JULIEN'S RUSEHe went to the window, the lower sash of which was really nailed in its place and covered with a green cloth; but there was an imperceptible slit in that cloth, there was a scratch on the ground glass, and through that treacherous crevice, cunningly made and cunningly concealed, he saw Madame d'Estrelle every day.
JULIEN'S RUSE
He went to the window, the lower sash of which was really nailed in its place and covered with a green cloth; but there was an imperceptible slit in that cloth, there was a scratch on the ground glass, and through that treacherous crevice, cunningly made and cunningly concealed, he saw Madame d'Estrelle every day.
What was Julien doing while they were talking about him in the little summer salon of the hôtel d'Estrelle? He was working, or was supposed to be working. He constantly changed his position, he was hot and cold, he started at the slightest sound. He said to himself that perhaps his name was on the countess's lips at that moment, that perhaps she was asking some question about him, merely as a matter of form, without listening to the answer. He went to the window, the lower sash of which was really nailed in its place and covered with a green cloth; but there was an imperceptible slit in that cloth, there was a scratch on the ground glass, and through that treacherous crevice, cunningly made and cunningly concealed, he saw Madame d'Estrelle every day, strolling among the shrubbery in her garden, and walking along the path which was in full view from the pavilion. Julien knew almost to a minute her regular hours for that walk. When some accident interfered with her usual practice, then mysterious presentiments, the divinatory instinct which belongs only to love, and especially to a first love, warned him of Julie's approach. Then he invented a thousand pretexts, each more ingenious than the last, for turning his mother's vigilant eye in some other direction and gazing at his fair neighbor; or else he would find that he had to go and get something in his bedroom, and would go upstairs, his mother remaining below, enter her room and look through the blind. In fact he had adored Julie for a fortnight, and Julie thought that he had never seen her, and Madame Thierry lied unconsciously when she said that her son could see nothing from the studio, and that he had never looked out of her bedroom windows.
To Julien himself there was something insane, or at all events inexplicable, in that sudden passion which had taken possession of him, who was so sensible in all other respects; but as there is a cause for every effect, it is our place to seek it, and not be too free to admit the improbability of actual occurrences.
Marcel came very often, with or without his wife, to pass a portion of the evening with his aunt Thierry. Julien and he were much attached to each other, and although they often disagreed, Marcel considering Julien too romantic, and Julien considering Marcel too practical, they would have died for each other. Marcel talked freely about his practice, which was rapidly increasing. When Julien asked him: "Is your office flourishing?" he would answer: "It is budding, my boy, it is budding! I often have clients who bring me more honor than profit, and they are not the ones of whom I think the least."—Among those clients who were not fond of litigation, but to whom he owed pleasant or profitable connections, Marcel placed the Comtesse d'Estrelle in the first rank. He mentioned her so often and in such enthusiastic terms, he thought and spoke so severely of the lovely widow's unworthy husband, he inveighed so bitterly against the inhuman avarice of the family, he took such a profound interest in Julie's gentle and noble character, he involuntarily extolled her charms so warmly, that Julien was curious to see her; he saw her and loved her, if indeed he did not love her before he saw her.
Julien had never loved before. He had led a very virtuous life, he had experienced a great sorrow, he was at the height of his physical and mental development; his susceptibility was overstrained by the courageous efforts he had made, by a constant exchange of fervent affection with his loving mother, by a tendency to enthusiasm which he derived from long association with an enthusiastic father. He lived in seclusion, he denied himself all diversion and worked with intense eagerness to preserve the honor of his name and to save his mother from want. All this must inevitably find a vent, and that generous heart discharge its surplus emotion. We will say no more about it; indeed we have already said far too much in explanation of that impossible phenomenon which we see every day—a persistent, violent, boundless aspiration toward an object which is known to be unattainable. Long, long before, La Fontaine had written this refrain, which had passed into a proverb:
"Love, love! when thou dost hold us,Well may we say: 'Prudence, farewell!'"
"Love, love! when thou dost hold us,Well may we say: 'Prudence, farewell!'"
Now, while the countess was talking to Madame Thierry, and Julien to himself, Marcel Thierry was talking not far away with his uncle Antoine, the old bachelor, the ex-armorer, the rich man of the family.
Gentle reader—as they used to say at the time when these events took place—be kind enough to accompany us to Rue Blomet from the hôtel d'Estrelle on Rue de Babylone; skirting the garden wall for five minutes, passing in front of the Louis XIII. pavilion, then skirting the wall of another garden much larger than Madame d'Estrelle's, along a lane grass-grown on the edges, muddy and full of holes in the centre, destined at some time to be an extension of Rue de Babylone; then turning to the left and passing along another street in embryo to the corner of Rue Blomet, where stands a large house of the Louis XIV. style of architecture, formerly the hôtel de Melcy, recently purchased and occupied by Monsieur Antoine Thierry. If Monsieur Antoine Thierry would have allowed us to pass through his extensive grounds, we might have started from Julien's house and walked straight through the nursery to the rear of the mansion; but Uncle Antoine is determined to be master on his own estate, and he will not grant any easement whatsoever, even in favor of his brother's widow and son. Marcel, therefore, on leaving the countess, had taken this walk, half in the city, half in the country; and now behold him seated in the rich man's study, formerly a boudoir with painted and gilded ceiling, now filled with shelves and tables covered with bags of seeds, specimens of fruit moulded in wax, and baskets of tools and other articles connected with horticulture.
To reach this study, the proprietor's favorite retreat, he has had to pass through galleries and immense salons overweighted with gilt decorations in relief, grand in conception, but blackened by neglect and dampness; for the windows are shut and the shutters tightly closed in all weathers; the rich man never tarries in those majestic apartments, he never receives visitors there, he never gives parties or banquets, he cares for no one, he is suspicious of everybody. He loves rare flowers and exotic shrubs, he also esteems the product of fruit trees, and he is constantly deliberating upon the trimming and grafting of hissubjects. He overlooks and directs in person a score of gardeners, whom he pays handsomely, and whose families he takes under his protection. Never attempt to interest him in any other people than those who flatter or subserve his caprices or his vanity.
This passion for gardening he acquired by a mere chance. One of the vessels which sailed to the far east on his account and for his profit brought from China a parcel of seeds which he carelessly dropped in an urn filled with earth. The seeds sprouted, the plants grew and were covered with lovely flowers. The armorer, who did not anticipate that result, and who, moreover, had never in his life looked at a plant, paid very little heed at first; but another accident brought to his house a connoisseur who went into ecstasies, and declared the priceless plant to be absolutely new and unknown to science.
This discovery exerted a decisive influence on Monsieur Antoine's life. He had always despised flowers: it was probable that he would never really understand them, for he was entirely devoid of the artistic sense; but his vanity, which was stifling him for lack of nourishment, pounced upon that windfall and pointed out to him the only way in which he could attain renown. He had a brother who painted flowers, who interpreted them, who loved them and gave his life to them. His brother was much admired; a trivial sketch from his brush made more noise than all of his older brother's great wealth. The older brother knew it, and was jealous of him. He could never hear the word art mentioned without shrugging his shoulders. He considered that the world was unjust and idiotic to be amused by trifles and not to admire the shrewdness of a man who, having started from nothing, counted his gold-pieces by the shovelful. He was disappointed, perturbed in mind.—But suddenly all was changed; he, too, was going to become a celebrity. The flowers which his brother summoned forth from the canvas he would summon from the earth, and they would not be mere every-day flowers which everybody knew and could name at sight; they would be rarities, plants from the four corners of the world, which scholars would have to cudgel their brains to define and classify and baptize. The most wonderful should bear his name! It had been suggested that his name should be given to several of his nurslings, but there was no hurry, since his collection was enriched every year by some marvel from the metropolis. He determined to wait, and was still waiting for a certain lily, which was likely to surpass all the rest, and which should bear, in addition to its generic name, the specific designation ofAntonia Thierrii.
There was still time enough, for the uncle, although seventy-five years old, was still hale and hearty. He was a short man, rather slight, with a very good figure, but the hands hardened by constant contact with the soil, the skin tanned by constant exposure to the air, the neglected hair and dusty clothes, the back bent by bodily toil, presented the incongruous image of a villager with rustic manners, tenacious in his ideas, of an overbearing and surly disposition, ungrammatical, imperious and peremptory, planted in the heart of Paris, in a mansion of which he was the heedless and preoccupied master.
Marcel saluted his uncle with more familiarity than deference. He knew that flattery would be a waste of time; that the ex-armorer could be brought to terms on any subject only by a contest in obstinacy, in harsh language at need. He knew that his first impulse would be to say no; that no perhaps would be his last word; but that, in order to obtain one pooryesamong a hundrednoeshe must fight without losing heart for a moment. Marcel was of a stout temper—it was a family trait—and he was so accustomed to fighting, especially against his uncle, that he derived a sort of painful pleasure from that occupation, which would have disgusted an artist in an instant.
"I have brought you something to sign," he began.
"I will not sign anything; my word is good enough."
"True, with those who know you."
"Everybody knows me."
"Almost everybody; but I am dealing with idiots. Come, sign, sign!"
"No, you might just as well sign it. My word's as good as gold; all the worse for the man who doubts it."
"Then you will see the creditor take possession of the house at Sèvres. He will be satisfied then, no doubt, but until then he will doubt my authority."
"So you have a bad reputation, have you?"
"Apparently."
"The idea of your saying that!"
"What do you want me to say? If I should say no, you would not sign, and I want to induce you to sign."
"Oh! you do! Why, I should like to know?"
"Because it bores me, tires me and annoys me to return to Sèvres and wait for them to make up their minds to come to see you, when the despatch of this paper by my clerk will remove all difficulties and save me expense and many steps. Do you understand?"
"You do whatever you please with me," replied the armorer, taking his pen. He dipped it in the ink three times before deciding, read and reread the document whereby he guaranteed the payment of the last six thousand francs of his brother's debts, looked Marcel in the eye to see if he was anxious or impatient, and, seeing that he was unmoved, regretfully renounced the pleasure of driving him into a passion. He signed the paper and tossed it in his face, with a wicked laugh, saying:
"Off with you, rascal! You never come to my house unless you want to get something out of me. You might have guaranteed the debts in my place, for you're rich enough!"
"If I were, be sure that it would be done already; but I am making the final payments for my practice, and I cannot deceive Julien any longer as to the sacrifices I am making for him. He is deeply concerned; his mother is in despair——"
"Oh! his mother, his mother!" sneered the rich man in a tone of profound aversion.
"You are not fond of her, as everyone knows; so she will never ask you for anything, never fear; but I am fond of my aunt, if you have no objection, and Julien adores her. Between them—between us three, if necessary—we will have everything paid within two years, and I flatter myself that you will not have to spend a sou."
"Well, I don't flatter myself that I shall not! No matter! I will do them this favor, which will be the last."
"And the first, too, my dear uncle!"
And, as the document was signed, folded and safely in his pocket, Marcel added, resting his elbows on the table and looking his uncle straight in the face:
"Do you know, my dear uncle of the good Lord, you must be a very mean fellow to allow your brother's country house to be sold."
"Ah! there we are again!" shouted Monsieur Antoine, rising and smiting the table a genuine peasant's blow with his fist. "You would like to see me use my money, earned by the sweat of my brow, to pay for the follies of a spendthrift! Since when have artists needed to have houses of their own and fill them with a heap of gimcracks that cost the eyes out of your head, and make gardens for themselves, with bridges and summer-houses, when they don't even know how to grow a bit of milkweed? What difference does it make to me whether my brother's folly is sold, and his widow doesn't now have any great chefs in her kitchen and great noblemen at her table? They made all the trouble for themselves when they chose to receive counts and marquises, and madame would say: 'My house, my servants, my horses!'—I knew well enough where all that nonsense would bring them up! And now to-day they find they need the old rat who lives in his corner like a wise man and a philosopher, despising society, scorning luxury and giving all his time to useful work! They lower their crests and put out their paws, and he—he wouldn't give anything from pity—those people don't deserve it—he gives from pride, and that's how he gets his revenge. Go and tell that to your aunt, the beautiful princess in distress: that's the errand your mean dog of an uncle gives you to do. Go, I say, you dog of a pettifogger! What are you standing there for, staring at me?"
Marcel was in fact studying his uncle's expression and attitude with his sharp gray eyes, as if he would search the lowest depths of his conscience.
"Bah!" he exclaimed abruptly, as he rose, "you are very harsh, very mean, I say it again; but you are not so cruel as that! You have some reason for hating your sister-in-law which nobody has ever been able to understand, which you don't understand very clearly yourself, I fancy, but which I shall succeed in unearthing, my dear uncle, never fear, for I propose to go to work upon it, and you know that when I have set my heart upon a thing, I am like you, I never let go."
As he spoke Marcel kept his eyes fixed on the rich man, and he detected a notable change in his manner. A sudden pallor drove the coarse flush from his face, which was already burned afresh by the sun of the new spring. His lips trembled, he pulled his hat down to his bushy black eyebrows, turned his back, and went out into his garden without a word.
It was not a garden with little pieces of rockery, little summer-houses, and little terra cotta cows lying in the grass, like those which were so common at that period, in imitation of the rustic style adopted at Trianon. Nor was there an undulating lawn with winding paths, clumps of trees at regular intervals, and truncated columns reflected in limpid ponds, like the garden of the hôtel d'Estrelle, one of the first picturesque attempts at the modern gardenà l'anglaise. Nor were there the old-fashioned flower-beds and long regular borders of the time of Louis XIV.; everywhere the ground was turned up and cut by Monsieur Antoine's experiments. On all sides were beds in the shape of baskets, hearts, stars, triangles, ovals, shields and trefoils, surrounded by green borders and narrow paths forming a perfect labyrinth. There were flowers of all sorts, beautiful or curious, but deprived of all their national grace by cages made of rushes, nets of wire, umbrellas of reeds, supports and props of all sorts, to protect them from being marred by the dirt, burned by the sun or broken by the wind. His rosebushes, being constantly trimmed and watered, had an artificial look, they were so exceedingly tidy and shiny. His peonies were ball-shaped at the top, like a grenadier'spompon, and his tulips shone like metal in the sun. Around the flower-garden were immense, melancholy-looking nurseries, like rows of stakes with scraggy bunches of leaves at the top. All this rejoiced the horticulturist's eyes and banished his gloom.
A single corner of his garden, nearest the pavilion occupied by Madame Thierry, afforded a pleasant promenade. That corner he had devoted for twenty years to the acclimatation of exotic ornamental trees. They were beautiful now, and cast considerable shade; but Monsieur Antoine, as it was no longer necessary to take particular pains with them, had almost lost his interest in them, and much preferred a shoot of pine or acacia just raised under glass.
His hothouse was wonderfully beautiful. He hurried thither to bury the bitter memories which Marcel had recalled. He went in and out among his favorite plants, the lilies, and, after assuring himself of the good health of those which were in bloom, he halted beside a small porcelain vase wherein an unknown bulb was just beginning to put forth shoots of a dark and glossy green.
"What will this be?" he thought. "Will it mark an epoch in the history of gardening, like so many others that owe their fame to me? It seems a long while since anything has happened in my garden, and people don't talk about me so much as they ought to."
Meanwhile Marcel went away, deep in thought, for Monsieur Antoine Thierry's miserliness was of a very curious sort. The curious thing about it was that Monsieur Thierry was not miserly. He did not hoard his money, he did not lend money and never had done so, he denied himself nothing that caught his fancy, and he even did a good deed sometimes under the spur of self-love. How did it happen that he had let slip so excellent an opportunity of purchasing his late brother's property for his nephew? That generous performance would have given him much more celebrity than the futureAntonia Thierrii.That is precisely the problem which Marcel was trying to solve. He knew that the old armorer had always been jealous, not of his artist brother's talent, which he despised, but of his renown and social success; but should not that jealousy have died with old André? Ought his widow and son to have that unfortunate inheritance forced upon them?
An idea passed through Marcel's mind; he retraced his steps and interrupted Monsieur Antoine's horticultural reveries.
"By the way, my gallant uncle," he said in a playful tone, "don't you want to buy the hôtel d'Estrelle pavilion?"
"The pavilion is for sale, and you didn't tell me, you idiot?"
"I forgot it. Well, how much will you give for it?"
"What is it worth?"
"I have told you a hundred times: to Comtesse d'Estrelle, who has just accepted it as a gift, it is worth ten thousand francs; to you, who want it and need it, it is worth twice that. It remains to be seen whether the countess won't ask three times ten thousand."
"Ah! that's like your great folk! sharper and stingier than the parvenus they despise!"
"The Comtesse d'Estrelle despises no one."
"Yes, she does! she's a fool like all the others. We are separated by a wall, and in the four years she's been living in the hôtel d'Estrelle, she's never had the curiosity to look into my garden."
"Perhaps she doesn't know anything about rare plants."
"Say rather that she would consider herself dishonored if she put her foot inside aplebeian'sdoor!"
"Bah! do you expect a young woman in mourning to compromise herself by strolling about in the garden of a bachelor of your age?"
"Of my age? You are joking, I suppose! Am I of an age to make people talk?"
"Why, who can say? you used to be a volcano once!"
"I! What are you saying, you brute?"
"You cannot make me believe that you were never in love."
"What's that? I have never been in love! No such fool!"
"Yes, you have been in love, a fool if you please, at least once in your life! Try to insist that you haven't," added Marcel, as he saw that the horticulturist turned pale and seemed perturbed once more.
"Enough of this nonsense!" retorted the uncle, tapping the floor angrily with his foot. "You are Madame d'Estrelle's attorney; are you instructed to sell the pavilion?"
"No, but I have the right to suggest it. How much will you give?"
"Not a sou. Let me alone."
"Then I can offer it to another purchaser?"
"What other?"
"There is no other in view at this moment. I am not given to lying, and I shall not deal falsely with you in the matters you have placed in my charge; but you are well aware that the street is being built up, and that by to-morrow, perhaps to-night, people will be fighting for the pavilion."
"Let Madame d'Estrelle take the trouble to enter into negotiations with me."
"Do you want her to receive you? Very good!"
"Would she receive me?" said Monsieur Antoine, and his round eyes gleamed for an instant.
"Why not?" said Marcel.
"Oh! yes, she would receive me in her courtyard, or at best in her ante-chamber, standing up, between two doors, as she receives a dog or an attorney!"
"You are a great stickler for manners, aren't you, for a man who won't take his hat off his head for anybody? But never fear: Madame d'Estrelle is as courteous to decent people of our class as to the greatest aristocrats. To prove it, she is on the best of terms with my aunt Thierry, and they are almost friends already."
"Ah!—Well, that is because madame your aunt is noble! The nobles understand each other like thieves at a fair!"
"Sapristi!uncle, once more I ask you what in heaven's name you have against your sister-in-law?"
"I have—Well, I detest her!"
"So I see; but why?"
"Because she is noble. Don't talk to me about your nobles! They are all heartless and ungrateful!"
"Did you love her, I wonder?"
This direct question was too much for Monsieur Antoine. He turned deathly pale, then flushed with anger, swore, tore his hair and shouted in a frenzy of rage:
"Did she tell you that? She pretends, she dares to say——"
"Nothing at all. I have never been able to extort a word from her about you; but I have had my suspicions, and now you have confessed. Tell me everything, uncle; that will be the best way, for it will relieve you, and you will have had a good heart-searching for once in your life."
Fully half an hour passed before the ex-armorer had exhausted all the spleen and bile of which his heart was full against Marcel, against Madame Thierry and against his deceased brother. When Marcel, who worried him cruelly, had succeeded in exhausting him, he carried his point, and old Antoine told him what follows, by fits and starts, forcing his nephew to extract from him bit by bit the secret of his life, which was also the secret of his character.
Forty years prior to the period of this narrative, Mademoiselle de Meuil, having eloped with André Thierry, had gone with her fiancé to seek shelter with Antoine Thierry, who was already rich and still quite young. Until that time the two brothers had lived on good terms with each other. While she remained in hiding at the hôtel de Melcy, Mademoiselle de Meuil had manifested sincere friendship for the armorer and perfect confidence in him. André, being prosecuted by the Meuil family and in danger of being consigned to the Bastille, had been compelled to leave Paris, to avert suspicion from the right quarter, while certain influential friends of his endeavored to adjust his affairs and gradually succeeded in so doing.
During this separation of several months, Mademoiselle de Meuil, constantly beset by the most painful anxiety, was more than once tempted to return to her parents in order to relieve the man she loved from the dangers and misfortunes which threatened him. More than once she discussed the subject frankly with André's brother, setting forth her fears and asking his advice. Then it was that Antoine conceived a strange idea, not treacherous and in no wise induced by passion, but in which his sensitive self-esteem was soon deeply involved. We will allow him to speak for a moment.
"The girl was ruined, although she had not lived with my brother as his wife. She was too far compromised to be taken back into the family, and the very best that she could hope for was to end her days in a convent. My brother seemed to me even more completely ruined than she was. Alettre de cachethad been issued against him, and that was no joke in those days. He might be shut up for twenty years, or for his whole life—who could say? And as the young lady told me all this herself, crying out every minute: 'What shall I do, Monsieur Antoine?Mon Dieu!what shall I do?' the idea came into my head of saving them both by marrying the girl. I was not in love with her, no! the devil take me if I lie! I should have loved any other woman as much, and I had never given a thought to marriage. If she had not been of noble birth, which gave her—not in my eyes, for I have no prejudices—in many people's eyes a sort of distinction, I shouldn't have paid much attention to her. Are you laughing? What are you laughing at, you ass of an attorney?"
"I am not laughing," said Marcel. "Go on. You were telling me about the bright idea that came into your head."
"So it did, and it wasn't any more foolish than my excellent brother's idea. Was he an eagle in those days, I would ask? No, he was a little dauber, who hadn't succeeded in laying by four sous, and no one thought anything of him. Was he any better looking than I was, or younger, or better bred? We were both brought up just alike; I was five years older, that's all. I wasn't the ugliest, and he wasn't a beauty by any means! He knew how to talk; he was always a chatterer. I said less, but what I said was solid. Neither one of us was more of a plebeian than the other, for we had the same father and mother. I had already saved nearly a million which no one knew anything about! With a million a man can do many things that my brother couldn't do: he can put the law to sleep and appease angry parents, and obtain patrons who never sleep; with a million one can even reach the king's ear, and surely one can marry a girl who has nothing at all. If society makes a fuss, it's because everyone would like to have the million in his own pocket. In fact, my million proved that even if I was not quite so fine a talker as my brother, it wasn't for want of wit and genius. That is what the girl ought to have understood. I didn't ask her to love me right away, but to love her André enough to forget him and keep him from going to prison and rotting there. Very good; instead of appreciating my good sense and generosity, lo and behold! the prude loses her temper, calls me a boor and a wicked brother and a dishonorable man, and decamps from my house without telling me where she's going, staking all to win all, and leaving a letter for me in which all the thanks she gives me is a promise never to betray my treachery to Monsieur André! I confess that I have never forgiven her for that, and that I never shall forgive her. As for my excellent brother, he behaved in a way that disgusted me almost as much as madame did. I didn't choose to wait till his prude of a wife had sold me. When I saw that he was out of his difficulties and married, I told him the whole story, just as I have told it to you. He didn't lose his temper; on the contrary, he thanked me for my good intentions, but then he began to laugh. You know what a frivolous, weak-brained creature he was! Well, my idea struck him as very comical, and he made fun of me. Thereupon I broke with him, and I would never see the wife or the husband again."
"At last!" said Marcel, "now I know where we are. But Julien? Why do you bear Julien a grudge, for he wasn't born at the time of your grievance?"
"I don't bear Julien a grudge; but he is his mother's son, and I am sure that he hates me."
"Upon my honor, Julien knows nothing of what you have told me, and he knows you only by your conduct of late. Do you think that he can possibly approve it? Shouldn't you have redeemed his mother's house, when he swore by all that is most sacred that he would devote his life to the payment of his debt to you?"
"A fine security, the life of a painter! Where did painting land his father, who wasfamous?"
"And suppose you had lost a matter of fifty thousand francs, you who certainly have more than——"
"Hush! you should never mention the amount of a man's fortune. When such figures are in the air, the walls and trees, even the flower-pots, have ears."
"You agree that the amount is so large that the Sèvres affair would have been a mere trifle, don't you?"
"Do you propose to make me out a miser?"
"I know that you are not one, but I shall believe that you are cruel, and that you like to see people suffer whom you believe to be your enemies."
"Well, isn't that my right? Since when have we been forbidden to seek revenge?"
"Since we began to be something more than savages."
"Am I a savage then?"
"Yes."
"Be off, you are tiresome after a while! Look out that I don't set myself against you too?"
"I defy you to do it."
"Why so?"
"Because you know that I am the only person on earth who is just a little attached to you and devoted to you, in spite of all your shortcomings."
"You see! You admit now that Julien detests me."
"Make him love you; then you will have two friends instead of one."
"Ah! yes! you want me to redeem the house! Very good, when Julien is an orphan, I will look after him, on condition that he never mentions his mother to me."
"Perhaps you would like to have him kill her, would you? I tell you, uncle, you are mad, nothing more nor less. You are immeasurably vain, and you have the prejudices of the nobility in a more virulent form than any of the people who have ancestors. You were not in love with Mademoiselle de Meuil, I am sure; but her rank made you long to supplant your brother with her. You were frantically jealous of poor André, not because of that lovely and lovable young woman, but because of the parchments which she brought him with her dowry, and because of the sort of lustre that was reflected on him. In a word, you do not hate the nobles, you adore them, you envy them, you would give all your millions to have beenbornsomebody, and your outbreaks of rage against them on every occasion are simply the spleen of a discarded lover, just as your hatred of my aunt is the spleen of a wounded and humiliated plebeian. That is your mania, my poor uncle; every man has his own, they say, but this one makes you cruel, and I am very sorry for you."
Perhaps the ex-armorer felt that Marcel was right; consequently he was about to get more angry than ever, but Marcel turned his back on him with a shrug, and went away, paying no heed to his invectives.
In reality Marcel was very glad to be in possession at last of the ideas and recollections which underlay his uncle's actions. He promised himself that he would take advantage of his knowledge to induce him to mend his ways. Did he succeed? The sequel will tell us.
"Madame," said Marcel to the Comtesse d'Estrelle the next morning, "you must sell the pavilion."
"Why?" said Julie. "It is so old and such a paltry affair, and of such trifling value too!"
"It has a value due to its location, which you must not overlook. My uncle will give you thirty thousand francs for it, perhaps more."
"This is the first time, my dear adviser, that you have advised me ill. I am very reluctant to extort money from a neighbor. What is it but speculating on the need he may have of that old building?"
"Wait a moment, my noble client! My uncle does not need the pavilion; he wants it, which is a very different matter. He is rich enough to pay for his whims. And what would you say if he were grateful to you for your extortion?"
"How can that be?"
"Enter into personal relations with him and he will offer you a bonus over and above the price."
"Fie! Monsieur Thierry! you would have me pay court to his gold?"
"No, but simply bestow upon it a kindly, patronizing smile, and it will come to you of itself. Moreover, you will do a kind deed."
"Tell me what you mean."
"You will show my uncle that you have much esteem and affection for my aunt and cousin, and thus you will induce the old Crœsus to assist them seriously in their distress."
"Then I will do it with all my heart, Monsieur Thierry; but, while I am already able to appreciate the worth of madame your aunt, what can I say of your cousin, whom I do not know?"
"No matter, speak of him with perfect confidence. My Julien has a heart of gold, the high spirit of a man of birth, and a mind above his condition; he is the best of sons, the truest of friends, the most honorable of men, and the most reasonable of artists. Say all that, madame la comtesse, and if Julien's life ever offers the slightest contradiction to your words, drive me from your presence, and never again give me your esteem or confidence."
Marcel spoke so vehemently that Julie was impressed. She abstained from asking questions, but she listened, without losing a word, to what followed this eulogy, when Marcel entered into details by which only the hardest of hearts could have failed to be moved. He told of Julien's care of his mother, of the privations which he endured without her knowledge, even going without proper food so that she might have enough. Therein Marcel, like Madame Thierry, unwittingly said what was not true. Julien had lost his appetite because he was in love, and Marcel, who had no suspicion of it, thought that he had divined the cause of that involuntary abstemiousness. But Julien was capable of doing much more for his mother than holding his appetite in check. He would have given the last drop of his blood for her; thus, while he did not tell the exact truth at that moment, Marcel said far less than the truth.
His panegyric of Julien was so generous and so affecting that the countess authorized Marcel to say to Uncle Antoine from her that she would like very much to see his rare flowers and inspect his extensive and interesting grounds. Uncle Antoine received this message with a haughty and sceptical air.
"I see," said he, "she wants to sell at a high price, and this condescension will cost me the eyes out of my head."
Marcel allowed him to talk, but was not deceived. The rich man's gratification was too evident.
On the appointed day Madame d'Estrelle resumed her deep mourning, entered her carriage and drove to the hôtel de Melcy. Marcel was at the door awaiting her. He offered her his hand, and as they went up the steps Uncle Antoine appeared in all his glory, in gardening costume. That was by no means ill-advised on the part of so stupid a man. He had duly considered, without mentioning it to Marcel, the plan of appearing in magnificent array; he was rich enough to have every seam stitched with gold; but the dread of ridicule deterred him, and, as he prided himself on being a great horticulturist before everything, he had the wit to appear in a strictly rustic costume.
Despite the asperity of his disposition and of his ordinary manners, despite his secret longing to assert his independence of mind and his philosophical pride before Marcel, he suddenly lost countenance before the fair Julie's gracious salutation and her sincere and limpid glance, and for the first time in thirty years removed his three-cornered hat and, instead of replacing it at once on his head, held it awkwardly, but respectfully, under his arm throughout the visit.
Julie did not resort to the vulgar ruse of trying to flatter his caprice; she was really interested in the treasures of horticulture which were exhibited to her. Herself a flower, she loved flowers. This is no madrigal,—to use a phrase then in vogue. There is a natural affinity between all divine creations, and in all ages symbols have been used to express realities.
The rich man, although he had little of the rose about him, bloomed resplendent at the sincere admiration bestowed on his beloved plants. Little by little his assumed haughtiness vanished before the sylph whose feet hardly grazed his lawns, and who flitted among his flower-beds like a caressing breeze. He awaited with entire resignation the announcement of the price fixed for the pavilion.
"Come, my dear uncle," said Marcel, seeing that Madame d'Estrelle had apparently forgotten the affair, "tell madame la comtesse of your desire to purchase—"
"True," said the rich man, careful not to commit himself too far, "I have had some idea of buying the pavilion; but now if madame does not wish to part with it——"
"I have but one reason for not wishing to part with it. It is occupied by some people whom I esteem, and whom I would not disturb on any consideration."
"They have a lease, I suppose?" said Monsieur Thierry, who knew all about it.
"Why, of course," said Marcel; "you would have to pay them a fair indemnity in case they should consent to cancel the lease, for you know they took it very recently."
"A fair indemnity!" repeated the uncle, with a frown.
"I would gladly undertake to pay that," said Madame d'Estrelle, "if——"
"If I would pay more for the place in proportion!"
"That is not what I was about to say," rejoined Julie, in a dignified tone which cut short all discussion. "I intended to say, and I say now that, if Madame Thierry, your sister-in-law, has the slightest objection to leaving that house, I propose to uphold her right to remain throughout the term of the lease; and that is a condition which the purchaser cannot evade on any pretext."
"That will delay the transaction and make it less advantageous to madame," said Monsieur Antoine, who, was consumed with longing to utter the fascinating title ofcountess, but could not quite make up his mind to do it.
"I do not say no to that, Monsieur Thierry," replied Julie, with an indifference which the rich man considered a fair artifice.
"However," he began after a pause, "what price does——"
Marcel was about to reply. Julie, who evidently knew nothing about business, paid no heed to him, but answered ingenuously:
"Oh! I know nothing about that. You are well-known to be a shrewd and fair-minded man; you may fix the price yourself."
Regardless of her solicitor's reproachful glance, she continued:
"You cannot believe, Monsieur Thierry, that the purpose of my visit to your garden was to haggle with you over the price of my small property. I know that it will probably be of advantage to you to own it, and you know that I am in straitened circumstances; that is no reason why we should be unreasonable in our demands upon each other; but in justice to myself I must tell you this, that I would not for a million francs consent to distress madame your sister-in-law, because I love and honor her especially. That being understood, you can think it over and let me know your decision; for you owe me a call now, my dear neighbor, and I shall not release you from the debt, whether we come to terms or not."
The countess withdrew, leaving the rich man dazzled by her charms; but, as he did not choose to allow Marcel to see his emotion, he pretended to exult for another reason.
"Well, attorney," he said triumphantly, "so you are fairly caught, and sheepish enough! What did you say about that lady's demands? She has more sense than you, and is willing to take my valuation——"
"Very good, very good, rejoice at her charming manners," replied Marcel, "and make the most of the praise which you owe to her politeness; but try to understand and to rise to the level of the rôle which she ascribes to you!"
"After all," rejoined Antoine, who was a very shrewd man of business, "when you say to a man like me: 'Pay what you choose,' it means: 'Pay like a great nobleman!' Very good, I will pay you a good price,mordi!and the great lady shall see whether I'm an old curmudgeon like her father-in-law the marquis! There is one thing that surprises me on the part of a woman who seems to be no fool: and that is the fuss she makes about my sister-in-law! I am not quite sure whether she meant to be agreeable to me or to make sport of me when she was talking about her."
"She meant to be agreeable to you."
"Of course, as she needs me; but then my sister-in-law must have made me out a miser?"
"My aunt has not mentioned you. Act in such a way that she will have no reason to complain."
"Let her complain if she chooses! what do I care? What do I want of this countess's esteem and friendship?"
"True," said Marcel, taking his hat, "it is all a matter of the utmost indifference to you! No matter, don't try to make yourself out a boor, and let us agree on a day so that I can announce your visit."
Antoine selected the second day thereafter, and they parted; but on the next day, without a word to Marcel, he took measures, indirectly but adroitly, to repurchase the house at Sèvres without loss to himself. Had he decided to make his nephew that present, to give his sister-in-law that pleasure? No indeed. There never was a more vindictive man, because nothing had occurred to wear out his passions, good or evil. There had been nothing in his narrow life of sufficient importance to soften the asperities of his nature. But a blow had been dealt at his secret vanity, and Julie d'Estrelle, without artifice, without scheming to that end, had subdued that savage spirit. He found in her an irresistible charm and an unaffected tone of equality, which, to be sure, he attributed to her need of money, but which flattered him as he had never been flattered in his life before. He had determined therefore to pretend to feel something like compassion for Madame Thierry. He was afraid that she would really do him an injury in Julie's estimation, and by purchasing the house at Sèvres in his own name, he persuaded himself that he would hold his foe in respect by the hope that that transaction would prove to be for Julien's benefit.
Meanwhile Marcel continued his efforts to relieve Madame d'Estrelle gradually from her burden, and on the evening of the day of her visit to Monsieur Antoine, he called upon her to scold her for her recklessness, and to insist that she should make the purchaser jump high for the sugar-plum. He found her disinclined to assent to any manœuvring to secure the desired result.
"Do as you think best, my dear Monsieur Thierry," she said; "but do not ask me to assist you. You told me that your uncle was a little vain, that I could easily gain some influence over him by virtue of my title, and that, by means of that influence, I could arouse his interest in his sister-in-law's lot. I made haste to test my power. You tell me that you hope for some good result; I did what my heart dictated, do not ask me to do anything more. Why are you in such a hurry to sell the pavilion? Didn't you tell me that my husband's creditors would be patient when they found that I was provided with an additional piece of real estate, that the marquis would never allow the hôtel d'Estrelle to be sold, and that I might venture to forget my troubles for some time? Keep your word and let your uncle hover about the pavilion, for that will give me an excuse for pleading Madame Thierry's cause. I told the truth when I said that I did not propose that she should be turned out of her present quarters against her will, and I tell you now that I should regret exceedingly to lose her as a neighbor."
Marcel, being unable to shake her determination, went to see his aunt Thierry and told her and Julien of the countess's generous action and of her kindly feeling for them. Madame Thierry was affected to tears, and, as Julien was careful to play his part well, so that certain suspicions might be dissipated, she ventured to express herself freely in praise of Julie d'Estrelle. Her heart was overflowing with gratitude which she had with difficulty restrained for two days past. Thus did the poor mother herself pour oil on the flame.
However, her suspicions came to life again more than once. She watched Julien furtively at every word that she uttered, and he seemed always perfectly tranquil; but suddenly there came a revelation. As she was saying to Marcel that she did not wish to stand in the way of Julie's selling the pavilion, and that she would pretend not to regret the necessity of moving, Julien warmly remonstrated.
"Move again?" he said. "We cannot do it. We spent a great deal, considering our income, in getting settled here."
"Our uncle will attend to that," said Marcel; "if he makes you move, I will undertake to make him pay——"
"My dear fellow," replied Julien, still very earnest, "you are full of zeal and kindness for us; but you know very well that my mother does not like your appeals to Uncle Antoine, that you have made them in a measure against her will, and that, if my interests were not involved, she would have peremptorily forbidden them. Whether she is right or wrong in considering Monsieur Thierry a detestable creature is not for us to judge. For my own part, however painful it may be to me, I will make all possible concessions to our kinsman's extraordinary character; but I do not propose that my mother's pride shall be wounded in her relations with him."
"No, no! I have no pride," cried Madame Thierry. "I have none now, Julien! You work too hard, you will surely be sick if we refuse to treat with Monsieur Antoine. Whatever Marcel does, I approve, and if I must humble myself, I shall be happy to do it! Let us do our duty, pay all our debts before everything. Let us say to the countess that it makes little difference to us whether we live here or somewhere else, so that she can sell at once; and let Marcel say to Monsieur Thierry that we demand our rights or that we appeal to his generosity—anything will satisfy me that will restore your health and peace of mind."
"My health is excellent," replied Julien warmly, "and nothing except moving again would disturb my peace of mind. I like my studio, I have a picture under way."
"But you are talking selfishly, my child! You forget that the countess is having trouble with her creditors as we are, even more than we are just now."
"And do you think that Monsieur Antoine will save her by buying this old barrack? Marcel knows better."
"What I think," said Marcel, "is that Uncle Antoine will submit to any conditions that the Comtesse d'Estrelle chooses to impose on him; he will pay a high price and he won't turn you out. Leave it to me and I may bring him to something even better."
"To what, pray?"
"That is my secret. You shall know later, if I do not fail."
"Bless my soul!" said Madame Thierry, abruptly changing the subject, "I forgot to bring my snuff-box; go and get it for me, Julien."
Julien went upstairs and his mother took advantage of the opportunity to say hastily to Marcel:
"Be careful, my dear child! a great disaster is hanging over us: Julien is in love with the countess!"
"Nonsense!" cried Marcel in utter stupefaction; "you are dreaming, my dear aunt, it isn't possible!"
"Speak lower. It is possible, it is a fact. Arrange for us to leave these dangerous quarters at once. Find some way without letting him suspect what I say. Save him and save me! Hush! he is coming down again!"
Julien had done the errand in a moment. He was in a hurry to resume the conversation; but he noticed a shade of constraint in his mother's glance, a suggestion of bewilderment and surprise in Marcel's manner. He suspected that he had betrayed himself, and he at once assumed a cheerful and indifferent air, which did not deceive Madame Thierry, but which reassured the solicitor. So Marcel took his leave, saying to himself that he would sound his cousin some day, but fully persuaded that his aunt was losing her wits a little, in the midst of all her excitement.
But Marcel made a much more astonishing discovery, a discovery so truly astonishing that we beg our readers to prepare themselves for it a long while beforehand.
Uncle Antoine paid his visit to Madame d'Estrelle. Madame d'Estrelle, without preparation or effort, was as charming, perhaps more charming than at their first interview. She received the horticulturist with neither more nor less affability than a person of her own station. Being gifted with a penetration which made up for his lack of experience, he realized that his reception was unexceptionable, and felt that he had never been so well treated by a person of such high rank. He recognized, moreover, that she was entirely indifferent to the question of money, and that her condescension concealed no ulterior motive, not even the motive of effecting a reconciliation between himself and Madame Thierry, as she avowed it frankly and with a most earnest and confident expression of her desire.
Marcel, seeing the gratification which his uncle derived from that interview, and which he almost forgot to conceal, realized that perfect sincerity was in some cases the shrewdest diplomacy, and that Madame d'Estrelle had accomplished more for her protégés and herself than if she had attempted to use craft.
"Now," said Monsieur Antoine, without waiting to be questioned, "we must settle this business of the pavilion. It is worth forty thousand francs to me, I know; I will give that amount, and as I propose to take possession at once, I owe it to Madame Thierry to submit to any claims she may make. I don't propose to have any discussion with that woman. So tell her that I will pay the six thousand francs for which I made myself responsible, and release her from any claim on that account; here is my receipt. And if she needs a few more francs to pay the expenses of moving, I won't refuse to let her have them. Go, and don't let me hear any more of her troubles; but, first of all, take the countess my offer, which I think is rather generous, and tell her of my promise to indemnify her protégés to their satisfaction."
Marcel, amazed but overjoyed, carried the good news first to Madame Thierry, who thanked heaven, and was very near blessing her brother-in-law for his determination to make her move instantly and at any price.
Madame d'Estrelle was not so well pleased; she had seen the attractive widow again, and had already become very fond of talking with her; moreover, she had some scruples; Monsieur Antoine's munificence seemed to her the foolish act of a parvenu and therefore humiliating to her.
"He will think," she said, "that I schemed to induce him to make this sacrifice, and that idea is abhorrent to me. No, I will accept only half of that sum. I much prefer to retain his esteem and my influence in behalf of the poor Thierrys. Go and tell him that I want but twenty thousand francs and a renewal of your aunt's lease."
"But my aunt is most anxious to move," Marcel replied. "Remember that a sum of considerable importance to her is involved."
"In that case give no more attention to her affairs in my name, but take special care of my dignity, which I place in your hands."
This reply, being duly transmitted to Monsieur Antoine, caused an explosion which astonished Marcel.
"So she declines my services," cried the rich man, "for I did intend to do her a service, knowing her embarrassment, and I went to her as a friend, since she had treated me like a friend! Ah! you see, Marcel, she is proud, she despises me, and she lied when she told me that she esteemed me! Very good, if that's how it is, I'll have my revenge. Yes, I'll have a cruel revenge, and she shall have only what she deserves, and, death of my life! I'll force her to go on her knees to me!"
Marcel silently scrutinized the angry rich man's still handsome and decidedly cruel face.
"What is this new mystery?" he said to himself, as he watched the black eyes, made larger by the fierce wrath which caused them to emit threatening flames. "Can wounded vanity cause such an outbreak? Can it be that my uncle is on the verge of madness? Is this solitary, monotonous, preoccupied life too much for his strength, and has his persistent turning of his back on everything that gives light and warmth to the lives of other men finally caused derangement in his brain?"
Antoine continued vehemently, heedless of Marcel's careful study of his person:
"I see what the game is! She wants my sacrifices to help Madame Thierry. Well, I tell you that I snap my fingers at Mademoiselle de Meuil! It's a long time since I ceased to have either hatred or affection for her. Let her go to the devil, and don't let me hear her name again! I will pay forty thousand francs for the pavilion, or I won't buy it. That's my way of thinking."
Matters remained in this position for several days; Madame d'Estrelle laughing at what she considered an attack of madness on the part of the old parvenu, and he, without Marcel's knowledge, acting in such a way as to put the finishing touch to that madness.
He purchased secretly all the debts which were hanging over the Comte d'Estrelle's widow, and, without saying a word, placed himself in a position where he could ruin her or save her, according to the attitude she might assume with respect to him. He purchased on his own account, but under a fictitious name, and with a deed of defeasance, the house at Sèvres with all its beautiful and costly contents. He did not let it, but placed a caretaker there to keep it in order. All this was done in a few days and without regard to cost; then, having artfully made inquiries of Marcel as to Madame d'Estrelle's intimate friends, he called upon the Baronne d'Ancourt, who received him with her grandest manner, but condescended to listen attentively when she learned that he had come to place her in a position to save Madame d'Estrelle from certain ruin.
Their interview was long and mysterious. The servants at the hôtel d'Ancourt, who were exceedingly puzzled by such a conference between their haughty mistress and a man dressed like a peasant, heard the baroness's shrill tones, then the rustic voice in labored and emphatic declamation—a dispute, in short, with intervals of raillery or merriment; for at times the baroness laughed until the windows shook.
An hour later the baroness hurried to Madame d'Estrelle.
"My dear," she said in great excitement, "I bring you five millions or poverty; choose."
"Ah! an old husband, I suppose?" said Julie; "you cling to your idea, do you?"
"A very old husband; but five millions!"
"With a great name, of course?"
"Not the faintest shadow of a name! a downright plebeian; but five millions, Julie!"
"An honorable man, at all events?"
"He is so considered. Have you decided?"
"Yes, I refuse. Wouldn't you do as much? Would you think well of me if I should accept?"
"I said just what you say: I sent my man about his business, I laughed at him. He replied obstinately; 'Five millions, madame, five millions!'"
"And he must have convinced you, since you are here?"
"Convinced or not, I was surprised, dazzled. I said, like the queen: 'You persuade me strongly!'"
"Then you advise me to say yes?"
"Don't say yes, sayperhaps; then you can reflect and I will reflect for you; for at this moment my brain is a little confused: those millions intoxicated me. What would you have? The man is old, and before long you will be free and people will have done crying out against the misalliance; besides, everybody knows that your own descent is not very distinguished. You will open a salon which will eclipse all Paris, and where all Paris will trample upon itself to take part in your entertainments; for, when all is said, all Paris has only one thing in its head, which is to be amused and to go where people are amused. You will give balls, concerts and theatricals; you will have artists, fine singers and fine talkers; in a word, bright people to stir up and amuse the people of quality, who are not bright. Ah! if I had millions—if I had just two—I should know what to do with them! Come, don't think I am mad, and don't be cowardly. Accept the plebeian and opulence."
"And what about the husband's old age?"
"An additional reason!"
Julie was indignant, Amélie was offended; they had a falling-out. Madame d'Ancourt had not mentioned the suitor's name—it had not occurred to Julie to inquire. She placed the matter in Marcel's hands, desiring that her refusal should be placed beyond question. She was afraid that her impulsive friend, in her anger, would compromise her by giving her protégé some reason to hope. Marcel went to Madame d'Ancourt to learn the name of the man with the five millions.
"Ah! she thinks better of it, does she?" cried the baroness.
"No, madame, quite the reverse."
"Very well, I shall not tell you. I gave my word of honor not to mention any names, if the offer was rejected."
Marcel went to his uncle; he had a suspicion of the truth, but he had not dared suggest it to Madame d'Estrelle, thinking justly that she would reproach him for having brought her into relations with an insane old man. Moreover, he knew nothing of his uncle's fortune beyond the two millions which he admitted, and that figure, which had been often repeated to Julie, and so had prevented her from suspecting the truth, went far to destroy Marcel's suspicions.
"Well, my little uncle," he said abruptly as soon as he entered the room "so you have five millions, have you?"
"Why not thirty?" retorted the old man with a shrug; "have you gone mad?"
Marcel worried him with questions to no purpose; the uncle was inscrutable. Moreover, a most momentous event had come to pass on his domain, and his thoughts were completely diverted from his dreams of marriage. The mysterious lily, at which he had so often gazed, which he had watched and nurtured and watered so carefully, in the hope of being able to give it his name, had unexpectedly, during those few days of forgetfulness and neglect, put forth a sturdy shoot, which was already laden with swelling buds; indeed, one of the buds had partly opened, displaying a corolla soft as satin, of an incomparable sheeny white, with bright red stripes. That exotic plant surpassed in oddity and in beauty all its congeners, and the frantic horticulturist, endowed with new life and almost consoled for his matrimonial mishap, exclaimed again and again, as he paced his hothouse floor in intense excitement, pausing at intervals to gloat over the budding of his plant:
"There it is! there it is! my reputation is made. That shall be theAntonia Thierrii, and all the collectors in Europe may burst with rage if they choose."
"Well, well!" said Marcel to himself, "is it theAntoniaor the countess that my uncle is in love with?"
Marcel, seeing that his uncle's vanity as a horticulturist had resumed the upper hand, and thinking that he might exploit his delight to the advantage of his aunt and cousin, lavished the most fulsome praise on the future Antonia.
"You intend, of course, to present it to the Royal Garden. The learned professors will hold you in the greatest esteem!"
"Oh! as to that, not much!" replied Monsieur Antoine; "they can look at it to their heart's content, describe it in their fine language,specificizeit as they say; but it's the only specimen of its kind, and I won't part with it until I have a lot of bulbs."
"But what if it dies without offspring?"
"Why, then my name will live in the catalogues!"
"That isn't enough! If I were in your place I would have it painted, in case of accident."
"How painted? do you mean to say that they paint flowers now? Ah! I understand, you mean that I ought to have a portrait made of it? I have thought of that for some of my other rare plants; but I was on bad terms with my brother, and when I went to other painters I was never satisfied with their crazy daubing. I paid big prices and then slashed the canvas or tore the paper."
"And you have never thought of Julien?"
"Bah! Julien! an apprentice!"
"Have you ever seen any of his work?"
"No, nothing, faith!"
"Do you want me to bring——"
"No, nothing, I tell you. We are not on good terms."
"Yes you are! He has always called on you on the first of January every year, and you have never had any fault to find with his manner toward you."
"True, he is well brought up, he isn't stupid or bad-looking; but since I refused to advance him the money to redeem the house at Sèvres——"
"Julien has never uttered a word of blame or dissatisfaction, I give you my word of honor."
"All that doesn't prove that he has the necessary talent!"
"Look! a small specimen tells the story as well as a large one. Take your magnifying glass and look at this."
Marcel took from his pocket a pretty little tortoise-shell snuff-box, on the lid of which was a bouquet painted in miniature by Julien. Although it was not in his regular line of work, he had made a microscopic reproduction of one of his large canvases to decorate this gift for Marcel, and it was in truth a littlechef-d'œuvre.
Uncle Antoine did not know enough about painting to appreciate its artistic qualities; but he knew the structure of every detail of a plant as well as the most accomplished botanist, and, armed with his magnifying glass, if he could not count the stamens of each flower and the veins of each leaf, he could at all events assure himself that, in the sacrifices which the artist had made in favor of the general effect, there was involved no error, no caprice of the imagination, no offence, however slight, against the unchangeable laws of creation.
He looked a long while, then ingenuously inquired if Julien was capable of painting flowers as large as life, and upon Marcel's replying in the affirmative he decided that Julien should paint the portrait of theAntonia Thierrii, but that it must be done under his eyes, so that he could see to it that it was absolutely exact in the smallest details.
"I know what these painters are!" he said; "they always want to invent, to improve on the original. They talk to you aboutstyleandlightandeffect!Oh! I remember all their foolish words! If Julien chooses to obey me, between us we may perhaps succeed in producing something fine! Go and tell him, so that he will be ready to come and pass an hour here the day after to-morrow; it will be in full flower then."
Marcel went to consult Julien, then returned and told his uncle that he would require at least two days to study his model, and that he must let him work at it without making any suggestions until he should ask for them, when he would comply with them if they seemed judicious to him.
"He is very proud!" said the uncle angrily. "Here he is, raising objections already, like his father! Does he think that I ask him to do this as a favor? I intend to pay him, and to pay him as well as any other man would. What is a day of any gentleman's work worth?"
"He doesn't want to be paid. If you are satisfied with what he does, he will ask you for your custom."
"I know what that means; he will ask me——"
"Nothing. You can settle everything yourself. We know that you are generous with people you don't hate, and you won't hate Julien when you know him better."
"Very well, let him come at once; let him begin."
"No, he has some work that is urgent; he will give you a few hours to-morrow for a beginning."
On the following day Julien began to study the plant, and made several sketches of it, taking them from different points of view. Monsieur Antoine, faithful to the conditions exacted, did not see these sketches until they were submitted to him. He was more pleased with them than he chose to say. That conscientious method of studying the structure and bearing of the plant surprised and gratified him. Julien said little, but kept his eyes constantly on his model and seemed to love it passionately. The horticulturist began to feel some esteem for him, and as Madame Thierry had never mentioned to her son her brother-in-law's strange conduct toward her, as nothing in the young man's face or manners betrayed the slightest feeling of aversion, Antoine, who had the greater longing to become attached to some one as he became more selfish, conceived a latent, and if we may say so, an underground sort of friendship for him.
On the second day Julien began to paint; thereupon the uncle ceased to understand what he was doing and began to be uneasy. It was much worse when Julien informed him that he must finish the work in his studio, where the light was arranged as he wanted it, and where he had a multitude of little things which he could not carry back and forth without forgetting some of them. It was some distance from the pavilion to the hôtel de Melcy, and he would have no time to waste going to and fro the next day, for it was most essential to seize on the wing the plant's expression when it was in full bloom.
But to transport the model was to put it in peril, to hasten its blooming, weaken its stalk, deaden its lustre! Uncle Antoine, finding the artist immovable, determined to carry the pricelessAntoniato the studio himself, with the greatest possible care, even at the risk of meeting Madame Thierry and being obliged to salute her.
In forcing this unpleasant sacrifice upon Uncle Antoine, Julien was not governed by the petty crotchets of a finical artist. He was following Marcel's advice, who was bent upon bringing about some sort of reconciliation between the relations, and who, having abandoned all hope of inducing Madame Thierry to make the slightest advance, had considered it necessary to surprise her by an unexpected meeting with her enemy.
Madame Thierry, whom we have represented to you as perfect in every respect, and who was as perfect as a woman can be, had nevertheless one little failing. Although she was not coquettish, although she did not pretend or believe herself to be still young, she had never said to herself: "I am an old woman."—What woman in her day was more sensible or more clear-sighted? Her youth had burst into flower among madrigals and gallant speech and manners. She had been so pretty, and she was so well preserved! Her husband, although he ruined her by his recklessness, had been in love with her to his last day, and it really seemed as if that old couple were destined to reproduce the legend of Philemon and Baucis. By dint of being told that she was still charming, which was perfectly true considering her age, good Madame Thierry still thought and felt herself to be all a woman, and after thirty-five years she had not forgotten how deeply the ex-armorer's proposal had wounded her pride and her self-esteem. That brutal man, who had had the audacity to say to her: "I am here, I am rich, you may as well love me instead of my brother," had caused her the only real mortification connected with what society in those days called "her fault." Later, her charm and loyalty had caused her husband's admirers to seek her society. She was able to hold her head erect, to triumph over prejudice, to occupy a place apart, an exceptional and most desirable place in public opinion. She was happy therefore except for a single wound, still bleeding, in the depths of her heart. It seemed to her that her honor had been sullied once in her life, by Monsieur Antoine's offers and aspirations.
Marcel was unable to penetrate this labyrinth of feminine refinements. He believed that time had wiped out the last trace of that absurd episode, and that Madame Thierry told the truth when she declared that she was ready to forgive everything in order to obtain for Julien his wealthy kinsman's favor.
Julien was not the man to covet Uncle Antoine's wealth. He had never said to himself that by fawning upon him he might make sure of a goodly share of his inheritance. For a long time he had fought against the idea of asking him for a slight service; but the longing to recover for his mother, by hard work, the house in which she had been so happy, had overcome his pride. Determined to devote his whole life, if necessary, to the task of paying his debt, he no longer blushed at the measures which Marcel took to induce Antoine to advance the necessary funds.
But, when it was time for his uncle to appear, Julien had some scruples about deceiving his mother. He was afraid that the surprise would be too great, and he tried to prepare her for the visit he expected. Madame Thierry made the best of it; but she had hardly saluted Monsieur Antoine when she went up to her room on the first pretext that occurred to her, and there remained, unable to make up her mind to face that antipathetic individual. Antoine, who had not seen her for thirty years or more, did not recognize her at once, and had not the presence of mind to apologize. He had walked across his grounds, which had a servants' gate opening on Rue de Babylone, near the pavilion. As he would trust no one but himself to touch his beplumed lily, he had brought it in with his own hands. He placed it with his own hands on the table in the little studio. He removed with his own hands the enormous horn of white paper which protected it; and when he saw that the artist was fairly at work, he took a newspaper which Madame d'Estrelle sent to Madame Thierry every morning, and dozed in a corner of the studio.