiarum_?" + +"Don't you think it might make the cart-horses shy?" says Ewing, and +Paragot drops reluctantly the thunder-and-lightning check that has +seized his unaccustomed fancy. + +My wardrobe included a dress suit. + +At Paragot's bidding, I donned it when it arrived, and on my way to him +transfixed the Rue des Saladiers with awe and wonder. Upstairs, Paragot +twirled me slowly round as if I were a mannequin on a pivot, and called +Blanquette to admire, and uttered strange oaths in the dozen languages +of which he was master. Was I not beautiful? + +Blanquette admitted that I was. All that was most beautiful; without a +doubt. I resembled the stylish people who went to expensive funerals. +In fact, she added with a sigh, I was too beautiful. + +She saw her brother Asticot transfigured into the resplendent gentleman +beyond her sphere, and sighed womanlike at my apotheosis. She could no +longer walk by my side, bareheaded, in the streets. The dress suit was a +symbol of change detested by woman. She gave the matter however her +practical attention. + +"He ought to have patent-leather shoes," she observed. + +"That's true," said Paragot, pulling his beard reflectively. "Ewing +should have mentioned it; but I have noticed a singular lack of +universality in the sons of English clergymen." + +"And now my son," said he on the eve of my departure, "I too have the +nostalgia of green fields and the smell of hay and manure and the fresh +earth after rain. I have at last an inspiration. As this confounded +ankle will not let me walk, I shall hire a donkey and let him take me +whither he will. Narcisse shall accompany me." + +"And Blanquette, will she trudge beside the donkey?" + +"I have arranged for Blanquette to go into villégiatura at the farm of +La Haye." + +"With Monsieur and Madame Dubosc?" + +"Your logical faculty does you credit, my son. They are most excellent +people, although they could not tell me how many towers the Cathedral of +Chartres possessed. You will remember an excursion we made on Sunday, +and I lectured learnedly on the archæology of the fabric. My learning +impressed them less than my skill in curing a pig according to a +Dalmatian recipe. They will board and lodge Blanquette for ten francs a +week and she will be as happy as Marie Antoinette while haymaking at +the Petit Trianon. She will occupy herself with geese and turkeys while +I shall be riding my donkey." + +"Master," said I, "I only have one fear. You will adopt that donkey and +bring it to live in the Rue des Saladiers." + +Paragot laughed, drained his glass of absinthe and ordered another. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +THUS the three of us were again separated. Blanquette was enjoying +herself amongst the pigs and ducks of La Haye, whence she wrote letters +in which her joy in country things mingled with anxiety as to the +neglected condition of the Master; I led a pleasant but somewhat nervous +life in Somersetshire, spending hours in vain attempts to reconcile the +cosmic views of Paragot and an English vicar, and learning sometimes +with hot humiliation the correctitudes of English country vicarage +behaviour; and Paragot, his long legs dangling on each side of his +donkey, rode, as I thought, picturesquely vagrant, through the leafy +byways of France. + +A fortnight after my arrival, however, he informed me by letter of his +resolve to stay in Paris. He had failed to find an ass of the true +vagabond character. The ideal ass he sought should be a companion as +well as a means of locomotion. He would not take an urban donkey into +the country against its will. To force any creature, man, woman, or ass, +out of the groove of its temperament were a crime of which he could not +be guilty. Then, again, Narcisse did not enter into the spirit of the +pilgrimage. He laid his head along his forepaws and glowered sullenly +instead of barking with enthusiasm. Again, when he announced his +intention of leaving Paris, Hercule groaned aloud and Madame Boin wept +so profusely that sitting beneath her counter he had to put up a +borrowed umbrella. Cazalet too, and a few others too poor for railway +fares, were staying in town. Also the Café Delphine had spoiled him for +the horrible alcohols of wayside cafés. And, lastly, what did it matter +where the body found itself so long as the soul had its serene +habitations? + +The letter depressed me. I was beginning to see Paragot with the eyes of +a man. I felt that this inability to carry out an inspiration was a sign +of decay. The springs of action had weakened. Though the spirit thirsted +for sweet things, habit chained him to the squalor of the Café Delphine. +When the quiet Somersetshire household knelt around the drawing-room for +evening prayers, I speculated on the stage of intoxication at which my +lonely master had arrived. + +I was a million miles from speculating on what was really happening, and +when I received a curt uncharacteristic note from Paragot a fortnight +later begging me to return to Paris at once, a day or two before the +formal expiry of my visit, it only occurred to me that he might be ill. + + * * * * * + +The crowded train steamed into the Gare Saint-Lazare at half past seven +in the morning. I was desperately anxious to get to Paragot, and bag in +hand I stood with a sickening feeling of suspense by the open door, +waiting for the train to slow down. I sprang out. In an instant the line +of porters were odd dots of blue in the throng that swarmed out of the +carriages. I became a mere ant in the heap, and struggled with the +others towards the barrier. After giving up my ticket, I set down my bag +to rest my strained arm for a minute, and looked around me. Then I +noticed a stranger approaching whose smiling face had an air of uncanny +familiarity. Where had I seen the long gaunt man before? He wore a silk +hat and a frock coat. My acquaintance with silk-hatted gentlemen in +Paris was limited. I picked up my bag. + +"Ah! My little Asticot," cried the stranger. "How good it is to see +you." + +I dropped my bag. I dropped my jaw. I would have dropped my brains had +they been loose. This cadaverous image of respectability was +Paragot--but a Paragot transmogrified beyond recognition even by me. His +hair was cropped short. His face was clean shaven. On his transfigured +head shone a flat brimmed silk hat. He wore a villainously fitting frock +coat buttoned across his chest, with long wrinkly creases stretching +horizontally from each button. His hands were encased in lemon coloured +gloves a size too large for him. When he extended his hand even my +bewilderment did not blind me to the half-inch of flat dead tips to the +fingers. Beneath his arm was an umbrella--on a broiling August morning! +He wore spats--in mid-summer! His trousers were fawn coloured. I could +only gape at him as he wrung me by the hand. + +"You are surprised, my son." + +"I did not expect you to meet my train, Master," said I. + +"If one could anticipate all the happenings of life it would lose its +fascination. My son, go your way and do your duty, but believe in the +unexpected." + +"But what has happened?" I asked, again surveying his ill-fitting glory. + +"The Comte de Verneuil is dead," he answered. + +"Are you going to his funeral?" + +"In these?" he cried holding up the lemon kids, "and this cravat?" + +I noticed that he wore a floppy purple tie adorned with yellow spots, +outside the lapels of his coat. It required more than two glances to +take in all his detail. + +"Besides," he added, "my distinguished patient was buried a fortnight +ago." + +He looked at me with an amused smile, enjoying my mystification like a +child. + +"You didn't know me." + +"No, Master." I rubbed my eyes. "In fact I scarcely recognise you now." + +"That is because I am again Gaston de Nérac," said he magnificently. + +I had an idea that he must have come into the family fortune. But what +had the death of the Comte de Verneuil to do with it? I picked up my bag +again and walked with him to the exit. The hurrying crowd of passengers +by my train and of clerks and work-people pouring from suburban +platforms rendered conversation impossible. + +At the station gates Paragot stood and watched the brisk life that +swarmed up and down the Rue Saint-Lazare and the Rue du Havre. Paris +awakens a couple of hours earlier than London. Clerks hurried by with +flat leather portfolios under their arms. Servants trotted to market, or +homewards, with the end of a long golden loaf protruding from their +baskets. Work-girls sped by in all directions. Omnibuses lumbered along +as at midday. Before the great cafés opposite, the tables were already +set out on the terrace and the awnings lowered, and white-aproned +waiters stood expectant. The whole scene was bathed in the gay morning +sunshine. + +"It is good to be alive, Asticot," said my master. "It is good to be in +Paris. It is good to get up early. It is good to see the world's work +beginning. It is also good to feel infernally hungry and to have the +means of satisfying one's desires. But as, in the absence of Blanquette, +my establishment is disorganised, I think we had better have our +breakfast at a _crêmerie_ than in the Rue des Saladiers. We can talk +over our coffee." + +I accompanied him across the street in a muddled condition of intellect, +casting sidelong glances at him from time to time, as if to assure +myself that he was real. Having just come from an English environment +where the niceties of costume were as rigidly observed as the niceties +of religion, I could not help marvelling at Paragot's attire. He looked +like a tenth-rate French provincial actor made up to represent a duke, +and in a country where none but actors and footmen are clean-shaven this +likeness was the more accentuated. Also the difference between Paragot +hairy and bearded and Paragot in his present callow state was that +between an old unbroken hazel nut and its bald, shrivelled kernel. + +We entered the _crêmerie_, sat down and ordered our coffee and crisp +horse-shoe loaves. I think the _petit déjeuner_ at a _crêmerie_ is one +of the most daintily served meals in France. The morning dew glistens so +freshly on the butter, the fringed napkin is so spotless, the +wide-mouthed cups offer themselves so delicately generous. If everyone +breakfasted there crime would cease. No man could hatch a day's iniquity +amid such influences. + +When we were half-way through, Paragot unbuttoned his frock coat and +took from his pocket a black-edged letter which he flourished before my +eyes. It was then that I noticed, to my great surprise, that he had cut +his finger-nails. I thought of Madame Boin. + +"It is from the Comtesse de Verneuil, and it gives you the word of the +enigma." + +"Yes, Master," said I, eyeing the letter. + +"Confess, my little Asticot," he laughed, "that you are dying of +curiosity." + +"You would tell me," said I, "that it was no death for a gentleman." + +"You have a way of repeating my unsaid epigrams which delights me," said +he, throwing the letter on the table. "Read it." + +I read as follows: + + "CHÂTEAU MARLIER + près de Nevers. + 13th Aug. 18-- + + "MY DEAR GASTON: + + "The newspapers may have told you the news of my + husband's death on the 1st August. Since then I + have been longing to write to you but I have not + found the strength. Yet I must. + + "Forgive me for the cruel things I said on the + last unhappy night we met. I did not know what I + do now. Before my husband died he told me the true + circumstances of the money transaction. My husband + bought me, it is true, Gaston, but you did not + sell me. You sacrificed all to save my father from + prison and me from disgrace. You have lived + through everything a brave, loyal gentleman, and + even on that hateful night you kept silent. But + oh, my friend, what misery it has been to all of + us! + + "I shall be in Paris on the 28th--Hôtel Meurice. + If you care to see me will you make an + appointment? I would meet you at any place you + might suggest. The flat in the Avenue de Messine + is dismantled and, besides, I shrink from going + back there. Yours sincerely, + "JOANNA DE VERNEUIL." + +"You see, my son, what she calls me--a brave, loyal gentleman," he +cried, with his pathetic boastfulness. "Thank Heaven she knows it. I +have kept the secret deep in my heart all these years. One must be a man +to do that, eh?" He thumped his heart and drank a draught of coffee. +Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. + +He eyed the brown stain disgustedly. + +"That," said he, "is Paragot peeping out through Gaston de Nérac. You +will have observed that in the polite world they use table-napkins." + +"The Comtesse de Verneuil," said I, bringing back the conversation to +more interesting matters, "writes that she will be in Paris on the 28th. +It was the 28th yesterday." + +"I am aware of it. I have been aware of it for a fortnight. Yesterday I +had a long interview with Madame la Comtesse. It was very satisfactory. +To-day I pay her a ceremonious visit at eleven o'clock. At twelve I hope +you will also pay your respects and offer your condolences to Madame. +You ought to have a silk hat." + +"But, Master," I laughed, "If I went down the Boul' Mich' in a silk hat, +I should be taken up for improper behaviour." + +"You at least have gloves?" + +"Yes, Master." + +"Remember that in this country you wear both gloves while paying a call. +You also balance your hat on your knees." + +"But Madame de Verneuil is English," I remarked. + +"She has learned correct behaviour in France," he replied with the +solemnity of a professor of deportment. "You will have noticed in her +letter," he continued, "how delicately she implies that the Hôtel +Meurice would not be a suitable rendezvous. In my late incarnation I +doubtless should have surprised the Hôtel Meurice. I should have pained +the Head Porter. In my live character of Gaston de Nérac I command the +respect of flunkeydom. I give my card----" + +He produced from his pocket and flourished in the air an ornate, heavily +printed visiting-card of somewhat the size and appearance of the Three +of Spades. I felt greatly awed by the sight of this final emblem of +respectability. + +"I give my card," he repeated, "and the Hôtel Meurice prostrates itself +before me." + +While Paragot was playing on the lighter side of the conjuncture, my +mind danced in wonder and delight. I read the letter, which he left in +my hands, several times over. He was cleared in Joanna's eyes; nay more, +he stood revealed a hero. The generous ardour of youth bedewed my +eyelids. + +"Master," I cried, "this must be wonderful news for you." + +He nodded over his coffee cup. + +"You are right, my little Asticot; it is," he answered gravely. + + * * * * * + +When I called at the Hôtel Meurice at noon, I was conducted with +embarrassing ceremony to Madame de Verneuil's private sitting-room, and +on my way I rehearsed, in some trepidation, the polite formula of +condolence which Paragot had taught me. When I entered, the sight of +Joanna's face drove polite formulæ out of my head. She was dressed in +black, it is true, but the black only set off the shell pink of her +cheeks and the blue of her eyes which were no longer frozen, but laughed +at me, as if a visit of condolence were the gayest event possible. + +"It is so good of you, Mr. Asticot, to come and see me. Mr. de Nérac +tells me you have travelled straight from Somerset in order to do it. +How is the West Country looking? I am of the West Country myself--one of +these days you will let me shew it you. I like him much better, Gaston, +dressed like an Englishman, instead of in that dreadful student get-up, +which makes him look like a brigand. Yes, England has agreed with him. +Oh! do take off your gloves and put your hat down. I am not a French +mamma with a daughter whose hand you are asking. Gaston, I am sure you +told him to keep on his gloves!" + +"I am responsible for his decorum, Joanna," said my Master, solemnly. + +I noticed that he too had discarded hat, gloves and umbrella which lay +forlorn on a distant table. Still his coat was buttoned, and he sat bolt +upright on his chair. Madame de Verneuil's silvery voice rippled on. She +was girlishly excited. + +"I have persuaded Mr. de Nérac to lunch with me," she said happily. "And +you must do the same. Will you ring the bell? We'll have it up here. And +now tell me about Somerset." + +Never was there a sweeter lady than mine. Yes, I call her mine; and with +reason. Was she not the first vision of gracious womanhood that came +into my childhood's world? Up to then woman to me was my mother and Mrs. +Housekeeper. Joanna sprang magically, as in an Arabian Night, out of an +old stocking. Never was there a sweeter lady than mine. She welcomed me +as if such things as wash-tubs, tambourines, Café Delphines and +absinthiated Paragots had never existed, and I were one of her own +people. + +"How I long to get back," she cried when I had told her of my modest +exploits at the Ewings. "I have not been to Melford for five years. When +will you come, Gaston?" + +They had evidently made good use of their previous interviews. + +"I am going to live in England," she explained. "At first I shall stay +with my mother at Melford. She is an old friend of Mr. de Nérac's. Oh, +Gaston, she does so want to see you--I have told her the whole story--of +course she knew all my poor father's affairs. And I have a cousin whose +people live at Melford too, Major Walters--I don't think you know him--a +dear fellow. He has just been at Nevers helping me to settle up things. +He is my trustee. You must be great friends." + +"I remember the name," said Paragot. + +"Why of course you ought to," she cried prettily with a laugh and a +blush. "I had forgotten. You were pleased to be jealous of him. Mr. +Asticot, you will have to forgive us for dragging memories out of the +dust heap. It is all so very long ago. Dear me!" Her face grew pathetic. +"It is very long ago, Gaston." + +"Thirteen years," said he. + +I calculated. Joanna was a grown-up woman about to be married when my +age was six. I suddenly felt very young indeed. + +The waiters set the lunch. Joanna, most perfect of hostesses, presided +gaily, cracked little jokes for my entertainment and inspired me with +the power of quite elegant conversation. Paragot preserved his correct +demeanour and, to my puzzledom, spoke very little. I wondered whether +the repressive influence lay in the spats or the purple cravat with the +yellow spots. As a painter I didn't like the cravat. He drank a great +deal of water with his wine. I noticed him once pause in the act of +conveying to his mouth a bit of bread held in his fingers with which he +had mopped up the sauce in his plate, and furtively conceal it between +his cutlet bones--a manoeuvre which, at the time, I could not +understand. In the _Quartier Latin_ we cleaned our plates to a bright +polish with bits of bread. How else could you consume the sauce? + +At the end of the meal Joanna gave us permission to smoke. + +"I won't smoke, thank you," said Paragot politely. + +"Rubbish!" laughed Joanna, whereupon Paragot produced a cigarette case +from the breast pocket of his frock coat. Paragot and a cigarette-case! +Once more it was _abracadabrant_! He also refused cognac with his +coffee. + +After a time, still feeling that I was very young, and that my seniors +might have further confidential things to say to each other, I rose to +take my leave. Paragot rose too. + +"I would ask you to stay, Gaston, if I hadn't my wretched lawyer to see +this afternoon. But you'll come in for an hour after dinner, won't you? +No one knows I'm in Paris. Besides, at this time of year there is no one +in Paris to know." + +"Willingly," said Paragot, "but _les convenances_----" + +Joanna's pretty lips parted in astonishment. + +"You--preaching the proprieties?--My dear Gaston!" + +I turned to the window and looked at the Tuileries Gardens which baked +in the afternoon sun. The two spoke a little in low voices, but I could +not help overhearing. + +"Is it true, Gaston, that you have wanted me all these years?" + +"I want you as much now as I did then." + +"I, too," whispered Joanna. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +AS we emerged from the Hôtel Meurice I turned instinctively to the left. +Paragot drew me to the right. + +"Henceforward," said he, "I resume the Paris which is my birthright. We +will forget for a moment that there are such places as the Boulevard +Saint-Michel and the Rue des Saladiers." + +We walked along the Rue de Rivoli and taking the Rue Royale passed the +Madeleine and arrived at the Café de la Paix. It was a broiling +afternoon. The cool terrace of the café invited the hot wayfarer to +repose. + +"Master," said I, "isn't it almost time for your absinthe?" + +He raised his lemon kids as if he would ban the place. + +"My little Asticot, I have abjured absinthe and forsworn cafés. I have +broken my new porcelain pipe and have cut my finger-nails. As I enter on +the path of happiness, I scatter the dregs and shreds and clippings of +the past behind me. I divest myself of all the crapulous years." + +If he had divested himself of the superfluous trappings of +respectability beneath which he was perspiring freely, I thought he +would have been happier. The sight of the umbrella alone made one feel +moist, to say nothing of the spats. + +"We might have some grenadine syrup," I suggested ironically. + +"Willingly," said he. + +So we sat and drank grenadine syrup and water. He gave me the impression +of a cropped lion sucking lollipops. + +"It is peculiarly nasty and unsatisfying," he remarked after a sip, "but +doubtless I shall get used to it. I shall have to get used to a devil of +a lot of things, my son. As soon as the period of her widowhood has +elapsed I hope to marry Madame de Verneuil." + +"Marry Madame de Verneuil?" I cried, the possibility of such an +occurrence never having crossed my mind. + +"Why not? When two people of equal rank love and are free to marry, why +should they not do so? Have you any objection?" + +"No, Master," said I. + +"I shall resume my profession," he announced, lighting a cigarette, "and +in the course of a year or two regain the position to which an ancient +_Prix de Rome_ is entitled." + +I was destined that day to go from astonishment to astonishment. + +"You a _Prix de Rome_, Master?" + +"Yes, my son, in Architecture." + +He was clothed in a new and sudden radiance. To a Paris art student a +_Prix de Rome_ is what a Field Marshal is to a private soldier, a Lord +Chancellor to the eater of dinners in the Temple. I must confess that +though my passionate affection for him never wavered, yet my childish +reverence had of late waned in intensity. I saw his faults, which is +incompatible with true hero-worship. But now he sprang to cloud summits +of veneration. I looked awe-stricken at him and beheld nothing but an +ancient _Prix de Rome_. Then I remembered our enthusiasm over the Palace +of Dipsomania. + +"They said you were an architect that night at the Café Delphine," I +exclaimed. + +"I was a genius," said Paragot modestly. "I used to think in palaces. +Most men's palaces are little buildings written big. My small buildings +were palaces reduced. I could have roofed in the whole of Paris with a +dome. My first commission was to put a new roof on a Baptist Chapel in +Ireland. It was then that I met Madame de Verneuil after an interval of +five years. We are second cousins. Her father and my mother were first +cousins. I have known her since she was born. When I was at Rugby, I +spent most of my holidays at her house. You must take all this into +account, my little Asticot, before you begin to criticise my plans for +the future." + +By this time the nerve or brain cell whereby one experiences the +sensation of amazement was numb. If Paragot had informed me that he had +been a boon companion of King Qa and had built the pyramids of Egypt I +should not have been surprised. I could only record the various facts. + +Paragot was at Rugby. + +Paragot was Joanna's second cousin. + +Paragot was a _Prix de Rome_. + +Paragot was a genius who had put a new roof to a Baptist Chapel in +Ireland. + +Paragot was going to marry Joanna. + +How he proposed to start in practice at his age, with no connection, I +did not at the moment enquire. Neither did Paragot. It was Paragot's +easy way to leap to ends and let the means take care of themselves. He +drained his glass meditatively and then with a wry face spat on the +ground. + +"If I don't have a cognac, my little Asticot," said he, "I shall be +sick. To-morrow I may be able to swallow syrup without either salivation +or the adventitious aid of alcohol." + +He summoned the languid waiter and ordered _fine champagne_. Everything +seemed languid this torrid afternoon, except the British or American +tourists who passed by with Baedekers under their arms. The cab-horses +in the file opposite us dropped their heads and the glazed-hatted cabmen +regarded the baking Place de l'Opéra with more than their usual apathy. +It looked more like the market place of a sleepy provincial town than +the heart of Paris. When the waiter had brought the little glass in a +saucer and the _verseur_ had poured out the brandy, Paragot gulped it +down and cleared his throat noisily. I drowsed in my chair, feeling +comfortably tired after my all night journey. Suddenly I awakened to the +fact that Paragot was telling me the story of Joanna and the Comte de +Verneuil. + +She was exquisite. She was fragrant. She was an English rosebud wet with +morning-dew. She had all manner of attributes with which I was perfectly +well acquainted. They loved with the ardour of two young and noble +souls. (Your ordinary Englishman would not thus proclaim the nobility of +his soul; but Paragot, remember, was half French--and Gascon to +boot--and the other half Irish.) It was more than love--it was a +consuming passion; which was odd in the case of an English rosebud wet +with morning-dew. However, I suppose Paragot meant that he swept the +beloved maiden off her feet with his own vehemence; and indeed she must +have loved him truly. He was fresh from the Villa Medici, the Paradise +where all the winners of the _Prix de Rome_ in the various arts complete +their training; he had won an important competition; fortune smiled on +him; he had only to rule lines on drawing paper to become one of the +great ones of the earth. He became engaged to Joanna. + +Now, Joanna's father, Simon Rushworth, was a London solicitor in very +fashionable practice; a man of false geniality, said Paragot, who smiled +at you with lips but seemed always to be looking at some hell over your +shoulder. He also promoted companies, and the Comte de Verneuil, an +Anglo-French financier, stood ever by his elbow, using him as his tool +and dupe and drawer in general of chestnuts from the fire. The Comte +wanted to marry Joanna, "which was absurd, seeing that I was his rival," +said Paragot simply. + +One of Mr. Rushworth's companies failed. Mr. Rushworth's fashionable +clients grew alarmed. He gave a party in honour of Joanna's engagement +and invited all his clients. Ugly rumours spread among the guests. The +presage of disaster was in the air. Paragot began to suspect the truth. +It was a hateful party. The band in the garden played selections from +"Orphée aux Enfers," and the mocking refrain accompanied the last words +he was to have with Joanna. The Comte de Verneuil called him aside, +explained Rushworth's position. Ten thousand pounds of his clients' +money which he held in trust had gone in the failure of the company. If +that amount was not at his disposal the next morning, he was finished, +snuffed out. It appeared that no one in Paris or London would lend him +the money, his credit being gone. Unless M. de Nérac could find the ten +thousand pounds there was the gaol yawning with horrible certainty for +M. de Nérac's prospective father-in-law. As Paragot's patrimony, +invested in French government securities, was not a third of this sum, +he could do nothing but wring his hands in despair and call on +Providence and the Comte de Verneuil. The former turned a deaf ear. The +latter declared himself a man of business and not a philanthropist; he +was ready however to purchase an option on the young lady's affections. +Did not M. de Nérac know what an option was? He would explain. He +drafted the famous contract. In return for Paragot's signature he would +hand him a cheque drawn in favour of Simon Rushworth. + +"_Nom de Dieu!_" cried Paragot, banging the marble table, with his fist, +"Do you see in what a vice he held me? He was a devil, that man! The +only human trait about him was a passion for rare apes of which he had a +collection at Nevers. Thank Heaven they are dead! Thank Heaven he is +dead! Thank Heaven he lost most of the money for which he preyed on his +kind. He was a vulture, a scaly-headed vulture. He was the carrion kite +above every rotten financial concern in London and Paris. That which +went near to ruin my poor vain fool of a father-in-law filled his +bulging pockets. I hated him living and I hate him dead!" + +He tore open his frock coat and pushed the flat brimmed silk hat to the +back of his head and waved his lemon kids in his old extravagant +gestures. + +"What did the stolen ten thousand pounds matter to him? It mattered +prison to Rushworth, Joanna's father--think of the horror of it! She +would have died from the disgrace--her mother too. And the devil jested, +Asticot. He talked of Rushworth being smitten with the slings and black +arrows of outrageous fortune. _Nom de Dieu_, I could have strangled him! +But what could I do? Two years! To go out of her life for two years as +if I had been struck dead! Yet after two years I could come back and say +what I chose. I signed the contract. I went out of the house. I kept my +word. _Noblesse oblige._ I was Gaston de Nérac. I came back to Paris. I +worked night and day for eighteen months. I had genius. I had hope. I +had youth. I had faith. She would never marry the Comte de Verneuil. She +would not marry anybody. I counted the days. Meanwhile he posed as the +saviour of Simon Rushworth. He poisoned Joanna's mind against me. He +lied, invented infamies. This I have heard lately. He confessed it all +to her before the devil took him as a play-fellow. Of one who had so +cruelly treated her all things were possible. She half believed them. At +last he told her I was dead. An acquaintance had found me in a Paris +hospital and had paid for my funeral. She had no reason for disbelief. +He pressed his suit. Her father and mother urged her--the fool Rushworth +soon afterwards came to another crisis, and de Verneuil again stepped in +and demanded Joanna as the price. She is gentle. She has a heart +tenderer than that of any woman who ever lived. One day I heard she had +married him. My God! It is thirteen years ago." + +He poured some water into the syrup glass and gulped it down. I remained +silent. I had never seen him give way to violent emotion--save +once--when he broke the fiddle over Mr. Pogson's head. + +Presently he said with a whimsical twist of his lips: + +"You may have heard me speak of a crusader's mace." + +"Yes, Master." + +"That's when I used it. I had an inspiration," he remarked quietly. + +"Master," said I after a while, "if Madame de Verneuil believed you to +be dead, it must have been a shock to her when she saw you alive at +Aix-les-Bains." + +"She learned soon after her marriage that her husband had been mistaken. +Her mother had caught sight of me in Venice. Madame de Verneuil never +forgave him the lie. She is gentle, my son, but she has character." + +It was after that, I think, that the frozen look came into her eyes. +Thenceforward she was ice to the Comte de Verneuil, who for pleasant, +domestic companionship had to resort to his rare apes. No wonder his +madness took the form of the fixed idea that he had murdered Paragot. + +"After all," he mused, "there must have been some good in the man. He +desired to make amends. He sent me the old contract, so that his wife +should not find it after his death. He confessed everything to her +before he died. There is a weak spot somewhere in the heart of the Devil +himself. I shouldn't wonder if he were devoted to a canary." + +"Master," said I, suddenly bethinking me of the canary in the Rue des +Saladiers, "if you marry Madame de Verneuil, what will become of +Blanquette?" + +"She will come and live with us, of course." + +"H'm!" said I. + +Respect forbade downright contradiction. I could only marvel mutely at +his pathetic ignorance of woman. Indeed, his reply gave me the shock of +an unexpected stone wall. He, who had but recently taught me the chart +of Fanchette's soul, to be unaware of elementary axioms! Did I not +remember Joanna's iciness at Aix-les-Bains when I told her of his +adoption of my zither-playing colleague? Was I not aware of poor +Blanquette's miserable jealousy of the beautiful lady who enquired for +her master? To bring these two together seemed, even to my boy's mind, a +ludicrous impossibility. Yet Paragot spoke with the unhumorous gravity +of a Methodist parson and the sincerity of a maiden lady with a mission +to obtain good situations for deserving girls; a man, so please you, who +had gone into the holes and corners of the Continent of Europe in search +of Truth, who had come face to face with human nature naked and +unashamed, who had run the gamut of femininity from our rare princess +Joanna to the murderer's widow of Prague; a man who ought to have had so +sensitive a perception that the most subtle and elusive harmonies of +woman were as familiar to him as their providential love of babies or +their ineradicable passion for new hats. + +He lit another cigarette, having dallied in a somewhat youthful fashion +with the newly acquired case, and blew two or three contented puffs. + +"I believe in the Roman conception of the _familia_, my son. You and +Blanquette are included in mine. You being a man must go outside the +world and make your way; but Blanquette, being a woman, must remain +under the roof of the _paterfamilias_ which is myself." + +I foresaw trouble. + + * * * * * + +When he left me after dinner to pay his promised visit to Joanna, I went +in quest of Cazalet of the sandals, with whom I spent a profitable +evening discussing the question of Subject in Art. Bringard and Bonnet +and himself had rented a dilapidated stable in Menilmontant which they +had fitted up as a studio, and, as his two colleagues were away, Cazalet +had displayed his own horrific canvases all over the place. The +argument, if I remember right, was chiefly concerned with Cazalet's +subject in art over which we fought vehemently; but though the sabre of +his father hung proudly on the wall, he did not challenge me to a duel. +Instead, he invited me to join the trio in the rent of the studio, and +I, suddenly struck with the advantage and importance of having a studio +of my own, gladly accepted the proposal. When one can say "my studio," +one feels that one is definitely beginning one's professional career. I +left him to sleep on some contrivance of sacking which he called a bed, +and trudged homewards to the Boulevard Saint-Michel. Curiosity tempted +me to look into the Café Delphine. It was deserted. Madame Boin opened +her fat arms wide and had it not been for the intervening counter would +have clasped me to her bosom. What had become of Monsieur Paragot? It +was more than a fortnight since he had been in the café. I lied, drank a +glass of beer and went home. I could not take away Paragot's character +by declaring his reversion to respectability. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +MY taking the share of the stable-studio in Menilmontant had one +unlooked-for result. + +"You must paint my portrait," said Joanna. + +"Madame," I cried, "if I only could!" + +"What is your charge for portraits, Mr. Asticot?" + +Paragot set down his tea-cup and looked at me with a shade of anxiety. +We were having tea at the Hôtel Meurice. + +"The pleasure of looking a long time at the sitter, Madame," said I. + +"That is very well said, my son," Paragot remarked. + +"You will not make a fortune that way. However, if you _will_ play for +love this time--" + +She smiled and handed me the cakes. + +"Where did you say your studio was?" + +"But, Madame, you can't go there!" I expostulated. "It is in the slums +of Menilmontant beyond the Cemetery of Père Lachaise. The place is all +tumbling down--and Cazalet sleeps there." + +"Who is Cazalet?" + +"A yellow-haired Caliban in sandals," said Paragot. + +Joanna clapped her hands like a child. + +"I should love to go. Perhaps Mr. de Nérac would come with me, and +protect me from Caliban. If you won't," she added seeing that Paragot +was about to raise an objection, "I will go by myself." + +"There are no chairs to sit upon," I said warningly. + +"I will sit upon Caliban," she declared. + +Thus it came to pass that I painted the portrait of Madame de Verneuil +in periods of ecstatic happiness and trepidation. She came every day and +sat with unwearying patience on what we called the model throne, the one +comfortless wooden arm-chair the studio possessed, while Paragot mounted +guard near by on an empty box. Everything delighted her--the approach +through the unsavoury court-yard, the dirty children, the crazy +interior, Cazalet's ghastly and unappreciated masterpieces, even Cazalet +himself, who now and then would slouch awkwardly about the place trying +to hide his toes. She expressed simple-hearted wonder at the mysteries +of my art, and vowed she saw a speaking likeness in the first stages of +chaotic pinks and blues. I have never seen a human being so inordinately +contented with the world. + +"I am like a prisoner who has been kept in the dark and is let out free +into the sunshine," she said one day to Paragot, who had remarked on her +gaiety. "I want to run about and dance and smell flowers and clap my +hands." + +In these moments of exuberance she seemed to cast off the shadow of the +years and become a girl again. I regarded her as my contemporary; but +Paragot with his lined time-beaten face looked prematurely old. Only now +and then, when he got into fierce argument with Cazalet and swung his +arms about and mingled his asseverations with the quaint oaths of the +Latin Quarter, did he relax his portentous gravity. + +"That is just how he used to go on," she laughed confidentially to me, +her pink-shell face close to mine. "He was a whirlwind. He carried +everybody off their feet." + +She caught my eye, smiled and flushed. I quite understood that it was +she who had been carried off her feet by my tempestuous master. + +"_Mais sacré mille cochons, tu n'y comprends rien du tout!_" cried +Paragot, at that moment. I, knowing that this was not a proper +expression to use before ladies, kept up the confidential glance for a +second. + +"I hope he didn't use such dreadful language." + +"You couldn't in English, could you? He always spoke English to me. In +French it is different. I like it. What did he say? _'Sacré mille +cochons'!_" + +She imitated him delightfully. You have no idea what a dainty musical +phrase this peculiarly offensive expletive became when uttered by her +lips. + +"After all," she said, "it only means 'sacred thousand pigs'--but why +aren't you painting, Mr. Asticot?" + +"Because you have got entirely out of pose, Madame." + +Whereupon it was necessary to fix her head again, and my silly fingers +tingled as they touched her hair. It is a good thing for a boy of +nineteen to be romantically in love with Joanna. He can thus live +spiritually beyond his means, without much danger of bankruptcy, and his +extravagance shall be counted to him for virtue. Also if he is painting +the princess of his dreams, he has such an inspiration as is given but +to the elect, and what skill he is possessed of must succeed in its +purpose. + +One morning she found on her arrival a bowl of roses, which I had bought +in the markets, placed against her chair on the dais. She uttered a +little cry of pleasure and came to me both hands outstretched. Taking +mine, she turned her head, in an adorable attitude, half upwards to +Paragot. + +"I believe it is Mr. Asticot who is in love with me, Gaston. Aren't you +jealous?" + +I blushed furiously. Paragot smiled down on her. + +"Hasn't every man you met fallen in love with you since you were two +years old?" + +"I forgive you," she cried, "because you still can make pretty speeches. +Thank you for the roses, Mr. Asticot. If I wore one would you paint it +in? Or would it spoil your colour scheme?" + +I selected the rose which would best throw up the pink sea-shell of her +face, and she put it gaily in her corsage. She pirouetted up to the dais +and with a whisk of skirts seated herself on the throne. + +"If any of my French friends and relations knew I were doing this they +would die of shock. It's lovely to defy conventions for a while. One +will soon have to yield to them." + +"Conventions are essential for the smooth conduct of social affairs," +remarked Paragot. + +She looked at him quizzically. "My dear Gaston, if you go on cultivating +such unexceptional sentiments, they'll turn _you_ into a churchwarden as +soon as you set foot in Melford." + +I had seen, for the first time in my life, a churchwarden in Somerset, a +local cheesemonger of appalling correctitude. If Paragot ever came to +resemble him, he was lost. There would be an entity who had passed +through Paragot's experiences; but there would be no more Paragot. + +"You must save him, Madame," I cried, "from being made a churchwarden." + +Paragot lit a cigarette. I watched the first few puffs, awaiting a +repartee. None came. I felt a qualm of apprehension. Was he already +becoming de-Paragot-ised? I did not realise then what it means to a man +to cast aside the slough of many years' decay, and take his stand clean +before the world. He shivers, is liable to catch cold, like the tramp +whose protective hide of filth is summarily removed in the workhouse +bath. Nor did my dear lady realise this. How could she, bright freed +creature, hungering after the long withheld joyousness of existence, and +overwilling to delude herself into the belief that every shadow was a +ray of sunlight? She had no notion of the man's grotesque struggles to +conceal the shivering sensitiveness of his roughly cleaned soul. + +She twitted him merrily. + +"You can argue like a tornado with Monsieur Cazalet, but you think I +must be talked to like this country's _jeune fille à marier_. Isn't he +perverse, Mr. Asticot? I think I am quite as entertaining as Caliban." + +Well you see, when he talked to Cazalet, he slipped on the slough again +and was comfortable. + +He waited for a moment or two as if he were composing a speech, and then +rose and drawing near her, said in a low voice, thinking that as I was +absorbed in my painting I could not hear:-- + +"This new happiness is too overwhelming for fantastic talk." + +"Oh no it isn't," she declared in a whisper. "We have put back time +thirteen years--we wipe out of our minds all that has happened in them, +and start just where we left off. You were fantastic enough then, in all +conscience." + +"I had the world at my feet and I kicked it about like a football." He +hunched up his shoulders in a helpless gesture. "Somehow the football +burst and became a helpless piece of leather." + +"I haven't the remotest idea what you mean," laughed Joanna. + +"Madame," said I, "if you turn your head about like that I shall get you +all out of drawing." + +"Oh dear," said Joanna, resuming her pose. + +These were enchanted days, I think, for all of us. Even Cazalet felt the +influence and put on a pair of gaudily striped socks over which his +sandals would not fit. Joanna was very tender to him, as to everybody, +but she appeared to draw her skirts around her on passing him by, as if +he were a slug, which she did not love but could not harm for the world. +Paragot, having for some absurd reason forsworn his porcelain pipe, +smoked the cigarette of semi-contentment and fulfilled his happiness by +the contemplation of Joanna and myself. I verily believe he was more at +his ease when I was with them. As for the portrait, he viewed its +progress with enthusiastic interest. Now and then he would forget +himself and discourse expansively on its merits, to the delight of +Joanna. He regarded it as his own production. Had he not bought this +poor little devil and all his works for half-a-crown? Ergo, the work +taking shape on the canvas was his, Paragot's. What could be more +logical? And it was he who had given me my first lessons. No mother +showing off a precocious brat to her gossips could have displayed more +overweening pride. It was pathetic, and I loved him for it, and so did +Joanna. + +The time came however--all too soon---when Madame de Verneuil could live +in her Land of Cockaigne no longer. Convention claimed her. Her cousin, +Major Walters, was coming from England to aid her in final arrangements +with the lawyers, and he was to carry her off in a day or two to +Melford. At the end of the last sitting she looked round the dismal +place--it had discoloured, uneven, bulging whitewashed walls, an +unutterably dirty loose plank floor, and a skylight patched with maps of +hideous worlds on Mercator's projection, and was furnished with packing +cases and grime and the sacking which was Cazalet's bed--and sighed +wistfully, as if she had been an unoffending Eve thrust out of Eden. + +"I have been so happy here," she said to me. "I wonder whether I shall +ever be so happy again! Do you think I shall?" + +I noticed her give a swift, sidelong glance--almost imperceptible--at +Paragot, who had sauntered down the studio to look at one of Cazalet's +pictures. + +"The first time you saw me," she added, as I found nothing to say, "you +announced that you were learning philosophy. Haven't you learned enough +yet to answer me?" + +"Madame," I replied, driven into a corner, "happiness is such an awfully +funny thing. You find it when you least expect it, and when you expect +it you often don't find it." + +"Is that supposed to be comforting or depressing, Mr. Asticot?" + +"I think we had better ask my master, Madame," I said. "He can tell you +better than I." + +But she shook her head and did not ask Paragot. + + * * * * * + +"My son," said Paragot that evening by his window in the Rue des +Saladiers, trying to disintegrate some fresh air from the fetid odours +that rose from the narrow street below, "you have won Madame de +Verneuil's heart. You are a lucky little Asticot. And I am proud of you +because I made you. You are a proof to her that I haven't spent all my +life in absorbing absinthe and omitting to decorate Europe with palaces. +Instead of bricks and mortar I have worked in soul-stuff and my +masterpiece is an artist,--and a great artist, by the Lord God!" he +cried with sudden access of passion, "if you will keep 'the sorrowful +great gift' pure and undefiled as a good woman does her chastity. You +must help me in my work, my son. Let me be able to point to you as the +one man in the world who does not prostitute his art for money or +reputation, who sees God beneath a leper's skin and proclaims Him +bravely, who reveals the magical beauty of humanity and compels the fool +and the knave and the man with the muck-rake and the harlot to see it, +and sends them away with hope in their hearts, and faith in the destiny +of the race and charity to one another--let me see this, my son, and by +heavens! I shall have done more with my life than erect a temple made by +hands--and I shall have justified my existence. You will do this for me, +Asticot?" + +I was young. I was impressionable. I loved the man with a passionate +gratitude. I gave my promise. Heaven knows I have tried to keep it--with +what success is neither here nor there. + +The fantastic element in the psychological state of Paragot I did not +consider then, but now it moves me almost to tears. Just think of it. I +was his one _apologia pro vita sua_; his one good work which he +presented with outstretched hands and pleading eyes, to Joanna. I love +the man too well to say more. + + * * * * * + +Madame de Verneuil went away leaving both of us desolate. Even the +prospect of visiting Melford a month hence--at Mrs. Rushworth's cordial +invitation--only intermittently raised Paragot's spirits. It did not +affect mine at all. I felt that a glory had faded from Menilmontant. +Still, I had the portrait to finish, and the preliminary sketches to +make of a deuce of a mythological picture for which Cazalet and +Fanchette (who for want of better company had become addicted during +August to my colleague) were to serve as models. I had my head and hands +full of occupation, whereas the reorganized Paragot had none. He talked +in a great way of resuming his profession, and even went the length of +buying drawing-paper and pins, and drawing-board and T-squares and +dividers and other working tools of the architect. But as a man cannot +design a palace or a pigstye and put it on the market as one can a book +or a picture, he made little headway with his project. He obtained the +conditions of an open competition for an Infectious Diseases Hospital +somewhere in Auvergne, and talked grandiosely about this for a day or +two; but when he came to set out the plan he found that he knew nothing +whatever about the modern requirements of such a building and cared +less. + +"I will wait, my son, until there is something worthy of an artist's +endeavour. A Palace of Justice in an important town, or an Opera House. +Hospitals for infectious diseases do not inspire one, and I need +inspiration. Besides, the visit to Melford would break the continuity of +my work. I begin, my son Asticot, when I come back, and then you will +see. An ancient Prix de Rome, _nom de nom!_ has artistic +responsibilities. He must come back in splendour like Holger Danske when +he wakes from his enchanted slumber to conquer the earth." + +Poor Holger Danske! When he does wake up he will find his conquering +methods a trifle out of date. Paragot did not take this view of his +simile. I believed him, however, and looked forward to the day when his +winning design for a cathedral would strike awe into a flabbergasted +world. + + * * * * * + +"My son," said he a day or two after he had resolved upon this +Resurrection in State, "I want Blanquette. An orderly household cannot +be properly conducted by the intermittent ministrations of a concierge." + +Our good Blanquette, believing as I had done, that the Master was riding +about France on a donkey, was still in villégiatura with our farmer +friends near Chartres, and in order that she should have as long a +holiday as possible he had hitherto forbidden me to enlighten her as to +his change of project. + +"Besides," he added, "Blanquette has a place in my heart which the +concierge hasn't. I also want those I love to share the happiness that +has fallen to my lot. You will write to her my son and ask whether she +wants to come home." + +"She will take the first train," said I. + +"Blanquette is a curious type of the absolute feminine," he remarked. +"She is never happier than when she can regard us as a couple of babies. +Her greatest delight would be to wash us and feed us with a spoon." + +"Master," said I, somewhat timidly, "I think Blanquette is sometimes +just a little bit miserable because you don't seem to care for her." + +He regarded me in astonishment. + +"I not care for Blanquette? But you ridiculous little lump of idiocy! +will you never understand? She, like you, is part of myself." He thumped +his chest as usual. "In the name of petticoats, what does she want? In +Russia I met an honest German artisan who had married a peasant girl. +After a month's unclouded existence she broke down beneath the load of +misery. Her husband didn't love her. Why? Because they had been married +a whole month and he hadn't beaten her yet! Does the child want me to +beat her? I believe lots of women do. And you, mindless little donkey, +what do you want me to make of her? Your head is full of the +imbecilities of the studio. Because I keep her here like my daughter, +and have not made her my mistress, you take it upon yourself to conclude +that I have no affection for her. Bah! You know nothing. You have lived +with me all these years, and you know nothing whatever about me. You +don't even know Blanquette. Beneath an unprepossessing exterior she has +a heart of gold. She has every large-souled quality that a woman can +stuff into her nature. She would live on cheese-rind and egg shells, if +she thought it would benefit either of us. I not care for Blanquette? +You shall see." + +So the following afternoon when we met Blanquette's train at the Gare +Saint-Lazare, Paragot had taken her into his arms and planted a kiss on +each of her broad cheeks before she realised who the magnificent, +clean-shaven welcomer in the silk hat really was. + +When he released her, she stared at him even as I had done. + +"_Mais--qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?_" she cried, and I am sure that the +comfort of his kisses was lost in her entire bewilderment. + +"It is the Master, Blanquette," said I. + +"I know, but you are no longer the same. I shouldn't have recognised +you." + +"Do you prefer me as I used to be?" + +"_Oui, Monsieur_," said Blanquette. + +I burst out laughing. + +"She is saying '_Monsieur_' to the silk hat." + +"_Méchant!_" she scolded. "But it is true." She turned to the master and +asked him how he had enjoyed his holiday. + +"I never went, my little Blanquette." + +"You have been in Paris all the time?" + +"Yes." + +"And you only send for me now? But _mon Dieu!_--how have you been +living?" + +Visions of hideous upheaval in the Rue des Saladiers floated before her +mind, and she hurried forward as if there was no time to be lost in +getting there. When we arrived she held up horror-stricken hands. The +dust! The dirt! The state of the kitchen! The Master's bedroom! Oh no, +decidedly she would not leave him again! She would only go to the +country after she had seen him well started in the train with a ticket +for a long way beyond Paris. There was a week's work in front of her. + +"Anyway, my little Blanquette," said Paragot, "you are glad to be with +me?" + +"It is never of my own free will that I would leave you," she replied. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +"YOU perceive," said Paragot, waving a complacent hand, as soon as +Blanquette had retired to make the necessary purchases for the evening +meal, "you perceive that she is perfectly happy. You were entirely +wrong. All is for the best in this best of all possible worlds." + +When my master adopted the Panglossian view of the universe I used no +arguments that might cloud his serenity. I acquiesced with mental +reservations. We talked for a time, Paragot sitting primly on a +straight-backed chair. He had abandoned his sprawling attitudes, for +fear, I suspect, of spoiling his new clothes. The position, however, not +making for ease of conversation, he presently took up a book and began +to read, while I amused myself idly by making a furtive sketch of him. +Since his metamorphosis he was by no means the entertaining companion of +his unregenerate days. He himself was oppressed, I fancy, by his own +correctitude. The eternal reading which filled so much of his life did +not afford him the same wholehearted enjoyment now, as it did when he +lolled dishevelled, pipe in mouth and glass within reach, on bed or +sofa. This afternoon, I noticed, he yawned and fidgeted in his chair, +and paid to his book the distracted attention of a person reading a back +number of a magazine in a dentist's waiting room. My sketch, which I +happen to have preserved, shows a singularly bored Paragot. At last he +laid the book aside, and gathering together hat, gloves, and umbrella, +the precious appanages of his new estate, he announced his intention of +taking the air before dinner. I remained indoors to gossip with +Blanquette during its preparation. I had considerable doubts as to her +optimistic view of things, and these were confirmed as soon as the outer +door closed behind my master, and the salon door opened to admit +Blanquette. + +She came to me with an agitated expression on her face which did not +accord with perfect happiness of spirit. + +"_Dis donc, Asticot_," she cried. "What does it mean? Why did the master +not go on his holiday? Why did he not send for me? Why has he cut off +his hair and beard and dressed himself like a _Monsieur_? I know very +well the master is a gentleman, but why has he changed from what he used +to be?" + +I temporised. "My dear," said I, "when you first knew me I wore a blue +blouse and boots with wooden soles. Almost the last time you had the +happiness of beholding me, I was clad in the purple and fine linen of a +dress-suit. You weren't alarmed at my putting on civilised garments, why +should you be excited at the master doing the same?" + +"If you talk like the master, I shall detest you," exclaimed Blanquette. +"You do it because you are hiding something. _Ah, mon petit frère_," she +said with a change of tone and putting her arm round my neck, "tell me +what is happening. He is going to be married to the beautiful lady, eh?" + +She looked into my eyes. Hers were deep and brown and a world of pain +lay behind them. I am a bad liar. She freed me roughly. + +"I see. It is true. He is going to be married. He does not want me any +longer. It is all finished. O _mon Dieu, mon Dieu_! What is to become of +me?" + +She wept, rubbing away the tears with her knuckles. I tried to comfort +her and lent her my pocket-handkerchief. She need have no fear, I said. +As long as the master lived her comfort was assured. She turned on me. + +"Do you think I would let him keep me in idleness while he was married +to another woman? But no. It would be _malhonnête_. I would never do +such a thing." + +She looked at me almost fiercely. There was something noble in her +pride. It would be dishonourable to accept without giving. She would +never do that, never. + +"But what will become of you, my dear Blanquette?" I asked. + +"Look, Asticot. I would give him all that he would ask. I am his, all, +all, to do what he likes with. I have told you. I would sleep on the +ground outside his door every night, if that were his good pleasure. It +is not much that I demand. But he must be alone in the room, +_entends-tu_? Another woman comes to cherish him, and I no longer have +any place near him. I must be far away. And what would be the good of +being far away from him? What shall I do? _Tiens_, as soon as he +marries, _je vais me fich' à l'eau_." + +"You are going to do _what_?" I cried incredulously. + +She repeated that she would "chuck" herself into the river--"_Se fich à +l'eau_" is not the French of Racine. I remonstrated. She retorted that +if she could not keep the master's house in order there was nothing left +to live for. Much better be dead than eat your heart out in misery. + +"You are talking like a wicked girl," said I severely, "and it will be +my duty to tell the master." + +She gave her eyes a final dab with my handkerchief which she restored to +me with an air of scornful resentment. + +"If you do, you will be infamous, and I will never speak to you again as +long as I live." + +I descended from my Rhadamanthine seat and reflected that the betrayal +of Blanquette's confidence would not be a gallant action. I maintained +my dignity, however. + +"Then I must hear nothing more about you drowning yourself." + +"We will not talk of it any longer," said Blanquette, frigidly. "I am +going to cook the dinner." + +As the prim salon provided little interest for an idle youth, I followed +her into the slip of a kitchen, where I lounged in great contentment and +discomfort. Blanquette relapsed into her fatalistic attitude towards +life and seemed to dismiss the disastrous subject from her mind. While +she prepared the simple meal she entertained me with an account of the +farm near Chartres. There were so many cows, so many ducks and hens and +so many pigs. She rose at five every morning and milked the cows. Oh, +she had milked cows as a child and had not forgotten the art. It was +difficult for those who did not know. _Tiens!_ She demonstrated with +finger and thumb and a lettuce how it was done. + +"I shall not forget it," said I. + +"It is good to know things," she remarked seriously. + +"One never can tell," said I, "when a cow will come to you weeping to be +milked: especially in the Rue des Saladiers." + +"That is true," replied Blanquette. "The oddest things happen +sometimes." + +Light satire was lost on Blanquette. + +After dinner she continued the recital of her adventures for the +Master's delectation. The old couple no longer able to look after the +farm were desirous of selling it, so that they could retire to Evreux +where their only son who had married a rich wife kept a prosperous +hotel. + +"Do you know what they said, Master. 'Why does not Monsieur Paragot, who +must be very rich, buy it from us and come to live in the country +instead of that dirty Paris?' _C'est drôle, hein?_" + +"Why do they think I am very rich?" + +"That is what I asked them. They said if a man did not work he must be +either rich or a rogue; and they know you are not a rogue, _mon +Maître_." + +"They flatter me," said Paragot. "Would you like to live in the country, +Blanquette?" + +"Oh yes!" she cried with conviction. "_Il y a des bêtes. J'adore ça._ +And then it smells so good." + +"It does," he sighed. "I haven't smelt it for over three years. Ah! to +have the scent of the good wet earth in one's nostrils and the sound of +bees in one's ears. For two pins I would go gipsying again. If I were a +rich man, my little Blanquette, I would buy the farm, and give it you as +your dowry, and sometimes you would let me come and stay with you." + +"But as I shall never marry, _mon Maître_, there will be no need of a +dowry." + +She said it smilingly, as if she welcomed her lot as a predestined old +maid. There was not a sign on her plain pleasant face of the torment +raging in her bosom. In my youthful ignorance I did not know whether to +deplore woman's deceit or to admire her stout-heartedness. + +"My child," said Paragot, "no human being can, without arrogance, say +what he will or what he will not do. Least of all a woman." + +Having uttered this profound piece of wisdom my master went to bed. + + * * * * * + +During the next few weeks Paragot suffered the boredom of a provisional +condition of existence. He went to bed early, for lack of evening +entertainment, and rose late in the morning for lack of daily +occupation. With what he termed "the crapulous years," he had divested +himself of his former associates and habits. Friends that would +harmonise with his gloves and umbrella he had none as yet. If he ordered +an _apéritif_ before the midday meal, it was on the terrace of a café on +the Boulevard Saint-Germain, where he sat devouring newspapers in awful +solitude. Sometimes he took Blanquette for a sedate walk; but no longer +Blanquette _en cheveux_. He bought her a mystical headgear composed as +far as I could see of three plums and a couple of feathers, which the +girl wore with an air of happy martyrdom. He discoursed to her on the +weather and the political situation. At this period he began to develop +republican sympathies. Formerly he had swung, according to the caprice +of the moment, from an irreconcilable nationalism to a fantastic +anarchism. Now he was proud to identify himself with the once despised +_bourgeoisie_. He would have taken to his bosom the draper papa of +Hedwige of Cassel. + +Most of his time he spent in the studio at Menilmontant; there at any +rate he was at ease. We were not too disreputable for the umbrella, and +though he deprecated the loose speech of Bringard and Bonnet who had +returned to Paris, and the queer personal habits of Cazalet, he appeared +to find solace in our society. At any rate the visits gave him +occupation. He also posed for the body of M. Thiers in an historical +picture which Bringard proposed to exhibit at the Salon the following +spring. + +"_L'homme propose et Dieu expose_," said Paragot. + +"If he is anything of a judge this ought to be hung on the line," said +Bonnet. + +I regret to say the picture was rejected. + +At last the time came for the Melford visit. Paragot consulted Ewing and +myself earnestly as to his outfit, and though he clung to his frock-coat +suit as a garb of ceremony, we succeeded in sending him away with a +semblance of English country-house attire. He took with him my portrait +of Joanna, packed in a wooden case and bearing, to my great pride, the +legend, "Precious. Work of Art. With great care," in French and English. + +When he had gone I moved my belongings from my attic to the Rue des +Saladiers, and gave myself up to the ministrations of Blanquette. + +A little while later I received from my dear lady an invitation to visit +Melford and paint the portrait of her mother, who regarded my portrait +of Joanna as a work of genius. If you are a young artist it makes your +head spin very pleasantly to hear yourself alluded to as a genius. Later +in life you do not quite like it, for you have bitter knowledge of your +limitations and are mortally afraid your kind flatterers will find you +out. But at twenty you really do not know whether you are a genius or +not. Mrs. Rushworth, however, backed her opinion with a hundred guineas. +A hundred guineas! When I read the words I uttered a wild shriek which +brought Blanquette in a fright from the bedroom. It was a commission, +Joanna explained, and I was to accept it just like any other artist, +and I was to stay with them, again like any other artist, during the +sittings. + +"I am to go to England to paint another portrait, Blanquette. How much +do you think I shall be paid for it?" + +"Much?" queried Blanquette, in her deliberate way. + +I indicated with swinging arms a balloon of gold. Blanquette reflected. + +"Fifty francs?" + +"Two thousand six hundred and twenty five francs," I cried. + +Blanquette sat down in order to realise the sum. It was difficult for +her to conceive thousands of francs. + +"That will make you rich for the rest of your life." + +"It is only the beginning," I exclaimed hopefully. + +Blanquette shook a reproachful head. + +"There are some folks who are never satisfied," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +WHEN I arrived at Melford my head was full of painting and +self-importance; and for the first week or so, Mrs. Rushworth, my +subject, occupied the centre of my stage. She was a placid lady of +sixty, whose hair, once golden, had turned a flossy white, and whose +apple cheeks, though still retaining their plumpness, had grown waxen +and were criss-crossed by innumerable tiny lines. The light blue of her +eyes had faded, and the rich redness of her lips had turned to faint +coral. One could trace how Time had day by day touched her with light +but unfaltering fingers, now abstracting a fleck of brightness, now +lowering by an imperceptible shade a tone of colour, until she had +become what I saw her, still the pink and white beauty, but with rose +all deadened into white, like a sick pink pearl. Her pink and white +character had also suffered the effacement of the years. She was as +dainty and as negative as a piece of Dresden China. She loved to dress +in lilac and old lace: and that is how I painted her, regarding her as a +bit of exquisite decoration to be treated flat like a panel of Puvis de +Chavannes. + +My young head, I say, was full of the masterpiece I was about to +execute, and though I found much joy in renewed intercourse with my +beloved lady and my master, I took no particular note of their +relations. We met at meals, sometimes in the afternoons, and always of +evenings, when I played dutiful piquet with Mrs. Rushworth, while Joanna +made music on the piano, and Paragot read Jane Austen in an arm-chair by +the fire. To me the quietude of the secluded English home had an +undefinable charm like the smell of lavender, for which I have always +had a cat-like affection. Not having the Bohemian temperament--I am now +the most smugly comfortable painter in Europe--I was perfectly happy. I +took no thought of Paragot, whose temperament was essentially Bohemian; +and how he enjoyed the gentle monotony of the days it did not occur to +me to consider. Outwardly he shewed no sign of impatience. A dean might +have taken him as a model of decorum, and when he drove of afternoons +with Joanna in the dog-cart, no dyspeptic bishop could have assumed his +air of grim urbanity. But after a while I realised that the old Paragot +still smouldered within him; and now and then it burst into unregenerate +flame. + +Mrs. Rushworth had inherited from her father an old Georgian Bath-stone +house at the end of the High Street of Melford. He had been the Duke of +Wiltshire's agent and a person of note in the town. Mrs. Rushworth also +was a person of note, and her beautiful daughter, the Countess, a lady +of fortune, became a person of greater note still. Now on Tuesday +afternoons Mrs. Rushworth was "at home." We saw a vast deal of Society, +ladies of county families, parsons' wives, doctors' wives and the female +belongings of the gentlemen farmers round about. There were also a stray +hunting man, a curate or two and Major Walters. The callers sat about +the drawing room in little groups drinking tea and discoursing on +unimportant and unintelligible matters, and seemed oddly shy of Paragot +and myself, whom Joanna always introduced most graciously. They +preferred to talk among themselves. I considered them impolite, which no +doubt they were; but I have since reflected that Paragot was an unusual +guest at an English country tea-party, and if there is one thing more +than another that an English country tea-party resents, it is the +unusual. I am sure that a square muffin would be considered an +indelicacy. On the second of these Tuesday gatherings which I was +privileged to attend, Joanna presented me to two well-favoured young +women, the daughters, I gathered, of people who had country places near +by. + +"Mr. Pradel is the artist from Paris who is painting mamma's portrait," +she explained. + +I bowed and remarked that I was enchanted to make their acquaintance. +They stared. I know now that this Gallic mode of address is not usual in +Melford. One young woman, recovering from the shock, said she would like +to be an artist. The other asked me whether I had been to the Academy. I +said, no. I lived in Paris. Then had I been to the Salon? + +"At Janot's," said I, with the idiot egregiousness of youth, "we don't +go to the Salon." + +"Why?" asked the first, looking across the room, apparently at a curate. + +"On principle," I answered. "In the first place it costs a franc which +might be spent in food and raiment, and in the second we desire to +preserve our ideals from the contaminating spectacle of commercial art." + +"Do you play much tennis?" asked Number Two, with no desire to snub me +(as I deserved) for fatuity, but through sheer lack of interest in my +observation. + +"No," said I. + +"Shoot?" + +"No; there is not much shooting to be got in the Boulevard +Saint-Michel." + +"Oh," she remarked. "Where's that?" + +"Paris," said I. + +"Oh yes. You live in Paris." And she regarded me with the expression of +bored curiosity exhibited by a superior child before the Yak's enclosure +at the Zoological Gardens. An English country-bred maiden's cosmic +horizon was sadly limited in those days. Now I believe she has extended +it to include the more depressing forms of drama when she pays her +annual visit to London. There was a silence after which she enquired +whether I fished. As my ideas of fishing were restricted to the patient +hosts--pale shades of Acheron--who have angled off the quays of the +Seine for centuries and have till now caught nothing, I smiled and shook +my head. + +"The Browns have taken a fishing in Scotland," observed Number One +taking her eyes from the curate, "and I'm to join them next month." + +"Myra Brown is going to be married, I hear." + +"At Christmas." + +"What is he like?" + +The hitherto unspeculative eyes of the young woman lit up; an answering +gleam awoke in the other's. Myra Brown and her engagement absorbed their +attention, and I slunk back in my chair, forgotten. I suffered agonies +of shyness. I disliked these foolish virgins and longed to flee from +them; but how to rise and make my escape, without rudeness, passed my +powers of invention. I looked around me. At the tea-table on the farther +side of the room stood Joanna and Major Walters. He was a tall soldierly +man with a blond moustache and fair hair thinning on the crown. There +are about two thousand like him at the present moment on the active and +retired list of the British Army. He seemed to be talking earnestly to +her, for her eyes were fixed on the point of her shoe, which she moved +slightly, from side to side. Presently she flashed a glance at him +somewhat angrily and her lips moved as though she said:-- + +"What right have you to speak like that?" + +He made the Englishman's awkward paraphrase of the shrug, looked swiftly +over at Paragot, and turned to her with a remark. Then for the first +time since the Comte de Verneuil's death, the glacier blue came into her +eyes. She said something. He executed a little stiff bow and walked +away. Joanna, bearing herself very haughtily, crossed the room with a +cup of tea for a new arrival. + +Paragot, gaunt and tight-buttoned in his famous frock coat--he had +donned it for the ceremonious afternoon, but Joanna (I think) had +suppressed the purple cravat with the yellow spots--was talking to an +elderly and bony female owning a great beak of a nose. I wondered how so +unprepossessing a person could be admitted into a refined assembly, but +I learned later that she was Lady Molyneux, one of the Great Personages +of the county. The lady seemed to be emphatic; so did Paragot. She +regarded him stonily out of flint-blue eyes. He waved his hands; she +raised her eyebrows. She was one of those women whose eyebrows in the +normal state are about three inches from the eyelids. I understood then +what superciliousness meant. Paragot raised his voice. At that moment +one of those strange coincidences occurred in which the ends of all +casual conversations fell together, and a shaft of silence sped through +the room, killing all sound save that of Paragot's utterance. + +"But Great Heavens, Madam, babies don't grow in the cabbage patch, and +you are all well aware they don't, and it's criminal of your English +writers to mislead the young as to the facts of existence. Charlotte +Yonge is infinitely more immoral than Guy de Maupassant." + +Then Paragot realized the dead stillness. He rose from his chair, looked +around at the shocked faces of the women and curates, and laughing +turned to Mrs. Rushworth. + +"I was stating Zola to be a great ethical teacher, and Lady Molyneux +seemed disinclined to believe me." + +"He is an author very little read in Melford," said the placid lady from +her sofa cushions, while the two or three women with whom she was in +converse gazed disapprovingly at my master. + +"It would do the town good if it were steeped in his writings," said he. + +As this was at a period when like hell you could not mention the name of +Zola to ears polite, no one ventured to argue the matter. Mrs. +Rushworth's plump faded lips quivered helplessly, and it was with a gush +of gratitude that she seized the hand of one of the ladies who rose to +take her leave, and save the situation. The little spell of shock was +broken. Groups resumed their mysterious conversations, and Paragot swung +to the hearth-rug and stood there in solitary defiance. I seized the +opportunity to escape from my two damsels. As I passed Lady Molyneux, +she turned to her neighbour. + +"What a dreadful man!" she said. "I entirely disapprove of Mrs. +Rushworth having such persons in her house." + +I could have wept with rage. Here was this turtle-brained, ugly woman +(so, in my presumption, I called her) daring to speak slightingly of my +beloved master who had condescended to speak out of his Olympian wisdom, +and no fire from Zeus shrivelled her up! She signified her disapproval +with the air of a law-giver, and the other woman acquiesced. I longed to +flame into defence of Paragot; but remembering how ill I fared on a +similar occasion when a member of the Lotus Club accused him of having +led a bear in Warsaw, I wisely held my peace. But I was very angry. + +I joined Paragot on the hearth-rug. Presently Joanna came with her +silvery laugh. + +"You mustn't be so dreadfully emphatic, Gaston," she said. + +"Unintelligent women must not lay down the law on matters they don't +understand," said Paragot. + +"But it was Lady Molyneux." + +"Which signifies?" + +"The sovereign lady of Melford." + +"God help Melford!" ejaculated my master. + +When the ladies had left us that evening after dinner, Paragot poured +out a glass of port and pushed the decanter across to me. + +"My son," said he, "as a philosopher and a citizen of the world you will +find Melford repay patient study as much as Chambéry or Buda-Pesth or +the Latin Quarter. It is a garden of Lilliput. Here you will see Life in +its most cultivated littleness. A great passion bursting out across the +way would convulse the town like an earthquake. Observe at the same time +how constant a factor is human nature. However variable the +manifestation may be, the degree is invariable. In spacious conditions +it manifests itself in passions, in narrow ones in prejudices. The +females in and out of petticoats who were here this afternoon experience +the same thrill in expressing their dislike of me as a person foreign to +their convention, as the Sicilian who plunges his dagger into a rival's +bosom. When I am married, my son, I shall not live at Melford." + +"Where do you propose to live, Master?" I enquired. + +He made a great gesture and drew a deep breath. + +"On the Continent of Europe," said he, as if even a particular country +were too cabined to satisfy his nostalgia for wide spaces. "I must have +room, my son, for the development of my genius. I must dream great +things, and immortal visions are blasted under the basilisk eye of Lady +Molyneux." + +"She is a _vieille pimbêche_!" I cried. + +"She is the curse of England," said Paragot. + + * * * * * + +After this it occurred to me that I might take more note of Melford and +its ways than I had done hitherto, and the more I observed it the less +did it appear to resemble either Eden or the Boulevard Saint-Michel. At +times I felt dull. I would lean over the parapet of the bridge at the +other end of the High Street, and watch the tower and decorated spire of +the old parish church rise from the gold and russet bosom of the +church-yard elms, and wish I were back on the Pont Neuf with the +tumultuous life of Paris around me. There was a lack of breeziness in +the social air of Melford. + +Meanwhile Paragot and Joanna continued the romance of long ago. They +walked together in the garden like lovers, his arm around her waist, her +delicate head lightly leaning on his shoulder. Once when I made my +presence known, he withdrew his arm, but Joanna laughingly replaced it. + +"What does it matter? Asticot is in our confidence," she remarked. +"Isn't he going to be your best man? You will bring him over for the +wedding, Gaston." + +"You cling to the idea of being married in Melford?" he asked. + +"Of course." + +"By that dry, grey-whiskered gentleman who treats me as if I were a +youth he would like to prepare for confirmation? And all these dreadful +people to look on? My dear, doesn't the thought of it chill you into the +corpse of a Melfordian?" + +"I should have imagined that so long as we were married the 'how' would +not matter to you." + +"Quite so," said he. "Why does the 'how' matter so much to you?" + +"It is different," said Joanna. "It is right for me to be married here." + +"We must do what is right at all costs," assented my master in an +ironical note, which she was quick to detect. She swerved from his +encircling arm. + +"You would not be married under a bush like a beggar?" she quoted. + +"I wish to heaven I could!" he exclaimed with sudden spirit. "It is the +only way of mating. I would take you to a little village I know of in +the Vosges, overhanging a precipice, with God's mountains and sky above +us, and not a schedule of regulations for human conduct within thirty +miles, and Monsieur le Maire would tie his tricolor scarf around him and +marry us, and we would go away arm in arm and the cow-bells overhead +would ring the wedding peal, and there would be just you and I and the +universe." + +"We'll compromise," said Joanna, smiling. "We'll spend our honeymoon in +your village in the Vosges after we are well and duly and respectably +married in Melford. Don't you think I am reasonable, Asticot?" + +"My dear Joanna," said Paragot, "you have infatuated this boy to such an +extent that he would agree with you in anything. Of course he will say +that the Reverend and respectable Mr. Hawkfield is better than the +picturesque Monsieur le Maire, and that a wedding cake from Gunter's is +preferable to the curdled cheese of Valdeauvau. He would perjure his +little soul to atoms for your sake." + +"I thought somebody else would too," whispered Joanna softly. + +Paragot yielded as he looked down at her sea-shell face. + +"So he would. For your sake he would go through Hell and the Church of +England service for the Solemnization of Matrimony." + +We were walking round and round the broad gravel path that enclosed the +tennis lawn. Land was cheap in the days when the Georgian houses of the +High Street were built, and people took as much for garden purposes as +they desired. The gardens were the only truly spacious things in +Melford. There was a long silence. The lovers seemed to have forgotten +my existence. Presently Joanna spoke. + +"You must remember that I am still a member of the Church of England, +and look at the religious side of marriage. It would be very pretty to +be married by Monsieur le Maire, but I could not reconcile it to my +conscience. So when you speak scoffingly of a marriage in church you +rather hurt me, Gaston." + +"You must forgive me, _ma chérie_," said he, humbly. "I am a happy +Pagan and it is so long since I have met anyone who belonged to the +Church of England that I thought the institution had perished of +inanition." + +"Why, you went with me to church last Sunday." + +"So I did," said he, "but I thought it was only to worship the Great +British God Respectability." + +Joanna sighed and turned the conversation to the autumn tints and other +impersonal things, and I noticed that she drew Paragot's arm again +around her waist, as if to reassure herself of something. As we passed +by the porch, I entered the house; but loving to look on my dear lady, I +lingered, and saw her hold up her lips. He bent down and kissed them. + +"Don't think me foolish, Gaston," she said, "but I have starved for love +for thirteen years." + +By the gesture of his arm and the working of his features, I saw that he +rhapsodised in reply. + +To the sentimental youngster who looked on, this love-making seemed an +idyll without a disturbing breath. Joanna, though she had lost the gay +spontaneity of her Paris holiday, smiled none the less adorably on +Paragot and myself. She wore a little air of defiant pride when she +introduced him to her acquaintance as "my cousin, Monsieur de Nérac," +which was very pretty to behold. Convention forbade the announcement of +their engagement at so early a stage of her widowhood, but anyone of +rudimentary intelligence could see that she was presenting her future +husband. Few women can hide that triumphant sense of proprietorship in a +man, especially if they have at the same time to hold themselves on the +defensive against the possible fulminations of Lady Molyneux. Joanna +proclaimed herself a champion. Even when Paragot forgot his social +reformation and banged his fist down on the dinner table till the +glasses rang again, with a great _nom de Dieu!_ her glance swept the +company as if to defy them to find anything uncommon in the demeanour of +her guest. It was only towards the end of my stay that she began to +wince. And Paragot, save on occasion of outburst, went through the +love-making and the social routine with the grave but contented face of +a man who had found his real avocation. + +Looking back on these idyllic days I realise the greatness of Paragot's +self-control. In his domestic habits he was less a human being than a +mechanical toy. At half past eight every morning he entered the +breakfast-room. At half past nine he went into the town to get shaved. +Had he an appointment with Joanna, he was there to the minute. He +clothed himself in what he considered were orthodox garments. He even +folded up his trousers of nights. He limited his smoking to a definite +number of cigarettes consumed at fixed hours. Apparently he had never +heard of the reprehensible habit of drinking between meals. If he only +went to church to worship the British God Respectability, he did so with +impeccable unction. No undertaker listened to the funeral service with +more portentous solemnity than Paragot exhibited during the Vicar's +sermon. Indeed, sitting bolt upright in the pew, his lined, brown face +set in a blank expression, his ill-fitting frock coat buttoned tight +across his chest, his hair--despite the barber's pains--struggling in +vain to obey the rules of the unaccustomed parting, he bore considerable +resemblance to an undertaker in moderate circumstances. Of the +delectable vagabond in pearl-buttoned velveteens fiddling wildly to +capering peasants; of the long-haired, unkempt Dictator of the Café +Delphine roaring his absinthe-inspired judgments on art and philosophy +for the delectation of his disciples, not a trace remained. He sang the +hymns. It was a pity they did not invite him to go round with the plate. +Yet the signs of a rebellious spirit continued now and then to manifest +themselves. He asked me, one day, with a groan whether he was condemned +to a daily clean collar for the rest of his life. Another day he seized +me by the arm, as we were lounging on the porch, and dragged me out of +earshot of the house. + +"My good Asticot," said he in a dramatic whisper, "if I don't talk to a +man, I shall go mad. I shall dance around the flower beds and scream. I +have a yearning to converse with the host of the Black Boar, a fat +Rabelaisian scoundrel who has piqued my imagination. And besides, if +Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were cast into my throat this minute they +would find it quite a different thing from Nebuchadnezzar's ineffectual +bonfire." + +"There is no reason why we should not go to the Black Boar," said I. + +He clapped me on the shoulder, calling me a Delphic oracle, and haled me +from the premises through the garden gate, with the lightning rapidity +of the familiar Paragot. + +"Master," said I, as we hastened down the High Street--the Black Boar +stood at the other end, by the bridge--"if you want a man to talk to, +there is always Major Walters." + +Paragot threw out his hand. + +"He is a man, in that he is brave and masculine; in that he is +intelligent, he is naught. He is a machine-gun. He fires off rounds of +stereotyped conversation at the rate of one a minute, which is funereal. +I also have the misfortune, my little Asticot, to be under the ban of +Major Walters' displeasure. Your British military man is prejudiced +against anyone who is not cut out according to pattern." + +"Madame de Verneuil is not cut out according to pattern," said I +maliciously. + +"Your infant eyes have noticed it too? But I, my son, am Gaston de +Nérac, a vidame of Gascony, _nom de Dieu! et il aura affaire à moi, ce +pantin-là! Sacredieu_! Do you know what he had the impertinence to ask +me yesterday? What settlements I proposed to make on Madame de Verneuil. +Settlements, _mon petit_ Asticot! He spoke as trustee, whatever that may +be, under her husband's will. 'Sir,' said I, 'I will settle my love and +my genius upon her, and thereby insure her happiness and her prosperity. +Besides, Madame de Verneuil has a fortune which will suffice her needs +and of which I will not touch a penny.'" + +I smiled, for I could see Paragot in his grand French manner, one hand +thrust between the buttons of his coat and the other waving +magnificently, as he proclaimed himself to Major Walters. + +"I explained," he continued, "in terms which I thought might reach his +intelligence, that I only had to resume my profession and my financial +position would equal that of Madame de Verneuil. 'And, Sir,' said I, 'I +will not suffer you to say another word.' We bowed, and parted enemies. +Wherefore the conversation of the excellent Major Walters does not +appeal to me as attractive." + +At the time I thought this very noble of Paragot. In a way it was so, +for my master, who had never committed a dishonourable action in his +life, was genuine in his scorn of the insinuation that he proposed to +live on Joanna's money. He verily believed himself capable of +reattaining fame and fortune. It was only the nuisance of having to do +so that, at introspective times, disconcerted him. He knew that to break +away from a thirteen-year-old habit of idleness would need considerable +effort. But he was a man, _nom d'un chien_! + +To prove it he called for a quart of ale in the bar-parlour of the Black +Boar, an old coaching inn, set back from the road. The little eyes of +the fleshy rubicond host, loafing comfortably in shirt-sleeves, +glistened as he received the Pantagruelian order and brought the great +tankard with a modest half pint for me, and a jorum of rum for himself. +Paragot was worthy of a host's attention. + +Paragot pledged him and literally poured the contents of the tankard +down his throat. + +The landlord stared in an ecstasy of admiration. + +"Well, I'm damned," said he. + +"I'll take another," said Paragot. + +The landlord brought another tankard. + +"How do you manage it?" he asked. + +Paragot explained that he had learned the art in Germany. You open your +throat to the good beer without moving the muscles whereby you swallow, +and down it goes. + +"Well, I'm jiggered," said mine host. + +"Have you no pretty drinkers hereabouts?" asked my master, sipping the +second quart. + +"They lots of 'em comes here and gets fuddled, if that's what you mean." + +Paragot waved an impatient hand. "To get fuddled on beer is not pretty +drinking. Haven't you any hard-headed topers who are famous in the +neighborhood? Men who can carry their liquor like gentlemen and whose +souls expand as they get more and more filled with the alcohol of human +kindness? If so, I should like to meet them." + +"There isn't any as could toss off a quart like that." + +"Have you always lived in Melford?" + +"Oh no," replied the landlord, as if resenting the suggestion, "I was +born and bred in Devizes." + +"It must be a devil of a place, Devizes," said Paragot. + +"It be none so bad," assented the landlord. A woman's voice from the bar +summoned him away. Paragot pushed his unfinished quart from him and +rose. He shook his head sadly. + +"I am disappointed in that man. He is a mere bucolic idiot. I shall +waste my talents intellectual and bibulous on him no longer. Our +excursion into the Bohemia of Melford is a failure, my little Asticot, +and the beer is confoundedly sour. I am glad I did not vagabondise in +rural England." + +"Why?" I asked. + +"To avoid an asylum for idiots I should have rushed into the dissenting +ministry. I might have expected mine host to be a dullard. In this +country the expected always happens, which paralyses the brain. Now let +us go home to lunch." + +He paid the bill, and as we issued from the door of the inn we fell into +the arms of Joanna and Major Walters. + +The latter regarded us superciliously, and Joanna catching his glance +flushed to the wavy hair over her forehead. The ordinary greetings +having been exchanged, she proudly and markedly drew Paragot ahead, +leaving me to follow with Major Walters. As he made no remark of any +kind during our little walk, I did not find him an exhilarating +companion. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +I HAD worked till the last glimmer of daylight at the portrait, which +was now approaching completion. + +"That's the end of it for to-day," said I, laying my palette and brushes +aside, and regarding the picture. + +Joanna rose from her chair by the fire where she had been sewing for the +last hour and stood by my side. The morning-room, which had a clear +north-east light through the French window leading into the garden, had +been assigned to me as a studio, and here, sometimes on a murky +afternoon, Joanna, who preferred the bright, chintz-covered place to the +gloomy drawing-room, honoured me with her company. Mrs. Rushworth was +asleep upstairs, and Paragot had gone for a solitary walk. We were +cosily alone. + +It pleased my lady to be flattering. + +"It is wonderful how a boy like you can do such work--for you _are_ a +boy, Asticot," she said with one of her bright comrade-like smiles. "In +a few years you will have the world at your feet imploring you to paint +its portrait. You will fulfil the promise, won't you?" + +"What promise, Madame?" I asked. + +"The promise of your life now. It is not everyone who does. You won't +allow outside things to send you away from it all." + +She had slung the stole which she was embroidering for the vicar across +her shoulders, and holding the two ends looked at me wistfully. + +"I owe it to my master, Madame," said I, "to work with all my might." + +"If only he had had a master in the old days!" she sighed, "He would +have been by now a famous man full of honours, with all the world can +give in his possession." + +"Hasn't he the best the world can give now that he has found you again?" +said I, somewhat shyly. + +Joanna gave a short laugh. "You talk sometimes like one's grandfather. I +suppose that is because you became a student of philosophy at a tender +age. Yes, your master has found me again; but after all, what is a +woman? Just a speck of dust on top of the world." + +She half seated herself on my painting stool, her back to the picture. + +"Tell me, Asticot, is he at least happy?" + +"Can you doubt it, Madame?" I cried warmly. + +"I do so want him to be happy, Asticot. You see it was all through me +that he gave up his career and took to the strange life he has been +leading, and I feel doubly responsible for his future. Can you +understand that?" + +Her blue eyes were very childish and earnest. For all my love of +Paragot, I suddenly felt something like pity for her, as for one who had +undertaken a responsibility that weighed too heavily on slender +shoulders. For the first time it struck me that Paragot and Joanna might +not be a perfectly matched couple. Intuition prompted me to say:-- + +"My master is utterly happy, but you must give him a little time to +accustom himself to the new order of things." + +"That's it," she said. Then there was a pause. "You are such a wise +boy," she continued, "that perhaps you may be able to do something for +me. I can't do it myself--and it's horrid of me to talk about it--but do +you think you might suggest to him that people of our class don't visit +the Black Boar? I don't mind it a bit; but other people--my cousin Major +Walters said something a day or two ago--and it hurt. They don't +understand Gaston's Continental ways. It is natural for a man to go to a +café in France; but in England, things are so different." + +I promised to convey to Paragot the tabu of the Black Boar, and then I +asked her which she preferred, England or France. She shivered, and a +gleam of frost returned to her eyes. + +"I never want to see France again. I was so unhappy there. I am trying +to persuade Mr. de Nérac to live in London. He can find as much scope +for his art there as in Paris, can't he?" + +"Surely," said I. + +"And you'll come too," she said with the flash of gaiety that was one of +her charms. "You'll have a beautiful studio near by and we'll all be +happy together." + +She jumped off the painting stool and having bidden me light the gas, +resumed her task of embroidering the stole, by the fireside. + +"It's pretty, isn't it?" she asked, holding it up for my inspection. + +I agreed. She had considerable talent for art needlework. + +"Gaston doesn't appreciate it," she remarked, laughing. "He disapproves +of clergymen." + +"They have scarcely been in his line," I answered apologetically. + +"They will have to be. Oh, you'll see. I'll make him a model Englishman +before very long." + +"I'm afraid you will find it rather difficult, Madame," said I. + +"Do you think I'm afraid of difficulties? Isn't everything difficult? Is +it easy for you to get everything to come out on that canvas just as you +want it? If you could dash it off in a minute it wouldn't be worth +doing. As you yourself said, I'll have to give Gaston time." + +I seated myself on the fender-seat close by her chair, and for some +minutes watched the clever needle work its golden way through the white +silk. No one has ever had such dainty fingers and delicate wrists. + +"You mustn't think, because I have spoken about Mr. de Nérac, that I am +discontented. I wouldn't have him a bit altered integrally, for there is +no one like him living. And I'm utterly happy in the fulfilment of the +great romance of my life. Isn't it wonderful, Asticot? Have you ever +heard the like outside a story book? To meet again after thirteen years +and to find the old--the old----" + +"Love," I whispered, as I saw that she suddenly blushed at the word. + +"As strong and true as ever. It is the inner things that matter, +Asticot. The outside ones are nothing. Dreadful things have happened to +each of us during those years, but they haven't clouded the serenity of +our souls." + +"Ah, Madame," said I, with a smile--it strikes me now that I was +slightly impertinent--"I am sure my master said that." + +"Yes," she admitted, raising wide innocent eyes. "How did you guess?" + +"You yourself once detected echoes in me!" + +We both laughed. + +"That is what brought us together, Asticot. You seemed to regard him as +a god rather than as a man--and I loved you for it." + +She put out her left hand. I touched it with my lips. + +"That's a charming French way we haven't got in England. And--you did it +very nicely, Asticot." + +I almost scowled at the servant who entered with the announcement that +tea was waiting in the drawing-room. + + * * * * * + +I think of all human utterances I have heard fall from the lips of those +I love and honour, that formula of Paragot's echoed by Joanna was the +most pathetically vain. And they believed it. Indeed it was the vital +article of their faith. On its truth the whole fabric of their love +depended. + +It counted for nothing in Joanna's romantic eyes that the brilliant +eager youth, "rich in the glory of his rising-sun," who had won her +heart long ago--(she shewed me his photograph: alas poor Paragot!)--was +now the tongue-tied spectre, the tale of whose ungentle past was scarred +upon his face: who stalked grotesquely comfortless in his ill-fitting +clothes: who with the art of dress had lost in the boozing-kens of +Europe the graces of social intercourse. It counted for nothing that he +was middle-aged, deserted forever by the elusive wanton, inspiration, +condemned (she knew it in her heart) to artistic barrenness in +perpetuity. It counted for nothing that her gods awakened his contempt, +and his gods her fear. It counted for nothing that they had scarcely a +single taste or thought in common--half-educated, half-bred boy that I +was, I vow I entered a sweeter chamber of intimacy in my dear lady's +heart than was open to Paragot. + +You see, in spite of all the deadening influences, all the horror of her +married life, she had remained a child. When the Comte de Verneuil had +found her unforgiving in the matter of the false announcement of +Paragot's death, he had left her pretty much to herself, and had gone +after the strange goddesses, the ignoble Astaroths, beloved by a man of +his type. Month had followed month and year had followed year, and she +had not developed. His family, nationalist and devout, of the old +school, regarded him, rightly, as a renegade from their traditions, and +regarded Joanna, wrongly, as the English heretic who had seduced him +from the paths of orthodoxy. Their relations with Joanna were of the +most frigid. On the other hand, the society of Hebraic finance in which +the Comte de Verneuil found profit and entertainment was repugnant to +the delicately nurtured Englishwoman. She led a lonely existence. "I +have so few friends in Paris," were almost her first words to me on the +day of our meeting outside the Hôtel Bristol. She went through the +world, her lips set in a smile, and her dear eyes frozen, and her heart +yearning for the sheltered English life with its rules for guidance and +its barriers of convention, its pleasant little routine of duties, and +its gentle communion of unemotional temperaments. Her eleven years +married life had been merely a suspension of existence. Her few +excursions into the unusual had been the scared adventures of a child. +Her romance was the romance of a child. Her gracious simplicity, and her +caressing adorableness which made my boy's love for her a passionate +worship which has lasted to this day, when we both are old and only meet +to shake heads together in palsied sympathy, were the essential charms +of a child. How should she understand the Paragot that I knew? His soul +still shone the stainless radiance that had dazzled her young eyes. That +was all that mattered. It was easy to convert the outer man to +convention. It was the simplest thing in the world to make the chartered +libertine of talk accept the Index Expurgatorius of subjects mete for +discussion: to regulate the innate vagabond by the clock: to bring the +pantheistic pagan of wide spiritual sympathies (for Paragot was by no +means an irreligious man) into the narrowest sphere of Anglicanism. The +colossal nature of her task did not occur to her; and there again she +exhibited a child's unreasoning confidence. Nor did it occur to her to +bid him throw off his undertaker's garb and gloom and to adopt his free +theories of life and conduct. At her mother's knee she had learned the +First Commandment, "Thou shalt have none other gods but me"; and +Joanna's god, though serving her sweet innocent soul all the reasonable +purposes of a deity, was Matthew Arnold's gigantic clergyman in a white +tie. In obedience to his maxims alone lay salvation: Joanna's conviction +was unshakable. As a matter of course Paragot must walk the same path. +There was not another one to walk. + +Paragot accepted meekly my report of Joanna's tabu of the Black Boar. + +"Whatever Madame de Verneuil says is right. I was forgetting that the +refrain of the ballade of the immortal Villon '_Tout aux tavernes et aux +filles_' which was that of my life for so many years is so no longer, I +wonder what the devil the refrain is now? Ha!" he exclaimed clapping his +hand on my shoulder in his old violent way, "I have it! also Villon. +Guess. Didn't I teach you all the ballades by rote as we wandered +through Savoy?" + +"Yes, Master," said I; but I could only think of the one that came into +my Byronic little head on the occasion of my first meeting with Joanna, +"_Bien heureux qui rien n'y a_," which in the present circumstances was +clearly not applicable. The romantic lover does not base his conduct on +the formula that blessed is he who has nothing to do with women. + +"What is it, Master?" I asked. + +"'_En ceste foy je veuil vivre et mourir._'" + +I did not understand. "In which faith do you wish to live and die?" I +asked. + +He made a gesture of disappointment. He too was a child in many +respects. + +"You must go back to Paris to sharpen your wits, my son. I thought I had +trained you to catch allusion, one of the most delicate and satisfying +arts of life. Did I not preface my remarks by saying that Madame de +Verneuil was infallible? By which I mean that she is the mouthpiece of +all the sweeter kinds of angels. That is the faith, my little Asticot," +and he repeated to himself the rascal poet's refrain to his most perfect +poem: "_En ceste foy je veuil vivre et mourir._" + +"But that," said I, wishing to prove that I had not forgotten my +scholarship, "is a prayer to Our Lady made by Villon at the request of +his mother." + +"You are as hopeless as mine host of the Black Boar," said my master, +and being wound up to talk--it was during the after-dinner interval +before joining the ladies--he launched into a half hour's disquisition +on the philosophic value of allusiveness, addressing me as if I had been +his audience at the Lotus Club or a choice band of disciples at the Café +Delphine. + +In the drawing-room I played my piquet with Mrs. Rushworth, while +Paragot sat with Joanna in a far corner. I could not help noticing how +little they spoke. Paragot's torrent of words had dried up, and the talk +seemed to flow in unsatisfying driblets. Why did he not entertain her +with his newly adopted romantical motto from Villon? Why did he not +express, in terms of which he was such a master, his fantastic +adoration? Why even did he not continue his disquisition on the +philosophic value of allusiveness? Anything, thought I, as I declared a +_quinzième_ and fourteen kings, rather than this staccato exchange of +commonplaces which I was sure neither Joanna nor himself in the least +enjoyed. In fact, my dear Joanna yawned. + +Presently Major Walters was announced. He had come, he explained +apologetically, on trustee business and required Joanna's signature to +an important document. She flew to him with a pretty air of delight, +drew him by the arm to an escritoire in a corner of the room, and +laughed girlishly as she inked her fingers and confessed her +powerlessness to comprehend the deed she was signing. Paragot, after a +very cold exchange of greetings with Major Walters, sat down by our +card-table, and watched the game with the funereal expression he always +wore when he desired to exhibit his entire correctness of demeanour. To +Mrs. Rushworth's placid remarks during the deals he made the politest of +monosyllabic replies. Meanwhile his dingy white tie, which he never +could arrange properly (he dressed for dinner each night without a +murmur) had worked up beyond his collar, and encircling his lean neck +like a pussy-cat's ribbon, gave him a peculiarly unheroic appearance. + +The signing over, Joanna kept Major Walters by the escritoire and +chatted in a lively manner. As far as I could hear--and I am afraid my +attention was sadly abstracted from my game--they talked of the same +unintelligible things as the Tuesday afternoon guests, personalities, +local doings and what not. She ran to fetch the stole, over which +Paragot had not glowed with rapturous enthusiasm; apparently Major +Walters said just the thing concerning it her heart craved to hear; her +silvery voice rippled with pleasure. A while later he must have returned +to some business matter which he declared settled, for she put her hand +on his sleeve in her impulsive caressing way and her eyes beamed +gratitude. + +"I don't know what I should do without you, Dennis. You bear all my +responsibilities on your strong shoulders. How can I thank you?" + +He bent down and said something in a low voice, at which she blushed and +laughed reprovingly. His remark did not offend her in the least. She was +enjoying herself. He drew himself up with a smile. It was then that I +noted particularly how well bred and clean-limbed he was; how easily his +clothes fitted. It seemed as impossible for Major Walters' tie to work +up round his neck as for his toes to protrude through his boots. He gave +one the impression of having followed cleanliness of thought and person +all his life. I began to have a sneaking admiration for the man. I +beheld in its openness that which I had often seen pierce through +Paragot's travesty of mountebankery or rags, but which singularly +enough seemed hidden beneath his conventional garb--the inborn and +incommunicable quality of the high-bred gentleman. I set to dreaming of +it and scheming out a portrait in which that essential quality could be +expressed; whereby I played the fool with my hand and incurred the mild +rebuke of my adversary, as she repiqued and capoted me and triumphantly +declared the game. + +There was a short, general conversation. Then Major Walters, declining +the offer of whisky and soda in the dining-room, took his leave. Paragot +accompanied him to the front door. When he returned, Mrs. Rushworth +retired, as she always did after her game, and Joanna instead of +remaining with us for an hour, as usual, pleaded fatigue and went to +bed. + +"Master," said I, boyishly full of my new idea, "do you think Major +Walters would sit to me? I don't mean as a commission--of course I +couldn't ask him--but for practice. I should like to paint him as a +knight in armour." + +"Why this lunatic notion?" asked my master. + +I explained. He looked at me for some time very seriously. There was a +touch of pain in his tired blue eyes. + +"You are right, my little Asticot," he said, "and I was wrong. My +perception is growing blunt. I regarded our friend as having fallen out +of the War Office box of tin soldiers. Your vision has been keener. +Breed counts for much; but for it to have full value there must be the +_life_ as well. All the same, the notion of asking Major Walters to pose +to you in a suit of armour is lunatic, and the sooner you finish Mrs. +Rushworth and get back to Janot's the better. There is also Blanquette +who must be bored to death in the Rue des Saladiers, with no one but +Narcisse to bear her company." + +He put a cigarette into his mouth, but for some time did not light it +although he held a match ready to strike in his fingers. His thoughts +held him. + +"My son," he said at last, "I would give the eyes out of my head to have +my violin." + +"Why, Master?" I asked. + +"Because," said he, "when one is afflicted with a divine despair, there +is nothing for it like fiddling it out of the system." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +PARIS again; Janot's; the organized confusion of the studio; the +boisterous comradeship of my coevals; the Monday morning throng of +models in all stages of non-attire crowding the staircases; the noisy +café over the way; the Restaurant Didier where those of us, young men +and maidens, who had princely incomes dined marvellously for one franc +fifty, _vin compris_--such wine!--I writhe sympathetically at its +memory; the squabbles, the new romances, the new slang on the tip of +everyone's tongue; the studio in Menilmontant where the four of us +slaved at never-to-be-purchased masterpieces; the dear, full-blooded, +inspiring life again. Paris, too, which meant the Rue des Saladiers and +Blanquette and Narcisse, and the grace of dear familiar things. + +It must not be counted to me for ingratitude that I was glad to be back. +I was still a boy, under twenty. My pockets bulged with the bank notes +into which I had converted Mrs. Rushworth's cheque, and I found myself +master of infinite delight. I presented Blanquette with a tortoise-shell +comb and Narcisse with a collar, and I electrified my intimate and less +fortunate friends by giving them a dinner in the dismal entresol at +Didier's which was superbly styled the "_Salle des Banquets_." Fanchette +and one or two of her colleagues being of the party, I fear we behaved +in a disreputable manner. If Melford had looked on it would have blushed +to the top of its decorated spire. We put the table aside and danced +eccentric quadrilles. We shouted roystering songs. When Cazalet tried +to sing a solo we held him down and gagged him with his own sandals. We +flirted in corners. A goodly portion of Rosaria, a Spanish model born +and bred in the Quartier Saint-Antoine, we washed in red wine. It was a +memorable evening. The next day Blanquette listened with great interest +to my expurgated account of the proceedings, and in her good unhumorous +way prescribed for my headache. When one is young, such a night is worth +a headache. I am unrepentant, even though I am old and the almond tree +flourishes and the grasshopper is trying to be a nuisance. I don't like +your oldsters who pretend to be ashamed of the follies of their youth. +They are humbugs all. There is no respectable elderly gentleman in the +land who does not inwardly chuckle over the chimes he has heard at +midnight. + +Though I always had Joanna's gracious personality at the back of my +mind, and the love of my good master as part of my spiritual equipment, +yet I must confess to concerning my thoughts very little with the +progress of their romance. I took it for granted as I took many things +in those unspeculative days. The actual whirl of Paris caught me and +left me little time for conjecture. I wrote once or twice to Joanna; but +my letters were egotistical outpourings; the mythological picture at +Menilmontant inspired sheets of excited verbiage. She replied in her +pretty sympathetic way, but gave me little news of Paragot. It was +hardly to be expected that she should write romantically, like a young +girl foolishly in love, gushing to a bosom friend. Paragot himself, who +disliked pen, ink, and paper, merely sent me the casual messages of +affection through Joanna. He took the view of the Duenna in "Ruy Blas" +as to the adequacy of the King's epistle to the Queen: "Madame. It is +very windy and I have killed six wolves. Carlos." What more was +necessary? asked the Duenna. So did Paragot. + +When I was with Blanquette I avoided the subject of the impending +marriage as much as possible. She looked forward with dull fatalism to +the day when another woman would take the master into her keeping and +her own occupation would be gone. + +"But, Blanquette, we shall go on living together just as we are doing +now," I cried in the generosity of youth. + +"And when a woman comes and takes you too?" + +I swore insane vows of celibacy; but she laughed at me in her +common-sense way, and uttered blunt truths concerning the weaknesses of +my sex. + +"Besides, my little Asticot," she added, "I love you very much; you know +that well; but you are not the Master." + +Once I suggested the possibility of her marrying some one else. There +was a cheerful _quincaillier_ at the corner of the street who, to my +knowledge, paid her assiduous attentions. He was evidently a man of +substance and refinement, for a zinc bath was prominently displayed +among his hardware. But Blanquette's love laughed at tinsmiths. She who +had lived on equal terms with the Master and myself (I bowed my +acknowledgment of the tribute) to marry a person without education? _Ah! +mais non! Au grand nom! Merci!_ She was as scornful as you please, and +without rhyme or reason plucked a bunch of Christmas roses from a jug on +the table and threw them into the stove. Poor _quincaillier_! There was +nothing for it but to _se fich' à l'eau_--to chuck herself into the +river. That was the end of most of our conversations on the disastrous +subject. + + * * * * * + +It was the end of a talk on one November evening, about three weeks +after I had returned to Paris. I had dined at home with Blanquette, and +was in the midst of a drawing which I blush to say I was doing for _Le +Fou Rire_, an unprincipled comic paper fortunately long since +defunct--(fortunately? Tartuffe that I am. Many a welcome louis did I +get from it in those necessitous days)--when she looked up from her +sewing and asked when the Master was coming back. The question led to an +answer, the answer to an observation, and the observation to the +discussion of the Subject. + +"There is no way out of it, _mon pauvre Asticot, je vais me fich' à +l'eau, comme je l'ai dit_." + +"In the meanwhile, my dear," said I, throwing down the crow-quill pen +and pushing my drawing away, "if you remain in this pestilential +condition of morbidness, you will die without the necessity of drowning +yourself. Instead of making ourselves miserable, let us go and dance at +the Bal Jasmin. _Veux-tu?_" + +"This evening?" she asked, startled. She had never grown accustomed to +the suddenness of the artistic temperament. + +"Of course this evening. You don't suppose I would ask you to dance next +month so as to cure you of indigestion to-night." + +"But nothing is wrong with my stomach, _mon cher_," said the literal +Blanquette. + +"It is indigestion of the heart," said I, after the manner of Paragot, +"and dancing with me at the Bal Jasmin will be the best thing in the +world for you." + +"It would give you pleasure?" + +This was charmingly said. It implied that she would sacrifice her +feelings for my sake. But her eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed a +little. Women are rank hypocrites on occasion. + +Ten minutes later Blanquette, wearing her black Sunday gown set off by a +blue silk scarf embroidered at the edges with a curious kind of pink +forget-me-not, her hair tidily coiled on top and fixed with my +tortoise-shell comb, announced that she was ready. We started. In those +days I did not drive to balls in luxurious hired vehicles. I walked, +pipe in mouth, correctly giving my arm to Blanquette. No doubt everybody +thought us lovers. It is odd how wrong everybody can be sometimes. + +The Bal Jasmin was situated in the Rue Mouffetard. It has long since +disappeared with many a haunt of my youth's revelry. The tide of frolic +has set northward, and Montmartre, which to us was but a geographical +term, now dazzles the world with its venal splendour. But the Moulin de +la Galette and the Bal Tabarin of the present day lack the gaiety of the +Bal Jasmin. It was not well frequented; it gathered round its band-stand +people with shocking reputations; the sight of a man in a dress coat +would have transfixed the assembly like some blood-curdling ghost. The +ladies would have huddled together in a circle round the wearer and +gazed at him open-mouthed. He would subsequently have had to pay for the +ball's liquid refreshment. The Bal Jasmin did not employ meretricious +ornament to attract custom. A low gallery containing tables ran around +the bare hall, the balustrade being of convenient elbow height from the +floor, so that the dancers during intervals of rest could lounge and +talk with the drinkers. In the middle was a circular bandstand where +greasy musicians fiddled with perspiring zeal. At the doors a sergent de +ville stood good-humouredly and nodded to the ladies and gentlemen with +whom he had a professional acquaintance. + +Everybody came to dance. If good fortune, such as a watch or a freshly +subventioned student, fell into their mouths, they swallowed it like +honest, sensible souls; but they did not make reprehensible adventure +the main object of their evening. They danced the quadrilles, not for +payment and the delectation of foreigners as at the Jardin de Paris, but +for their own pleasure. A girl kicked off your hat out of sheer kindness +of heart and animal spirits; and if you waltzed with her, she danced +with her strange little soul throbbing in her feet. There were, I say, +the most dreadfully shocking people at the Bal Jasmin; but they could +teach the irreproachable a lesson in the art of enjoyment. + +As I came with Blanquette, and danced only with Blanquette, and sat with +Blanquette over bock or syrup in the gallery, the unwritten etiquette of +the place caused us to be undisturbed. Like the rest of the assembly we +enjoyed ourselves. Dancing was Blanquette's one supreme accomplishment. +Old Père Paragot had taught her to play the zither indifferently well, +but he had made her dance divinely: and Blanquette, I may here mention +incidentally, had been my instructress in the art. Seeing her thick-set, +coarse figure, and holding your arm around her solid waist as you waited +for the bar, you would not have dreamed of the fairy lightness it +assumed the moment feet moved in time with the music. If life had been a +continuous waltz no partner of hers less awkward than a rhinoceros +could have avoided falling in love with her. But waltzes ended all too +soon and the thistle-down sylph of a woman became my plain homely +Blanquette, uninspiring of romance save in the hardware bosom of the +_quincaillier_ at the corner of the Rue des Saladiers. + +The _bal_ was crowded. Gaunt ill-shaven men, each a parody of one of the +Seven Deadly Sins, capered grotesquely with daughters of Rahab in cheap +hats and feathers. Shop assistants and neat, bare-headed work-girls, +students picturesquely long-haired and floppily trousered and cravated, +and poorly clad models, a whole army of nondescripts, heaven knows with +what means of livelihood, all dancing, drinking, eating, laughing, +jesting, smoking, primitively love-making, moving, shouting, a +phantasmagoria of souls making merry beyond the pale of reputable life; +such were the frequenters of the Bal Jasmin. Gas flared in two +concentric circles of flame around the hall and around the central +bandstand. There was no ventilation. The _bal_ sweltered in +perspiration. Hollow-voiced abjects hawked penny paper fans between the +dances, and the whole room was a-flutter. + +Blanquette, who had forgotten tragedy for the time, sat with me at a +table by the balustrade and alternately sipped her syrup and water and +looked, full of interest, at the scene below, now and then clutching my +arm to direct my attention to startling personalities. The light in her +eyes and the colour in her coarse cheeks made her almost pretty. You +have never seen ugliness in a happy face. And Blanquette was happy. + +"Don't you want to go and dance with any other _petite femme_?" she +asked generously. "I will wait for you here." + +I declined with equal magnanimity to leave her alone. + +"Suppose some rapscallion came up and asked you to dance?" + +"I can take care of myself, _mon petit_ Asticot," she laughed, bracing +her strong arms. "And suppose I wanted to go off with him? They are +amusing sometimes, people like that. There is one. _Regarde-moi ce +type-là._" + +The "_type_" in question was a fox-faced young man, unwashed and +collarless, wearing the peaked cap of Paris villainy. He crossed the +hall accompanied by two of the brazenest hussies that ever emerged from +the shadow of the fortifications. As they passed the sergent de ville +they all cocked themselves up with an air of braggadocio. + +"He makes me shiver," said I. Blanquette shrugged her shoulders. + +"One must have all sorts of people in the world, as there are so many +things to make people different. It is only a chance that I have not +become like those girls. It's no one's fault." + +"'There, but by the grace of God, goes John Bunyan,'" I quoted +reflectively. "You are developing philosophy, Blanquette _chérie_, and +your gentle toleration of the infamous does you credit. But only the +master would get what wasn't infamous out of them." + +The band struck up a waltz. Blanquette drank her syrup quickly and rose. + +"Come and dance." + +We descended and soon were swept along in the whirl of ragamuffin, +ill-conditioned couples dancing every step in the tradition of Paris. +Steering was no easy matter. After a while, we were hemmed in near the +side of the hall, and were just on the point of emerging from the crush +when the sound of a voice brought us to a dead stop which caused us to +be knocked about like a pair of footballs. + +"My good Monsieur Bubu le Vainqueur, you do me infinite honour, but +until I have devoured the proceeds of my last crime I lead a life of +elegant leisure." + +We escaped from danger and reaching the side stood and looked at each +other in stupefaction. Blanquette was the first to see him. She seized +my arm and pointed. + +"It is he! _Sainte Vierge_, it is he!" + +It was he. He was sitting at a table a few yards off, and his companions +were the fox-faced youth and the two girls over whom Blanquette had +philosophised. He wore his silk hat. Brandy was in front of him. He +seemed to be on familiar terms with his friends. For a long time we +watched him, fascinated, not daring to accost him and yet unwilling to +edge away out of his sight and make our escape from the ball. I saw that +he was incredibly dirty. His beard of some days growth gave him a +peculiarly grim appearance. His hat had rolled in the mud and was +everything a silk hat ought not to be. His linen was black. Never had +the garb of respectability been so battered into the vesture of +disrepute. + +Suddenly he caught sight of us. He hesitated for a moment; then waved us +a bland, unashamed salutation. We went up the nearest steps to the +gallery and waited. After a polite leave-taking he bowed to his +companions, and reeled towards us. I knew by the familiar gait that he +had had many cognacs and absinthes during the day. + +But what in the name of sanity was he doing here? + +"_Mon dieu, mon dieu, qu'est-ce qu'il fait ici?_" asked Blanquette. + +I shook my head. It was stupefying. + +"_Eh bien, mes enfants_, you have come to amuse yourselves, eh? I too, +in the company of my excellent friend Bubu le Vainqueur, whose +acquaintance together with that of his fair companions I would not +advise you to cultivate." + +"But Master," I gasped, "what has happened?" + +"I'll veil it, my son," said he, laying his hand on my shoulder, "in the +decent obscurity of a learned language, '_Canis reversus ad suum vomitum +et sus lota in volutabro luti_.'" + +"_Oh, mon Dieu_," sighed Blanquette again, as if it were something too +appalling. + +"But why, Master?" I entreated. + +"Why wallow? Why not? And now, my little Blanquette, we will all go home +and you shall make me some good coffee. Or do you want to stay longer +and dance with Asticot?" + +"Oh, let us go away, Master," said Blanquette, casting a scared glance +at Bubu le Vainqueur, who was watching us with an interested air. + +"_Allons_," said Paragot, blandly. + +The dance stopped, and the thirsty crowd surged to the gallery. We +threaded our way towards the door, and I thought with burning cheeks +that the eyes of the whole assembly were turned to my master's mud-caked +silk hat. It was a relief to escape from the noise and gas-light of the +_bal_, which had suddenly lost its glamour, into the cool and quiet +street. After we had walked a few yards in silence, he hooked his arms +in Blanquette's and mine, and broke into a loud laugh. + +"But it is astonishing, the age of you children! You might be fifty, +each of you, and I your little boy whom you had discovered in an act of +naughtiness and were bringing home! Really are you as displeased with me +_à ce point-là? C'est épatant_! But laugh, my little Blanquette, are you +not glad to see me?" + +"But yes, Master," said Blanquette. "It is like a dream." + +"And you, Asticot of my heart?" + +"I find it a dream too. I can't understand. When did you leave Melford?" + +"About five days ago. I would tell you the day of the week, if I had the +habit of exactness." + +"And Madame de Verneuil?" + +"Is very well, thank you." + +After this rebuff I asked no more questions. I remarked that the weather +was still cold. Paragot laughed again. + +"He has turned into a nice little bourgeois, hasn't he, Blanquette? He +knows how to make polite conversation. He is tidy in his habits in the +Rue des Saladiers, eh? He does not spit on the floor or spill absinthe +over the counterpane. _Ah! je suis un vieux salaud, hein?_ Don't say no. +And Narcisse?" + +"It is he who will be contented to see you," cried Blanquette. "And so +are we all. _Ah oui, en effet, je suis contente!_" She heaved a great +sigh as though she had awakened from the night-mare of seeing herself a +dripping corpse in the Morgue. "It is no longer the same thing when you +are not in the house. Truly I am happy, Master. You can't understand." + +There was a little throb in her voice which Paragot seemed to notice, +for as he bent down to her, his grip of my arm relaxed, and, I suppose, +his grip of hers tightened. + +"It gives you such pleasure that I come back, my little Blanquette?" he +said tenderly. + +I craned my head forward and saw her raise her faithful eyes to his and +smile, as she pronounced her eternal "_Oui, Maître_." + +"It is only Asticot who does not welcome the prodigal father." + +I protested. He laughed away my protestations. Then suddenly he stopped +and drew a long breath, and gazed at the tall houses whose lines cut the +frosty sky into a straight strip. + +"Ah! how good it smells. How good it is to be in Paris again!" + +The door of a _marchand de vin_ swung open just by our noses to give +exit to a reveller, and the hot poisoned air streamed forth. + +"And how good it is, the smell of alcohols. I could kiss the honest sot +who has just reeled out and is skating across the road. _A bas les +bourgeois!_" + +He did not carry out his unpleasing desire, but when we reached the +salon in the Rue des Saladiers, and we had lit the lamp, he kissed +Blanquette on both cheeks, still crying out how good it was to be back. +Narcisse, mad with delight, capered about him and barked his rapture. He +did not in the least mind a master lapsed from grace. + +Paragot threw himself on a chair, his hat still on his head. Oh, how +dirty, dilapidated and unshaven he was! I felt too miserable with +apprehension to emulate Narcisse's enthusiasm. It was cold. I opened the +door of the stove to let the glowing heat come out into the room. +Blanquette went to the kitchen to prepare the coffee. + +Suddenly Paragot leaped to his feet, cast his silk hat on the floor and +stamped it into a pancake. Then he thrust it into the stove and shut the +door. + +"_Voilà!_" he cried. + +Before I could interfere he had taken off his frock-coat and holding one +skirt in his hands and securing the other with his foot had ripped it +from waist to neck. He was going to burn this also, when I stopped him. + +"_Laisse-moi!_" said he impatiently. + +"It will make such a horrid smell, Master," said I. + +He threw the garment across the room with a laugh. + +"It is true." He stretched himself and waved his arms. "Ah, now I am +better. Now I am Paragot. Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot, again. Now I am +free from the forms and symbols. Yes, my son. That hat has been to me +Luke's iron crown. That coat has been the _peine forte et dure_ crushing +my infinite soul into my liver." He tore off his black tie and hurled it +away from him. "This has been strangling every noble inspiration. I have +been swathed in mummy bands of convention. I have been dead. I have come +to life. My lungs are full. My soul regains its limitless horizons. My +swollen tongue is cool, and _nom de Dieu de nom de Dieu_, I can talk +again!" + +He walked up and down the little salon vociferating his freedom, and +kicking the remains of the frock-coat before him. With one of his sudden +impulses he picked it up and threw it out of a quickly opened window. + +"The sight of it offended me," he explained. + +"Master," said I, "where are your other things?" + +"What other things?" + +"Your luggage--your great coat--your umbrella." + +"Why, at Melford," said he with an air of surprise. "Where else should +they be?" + +I had thought that no action of Paragot could astonish me. I was wrong. +I stared at him as stupefied as ever. + +"Usually people travel with their luggage," said I, foolishly. + +"They are usual people, my son. I am not one of them. It came to a point +when I must either expire or go. I decided not to expire. These things +are done all in a flash. I was walking in the garden. It was last Sunday +afternoon--I remember now: a sodden November day. Imagine a sodden +November Sunday afternoon English country-town garden. Joanna was at a +children's service. Ah, _mon Dieu_! The desolation of that Sunday +afternoon! The _death_, my son, that was in the air! Ah! I choked, I +struggled. The garden-wall, the leaden sky closed in upon me. I walked +out. I came back to Paris." + +"Just like that?" I murmured. + +"Just like that," said he. "You may have noticed, my son, that I am a +man of swift decisions and prompt action. I walked to the Railway +Station. A providential London train was expected in five minutes. I +took it. _Voilà._" + +"Did you stay long in London?" I asked by way of saying something; for +he began to pace up and down the room. + +"Did I see anything worth seeing at the theatres? And did I have a good +crossing? My little Asticot, I perceive you have become an adept at +conventional conversation. If you can't say something original I shall +go back to Bubu le Vainqueur, whose society for the last three days has +afforded me infinite delectation. Although his views of life may be what +Melford would call depraved, at any rate they are first-hand. He does +not waste his time in futile politeness." Suddenly he paused, and seized +me by the shoulder and shook me, as he had often done before. "Creep out +of that shell of gentility, you little hermit-crab," he cried, "and tell +me how you would like to live in Melford for the rest of your natural +life." + +"I shouldn't like it at all," said I. + +"Then, how do you expect me to have liked it?" + +Blanquette entered with the great white coffee jug and some thick cups +and set the tray on the oilskin-covered table. Seeing Paragot in his +grubby shirt-sleeves, she looked around, with her housewifely instinct +of tidiness, for the discarded garments. + +"Where are--" + +"Gone," he shouted, waving his arms. "Cast into the flames, and rent in +twain, and scattered to the winds of Heaven." + +He laughed, seeing that she did not understand, and poured out a jorum +of coffee. + +"The farcical comedy is over, Blanquette," said he gently, "I'm a +_Monsieur_ no longer, do you see? We are going to live just as we did +before you went away in the summer, and I am not going to be married. I +am going to live with my little Blanquette for ever and ever _in sæculo +sæculorum, amen_." + +She turned as white as the coffee jug. I thought she was about to faint +and caught her in my arms. She did not faint, but burying her head +against my shoulder burst into a passion of tears. + +"What the devil's the matter?" asked Paragot. "Are you sorry I'm not +going to be married?" + +"_Mais non, mais non!_" Blanquette sobbed out vehemently. + +"I think she's rather glad, Master," said I. + +He put down his coffee-cup, and laid his hands on her as if to draw her +comfortingly away from me. + +"My dear child--" he began. + +But she shrank back. "_Ah non, laissez-moi_," she cried, and bolted from +the room. + +Paragot looked at me inquiringly, and shrugged his shoulders. + +"The eternal feminine, I suppose. Blanquette like the rest of them." + +"It's odd you haven't noticed it before, Master." + +"Noticed what?" + +I lit a cigarette. + +"The eternal feminine in Blanquette," I answered. + +"What the deuce do you mean?" + +"She was jealous even of my friendship with Madame de Verneuil," said I +diplomatically, realising that I was on the point of betraying +Blanquette's confidences. + +"It never struck me that she was jealous," he remarked simply. + +He took his coffee-cup to the rickety sofa and sat down with the sigh of +a tired man. I took mine to the chair by the stove, and we drank +silently. I have never felt so hopelessly miserable in my life as I did +that night. I was old enough, or perhaps rather I had gathered +experience enough, to feel a shock of disgust at Paragot's return _in +volutabro luti_. In what sordid den had he found shelter these last days +of reaction? I shuddered, and loving him I hated myself for shuddering. +Yet I understood. He was a man of extremes. Having fled from the +intolerable virtues of Melford, with the nostalgia of the vagabond life +devouring him like a flame, he could not have been expected to return +tamely to the Rue des Saladiers. He had plunged head foremost into the +depths. But Bubu le Vainqueur! The Latin Quarter was not exactly a +Sunday School; very probably it flirted with Bubu's lady companions; but +between Bubu and itself it raised an impassable barrier. + +The idyll too was over. He had left my dear lady Joanna without drum or +trumpet. As my destiny hung with his, I should never behold her adored +face again. All the graciousness seemed suddenly to be swept out of my +life. I pictured her forsaken, heartbroken, for the second time, weeping +bitterly over this repetition of history, and including me in her +indictment of my master. At nineteen we are all presumptuous egotists: +if I mixed pity for myself with sorrow for Joanna and dismay for my +master, I am not too greatly to be blamed. The best emotions of older, +wiser and better men than I are often blends of queer elements. + +The romance was dead. There was no more Joanna. I broke down and shed +tears into my coffee-cup. + +Paragot snored. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +I SPENT the night on the sofa, as the only bed in the establishment +belonged to Paragot. The next morning I took my scanty belongings to my +old attic, which fortunately happened to be unlet, and left my master in +undisturbed possession of his apartment. In the evening, calling to make +polite inquiries as to his health, I found him still in bed looking +grimier and bristlier than the night before. + +"My son," said he, "the bread of liberty is sweet, but when you are +starving you should not over-eat yourself. An old French writer says: + + '_Après le plaisir vient la peine, + Après la peine la vertu._' + +I've had the pain that follows pleasure, but whether I shall attain the +consequential virtue I don't know. For the present, however, I am +condemned to it against my will." + +"How so?" I asked. + +"I have a great desire to rise and seek the Nepenthe of the Café +Delphine, but a whimsical fate keeps me coatless and hatless in a +virtuous house. I am also comparatively shirtless, which does not so +much matter." + +"I'm afraid my things wouldn't fit you, Master," said I sitting on the +edge of the bed. + +"The only coat which the good Blanquette has preserved is the +pearl-buttoned velveteen jacket in which I fiddled away so many happy +hours." + +"Why not wear it, until your bag arrives from Melford?" + +"In Arcadian villages," he replied, "it commanded respect. In the Café +Delphine I'm afraid it would only excite derision." + +Presently a strong odour of onions gave promise of an approaching meal, +and a little while afterwards Blanquette entered with the announcement +that soup was on the table. Paragot rose, donned trousers and slippers +and went forth into the salon to dine. + +"Simplicity is one of the canons of high art. Life is an art, as I have +endeavoured to teach you. Therefore in life we should aim at simplicity. +To complicate existence into the intricacy of a steam-engine with white +ties and red socks is an offence against art of which I will never again +be guilty. It is also more comfortable to eat soup with your elbows on +the table. _N'est-ce pas_, Blanquette?" + +"_Bien sûr_," she replied, bending over her bowl, "where else could one +put them?" + +This pleased Paragot, who continued to talk in high good humour during +the rest of the meal. Afterwards, he filled a new porcelain pipe, which +Blanquette had purchased, and smoked contentedly the rest of the +evening. Blanquette sat dutifully on a straight-backed chair, her hands +in her lap, listening as she had so often done before to our inspiring +conversation, and adding her word whenever it entered the area of her +comprehension. If we had lectured each other alternately on the Integral +Calculus, Blanquette would have given us her rapt and happy attention. +This evening she would not have minded our talking English; the mere +sound of the Master's voice was sweet: sweeter than ever, now that the +other woman had been "planted there" (she thought of it with a fierce +joy), and the master had come back to her for ever and ever, _in sæculo +sæculorum, amen_. Like many peasant women of strong nature, she had the +terrible passion of possession. In her soul she would rather have had +the most degraded of Paragots in her arms, as her own unalienable +property, than have seen him honourable and prosperous in the arms of +another. Had she been of a nervous and emotional temperament there might +have been tragedy in the Rue des Saladiers, and the newspapers of Paris +might have chronicled yet another _crime passionnel_ and the appearance +of Blanquette before a weeping jury. But the days of tragedy were over. +Paragot thundered invectives against insincerity in Art (we were +discussing my famous mythological picture still on the easel at +Menilmontant) and Blanquette beamed approval. She remarked, referring to +my picture, that she didn't like so many unclad ladies. It was not +decent. Besides, if they lay in the grass like that, they would catch +cold. + +"And they have no pocket-handkerchiefs to blow their noses," cried +Paragot. + +Whereat Blanquette's sense of humour being tickled she screamed with +laughter. Narcisse sprang from sleep and barked, and there reigned great +happiness, in which even I, still reproachful of my master, had my +share. + +"What a thing it is to be at home!" observed Paragot. + +I had never heard him utter so domestic a sentiment. + +"'After pleasure follows pain and after pain comes virtue.' This is +virtue with a vengeance," I reflected cynically. + +"_Bien sûr_," was Blanquette's inevitable response. + +When she bade us good night, Paragot drew her down and kissed her cheek, +which was an unprecedented mark of domesticity. Blanquette turned +brick-red, and I suppose her foolish heart beat wildly. I have known my +own heart to beat wildly for far less, and I am not a woman; but I have +been in love. + +"It is because you belong to me, my little Blanquette, and I am among +mine own people. We understand one another, don't we? _Et tout +comprendre c'est tout pardonner._" + +When she had gone he smoked reflectively for a few moments. + +"I never realised till now," said he, "the sense of stability and +comfort that Blanquette affords me. She is unchangeable. God has given +her a sense whereby she has pierced to the innermost thing that is I, +and externals don't matter. She has got nearer the true Paragot than +you, my son, although I know you love me." + +"What is the true Paragot, Master?" I asked. + +"There are only two that know it--Blanquette and the _bon Dieu_. I +don't." + +"I only know," said I, "that I owe my life to you and that I love you +more than any one else in the world." + +"Even more than Mme. de Verneuil?" he asked with a smile. + +I blushed. "She is different," said I. + +"Quite different," he assented, after a long pause. "My son," he added, +"it is right that you should know why the end came. One generally keeps +these things to oneself--but I see you are blaming me, and a barrier may +grow up between us which we should both regret. You think I have treated +your dear lady most cruelly?" + +"I can't judge you, Master," said I, terribly embarrassed. + +"But you do," said he. + +Paragot was in one of his rare gentle moods. He spoke softly, without a +trace of reproach or irony. He spoke, too, lying pipe in mouth on the +old rep sofa, instead of walking about the room. He told me his story. +Need I repeat it? + +They had escaped a life-long misery, but on the other hand they had lost +a life-long dream. She was still in his eyes all that is beautiful and +exquisite in woman; but she was not the woman that Berzélius Nibbidard +Paragot could love. The twain had been romantic, walking in the Valley +of Illusion, wilfully blinding their eyes to the irony of Things Real. +Love had flown far from them during the silent years and they had +mistaken the afterglow of his wings for the living radiance. They had +begun to realise the desolate truth. They read it in each other's eyes. +She had been too loyal to speak. She would have married him, hoping as a +woman hopes, against hope. Paragot, whose soul revolted from pretence, +preferring real mire to sham down, fled from the piteous tragedy. + +He might have retired more conventionally. He might have had a dismal +explanatory interview with Joanna, and ordered a fly to convey himself +and his luggage to the Railway Station the next morning. Perhaps if +Joanna had found him in the November Sunday afternoon garden this might +have occurred. But Joanna did not find him. His temperament found him +instead; and when you have a temperament like Paragot's, it plays the +very deuce with convention. It drew him out of the garden, across the +Channel and into the society of Bubu le Vainqueur. But, all the same, in +the essential act of leaving Melford, Paragot behaved like the man of +fine honour I shall always maintain him to be. + +How many men of speckless reputation, though feeling the pinch of +poverty, would not have married Joanna for the great wealth her husband +left behind? Answer me that. + +I know that Joanna wept bitterly over her lost romance. But she has +owned to me that the words written on a scrap of paper by Paragot and +posted from London were tragically true: + +"My dear. It is only the shadows of our past selves that love. You and I +are strangers to each other. To continue this sweet pretence of love is +a mockery of the Holiest. God bless you. Gaston." + +"If you love a Dream Woman," said Paragot, "let her stay the divine +Woman of the Dream. To awaken and clasp flesh and blood, no matter how +delicately tender, and find that love has sped at the dawn is a misery +too deep for tears." + +And Paragot, lying unshaven, unwashed, in grimy shirt and trousers, +smoked silently and stared into a future in which the dear sweet Dream +Woman with "the little feet so adored" would never, never again have a +place. + +"If I had a coat to my back," said he, after nearly half an hour's +silence, "I verily believe I would go to the Pont Neuf and talk to Henri +Quatre." + + * * * * * + +_Le Fou Rire_ had given me a commission for a front page in colours; and +I was deep in the disreputable task on the following evening when +Paragot appeared in my attic. He wore a jacket, his bag having arrived +from Melford. + +"My soul hungers," said he, "for the Café Delphine, and my throat +thirsts for sociable alcohol. If you can cease the prostitution of your +art to a salacious public for an hour or two, I shall be very glad of +your company." + +"I think it's rather good," said I complacently, regarding the drawing +with head bent sideways. "It's an old theme, but it's up to date. At +Janot's they would say it was palpitating with modernity." + +"That's what makes it vile," said Paragot. + +We were thrown into immediate argument. One of the flying art notions of +the hour was to revive the old subjects which contained the eternal +essentials of life and present them in "palpitatingly modern" form. I +eloquently developed my thesis. We were sick to death, for instance, of +the quasi-scriptural Prodigal Son, sitting half-naked in a desert beside +a swine trough. Was it not more "palpitating" to set the prodigal in +modern Paris? + +"Your moderns can't palpitate with dignity, my son," replied Paragot. +"Take Susannah and the Elders. Classically treated the subject might yet +produce one of the greatest pictures of all time. Translate it into the +grocer's wife and the two churchwardens and you cannot escape from +bestial vulgarity." + +Conscious of the wide horizon of extreme youth, I sighed at my master's +narrowness. He was hopelessly behind the times. I dropped the argument +and hunted for my cap. + +We found the Café Delphine fairly full. Madame Boin, whom the past few +months had provided with a few more rolls of fat round her neck, gave a +little gasp as she caught sight of Paragot, and held out her hand over +the counter. + +"Is it really you, Monsieur Paragot? One sees you no more. How is that? +But it is charming. Ah? You have been _en voyage_? In England? _On dit +que c'est beau là-bas._ And where will you sit? Your place is taken. It +is Monsieur Papillard, the poet, who has sat there for a month. We will +find another table. There is one that is free." + +She pointed to a draughty, unconsidered table by the door. Paragot +looked at it, then at Madame Boin and then at his own private and +particular table usurped by Monsieur Papillard and his associates, and +swore a stupefied oath of considerable complication. A weird, pug-nosed, +pig-eyed, creature with a goatee beard scarce masking a receding chin, +sat in the sacred seat against the wall. His hat and cloak were hung on +Paragot's peg. He was reading a poem to half a dozen youths who seemed +all to be drinking _mazagrans_, or coffee in long glasses. They combined +an air of intellectual intensity with one of lyrical enthusiasm, like +little owls pretending to be larks. Not one of the old set was there to +smile a welcome. + +We stood by the counter listening to the poem. When Monsieur Papillard +had ended, the youths broke into applause. + +"_C'est superbe!_" + +"_Un chef d'oeuvre, cher maître._" + +They called the pug-nosed creature, _cher maître_! + +"It is demented idiocy," murmured my astounded master. + +At that moment entered Félicien Garbure, a down-at-heel elderly man, who +had been wont to sit at Paragot's table. He was one of those parasitic +personages not unknown in the _Quartier_, who contrived to attach +themselves to the special circle of a café, and to drink as much as +possible at other people's expense. His education and intelligence would +have disgraced a Paris cabman, but an ironical Providence had invested +him with an air of wisdom which gave to his flattery the value of +profound criticism. + +This sycophant greeted us with effusion. Where had we been? Why had the +delightful band been dispersed? Did we know Monsieur Papillard, the +great poet? Before we could reply he approached the chair. + +"_Cher maître_, permit me to present to you my friends Monsieur +Berzélius Paragot and Monsieur Asticot." + +"_Enchanté, Messieurs_," said the great poet urbanely. + +We likewise avowed our enchantment, and Paragot swore beneath his +breath. The waiter--no longer Hercule, who had been dismissed for petty +thievery some time before--but a new waiter who did not know +Paragot--set us chairs at the end of the table far away from the great +man. We ordered drinks. Paragot emptied his glass in an absent-minded +manner, still under the shock of his downfall. But a few short months +ago he had ruled in this place as king. Now he was patronizingly +presented to the snub-nosed, idiot usurper by Félicien Garbure. _His_ +friend, Berzélius Paragot! _Nom de Dieu!_ And he was assigned a humble +place below the salt. Verily the world was upside down. + +"Give me another _grog_," said Paragot, "a double one." + +The poet read another poem. It was something about topazes and serpents +and the twilight and the pink palms of a negress. More I could not +gather. The company hailed it as another masterpiece. Félicien Garbure +called it a supreme effort of genius. A young man beside Paragot vaunted +its witchery of suggestion. + +"It is absolute nonsense," cried my master. + +"But it is symbolism, Monsieur," replied the young man in a tone of +indulgent pity. + +"What does it mean?" + +The young man--he was very kind--smiled and shrugged his shoulders +politely. + +"What in common speech is the meaning of one of Bach's fugues or Claude +Monet's effects of sunlight? One cannot say. They appeal direct to the +soul. So does a subtle harmony of words, using words as notes of music, +or pigments, what you will, arranged by the magic of a master. These +things are transcendental, Monsieur." + +"_Saperlipopette!_" breathed Paragot. "My little Asticot," he whispered +to me, "have I really come to this, to sit at the feet of an acting +pro-sub-vice-deputy infant Gamaliel and be taught the elements of +symbolic poetry?" + +"But Master," said I, somewhat captivated by the balderdash, "there is, +after all, colour in words. Don't you remember how delighted you were +with the name of a little town we passed through on our way to +Orléans--Romorantin? You were haunted by it and said it was like the +purple note of an organ." + +"Which shews you my son that I was aware of the jargon of symbolism +before these goslings were hatched," he replied. + +He drained his tumbler, called the waiter and paid the reckoning. + +"Let us go to Père Louviot's in the Halles where we can meet some real +men and women." + +We went, and the Café Delphine knew Paragot no more. + + * * * * * + +After this he took to frequenting indiscriminately the various cafés of +the neighbourhood, wandering from one to the other like a lost soul +seeking a habitation. Now and again he hit upon fragments of the old +band, who had migrated from the Café Delphine when it became the home of +the symbolic poets. He tried in vain to collect the fragments together +in a new hostelry. But the cohesive force had gone. These queer circles +of the Latin Quarter are organisms of spontaneous growth. You cannot +create them artificially or re-create them when once they are +disintegrated. The twos and threes of students received him kindly and +listened to his talk; but his authority was gone. Once or twice when I +accompanied him I fancied that he had lost also the peculiar magic of +his vehement utterances. Cazalet also noticed a change. + +"What is the matter with Paragot? He no longer talks. He preaches. _Ça +ennuie à la fin._" + +Paragot a bore! It was unimaginable. + +Was he paying the penalty of his past respectability? Had Melford +repressed his noble rage and frozen the genial current of his soul? It +is not unlikely. He often found himself condemned to solitary toping +over a stained newspaper, one of the most ungleeful joys known to man. +Sometimes he played dominoes with Félicien Garbure, now icily received +by the symbolists on account of an unpaid score. Whether desperation +drove him occasionally to Bubu le Vainqueur and his friends I do not +know. He was not really proud of his acquaintance with Bubu. Once he +whimsically remarked that as he was half way between Gaston de Nérac and +Berzélius Paragot, and therefore neither fish nor fowl, he could not +find an appropriate hole in Paris. But when his hair and his beard and +his finger nails had attained their old luxuriance of growth, and he +was in every way Paragot again, the desired haven remained still +unfindable. There were taverns without number and drink in oceans, and +the life of Paris surged up and down the Boulevards as stimulating as +ever: but the heart of Paragot cried out for something different. He +took the old violin from its dirty case and spent hours in the Rue des +Saladiers trying to fiddle the divine despair out of his system. +Sometimes he would call upon Blanquette to accompany him on her almost +forgotten zither. + +One day he was with me at the Café opposite Janot's, when two or three +of the studio came in and sat at our table. There was the usual eager +talk. The subject, the new impressionism. + +"But to understand it, you must be in the movement," cried Fougère, not +dreaming of discourtesy. + +But Paragot took the saying to heart. + +"I see it now," said he afterwards. "I am no longer in the movement. You +young men have passed me by. I am left stranded. You may ask why I don't +seek the company of my own contemporaries? Who are they that know me, +save worthless rags like Félicien Garbure? Stranded, my son. I have had +my day." + +After that he refused to talk at such social gatherings as chance +afforded, and moodily listened, while he consumed profitless alcohol. +Then he began to frequent the low-life cafés of the Halles. When he had +nearly poisoned himself with vile absinthe and sickened himself with the +conversation of fishwives, he sent for me in despair. + +I found him half-dressed walking up and down the salon. He looked very +ill. + +"I am going to leave Paris to-day," he began, as soon as I entered. "It +is a city of Dead Sea apples. It has no place for me, save the sewer. I +don't like the sewer. I am going away. I shall never come back to Paris +again." + +"But where are you going, Master?" I asked in some surprise. + +He did not know. He would pack his bundle and flee like Christian from +the accursed city. Like Christian he would go on a Pilgrim's Progress. +He would seek sweet pure things. He would go forth and work in the +fields. The old life had come to an end. The sow had been mistaken. It +could not return to its wallowing in the mire. Wallowing was disgustful. +Was ever man in such a position? The vagabond life had made the +conventions of civilisation impossible. The contact with convention and +clean English ways had killed his zest for the old order of which only +the mud remained. There was nothing for it but to leave Paris. + +He poured out his heart to me in a torrent of excited words, here and +there none too coherent. He must work. He had lost the great art by +which he was to cover Europe with palaces. That was no longer. + +"My God!" said he stopping short. "The true knowledge of it has only +come to me lately. I was living in a Fool's Paradise. I could never have +designed a building. I should have lived on her bounty. Thank God I was +saved the shame of it." + +He went on. Again he repeated his intention of leaving Paris. I must +look after Blanquette for the present. He must go and dree his weird +alone. + +"And yet, my little Asticot, it is the dreadful loneliness that +frightens me. Once I had a dream. It sufficed me. But now my soul is +empty. A man needs a woman in his life, even a Dream Woman. But for me, +_ni-ni, c'est fini_. There is not a woman in the wide world who would +look at me now." + +"Master," said I, "if you are going to settle down in the country, why +don't you marry Blanquette?" + +"Marry Blanquette! Marry----" + +He regarded me in simple, undisguised amazement which took his breath +away. He passed his hand through his hair and sat on the nearest seat. + +"_Nom de Dieu!_" said he, "I never thought of it!" + +Then he leaped up and caught me in the old way by the shoulders, and +cried in French, as he did in moments of great excitement: + +"But it's colossal, that idea! It is the solution of everything. And I +never thought of it though it has been staring me in the face. Why I +love her, our little Blanquette. I have loved her all the time without +knowing it as the good Monsieur Jourdain spoke prose. _Sacré nom d'un +petit bonhomme!_ Why didn't you tell me before, confounded little animal +that you are?" + +He swung me with a laugh, to the other side of the room, and waved his +arms grotesquely, as he continued his dithyrambic eulogy of the colossal +idea. I have never seen two minutes produce a greater change in a human +countenance. Ten years fell from it. He looked even younger than when he +had broken his fiddle over Mr. Pogson's head and received the +inspiration of our vagabondage. His blue eyes cleared, and in them shone +the miraculous light of laughter. + +"But it was written, my son Asticot. It was preordained. She is the one +woman in the world to whom I need not pretend to be other than I am. She +is _real, nom de Dieu_! What she says is Blanquette, what she does is +Blanquette, and her sayings and doings would grace the greatest Queen in +Christendom. But, have you thought of it? I have come indeed to the end +of my journey. I started out to find Truth, the Reality of Things. I +have found it. I have found it, my son. It is a woman, strong and +steadfast, who looks into your eyes; who can help a man to accomplish +his destiny. And the destiny of man is to work, and to beget strong +children. And his reward is to have the light in the wife's eyes and the +welcome of a child's voice as he crosses the threshold of his house. And +it cleanses a man. But Blanquette----" he smote his forehead, and burst +into excited laughter. "Why did it not enter into this idiot head +before?" + +The laughter ceased all of a sudden, and at least three years returned +to his face. + +"It takes two parties to make a marriage," said he in a chastened tone. +"Blanquette is young. I am not. She may be thinking of a future quite +different. It is all very well to say I will marry Blanquette, but will +Blanquette marry me?" + +"Master," said I, feeling a person of elderly experience, "it was +entirely on your account that Blanquette refused the _quincaillier_ at +the corner of the street." + +I had learned from her the day before that the superior hardware +merchant had recently made her a ceremonious offer of marriage. + +"A sense of duty, perhaps," said Paragot. + +I laughed at his seriousness. + +"But, Master, she has been eating her heart out for you since the +wedding at Chambéry." + +"Asticot," said he, planting himself in front of me, "are you jesting or +speaking what you know to be the truth?" + +"The absolute truth." + +"And you never told me? You knew that a real woman loved me, and you let +me chase a will-o'-the-wisp with gloves and an umbrella? Truly a man's +foes are of his own household." + +"But, Master----" I began. + +He laughed at the sight of my dejected face. + +"No, you were loyal, my son. The man who gives away a woman's +confidence, even when she avows the poisoning of her husband and the +strangulation of her babes, is a transpontine villain." + +He took up his porcelain pipe and filled it from the blue packet of +caporal that lay on the table with the oilskin cover. He struck a match +and was about to apply it to the bowl, when one of his sudden ideas +caused him to blow out the match and lay down the pipe. Then with his +old lightning swiftness he strode to the door and flung it open. + +"Blanquette! Blanquette!" he cried. + +"_Oui, maître_," came from the kitchen, and in a moment Blanquette +entered the room. + +He took her by the hand and led her to the centre, while she regarded +him somewhat mystified. With his heels together, he made her a correct +bow. + +"Blanquette," said he, "in the presence of Asticot as witness I ask you +to do me the honour to become my wife." + +It was magnificent; it was what Paragot would have called _vieille +école_; but it was not tactful. It was half an hour before Blanquette +fully grasped the situation. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +JOANNA married Major Walters, as soon as the conventionalities would +permit. + +She wrote then, for the first time, to Paragot. + +"I bear you no malice, my dear Gaston, and I am sure you bear me none. +Your breaking off of our engagement was the only way out of a fantastic +situation. You might have broken it less abruptly; but you were always +sudden. If I may believe Asticot, your own marriage was a lightning +incident. I can laugh now, and so I suppose can your wife; but believe +me this sort of thing does leave a woman rather breathless. + +"Wish me happiness, as I wish you. If ever we meet it will be as loyal +friends." + +Could woman have spoken more sweetly? + +"My dear Joanna," replied Paragot, "I do wish you all the happiness in +the world. You can't fail to have it. You have a real husband as I have +a real wife. Let us thank heaven we have escaped from the moon vapour of +the Ideal, in which we poor humans are apt to lose our way and stray God +knows whither. I am sending you a real marriage gift." + +"My dear Asticot," wrote Joanna from an hotel in Florence, "what do you +think your delightful but absurd master has sent me as a wedding +present? It arrived here this morning, to the consternation of the +whole hotel. A crate containing six live ducks. The label stated that +they were real ducks fed by his own hand. + +"But what am I to do with six live ducks on a wedding journey, my dear +Asticot? I can't sell them. I hate the idea of eating them--and even if +I didn't, Major Walters and I can't eat six. And I can't put blue +ribbons round their necks, and carry them about with me on my travels as +pets. Can't you see me walking over the Ponte Vecchio followed by them +as by a string of poodles? And they are so voracious. The hotel people +are already charging them full pension terms. Oh, dear! Do tell me what +I am to do with these dreadful fowl!" + +"My dearest Lady," I answered. "Offer the ducks like the Dunmow flitch +of bacon to the most happily married couple in Florence." + +Whether Joanna acted on my brilliant suggestion I cannot say. A little +while ago I enquired after their ultimate destiny; but Joanna had +forgotten. I believe Major Walters and herself fled from them secretly. + +Paragot on his label stated that he had fed the ducks with his own hand. +This was practically true; indeed, in the case of those who declined to +nourish themselves to the requisite degree of fatness, it was literally +true. I have beheld him since perform the astounding operation, a sight +_Dis hominibusque_; but not in the Rue des Saladiers. It was on his own +farm, the farm near Chartres, which he bought, in his bewildering +fashion, as soon as lawyers could prepare the necessary documents. He +took train the day after his proposal of marriage to Blanquette, and +returned, I remember, somewhat crestfallen, because he could not +conclude the purchase then and there. + +"My dear sir," said the lawyer whom he consulted, "you can't buy landed +property as you can a pound of sugar over a counter." + +"Why not?" asked Paragot. + +"Because," said the lawyer, "the law of France mercifully concedes to +men of my profession the right of gaining a livelihood." + +"I see that you are a real lawyer," said Paragot, pleased by the irony, +"and it is an amiable Providence that has guided my steps to your +_cabinet_." + +But Paragot was married, and the little _appartement_ in the Rue des +Saladiers passed into alien hands, and the newly wedded pair settled +down on the farm, long before all the legal formalities of purchase were +accomplished. It takes my breath away, even now, to think of the hurry +of those days. He decided human destinies in the fraction of a second. + +"My son," said he, "when I have paid for this farm, I shall have very +little indeed of the capital, on the interest of which we have been +living. I am now a married man, with the responsibilities of a wife and +a future family. I have put £200 to your credit at the Crédit Lyonnais +and that is all your fortune. If art can't support you, when you have +spent it, you will have to come to La Haye (the farm) and feed pigs. +You'll be richer if you paint them; the piggier they are, and the +heavier the gold watch chains across their bellies, the richer you will +be; but you'll be happier if you feed them. _Crede experturo._" + +I went to bed that night swearing a great oath that I would neither +paint pigs nor feed pigs, but that I would prove myself worthy of the +generosity of my master and benefactor. I felt then that his goodness +was great; but how great it was I only realised in after years when I +came to learn his financial position. Bearing in mind the relativity of +things, I know that few fathers have sent their sons out into the world +with so princely a capital. + +Fortune smiled on me; why, I don't know; perhaps because I was small and +sandy haired and harmless, and did not worry her. I sold two or three +pictures, I obtained regular employment on an illustrated journal, and +raised my price for contributions to _Le Fou Rire_. Bread and butter +were assured. There was never prouder youth than I, when one August +morning I started from Paris for Chartres, with fifty superfluous pounds +in my pocket which I determined to restore to Paragot. + +The old Paragot of the high roads, hairy and bronzed, and wearing a +great straw hat with wide brim turned down, met me at the little local +station. He forgot that he was half British and almost hugged me. At +last I had come--it was my third visit--at last I had torn myself away +from that _sacré_ Paris and its flesh-pots and its paint-pots and its +artificialities. + +"Nothing is real in Paris, whether it be the smile on the painted lady's +lips or the dream of the young poet. Here, in the midst of God's fields, +there is no pretending, no shamming, no lying, none of your confounded +idealism. All is solid, _mon gars_. Solid like that," and he thumped his +chest to illustrate the argument. + +"Bucéphale, too?" I queried with a laugh, as we fetched up beside the +most ancient horse in the Department, drooping between the shafts of a +springless cart. Needless to say, Bucéphale had been rechristened in his +extreme old age. + +"He is a living proof," cried Paragot, "of the solidity _rerum +agrestium_. Look at him! Shew me a horse of his age in Paris. The Paris +horses, like Youth in the poem, grow pale and spectre thin and die of +premature decay. Here, _mon petit_," said he giving a sou to a blue +bloused urchin who was restraining the impetuous Bucéphale from a wild +gallop over the Eure et Loire, "when you have spent that come to La Haye +and I will give you another." + +He threw my bag into the cart, and we took our places on the plank that +served as a seat. + +"_En route_, Bucéphale!" cried Paragot, gathering up the reins. "Observe +the kindly manners of the country. If I had addressed him like your +Paris cabman with a '_Hue Cocotte!_' it would have wounded his +susceptibilities." + +Bucéphale started off jog-trot down the straight white road edged with +poplars, while Paragot talked, and the sun blazed down upon us from a +cobalt sky. All around the fertile plain laughed in the sunshine--a +giant, contented laugh, like that of its broad-faced, broad-hipped +daughters who greeted Paragot as we raced by at the rate of five miles +an hour. Did I ever meet a Paris horse that went this speed? asked +Paragot, and I answered him truthfully, "Never." + +We stopped in a white-walled, red-roofed village, beside a tiny shop +gloriously adorned with a gilt bull's head. The butcher's wife came out. +"_Bonjour_, Monsieur Paragot." + +"_Bonjour_, Madame Jolivet, have you a nice fatted calf for this young +Prodigal from Paris? If you haven't, we can do with four kilos of good +beef." + +And the result of ten minutes talk was a great lump of raw meat, badly +wrapped in newspaper, which Paragot, careless of my Paris clothes, +thrust on my knees, while he continued to drive Bucéphale. I dropped the +beef into the back of the cart. Paragot shook his head. + +"To-morrow, my son, you shall be clothed in humility and shall clean out +the cow pen." + +"I should prefer to accept your original invitation, Master," said I, +"and help with the corn." + +For Paragot, besides Bucéphale and cows and ducks and pigs and fowls and +a meadow or two, possessed a patch of cornfield of which he was +passionately proud. He had sown it himself that spring and now was +harvest. He pointed to it with his whip as soon as we came in sight of +the farm. + +"_My_ corn, my little Asticot. It is marvellous, eh? Who says that +Berzélius Nibbidard Paragot can't make things grow? I was born to it. +_Nom de Dieu_ I could make anything grow. I could plant your palette and +it would come up a landscape. And _sacré mille cochons_, I have done the +most miraculous thing of all. I am the father of a human being, a real +live human being, my son. He is small as yet," he added apologetically, +"but still he is alive. He has teeth, Asticot. It is the most remarkable +thing in this astonishing universe." + +The dim form of a woman standing with a child in her arms in front of a +group of farm buildings across the fields to the right, gradually grew +into the familiar figure of my dear Blanquette. She came down the road +to meet us, her broad homely face beaming with gladness and in her eyes +a new light of welcome. Narcisse trotted at her heels. The rheumatism of +advancing years gave him a distinguished gait. + +We sprang from the cart. Bucéphale left to himself regarded the family +meeting with a grandfatherly air, until an earth-coloured nondescript +emerged from the ground and led him off towards the house. After our +embraces, we followed, Paragot dancing the delighted infant, Blanquette +with her great motherly arm around my shoulders, and Narcisse soberly +sniffing for adventure, after the manner of elderly dogs. + +"Do you remember, Asticot?" said Blanquette. "Four of us started for +Chambéry. Now five of us come to La Haye. _C'est drôle, hein?_" + +"_Tu es contente?_" I asked. + +Her arm tightened, and her eyes grew moist. + +"_Mais oui_," she said in a low voice. Then she looked at Paragot and +the child, a yard or two in front of us. + +"He is the image of his father," she said almost reverentially. + +I burst out laughing. Where the likeness lay between the chubby, +snub-nosed, eighteen months old baby, and the hairy, battered Paragot, +no human eye but Blanquette's could discover. I vowed he resembled a +little Japanese idol. + +"_Pauvre chéri_," said Blanquette, motherwise. + +The house of Paragot was not a palace. It stood, low and whitewashed, +amid a medley of little tumble-down erections, and was guarded on one +side by cowsheds and on the other by the haystack. You stepped across +the threshold into the kitchen. A door on the right gave access to the +bedroom. A ladder connected with a hole in the roof enabled you to reach +the cockloft, the guest room of the establishment. That was all. What +on earth could man want more? asked Paragot. The old rep suite, the +table with the American cloth, the coloured prints in gilt frames +including the portrait of Garibaldi, the cheap deal bookcases holding +Paragot's tattered classics, gave the place an air of familiar +homeliness. A mattock, a gun and a cradle warred against old +associations. + +When we entered, the child began to whimper. Perhaps it did not approve +of the gun. Like myself he may, in trembling fancy, have heard its owner +cry: "I have an inspiration! Let us go out and shoot cows." Paragot +found another reason. + +"That infant's life is a perpetual rebellion against his name. I chose +Triptolème. A beautiful name. If you look at him you see it written all +over him. Blanquette was crazy for Thomas. In indignation I swore he +should be christened Triptolème Onésime. Blanquette wept. I yielded. 'At +least let him be called Didyme,' I pleaded. Didyme! There is something +caressing about Didyme. Repeat it. 'Didyme.' But no. Blanquette wept +louder. She wept so loud that all the ducks ran in to see whether I was +murdering her----" + +"It is not true!" protested Blanquette. "How can you say those things? +You know they are not true." + +"Her state was so terrible," continued my master, "that I sacrificed my +son's destiny. Behold Thomas. I too would howl if I had such a name." + +"He is hungry," said Blanquette, "and it is a very pretty name. He likes +to hear it, _n'est-ce pas, mon petit Tho-Thom chéri_? There! He smiles." + +"She is really convinced that he has heard her call him Thomas. Oh, +woman!" said Paragot. + +That evening, after we had feasted on cabbage-soup and the piece of beef +which I had been too stuck-up to dandle on my knees, and clear brown +cider, the three of us sat outside the house, in the warm August +moonlight. Sinking into an infinitely far horizon stretched the fruitful +plain of France, cornland and pasture, and near us the stacked sheaves +of Paragot's corn stood quiet and pregnant symbols of the good earth's +plenty. Here and there dark patches of orchard dreamed in a haze. +Through one distant patch a farmhouse struck a muffled note of grey. On +the left the ribbon of road glistened white between the sentinel poplars +silhouetted against the sky. The hot smell of the earth filled the air +like spice. A thousand elfin sounds, the vibration of leaves, the tiny +crackling of cornstalks, the fairy whirr of ground insects, melted into +a companionable stillness. + +Blanquette half dozed, her head against Paragot's shoulder, as she had +done that far-off evening of our return from Chambéry. The smoke from +his porcelain pipe curled upwards through the still air. I was near +enough to him on the other side, for him to lay his hand on my arm. + +"My son," he whispered in English, "I was right when I said I had come +to the end of my journey. Eventually I am right in everything. I +prophesied that I would make little Augustus Smith a scholar and a +gentleman. _Te voilà._ I knew that my long pilgrimage would ultimately +lead me to the Inner Shrine. Isn't all this," he waved his pipe in a +circular gesture, "the Holy of Holies of the Real? Is there any illusion +in the unutterable poetry of the night? Is there anything false in this +promise of the fruitful earth? My God! Asticot, I am happy! When the +soul laughs tears come into the eyes. I have all that the heart of man +can desire--the love of this dear wife of mine--the child asleep within +doors--the printed wisdom of the world in a dozen tongues of men, caught +up hap-hazard in what I once, in a failing hour, thought was my +wildgoose chase after Truth--the pride in you, my little Asticot, the +son of my adoption--and the most overpowering sleepiness that ever sat +upon mortal eyelid." + +He yawned. I protested. It was barely nine o'clock. + +"It is bedtime," said Paragot. "We have to get up at five." + +"Good Heavens, Master," said I, "why these unearthly hours?" + +He laughed and quoted Candide. + +"_Il faut cultiver notre jardin._" + +"No," said the drowsy Blanquette at last understanding the conversation, +"we have to cut the rest of the corn." + +"It's all the same, my dear," said Paragot tenderly. "We were talking +philosophy. Philosophy merely means the love of wisdom. And all that the +wisdom of all the ages can tell us, is summed up in the last words of +one of the wisest books that ever was written: 'We must cultivate our +garden.'" + +But how my dear erratic master has managed for years and years to +cultivate the farm of La Haye and to bring up my godson in the fear of +the Lord and the practice of land surveying is a proof that the late Mr. +Matthew Arnold was hopelessly wrong in his categorical declaration that +miracles do not happen. + + +THE END + + + + +Popular Copyright Books + +AT MODERATE PRICES + +Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at the +price you paid for this volume + + + =Circle, The.= By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of "The + Masquerader," "The Gambler"). + =Colonial Free Lance, A.= By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. + =Conquest of Canaan, The.= By Booth Tarkington. + =Courier of Fortune, A.= By Arthur W. Marchmont. + =Darrow Enigma, The.= By Melvin Severy. + =Deliverance, The.= By Ellen Glasgow. + =Divine Fire, The.= By May Sinclair. + =Empire Builders.= By Francis Lynde. + =Exploits of Brigadier Gerard.= By A. Conan Doyle. + =Fighting Chance, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + =For a Maiden Brave.= By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. + =For Love or Crown.= By Arthur W. Marchmont. + =Fugitive Blacksmith, The.= By Chas. D. Stewart + =God's Good Man.= By Marie Corelli. + =Heart's Highway, The.= By Mary E. Wilkins. + =Holladay Case, The.= By Burton Egbert Stevenson. + =Hurricane Island.= By H. B. Marriott Watson. + =In Defiance of the King.= By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. + =Indifference of Juliet, The.= By Grace S. Richmond. + =Infelice.= By Augusta Evans Wilson. + =In the Name of a Woman.= By Arthur W. Marchmont. + =Lady Betty Across the Water.= By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + =Lady of the Mount, The.= By Frederic S. Isham. + =Lane That Had No Turning, The.= By Gilbert Parker. + =Langford of the Three Bars.= By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles. + =Last Trail, The.= By Zane Grey. + =Leavenworth Case, The.= By Anna Katharine Green. + =Lilac Sunbonnet, The.= By S. R. Crockett. + =Lin McLean.= By Owen Wister. + =Long Night, The.= By Stanley J. Weyman. + =Maid at Arms, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + =Man from Red Keg, The.= By Eugene Thwing. + =Marthon Mystery, The.= By Burton Egbert Stevenson. + =Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.= By A. Conan Doyle. + =Millionaire Baby, The.= By Anna Katharine Green. + =Missourian, The.= By Eugene P. Lyle, Jr. + =Mr. Barnes, American.= By A. C. Gunter. + =Mr. Pratt.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + =My Friend the Chauffeur.= By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + =My Lady of the North.= By Randall Parrish. + =Mystery of June 13th.= By Melvin L. Severy. + =Mystery Tales.= By Edgar Allan Poe. + =Nancy Stair.= By Elinor Macartney Lane. + =Order No. 11.= By Caroline Abbot Stanley. + =Pam.= By Bettina von Hutten. + =Pam Decides.= By Bettina von Hutten. + =Partners of the Tide.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + =Phra the Phoenician.= By Edwin Lester Arnold. + =President, The.= By Alfred Henry Lewis. + =Princess Passes, The.= By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + =Princess Virginia, The.= By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + =Prisoners.= By Mary Cholmondeley. + =Private War, The.= By Louis Joseph Vance. + =Prodigal Son, The.= By Hall Caine. + =Queen's Advocate, The.= By Arthur W. Marchmont. + =Quickening, The.= By Francis Lynde. + =Richard the Brazen.= By Cyrus T. Brady and Edw. Peple. + =Rose of the World.= By Agnes and Egerton Castle. + =Running Water.= By A. E. W. Mason. + =Sarita the Carlist.= By Arthur W. Marchmont. + =Seats of the Mighty, The.= By Gilbert Parker. + =Sir Nigel.= By A. Conan Doyle. + =Sir Richard Calmady.= By Lucas Malet. + =Speckled Bird, A.= By Augusta Evans Wilson. + =The Shepherd of the Hills.= By Harold Bell Wright. + =Jane Cable.= By George Barr McCutcheon. + =Abner Daniel.= By Will N. Harben. + =The Far Horizon.= By Lucas Malet. + =The Halo.= By Bettina von Hutten. + =Jerry Junior.= By Jean Webster. + =The Powers and Maxine.= By C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + =The Balance of Power.= By Arthur Goodrich. + =Adventures of Captain Kettle.= By Cutcliffe Hyne. + =Adventures of Gerard.= By A. Conan Doyle. + =Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.= By A. Conan Doyle. + =Arms and the Woman.= By Harold MacGrath. + =Artemus Ward's Works= (extra illustrated). + =At the Mercy of Tiberius.= By Augusta Evans Wilson. + =Awakening of Helena Richie.= By Margaret Deland. + =Battle Ground, The.= By Ellen Glasgow. + =Belle of Bowling Green, The.= By Amelia E. Barr. + =Ben Blair.= By Will Lillibridge. + =Best Man, The.= By Harold MacGrath. + =Beth Norvell.= By Randall Parrish. + =Bob Hampton of Placer.= By Randall Parrish. + =Bob, Son of Battle.= By Alfred Ollivant. + =Brass Bowl, The.= By Louis Joseph Vance. + =Brethren, The.= By H. Rider Haggard. + =Broken Lance, The.= By Herbert Quick. + =By Wit of Women.= By Arthur W. Marchmont. + =Call of the Blood, The.= By Robert Hitchens. + =Cap'n Eri.= By Joseph C. Lincoln. + =Cardigan.= By Robert W. Chambers. + =Car of Destiny, The.= By C. N. and A. N. Williamson. + =Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine.= By Frank R. Stockton. + =Cecilia's Lovers.= By Amelia E. Barr. + =Spirit of the Border, The.= By Zane Grey. + =Spoilers, The.= By Rex Beach. + =Squire Phin.= By Holman F. Day. + =Stooping Lady, The.= By Maurice Hewlett. + =Subjection of Isabel Carnaby.= By Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler. + =Sunset Trail, The.= By Alfred Henry Lewis. + =Sword of the Old Frontier, A.= By Randall Parrish. + =Tales of Sherlock Holmes.= By A. Conan Doyle. + =That Printer of Udell's.= By Harold Bell Wright. + =Throwback, The.= By Alfred Henry Lewis. + =Trail of the Sword, The.= By Gilbert Parker. + =Treasure of Heaven, The.= By Marie Corelli. + =Two Vanrevels, The.= By Booth Tarkington. + =Up From Slavery.= By Booker T. Washington. + =Vashti.= By Augusta Evans Wilson. + =Viper of Milan, The= (original edition). By Marjorie Bowen. + =Voice of the People, The.= By Ellen Glasgow. + =Wheel of Life, The.= By Ellen Glasgow. + =When I Was Czar.= By Arthur W. Marchmont. + =When Wilderness Was King.= By Randall Parrish. + =Where the Trail Divides.= By Will Lillibridge. + =Woman in Grey, A.= By Mrs. C. N. Williamson. + =Woman in the Alcove, The.= By Anna Katharine Green. + =Younger Set, The.= By Robert W. Chambers. + =The Weavers.= By Gilbert Parker. + =The Little Brown Jug at Kildare.= By Meredith Nicholson. + =The Prisoners of Chance.= By Randall Parrish. + =My Lady of Cleve.= By Percy J. Hartley. + =Loaded Dice.= By Ellery H. Clark. + =Get Rich Quick Wallingford.= By George Randolph Chester. + =The Orphan.= By Clarence Mulford. + =A Gentleman of France.= By Stanley J. Weyman. + + + + +BURT'S SERIES _of_ STANDARD FICTION. + + +=THE SPIRIT OF THE BORDER.= A Romance of the Early Settlers in the Ohio +Valley. By Zane Grey. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson +Davis. Price, $1.00. + + A book rather out of the ordinary is this "Spirit + of the Border." The main thread of the story has + to do with the work of the Moravian missionaries + in the Ohio Valley. Incidentally the reader is + given details of the frontier life of those hardy + pioneers who broke the wilderness for the planting + of this great nation. Chief among these, as a + matter of course, is Lewis Wetzel, one of the most + peculiar, and at the same time the most admirable + of all the brave men who spent their lives + battling with the savage foe, that others might + dwell in comparative security. + + Details of the establishment and destruction of + the Moravian "Village of Peace" are given at some + length, and with minute description. The efforts + to Christianize the Indians are described as they + never have been before, and the author has + depicted the characters of the leaders of the + several Indian tribes with great care, which of + itself will be of interest to the student. + + By no means least among the charms of the story + are the vivid word-pictures of the thrilling + adventures, and the intense paintings of the + beauties of nature, as seen in the almost unbroken + forests. + + It is the spirit of the frontier which is + described, and one can by it, perhaps, the better + understand why men, and women, too, willingly + braved every privation and danger that the + westward progress of the star of empire might be + the more certain and rapid. A love story, simple + and tender, runs through the book. + + +=CAPTAIN BRAND, OF THE SCHOONER CENTIPEDE.= By Lieut. Henry A. Wise, U. +S. N. (Harry Gringo). Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson +Davis. Price, $1.00. + + The re-publication of this story will please those + lovers of sea yarns who delight in so much of the + salty flavor of the ocean as can come through the + medium of a printed page, for never has a story of + the sea and those "who go down in ships" been + written by one more familiar with the scenes + depicted. + + The one book of this gifted author which is best + remembered, and which will be read with pleasure + for many years to come, is "Captain Brand," who, + as the author states on his title page, was a + "pirate of eminence in the West Indies." As a sea + story pure and simple, "Captain Brand" has never + been excelled, and as a story of piratical life, + told without the usual embellishments of blood and + thunder, it has no equal. + + +=NICK OF THE WOODS.= A story of the Early Settlers of Kentucky. By +Robert Montgomery Bird. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. +Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. + + This most popular novel and thrilling story of + early frontier life in Kentucky was originally + published in the year 1837. The novel, long out of + print, had in its day a phenomenal sale, for its + realistic presentation of Indian and frontier life + in the early days of settlement in the South, + narrated in the tale with all the art of a + practiced writer. A very charming love romance + runs through the story. This new and tasteful + edition of "Nick of the Woods" will be certain to + make many new admirers for this enchanting story + from Dr. Bird's clever and versatile pen. + + +=GUY FAWKES.= A Romance of the Gunpowder Treason. By Wm. Harrison +Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. +Price, $1.00. + + The "Gunpowder Plot" was a modest attempt to blow + up Parliament, the King and his Counsellors. James + of Scotland, then King of England, was weak-minded + and extravagant. He hit upon the efficient scheme + of extorting money from the people by imposing + taxes on the Catholics. In their natural + resentment to this extortion, a handful of bold + spirits concluded to overthrow the government. + Finally the plotters were arrested, and the King + put to torture Guy Fawkes and the other prisoners + with royal vigor. A very intense love story runs + through the entire romance. + + +=TICONDEROGA:= A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley. By +G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four page illustrations by J. Watson +Davis. Price, $1.00. + + The setting of the story is decidedly more + picturesque than any ever evolved by Cooper: The + frontier of New York State, where dwelt an English + gentleman, driven from his native home by grief + over the loss of his wife, with a son and + daughter. Thither, brought by the exigencies of + war, comes an English officer, who is readily + recognized as that Lord Howe who met his death at + Ticonderoga. As a most natural sequence, even amid + the hostile demonstrations of both French and + Indians, Lord Howe and the young girl find time to + make most deliciously sweet love, and the son of + the recluse has already lost his heart to the + daughter of a great sachem, a dusky maiden whose + warrior-father has surrounded her with all the + comforts of a civilized life. + + The character of Captain Brooks, who voluntarily + decides to sacrifice his own life in order to save + the son of the Englishman, is not among the least + of the attractions of this story, which holds the + attention of the reader even to the last page. The + tribal laws and folk lore of the different tribes + of Indians known as the "Five Nations," with which + the story is interspersed, shows that the author + gave no small amount of study to the work in + question, and nowhere else is it shown more + plainly than by the skilful manner in which he has + interwoven with his plot the "blood" law, which + demands a life for a life, whether it be that of + the murderer or one of his race. + + A more charming story of mingled love and + adventure has never been written than + "Ticonderoga." + + +=ROB OF THE BOWL:= A Story of the Early Days of Maryland. By John P. +Kennedy. Cloth, 12mo. with four page illustrations by J. Watson Davis. +Price, $1.00. + + It was while he was a member of Congress from + Maryland that the noted statesman wrote this story + regarding the early history of his native State, + and while some critics are inclined to consider + "Horse Shoe Robinson" as the best of his works, it + is certain that "Rob of the Bowl" stands at the + head of the list as a literary production and an + authentic exposition of the manners and customs + during Lord Baltimore's rule. The greater portion + of the action takes place in St. Mary's--the + original capital of the State. + + As a series of pictures of early colonial life. + In Maryland, "Rob of the Bowl" has no equal, and + the book, having been written by one who had + exceptional facilities for gathering material + concerning the individual members of the + settlements in and about St. Mary's, is a most + valuable addition to the history of the State. + + The story is full of splendid action, with a + charming love story, and a plot that never loosens + the grip of its interest to its last page. + + +=BY BERWEN BANKS.= By Allen Raine. + + It is a tender and beautiful romance of the + idyllic. A charming picture of life in a Welsh + seaside village. It is something of a prose-poem, + true, tender and graceful. + + +=IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING.= A romance of the American Revolution. By +Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson +Davis. Price, $1.00. + + The story opens in the month of April, 1775, with + the provincial troops hurrying to the defense of + Lexington and Concord. Mr. Hotchkiss has etched in + burning words a story of Yankee bravery and true + love that thrills from beginning to end with the + spirit of the Revolution. The heart beats quickly, + and we feel ourselves taking a part in the + exciting scenes described. You lay the book aside + with the feeling that you have seen a gloriously + true picture of the Revolution. His whole story is + so absorbing that you will sit up far into the + night to finish it. As a love romance it is + charming. + + +=DARNLEY.= A Romance of the times of Henry VIII. and Cardinal Wolsey. By +G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. +Price, $1.00. + + As a historical romance "Darnley" is a book that + can be taken up pleasurably again and again, for + there is about it that subtle charm which those + who are strangers to the works of G. P. R. James + have claimed was only to be imparted by Dumas. + + If there was nothing more about the work to + attract especial attention, the account of the + meeting of the kings on the historic "field of the + cloth of gold" would entitle the story to the most + favorable consideration of every reader. + + There is really but little pure romance in this + story, for the author has taken care to imagine + love passages only between those whom history has + credited with having entertained the tender + passion one for another, and he succeeds in making + such lovers as all the world must love. + + +=WINDSOR CASTLE.= A Historical Romance of the Reign of Henry VIII., +Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, +12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price $1.00. + + "Windsor Castle" is the story of Henry VIII., + Catharine, and Anne Boleyn. "Bluff King Hal," + although a well-loved monarch, was none too good a + one in many ways. Of all his selfishness and + unwarrantable acts, none was more discreditable + than his divorce from Catharine, and his marriage + to the beautiful Anne Boleyn. The King's love was + as brief as it was vehement. Jane Seymour, waiting + maid on the Queen, attracted him, and Anne Boleyn + was forced to the block to make room for her + successor. This romance is one of extreme interest + to all readers. + + +=HORSESHOE ROBINSON.= A tale of the Tory Ascendency in South Carolina in +1780. By John P. Kennedy. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. +Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. + + Among the old favorites in the field of what is + known as historical fiction, there are none which + appeal to a larger number of Americans than + Horseshoe Robinson, and this because it is the + only story which depicts with fidelity to the + facts the heroic efforts of the colonists in South + Carolina to defend their homes against the brutal + oppression of the British under such leaders as + Cornwallis and Tarleton. + + The reader is charmed with the story of love which + forms the thread of the tale, and then impressed + with the wealth of detail concerning those times. + The picture of the manifold sufferings of the + people, is never overdrawn, but painted faithfully + and honestly by one who spared neither time nor + labor in his efforts to present in this charming + love story all that price in blood and tears which + the Carolinians paid as their share in the winning + of the republic. + + Take it all in all, "Horseshoe Robinson" is a work + which should be found on every book-shelf, not + only because it is a most entertaining story, but + because of the wealth of valuable information + concerning the colonists which it contains. That + it has been brought out once more, well + illustrated, is something which will give pleasure + to thousands who have long desired an opportunity + to read the story again, and to the many who have + tried vainly in these latter days to procure a + copy that they might read it for the first time. + + +=THE PEARL OF ORR'S ISLAND.= A story of the Coast of Maine. By Harriet +Beecher Stowe. Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated. Price, $1.00. + + Written prior to 1862, the "Pearl of Orr's Island" + is ever new; a book filled with delicate fancies, + such as seemingly array themselves anew each time + one reads them. One sees the "sea like an unbroken + mirror all around the pine-girt, lonely shores of + Orr's Island," and straightway comes "the heavy, + hollow moan of the surf on the beach, like the + wild angry howl of some savage animal." + + Who can read of the beginning of that sweet life, + named Mara, which came into this world under the + very shadow of the Death angel's wings, without + having an intense desire to know how the premature + bud blossomed? Again and again one lingers over + the descriptions of the character of that baby boy + Moses, who came through the tempest, amid the + angry billows, pillowed on his dead mother's + breast. + + There is no more faithful portrayal of New England + life than that which Mrs. Stowe gives in "The + Pearl of Orr's Island." + + +=RICHELIEU.= A tale of France in the reign of King Louis XIII. By G. P. +R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. +Price, $1.00. + + In 1829 Mr. James published his first romance, + "Richelieu," and was recognized at once as one of + the masters of the craft. + + In this book he laid the story during those later + days of the great cardinal's life, when his power + was beginning to wane, but while it was yet + sufficiently strong to permit now and then of + volcanic outbursts which overwhelmed foes and + carried friends to the topmost wave of prosperity. + One of the most striking portions of the story is + that of Cinq Mar's conspiracy; the method of + conducting criminal cases, and the political + trickery resorted to by royal favorites, affording + a better insight into the statecraft of that day + than can be had even by an exhaustive study of + history. It is a powerful romance of love and + diplomacy, and in point of thrilling and absorbing + interest has never been excelled. + + +=A COLONIAL FREE-LANCE.= A story of American Colonial Times. By Chauncey +C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. +Price, $1.00. + + A book that appeals to Americans as a vivid + picture of Revolutionary scenes. The story is a + strong one, a thrilling one. It causes the true + American to flush with excitement, to devour + chapter after chapter, until the eyes smart, and + it fairly smokes with patriotism. The love story + is a singularly charming idyl. + + +=THE TOWER OF LONDON.= A Historical Romance of the Times of Lady Jane +Grey and Mary Tudor. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four +illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00. + + This romance of the "Tower of London" depicts the + Tower as palace, prison and fortress, with many + historical associations. The era is the middle of + the sixteenth century. + + The story is divided into two parts, one dealing + with Lady Jane Grey, and the other with Mary Tudor + as Queen, introducing other notable characters of + the era. Throughout the story holds the interest + of the reader in the midst of intrigue and + conspiracy, extending considerably over a half a + century. + + +=IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING.= A Romance of the American Revolution. By +Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson +Davis. Price, $1.00. + + Mr. Hotchkiss has etched in burning words a story + of Yankee bravery, and true love that thrills from + beginning to end, with the spirit of the + Revolution. The heart beats quickly, and we feel + ourselves taking a part in the exciting scenes + described. His whole story is so absorbing that + you will sit up far into the night to finish it. + As a love romance it is charming. + + +=GARTHOWEN.= A story of a Welsh Homestead. By Allen Raine. Cloth, 12mo. +with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. + + "This is a little idyl of humble life and enduring + love, laid bare before us, very real and pure, + which in its telling shows us some strong points + of Welsh character--the pride, the hasty temper, + the quick dying out of wrath. . . . We call this + a well-written story, interesting alike through + its romance and its glimpses into another life + than ours. A delightful and clever picture of Welsh + village life. The result is excellent."--Detroit + Free Press. + + +=MIFANWY.= The story of a Welsh Singer. By Allan Raine. Cloth, 12mo. +with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00. + + "This is a love story, simple, tender and pretty + as one would care to read. The action throughout + is brisk and pleasing; the characters, it is + apparent at once, are as true to life as though + the author had known them all personally. Simple + in all its situations, the story is worked up in + that touching and quaint strain which never grows + wearisome, no matter how often the lights and + shadows of love are introduced. It rings true, and + does not tax the imagination."--Boston Herald. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Varied hyphenation was retained +including to-morrow and tomorrow. + +Page 84, "mattrass" changed to "mattress" (up on the mattress) + +Page 141, "Berzelius" changed to "Berzélius" (His name is Berzélius) + +Page 152, "quoedam" changed to "quædam" (falsa quædam esse) + +Page 188, "exert" changed to "exerts" (English Parsonage exerts) + +Page 205, "Vernueil" changed to "Verneuil" (Verneuil after an interval) + +Page 220, "you" changed to "You" (made you. You) + +Page 266, "Everbody" changed to "Everybody" (Everybody came to dance) + +Page 305, "Afred" changed to "Alfred" (By Alfred Henry Lewis) + +Page 308, word "to" inserted into text (be of interest to) + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Belovéd Vagabond, by William J. Locke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BELOVÉD VAGABOND *** + +***** This file should be named 28489-8.txt or 28489-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/4/8/28489/ + +Produced by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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