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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3974.txt b/3974.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb25f3b --- /dev/null +++ b/3974.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3038 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v3 +#61 in our series French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy +#3 in our series by Rene Bazin + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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Before daybreak. + +He asked me whether there was anything he could do for me at Florence. +There is something, but he would refuse to do it; for I wish him to +inform his charming daughter that my thoughts are all of her; that I have +spent the night recalling yesterday's trip--now the roads of Desio and +the galleries of the villa, now the drive back to Milan. M. Charnot only +figured in my dreams as sleeping. I seemed to have found my tongue, and +to be pouring forth a string of well-turned speeches which I never should +have ready at real need. If I could only see her again now that all my +plans are weighed and thought out and combined! Really, it is hard that +one can not live one's life over twice--at least certain passages in it- +this episode, for instance . . . . + +What is her opinion of me? When her eyes fixed themselves on mine I +thought I could read in their depths a look of inquiry, a touch of +surprise, a grain of disquiet. But her answer? She is going to Florence +bearing with her the answer on which my life depends. They are leaving +by the early express. Shall I take it, too? Florence, Rome, Naples--why +not? Italy is free to all, and particularly to lovers. I will toss my +cap over the mill for the second time. I will get money from somewhere. +If I am not allowed to show myself, I will look on from a distance, +hidden in the crowd. At a pinch I will disguise myself--as a guide at +Pompeii, a lazzarone at Naples. She shall find a sonnet in the bunch of +fresh flowers offered her by a peasant at the door of her hotel. And at +least I shall bask in her smile, the sound of her voice, the glints of +gold about her temples, and the pleasure of knowing that she is near even +when I do not see her. + +On second thoughts; no; I will not go to Florence. As I always distrust +first impulses, which so often run reason to a standstill, I had recourse +to a favorite device of mine. I asked myself: What would Lampron advise? +And at once I conjured up his melancholy, noble face, and heard his +answer: "Come back, my dear boy." + + + PARIS, July 2d. + +When you arrive by night, and from the windows of the flying train, as it +whirls past the streets at full speed, you see Paris enveloped in red +steam, pierced by starry lines of gas-lamps crisscrossing in every +direction, the sight is weird, and almost beautiful. You might fancy it +the closing scene of some gigantic gala, where strings upon strings of +colored lanterns brighten the night above a moving throng, passing, +repassing, and raising a cloud of dust that reddens in the glow of +expiring Bengal lights. + +Moreover, the illusion is in part a reality, for the great city is in +truth lighted for its nightly revel. Till one o'clock in the morning it +is alight and riotous with the stir and swing of life. + +But the dawn is bleak enough. + +That, delicious hour which puts a spirit of joy into green field and +hedgerow is awful to look upon in Paris. You leave the train half- +frozen, to find the porters red-eyed from their watch. The customs +officials, in a kind of stupor, scrawl cabalistic signs upon your trunk. +You get outside the station, to find a few scattered cabs, their drivers +asleep inside, their lamps blinking in the mist. + +"Cabby, are you disengaged?" + +"Depends where you want to go." + +"No. 91 Rue de Rennes." + +"Jump in!" + +The blank streets stretch out interminably, gray and silent; the shops on +either hand are shuttered; in the squares you will find only a dog or a +scavenger; theatre bills hang in rags around the kiosks, the wind sweeps +their tattered fragments along the asphalt in yesterday's dust, with here +and there a bunch of faded flowers. The Seine washes around its +motionless boats; two great-coated policemen patrol the bank and wake the +echoes with their tramp. The fountains have ceased to play, and their +basins are dry. The air is chilly, and sick with evil odors. The whole +drive is like a bad dream. Such was my drive from the Gare de Lyon to my +rooms. When I was once at home, installed in my own domains, this +unpleasant impression gradually wore off. There was friendliness in my +sticks of furniture. I examined those silent witnesses, my chair, my +table, and my books. What had happened while I was away? Apparently +nothing important. The furniture had a light coating of dust, which +showed that no one had touched it, not even Madame Menin. It was funny, +but I wished to see Madame Menin. A sound, and I heard my opposite +neighbor getting to work. He is a hydrographer, and engraves maps for a +neighboring publisher. I never could get up as early as he. The willow +seemed to have made great progress during the summer. I flung up the +window and said "Good-morning!" to the wallflowers, to the old wall of +the Carmelites, and the old black tower. Then the sparrows began. +What o'clock could it be? They came all together with a rush, chirping, +the hungry thieves, wheeling about, skirting the walls in their flight, +quick as lightning, borne on their pointed wings. They had seen the sun +--day had broken! + +And almost immediately I heard a cart pass, and a hawker crying: + +"Ground-SEL! Groundsel for your dickey-birds!" + +To think that there are people who get up at that unearthly hour to buy +groundsel for their canaries! I looked to see whether any one had called +in my absence; their cards should be on my table. Two were there: +"Monsieur Lorinet, retired solicitor, town councillor, of Bourbonnoux- +les-Bourges, deputy-magistrate"; "Madame Lorinet, nee Poupard." + +I was surprised not to find a third card: "Berthe Lorinet, of no +occupation, anxious to change her name." Berthe will be difficult to get +rid of. I presume she didn't dare to leave a card on a young man, it +wouldn't have been proper. But I have no doubt she was here. I scent a +trick of my uncle's, one of those Atlantic cables he takes for spider's +threads and makes his snares of. The Lorinet family have been here, with +the twofold intention of taking news of me to my "dear good uncle," and +discreetly recalling to my forgetful heart the charms of Berthe of the +big feet. + +"Good-morning, Monsieur Mouillard!" + +"Hallo! Madame Menin! Good-morning, Madame Menin!" + +"So you are back at last, sir! How brown you have got--quite sunburnt. +You are quite well, I hope, sir?" + +"Very well, thank you; has any one been here in my absence?" + +"I was going to tell you, sir; the plumber has been here, because the tap +of your cistern came off in my hand. It wasn't my fault; there had been +a heavy rain that morning. So--" + +"Never mind, it's only a tap to pay for. We won't say any more about it. +But did any one come to see me?" + +"Ah, let me see--yes. A big gentleman, rather red-faced, with his wife, +a fat lady, with a small voice; a fine woman, rather in my style, and +their daughter--but perhaps you know her, sir?" + +"Yes, Madame Menin, you need not describe her. You told them that I was +away, and they said they were very sorry." + +"Especially the lady. She puffed and panted and sighed: 'Dear Monsieur +Mouillard! How unlucky we are, Madame Menin; we have just come to Paris +as he has gone to Italy. My husband and I would have liked so much to +see him! You may think it fanciful, but I should like above all things +to look round his rooms. A student's rooms must be so interesting. +Stay there, Berthe, my child.' I told them there was nothing very +interesting, and that their daughter might just as well come in too, and +then I showed them everything." + +"They didn't stay long, I suppose?" + +"Quite long enough. They were an age looking at your photograph album. +I suppose they haven't got such things where they come from. Madame +Lorinet couldn't tear herself away from it. 'Nothing but men,' she said, +'have you noticed that, Jules?'--'Well, Madame,' I said, 'that's just how +it is here; except for me, and I don't count, only gentlemen come here. +I've kept house for bachelors where--well, there are not many--' + +"That will do, Madame Menin; that will do. I know you always think too +highly of me. Hasn't Lampron been here?" + +"Yes, sir; the day before yesterday. He was going off for a fortnight or +three weeks into the country to paint a portrait of some priest-- +a bishop, I think." + + + July 15th. + +"Midi, roi des etes." I know by heart that poem by "Monsieur le Comte de +l'Isle," as my Uncle Mouillard calls him. Its lines chime in my ears +every day when I return from luncheon to the office I have left an hour +before. Merciful heaven, how hot it is! I am just back from a hot +climate, but it was nothing compared to Paris in July. The asphalt melts +underfoot; the wood pavement is simmering in a viscous mess of tar; the +ideal is forced to descend again and again to iced lager beer; the walls +beat back the heat in your face; the dust in the public gardens, ground +to atoms beneath the tread of many feet, rises in clouds from under the +water-cart to fall, a little farther on, in white showers upon the +passers-by. I wonder that, as a finishing stroke, the cannon in the +Palais Royal does not detonate all day long. + +To complete my misery, all my acquaintances are out of town: the Boule +family is bathing at Trouville; the second clerk has not returned from +his holiday; the fourth only waited for my arrival to get away himself; +Lampron, detained by my Lord Bishop and the forest shades, gives no sign +of his existence; even Monsieur and Madame Plumet have locked up their +flat and taken the train for Barbizon. + +Thus it happens that the old clerk Jupille and I have been thrown +together. I enjoy his talk. He is a simplehearted, honorable man, +with a philosophy that I am sure can not be in the least German, +because I can understand it. I have gradually told him all my secrets. +I felt the need of a confidant, for I was stifling, metaphorically as +well as literally. Now, when he hands me a deed, instead of saying "All +right," as I used to, I say, "Take a chair, Monsieur Jupille"; I shut the +door, and we talk. The clerks think we're talking law, but the clerks +are mistaken. + +Yesterday, for instance, he whispered to me: + +"I have come down the Rue de l'Universite. They will soon be back." + +"How did you learn that?" + +"I saw a man carrying coals into the house, and asked for whom they were, +that's all." + +Again, we had a talk, just now, which shows what progress I have made in +the old clerk's heart. He had just submitted a draft to me. I had read +it through and grunted my approval, yet M. Jupille did not go. + +"Anything further, Monsieur Jupille?" + +"Something to ask of you--to do me a kindness, or, rather, an honor." + +"Let's hear what it is." + +"This weather, Monsieur Mouillard, is very good for fishing, though +rather warm." + +"Rather warm, Monsieur Jupille!" + +"It is not too warm. It was much hotter than this in 1844, yet the +fish bit, I can tell you! Will you join us next Sunday in a fishing +expedition? I say 'us,' because one of your friends is coming, a great +amateur of the rod who honors me with his friendship, too." + +"Who is he?" + +"A secret, Monsieur Mouillard, a little secret. You will be surprised. +It is settled then--next Sunday?" + +"Where shall I meet you?" + +"Hush, the office-boy is listening. That boy is too sharp; I'll tell you +some other time." + +"As you please, Monsieur Jupille; I accept the invitation +unconditionally." + +"I am so glad you will come, Monsieur Mouillard. I only wish we could +have a little storm between this and then." + +He spoke the truth; his satisfaction was manifest, for I never have seen +him rub the tip of his nose with the feathers of his quill pen so often +as he did that afternoon, which was with him the sign of exuberant joy, +all his gestures having subdued themselves long since to the limits of +his desk. + + + July 20th. + +I have seen Lampron once more. He bears his sorrow bravely. We spoke +for a few moments of his mother. I spoke some praise of that humble soul +for the good she had done me, which led him to enlarge upon her virtues. + +"Ah," he said, "if you had only seen more of her! My dear fellow, if I +am an honest man; if I have passed without failing through the trials of +my life and my profession; if I have placed my ideal beyond worldly +success; in a word, if I am worth anything in heart or brain, it is to +her I owe it. We never had been parted before; this is our first +separation, and it is the final one. I was not prepared for it." + +Then he changed the subject brusquely: + +"What about your love-affair?" + +"Fresher than ever." + +"Did it survive half an hour's conversation?" + +"It grew the stronger for it." + +"Does she still detest you?" + +I told him the story of our trip to Desio, and our conversation in the +carriage, without omitting a detail. + +He listened in silence. At the end he said: + +"My dear Fabien, there must be no delay. She must hear your proposal +within a week." + +"Within a week! Who is to make it for me?" + +"Whoever you like. That's your business. I have been making inquiries +while you were away; she seems a suitable match for you. Besides, your +present position is ridiculous; you are without a profession; you have +quarrelled, for no reason, with your only relative; you must get out of +the situation with credit, and marriage will compel you to do so." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A FISHING-TRIP AND AN OLD FRIEND + +July 21st. + +M. Jupille had written to tell me where I was to meet him on the Sunday, +giving me the most minute directions. I might take the train to Massy, +or to Bievres. However, I preferred to take the train to Sceaux and walk +from there, leaving Chatenay on my left, striking across the woods of +Verrieres toward the line of forts, coming out between Igny and +Amblainvilliers, and finally reaching a spot where the Bievre broadens +out between two wooded banks into a pool as clear as a spring and as full +of fish as a nursery-pond. + +"Above all things, tell nobody where it is!" begged Jupille. "It is our +secret; I discovered it myself." + +When I left Sceaux to meet Jupille, who had started before daybreak, the +sun was already high. There was not a cloud nor a breath of wind; the +sway of summer lay over all things. But, though the heat was broiling, +the walk was lovely. All about me was alive with voice or perfume. +Clouds of linnets fluttered among the branches, golden beetles crawled +upon the grass, thousands of tiny whirring wings beat the air--flies, +gnats, gadflies, bees--all chorusing the life--giving warmth of the day +and the sunshine that bathed and penetrated all nature. I halted from +time to time in the parched glades to seek my way, and again pushed +onward through the forest paths overarched with heavy-scented leafage, +onward over the slippery moss up toward the heights, below which the +Bievre stole into view. + +There it lay, at my feet, gliding between banks of verdure which seemed a +season younger than the grass I stood on. I began to descend the slope, +knowing that M. Jupille was awaiting me somewhere in the valley. I broke +into a run. I heard the murmur of water in the hollows, and caught +glimpses of forget-me-not tufts in low-lying grassy corners. Suddenly a +rod outlined itself against the sky, between two trees. It was he, the +old clerk; he nodded to me and laid down his line. + +"I thought you never were coming." + +"That shows you don't know me. Any sport?" + +"Not so loud! Yes, capital sport. I'll bait a line for you." + +"And where is your friend, Monsieur Jupille?" + +"There he is." + +"Where?" + +"Staring you in the face; can't you see him?". + +Upon my word, I could see nobody, until he directed my gaze with his +fishing-rod, when I perceived, ten yards away, a large back view of white +trousers and brown, unbuckled waistcoat, a straw hat which seemed to +conceal a head, and a pair of shirt-sleeves hanging over the water. + +This mass was motionless. + +"He must have got a bite," said Jupille, "else he would have been here +before now. Go and see him." + +Not knowing whom I was about to address, I gave a warning cough as I came +near him. + +The unknown drew a loud breath, like a man who wakes with a start. + +"That you, Jupille?" he said, turning a little way; "are you out of +bait?" + +"No, my dear tutor, it is I." + +"Monsieur Mouillard, at last!" + +"Monsieur Flamaran! Jupille told the truth when he said I should be +surprised. Are you fond of fishing?" + +"It's a passion with me. One must keep one or two for one's old age, +young man." + +"You've been having sport, I hear." + +"Well, this morning, between eight and nine, there were a few nibbles; +but since then the sport has been very poor. However, I'm very glad to +see you again, Mouillard. That essay of yours was extremely good." + +The eminent professor had risen, displaying a face still red from his +having slept with his head on his chest, but beaming with good-will. He +grasped my hand with heartiness and vigor. + +"Here's rod and line for you, Monsieur Mouillard, all ready baited," +broke in Jupille. "If you'll come with me I'll show you a good place." + +"No, no, Jupille, I'm going to keep him," answered M. Flamaran; "I +haven't uttered a syllable for three hours. I must let myself out a +little. We will fish side by side, and chat." + +"As you please, Monsieur Flamaran; but I don't call that fishing." + +He handed me the implement, and sadly went his way. + +M. Flamaran and I sat down together on the bank, our feet resting on the +soft sand strewn with dead branches. Before us spread the little pool I +have mentioned, a slight widening of the stream of the Bievre, once a +watering-place for cattle. The sun, now at high noon, massed the trees' +shadow close around their trunks. The unbroken surface of the water +reflected its rays back in our eyes. The current was barely indicated by +the gentle oscillation of a few water-lily leaves. Two big blue +dragonflies poised and quivered upon our floats, and not a fish seemed to +care to disturb them. + +"Well," said M. Flamaran, "so you are still managing clerk to Counsellor +Boule?" + +"For the time." + +"Do you like it?" + +"Not particularly." + +"What are you waiting for?" + +"For something to turn up." + +"And carry you back to Italy, I suppose?" + +"Then you know I have just been there?" + +"I know all about it. Charnot told me of your meeting, and your romantic +drive by moonlight. By the way, he's come back with a bad cold; did you +know that?" + +I assumed an air of sympathy: + +"Poor man! When did he get back?" + +"The day before yesterday. Of course I was the first to hear of it, and +we spent yesterday evening together. It may surprise you, Mouillard, and +you may think I exaggerate, but I think Jeanne has come back prettier +than she went." + +"Do you really think so?" + +"I really do. That southern sun--look out, my dear Mouillard, your line +is half out of water--has brought back her roses (they're brighter than +ever, I declare), and the good spirits she had lost, too, poor girl. She +is cheerful again now, as she used to be. I was very anxious about her +at one time. You know her sad story?" + +"Yes." + +"The fellow was a scoundrel, my dear Mouillard, a regular scoundrel! +I never was in favor of the match, myself. Charnot let himself be drawn +into it by an old college friend. I told him over and over again, 'It's +Jeanne's dowry he's after, Charnot--I'm convinced of it. He'll treat +Jeanne badly and make her miserable, mark my words.' But I wasted my +breath; he wouldn't listen to a word. Anyhow, it's quite off now. But +it was no slight shock, I can tell you; and it gave me great pain to +witness the poor child's sufferings." + +"You are so kind-hearted, Monsieur Flamaran!" + +"It's not that, Mouillard; but I have known Jeanne ever since she was +born. I watched her grow up, and I loved her when she was still a little +mite; she's as good as my adoptive daughter. You understand me when I +say adoptive. I do not mean that there exists between us that legal bond +in imitation of nature which is permitted by our codes--'adoptio imitatur +naturam'; not that, but that I love her like a daughter--Sidonie never +having presented me with a daughter, nor with a son either, for that +matter." + +A cry from Jupille interrupted M. Flamaran: + +"Can't you hear it rattle?" + +The good man was tearing to us, waving his arms like a madman, the folds +of his trousers flapping about his thin legs like banners in the wind. + +We leaped to our feet, and my first idea, an absurd one enough, was that +a rattlesnake was hurrying through the grass to our attack. + +I was very far from the truth. The matter really was a new line, +invented by M. Jupille, cast a little further than an ordinary one, and +rigged up with a float like a raft, carrying a little clapper. The fish +rang their own knell as they took the hook. + +"It's rattling like mad!" cried Jupille, "and you don't stir! I +couldn't have thought it of you, Monsieur Flamaran." + +He ran past us, brandishing a landing-net as a warrior his lance; he +might have been a youth of twenty-five. We followed, less keen and also +less confident than he. He was right, though; when he drew up his line, +the float of which was disappearing in jerks, carrying the bell along +with it beneath the water, he brought out a fair-sized jack, which he +declared to be a giant. + +He let it run for some time, to tire it, and to prolong the pleasure of +playing it. + +"Gentlemen," he cried, "it is cutting my finger off!" + +A stroke from the landing-net laid the monster at our feet, its strength +all spent. It weighed rather under four pounds. Jupille swore to six. + +My learned tutor and I sat down again side by side, but the thread of our +conversation had been broken past mending. I tried to talk of her, but +M. Flamaran insisted on talking of me, of Bourges, of his election as +professor, and of the radically distinct characteristics by which you can +tell the bite of a gudgeon from that of a stickleback. + +The latter part of this lecture was, however, purely theoretical, for he +got up two hours before sunset without having hooked a fish. + +"A good day, all the same," he said. "It's a good place, and the fish +were biting this morning. We'll come here again some day, Jupille; with +an east wind you ought to catch any quantity of gudgeons." He kept pace +beside me on our way home, but wearied, no doubt, with long sitting, with +the heat, and the glare from the water, fell into a reverie, from which +the incidents of the walk were unable to rouse him. + +Jupille trotted before us, carrying his rod in one hand, a luncheon- +basket and a fish-bag in the other. He turned round and gave us a look +at each cross-road, smiled beneath his heavy moustache, and went on +faster than before. I felt sure that something out of the way was about +to happen, and that the silent quill-driver was tasting a quiet joke. + +I had not guessed the whole truth. + +At a turn of the road M. Flamaran suddenly pulled up, looked all around +him, and drew a deep breath. + +"Hallo, Jupille! My good sir, where are you taking us? If I can believe +my eyes, this is the Chestnut Knoll, down yonder is Plessis Piquet, and +we are two miles from the station and the seven o'clock train!" + +There was no denying it. A donkey emerged from the wood, hung with +tassels and bells, carrying in its panniers two little girls, whose +parents toiled behind, goad in hand. The woods had become shrubberies, +through which peeped the thatched roofs of rustic summerhouses, mazes, +artificial waterfalls, grottoes, and ruins; all the dread handiwork of +the rustic decorator burst, superabundant, upon our sight, with shy odors +of beer and cooking. Broken bottles strewed the paths; the bushes all +looked weary, harassed, and overworked; a confused murmur of voices and +crackers floated toward us upon the breeze. I knew full well from these +signs that we were nearing "ROBINSON CRUSOE," the land of rustic inns. +And, sure enough, here they all were: "THE OLD ROBINSON," "THE NEW +ROBINSON," "THE REAL ORIGINAL ROBINSON," "THE ONLY GENUINE ROBINSON," +"ROBINSON's CHESTNUT GROVE," "ROBINSON'S PARADISE," each unique and each +authentic. All alike have thatched porches, sanded paths, transparencies +lighted with petroleum lamps, tinsel stars, summerhouses, arrangements +for open-air illumination and highly colored advertisements, in which are +set forth all the component elements of a "ROBINSON," such as shooting- +galleries, bowling-alleys, swings, private arbors, Munich beer, and +dinner in a tree. + +"Jupille!" exclaimed M. Flamaran, "you have shipwrecked us! This is +Crusoe's land; and what the dickens do you mean by it?" + +The old clerk, utterly discomfited, and wearing that hangdog look which +he always assumed at the slightest rebuke from Counsellor Boule, pulled a +face as long as his arm, went up to M. Flamaran and whispered a word in +his ear. + +"Upon my word! Really, Jupille, what are you thinking of? And I a +professor, too! Thirty years ago it would have been excusable, but to- +day! Besides, Sidonie expects me home to dinner--" + +He stopped for a moment, undecided, looking at his watch. + +Jupille, who was eying him intently, saw his distinguished friend +gradually relax his frown and burst into a hearty laugh. + +"By Jove! it's madness at my age, but I don't care. We'll renew our +youth for an hour or so. My dear Mouillard, Jupille has ordered dinner +for us here. Had I been consulted I should have chosen any other place. +Yet what's to be done? Hunger, friendship, and the fact that I can't +catch the train, combine to silence my scruples. What do you say?" + +"That we are in for it now." + +"So be it, then." And led by Jupille, still carrying his catch, we +entered THE ONLY GENUINE ROBINSON. + +M. Flamaran, somewhat ill at ease, cast inquiring glances on the +clearings in the sgrubberies. I thought I heard stifled laughter behind +the trees. + +"You have engaged Chestnut Number Three, gentlemen," said the proprietor. +"Up these stairs, please." + +We ascended a staircase winding around the trunk. Chestnut Number 3 is a +fine old tree, a little bent, its sturdy lower branches supporting a +platform surrounded by a balustrade, six rotten wooden pillars, and a +thatched roof, shaped like a cocked hat, to shelter the whole. All the +neighboring trees contain similar constructions, which look from a little +distance like enormous nests. They are greatly in demand at the dinner +hour; you dine thirty feet up in the air, and your food is brought up by +a rope and pulley. + +When M. Flamaran appeared on the platform he took off his hat, and leaned +with both hands on the railing to give a look around. The attitude +suggested a public speaker. His big gray head was conspicuous in the +light of the setting sun. + +"He's going to make a speech!" cried a voice. "Bet you he isn't," +replied another. + +This was the signal. A rustling was heard among the leaves, and numbers +of inquisitive faces peeped out from all corners of the garden. A +general rattling of glasses announced that whole parties were leaving the +tables to see what was up. The waiters stopped to stare at Chestnut +Number 3. The whole population of Juan Fernandez was staring up at +Flamaran without in the least knowing the reason why. + +"Gentlemen," said a voice from an arbor, "Professor Flamaran will now +begin his lecture." + +A chorus of shouts and laughter rose around our tree. + +"Hi, old boy, wait till we're gone!" + +"Ladies, he will discourse to you on the law of husband and wife!" + +"No, on the foreclosure of mortgages!" + +"No, on the payment of debts!" + +"Oh, you naughty old man! You ought to be shut up!" + +M. Flamaran, though somewhat put out of countenance for the moment, was +seized with a happy inspiration. He stretched out an arm to show that he +was about to speak. He opened his broad mouth with a smile of fatherly +humor, and the groves, attentive, heard him thunder forth these words: + +"Boys, I promise to give you all white marks if you let me dine in +peace!" + +The last words were lost in a roar of applause. + +"Three cheers for old Flamaran!" + +Three cheers were given, followed by clapping of hands from various +quarters, then all was silence, and no one took any further notice of our +tree. + +M. Flamaran left the railing and unfolded his napkin. + +"You may be sure of my white marks, young men," he said, as he sat down. + +He was delighted at his success as an orator, and laughed gayly. +Jupille, on the other hand, was as pale as if he had been in a street +riot, and seemed rooted to the spot where he stood. + +"It's all right, Jupille; it's all right, man! A little ready wit is all +you need, dash my wig!" + +The old clerk gradually regained his composure, and the dinner grew very +merry. Flamaran's spirits, raised by this little incident, never +flagged. He had a story for every glass of wine, and told them all with +a quiet humor of his own. + +Toward the end of dinner, by the time the waiter came to offer us +"almonds and raisins, pears, peaches, preserves, meringues, brandy +cherries," we had got upon the subject of Sidonie, the pearl of Forez. +M. Flamaran narrated to us, with dates, how a friend of his one day +depicted to him a young girl at Montbrison, of fresh and pleasing +appearance, a good housekeeper, and of excellent family; and how he-- +M. Flamaran--had forthwith started off to find her, had recognized her +before she was pointed out to him, fell in love with her at first sight, +and was not long in obtaining her affection in return. The marriage had +taken place at St. Galmier. + +"Yes, my dear Mouillard," he added, as if pointing a moral, "thirty years +ago last May I became a happy man; when do you think of following my +example?" + +At this point, Jupille suddenly found himself one too many, and vanished +down the corkscrew stair. + +"We once spoke of an heiress at Bourges," M. Flamaran went on. + +"Apparently that's all off?" + +"Quite off." + +"You were within your rights; but now, why not a Parisienne?" + +"Yes, indeed; why not?" + +"Perhaps you are prejudiced in some way against Parisiennes?" + +"I? Not the least." + +"I used to be, but I've got over it now. They have a charm of their own, +a certain style of dressing, walking, and laughing which you don't find +outside the fortifications. For a long time I used to think that these +qualities stood them in lieu of virtues. That was a slander; there are +plenty of Parisiennes endowed with every virtue; I even know a few who +are angels." + +At this point, M. Flamaran looked me straight in the eyes, and, as I made +no reply, he added: + +"I know one, at least: Jeanne Charnot. Are you listening?" + +"Yes, Monsieur Flamaran." + +"Isn't she a paragon?" + +"She is." + +"As sensible as she is tender-hearted?" + +"So I believe." + +"And as clever as she is sensible?" + +"That is my opinion." + +"Well, then, young man, if that's your opinion--excuse my burning my +boats, all my boats--if that's your opinion, I don't understand why-- +Do you suppose she has no money?" + +"I know nothing about her means." + +"Don't make any mistake; she's a rich woman. Do you think you're too +young to marry?" + +"No." + +"Do you fancy, perhaps, that she is still bound by that unfortunate +engagement?" + +"I trust she is not." + +"I'm quite sure she is not. She is free, I tell you, as free as you. +Well, why don't you love her?" + +"But I do love her, Monsieur Flamaran!" + +"Why, then, I congratulate you, my boy!" + +He leaned across the table and gave me a hearty grasp of the hand. He +was so agitated that he could not speak--choking with joyful emotion, as +if he had been Jeanne's father, or mine. + +After a minute or so, he drew himself up in his chair, reached out, put a +hand on each of my shoulders and kept it there as if he feared I might +fly away. + +"So you love her, you love her! Good gracious, what a business I've had +to get you to say so! You are quite right to love her, of course, of +course--I could not have understood your doing otherwise; but I must say +this, my boy, that if you tarry too long, with her attractions, you know +what will happen." + +"Yes, I ought to ask for her at once." + +"To be sure you ought." + +"Alas! Monsieur Flamaran, who is there that I can send on such a mission +for me? You know that I am an orphan." + +"But you have an uncle." + +"We have quarrelled." + +"You might make it up again, on an occasion like this." + +"Out of the question; we quarrelled on her account; my uncle hates +Parisiennes." + +"Damn it all, then! send a friend--a friend will do under the +circumstances." + +"There's Lampron." + +"The painter?" + +"Yes, but he doesn't know Monsieur Charnot. It would only be one +stranger pleading for another. My chances would be small. +What I want--" + +"Is a friend of both parties, isn't it? Well, what am I?" + +"The very man!" + +"Very well. I undertake to ask for her hand! I shall ask for the hand +of the charming Jeanne for both of us; for you, who will make her happy; +and for myself, who will not entirely lose her if she marries one of my +pupils, one of my favorite graduates--my friend, Fabien Mouillard. +And I won't be refused--no, damme, I won't!" + +He brought down his fist upon the table with a tremendous blow which made +the glasses ring and the decanters stagger. + +"Coming!" cried a waiter from below, thinking he was summoned. + +"All right, my good fellow!" shouted M. Flamaran, leaning over the +railings. "Don't trouble. I don't want anything." + +He turned again toward me, still filled with emotion, but somewhat calmer +than he had been. + +"Now," said he, "let us talk, and do you tell me all." + +And we began a long and altogether delightful talk. + +A more genuine, a finer fellow never breathed than this professor let +loose from school and giving his heart a holiday--a simple, tender heart, +preserved beneath the science of the law like a grape in sawdust. Now he +would smile as I sang Jeanne's praises; now he would sit and listen to my +objections with a truculent air, tightening his lips till they broke +forth in vehement denial. "What! You dare to say! Young man, what are +you afraid of?" His overflowing kindness discharged itself in the +sincerest and most solemn asseverations. + +We had left Juan Fernandez far behind us; we were both far away in that +Utopia where mind penetrates mind, heart understands heart. We heard +neither the squeaking of a swing beneath us, nor the shouts of laughter +along the promenades, nor the sound of a band tuning up in a neighboring +pavilion. Our eyes, raised to heaven, failed to see the night descending +upon us, vast and silent, piercing the foliage with its first stars. Now +and again a warm breath passed over us, blown from the woods; I tasted +its strangely sweet perfume; I saw in glimpses the flying vision of a +huge dark tulip, striped with gold, unfolding its petals on the moist +bank of a dyke, and I asked myself whether a mysterious flower had really +opened in the night, or whether it was but a new feeling, slowly budding, +unfolding, blossoming within my heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +PLEASURES OF EAVESDROPPING + + July 22d. + +At two o'clock to-day I went to see Sylvestre, to tell him all the great +events of yesterday. We sat down on the old covered sofa in the shadow +of the movable curtain which divides the studio, as it were, into two +rooms, among the lay figures, busts, varnish-bottles, and paint-boxes. +Lampron likes this chiaroscuro. It rests his eyes. + +Some one knocked at the door. + +"Stay where you are," said Sylvestre; "it's a customer come for the +background of an engraving. I'll be with you in two minutes. Come in!" +As he was speaking he drew the curtain in front of me, and through the +thin stuff I could see him going toward the door, which had just opened. + +"Monsieur Lampron?" + +"I am he, Monsieur." + +"You don't recognize me, Monsieur?" + +"No, Monsieur." + +"I'm surprised at that." + +"Why so? I have never seen you." + +"You have taken my portrait!" + +"Really!" + +I was watching Lampron, who was plainly angered at this brusque +introduction. He left the chair which he had begun to push forward, +let it stand in the middle of the studio, and went and sat down on his +engraving-stool in the corner, with a somewhat haughty look, and a +defiant smile lurking behind his beard. He rested his elbow on the table +and began to drum with his fingers. + +"What I have had the honor to inform you is the simple truth, Monsieur. +I am Monsieur Charnot of the Institute." + +Lampron gave a glance in my direction, and his frown melted away. + +"Excuse me, Monsieur; I only know you by your back. Had you shown me +that side of you I might perhaps have recognized--" + +"I have not come here to listen to jokes, Monsieur; and I should have +come sooner to demand an explanation, but that it was only this morning +I heard of what I consider a deplorable abuse of your talents. But +picture-shows are not in my line. I did not see myself there. My friend +Flamaran had to tell me that I was to be seen at the last Salon, together +with my daughter, sitting on a tree-trunk in the forest of Saint-Germain. +Is it true, Monsieur, that you drew me sitting on a trunk?" + +"Quite true." + +"That's a trifle too rustic for a man who does not go outside of Paris +three times a year. And my daughter you drew in profile--a good +likeness, I believe." + +"It was as like as I could make it." + +"Then you confess that you drew both my daughter and myself?" + +"Yes, I do, Monsieur." + +"It may not be so easy for you to explain by what right you did so; I +await your explanation, Monsieur." + +"I might very well give you no explanation whatever," replied Lampron, +who was beginning to lose patience. "I might also reply that I no more +needed to ask your permission to sketch you than to ask that of the +beeches, oaks, elms, and willows. I might tell you that you formed part +of the landscape, that every artist who sketches a bit of underwood has +the right to stick a figure in--" + +"A figure, Monsieur! do you call me a figure?" + +"A gentleman, I mean. Artists call it figure. Well, I might give you +this reason, which is quite good enough for you, but it is not the real +one. I prefer to tell you frankly what passed. You have a very +beautiful daughter, Monsieur." + +M. Charnot made his customary bow. + +"One of my friends is in love with her. He is shy, and dares not tell +his love. We met you by chance in the wood, and I was seized with the +idea of making a sketch of Mademoiselle Jeanne, so like that she could +not mistake it, and then exhibiting it with the certainty of her seeing +it and guessing its meaning. I trusted she would recall to her mind, not +myself, for my youth is past, but a young friend of mine who is of the +age and build of a lover. If this was a crime, Monsieur, I am ready to +take the blame for it upon myself, for I alone committed it." + +"It certainly was criminal, Monsieur; criminal in you, at any rate--you +who are a man of weight, respected for your talent and your character-- +to aid and abet in a frivolous love-affair." + +"It was the deepest and most honorable sentiment, Monsieur." + +"A blaze of straw!" + +"Nothing of the sort!" + +"Don't tell me! Your friend's a mere boy." + +"So much the better for him, and for her, too! If you want a man of +middle age for your son-in-law, just try one and see what they are worth. +You may be sorry that you ever refused this boy, who, it is true, is only +twenty-four, has little money, no decided calling, nor yet that gift of +self-confidence which does instead of merit for so many people; but who +is a brave and noble soul, whom I can answer for as for myself. Go, +Monsieur, you will find your daughter great names, fat purses, gold lace, +long beards, swelling waistbands, reputations, pretensions, justified or +not, everything, in short, in which he is poor; but him you will never +find again! That is all I have to tell you." + +Lampron had become animated and spoke with heat. There was the slightest +flash of anger in his eyes. + +I saw M. Charnot get up, approach him, and hold out his hand. + +"I did not wish you to say anything else, Monsieur; that is enough for +me. Flamaran asked my daughter's hand for your friend only this morning. +Flamaran loses no time when charged with a commission. He, too, told me +much that was good of your friend. I also questioned Counsellor Boule. +But however flattering characters they might give him, I still needed +another, that of a man who had lived in complete intimacy with Monsieur +Mouillard, and I could find no one but you." + +Lampron stared astonished at this little thin-lipped man who had just +changed his tone and manner so unexpectedly. + +"Well, Monsieur," he answered, "you might have got his character from me +with less trouble; there was no need to make a scene." + +"Excuse me. You say I should have got his character; that is exactly +what I did not want; characters are always good. What I wanted was a cry +from the heart of a friend outraged and brought to bay. That is what I +got, and it satisfies me. I am much obliged to you, Monsieur, and beg +you will excuse my conduct." + +"But, since we are talking sense at present, allow me to put you a +question in my turn. I am not in the habit of going around the point. +Is my friend's proposal likely to be accepted or not?" + +"Monsieur Lampron, in these delicate matters I have decided for the +future to leave my daughter entirely free. Although my happiness is at +stake almost as entirely as hers, I shall not say a word save to advise. +In accordance with this resolve I communicated Flamaran's proposal to +her." + +"Well?" + +"I expected she would refuse it." + +"But she said 'Yes'?" + +"She did not say 'No;' if she had, you can guess that I should not be +here." + +At this reply I quite lost my head, and was very near tearing aside the +curtain, and bursting forth into the studio with a shout of gratitude. + +But M. Charnot added: + +"Don't be too sure, though. There are certain serious, and, perhaps, +insurmountable obstacles. I must speak to my daughter again. I will let +your friend know of our final decision as soon as I can. Good-by, +Monsieur." + +Lampron saw him to the street, and I heard their steps grow distant in +the passage. A moment later Sylvestre returned and held out both hands +to me, saying: + +"Well, are you happy now?" + +"Of course I am, to a certain extent." + +"'To a certain extent'! Why, she loves you." + +"But the obstacles, Sylvestre!" + +"Nonsense!" + +"Perhaps insurmountable--those were his words." + +"Why, obstacles are the salt of all our joys. What a deal you young men +want before you can be called happy! You ask Life for certainties, as if +she had any to give you!" + +And he began to discuss my fears, but could not quite disperse them, for +neither of us could guess what the obstacles could be. + + + August 2d. + +After ten days of waiting, during which I have employed Lampron and M. +Flamaran to intercede for me, turn and turn about; ten days passed in +hovering between mortal anguish and extravagant hopes, during which I +have formed, destroyed, taken up again and abandoned more plans than I +ever made in all my life before, yesterday, at five o'clock, I got a note +from M. Charnot, begging me to call upon him the same evening. + +I went there in a state of nervous collapse. He received me in his +study, as he had done seven months before, at our first interview, but +with a more solemn politeness; and I noticed that the paper-knife, which +he had taken up from the table as he resumed his seat, shook between his +fingers. I sat in the same chair in which I had felt so ill at ease. +To tell the truth, I felt very much the same, yesterday. M. Charnot +doubtless noticed it, and wished to reassure me. + +"Monsieur," said he, "I receive you as a friend. Whatever may be the +result of our interview, you may be assured of my esteem. Therefore do +not fear to answer me frankly." + +He put several questions to me concerning my family, my tastes, and my +acquaintance in Paris. Then he requested me to tell the simple story of +my boyhood and my youth, the recollections of my home, of the college at +La Chatre, of my holidays at Bourges, and of my student life. + +He listened without interruption, playing with the ivory paperknife. +When I reached the date--it was only last December--when I saw Jeanne for +the first time + +"That's enough," said he, "I know or guess the rest. Young man, I +promised you an answer; this is it--" + +For the moment, I ceased to breathe; my very heart seemed to stop +beating. + +"My daughter," went on M. Charnot, "has at this moment several proposals +of marriage to choose from. You see I hide nothing from you. I have +left her time to reflect; she has weighed and compared them all, and +communicated to me yesterday the result of her reflections. To richer +and more brilliant matches she prefers an honest man who loves her for +herself, and you, Monsieur, are that honest man." + +"Oh, thank you, thank you, Monsieur!" I cried. + +"Wait a moment, there are two conditions." + +"Were there ten, I would accept them without question!" + +"Don't hurry. You will see; one is my daughter's, the other comes from +both of us." + +"You wish me to have some profession, perhaps?" + +"No, that's not it. Clearly my son-in-law will never sit idle. Besides, +I have some views on that subject, which I will tell you later if I have +the chance. No, the first condition exacted by my daughter, and dictated +by a feeling which is very pleasant to me, is that you promise never to +leave Paris." + +"That I swear to, with all the pleasure in life!" + +"Really? I feared you had some ties." + +"Not one." + +"Or dislike for Paris." + +"No, Monsieur; only a preference for Paris, with freedom to indulge it. +Your second condition?" + +"The second, to which my daughter and I both attach importance, is that +you should make your peace with your uncle. Flamaran tells me you have +quarrelled." + +"That is true." + +"I hope it is not a serious difference. A mere cloud, isn't it?" + +"Unfortunately not. My uncle is very positive--" + +"But at the same time his heart is in the right place, so far as I could +judge from what I saw of him--in June, I think it was." + +"Yes." + +"You don't mind taking the first step?" + +"I will take as many as may be needed." + +"I was sure you would. You can not remain on bad terms with your +father's brother, the only relative you have left. In our eyes this +reconciliation is a duty, a necessity. You should desire it as much as, +and even more than, we." + +"I shall use every effort, Monsieur, I promise you." + +"And in that case you will succeed, I feel sure." + +M. Charnot, who had grown very pale, held out his hand to me, and tried +hard to smile. + +"I think, Monsieur Fabien, that we are quite at one, and that the hour +has come--" + +He did not finish the sentence, but rose and went to open a door between +two bookcases at the end of the room. + +" Jeanne," he said, "Monsieur Fabien accepts the two conditions, my +dear." + +And I saw Jeanne come smiling toward me. + +And I, who had risen trembling, I, who until then had lost my head at the +mere thought of seeing her, I, who had many a time asked myself in terror +what I should say on meeting her, if ever she were mine, I felt myself +suddenly bold, and the words rushed to my lips to thank her, to express +my joy. + +My happiness, however, was evident, and I might have spared my words. + +For the first half-hour all three of us talked together. + +Then M. Charnot pushed back his armchair, and we two were left to +ourselves. + +He had taken up a newspaper, but I am pretty sure he held it upside down. +In any case he must have been reading between the lines, for he did not +turn the page the whole evening. + +He often cast a glance over the top of the paper, folded in four, to the +corner where we were sitting, and from us his eyes travelled to a pretty +miniature of Jeanne as a child, which hung over the mantelpiece. + +What comparisons, what memories, what regrets, what hopes were struggling +in his mind? I know not, but I know he sighed, and had not we been there +I believe he would have wept. + +To me Jeanne showed herself simple as a child, wise and thoughtful as a +woman. A new feeling was growing every instant within me, of perfect +rest of heart; the certainty of happiness for all my life to come. + +Yes, my happiness travelled beyond the present, as I looked into the +future and saw along series of days passed by her side; and while she +spoke to me, tranquil, confident, and happy too, I thought I saw the +great wings of my dream closing over and enfolding us. + +We spoke in murmurs. The open window let in the warm evening air and the +confused roar of the city. + +"I am to be your friend and counsellor?" said she. + +"Always." + +"You promise that you will ask my advice in all things, and that we shall +act in concert?" + +"I do." + +"If this very first evening I ask you for a proof of this, you won't be +angry?" + +"On the contrary." + +"Well, from what you have told me of your uncle, you seem to have +accepted the second condition, of making up your quarrel, rather +lightly." + +"I have only promised to do my best." + +"Yes, but my father counts upon your success. How do you intend to act?" + +"I haven't yet considered." + +"That's just what I foresaw, and I thought it would perhaps be a good +thing if we considered it together." + +"Mademoiselle, I am listening; compose the plan of campaign, and I will +criticise it." + +Jeanne clasped her hands over her knees and assumed a thoughtful look. + +"Suppose you wrote to him." + +"There is every chance that he would not answer." + +"Reply paid?" + +"Mademoiselle, you are laughing; you are no counsellor any longer." + +"Yes, I am. Let us be serious. Suppose you go to see him." + +"That's a better idea. He may perhaps receive me." + +"In that case you will capture him. If you can only get a man +to listen--" + +"Not my uncle, Mademoiselle. He will listen, and do you know what his +answer will be?" + +"What?" + +"This, or something like it: 'My worthy nephew, you have come to tell me +two things, have you not? First, that you are about to marry a +Parisienne; secondly, that you renounce forever the family practice. +You merely confirm and aggravate our difference. You have taken a step +further backward. It was not worth while your coming out of your way to +tell me this, and you may return as soon as you please.'" + +"You surprise me. There must be some way of getting at him, if he is +really good-hearted, as you say. If I could see your uncle I should soon +find out a way." + +"If you could see him! Yes, that would be the best way of all; it +couldn't help succeeding. He imagines you as a flighty Parisienne; he is +afraid of you; he is more angry with me for loving you than for refusing +to carry on his practice. If he could only see you, he would soon +forgive me." + +"You think so?" + +"I'm sure of it." + +"Do you think that if I were to look him in the face, as I now look at +you, and to say to him: 'Monsieur Mouillard, will you not consent to my +becoming your niece?' do you think that then he would give in?" + +"Alas! Mademoiselle, why can not it be tried?" + +"It certainly is difficult, but I won't say it can not." + +We explained, or rather Jeanne explained, the case to M. Charnot, who is +assuredly her earliest and most complete conquest. At first he cried out +against the idea. He said it was entirely my business, a family matter +in which he had no right to interfere. She insisted. She carried his +scruples by storm. She boldly proposed a trip to Bourges, and a visit to +M. Mouillard. She overflowed with reasons, some of them rather weak, but +all so prettily urged! A trip to Bourges would be delightful--something +so novel and refreshing! Had M. Charnot complained on the previous +evening, or had he not, of having to stop in Paris in the heat of August? +Yes, he had complained, and quite right too, for his colleagues did not +hesitate to leave their work and rush off to the country. Then she cited +examples: one off to the Vosges, another at Arcachon, yet another at +Deauville. And she reminded him, too, that a certain old lady, one of +his old friends of the Faubourg St. Germain, lived only a few miles out +of Bourges, and had invited him to come and see her, she didn't know how +many times, and that he had promised and promised and never kept his +word. Now he could take the opportunity of going on from Bourges to her +chateau. Finally, as M. Charnot continued to urge the singularity of +such behavior, she replied: + +"My dear father! not at all; in visiting Monsieur Mouillard you will be +only fulfilling a social duty." + +"How so, I should like to know?" + +"He paid you a visit, and you will be returning it!" + +M. Charnot tossed his head, like a father who, though he may not be +convinced, yet admits that he is beaten. + +As for me, Jeanne, I'm beginning to believe in the fairies again. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +A COOL RECEPTION + +August 3d. + +I have made another visit to the Rue de l'Universite. They have decided +to make the trip. I leave for Bourges tomorrow, a day in advance of M. +and Mademoiselle Charnot, who will arrive on the following morning. + +I am sent on first to fulfil two duties: to engage comfortable rooms at +the hotel--first floor with southern aspect--and then to see my uncle and +prepare him for his visitors. + +I am to prepare him without ruffling him. Jeanne has sketched my plan of +campaign. I am to be the most affectionate of nephews, though he show +himself the crustiest of uncles; to prevent him from recurring to the +past, to speak soberly of the present, to confess that Mademoiselle +Charnot is aware of my feelings for her, and shows herself not entirely +insensible to them; but I am to avoid giving details, and must put off a +full explanation until later, when we can study the situation together. +M. Mouillard can not fail to be appeased by such deference, and to +observe a truce while I hint at the possibility of a family council. +Then, if these first advances are well received, I am to tell him that +M. Charnot is actually travelling in the neighborhood, and, without +giving it as certain, I may add that if he stops at Bourges he may like +to return my uncle's visit. + +There my role ends. Jeanne and M. Charnot will do the rest. It is with +Jeanne, by the light of her eyes and her smile, that M. Mouillard is "to +study the situation;" he will have to struggle against the redoubtable +arguments of her youth and beauty. Poor man! + +Jeanne is full of confidence. Her father, who has learned his lesson +from her, feels sure that my uncle will give in. Even I, who can not +entirely share this optimism, feel that I incline to the side of hope. + +When I reached home, the porter handed me two cards from Larive. On the +first I read: + + CH. LARIVE, + Managing Clerk. + P. P. C. + +The second, on glazed cardboard, announced, likewise in initials, another +piece of news: + + CH. LARIVE, + Formerly Managing Clerk. + P. F. P. M. + +So the Parisian who swore he could not exist two days in the country is +leaving Paris. That was fated. He is about to be married; I'm sure I +don't object. The only consequence to me is that we never shall meet +again, and I shall not weep over that. + + + BOURGES, August 4th. + +If you have ever been in Bourges, you may have seen the little Rue Sous- +les-Ceps, the Cours du Bat d'Argent and de la Fleur-de-lys, the Rues de +la Merede-Dieu, des Verts-Galants, Mausecret, du Moulin-le-Roi, the Quai +Messire-Jacques, and other streets whose ancient names, preserved by a +praiseworthy sentiment or instinctive conservatism, betoken an ancient +city still inhabited by old-fashioned people, by which I mean people +attached to the soil, strongly marked with the stamp of the provincial in +manners as in language; people who understand all that a name is to a +street--its honor, its spouse if you will, from which it must not be +divorced. + +My Uncle Mouillard, most devoted and faithful citizen of Bourges, +naturally lives in one of these old streets, the Rue du Four, within the +shadow of the cathedral, beneath the swing of its chimes. + +Within fifteen minutes after my arrival at Bourges I was pulling the +deer's foot which hangs, depilated with long use, beside his door. It +was five o'clock, and I knew for certain that he would not be at home. +When the courts rise, one of the clerks carries back his papers to the +office, while he moves slowly off, his coat-tails flapping in the breeze, +either to visit a few friends and clients, respectable dames who were his +partners in the dance in the year 1840, or more often to take a +"constitutional" along the banks of the Berry Canal, where, in the poplar +shade, files of little gray donkeys are towing string after string of big +barges. + +So I was sure not to meet him. + +Madeleine opened the door to me, and started as if shot. + +"Monsieur Fabien!" + +"Myself, Madeleine. My uncle is not at home?" + +"No, Monsieur. Do you really mean to come in, Monsieur?" + +"Why not?" + +"The master's so changed since his visit to Paris, Monsieur Fabien!" + +Madeleine stood still, with one hand holding up her apron, the other +hanging, and gazed at me with reproachful anxiety. + +"I must come in, Madeleine. I have a secret to tell you." + +She made no answer, but turned and walked before me into the house. + +It was not thus that I used to be welcomed in days gone by! Then +Madeleine used to meet me at the station. She used to kiss me, and tell +me how well I looked, promising the while a myriad sweet dishes which she +had invented for me. Hardly did I set foot in the hall before my uncle, +who had given up his evening walk for my sake, would run out of his +study, heart and cravat alike out of their usual order at seeing me-- +me, a poor, awkward, gaping schoolboy: Today that is ancient history. +To-day I am afraid to meet my uncle, and Madeleine is afraid to let me +in. + +She told me not a word of it, but I easily guessed that floods of tears +had streamed from her black eyes down her thin cheeks, now pale as wax. +Her face is quite transparent, and looks as if a tiny lamp were lighting +it from within. There are strong feelings, too, beneath that impassive +mask. Madeleine comes from Bayonne, and has Spanish blood in her. +I have heard that she was lovely as a girl of twenty. With age her +features have grown austere. She looks like a widow who is a widow +indeed, and her heart is that of a grandmother. + +She glided before me in her slippers to that realm of peace and silence, +her kitchen. I followed her in. Two things that never found entrance +there are dust and noise. A lonely goldfinch hangs in a wicker cage from +the rafters, and utters from time to time a little shrill call. His note +and the metallic tick-tick of Madeleine's clock alone enliven the silent +flight of time. She sat down in the low chair where she knits after +dinner. + +"Madeleine, I am about to be married; did you know it?" + +She slowly shook her head. + +"Yes, in Paris, Monsieur Fabien; that's what makes the master so +unhappy." + +"You will soon see her whom I have chosen, Madeleine." + +"I do not think so, Monsieur Fabien." + +"Yes, yes, you will; and you will see that it is my uncle who is in the +wrong." + +"I have not often known him in the wrong." + +"That has nothing to do with it. My marriage is fully decided upon, and +all I want is to get my uncle's consent to it. Do you understand? +I want to make friends with him." + +Madeleine shook her head again. + +"You won't succeed." + +"My dear Madeleine!" + +"No, Monsieur Fabien, you won't succeed." + +"He must be very much changed, then!" + +"So much that you could hardly believe it; so much that I can hardly keep +myself from changing too. He, who had such a good appetite, now has +nothing but fads. It's no good my cooking him dainties, or buying him +early vegetables; he never notices them, but looks out of the window as +I come in at the door with a surprise for him. In the evening he often +forgets to go out in the garden, and sits at table, his elbows on his +rumpled napkin, his head between his hands, and what he thinks of he +keeps to himself. If I try to talk of you--and I have tried, Monsieur +Fabien--he gets up in a rage, and forbids me to open my mouth on the +subject. The house is not cheerful, Monsieur Fabien. Every one notices +how he has changed; Monsieur Lorinet and his lady never enter the doors; +Monsieur Hublette and Monsieur Horlet come and play dummy, looking all +the time as if they had come for a funeral, thinking it will please the +master. Even the clients say that the master treats them like dogs, and +that he ought to sell his practice." + +"Then it isn't sold?" + +"Not yet, but I think it will be before long." + +"Listen to me, Madeleine; you have always been good and devoted to me; +I am sure you still are fond of me; do me one last service. You must +manage to put me up here without my uncle knowing it." + +"Without his knowing it, Monsieur Fabien!" + +"Yes, say in the library; he never goes in there. From there I can study +him, and watch him, without his seeing me, since he is so irritable and +so easily upset, and as soon as you see an opportunity I shall make use +of it. A sign from you, and down I come." + +"Really, Monsieur Fabien--" + +"It must be done, Madeleine; I must manage to speak to him before ten +o'clock to-morrow morning, for my bride is coming." + +"The Parisienne? She coming here!" + +"Yes, with her father, by the train which gets in at six minutes past +nine to-morrow." + +"Good God! is it possible?" + +"To see you, Madeleine; to see my uncle, to make my peace with him. +Isn't it kind of her?" + +"Kind? Monsieur Fabien! I tremble to think of what will happen. All +the same, I shall be glad to have a sight of your young lady, of course." + +And so we settled that Madeleine was not to say a word to my uncle about +my being in Bourges, within a few feet of him. If she perceived any +break in the gloom which enveloped M. Mouillard, she was to let me know; +if I were obliged to put off my interview to the morrow, and to pass the +night on the sofa-bed in the library, she was to bring me something to +eat, a rug, and "the pillow you used in your holidays when you were a +boy." + +I was installed then in the big library on the first-floor, adjoining the +drawing-room, its other door opening on the passage opposite M. +Mouillard's door, and its two large windows on the garden. What a look +of good antique middle-class comfort there was about it, from the floor +of bees'-waxed oak, with its inequalities of level, to the four bookcases +with glass doors, surmounted by four bronzed busts of Herodotus, Homer, +Socrates, and Marmontel! Nothing had been moved; the books were still in +the places where I had known them for twenty years; Voltaire beside +Rousseau, the Dictionary of Useful Knowledge, and Rollin's Ancient +History, the slim, well bound octavos of the Meditations of St. +Ignatius, side by side with an enormous quarto on veterinary surgery. + +The savage arrows, said to be poisoned, which always used to frighten me +so much, were still arranged like a peacock's tail over the mantel-shelf, +each end of which was adorned by the same familiar lumps of white coral. +The musical-box, which I was not allowed to touch till I was eighteen, +still stood in the left-hand corner, and on the writing-table, near the +little blotting-book that held the note-paper, rose, still majestic, +still turning obedient to the touch within its graduated belts, the +terrestrial globe "on which are marked the three voyages of Captain Cook, +both outward and homeward." Ah, captain, how often have we sailed those +voyages together! What grand headway we made as we scoured the tropics +in the heel of the trade-wind, our ship threading archipelagoes whose +virgin forests stared at us in wonder, all their strange flowers opening +toward us, seeking to allure us and put us to sleep with their dangerous +perfumes. But we always guessed the snare, we saw the points of the +assegais gleaming amid the tall grasses; you gave the word in your full, +deep voice, and our way lay infinite before us; we followed it, always on +the track of new lands, new discoveries, until we reached the fatal isle +of Owhyhee, the spot where this terrestrial globe is spotted with a tear +--for I wept over you, my captain, at the age when tears unlock +themselves and flow easily from a heart filled with enchantment! + +Seven o'clock sounded from the cathedral; the garden door slammed to; +my uncle was returning. + +I saw him coming down the winding path, hat in hand, with bowed head. +He did not stop before his graftings; he passed the clump of petunias +without giving them that all-embracing glance I know so well, the glance +of the rewarded gardener. He gave no word of encouragement to the +Chinese duck which waddled down the path in front of him. + +Madeleine was right. The time was not ripe for reconciliation; and more, +it would need a great deal of sun to ripen it. O Jeanne, if only you +were here! + +"Any one called while I've been out?" + +This, by the way, is the old formula to which my uncle has always been +faithful. I heard Madeleine answer, with a quaver in her voice: + +"No, nobody for you, sir." + +"Someone for you, then? A lover, perhaps, my faithful Madeleine? The +world is so foolish nowadays that even you might take it into your head +to marry and leave me. Come, serve my dinner quickly, and if the +gentleman with the decoration calls--you know whom I mean?" + +"The tall, thin gentleman?" + +"Yes. Show him into the drawing-room." + +"A gentleman by himself into the drawing-room? + +"No, sir, no. The floor was waxed only yesterday, and the furniture's not +yet in order." + +"Very well! I'll see him in here." + +My uncle went into the dining-room underneath me, and for twenty minutes +I heard nothing more of him, save the ring of his wineglass as he struck +on it to summon Madeleine. + +He had hardly finished dinner when there came a ring at the street door. +Some one asked for M. Mouillard, the gentleman with the decoration, +I suppose, for Madeleine showed him in, and I could tell by the noise +of his chair that my uncle had risen to receive his visitor. + +They sat down and entered into conversation. An indistinct murmur +reached me through the ceiling. Occasionally a clearer sound struck my +ear, and I thought I knew that high, resonant voice. It was no doubt +delusion, still it beset me there in the silence of the library, haunting +my thoughts as they wandered restlessly in search of occupation. I tried +to recollect all the men with fluty voices that I had ever met in +Bourges: a corn-factor from the Place St. Jean; Rollet, the sacristan; a +fat manufacturer, who used to get my uncle to draw up petitions for him +claiming relief from taxation. I hunted feverishly in my memory as the +light died away from the windows, and the towers of St. Stephen's +gradually lost the glowing aureole conferred on them by the setting sun. + +After about an hour the conversation grew heated. + +My uncle coughed, the flute became shrill. I caught these fragments of +their dialogue. + +"No, Monsieur!" + +"Yes, Monsieur!" + +"But the law?" + +"Is as I tell you." + +"But this is tyranny!" + +"Then our business is at an end." + +Apparently it was not, though; for the conversation gradually sank down +the scale to a monotonous murmur. A second hour passed, and yet a third. +What could this interminable visit portend? + +It was near eleven o'clock. A ray from the rising moon shone between the +trees in the garden. A big black cat crept across the lawn, shaking its +wet paws. In the darkness it looked like a tiger. In my mind's eye I +saw Madeleine sitting with her eyes fixed on her dead hearth, telling her +beads, her thoughts running with mine: "It is years since Monsieur +Mouillard was up at such an hour." Still she waited, for never had any +hand but hers shot the bolt of the street door; the house would not be +shut if shut by any other than herself. + +At last the dining-room door opened. "Let me show you a light; take care +of the stairs." + +Then followed the "Good-nights" of two weary voices, the squeaking of the +big key turning in the lock, a light footstep dying away in the distance, +and my uncle's heavy tread as he went up to his bedroom. The business +was over. + +How slowly my uncle went upstairs! The burden of sorrow was no metaphor +in his case. He, who used to be as active as a boy, could now hardly- +support his own weight. + +He crossed the landing and went into his room. I thought of following, +him; only a few feet lay between us. No doubt it was late, but his +excited state might have predisposed him in my favor. Suddenly I heard a +sigh--then a sob. He was weeping; I determined to risk all and rush to +his assistance. + +But just as I was about to leave the library a skirt rustled against the +wall, though I had heard no sound of footsteps preceding it. At the same +instant a little bit of paper was slipped in under the door--a letter +from the silent Madeleine. I unfolded the paper and saw the following +words written across from one corner to the other, with a contempt for +French spelling, which was thoroughly Spanish: + + "Ni allais pat ceux soire." + +Very well, Madeleine, since that's your advice, I'll refrain. + +I lay down to sleep on the sofa. Yet I was very sorry for the delay. +I hated to let the night go by without being reconciled to the poor old +man, or without having attempted it at least. He was evidently very +wretched to be affected to tears, for I had never known him to weep, even +on occasions when my own tears had flowed freely. Yet I followed my old +and faithful friend's advice, for I knew that she had the peace of the +household as much at heart as I; but I felt that I should seek long and +vainly before I could discover what this latest trouble was, and what +part I had in it. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +JEANNE THE ENCHANTRESS + + BOURGES, August 5th. + +I woke up at seven; my first thought was for M. Mouillard. Where could +he be? I listened, but could hear no sound. I went to the window; the +office-boy was lying flat on the lawn, feeding the goldfish in the +fountain. This proved beyond a doubt that my uncle was not in. + +I went downstairs to the kitchen. + +"Well, Madeleine, has he gone out?" + +"He went at six o'clock, Monsieur Fabien." + +"Why didn't you wake me?" + +"How could I guess? Never, never does he go out before breakfast. +I never have seen him like this before, not even when his wife died." + +"What can be the matter with him?" + +"I think it's the sale of the practice. He said to me last night, at the +fool of the staircase: 'I am a brokenhearted man, Madeleine, a broken- +hearted man. I might have got over it, but that monster of ingratitude, +that cannibal'--saving your presence, Monsieur Fabien--'would not have it +so. If I had him here I don't know what I should do to him.'" + +"Didn't he tell you what he would do to the cannibal?" + +"No. So I slipped a little note under your door when I went upstairs." + +"Yes. I am much obliged to you for it. Is he any calmer this morning?" + +"He doesn't look angry any longer, only I noticed that he had been +weeping." + +"Where is he?" + +"I don't know at all. Besides, you might as well try to catch up with a +deer as with him." + +"That's true. I'd better wait for him. When will he be in?" + +"Not before ten. I can tell you that it's not once a year that he goes +out like this in the morning." + +"But, Madeleine, Jeanne will be here by ten!" + +"Oh, is Jeanne her name?" + +"Yes. Monsieur Charnot will be here, too. And my uncle, whom I was to +have prepared for their visit, will know nothing about it, nor even that +I slept last night beneath his roof." + +"To tell the truth, Monsieur Fabien, I don't think you've managed well. +Still, there is Dame Fortune, who often doesn't put in her word till the +last moment." + +"Entreat her for me, Madeleine, my dear." + +But Dame Fortune was deaf to prayers. My uncle did not return, and I +could find no fresh expedient. As I made my way, vexed and unhappy, to +the station, I kept asking myself the question that I had been turning +over in vain for the last hour: + +"I have said nothing to Monsieur Mouillard. Had I better say anything +now to Monsieur Charnot?" + +My fears redoubled when I saw Jeanne and M. Charnot at the windows of the +train, as it swept past me into the station. + +A minute later she stepped on to the platform, dressed all in gray, with +roses in her cheeks, and a pair of gull's wings in her hat. + +M. Charnot shook me by the hand, thoroughly delighted at having escaped +from the train and being able to shake himself and tread once more the +solid earth. He asked after my uncle, and when I replied that he was in +excellent health, he went to get his luggage. + +"Well!" said Jeanne. "Is all arranged?" + +"On the contrary, nothing is." + +"Have you seen him?" + +"Not even that. I have been watching for a favorable opportunity without +finding one. Yesterday evening he was busy with a visitor; this morning +he went out at six. He doesn't even know that I am in Bourges." + +"And yet you were in his house?" + +"I slept on a sofa in his library." + +She gave me a look which was as much as to say, "My poor boy, how very +unpractical you are!" + +"Go on doing nothing," she said; "that's the best you can do. If my +father didn't think he was expected he would beat a retreat at once." + +At this instant, M. Charnot came back to us, having seen his two trunks +and a hatbox placed on top of the omnibus of the Hotel de France. + +"That is where you have found rooms for us?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"It is now twelve minutes past nine; tell Monsieur Mouillard that we +shall call upon him at ten o'clock precisely." + +I went a few steps with them, and saw them into the omnibus, which was +whirled off at a fast trot by its two steeds. + +When I had lost them from my sight I cast a look around me, and noticed +three people standing in line beneath the awning, and gazing upon me with +interest. I recognized Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle Lorinet. They +were all smiling with the same look of contemptuous mockery. I bowed. +The man alone returned my salute, raising his hat. By some strange freak +of fate, Berthe was again wearing a blue dress. + +I went back in the direction of the Rue du Four, happy, though at my +wits' end, forming projects that were mutually destructive; now +expatiating in the seventh heaven, now loading myself with the most +appalling curses. I slipped along the streets, concealed beneath my +umbrella, for the rain was falling; a great storm-cloud had burst over +Bourges, and I blessed the rain which gave me a chance to hide my face. + +From the banks of the Voizelle to the old quarter around the cathedral is +a rather long walk. When I turned from the Rue Moyenne, the Boulevard +des Italiens of Bourges, into the Rue du Four, a blazing sun was drying +the rain on the roofs, and the cuckoo clock at M. Festuquet's--a neighbor +of my uncle--was striking the hour of meeting. + +I had not been three minutes at the garden door, a key to which had been +given me by Madeleine, when M. Charnot appeared with Jeanne on his arm. + +"To think that I've forgotten my overshoes, which I never fail to take +with me to the country!" + +"The country, father?" said Jeanne, "why, Bourges is a city!--" + +"To be sure--to be sure," answered M. Charnot, who feared he had hurt my +feelings. + +He put on his spectacles and began to study the old houses around him. + +"Yes, a city; really quite a city." + +I do not remember what commonplace I stammered. + +Little did I care for M. Charnot's overshoes or the honor of Bourges at +that moment! On the other side of the wall, a few feet off, I felt the +presence of M. Mouillard. I reflected that I should have to open the +door and launch the Academician, without preface, into the presence of +the lawyer, stake my life's happiness, perhaps, on my uncle's first +impressions, play at any rate the decisive move in the game which had +been so disastrously opened. + +Jeanne, though she did her best to hide it, was extremely nervous. I +felt her hand tremble in mine as I took it. + +"Trust in God!" she whispered, and aloud: "Open the door." + +I turned the key in the lock. I had arranged that Madeleine should go at +once to M. Mouillard and tell him that there were some strangers waiting +in the garden. But either she was not on the lookout, or she did not at +once perceive us, and we had to wait a few minutes at the bottom of the +lawn before any one came. + +I hid myself behind the trees whose leafage concealed the wall. + +M. Charnot was evidently pleased with the view before him, and turned +from side to side, gently smacking his lips like an epicure. And, in +truth, my uncle's garden was perfection; the leaves, washed by the rain, +were glistening in the fulness of their verdure, great drops were falling +from the trees with a silvery tinkle, the petunias in the beds were +opening all their petals and wrapping us in their scent; the birds, who +had been mute while the shower lasted, were now fluttering, twittering, +and singing beneath the branches. I was like one bewitched, and thought +these very birds were discussing us. The greenfinch said: + +"Old Mouillard, look! Here's Princess Goldenlocks at your garden gate." + +The tomtit said: + +"Look out, old man, or she'll outwit you." + +The blackbird said: + +"I have heard of her from my grandfather, who lived in the Champs +Elysees. She was much admired there." + +The swallow said: + +"Jeanne will have your heart in the time it takes me to fly round the +lawn." + +The rook, who was a bit of a lawyer, came swooping down from the +cathedral tower, crying: + +"Caw, caw, caw! Let her show cause--cause!" + +And all took up the chorus: + +"If you had our eyes, Monsieur Mouillard, you would see her looking at +your study; if you had our ears, you would hear her sigh; if you had our +wings, you would fly to Jeanne." + +No doubt it was this unwonted concert which attracted Madeleine's +attention. We saw her making her way, stiffly and slowly, toward the +study, which stood in the corner of the garden. + +M. Mouillard's tall figure appeared on the threshold, filling up the +entire doorway. + +"In the garden, did you say? Whatever is your idea in showing clients +into the garden? Why did you let them in?" + +"I didn't let them in; they came in of themselves." + +"Then the door can't have been shut. Nothing is shut here. I'll have +them coming in next by the drawing-room chimney. What sort of people are +they?" + +"There's a gentleman and a young lady whom I don't know." + +"A young lady whom you don't know--a judicial separation, I'll warrant-- +it's indecent, upon my word it is. To think that there are people who +come to me about judicial separations and bring their young ladies with +them!" + +As Madeleine fled before the storm and found shelter in her kitchen, my +uncle smoothed back his white hair with both his hands--a surviving touch +of personal vanity--and started down the walk around the grass-plot. + +I effaced myself behind the trees. M. Charnot, thinking I was just +behind him, stepped forward with airy freedom. + +My uncle came down the path with a distracted air, like a man overwhelmed +with business, only too pleased to snatch a moment's leisure between the +parting and the coming client. He always loved to pass for being +overwhelmed with work. + +On his way he flipped a rosebud covered with blight, kicked off a snail +which was crawling on the path; then, halfway down the path, he suddenly +raised his head and gave a look at his disturber. + +His bent brows grew smooth, his eyes round with the stress of surprise. + +"Is it possible? Monsieur Charnot of the Institute!" + +"The same, Monsieur Mouillard." + +"And this is Mademoiselle Jeanne?" + +"Just so; she has come with me to repay your kind visit." + +"Really, that's too good of you, much too good, to come such a way to see +me!" + +"On the contrary, the most natural thing in the world, considering what +the young people are about." + +"Oh! is your daughter about to be married?" + +"Certainly, that's the idea," said M. Charnot, with a laugh. + +"I congratulate you, Mademoiselle!" + +"I have brought her here to introduce her to you, Monsieur Mouillard, as +is only right." + +"Right! Excuse me, no." + +"Indeed it is." + +"Excuse me, sir. Politeness is all very well in its way, but frankness +is better. I went to Paris chiefly to get certain information which you +were good enough to give me. But, really, it was not worth your while to +come from Paris to Bourges to thank me, and to bring your daughter too." + +"Excuse me in my turn! There are limits to modesty, Monsieur Mouillard, +and as my daughter is to marry your nephew, and as my daughter was in +Bourges, it was only natural that I should introduce her to you." + +"Monsieur, I have no longer a nephew." + +"He is here." + +"And I never asked for your daughter." + +"No, but you have received your nephew beneath your roof, and +consequently--" + +"Never!" + +"Monsieur Fabien has been in your house since yesterday; he told you we +were coming." + +"No, I have not seen him; I never should have received him! I tell you I +no longer have a nephew! I am a broken man, a--a--a " + +His speech failed him, his face became purple, he staggered and fell +heavily, first in a sitting posture, then on his back, and lay motionless +on the sanded path. + +I rushed to the rescue. + +When I got up to him Jeanne had already returned from the little fountain +with her handkerchief dripping, and was bathing his temples with fresh +water. She was the only one who kept her wits about her. Madeleine had +raised her master's head and was wailing aloud. + +"Alas!" she said, "it's that dreadful colic he had ten years ago which +has got him again. Dear heart! how ill he was! I remember how it came +on, just like this, in the garden." + +I interrupted her lamentations by saying: + +"Monsieur Charnot, I think we had better take Monsieur Mouillard up to +bed." + +"Then why don't you do it?" shouted the numismatist, who had completely +lost his temper. "I didn't come here to act at an ambulance; but, since +I must, do you take his head." + +I took his head, Madeleine walked in front, Jeanne behind. My uncle's +vast proportions swayed between M. Charnot and myself. M. Charnot, who +had skilfully gathered up the legs, looked like a hired pallbearer. + +As we met with some difficulty in getting upstairs, M. Charnot said, with +clenched teeth: + +"You've managed this trip nicely, Monsieur Fabien; I congratulate you +sincerely!" + +I saw that he intended to treat me to several variations on this theme. + +But there was no time for talk. A moment later my uncle was laid, still +unconscious, upon his bed, and Jeanne and Madeleine were preparing a +mustard-plaster together, in perfect harmony. M. Charnot and I waited +in silence for the doctor whom we had sent the office-boy to fetch. +M. Charnot studied alternately my deceased aunt's wreath of orange- +blossoms, preserved under a glass in the centre of the chimney-piece, +and a painting of fruit and flowers for which it would have been hard +to find a buyer at an auction. Our wait for the doctor lasted ten long +minutes. We were very anxious, for M. Mouillard showed no sign of +returning consciousness. Gradually, however, the remedies began to act +upon him. The eyelids fluttered feebly; and just as the doctor opened +the door, my uncle opened his eyes. + +We rushed to his bedside. + +"My old friend," said the doctor, "you have had plenty of people to look +after you. Let me feel your pulse--rather weak; your tongue? Say a word +or two." + +"A shock--rather sudden--" said my uncle. + +The doctor, following the direction of the invalid's eyes, which were +fixed on Jeanne, upright at the foot of the bed, bowed to the young girl, +whom he had not at first noticed; turned to me, who blushed like an +idiot; then looked again at my uncle, only to see two big tears running +down his cheeks. + +"Yes, I understand; a pretty stiff shock, eh? At our age we should only +be stirred by our recollections, emotions of bygone days, something we're +used to; but our children take care to provide us with fresh ones, eh?" + +M. Mouillard's breast heaved. + +"Come, my dear fellow," proceeded the doctor; "I give you leave to give +your future niece one kiss, and that in my presence, that I may be quite +sure you don't abuse the license. After that you must be left quite +alone; no more excitement, perfect rest." + +Jeanne came forward and raised the invalid's head. + +"Will you give me a kiss, uncle?" + +She offered him her rosy cheek. + +"With all my heart," said my uncle as he kissed her; "good girl--dear +girl." + +Then he melted into tears, and hid his face in his pillow. + +"And now we must be left alone," said the doctor. + +He came down himself in a moment, and gave us an encouraging account of +the patient. + +Hardly had the street door closed behind him when we heard the lawyer's +powerful voice thundering down the stairs. + +"Charnot!" + +The old numismatist flew up the flight of stairs. + +"Did you call me, Monsieur?" + +"Yes, to invite you to dinner. I couldn't say the words just now, but it +was in my mind." + +"It is very kind of you, but we leave at nine o'clock." + +"I dine at seven; that's plenty of time." + +"It will tire you too much." + +"Tire me? Why, don't you think I dine everyday?" + +"I promise to come and inquire after you before leaving." + +"I can tell you at once that I am all right again. No, no, it shall +never be said that you came all the way from Paris to Bourges only to +see me faint. I count upon you and Mademoiselle Jeanne." + +"On all three of us?" + +"That makes three, with me; yes, sir." + +"Excuse me, four." + +"I hope the fourth will have the sense to go and dine elsewhere." + +"Come, come, Monsieur Mouillard; your nephew, your ward--" + +"I ceased to be his guardian four years ago, and his uncle three weeks +ago." + +"He longs to put an end to this ill feeling--" + +"Allow me to rest a little," said M. Mouillard, "in order that I may be +in a better condition to receive my guests." + +He lay down again, and showed clearly his intention of saying not another +word on the subject. + +During the conversation between M. Charnot and my uncle, to which we had +listened from the foot of the staircase, Jeanne, who had a moment before +been rejoicing over the completeness of the victory which she thought she +had achieved, grew quite downhearted. + +"I thought he had forgiven you when he kissed me," she said. "What can +we do now? Can't you help us, Madeleine?" + +Madeleine, whose heart was beginning to warm to Jeanne, sought vainly for +an expedient, and shook her head. + +"Ought he to go and see his uncle?" asked Jeanne. + +"No," said Madeleine. + +"Well, suppose you write to him, Fabien?" + +Madeleine nodded approval, and drew from the depths of her cupboard a +little glass inkstand, a rusty penholder, and a sheet of paper, at the +top of which was a dove with a twig in its beak. + +"My cousin at Romorantin died just before last New Year's Day," she +explained; "so I had one sheet more than I needed." + +I sat down at the kitchen table with Jeanne leaning over me, reading +as I wrote. Madeleine stood upright and attentive beside the clock, +forgetting all about her kitchen fire as she watched us with her black +eyes. + +This is what I wrote beneath the dove: + + + "MY DEAR UNCLE: + + "I left Paris with the intention of putting an end to the + misunderstanding between us, which has lasted only too long, and + which has given me more pain than you can guess. I had no possible + opportunity of speaking to you between five o'clock yesterday + afternoon, when I arrived here, and ten o'clock this morning. If I + had been able to speak with you, you would not have refused to + restore me to your affection, which, I confess, I ought to have + respected more than I have. You would have given your consent to + my, union, on which depends your own happiness, my dear uncle, and + that of your nephew, + "FABIEN." + + +"Rather too formal," said Jeanne. "Now, let me try." + +And the enchantress added, with ready pen: + +"It is I, Monsieur Mouillard, who am chiefly in need of forgiveness. +Mine is the greater fault by far. You forbade Monsieur Fabien to love +me, and I took no steps to prevent his doing so. Even yesterday, when he +came to your house, it was my doing. I had assured him that your kind +heart would not be proof against his loving confession. + +"Was I really wrong in that? + +"The words that you spoke just now have led me to hope that I was not. + +"But if I was wrong, visit your anger on me alone. Forgive your nephew, +invite him to dinner instead of us, and let me depart, regretting only +that I was not judged worthy of calling you uncle, which would have been +so pleasant and easy a name to speak. + "JEANNE." + + +I read the two letters over aloud. Madeleine broke into sobs as she +listened. + +A smile flickered about the corners of Jeanne's mouth. + +We left the house, committing to Madeleine the task of choosing a +favorable moment to hand M. Mouillard our joint entreaty. + +And here I may as well confess that from the instant we got out of the +house, all through breakfast at the hotel, and for a quarter of an hour +after it, M. Charnot treated me, in his best style, to the very hottest +"talking-to" that I had experienced since my earliest youth. He ended +with these words: "If you have not made your peace with your uncle by +nine o'clock this evening, Monsieur, I withdraw my consent, and we shall +return to Paris." + +I strove in vain to shake his decision. Jeanne made a little face at me, +which warned me I was on the wrong track. + +"Very well," I said to her, "I leave the matter in your hands." + +"And I leave it in the hands of God," she answered. "Be a man. If +trouble awaits us, hope will at any rate steal us a happy hour or two." + +We were just then in front of the gardens of the Archbishop's palace, so +M. Charnot walked in. The current of his reflections was soon changed by +the freshness of the air, the groups of children playing around their +mothers--whom he studied ethnologically and with reference to the racial +divisions of ancient Gaul--by the beauty of the landscape--its foreground +of flowers, the Place St. Michel beyond, and further yet, above the +barrack-roofs, the line of poplars lining the Auron. He ceased to be a +father-in-law, and became a tourist again. + +Jeanne stepped with airy grace among the groups of strollers, and the +murmurs which followed her path, though often envious, sounded none the +less sweetly in my ears for that. I hoped to meet Mademoiselle Lorinet. + +After we had seen the gardens, we had to visit the Place Seraucourt, the +Cours Chanzy, the cathedral, Saint-Pierrele-Guillard, and the house of +Jacques-Coeur. It was six o'clock by the time we got back to the Hotel +de France. + +A letter was waiting for us in the small and badly furnished entrance-- +hall. It was addressed to Mademoiselle Jeanne Charnot. + +I recognized at once the ornate hand of M. Mouillard, and grew as white +as the envelope. + +M. Charnot cried, excitedly: + +"Read it, Jeanne. Read it, can't you!" + +Jeanne alone of us three kept a brave face. + +She read: + + "MY DEAR CHILD: + + "I treated you perhaps with undue familiarity this morning, at a + moment when I was not quite myself. Nevertheless, now that I have + regained my senses, I do not withdraw the expressions of which I + made use--I love you with all my heart; you are a dear girl. + + "You will not get an old stager like me to give up his prejudices + against the capital. Let it suffice that I have surrendered to a + Parisienne. My niece, I forgive him for your sake. + + "Come this evening, all three of you. + + "I have several things to tell you, and several questions to ask + you. My news is not all good. But I trust that all regrets will be + overwhelmed in the gladness you will bring to my old heart. + + "BRUTUS MOUILLARD." + + +When we rang at M. Mouillard's door, it was opened to us by Baptiste, the +office-boy, who waits at table on grand occasions. + +My uncle received us in the large drawing-room, in full dress, with his +whitest cravat and his most camphorous frock-coat: "not a moth in ten +years," is Madeleine's boast concerning this garment. + +He saluted us all solemnly, without his usual effusiveness; bearing +himself with simple and touching dignity. Strong emotion, which excites +most natures, only served to restrain his. He said not a word of the +past, nor of our marriage. This, the decisive engagement, opened with +polite formalities. + +I have often noticed this phenomenon; people meeting to "have it out" +usually begin by saying nothing at all. + +M. Mouillard offered his arm to Jeanne, to escort her to the dining-room. +Jeanne was in high spirits. She asked him question after question about +Bourges, its dances, fashions, manufactures, even about the procedure of +its courts. + +"I am sure you know that well, uncle," she said. + +"Uncle" smiled at each question, his face illumined with a glow like that +upon a chimney-piece when someone is blowing the fire. He answered her +questions, but presently fell into a state of dejection, which even his +desire to do honor to his guests could not entirely conceal. His +thoughts betrayed themselves in the looks he kept casting upon me, no +longer of anger, but of suffering, almost pleading, affection. + +M. Charnot, who was rather tired, and also absorbed in Madeleine's feats +of cookery, cast disjointed remarks and ejaculations into the gaps in the +conversation. + +I knew my uncle well enough to feel sure that the end of the dinner would +be quite unlike the beginning. + +I was right. During dessert, just as the Academician was singing the +praises of a native delicacy, 'la forestine', my uncle, who had been +revolving a few drops of some notable growth of Medoc in his glass for +the last minute or two, stopped suddenly, and put down his glass on the +table. + +"My dear Monsieur Charnot," said he, "I have a painful confession to make +to you." + +"Eh? What? My dear friend, if it's painful to you, don't make it." + +"Fabien," my uncle went on, "has behaved badly to me on certain +occasions. But I say no more of it. His faults are forgotten. But I +have not behaved to him altogether as I should." + +"You, uncle?" + +"Alas! It is so, my dear child. My practice, the family practice, which +I faithfully promised your father to keep for you--" + +"You have sold it?" + +My uncle buried his face in his hands. + +"Last night, my poor child, only last night!" + +"I thought so." + +"I was weak I listened to the prompting of anger; I have compromised your +future. Fabien, forgive me in your turn." + +He rose from the table, and came and put a trembling hand on my shoulder. + +"No, uncle, you've not compromised anything, and I've nothing to forgive +you." + +"You wouldn't take the practice if I could still offer it to you?" + +"No, uncle." + +"Upon your word?" + +"Upon my word!" + +M. Mouillard drew himself up, beaming: + +"Ah! Thank you for that speech, Fabien; you have relieved me of a great +weight." + +With one corner of his napkin he wiped away two tears, which, having +arisen in time of war, continued to flow in time of peace. + +"If Mademoiselle Jeanne, in addition to all her other perfections, brings +you fortune, Fabien, if your future is assured--" + +"My dear Monsieur Mouillard," broke in the Academician with ill-concealed +satisfaction. "My colleagues call me rich. They slander me. Works on +numismatics do not make a man rich. Monsieur Fabien, who made some +investigations into the subject, can prove it to you. No; I possess no +more than an honorable competence, which does not give me everything, but +lets me lack nothing." + +"Aurea mediocritas," exclaimed my uncle, delighted with his quotation. +"Oh, that Horace! What a fellow he was!" + +"He was indeed. Well, as I was saying, our daily bread is assured; but +that's no reason why my son-in-law should vegetate in idleness which I do +not consider my due, even at my age." + +"Quite right." + +"So he must work." + +"But what is he to work at?" + +"There are other professions besides the law, Monsieur Mouillard. I have +studied Fabien. His temperament is somewhat wayward. With special +training he might have become an artist. Lacking that early moulding +into shape, he never will be anything more than a dreamer." + +"I should not have expressed it so well, but I have often thought the +same." + +"With a temperament like your nephew's," continued M. Charnot, "the best +he can do is to enter upon a career in which the ideal has some part; not +a predominant, but a sufficient part, something between prose and +poetry." + +"Let him be a notary, then." + +"No, that's wholly prose; he shall be a librarian." + +"A librarian?" + +"Yes, Monsieur Mouillard; there are a few little libraries in Paris, +which are as quiet as groves, and in which places are to be got that are +as snug as nests. I have some influence in official circles, and that +can do no harm, you know." + +"Quite so." + +"We will put our Fabien into one of those nests, where he will be +protected against idleness by the little he will do, and against +revolutions by the little he will be. It's a charming profession; +the very smell of books is improving; merely by breathing it you live +an intellectual life." + +"An intellectual life!" exclaimed my uncle with enthusiasm. "Yes, an +intellectual life!" + +"And cataloguing books, Monsieur Mouillard, looking through them, +preserving them as far as possible from worms and readers. Don't you +think that's an enviable lot?" + +"Yes, more so than mine has been, or my successor's will be." + +"By the way, uncle, you haven't told us who your successor is to be." + +"Haven't I, really? Why, you know him; it's your friend Larive." + +"Oh! That explains a great deal." + +"He is a young man who takes life seriously." + +"Very seriously, uncle. Isn't he about to be married?" + +"Why, yes; to a rich wife." + +"To whom?" + +"My dear boy, he is picking up all your leavings; he is going to marry +Mademoiselle Lorinet." + +"He was always enterprising! But, uncle, it wasn't with him you were +engaged yesterday evening?" + +"Why not, pray?" + +"You told Madeleine to admit a gentleman with a decoration." + +"He has one." + +"Good heavens! What is it?" + +"The Nicham Iftikar, if it please you." + [A Tunisian order, which can be obtained for a very moderate sum.] + +"It doesn't displease me, uncle, and surprises me still less. Larive +will die with his breast more thickly plastered with decorations than an +Odd Fellow's; he will be a member of all the learned societies in the +department, respected and respectable, the more thoroughly provincial for +having been outrageously Parisian. Mothers will confide their anxieties +to him, and fathers their interests; but when his old acquaintances pass +this way they will take the liberty of smiling in his face." + +"What, jealous? Are you jealous of his bit of ribbon?" + +"No, uncle, I regret nothing; not even Larive's good fortune." + +M. Mouillard fixed his eyes on the cloth, and began again, after a +moment's silence: + +"I, Fabien, do regret some things. It will be mournful at times, growing +old alone here. Yet, after all, it will be some consolation to me to +think that you others are satisfied with life, to welcome you here for +your holidays." + +"You can do better than that," said M. Charnot. "Come and grow old among +us. Your years will be the lighter to bear, Monsieur Mouillard. +Doubtless we must always bear them, and they weigh upon us and bend our +backs. But youth, which carries its own burden so lightly, can always +give us a little help in bearing ours." + +I looked to hear my uncle break out with loud objections. + +"It is a fine night," he said, simply; "let us go into the garden, and do +you decide whether I can leave roses like mine." + +M. Mouillard took us into the garden, pleased with himself, with me, with +Jeanne, with everybody, and with the weather. + +It was too dark to see the roses, but we could smell them as we passed. +I had taken Jeanne's arm in mine, and we went on in front, in the cool +dusk, choosing all the little winding paths. + +The birds were all asleep. But the grasshoppers, crickets, and all +manner of creeping things hidden in the grass, or in the moss on the +trees, were singing and chattering in their stead. + +Behind us, at some distance--in fact, as far off as we could manage-- +the gravel crackled beneath the equal tread of the two elders, and in a +murmur we could catch occasional scraps of sentences: + +"A granddaughter like Jeanne, Monsieur Charnot . . . ." + +"A grandson like Fabien, Monsieur Mouillard . . . ." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A HAPPY FAMILY + + PARIS, September 18th. + +We are married. We are just back from the church. We have said good-by +to all our friends, not without a quick touch or two of sadness, as +quickly swallowed up in the joy which for the first time in the history +of my heart is surging there at full tide, and widening to a limitless +horizon. In the two hours I have to spare before starting for Italy, I +am writing the last words in this brown diary, which I do not intend to +take with me. + +Jeanne, my own Jeanne, is leaning upon me and reading over my shoulder, +which distracts the flow of my recollections. + +There were crowds at the church. The papers had put us down among the +fashionable marriages of the week. The Institute, the army, men of +letters, public officials, had come out of respect for M. Charnot; +lawyers of Bourges and Paris had come out of respect for my uncle. But +the happiest, the most radiant, next to ourselves, were the people who +came only for Jeanne's sake and mine; Sylvestre Lampron, painter-in- +ordinary to Mademoiselle Charnot, bringing his pretty sketch as a +wedding-present; M. Flamaran and Sidonie; Jupille, who wept as he used to +"thirty years ago;" and M. and Madame Plumet, who took it in turns to +carry their white-robed infant. + +Jeanne and I certainly shook hands with a good many persons, but not with +nearly as many as M. Mouillard. Clean-shaven, his cravat tied with +exquisite care, he spun round in the crowd like a top, always dragging +with him some one who was to introduce him to some one else. "One should +make acquaintances immediately on arrival," he kept saying. + +Yes, Uncle Mouillard has just arrived in Paris; he has settled down near +us on the Quai Malaquais, in a pretty set of rooms which Jeanne chose for +him. He thinks them perfect because she thought they would do. The +tastes and interests of old student days have suddenly reawakened within +him, and will not be put to sleep again. He already knows the omnibus +and tramway lines better than I; he talks of Bourges as if it were twenty +years since he left it: "When I used to live in the country, Fabien--" + +My father-in-law has found in him a whole-hearted admirer, perhaps even a +future pupil in numismatics. Their friendship makes me think of that-- + + ["You don't mind, Jeanne?" + + "Of course not, my dear; the brown diary is for our two selves + alone." J.] + +--of that of the town mouse and the country mouse. Just now, on their +way back to the house, they had a conversation, by turns pathetic and +jovial, in which their different temperaments met in the same feeling, +but at opposite ends of the scale of its shades. + +I caught this fragment of their talk: + +"My dear Charnot, can you guess what I'm thinking about?" + +"No, I haven't the least idea." + +"I think it is very queer." + +"What is queer?" + +"To see a librarian begin his career with a blot of ink. For you can not +deny that Fabien's marriage and situation, and my return to the capital, +are all due to that. It must have been sympathetic ink--eh?" + +"'Felix culpa', as you say, Monsieur Mouillard. There are some blunders +that are lucky; but you can't tell which they are, and that's never any +excuse for committing them." + +I could hardly get hold of Lampron for a moment in the crowd he so +dislikes. He was more uncouth and more devoted than ever. + +"Well, are you happy?" he said. + +"Quite." + +"When you're less happy, come and see me." + +"We shall always be just as happy as we are now," said Jeanne. + +And I think she is right. + +Lampron smiled. + +"Yes, I am quite happy, Sylvestre, and I owe my happiness to you, to her, +and to others. I have done nothing myself to deserve happiness beyond +letting myself drift on the current of life. Whenever I tried to row a +stroke the boat nearly upset. Everything that others tried to do for me +succeeded. I can't get over it. Just think of it yourself. I owed my +introduction to Jeanne to Monsieur Flamaran, who drove me to call on her +father; his friend; you courted her for me by painting her portrait; +Madame Plumet told her you had done so, and also removed the obstacle in +my path. I met her in Italy, thanks entirely to you; and you clinched +the proposal which had been begun by Flamaran. To crown all, the very +situation I desired has been obtained for me by my father-in-law. What +have I had to do? I have loved, sorrowed, and suffered, nothing more; +and now I tremble at the thought that I owe my happiness to every one I +know except myself." + +"Cease to tremble, my friend; don't be surprised at it, and don't alter +your system in the least. Your happiness is your due; what matter how +God chooses to grant it? Suppose it is an income for life paid to you by +your relatives, your friends, the world in general, and the natural order +of things? Well, draw your dividends, and don't bother about where they +come from." + +Since Lampron said so, and he is a philosopher, I think I had better +follow his advice. If you don't mind, Jeanne, I will cherish no ambition +beyond your love, and refrain from running after any increase in wealth +or reputation which might prove a decrease in happiness. If you agree, +Jeanne, we shall see little of society, and much of our friends; we shall +not open our windows wide enough for Love, who is winged, to fly out of +them. If such is your pleasure, Jeanne, you shall direct the household +of your own sweet will--I should say, of your sweet wisdom; you shall be +queen in all matters of domestic economy, you shall rule our goings-out +and our comings-in, our visits, our travels. I shall leave you to guide +me, as a child, along the joyous path in which I follow your footsteps. +I am looking up at Jeanne. She has not said "No." + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +All that a name is to a street--its honor, its spouse +Distrust first impulse +Felix culpa +Hard that one can not live one's life over twice +He always loved to pass for being overwhelmed with work +I don't call that fishing +If trouble awaits us, hope will steal us a happy hour or two +Obstacles are the salt of all our joys +People meeting to "have it out" usually say nothing at first +The very smell of books is improving +There are some blunders that are lucky; but you can't tell +You ask Life for certainties, as if she had any to give you + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of The Ink Stain, v3 +by Rene Bazin + diff --git a/3974.zip b/3974.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca2b813 --- /dev/null +++ b/3974.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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