CHAPTER V
When Madame Querterot left the cool, airy house, which reminded herso unpleasantly of one which was associated principally in her inmostconsciousness with the sensation of corporal punishment applied in noniggardly spirit, she turned her steps towards her own home, which wassituated in the remotest part of Pimlico.
By the time she got off her bus and set out on foot into the drearylabyrinth of dingy streets, in one of which she lived, the shadows werelengthening fast and the pavement was losing some of the blistering heataccumulated during the day. Madame Querterot climbed rather wearily theflight of steps before her door. When she entered the little shop whereJulie sat sewing behind the counter, she passed through it without aword to her daughter, and going into the tiny room, which served as asitting-room, threw herself into the one arm-chair with something like agroan.
Julie, whose smile of welcome had faded on her lips when she saw theexpression on her mother's face, bent again over her work, and for alittle while all was still in the tiny, two-storied house.
There was not room for many customers in the shop. Julie often wonderedwhat she would do if more than two came in at the same time, but such anembarrassing contingency had not so far occurred. Quite half the spacewas taken up by the counter, on which stood a tray containing hair-pinsand hair-nets. In one corner a space was curtained off for such clientsas should wish to have their hair dressed or washed. No one had as yetrequested this last service. In the window Madame Querterot displayed afew superior articles which had survived the wreck of the Bond Streetestablishment.
There was a waxen lady, with fair hair wonderfully curled and twisted,who obscured the light a good deal as she stood with her shouldersdisdainfully turned to the interior of the room and her snow whitenose close against the plate glass, which separated her from thestreet. Plainly she felt it a come-down to look out on to this gloomyPimlico roadway. Around her were strewn combs and brushes, bottlesof brillantine and china pots containing creams for the complexion,curls and tails of false hair--in some cases attached to gruesomescalps of pink wax--and half a dozen elaborately carved tortoise-shellcombs, which the luckless Eugene had invested in in a fit of mistakenenthusiasm shortly after his arrival in England, but which had neverreceived so much as a comment or an inquiry as to price from any ofthose who had since looked on them.
They had remained, however, a source of pride to Madame Querterot, whowould often remark to Julie what an air they bestowed.
Presently, after a glance at the clock, Julie put down her work and cameto the door between the two rooms.
"You are back, mother," she said, looking at her gravely.
"So it appears," snapped her mother without raising her eyes.
"I am afraid you must be tired," went on Julie calmly. "The day has beenso hot. Will you not take a glass of lemonade before supper?"
"Have you got a lemon?" asked Madame Querterot somewhat less crossly.
"Yes," said Julie.
She opened the cupboard and taking out a lemon, a tumbler, and a lemonsqueezer, went about the business of preparing a cool drink for herheated parent.
"Has anyone bought anything to-day?" Madame Querterot asked when after afew minutes the beverage was handed to her. "Put a little more sugar inthe glass."
"A boy came in for a bottle of hair-oil," replied Julie, "and a fewwomen have bought hair-pins and hair-curlers. It has been a dull day."
"We shall soon be in the street at this rate," said Madame Querterotdespairingly. "One cannot live on a few packets of hair-pins and abottle of hair-oil. No. If only we could move to a fashionable locality.Here no one ever comes and we have but to die of hunger."
"We haven't been here very long. We may do better presently. It is thecustomers whom you massage that keep us from starvation." Julie proppedopen the door into the shop and taking up her work sat down by the tablein the parlour.
"Bah! Who knows how long they will continue? They have the skin ofcrocodiles, all of them. What can I do with it? Nothing. And in timethey will find that out, and I shall be put to the door. What willhappen then? You, I suppose, think you will be safe in your religioushouse. And your poor mother, you will be able to mock yourself of herthen, _hein_!"
"Mother, you know I shall not leave you while you want me. I have notspoken of becoming a nun since father died, have I?"
"Your father!" exclaimed Madame Querterot with emotion. "Your father wasa poltroon. No sooner did I need his assistance than he deserted me!"
"Mother!" cried Julie, and there was that in her tone which made MadameQuerterot's lamentations die away into inaudible mumblings.
The girl did not say any more, but went on quietly with her sewing, tillafter a while her mother rose to go upstairs.
At the door she paused.
"Bert is coming to supper," she said over her shoulder. "You have notforgotten that it is to-night we go with him to the theatre? He will behere soon, I should think," and she went on up the narrow stairs withoutwaiting for an answer.
Half an hour later, when they sat down to a cold meal, which Julie hadcarefully prepared--for Madame Querterot was particularly fond of eatingand had seen that her daughter early acquired the principles of goodcookery--they had been joined by the guest to whom she had alluded.
This was a young man of anaemic aspect, with fair hair that lay ratheruntidily across a high, narrow forehead. His face, which was pale andthin, was not at first sight particularly prepossessing. The contourof it was unusually pointed, though the chin receded so much that itcould hardly be said to exhibit a point. The mouth was weak and largeand always half open, so that the teeth, stained brown by the smoking ofcontinuous cigarettes, were not completely hidden when he talked underthe straggling little moustache, the end of which he had an unpleasanthabit of chewing. The nose was prominent and looked too large for therest of his face, the eyes, dark and deep-set, seemed to flash withunsuspected fires when talk turned on a subject that interested him. Itwas they that redeemed the whole man from total insignificance. Theywere the eyes of an enthusiast, almost of a fanatic. He did not talkmuch, but seemed content to devour the food set before him and to gazeuntiringly at Julie who sat opposite him at the small square table.
Julie was a very good-looking girl in her way, which was not at allan English way, although the English language came more naturally toher lips than her mother tongue. To tell the truth, she was not veryproficient in that, her mother and father having both found it easier,after she began to go to school, to talk to her in broken English.Indeed, after twenty years or so of residence in London that languagebecame as natural to them as their own tongue, and Madame Querterot'sFrench had by now grown quite as anglicised as that of many linguistsin her adopted country. She found, however, that many of her customerspreferred her to talk in broken English; they liked to feel that herewas some one come straight from the gay city to do their pleasure.
Her daughter inherited her mother's oval face and arched eyebrows, butthere the likeness ceased. Julie was tall while Madame Querterot wasshort; she was dark, while her mother was fair, and of a fairness thatowed nothing to art. Julie had a straight, short nose and a littlerosebud of a mouth, her skin was dark but glowing with health, and thebrown eyes, set far apart under the low brow, had a wide-open lookof sorrowful surprise as if she found herself in a world that failedcontinually to come up to her expectations. Bert, it was plain to see,found all this very much to his liking, and was so taken up with thecontemplation of it that a great deal of Madame Querterot's conversationfell unheeded on his ears, and his answers, when he made any, were forthe most part quite irrelevant.
Madame Querterot had by this time completely recovered her good temper,or at all events displayed the amiability habitual to her in intercoursewith strangers. She prattled away about the weather, the letter she hadthat day received from her relations in Paris, asked about Bert's work,and showed, and possibly felt, great interest in his meagre replies.Presently she began to talk about the occupation of her own day.
/>
"There is an old lady whom I visit for the massage," she said, "whowould make you laugh to see. She is ugly, she is fat, she has thecomplexion of a turkey! Yet there is no one so anxious as she to becomeyoung again. Was she ever beautiful? I do not know; but it is certainthat she will not be so again. Every day I find her with a mirror in herhand and every day as I leave her she takes it up again to see if thereis any improvement. For all I know she sits like that, gazing at herunsympathetic reflection till the next day when I come once more."
Madame Querterot paused and took a draught of her lemonade.
"A little more sugar, Julie, my cherished, and it would be betterstill," she said. "In this country sugar is less dear and you areunnecessarily careful of it. If we were in France I would not say so;there, there are _impots_. But this, one must admit it, is the cheapestplace one can live in. That is why one finds here so many Jews. Bah! theJews! Why does one suffer them? In England as in France one sees nothingelse; but even more in England since l'affaire Dreyfus. There is onelady to whom I go daily who would gladly live in France, I think, if ithad not become less disagreeable for her race here since that business.But perhaps it is not only on that account that she stays here, nowthat I reflect. She is not one of those who amuse themselves well in arepublic."
"How is that, mother?" asked Julie without much interest, while theirguest, for his part, merely grunted indifferently.
"She is more than a Royalist," said Madame Querterot; "she loves to seea head which knows how it feels to wear a crown. She goes every day towatch the Queen drive through the park. Mon Dieu! I think she lives onlyfor that. To-day a Prince passed below her window, and as chance had ithe looked up at her as he went. She was mad with joy; one would havesaid it was the happiest hour of her existence. She said nothing, butI have my eyes! And it is a woman who has everything to make her enjoylife. She is not bad-looking, not at all bad-looking; for a Jewess, evenhandsome; she is still young, and rich. Oh, but rich!"
Madame Querterot put down her knife and fork and raised both hands inthe air to convey the extent of the wealth enjoyed by the lucky Jewess.
For the first time Bert displayed some interest in the conversation, ormonologue, as one might more properly call it.
"It's disgraceful," he said, "it ought to be put a stop to. Thesepeople! They suck the blood of the poor!"
"The Jews, yes; it is their _metier_," agreed Madame Querterot.
"I don't refer to the Jew especially. What I'm alluding to at thepresent moment is all these useless rich folk. The drones of the hive,as you may say. These bloated capitalists who occupy the land that oughtby rights to jolly well belong to the people. They'd better look out forthemselves, I can tell them. There's a day coming when society won'tstand it any longer. In other words, we're going to drive them out. Taxthem out of their very existence. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Bert glared triumphantly round as he brought his hand down on the tablewith a conclusive emphasis which made the glasses on the table jumpnervously.
"This Mrs. Vanderstein of whom I speak," resumed Madame Querterotcomposedly, "has no land so far as I know. She has only a house inLondon. But she is rich all the same. One sees it at each step. In thehouse, what luxury! Such pictures! such furniture! such flowers! Andautomobiles, and boxes at the opera! Such dresses! And above all, suchjewels! Oh, she is very rich, that one."
"It's all the same," declared Bert, "whether she spends her money onland, or on clothes, or what not. The point I want to impress on you isthat she does spend it, and that while she's living on the fat of theland the rest of us may starve!"
He helped himself as he spoke to another plateful of _oeufs a la neige_.
Julie watched him, the shadow of a smile playing about her mouth.
"Have you seen this lady's jewels, mother?" she asked. "I adore preciousstones."
"I have seen some of them," said her mother. "To-night her maid broughtto her a necklace and bracelets of diamonds, besides a coiffure andrings of great beauty, no doubt without price. But she sent them awayagain, saying that she would wear others. Those I did not see, but itis certain that she has many, and all wonderful. Every day she wearsdifferent ones and, constantly, a string of enormous pearls. Withoutthose last I have never seen her. They are as large as marbles and, totell the truth, not much more pretty, for my taste. When I tell you thatshe employs a night watchman, whose sole duty is to patrol the houseevery night, you will understand that the value of what it contains mustbe large."
"That's just what these capitalists do," cried Bert excitedly. "Theylock away thousands of pounds like that when the money ought to be outin the world paying just and equal wages. I should like to see it madea criminal offence to wear jewellery."
"But what would happen to the people who make it?" asked Julie. "Theywould all lose their means of earning a livelihood, is it not so? Whatwould the pearl fisher do, or those who dig precious stones out ofthe earth? And the polishers and setters? Every industry has a hostdepending on it for a demand for its labour."
"There would be less need for labour," said Bert more gently, as wasalways the case when he spoke to her, "if the money was taken from thecapitalists and divided among the people."
"Still----" objected Julie again.
Madame Querterot, however, did not propose to listen to an argument onthe benefits to be expected from Socialism; she had frequently heardall that Bert had to say on the subject, and it had bored her veryconsiderably. She pushed back her chair and stood up.
"It is half-past seven," she said, "we must put on our hats for thetheatre. It begins at nine, but we shall take twenty minutes gettingthere, and I want to have good places. Come and get ready, Julie."
Mrs. Vanderstein's jewels Page 5