CHAPTER XXVII
JEAN knew that there was one thing more he had to do, and it seemed to him as if it were the only thing in the world left to him to do. He could procure the four hundred francs for Margot. He found his Uncle Romain in the best of humours; his wife had gone to the country to see her mother for some days, and he felt half-empty Paris delightful.
“Ah, my dear boy!” he cried as Jean came into the smoking room. “You will never know freedom until you marry! No bachelor can understand the joys of escape, for he has nothing really to escape from. Freedom, I have always thought, is the absence of restraint; and I take it one must have restraint in order to lose it. The absence of restraint is merely another way of saying ‘Your dear aunt has gone into the country to see her mother.’ What a blessed institution one’s family is! To me this aspect of the mother-in-law at some little distance in the country, liable tooccasional attacks of indigestion which she mistakes for heart failure, has about it something that is very touching, almost sacred! I believe in preserving these relationships. All relationships are to my mind a direct ministration of Providence to prevent the dangers of intimacy. This, Jean, is a very important thing for you to remember. I sometimes think you overlook the value of relationships; a mind that is not divided against itself is a bore. I see that you are having one of those attacks of concentration at the present moment! Light a cigarette, and you will find the liqueurs behind the billiard table—take one and think of something else! It is much too hot to be in earnest!”
“Mon oncle,” said Jean, waving his hand to decline the cigarette, the liqueur, or any other consideration than his purpose, “I have worked here now for three years in Paris, and I have not asked you for money, have I?”
Romain leaned back in his immense armchair and opened his eyes very wide with a charming smile in them.
“But my dear boy,” he said, “do not tell me that at the end of three years you know less of life than at the beginning? I have never heard such a confession of failure. Besides, you can’t sincerely mean to ask me for money now—I never lend, you know, I borrow, and I don’t even borrow as often as I could wish; but that, however, is not my fault. It would charm me to be of service toyou, of course, but tell me about it; if it was the good Liane, now, I should be tempted; I met her the other night, I thought her looking a little—well, as if she should begin to lay up pears for the thirst. She won’t, you know, last much longer. They say she eats nothing and sleeps in her stays. But the years that take away from us everything else add, in spite of all we may do to prevent it, to the figure. It is, indeed, the only addition they seem prepared to make for us.”
“It is not Liane,man oncle,” said Jean. “I want to tell you the story; you know, after all, we’re the same flesh and blood, and it is good blood too, isn’t it? I think you’ll feel as I do, that something horribly bad must be stopped.”
Romain did not become serious, but something in Jean’s tone silenced him. He listened to his brother’s son, and as Jean told him the story of Flaubert’s baseness to Margot he felt a curious twinge of sentiment; he almost wished for a moment that Jean had been his own son instead. He was silent when Jean had finished, and he let his cigarette go out; he almost stopped smiling.
“Oh well, you know, my dear fellow,” he said at last, “the man’scanaille, that’s all! there are those in Paris! Certainly one mustn’t dun a woman for money when one is in search of her favour, that is understood. Yes! it is rather base, that money! He must have bourgeois blood. It reminds one of politics! It is quite the trickof a politician that! Yes, your friend Flaubert leaves an unpleasant taste in one’s mouth. I should like to help you. I don’t think I can, but I should like to. Why didn’t you marry the little Pauline? It is such a pity you let her slip into Pierre de Lodéve’s hands. Of course, it is his aunt’s doing; she is an admirable woman, so pious! She made the girl make magnificent settlements. I always rely on truly religious people for the business instinct. They manage very thoroughly on earth and we are told that they also lay up for themselves treasure in heaven. I can well believe it. Now, as to the four hundred francs—I have no money at all at present, but I happen to know that your dear aunt has a thousand francs, I think—a sum in a little blue bag in her desk, which she has set apart for a Home for Girls. I went there with her once; it was a most painful sight, and I thought unnecessary. There were two hundred of them; I did not think France had so many plain daughters; they were to be saved from destruction, and really, as I pointed out to your aunt at the time, nature had already provided for their safety. It is a pity to try to improve upon Nature’s methods. Now one might very well, I think, take the money to help a pretty girl! I remember that the little Margot is pretty?”
Jean smiled in spite of himself.
“Yes, Uncle Romain,” he said, “very pretty.”
“And your friend, your charming friend, MadameTorialli, is she also interested in the case?” asked Romain carelessly. Jean flushed to his forehead.
“I—I have not spoken to her of it lately,” he said in a stifled voice.
“Ah well,” said Romain, “perhaps you are right. She is a sympathetic woman, but, of course, in your situation it would be difficult to unmask Flaubert.”
“I may have to leave the situation,” said Jean. “It will be impossible for me to stay longer with Monsieur Flaubert.”
Romain looked at him again, and again he was sharply conscious of the wish that Jean had been his son. It was absurd, he would have disliked to have a son of that age very much, and three years ago he had actually despised Jean; he despised him now a little, but he liked him more than he despised him.
“Bon!” he said. “I will go and fetch the little bag; your aunt will be enraged, but I shall tell her the goodness of the case and conceal the prettiness of the girl; and, Jean, I cannot give you anything for yourself. I should, you know, rather like to. Go and order a suit at my tailor’s. You know the man? I never pay him. No, don’t thank me, only if you should find yourself in any particularly bad place—or rather in no place at all—I have a littlechâletat Joinville by the river. You might run down there for a few days; they’ll look after you all right—only let me know first, asit is sometimes occupied, and be careful that you never let your aunt have the address. I do not think the climate would suit her. You are sure you won’t have anything to drink? I have an engagement to lunch out, or I should ask you to stay.”
“Thank you, Uncle Romain,” said Jean simply. “I felt sure you would help me. I fear I shall not see you for some time. Jacques Cartier has suggested my going with him to Russia for a year; I think that I shall go.”
Romain glanced keenly at his nephew; then he looked away.
“And the Toriallis,” he drawled indifferently, “you will not return to them?”
“It is not likely that I shall return to them,” said Jean.
Romain rose to his feet and tapped Jean lightly on the shoulder.
“Mon vieux,” he said, “this good Cartier is playing the partdu bon Dieu. It is a part I should rather like to play myself; but I have never learnt how, I think I am too young for it!
“It does not matter, for I have always found there are others to whom the rôle comes more naturally.
“You will do very well to accompany Cartier to Russia; when you come back you will find many things different. A year is a very long time in the life of a beautiful woman of middleage; it requires an infinite amount of pains to hide it; whereas at your time of life it is less than nothing to the appearance; but the amount of experience that it contains—mon Dieu, that is colossal! I assure you, at your age I once lost my heart, the whole of it—and I had an immense amount at the time—twice in three weeks! It was a charming period; I nearly drowned myself; but as a matter of fact I took a little voyage into the country with a friend, and it came to quite the same thing in the end! Try it, Jean—try it—au revoir!”
Romain followed Jean out into the hall with his hands in his pockets, and his agreeable smile slightly deepened as he exclaimed: “After all, it is in my power to offer you something; should you care for any of those walking sticks in the stand, they look a little stouter than yours, pray take one—but avoid any that have initials.
“I don’t suppose Monsieur Flaubert will give you much trouble; should he wish more satisfaction than you intend to give him, you will of course call on me; butces gens-làprefer the law. Look out your trains and pack your things before you pay your little visit! You leave your best respects for your aunt Marie, of course—doubtless they will be worth a thousand francs to her—au revoir!”
Jean stepped back and shook his uncle’s hand again; their eyes met and a light passed betweenthem; they were of the same blood and at length they understood each other.
“Adieu,” said Jean simply, and he picked out the strongest stick in the hall, without initials, while Romain looked on smiling.