"You shall have more than that," said Madame Thierry, "you shall have the affection of warm and sincere hearts, and you shall know such happiness as you might have known long ago; but we will do all we can to make up for lost time."
"That is mere talk," said Monsieur Antoine. "Happiness is being one's own master, and I don't need anybody to be mine. I don't like brats and mawkish sentiment; I wasn't made to be the father of a family, but I could have governed a country very well, if I had been born a king. It has always been my whim to command, and I reign over whatever is within my reach much better than many monarchs who don't know what they are doing!"
Despite the anxiety which Julien's absence caused her, and her longing to send Marcel after him, Madame Thierry felt called upon to invite Monsieur Antoine to supper.
"Oh!" said he, "I sup on a hard crust of bread and a glass of cheap wine. That is my habit: I have never cared much about eating."
She gave him what he asked for, and Marcel hastened their departure.
"I am sure that Julien is at my house waiting for me," he said to his aunt. "He must be impatient because I do not return; but my wife is there, and she will keep him quiet; Juliot will chatter to him, and if he should be sicker, you may be sure that he is well taken care of."
Julien was frantically impatient in very truth, despite the attentions which Madame Marcel lavished upon him. He had felt exceedingly weak when he arrived. He had tried to eat a little and to divert his thoughts with his godson's pretty prattle; but, as Marcel did not appear, when he heard the clock strike eleven, he could stand it no longer. He declared that his mother would be anxious if he had not returned at midnight; he promised to take a cab to return to Sèvres, and started for Rue de Babylone on foot, with many detours and precautions, to avoid being watched and followed, as formerly, by some agent of Monsieur Antoine. He arrived unmolested. His actions were no longer watched. Monsieur Antoine had been spying upon Julie too long not to be sure that she no longer had any relations with Julien.
At midnight, Julien, who had been at the door fifteen minutes, entered and found Julie, who also had been waiting fifteen minutes in the pavilion. At the same moment Marcel, Monsieur Antoine, and Madame Thierry entered Paris by the Barrière de Sèvres. Monsieur Antoine's frugal supper and slow conversation had lasted a little too long to suit the widow. Being anxious about her son, she had asked for a seat in the chaise, that she might join Julien at Marcel's.
As the moment for his meeting with Julie drew near, Julien had summoned all his courage. He anticipated a painful explanation, he had taken an inward oath that he would be neither angry nor reproachful nor weak, and yet, when he opened the door, his hand trembled, a giddiness born of frenzy and despair made him hesitate and recoil; but, the instant that she saw him, Julie uttered a joyful cry, threw her arms about his neck, and strained him passionately to her heart. They were in the dark, they could not see how changed they both were. They felt that their kisses were burning, and it did not occur to either of them that it might be with fever. At that moment the only fever was that fever of love which gives life. They had forgotten that which causes death.
But that moment of intoxication did not long endure in Julien's case. More alarmed than exhilarated by Julie's caresses, he hastily pushed her away.
"Why do you still love me," he said, "if you still intend to leave me?"
"Oh! perhaps it won't be for long!" she replied.
"You wrote me that this was an eternal farewell."
"I don't know what I wrote, I was mad; but there can be no eternal farewell, it is not possible when two people love as we do."
"Then you are going away, but you will return?"
"If I can, yes! Let us not talk about that. This night is ours, let us love!"
Amid the transports of love, Julien was again seized with terror. Julie unguardedly uttered excited words in which there was an indefinably ominous implication which made his blood run cold.
"Ah!" he exclaimed abruptly, "you are deceiving me! You are going away forever, or else you think that you are going to die! You are ill, I know; given up by the doctors it may be?"
"No, I give you my word that the doctors promise to cure me."
"I want to see your face; I can't see you here, let us go out. I am afraid! It seems to me at times that I am dreaming, and that it is your ghost that I hold in my arms."
He led her into the garden where it was almost as dark as in the pavilion.
"I can't see you,mon Dieu!I can't see your face," said Julien, anxiously. "I can feel that your arms are thinner, that your waist is smaller. You seem to have become so light that your feet do not touch the gravel. Tell me, are you a dream? Am I here, by your side, in this garden where we have been so happy? I am afraid I am mad!"
They drew near to the basin: there, as the moonless sky was without a cloud and was reflected in the water with all its stars, Julien saw that Madame d'Estrelle was pale, and the whiteness of the water, reflected on her face, made her appear even more ghastly than she was. He could tell that her face had grown thin by the increased size of her eyes, which shone brightly in the darkness.
"I was sure of it!" he cried; "you are dying, and that is why you sent for me. Very good; Julie, I will not leave you again; if I am to lose you, I propose to receive your last breath and then die myself."
"No, Julien, you cannot die! think of your mother!"
"Why, my mother will die with us; what do you expect me to say to you? She would have liked to die on the day she lost my father; she said so unconsciously in her first frenzy; and since then, I have fully realized that she has lived only for me. We will all three go together, since we have but one soul between us, and we will go to a world where the purest love will not be a crime. There must be such a world for those who have never been able to understand the wicked prejudices of this one. Let us die, Julie, without remorse or vain regret. Give me your breath, give me your fever, give me your sickness; I swear that I will not survive you!"
"Alas!" said Julie, unable to restrain that outcry of nature; "I might have been cured!"
"What do you mean?" cried Julien, beside himself. "Have you taken poison? Answer, tell me! I insist upon knowing!"
"No, no, I have not!" she replied, dragging him away with a sudden, desperate movement which made a profound impression on him.
She had been leaning over the water, she had seen therein the reflection of her face and her white dress; she had remembered that, an hour later, she must be lying there motionless, dead; she had sworn it. That was the price of her broken oath, that was the price of Julien's happiness; a ghastly fear of death had made her shudder and start back.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked her; "what did you see in the water? what were you thinking about? what made you fly? Ah! I can guess, you intend to die soon, immediately, as soon as I have gone! But I say that it shall not be; you are my wife. Since you still love me, you belong to me; I don't know what oath you have taken, I don't know what constraint has been put upon you; but I, your lover, your husband, your master, release you from everything! I will carry you off by force; no, I will take you with me, that is my right. I do not propose that you shall die, and I propose that my mother shall live to bless you. I have strength for us both; I don't know what sort of a battle I shall have to fight, but I will fight it. Come, let us go! If you haven't strength to walk, I have strength to carry you. Come, I insist! the time has come for you to acknowledge no other power over your life than mine."
As, while leading her back to the pavilion, he led her in the direction of the basin, the combat between remorse and love in her heart became so violent that she uttered a cry of horror, and, clinging to him with all her strength, she said:
"I pledged my word of honor to leave you, and I am breaking my pledge and reducing your mother to want! Can you relieve me from that burden?"
"You are mad!" said Julien; "was my mother so very poor when you first knew her? will my right arm be cut off to keep me from working? Very well, then I will work with my left arm! Ah! I understand everything now. This is the revenge threatened by Monsieur Antoine; I ought to have guessed sooner why our father's house was given back to us. Poor Julie! you were sacrificing yourself for us; but that is all null and void; I have not consented; I have accepted nothing. I submitted, knowing nothing about it. Come, do not tremble any more, I release you from your promise, and woe to the man who dares to remind you of it! If you hesitate, if you shrink from anything, I shall believe that wealth is what you regret, and that you have less courage and love than I!"
"Ah! that is the suspicion I dreaded so!" said Julie. "Let us go, let us go!—but where shall we go? How shall I dare appear before your mother and say: 'I bring you sorrow and ruin?'"
"Julie, you doubt my mother, you no longer love us!"
"Let us go!" she repeated, "let us go to her, and let her decide my fate. Take me, take me away from here!"
Julie was completely crushed by such a multitude of emotions; her strength failed her, and Julien, as he caught her in his arms, saw that she had fainted. It was impossible to do anything for her in the pavilion, so he carried her to her apartment, the garden door being open, and the room lighted. He deposited Julie on a sofa, and she speedily recovered consciousness; but when she attempted to rise, she fell back.
"Ah! my dear," she said, "I cannot stand. Am I going to die here? Is it too late for you to save me? Hark: someone is knocking on the street door, I think."
"No," said Julien, who had heard nothing.
But, as he strove to restore her confidence while his own was beginning to disappear, they were startled by a loud peal of the bell.
"They are coming after me, to carry me away, perhaps!" cried Julie, wildly, "to put me in a convent!—The marchioness, Monsieur Antoine, I don't know who!—And I cannot fly! Take me away, hide me, Julien!"
"Wait, wait," said Julien, who had opened an inner door and was listening; "it is Marcel, calling Camille. Yes, it is some urgent matter. Admit him yourself!"
"I cannot!" said Julie in despair, after one last effort.
"Very well, I will go," said Julien, resolutely. "He must see me here in any event, as I do not propose to leave this house without you."
He hurried to the door of the vestibule, where Marcel was ringing as if he would pull the house down; and before any servant had time to rise and find out what the matter was, Julien opened the door to Marcel and Madame Thierry. He admitted them and locked the doors behind them.
"Ah! my child," cried Madame Thierry, "I was very sure that I should find you here! Victory, Julien, my poor Julien! Ah! I don't know what I am saying; you will be cured at once, we bring you happiness!"
When Julie learned what had happened at Sèvres, life returned to her as it returns to a half-dead plant when the rain falls upon it. Her tense nerves were relaxed by tears of joy. As for Julien, who was almost dangerously ill the day before, he was cured like those paralytics whom a beneficent thunderclap causes to walk and leap about.
After an hour passed in an outpouring of emotion which seemed inexhaustible, Marcel took Madame Thierry home with him to obtain a little rest, and entrusted Julie to the care of Camille, who undertook to keep the servants quiet concerning that nocturnal visit. Julien had already made his escape through the pavilion. Julie slept as she had not slept for a long while.
Luckily, as we have said, Monsieur Antoine no longer kept spies about the hôtel D'Estrelle, and, luckily too, the servants were discreet and devoted to their mistress; for if the rich man had learned of that interview, he might have been made dangerously angry and have changed his mind. He had expressed a desire to inform Madame d'Estrelle of her pardon with his own lips; but he too was tired, relaxed, satisfied, proud of himself; he slept soundly and rose a quarter of an hour later than usual. He was no sooner on his feet than he redoubled his ordinary activity and put his whole household in deadly fear; for he was sharp to command, quick to threaten, and even quicker to raise his hand, armed with a cane, against the sluggish. The old hôtel De Melcy was thrown open, swept and put in order in the twinkling of an eye. Messengers were despatched in all directions, and at noon a sumptuous dinner was served. The guests, assembled in the large gilded salon, anticipated some mysterious event. Marcel brought Madame Thierry and Madame d'Estrelle, whom he had invited in the master's behalf. Julien too had been notified, and arrived in due season. Julie was received by Madame d'Ancourt, Madame Desmorges, her daughter, and her son-in-law. The Duc de Quesnoy had not returned; but Abbé de Nivières was there, determined to eat for two. Madame la présidente did not keep them waiting, and Marcel was commissioned to present to the ladies a collection of botanists, learned professors and collectors, whom Monsieur Antoine was wont to convoke on great occasions.
"It is enough to make one die laughing," said the baroness to Julie, leading her unto a window recess. "The goodman sent a messenger to me at six o'clock this morning, to invite me to witness the christening of a rare plant which is to bear his name! You can imagine what a pleasant awakening it was! I was furious! but I discovered in a postscript that you were to attend the ceremony, and I decided that I would come. So you are reconciled to your old neighbor, are you, my dear? Well, so much the better; you have followed my advice and you will come to it at last, I tell you! The gardener isn't attractive; but five millions! remember that!"
Julie's other friends thought differently. They supposed that Antoine had made an amicable arrangement with her which was satisfactory to them both, and that they ought to accept his invitation, in order to do their friend a service. They questioned Julie with that theory in mind, and Julie did not undeceive them.
As for the professors, the ostentatious christening of a new plant did not seem particularly absurd to them. Monsieur Thierry had enriched horticulture with several interesting specimens. He had fostered the acclimatization of useful trees, and his name well deserved to figure in the annals of science. A good dinner on such an occasion does no harm, and the presence of a number of attractive women is not absolutely inconsistent with the solemn preoccupations of botany.
When everybody had arrived, Monsieur Antoine assumed a modest and good-humored air, a rare but certain symptom of inward triumph unmingled with suspicion. He placed everybody round a large table, in the centre of which an object of considerable height was concealed under a great bell of white paper. Then he took from his pocket a treatise in manuscript, luckily very short, but which it was difficult to listen to without laughing, for in it French and Latin were murdered with the utmost coolness. That manuscript of his own composition, which began withmessieurs et mesdames, and which treated of the importation and cultivation of the most beautiful lilies known, concluded thus: "Having had what I consider the advantage of buying, raising and bringing to perfect bloom the only specimens in France of a lily which exceeds in size, in fragrance and in splendor all varieties above-mentioned, I call the attention of the honorable company to myindividual, and invite them to give it a name."
Having concluded the reading of his speech, Monsieur Antoine deftly raised, with the end of a reed, the white paper covering, and Julien uttered a cry of surprise when he saw theAntonia Thierriiperfectly fresh and blooming in all its glory. He believed at first that there had been some trickery—that it was a perfect artificial imitation; but the plant, when the covering was removed, gave forth a perfume which recalled to his mind, and Julie's as well, the first day of their passion; and when the clamor due to sincere or courteous admiration had made the circuit of the table, Monsieur Antoine added:
"Messieurs les savants, you must know that this plant put forth two shoots, the first one late in May, a very pretty specimen, accidentally broken, and preserved in a herbarium close by; the second in August, twice as large and full as the other. It blossomed, as you see, the tenth day of said month."
"Christen, christen!" cried Madame d'Ancourt. "I would like to stand godmother to that lovely lily, but I fancy that another——"
She glanced at Julie with a mixture of irony and goodwill. The professors paid no heed, but unanimously proclaimed the name ofAntonia Thierrii.
"You are very kind, messieurs," said Monsieur Antoine, flushing with pleasure and stammering with emotion, "but I have a slight modification to suggest to you. It is no more than fair that this plant should bear my name, but I should like to prefix the name of a person who—of a lady who—in short, I ask to have it called theJulia-Antonia Thierrii."
"That's a little long," said Marcel; "but then the plant is so tall!"
THE CHRISTENING OF THE LILY"Julia-Antonia Thierriiit is," replied the professors artlessly.
THE CHRISTENING OF THE LILY
"Julia-Antonia Thierriiit is," replied the professors artlessly.
"Julia-Antonia Thierriiit is," replied the professors artlessly.
"Ah! at last! bravo! so it's decided!" cried the Baronne d'Ancourt, pointing to Julie, and making the sign indicating union with her plump white hands.
Every eye was turned upon Julie, who blushed, and thereby recovered all the splendor of her beauty.
"Excuse me, madame la baronne," said Uncle Antoine, with a sly expression. "I tricked you by going to your house to beg you to make an offer of marriage to Madame d'Estrelle in my behalf. I wanted to see what you would say, and you didn't say no; on the contrary, you advised that young lady to accept me. That was what led me to propose to her the man I had in view for her, for I said to myself: 'If an old fellow like me is eligible because of his money, my nephew, who is young and will have a good share of my money, may be accepted.'—That is how it happens, mesdames and messieurs, that, with the consent of Madame d'Estrelle, I concluded to-day the business troubles we have had by a marriage between her and my nephew Julien Thierry, whom I do myself the honor to present to you."
"Psha! the young painter?" cried Madame d'Ancourt, irritated, she knew not why, by Julien's beauty and impassioned manner.
"A painter?" said the bewildered Madame Desmorges. "Ah! my dear, so it was true after all, was it?"
"Yes, my friends, it was true," replied Julie, boldly; "we loved each other before we knew that Monsieur Antoine would rescue us from the poverty that threatened us both."
"I declare that Monsieur Antoine is a great man and a true philosopher!" cried Abbé de Nivières. "Suppose we adjourn to the table?"
"Let us go to dinner, mesdames and messieurs," said Monsieur Antoine, offering Julie his hand. "You will say it is a misalliance, but three millions for each of my nephews, that helps to rub the dirt off a family, and my grandnephews will have money to purchase titles with."
This last argument changed the blame of Julie's friends into somewhat reluctant congratulations. She had to resign herself to the necessity of appearing to sacrifice vainglory to wealth; but what did it matter to her after all? Julien knew what to think.
Julie, who was still in mourning for her father-in-law, went to Sèvres to pass the rest of the summer. Sèvres is a Norman oasis within two leagues of Paris. The apple-trees give it a rural savor, and the hills, covered with lovely rustic gardens, were at that time quite as charming and more unconventional than to-day. I must not, however, speak slightingly of the lovely villas of Sèvres as it now is, with their magnificent shade trees and the picturesque inequalities of the region through which the river boldly cuts its way. The railroad has not altogether dispelled the poesy of that wooded spot, and it is not unpleasant to be able to reach, in a quarter of an hour, the grass-grown paths and fields sloping to the water's edge. From the top of the hill one can distinguish Paris, an imposing silhouette against the blue sky, through the clumps of trees in the foreground; three steps away, in the bottom of the ravine, one can lose sight of the great city, turn away from the too white villas, and lose oneself in the genuine country, still unspoiled, although a bitrococo, and always lovely with flowers.
There Julie recovered her health, which was seriously impaired for some time, and before as after their marriage, Julien was all in all to her, as she was all in all to him. What society said and thought of their union, they did not care to know. Their real friends sufficed for them, and Madame Thierry was the happiest of mothers. Their happiness was disturbed, it is true, by the political tempests, the approach of which Julien had watched with no idea that they would be so swift and so radical. Having a clear conscience and a generous heart, he made himself very useful in his neighborhood by the pains which he took to relieve want, and to prevent it, so far as he could, from urging its victims on to deplorable acts of violence. For a long time he exerted great influence over the workmen in the factory at Sèvres, and in the faubourg which surrounded the hôtel D'Estrelle. On some days he was well-nigh overwhelmed; but nothing could induce him to do anything which his conscience disapproved, and he was threatened in his turn and was very near being suspected. The firmness with which he faced suspicion, the generous personal sacrifices he had made, the confidence he displayed in the midst of danger, saved him. Julie was as brave as he. The timid woman was transformed; she felt that her soul had developed and been tempered anew in its fusion, brought about by love, with a fearless and upright soul. Her heart was torn, doubtless, when several of her old friends were struck down by the Revolution, despite all Julien's efforts to rescue them. She succeeded in saving some of them by judicious advice and prudent measures. She concealed two in her own house; but she was unable to save the Baronne d'Ancourt, who ruined herself by her excessive fright and underwent a most rigorous captivity. The unfortunate Marquise d'Estrelle could not restrain her rage when the forced loans encroached on her savings. She died on the scaffold. The Duc de Quesnoy emigrated. Abbé de Nivières prudently turned Jacobin.
After the Terror, the suppression of the privilege attached to the royal establishments having enabled Julien to gratify a wish he had often formed, he labored to disseminate the industrial and artistic improvements which he had had leisure to study and to experiment upon at Sèvres. He earned no money by it; that was not his object; in fact he lost something; but he found therein the means of ameliorating the lives of many unfortunates. He was not rich, and his wife was overjoyed to see him continue his artistic work and devote himself lovingly to the education of his children.
Marcel purchased a cottage near theirs at Sèvres, and the two families passed together all the holidays and days of rest which the worthy solicitor was able to steal from his business. He made a little fortune by honorable methods, and Julien was able to manage his own competence with the prudence his father had lacked. Well for him that it was so, for the Revolutionary government confiscated Monsieur Antoine's property. The old man had continued to live alone, feeling no desire for family life, as gracious as it was in his power to be to the debtors whose gratitude flattered his pride, but unwilling to enter into any social relations which would have upset his habits. He had promised Marcel to think no more about marriage, and he kept his word; but he was attacked by another mania. He became, in politics, a reviler of all the events of the Revolution, whatever they might be. Everybody was mad, blundering, stupid. The king was too weak, the people too gentle, the guillotine too lazy and too greedy by turns. And then as that succession of tragedies disturbed his brain, which was more mad than cruel, he changed his opinions and passed from the most unbridled sansculottism to the most laughable dandyism. All this was quite harmless, for he did not intrigue for place, but contented himself with breaking out in words in his rare incursions into society; but he was denounced by workmen whom he had maltreated, and came near paying with his head for his riotous indulgence in obscure eloquence.
Julien and Marcel, by tireless persistence, succeeded in inducing him to leave the hôtel De Melcy, where he defied the storm every day. They kept him out of sight at Sèvres, where he made them very unhappy by his evil humor, and compromised them more than once by his imprudent acts. His property was under sequestration, and he recovered only a few shreds. He endured that terrible blow with much philosophy. He was one of those pilots who curse during the tempest, but keep cool when it is a question of salvage. He refused to take back any part of what Julien had received from him. As his garden had not been injured and he recovered it almost intact, he resumed his former habits and recovered comparative good humor. He lived there until 1802, still active and robust. One day they found him sitting perfectly still on a bench in the sunshine, his watering pot half full beside him, and on his knees an undecipherable manuscript, the last lucubration of his wornout brain. He had died without warning. The night before he had said to Marcel:
"Never fear, you shall have the millions you expected to inherit from me! Let me live only about ten years, and I shall make a larger fortune than I ever had. I have a scheme for a constitution which will save France from ruin; after that I will think a little of myself and go back to my exporting business."