SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION
Or,
The History of a Young Man
by
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
VOLUME II.
M. Walter DunneNew York and London
Copyright, 1904, byM. Walter DunneEntered at Stationers' Hall, London
CONTENTS
SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION (_Continued._)
PAGE
CHAPTER XI. A DINNER AND A DUEL 1
CHAPTER XII. LITTLE LOUISE GROWS UP 47
CHAPTER XIII. ROSANETTE AS A LOVELY TURK 62
CHAPTER XIV. THE BARRICADE 110
CHAPTER XV. "HOW HAPPY COULD I BE WITH EITHER" 193
CHAPTER XVI. UNPLEASANT NEWS FROM ROSANETTE 214
CHAPTER XVII. A STRANGE BETROTHAL 242
CHAPTER XVIII. AN AUCTION 292
CHAPTER XIX. A BITTER-SWEET REUNION 315
CHAPTER XX. "WAIT TILL YOU COME TO FORTY YEAR" 323
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
"AH! THANKS! YOU ARE GOING TO SAVE ME!" (See page 107) _Frontispiece_
"CAN I LIVE WITHOUT YOU?" 58
WHEN A WOMAN SUDDENLY CAME IN 315
SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION
[_CONTINUED_]
CHAPTER XI.
A DINNER AND A DUEL.
Frederick passed the whole of the next day in brooding over his angerand humiliation. He reproached himself for not having given a slap inthe face to Cisy. As for the Marechale, he swore not to see her again.Others as good-looking could be easily found; and, as money would berequired in order to possess these women, he would speculate on theBourse with the purchase-money of his farm. He would get rich; he wouldcrush the Marechale and everyone else with his luxury. When the eveninghad come, he was surprised at not having thought of Madame Arnoux.
"So much the better. What's the good of it?"
Two days after, at eight o'clock, Pellerin came to pay him a visit. Hebegan by expressing his admiration of the furniture and talking in awheedling tone. Then, abruptly:
"You were at the races on Sunday?"
"Yes, alas!"
Thereupon the painter decried the anatomy of English horses, and praisedthe horses of Gericourt and the horses of the Parthenon.
"Rosanette was with you?"
And he artfully proceeded to speak in flattering terms about her.
Frederick's freezing manner put him a little out of countenance.
He did not know how to bring about the question of her portrait. Hisfirst idea had been to do a portrait in the style of Titian. Butgradually the varied colouring of his model had bewitched him; he hadgone on boldly with the work, heaping up paste on paste and light onlight. Rosanette, in the beginning, was enchanted. Her appointments withDelmar had interrupted the sittings, and left Pellerin all the time toget bedazzled. Then, as his admiration began to subside, he askedhimself whether the picture might not be on a larger scale. He had goneto have another look at the Titians, realised how the great artist hadfilled in his portraits with such finish, and saw wherein his ownshortcomings lay; and then he began to go over the outlines again in themost simple fashion. After that, he sought, by scraping them off, tolose there, to mingle there, all the tones of the head and those of thebackground; and the face had assumed consistency and the shadesvigour--the whole work had a look of greater firmness. At length theMarechale came back again. She even indulged in some hostile criticisms.The painter naturally persevered in his own course. After getting into aviolent passion at her silliness, he said to himself that, after all,perhaps she was right. Then began the era of doubts, twinges ofreflection which brought about cramps in the stomach, insomnia,feverishness and disgust with himself. He had the courage to make someretouchings, but without much heart, and with a feeling that his workwas bad.
He complained merely of having been refused a place in the Salon; thenhe reproached Frederick for not having come to see the Marechale'sportrait.
"What do I care about the Marechale?"
Such an expression of unconcern emboldened the artist.
"Would you believe that this brute has no interest in the thing anylonger?"
What he did not mention was that he had asked her for a thousand crowns.Now the Marechale did not give herself much bother about ascertainingwho was going to pay, and, preferring to screw money out of Arnoux forthings of a more urgent character, had not even spoken to him on thesubject.
"Well, and Arnoux?"
She had thrown it over on him. The ex-picture-dealer wished to havenothing to do with the portrait.
"He maintains that it belongs to Rosanette."
"In fact, it is hers."
"How is that? 'Tis she that sent me to you," was Pellerin's answer.
If he had been thinking of the excellence of his work, he would not havedreamed perhaps of making capital out of it. But a sum--and a bigsum--would be an effective reply to the critics, and would strengthenhis own position. Finally, to get rid of his importunities, Frederickcourteously enquired his terms.
The extravagant figure named by Pellerin quite took away his breath, andhe replied:
"Oh! no--no!"
"You, however, are her lover--'tis you gave me the order!"
"Excuse me, I was only an intermediate agent."
"But I can't remain with this on my hands!"
The artist lost his temper.
"Ha! I didn't imagine you were so covetous!"
"Nor I that you were so stingy! I wish you good morning!"
He had just gone out when Senecal made his appearance.
Frederick was moving about restlessly, in a state of great agitation.
"What's the matter?"
Senecal told his story.
"On Saturday, at nine o'clock, Madame Arnoux got a letter which summonedher back to Paris. As there happened to be nobody in the place at thetime to go to Creil for a vehicle, she asked me to go there myself. Irefused, for this was no part of my duties. She left, and came back onSunday evening. Yesterday morning, Arnoux came down to the works. Thegirl from Bordeaux made a complaint to him. I don't know what passedbetween them; but he took off before everyone the fine I had imposed onher. Some sharp words passed between us. In short, he closed accountswith me, and here I am!"
Then, with a pause between every word:
"Furthermore, I am not sorry. I have done my duty. No matter--you werethe cause of it."
"How?" exclaimed Frederick, alarmed lest Senecal might have guessed hissecret.
Senecal had not, however, guessed anything about it, for he replied:
"That is to say, but for you I might have done better."
Frederick was seized with a kind of remorse.
"In what way can I be of service to you now?"
Senecal wanted some employment, a situation.
"That is an easy thing for you to manage. You know many people of goodposition, Monsieur Dambreuse amongst others; at least, so Deslaurierstold me."
This allusion to Deslauriers was by no means agreeable to his friend. Hescarcely cared to call on the Dambreuses again after his undesirablemeeting with them in the Champ de Mars.
"I am not on sufficiently intimate terms with them to reco
mmend anyone."
The democrat endured this refusal stoically, and after a minute'ssilence:
"All this, I am sure, is due to the girl from Bordeaux, and to yourMadame Arnoux."
This "your" had the effect of wiping out of Frederick's heart the slightmodicum of regard he entertained for Senecal. Nevertheless, he stretchedout his hand towards the key of his escritoire through delicacy.
Senecal anticipated him:
"Thanks!"
Then, forgetting his own troubles, he talked about the affairs of thenation, the crosses of the Legion of Honour wasted at the Royal Fete,the question of a change of ministry, the Drouillard case and the Beniercase--scandals of the day--declaimed against the middle class, andpredicted a revolution.
His eyes were attracted by a Japanese dagger hanging on the wall. Hetook hold of it; then he flung it on the sofa with an air of disgust.
"Come, then! good-bye! I must go to Notre Dame de Lorette."
"Hold on! Why?"
"The anniversary service for Godefroy Cavaignac is taking place thereto-day. He died at work--that man! But all is not over. Who knows?"
And Senecal, with a show of fortitude, put out his hand:
"Perhaps we shall never see each other again! good-bye!"
This "good-bye," repeated several times, his knitted brows as he gazedat the dagger, his resignation, and the solemnity of his manner, aboveall, plunged Frederick into a thoughtful mood, but very soon he ceasedto think about Senecal.
During the same week, his notary at Havre sent him the sum realised bythe sale of his farm--one hundred and seventy-four thousand francs. Hedivided it into two portions, invested the first half in the Funds, andbrought the second half to a stock-broker to take his chance of makingmoney by it on the Bourse.
He dined at fashionable taverns, went to the theatres, and was trying toamuse himself as best he could, when Hussonnet addressed a letter to himannouncing in a gay fashion that the Marechale had got rid of Cisy thevery day after the races. Frederick was delighted at this intelligence,without taking the trouble to ascertain what the Bohemian's motive wasin giving him the information.
It so happened that he met Cisy, three days later. That aristocraticyoung gentleman kept his counteance, and even invited Frederick to dineon the following Wednesday.
On the morning of that day, the latter received a notification from aprocess-server, in which M. Charles Jean Baptiste Oudry apprised himthat by the terms of a legal judgment he had become the purchaser of aproperty situated at Belleville, belonging to M. Jacques Arnoux, andthat he was ready to pay the two hundred and twenty-three thousand forwhich it had been sold. But, as it appeared by the same decree that theamount of the mortgages with which the estate was encumbered exceededthe purchase-money, Frederick's claim would in consequence be completelyforfeited.
The entire mischief arose from not having renewed the registration ofthe mortgage within the proper time. Arnoux had undertaken to attend tothis matter formally himself, and had then forgotten all about it.Frederick got into a rage with him for this, and when the young man'sanger had passed off:
"Well, afterwards----what?"
"If this can save him, so much the better. It won't kill me! Let usthink no more about it!"
But, while moving about his papers on the table, he came acrossHussonnet's letter, and noticed the postscript, which had not at firstattracted his attention. The Bohemian wanted just five thousand francsto give the journal a start.
"Ah! this fellow is worrying me to death!"
And he sent a curt answer, unceremoniously refusing the application.After that, he dressed himself to go to the Maison d'Or.
Cisy introduced his guests, beginning with the most respectable of them,a big, white-haired gentleman.
"The Marquis Gilbert des Aulnays, my godfather. Monsieur Anselme deForchambeaux," he said next--(a thin, fair-haired young man, alreadybald); then, pointing towards a simple-mannered man of forty: "JosephBoffreu, my cousin; and here is my old tutor, Monsieur Vezou"--a personwho seemed a mixture of a ploughman and a seminarist, with largewhiskers and a long frock-coat fastened at the end by a single button,so that it fell over his chest like a shawl.
Cisy was expecting some one else--the Baron de Comaing, who "mightperhaps come, but it was not certain." He left the room every minute,and appeared to be in a restless frame of mind. Finally, at eighto'clock, they proceeded towards an apartment splendidly lighted up andmuch more spacious than the number of guests required. Cisy had selectedit for the special purpose of display.
A vermilion epergne laden with flowers and fruit occupied the centre ofthe table, which was covered with silver dishes, after the old Frenchfashion; glass bowls full of salt meats and spices formed a border allaround it. Jars of iced red wine stood at regular distances from eachother. Five glasses of different sizes were ranged before each plate,with things of which the use could not be divined--a thousand dinnerutensils of an ingenious description. For the first course alone, therewas a sturgeon's jowl moistened with champagne, a Yorkshire ham withtokay, thrushes with sauce, roast quail, a bechamel vol-au-vent, a stewof red-legged partridges, and at the two ends of all this, fringes ofpotatoes which were mingled with truffles. The apartment was illuminatedby a lustre and some girandoles, and it was hung with red damaskcurtains.
Four men-servants in black coats stood behind the armchairs, which wereupholstered in morocco. At this sight the guests uttered anexclamation--the tutor more emphatically than the rest.
"Upon my word, our host has indulged in a foolishly lavish display ofluxury. It is too beautiful!"
"Is that so?" said the Vicomte de Cisy; "Come on, then!"
And, as they were swallowing the first spoonful:
"Well, my dear old friend Aulnays, have you been to the Palais-Royal tosee _Pere et Portier_?"
"You know well that I have no time to go!" replied the Marquis.
His mornings were taken up with a course of arboriculture, his eveningswere spent at the Agricultural Club, and all his afternoons wereoccupied by a study of the implements of husbandry in manufactories. Ashe resided at Saintonge for three fourths of the year, he took advantageof his visits to the capital to get fresh information; and hislarge-brimmed hat, which lay on a side-table, was crammed withpamphlets.
But Cisy, observing that M. de Forchambeaux refused to take wine:
"Go on, damn it, drink! You're not in good form for your last bachelor'smeal!"
At this remark all bowed and congratulated him.
"And the young lady," said the tutor, "is charming, I'm sure?"
"Faith, she is!" exclaimed Cisy. "No matter, he is making a mistake;marriage is such a stupid thing!"
"You talk in a thoughtless fashion, my friend!" returned M. des Aulnays,while tears began to gather in his eyes at the recollection of his owndead wife.
And Forchambeaux repeated several times in succession:
"It will be your own case--it will be your own case!"
Cisy protested. He preferred to enjoy himself--to "live in thefree-and-easy style of the Regency days." He wanted to learn theshoe-trick, in order to visit the thieves' taverns of the city, likeRodolphe in the _Mysteries of Paris_; drew out of his pocket a dirtyclay pipe, abused the servants, and drank a great quantity; then, inorder to create a good impression about himself, he disparaged all thedishes. He even sent away the truffles; and the tutor, who wasexceedingly fond of them, said through servility;
"These are not as good as your grandmother's snow-white eggs."
Then he began to chat with the person sitting next to him, theagriculturist, who found many advantages from his sojourn in thecountry, if it were only to be able to bring up his daughters withsimple tastes. The tutor approved of his ideas and toadied to him,supposing that this gentleman possessed influence over his former pupil,whose man of business he was anxious to become.
Frederick had come there filled with hostility to Cisy; but the youngaristocrat's idiocy had disarmed him. However, as the other's gestures,face, and
entire person brought back to his recollection the dinner atthe Cafe Anglais, he got more and more irritated; and he lent his earsto the complimentary remarks made in a low tone by Joseph, the cousin, afine young fellow without any money, who was a lover of the chase and aUniversity prizeman. Cisy, for the sake of a laugh, called him a"catcher"[A] several times; then suddenly:
"Ha! here comes the Baron!"
At that moment, there entered a jovial blade of thirty, with somewhatrough-looking features and active limbs, wearing his hat over his earand displaying a flower in his button-hole. He was the Vicomte's ideal.The young aristocrat was delighted at having him there; and stimulatedby his presence, he even attempted a pun; for he said, as they passed aheath-cock:
"There's the best of La Bruyere's characters!"[B]
After that, he put a heap of questions to M. de Comaing about personsunknown to society; then, as if an idea had suddenly seized him:
"Tell me, pray! have you thought about me?"
The other shrugged his shoulders:
"You are not old enough, my little man. It is impossible!"
Cisy had begged of the Baron to get him admitted into his club. But theother having, no doubt, taken pity on his vanity:
"Ha! I was forgetting! A thousand congratulations on having won yourbet, my dear fellow!"
"What bet?"
"The bet you made at the races to effect an entrance the same eveninginto that lady's house."
Frederick felt as if he had got a lash with a whip. He was speedilyappeased by the look of utter confusion in Cisy's face.
[A] _Voleur_ means, at the same time, a "hunter" and a "thief." This isthe foundation for Cisy's little joke.--TRANSLATOR.
[B] _Coq de bruyere_ means a heath-cock or grouse; hence the play on thename of La Bruyere, whose _Caracteres_ is a well-known work.--TRANSLATOR.
In fact, the Marechale, next morning, was filled with regret whenArnoux, her first lover, her good friend, had presented himself thatvery day. They both gave the Vicomte to understand that he was in theway, and kicked him out without much ceremony.
He pretended not to have heard what was said.
The Baron went on:
"What has become of her, this fine Rose? Is she as pretty as ever?"showing by his manner that he had been on terms of intimacy with her.
Frederick was chagrined by the discovery.
"There's nothing to blush at," said the Baron, pursuing the topic, "'tisa good thing!"
Cisy smacked his tongue.
"Whew! not so good!"
"Ha!"
"Oh dear, yes! In the first place, I found her nothing extraordinary,and then, you pick up the like of her as often as you please, for, infact, she is for sale!"
"Not for everyone!" remarked Frederick, with some bitterness.
"He imagines that he is different from the others," was Cisy's comment."What a good joke!"
And a laugh ran round the table.
Frederick felt as if the palpitations of his heart would suffocate him.He swallowed two glasses of water one after the other.
But the Baron had preserved a lively recollection of Rosanette.
"Is she still interested in a fellow named Arnoux?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," said Cisy, "I don't know that gentleman!"
Nevertheless, he suggested that he believed Arnoux was a sort ofswindler.
"A moment!" exclaimed Frederick.
"However, there is no doubt about it! Legal proceedings have been takenagainst him."
"That is not true!"
Frederick began to defend Arnoux, vouched for his honesty, ended byconvincing himself of it, and concocted figures and proofs. The Vicomte,full of spite, and tipsy in addition, persisted in his assertions, sothat Frederick said to him gravely:
"Is the object of this to give offence to me, Monsieur?"
And he looked Cisy full in the face, with eyeballs as red as his cigar.
"Oh! not at all. I grant you that he possesses something very nice--hiswife."
"Do you know her?"
"Faith, I do! Sophie Arnoux; everyone knows her."
"You mean to tell me that?"
Cisy, who had staggered to his feet, hiccoughed:
"Everyone--knows--her."
"Hold your tongue. It is not with women of her sort you keep company!"
"I--flatter myself--it is."
Frederick flung a plate at his face. It passed like a flash of lightningover the table, knocked down two bottles, demolished a fruit-dish, andbreaking into three pieces, by knocking against the epergne, hit theVicomte in the stomach.
All the other guests arose to hold him back. He struggled and shrieked,possessed by a kind of frenzy.
M. des Aulnays kept repeating:
"Come, be calm, my dear boy!"
"Why, this is frightful!" shouted the tutor.
Forchambeaux, livid as a plum, was trembling. Joseph indulged inrepeated outbursts of laughter. The attendants sponged out the traces ofthe wine, and gathered up the remains of the dinner from the floor; andthe Baron went and shut the window, for the uproar, in spite of thenoise of carriage-wheels, could be heard on the boulevard.
As all present at the moment the plate had been flung had been talkingat the same time, it was impossible to discover the cause of theattack--whether it was on account of Arnoux, Madame Arnoux, Rosanette,or somebody else. One thing only they were certain of, that Frederickhad acted with indescribable brutality. On his part, he refusedpositively to testify the slightest regret for what he had done.
M. des Aulnays tried to soften him. Cousin Joseph, the tutor, andForchambeaux himself joined in the effort. The Baron, all this time, wascheering up Cisy, who, yielding to nervous weakness, began to shedtears.
Frederick, on the contrary, was getting more and more angry, and theywould have remained there till daybreak if the Baron had not said, inorder to bring matters to a close:
"The Vicomte, Monsieur, will send his seconds to call on you to-morrow."
"Your hour?"
"Twelve, if it suits you."
"Perfectly, Monsieur."
Frederick, as soon as he was in the open air, drew a deep breath. He hadbeen keeping his feelings too long under restraint; he had satisfiedthem at last. He felt, so to speak, the pride of virility, asuperabundance of energy within him which intoxicated him. He requiredtwo seconds. The first person he thought of for the purpose wasRegimbart, and he immediately directed his steps towards the RueSaint-Denis. The shop-front was closed, but some light shone through apane of glass over the door. It opened and he went in, stooping very lowas he passed under the penthouse.
A candle at the side of the bar lighted up the deserted smoking-room.All the stools, with their feet in the air, were piled on the table. Themaster and mistress, with their waiter, were at supper in a corner nearthe kitchen; and Regimbart, with his hat on his head, was sharing theirmeal, and even disturbed the waiter, who was compelled every moment toturn aside a little. Frederick, having briefly explained the matter tohim, asked Regimbart to assist him. The Citizen at first made no reply.He rolled his eyes about, looked as if he were plunged in reflection,took several strides around the room, and at last said:
"Yes, by all means!" and a homicidal smile smoothed his brow when helearned that the adversary was a nobleman.
"Make your mind easy; we'll rout him with flying colours! In the firstplace, with the sword----"
"But perhaps," broke in Frederick, "I have not the right."
"I tell you 'tis necessary to take the sword," the Citizen repliedroughly. "Do you know how to make passes?"
"A little."
"Oh! a little. This is the way with all of them; and yet they have amania for committing assaults. What does the fencing-school teach?Listen to me: keep a good distance off, always confining yourself incircles, and parry--parry as you retire; that is permitted. Tire himout. Then boldly make a lunge on him! and, above all, no malice, nostrokes of the La Fougere kind.[C] No! a simple one-two, and somedisengagements. Look he
re! do you see? while you turn your wrist as ifopening a lock. Pere Vauthier, give me your cane. Ha! that will do."
He grasped the rod which was used for lighting the gas, rounded his leftarm, bent his right, and began to make some thrusts against thepartition. He stamped with his foot, got animated, and pretended to beencountering difficulties, while he exclaimed: "Are you there? Is thatit? Are you there?" and his enormous silhouette projected itself on thewall with his hat apparently touching the ceiling. The owner of the cafeshouted from time to time: "Bravo! very good!" His wife, though a littleunnerved, was likewise filled with admiration; and Theodore, who hadbeen in the army, remained riveted to the spot with amazement, the factbeing, however, that he regarded M. Regimbart with a species ofhero-worship.
Next morning, at an early hour, Frederick hurried to the establishmentin which Dussardier was employed. After having passed through asuccession of departments all full of clothing-materials, eitheradorning shelves or lying on tables, while here and there shawls werefixed on wooden racks shaped like toadstools, he saw the young man, in asort of railed cage, surrounded by account-books, and standing in frontof a desk at which he was writing. The honest fellow left his work.
[C] In 1828, a certain La Fougere brought out a work entitled _L'Art den'etre jamais tue ni blesse en Duel sans avons pris aucune lecon d'armeset lors meme qu'on aurait affaire au premier Tireur de l'Univers._--TRANSLATOR.
The seconds arrived before twelve o'clock.
Frederick, as a matter of good taste, thought he ought not to be presentat the conference.
The Baron and M. Joseph declared that they would be satisfied with thesimplest excuses. But Regimbart's principle being never to yield, andhis contention being that Arnoux's honour should be vindicated(Frederick had not spoken to him about anything else), he asked that theVicomte should apologise. M. de Comaing was indignant at thispresumption. The Citizen would not abate an inch. As all conciliationproved impracticable, there was nothing for it but to fight.
Other difficulties arose, for the choice of weapons lay with Cisy, asthe person to whom the insult had been offered. But Regimbart maintainedthat by sending the challenge he had constituted himself the offendingparty. His seconds loudly protested that a buffet was the most cruel ofoffences. The Citizen carped at the words, pointing out that a buffetwas not a blow. Finally, they decided to refer the matter to a militaryman; and the four seconds went off to consult the officers in some ofthe barracks.
They drew up at the barracks on the Quai d'Orsay. M. de Comaing, havingaccosted two captains, explained to them the question in dispute.
The captains did not understand a word of what he was saying, owing tothe confusion caused by the Citizen's incidental remarks. In short,they advised the gentlemen who consulted them to draw up a minute of theproceedings; after which they would give their decision. Thereupon, theyrepaired to a cafe; and they even, in order to do things with morecircumspection, referred to Cisy as H, and Frederick as K.
Then they returned to the barracks. The officers had gone out. Theyreappeared, and declared that the choice of arms manifestly belonged toH.
They all returned to Cisy's abode. Regimbart and Dussardier remained onthe footpath outside.
The Vicomte, when he was informed of the solution of the case, wasseized with such extreme agitation that they had to repeat for himseveral times the decision of the officers; and, when M. de Comaing cameto deal with Regimbart's contention, he murmured "Nevertheless," notbeing very reluctant himself to yield to it. Then he let himself sinkinto an armchair, and declared that he would not fight.
"Eh? What?" said the Baron. Then Cisy indulged in a confused flood ofmouthings. He wished to fight with firearms--to discharge a singlepistol at close quarters.
"Or else we will put arsenic into a glass, and draw lots to see who mustdrink it. That's sometimes done. I've read of it!"
The Baron, naturally rather impatient, addressed him in a harsh tone:
"These gentlemen are waiting for your answer. This is indecent, to putit shortly. What weapons are you going to take? Come! is it the sword?"
The Vicomte gave an affirmative reply by merely nodding his head; and itwas arranged that the meeting should take place next morning at seveno'clock sharp at the Maillot gate.
Dussardier, being compelled to go back to his business, Regimbart wentto inform Frederick about the arrangement. He had been left all daywithout any news, and his impatience was becoming intolerable.
"So much the better!" he exclaimed.
The Citizen was satisfied with his deportment.
"Would you believe it? They wanted an apology from us. It was nothing--amere word! But I knocked them off their beam-ends nicely. The rightthing to do, wasn't it?"
"Undoubtedly," said Frederick, thinking that it would have been betterto choose another second.
Then, when he was alone, he repeated several times in a very loud tone:
"I am going to fight! Hold on, I am going to fight! 'Tis funny!"
And, as he walked up and down his room, while passing in front of themirror, he noticed that he was pale.
"Have I any reason to be afraid?"
He was seized with a feeling of intolerable misery at the prospect ofexhibiting fear on the ground.
"And yet, suppose I happen to be killed? My father met his death thesame way. Yes, I shall be killed!"
And, suddenly, his mother rose up before him in a black dress;incoherent images floated before his mind. His own cowardice exasperatedhim. A paroxysm of courage, a thirst for human blood, took possession ofhim. A battalion could not have made him retreat. When this feverishexcitement had cooled down, he was overjoyed to feel that his nerveswere perfectly steady. In order to divert his thoughts, he went to theopera, where a ballet was being performed. He listened to the music,looked at the _danseuses_ through his opera-glass, and drank a glass ofpunch between the acts. But when he got home again, the sight of hisstudy, of his furniture, in the midst of which he found himself for thelast time, made him feel ready to swoon.
He went down to the garden. The stars were shining; he gazed up at them.The idea of fighting about a woman gave him a greater importance in hisown eyes, and surrounded him with a halo of nobility. Then he went tobed in a tranquil frame of mind.
It was not so with Cisy. After the Baron's departure, Joseph had triedto revive his drooping spirits, and, as the Vicomte remained in the samedull mood:
"However, old boy, if you prefer to remain at home, I'll go and say so."
Cisy durst not answer "Certainly;" but he would have liked his cousin todo him this service without speaking about it.
He wished that Frederick would die during the night of an attack ofapoplexy, or that a riot would break out so that next morning therewould be enough of barricades to shut up all the approaches to the Boisde Boulogne, or that some emergency might prevent one of the secondsfrom being present; for in the absence of seconds the duel would fallthrough. He felt a longing to save himself by taking an expresstrain--no matter where. He regretted that he did not understand medicineso as to be able to take something which, without endangering his life,would cause it to be believed that he was dead. He finally wished to beill in earnest.
In order to get advice and assistance from someone, he sent for M. desAulnays. That worthy man had gone back to Saintonge on receiving aletter informing him of the illness of one of his daughters. Thisappeared an ominous circumstance to Cisy. Luckily, M. Vezou, his tutor,came to see him. Then he unbosomed himself.
"What am I to do? my God! what am I do?"
"If I were in your place, Monsieur, I should pay some strapping fellowfrom the market-place to go and give him a drubbing."
"He would still know who brought it about," replied Cisy.
And from time to time he uttered a groan; then:
"But is a man bound to fight a duel?"
"'Tis a relic of barbarism! What are you to do?"
Out of complaisance the pedagogue invited himself to dinner. His pupildid not
eat anything, but, after the meal, felt the necessity of takinga short walk.
As they were passing a church, he said:
"Suppose we go in for a little while--to look?"
M. Vezou asked nothing better, and even offered him holy water.
It was the month of May. The altar was covered with flowers; voices werechanting; the organ was resounding through the church. But he found itimpossible to pray, as the pomps of religion inspired him merely withthoughts of funerals. He fancied that he could hear the murmurs of the_De Profundis_.
"Let us go away. I don't feel well."
They spent the whole night playing cards. The Vicomte made an effort tolose in order to exorcise ill-luck, a thing which M. Vezou turned to hisown advantage. At last, at the first streak of dawn, Cisy, who couldstand it no longer, sank down on the green cloth, and was soon plungedin sleep, which was disturbed by unpleasant dreams.
If courage, however, consists in wishing to get the better of one's ownweakness, the Vicomte was courageous, for in the presence of hisseconds, who came to seek him, he stiffened himself up with all thestrength he could command, vanity making him realise that to attempt todraw back now would destroy him. M. de Comaing congratulated him on hisgood appearance.
But, on the way, the jolting of the cab and the heat of the morning sunmade him languish. His energy gave way again. He could not evendistinguish any longer where they were. The Baron amused himself byincreasing his terror, talking about the "corpse," and of the way theymeant to get back clandestinely to the city. Joseph gave the rejoinder;both, considering the affair ridiculous, were certain that it would besettled.
Cisy kept his head on his breast; he lifted it up slowly, and drewattention to the fact that they had not taken a doctor with them.
"'Tis needless," said the Baron.
"Then there's no danger?"
Joseph answered in a grave tone:
"Let us hope so!"
And nobody in the carriage made any further remark.
At ten minutes past seven they arrived in front of the Maillot gate.Frederick and his seconds were there, the entire group being dressedall in black. Regimbart, instead of a cravat, wore a stiff horsehaircollar, like a trooper; and he carried a long violin-case adapted foradventures of this kind. They exchanged frigid bows. Then they allplunged into the Bois de Boulogne, taking the Madrid road, in order tofind a suitable place.
Regimbart said to Frederick, who was walking between him and Dussardier:
"Well, and this scare--what do we care about it? If you want anything,don't annoy yourself about it; I know what to do. Fear is natural toman!"
Then, in a low tone:
"Don't smoke any more; in this case it has a weakening effect."
Frederick threw away his cigar, which had only a disturbing effect onhis brain, and went on with a firm step. The Vicomte advanced behind,leaning on the arms of his two seconds. Occasional wayfarers crossedtheir path. The sky was blue, and from time to time they heard rabbitsskipping about. At the turn of a path, a woman in a Madras neckerchiefwas chatting with a man in a blouse; and in the large avenue under thechestnut-trees some grooms in vests of linen-cloth were walking horsesup and down.
Cisy recalled the happy days when, mounted on his own chestnut horse,and with his glass stuck in his eye, he rode up to carriage-doors. Theserecollections intensified his wretchedness. An intolerable thirstparched his throat. The buzzing of flies mingled with the throbbing ofhis arteries. His feet sank into the sand. It seemed to him as if he hadbeen walking during a period which had neither beginning nor end.
The seconds, without stopping, examined with keen glances each side ofthe path they were traversing. They hesitated as to whether they wouldgo to the Catelan Cross or under the walls of the Bagatelle. At lastthey took a turn to the right; and they drew up in a kind of quincunx inthe midst of the pine-trees.
The spot was chosen in such a way that the level ground was cut equallyinto two divisions. The two places at which the principals in the duelwere to take their stand were marked out. Then Regimbart opened hiscase. It was lined with red sheep's-leather, and contained four charmingswords hollowed in the centre, with handles which were adorned withfiligree. A ray of light, passing through the leaves, fell on them, andthey appeared to Cisy to glitter like silver vipers on a sea of blood.
The Citizen showed that they were of equal length. He took one himself,in order to separate the combatants in case of necessity. M. de Comaingheld a walking-stick. There was an interval of silence. They looked ateach other. All the faces had in them something fierce or cruel.
Frederick had taken off his coat and his waistcoat. Joseph aided Cisy todo the same. When his cravat was removed a blessed medal could be seenon his neck. This made Regimbart smile contemptuously.
Then M. de Comaing (in order to allow Frederick another moment forreflection) tried to raise some quibbles. He demanded the right to puton a glove, and to catch hold of his adversary's sword with the lefthand. Regimbart, who was in a hurry, made no objection to this. At lastthe Baron, addressing Frederick:
"Everything depends on you, Monsieur! There is never any dishonour inacknowledging one's faults."
Dussardier made a gesture of approval. The Citizen gave vent to hisindignation:
"Do you think we came here as a mere sham, damn it! Be on your guard,each of you!"
The combatants were facing one another, with their seconds by theirsides.
He uttered the single word:
"Come!"
Cisy became dreadfully pale. The end of his blade was quivering like ahorsewhip. His head fell back, his hands dropped down helplessly, and hesank unconscious on the ground. Joseph raised him up and while holding ascent-bottle to his nose, gave him a good shaking.
The Vicomte reopened his eyes, then suddenly grasped at his sword like amadman. Frederick had held his in readiness, and now awaited him withsteady eye and uplifted hand.
"Stop! stop!" cried a voice, which came from the road simultaneouslywith the sound of a horse at full gallop, and the hood of a cab brokethe branches. A man bending out his head waved a handkerchief, stillexclaiming:
"Stop! stop!"
M. de Comaing, believing that this meant the intervention of the police,lifted up his walking-stick.
"Make an end of it. The Vicomte is bleeding!"
"I?" said Cisy.
In fact, he had in his fall taken off the skin of his left thumb.
"But this was by falling," observed the Citizen.
The Baron pretended not to understand.
Arnoux had jumped out of the cab.
"I have arrived too late? No! Thanks be to God!"
He threw his arms around Frederick, felt him, and covered his face withkisses.
"I am the cause of it. You wanted to defend your old friend! That'sright--that's right! Never shall I forget it! How good you are! Ah! myown dear boy!"
He gazed at Frederick and shed tears, while he chuckled with delight.The Baron turned towards Joseph:
"I believe we are in the way at this little family party. It is over,messieurs, is it not? Vicomte, put your arm into a sling. Hold on! hereis my silk handkerchief."
Then, with an imperious gesture: "Come! no spite! This is as it shouldbe!"
The two adversaries shook hands in a very lukewarm fashion. The Vicomte,M. de Comaing, and Joseph disappeared in one direction, and Frederickleft with his friends in the opposite direction.
As the Madrid Restaurant was not far off, Arnoux proposed that theyshould go and drink a glass of beer there.
"We might even have breakfast."
But, as Dussardier had no time to lose, they confined themselves totaking some refreshment in the garden.
They all experienced that sense of satisfaction which follows happy_denouements_. The Citizen, nevertheless, was annoyed at the duel havingbeen interrupted at the most critical stage.
Arnoux had been apprised of it by a person named Compain, a friend ofRegimbart; and with an irrepressible outburst of emot
ion he had rushedto the spot to prevent it, under the impression, however, that he wasthe occasion of it. He begged of Frederick to furnish him with somedetails about it. Frederick, touched by these proofs of affection, feltsome scruples at the idea of increasing his misapprehension of thefacts.
"For mercy's sake, don't say any more about it!"
Arnoux thought that this reserve showed great delicacy. Then, with hishabitual levity, he passed on to some fresh subject.
"What news, Citizen?"
And they began talking about banking transactions, and the number ofbills that were falling due. In order to be more undisturbed, they wentto another table, where they exchanged whispered confidences.
Frederick could overhear the following words: "You are going to back meup with your signature." "Yes, but you, mind!" "I have negotiated it atlast for three hundred!" "A nice commission, faith!"
In short, it was clear that Arnoux was mixed up in a great many shadytransactions with the Citizen.
Frederick thought of reminding him about the fifteen thousand francs.But his last step forbade the utterance of any reproachful words even ofthe mildest description. Besides, he felt tired himself, and this wasnot a convenient place for talking about such a thing. He put it offtill some future day.
Arnoux, seated in the shade of an evergreen, was smoking, with a look ofjoviality in his face. He raised his eyes towards the doors of privaterooms looking out on the garden, and said he had often paid visits tothe house in former days.
"Probably not by yourself?" returned the Citizen.
"Faith, you're right there!"
"What blackguardism you do carry on! you, a married man!"
"Well, and what about yourself?" retorted Arnoux; and, with an indulgentsmile: "I am even sure that this rascal here has a room of his ownsomewhere into which he takes his friends."
The Citizen confessed that this was true by simply shrugging hisshoulders. Then these two gentlemen entered into their respective tasteswith regard to the sex: Arnoux now preferred youth, work-girls;Regimbart hated affected women, and went in for the genuine articlebefore anything else. The conclusion which the earthenware-dealer laiddown at the close of this discussion was that women were not to be takenseriously.
"Nevertheless, he is fond of his own wife," thought Frederick, as hemade his way home; and he looked on Arnoux as a coarse-grained man. Hehad a grudge against him on account of the duel, as if it had been forthe sake of this individual that he risked his life a little whilebefore.
But he felt grateful to Dussardier for his devotedness. Ere long thebook-keeper came at his invitation to pay him a visit every day.
Frederick lent him books--Thiers, Dulaure, Barante, and Lamartine's_Girondins_.
The honest fellow listened to everything the other said with athoughtful air, and accepted his opinions as those of a master.
One evening he arrived looking quite scared.
That morning, on the boulevard, a man who was running so quickly that hehad got out of breath, had jostled against him, and having recognisedin him a friend of Senecal, had said to him:
"He has just been taken! I am making my escape!"
There was no doubt about it. Dussardier had spent the day makingenquiries. Senecal was in jail charged with an attempted crime of apolitical nature.
The son of an overseer, he was born at Lyons, and having had as histeacher a former disciple of Chalier, he had, on his arrival in Paris,obtained admission into the "Society of Families." His ways were known,and the police kept a watch on him. He was one of those who fought inthe outbreak of May, 1839, and since then he had remained in the shade;but, his self-importance increasing more and more, he became a fanaticalfollower of Alibaud, mixing up his own grievances against society withthose of the people against monarchy, and waking up every morning in thehope of a revolution which in a fortnight or a month would turn theworld upside down. At last, disgusted at the inactivity of his brethren,enraged at the obstacles that retarded the realisation of his dreams,and despairing of the country, he entered in his capacity of chemistinto the conspiracy for the use of incendiary bombs; and he had beencaught carrying gunpowder, of which he was going to make a trial atMontmartre--a supreme effort to establish the Republic.
Dussardier was no less attached to the Republican idea, for, from hispoint of view, it meant enfranchisement and universal happiness. Oneday--at the age of fifteen--in the Rue Transnonain, in front of agrocer's shop, he had seen soldiers' bayonets reddened with blood andexhibiting human hairs pasted to the butt-ends of their guns. Sincethat time, the Government had filled him with feelings of rage as thevery incarnation of injustice. He frequently confused the assassins withthe gendarmes; and in his eyes a police-spy was just as bad as aparricide. All the evil scattered over the earth he ingenuouslyattributed to Power; and he hated it with a deep-rooted, undying hatredthat held possession of his heart and made his sensibility all the moreacute. He had been dazzled by Senecal's declamations. It was of littleconsequence whether he happened to be guilty or not, or whether theattempt with which he was charged could be characterised as an odiousproceeding! Since he was the victim of Authority, it was only right tohelp him.
"The Peers will condemn him, certainly! Then he will be conveyed in aprison-van, like a convict, and will be shut up in Mont Saint-Michel,where the Government lets people die! Austen had gone mad! Steuben hadkilled himself! In order to transfer Barbes into a dungeon, they haddragged him by the legs and by the hair. They trampled on his body, andhis head rebounded along the staircase at every step they took. Whatabominable treatment! The wretches!"
He was choking with angry sobs, and he walked about the apartment in avery excited frame of mind.
"In the meantime, something must be done! Come, for my part, I don'tknow what to do! Suppose we tried to rescue him, eh? While they arebringing him to the Luxembourg, we could throw ourselves on the escortin the passage! A dozen resolute men--that sometimes is enough toaccomplish it!"
There was so much fire in his eyes that Frederick was a little startledby his look. He recalled to mind Senecal's sufferings and his austerelife. Without feeling the same enthusiasm about him as Dussardier, heexperienced nevertheless that admiration which is inspired by every manwho sacrifices himself for an idea. He said to himself that, if he hadhelped this man, he would not be in his present position; and the twofriends anxiously sought to devise some contrivance whereby they couldset him free.
It was impossible for them to get access to him.
Frederick examined the newspapers to try to find out what had become ofhim, and for three weeks he was a constant visitor at the reading-rooms.
One day several numbers of the _Flambard_ fell into his hands. Theleading article was invariably devoted to cutting up some distinguishedman. After that came some society gossip and some scandals. Then therewere some chaffing observations about the Odeon Carpentras,pisciculture, and prisoners under sentence of death, when there happenedto be any. The disappearance of a packet-boat furnished materials for awhole year's jokes. In the third column a picture-canvasser, under theform of anecdotes or advice, gave some tailors' announcements, togetherwith accounts of evening parties, advertisements as to auctions, andanalysis of artistic productions, writing in the same strain about avolume of verse and a pair of boots. The only serious portion of it wasthe criticism of the small theatres, in which fierce attacks were madeon two or three managers; and the interests of art were invoked on thesubjects of the decorations of the Rope-dancers' Gymnasium and of theactress who played the part of the heroine at the Delassements.
Frederick was passing over all these items when his eyes alighted on anarticle entitled "A Lass between three Lads." It was the story of hisduel related in a lively Gallic style. He had no difficulty inrecognising himself, for he was indicated by this little joke, whichfrequently recurred: "A young man from the College of Sens who has nosense." He was even represented as a poor devil from the provinces, anobscure booby trying to rub against persons of high rank. As for
theVicomte, he was made to play a fascinating part, first by having forcedhis way into the supper-room, then by having carried off the lady, and,finally, by having behaved all through like a perfect gentleman.
Frederick's courage was not denied exactly, but it was pointed out thatan intermediary--the _protector_ himself--had come on the scene just inthe nick of time. The entire article concluded with this phrase,pregnant perhaps with sinister meaning:
"What is the cause of their affection? A problem! and, as Bazile says,who the deuce is it that is deceived here?"
This was, beyond all doubt, Hussonnet's revenge against Frederick forhaving refused him five thousand francs.
What was he to do? If he demanded an explanation from him, the Bohemianwould protest that he was innocent, and nothing would be gained by doingthis. The best course was to swallow the affront in silence. Nobody,after all, read the _Flambard_.
As he left the reading-room, he saw some people standing in front of apicture-dealer's shop. They were staring at the portrait of a woman,with this fine traced underneath in black letters: "MademoiselleRosanette Bron, belonging to M. Frederick Moreau of Nogent."
It was indeed she--or, at least, like her--her full face displayed, herbosom uncovered, with her hair hanging loose, and with a purse of redvelvet in her hands, while behind her a peacock leaned his beak over hershoulder, covering the wall with his immense plumage in the shape of afan.
Pellerin had got up this exhibition in order to compel Frederick to pay,persuaded that he was a celebrity, and that all Paris, roused to takehis part, would be interested in this wretched piece of work.
Was this a conspiracy? Had the painter and the journalist prepared theirattack on him at the same time?
His duel had not put a stop to anything. He had become an object ofridicule, and everyone had been laughing at him.
Three days afterwards, at the end of June, the Northern shares havinghad a rise of fifteen francs, as he had bought two thousand of themwithin the past month, he found that he had made thirty thousand francsby them. This caress of fortune gave him renewed self-confidence. Hesaid to himself that he wanted nobody's help, and that all hisembarrassments were the result of his timidity and indecision. He oughtto have begun his intrigue with the Marechale with brutal directness andrefused Hussonnet the very first day. He should not have compromisedhimself with Pellerin. And, in order to show that he was not a bitembarrassed, he presented himself at one of Madame Dambreuse's ordinaryevening parties.
In the middle of the anteroom, Martinon, who had arrived at the sametime as he had, turned round:
"What! so you are visiting here?" with a look of surprise, and as ifdispleased at seeing him.
"Why not?"
And, while asking himself what could be the cause of such a display ofhostility on Martinon's part, Frederick made his way into thedrawing-room.
The light was dim, in spite of the lamps placed in the corners, for thethree windows, which were wide open, made three large squares of blackshadow stand parallel with each other. Under the pictures, flower-standsoccupied, at a man's height, the spaces on the walls, and a silverteapot with a samovar cast their reflections in a mirror on thebackground. There arose a murmur of hushed voices. Pumps could be heardcreaking on the carpet. He could distinguish a number of black coats,then a round table lighted up by a large shaded lamp, seven or eightladies in summer toilets, and at some little distance Madame Dambreusein a rocking armchair. Her dress of lilac taffeta had slashed sleeves,from which fell muslin puffs, the charming tint of the materialharmonising with the shade of her hair; and she sat slightly thrown backwith the tip of her foot on a cushion, with the repose of an exquisitelydelicate work of art, a flower of high culture.
M. Dambreuse and an old gentleman with a white head were walking fromone end of the drawing-room to the other. Some of the guests chattedhere and there, sitting on the edges of little sofas, while the others,standing up, formed a circle in the centre of the apartment.
They were talking about votes, amendments, counter-amendments, M.Grandin's speech, and M. Benoist's reply. The third party had decidedlygone too far. The Left Centre ought to have had a better recollectionof its origin. Serious attacks had been made on the ministry. It must bereassuring, however, to see that it had no successor. In short, thesituation was completely analogous to that of 1834.
As these things bored Frederick, he drew near the ladies. Martinon wasbeside them, standing up, with his hat under his arm, showing himself inthree-quarter profile, and looking so neat that he resembled a piece ofSevres porcelain. He took up a copy of the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ whichwas lying on the table between an _Imitation_ and an _Almanach deGotha_, and spoke of a distinguished poet in a contemptuous tone, saidhe was going to the "conferences of Saint-Francis," complained of hislarynx, swallowed from time to time a pellet of gummatum, and in themeantime kept talking about music, and played the part of the eleganttrifler. Mademoiselle Cecile, M. Dambreuse's niece, who happened to beembroidering a pair of ruffles, gazed at him with her pale blue eyes;and Miss John, the governess, who had a flat nose, laid aside hertapestry on his account. Both of them appeared to be exclaiminginternally:
"How handsome he is!"
Madame Dambreuse turned round towards him.
"Please give me my fan which is on that pier-table over there. You aretaking the wrong one! 'tis the other!"
She arose, and when he came across to her, they met in the middle of thedrawing-room face to face. She addressed a few sharp words to him, nodoubt of a reproachful character, judging by the haughty expression ofher face. Martinon tried to smile; then he went to join the circle inwhich grave men were holding discussions. Madame Dambreuse resumed herseat, and, bending over the arm of her chair, said to Frederick:
"I saw somebody the day before yesterday who was speaking to me aboutyou--Monsieur de Cisy. You know him, don't you?"
"Yes, slightly."
Suddenly Madame Dambreuse uttered an exclamation:
"Oh! Duchesse, what a pleasure to see you!"
And she advanced towards the door to meet a little old lady in aCarmelite taffeta gown and a cap of guipure with long borders. Thedaughter of a companion in exile of the Comte d'Artois, and the widow ofa marshal of the Empire; who had been created a peer of France in 1830,she adhered to the court of a former generation as well as to the newcourt, and possessed sufficient influence to procure many things. Thosewho stood talking stepped aside, and then resumed their conversation.
It had now turned on pauperism, of which, according to these gentlemen,all the descriptions that had been given were grossly exaggerated.
"However," urged Martinon, "let us confess that there is such a thing aswant! But the remedy depends neither on science nor on power. It ispurely an individual question. When the lower classes are willing to getrid of their vices, they will free themselves from their necessities.Let the people be more moral, and they will be less poor!"
According to M. Dambreuse, no good could be attained without asuperabundance of capital. Therefore, the only practicable method was tointrust, "as the Saint-Simonians, however, proposed (good heavens!there was some merit in their views--let us be just to everybody)--tointrust, I say, the cause of progress to those who can increase thepublic wealth." Imperceptibly they began to touch on great industrialundertakings--the railways, the coal-mines. And M. Dambreuse, addressingFrederick, said to him in a low whisper:
"You have not called about that business of ours?"
Frederick pleaded illness; but, feeling that this excuse was too absurd:
"Besides, I need my ready money."
"Is it to buy a carriage?" asked Madame Dambreuse, who was brushing pasthim with a cup of tea in her hand, and for a minute she watched his facewith her head bent slightly over her shoulder.
She believed that he was Rosanette's lover--the allusion was obvious. Itseemed even to Frederick that all the ladies were staring at him from adistance and whispering to one another.
In order to get a better id
ea as to what they were thinking about, heonce more approached them. On the opposite side of the table, Martinon,seated near Mademoiselle Cecile, was turning over the leaves of analbum. It contained lithographs representing Spanish costumes. He readthe descriptive titles aloud: "A Lady of Seville," "A ValenciaGardener," "An Andalusian Picador"; and once, when he had reached thebottom of the page, he continued all in one breath:
"Jacques Arnoux, publisher. One of your friends, eh?"
"That is true," said Frederick, hurt by the tone he had assumed.
Madame Dambreuse again interposed:
"In fact, you came here one morning--about a house, I believe--a housebelonging to his wife." (This meant: "She is your mistress.")
He reddened up to his ears; and M. Dambreuse, who joined them at thesame moment, made this additional remark:
"You appear even to be deeply interested in them."
These last words had the effect of putting Frederick out of countenance.His confusion, which, he could not help feeling, was evident to them,was on the point of confirming their suspicions, when M. Dambreuse drewclose to him, and, in a tone of great seriousness, said:
"I suppose you don't do business together?"
He protested by repeated shakes of the head, without realising the exactmeaning of the capitalist, who wished to give him advice.
He felt a desire to leave. The fear of appearing faint-heartedrestrained him. A servant carried away the teacups. Madame Dambreuse wastalking to a diplomatist in a blue coat. Two young girls, drawing theirforeheads close together, showed each other their jewellery. The others,seated in a semicircle on armchairs, kept gently moving their whitefaces crowned with black or fair hair. Nobody, in fact, minded them.Frederick turned on his heels; and, by a succession of long zigzags, hehad almost reached the door, when, passing close to a bracket, heremarked, on the top of it, between a china vase and the wainscoting, ajournal folded up in two. He drew it out a little, and read thesewords--_The Flambard_.
Who had brought it there? Cisy. Manifestly no one else. What did itmatter, however? They would believe--already, perhaps, everyonebelieved--in the article. What was the cause of this rancour? He wrappedhimself up in ironical silence. He felt like one lost in a desert. Butsuddenly he heard Martinon's voice:
"Talking of Arnoux, I saw in the newspapers, amongst the names of thoseaccused of preparing incendiary bombs, that of one of his _employes_,Senecal. Is that our Senecal?"
"The very same!"
Martinon repeated several times in a very loud tone:
"What? our Senecal! our Senecal!"
Then questions were asked him about the conspiracy. It was assumed thathis connection with the prosecutor's office ought to furnish him withsome information on the subject.
He declared that he had none. However, he knew very little about thisindividual, having seen him only two or three times. He positivelyregarded him as a very ill-conditioned fellow. Frederick exclaimedindignantly:
"Not at all! he is a very honest fellow."
"All the same, Monsieur," said a landowner, "no conspirator can be anhonest man."
Most of the men assembled there had served at least four governments;and they would have sold France or the human race in order to preservetheir own incomes, to save themselves from any discomfort orembarrassment, or even through sheer baseness, through worship of force.They all maintained that political crimes were inexcusable. It would bemore desirable to pardon those which were provoked by want. And they didnot fail to put forward the eternal illustration of the father of afamily stealing the eternal loaf of bread from the eternal baker.
A gentleman occupying an administrative office even went so far as toexclaim:
"For my part, Monsieur, if I were told that my brother were aconspirator I would denounce him!"
Frederick invoked the right of resistance, and recalling to mind somephrases that Deslauriers had used in their conversations, he referred toDelosmes, Blackstone, the English Bill of Rights, and Article 2 of theConstitution of '91. It was even by virtue of this law that the fall ofNapoleon had been proclaimed. It had been recognised in 1830, andinscribed at the head of the Charter. Besides, when the sovereign failsto fulfil the contract, justice requires that he should be overthrown.
"Why, this is abominable!" exclaimed a prefect's wife.
All the rest remained silent, filled with vague terror, as if they hadheard the noise of bullets. Madame Dambreuse rocked herself in herchair, and smiled as she listened to him.
A manufacturer, who had formerly been a member of the Carbonari, triedto show that the Orleans family possessed good qualities. No doubt therewere some abuses.
"Well, what then?"
"But we should not talk about them, my dear Monsieur! If you knew howall these clamourings of the Opposition injure business!"
"What do I care about business?" said Frederick.
He was exasperated by the rottenness of these old men; and, carried awayby the recklessness which sometimes takes possession of even the mosttimid, he attacked the financiers, the deputies, the government, theking, took up the defence of the Arabs, and gave vent to a great deal ofabusive language. A few of those around him encouraged him in a spiritof irony:
"Go on, pray! continue!" whilst others muttered: "The deuce! whatenthusiasm!" At last he thought the right thing to do was to retire;and, as he was going away, M. Dambreuse said to him, alluding to thepost of secretary:
"No definite arrangement has been yet arrived at; but make haste!"
And Madame Dambreuse:
"You'll call again soon, will you not?"
Frederick considered their parting salutation a last mockery. He hadresolved never to come back to this house, or to visit any of thesepeople again. He imagined that he had offended them, not realising whatvast funds of indifference society possesses. These women especiallyexcited his indignation. Not a single one of them had backed him up evenwith a look of sympathy. He felt angry with them for not having beenmoved by his words. As for Madame Dambreuse, he found in her somethingat the same time languid and cold, which prevented him from defining hercharacter by a formula. Had she a lover? and, if so, who was her lover?Was it the diplomatist or some other? Perhaps it was Martinon?Impossible! Nevertheless, he experienced a sort of jealousy againstMartinon, and an unaccountable ill-will against her.
Dussardier, having called this evening as usual, was awaiting him.Frederick's heart was swelling with bitterness; he unburdened it, andhis grievances, though vague and hard to understand, saddened thehonest shop-assistant. He even complained of his isolation. Dussardier,after a little hesitation, suggested that they ought to call onDeslauriers.
Frederick, at the mention of the advocate's name, was seized with alonging to see him once more. He was now living in the midst of profoundintellectual solitude, and found Dussardier's company quiteinsufficient. In reply to the latter's question, Frederick told him toarrange matters any way he liked.
Deslauriers had likewise, since their quarrel, felt a void in his life.He yielded without much reluctance to the cordial advances which weremade to him. The pair embraced each other, then began chatting aboutmatters of no consequence.
Frederick's heart was touched by Deslauriers' display of reserve, and inorder to make him a sort of reparation, he told the other next day howhe had lost the fifteen thousand francs without mentioning that thesefifteen thousand francs had been originally intended for him. Theadvocate, nevertheless, had a shrewd suspicion of the truth; and thismisadventure, which justified, in his own mind, his prejudices againstArnoux, entirely disarmed his rancour; and he did not again refer to thepromise made by his friend on a former occasion.
Frederick, misled by his silence, thought he had forgotten all about it.A few days afterwards, he asked Deslauriers whether there was any way inwhich he could get back his money.
They might raise the point that the prior mortgage was fraudulent, andmight take proceedings against the wife personally.
"No! no! not against her!" exclaimed Fred
erick, and, yielding to theex-law-clerk's questions, he confessed the truth. Deslauriers wasconvinced that Frederick had not told him the entire truth, no doubtthrough a feeling of delicacy. He was hurt by this want of confidence.
They were, however, on the same intimate terms as before, and they evenfound so much pleasure in each other's society that Dussardier'spresence was an obstacle to their free intercourse. Under the pretencethat they had appointments, they managed gradually to get rid of him.
There are some men whose only mission amongst their fellow-men is toserve as go-betweens; people use them in the same way as if they werebridges, by stepping over them and going on further.
Frederick concealed nothing from his old friend. He told him about thecoal-mine speculation and M. Dambreuse's proposal. The advocate grewthoughtful.
"That's queer! For such a post a man with a good knowledge of law wouldbe required!"
"But you could assist me," returned Frederick.
"Yes!--hold on! faith, yes! certainly."
During the same week Frederick showed Dussardier a letter from hismother.
Madame Moreau accused herself of having misjudged M. Roque, who hadgiven a satisfactory explanation of his conduct. Then she spoke of hismeans, and of the possibility, later, of a marriage with Louise.
"That would not be a bad match," said Deslauriers.
Frederick said it was entirely out of the question. Besides, Pere Roquewas an old trickster. That in no way affected the matter, in theadvocate's opinion.
At the end of July, an unaccountable diminution in value made theNorthern shares fall. Frederick had not sold his. He lost sixty thousandfrancs in one day. His income was considerably reduced. He would have tocurtail his expenditure, or take up some calling, or make a brilliantcatch in the matrimonial market.
Then Deslauriers spoke to him about Mademoiselle Roque. There wasnothing to prevent him from going to get some idea of things by seeingfor himself. Frederick was rather tired of city life. Provincialexistence and the maternal roof would be a sort of recreation for him.
The aspect of the streets of Nogent, as he passed through them in themoonlight, brought back old memories to his mind; and he experienced akind of pang, like persons who have just returned home after a longperiod of travel.
At his mother's house, all the country visitors had assembled as informer days--MM. Gamblin, Heudras, and Chambrion, the Lebrun family,"those young ladies, the Augers," and, in addition, Pere Roque, and,sitting opposite to Madame Moreau at a card-table, Mademoiselle Louise.She was now a woman. She sprang to her feet with a cry of delight. Theywere all in a flutter of excitement. She remained standing motionless,and the paleness of her face was intensified by the light issuing fromfour silver candlesticks.
When she resumed play, her hand was trembling. This emotion wasexceedingly flattering to Frederick, whose pride had been sorely woundedof late. He said to himself: "You, at any rate, will love me!" and, asif he were thus taking his revenge for the humiliations he had enduredin the capital, he began to affect the Parisian lion, retailed all thetheatrical gossip, told anecdotes as to the doings of society, which hehad borrowed from the columns of the cheap newspapers, and, in short,dazzled his fellow-townspeople.
Next morning, Madame Moreau expatiated on Louise's fine qualities; thenshe enumerated the woods and farms of which she would be the owner. PereRoque's wealth was considerable.
He had acquired it while making investments for M. Dambreuse; for he hadlent money to persons who were able to give good security in the shapeof mortgages, whereby he was enabled to demand additional sums orcommissions. The capital, owing to his energetic vigilance, was in nodanger of being lost. Besides, Pere Roque never had any hesitation inmaking a seizure. Then he bought up the mortgaged property at a lowprice, and M. Dambreuse, having got back his money, found his affairs invery good order.
But this manipulation of business matters in a way which was notstrictly legal compromised him with his agent. He could refuse PereRoque nothing, and it was owing to the latter's solicitations that M.Dambreuse had received Frederick so cordially.
The truth was that in the depths of his soul Pere Roque cherished adeep-rooted ambition. He wished his daughter to be a countess; and forthe purpose of gaining this object, without imperilling the happiness ofhis child, he knew no other young man so well adapted as Frederick.
Through the influence of M. Dambreuse, he could obtain the title of hismaternal grandfather, Madame Moreau being the daughter of a Comte deFouvens, and besides being connected with the oldest families inChampagne, the Lavernades and the D'Etrignys. As for the Moreaus, aGothic inscription near the mills of Villeneuve-l'Archeveque referred toone Jacob Moreau, who had rebuilt them in 1596; and the tomb of his ownson, Pierre Moreau, first esquire of the king under Louis XIV., was tobe seen in the chapel of Saint-Nicholas.
So much family distinction fascinated M. Roque, the son of an oldservant. If the coronet of a count did not come, he would consolehimself with something else; for Frederick might get a deputyship whenM. Dambreuse had been raised to the peerage, and might then be able toassist him in his commercial pursuits, and to obtain for him suppliesand grants. He liked the young man personally. In short, he desired tohave Frederick for a son-in-law, because for a long time past he hadbeen smitten with this notion, which only grew all the stronger day byday. Now he went to religious services, and he had won Madame Moreauover to his views, especially by holding before her the prospect of atitle.
So it was that, eight days later, without any formal engagement,Frederick was regarded as Mademoiselle Roque's "intended," and PereRoque, who was not troubled with many scruples, often left themtogether.
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