Nathalie trusted, and her husband took for granted, that friendlier
relations would spring up between her and her mother and sisters in law;
but as the months rolled on, there was little apparent change. As much
as possible she was ignored, at the best was treated with the ceremony
due to a stranger. The hope with which she had begun her married life
faded, and she gave up some illusions, but kept the sweetest of all,
faith in her husband, although she had dropped the idea that he could
help her in her other relationships, and perhaps at last realised this
weakness in him: that he hated to face or to share disagreeables.
Gradually her life took a threefold character: that with the family,
that with her husband, and that in which she was alone. What she had to
bear she endured grandly and silently, never complaining to Leon, or
even asking his advice. She loved him passionately, and--which was
stranger--he still loved her.
M. Bourget's visit to Poissy had not been repeated. Fear lest his
shrewd intelligence, once roused, should see too much, kept his daughter
from suggesting his coming, although she felt with a pang that he
expected an invitation. She often, however, drove to Tours, for she
perceived that it gave him extreme pleasure to see the carriage appear,
and sometimes to seat himself by her side while she invented errands
which took them through the streets. On some pretext or another Leon
always excused himself from accompanying her. If he were obliged to
meet M. Bourget he showed perfect kindness and cordiality, but the
common little figure and self-satisfied arrogance of the ex-builder was
as distasteful to him as to the rest of his family, and he easily
contented himself with the reflection that Nathalie would do all that
was right and proper. M. Bourget never failed to ask for him, or to
show a little disappointment that he had not accompanied his wife.
"Well, and Monsieur de Beaudrillart!" he would say.
"There were some trees which had to be marked for cutting, and he has
gone off to see about it," Nathalie answered, in a low tone. Once her
father scrutinised her sharply and unexpectedly.
"He does not tire of you, this fine gentleman, eh?"
"Father!" The blood rushed into her face; she turned upon him in blank
amazement, which completely reassured him.
"Ah, all goes well, I see," he said--"with you, at any rate. And the
north wing?"
"That, too," she answered eagerly. "Leon has done exactly what you told
him, and they have put props where you thought it necessary."
"Ah, your little Monsieur de Beaudrillart, he has good sense, say what
they will," said M. Bourget, gratified. "But I should like to see
Fauvel's work. He can do well enough when he takes pains, and if he
knows that I am at his heels; but you can't trust him altogether, and it
would not in the least surprise me if he tried to take in Monsieur de
Beaudrillart--not in the least. I shall show him that he has me to
reckon with. I tell you what, Nathalie, you're on the upper shelf now,
and I don't wish to push myself where I'm not wanted--"
She laid her hand on his reproachfully. "Leon and I were not sure you'd
like to come out, but if only you would!"
"Ah, you've talked about it, have you? Well, I should; because, you
see, I can't bear the notion that what is being done at Poissy shouldn't
be the best. Peste, if you only knew how I lie awake at night and think
of that wall! And Fauvel is very well, but they're all alike, for if
you don't keep both eyes open, and have a third at the back of your
head, they'll scamp their work, and that won't do for Poissy."
He went on, autocratically: "I'm not sure that anybody there thinks
enough of the place."
The wonder what they would have said had they heard him made Nathalie
laugh and answer, gayly:
"If you lived there you would be quite sure!"
He shook his head in doubt. "Now, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll
walk out some day just when Fauvel isn't expecting me, and have a good
look round. If he's put any bad work in, it will have to come out, I
can tell him. Then if those fat ponies of yours have nothing else to
do--" He broke off and looked scrutinisingly at her again. "They take
you with them when they go and pay visits or that sort of thing, don't
they!" She coloured.
"Oh, I can go wherever I like. I think most often it is Felicie who
comes with me, because she so often has to arrange with other ladies or
to call at farm-houses."
"Felicie? That's the poor deaf young lady, isn't it?"
"She is not always deaf," she said in a low voice, looking down.
"Well, it's an affliction, anyway. Why, what does she do at the
houses?"
"She collects."
"Collects, eh?"
"For the Church."
M. Bourget gave a contemptuous grunt. "Oh, that nonsense! Better stay
at home and look after the maids. Well, as I was saying, I'll walk out
some day, and if they can spare you, you shall drive me back. Fauvel
will learn that I am there."
"It will be very kind of you, dear father, and most useful to Leon."
"Useful, yes; I rather flatter myself I am useful if I ain't
ornamental," said the ex-builder, standing up and sticking his thumbs
into his waistcoat, and swelling. "Poissy without money and tumbling to
pieces was a sorry sight, but Poissy with a good stock of francs at her
back--ah, ha, there's a Poissy for you! That's hotter than the
ornamental. Besides, you can do all that. And that reminds me that
I've a little something to say to Madame de Beaudrillart about you."
"About me?" She looked at him nervously.
"Yes, yes, never mind. I know what I'm talking of. You leave me alone,
and do what you're told. That's all. Whatever happens, nobody now can
make you anything but a De Beaudrillart. Of Poissy." And by his action
he added, unmistakably, the words, "_My_ daughter."
Told of M. Bourget's intentions, Leon laughed.
"Oh, he'll do well enough!" he exclaimed, "and you can smooth over
anything that wants smoothing. I'll tell Felicie that if she carries on
that absurd farce of stuffing her ears with wool, I'll refuse to
subscribe to her next pilgrimage. That'll frighten her. I dare say
Fauvel will be the better for not having everything his own way."
"And, Leon--"
"Well?"
"You'll be here yourself, won't you?"
"Oh, of course!" But though he spoke confidently, it was remarkable how
frequently he was obliged during the next mornings to go off to some
distant point. It was on one of these mornings that M. Bourget
arrived.
The second breakfast was over, and he sturdily refused the offers of
hospitality which Mme. de Beaudrillart pressed upon him with ceremonious
care.
"No, no, madame," he said. "I'm here on business, and, with your leave,
I'll go and see about it at once."
"But, unfortunately, monsieur, my son is not here to conduct you."
M. Bourget stared, the awe of his first visit having considerably
lessened.
"Much obliged, madame, but I require no conducting. Fauvel and I have
done a good deal of work together before now, and I don't think he'll
try to palm off anything discreditable upon me. I mean to see, though,
and perhaps one of the young ladies would like to come, too.
Mademoiselle Felicie looks as if she wanted fresh air, poor thing! I
dare say it's a trial to her to be so hard of hearing."
"Sometimes it's more a trial to hear at all, Monsieur Bourget," said
Claire, gazing at the ceiling. She burst out when they were alone:
"Heavens! are we to have that odious man inflicted upon us whenever he
chooses to think that Poissy requires his superintendence? And Leon has
no doubt gone away on purpose? If he presents us with a father-in-law
in the shape of a builder--or a mason? Which was it?"--"Oh, a builder.
Fauvel is the mason."
"--He might at least share the labours of entertaining him."
"One could endure the builder," said Felicie, creeping with her small
steps towards the window, "if he were not such a terrible freethinker.
Abbe Nisard says you can never be certain what he will not say."
"If he says anything to you it will be shouted," laughed Claire. "To
have brought that great voice on your head is serious."
"The whole affair, the whole connection, is serious," said Mme. de
Beaudrillart gravely. "Nathalie is not without good points, but such a
father! What can one expect!"
"He talks as if Poissy belonged to him. By-and-by, you will see he will
suggest something preposterous."
Mme. de Beaudrillart smiled.
"He may suggest," she said, calmly.
And, unfortunately, one of M. Bourget's chief objects in coming to
Poissy was to make a suggestion.
His interview with Fauvel was less satisfactory than he would have
desired. Both were men of vigorous ideas, and, although M. Bourget was
the stronger, and usually had his way, there were times when Fauvel took
refuge in argument, in which he developed an annoying aptitude. He was
in favour of one way of securing the wall, and M. Bourget of another;
each hammered at the other's reasons for a good half-hour, and what
chiefly irritated M. Bourget was Fauvel's habit of referring to work
which he had executed for a certain retired chemist at Tours. That any
comparison should be made between this petty undertaking and that of
restoring the stability of Poissy exasperated him almost beyond bounds,
and would have driven him to condemn a better plan. He carried his
point at last by dint of sheer browbeating; but it had heated his blood,
and he marched away mopping his forehead, and inveighing against
Fauvel's pigheadedness, until Nathalie had some difficulty in soothing
him.
"I think I understand what you mean, father, and I will ask Leon to see
that it is carried out." He faced round upon her angrily.
"You will do nothing of the sort. What! Aren't these women turning up
their noses at you because you are a builder's daughter? You will
forget that, if you please, and become a fine lady as quickly as
possible: Now that I have made you a De Beaudrillart, I expect you to
hold up your head with the best of them."
She was thunderstruck, the more so because she had not imagined that he
had taken in her position in the house, or the petty thrusts with which
Claire had attempted to wound both him and her. But she answered with
spirit:
"You are mistaken. They will not respect me the more for pretending to
be what I am not."
M. Bourget did not hear her; he had caught sight of a young girl with a
merry face who was crossing the court-yard, singing, a dish covered with
vine-leaves in her hand. The sun struck down on her bright hair
escaping under her cap; she had a pretty blue skirt and a large apron.
"What has she got?" asked the ex-builder, quickening his steps. "Here,
Toinette, Jeanne, what you will, I want you!"
"Stop, Rose-Marie," Nathalie called, wonderingly. The girl came towards
them, smiling more broadly, and showing her white teeth.
"What have you got there?" demanded M. Bourget. "But I'll wager I
know." He lifted a leaf. "Ah, ha, as I thought! Vine-snails, and fine
ones, too; I never saw finer."
"Freshly picked, monsieur."
"Yes, yes, plain enough. Freshly picked, and beauties! There, there,
that will do, my girl," he said with a sigh and a wave of dismissal.
"Would you not like some to take back with you?" asked his daughter,
innocently.
"Ah, but it wouldn't do, it wouldn't do," M. Bourget declared, shaking
his head. "As if every soul in the chateau would not know that Madame
Leon's father had bought vine-snails!"
"And then!" Her voice was scornful. Her father looked at her.
"I begin to understand," he remarked, frowning. "It appears to me that
you have already forgotten what, Heaven knows, I preached enough about
before your marriage: that Madame Leon de Beaudrillart is not the same
person as Mademoiselle Bourget, and that to effect the necessary change
you must forget a great deal. For instance, you should forget that I
ever ate vine-snails."
She sighed, and tears gathered in her eyes.
"It is unlucky, father, for I do not think I forget easily enough. And
why should I? Leon is kinder than to ask it. Listen. I love him
dearly, but I cannot live a life of pretence, for everything in me cries
out against it, and they must take me as I am."
"And it was not a bad bargain," said M. Bourget, rubbing his hands with
complacency. "You may be certain there was a very fair equivalent on
either side. Monsieur de Beaudrillart does not complain?"
The young wife began to smile in spite of herself.
"No, no!"
"Good. But, see here, my girl, it is I you have to think of. I mean
you to be a Beaudrillart, and a Beaudrillart you must become. Keep your
eyes open. You are sharp enough to pick up what is what, and to take
your position with the best of them. I've heard nonsense enough from
Fauvel to-day, so don't vex me by talking any more."
"But--"
"No buts," said M. Bourget, peremptorily. "The subject is finished--
arranged; and I shall expect all to go as I desire. Now let me see the
picture-gallery."
The picture-gallery at Poissy is short, though beautifully proportioned
to the rest of the house; it is rather a long room consecrated to the
past than a gallery at all. It has an exquisite ceiling, and delightful
deep windows from which you look over the trees--of no great height--to
the rich and smiling country beyond. The room is by no means crowded
with portraits, and, except for the interest to their descendants, the
pictures are of little value. The last is dated about eighty years ago,
and is chiefly noticeable as the likeness of a Baron de Beaudrillart who
escaped the horrors of the revolution.
Round this room M. Bourget marched, regarding each painting as
thoughtfully as if he were studying for the reputation of a critic.
Nathalie did not accompany him. She threw open one of the windows, and
leaned out, amusing herself with dropping little pellets of moss upon
the turf beneath, where a few pigeons had collected, and were sunning
themselves with an air of great enjoyment. Every now and then her
father called to her with a question as to the history of one of the
portraits, and it displeased him when she was not able to give a full
account of the personage's life and death. It mattered little if she
assured him that no more was known in the family; he was always of
opinion that such ignorance showed a blamable want of interest. He
looked long at the last pictured baron. What he said was:
"If they had guillotined him, it might have been no such great matter;
but imagine if those rascals had touched Poissy! Now I have finished.
Are you going to drive me back to Tours?"
"At any time you like; but you will have some coffee first?"
"Yes, since one may as well save one's pocket," said M. Bourget with a
sigh, thinking of the absinthe. "Besides, I have to see madame."
Nathalie wondered anxiously why this was said. She had not long to
wait, for when he had gulped down the portion of black coffee, served in
a tiny Sevres cup of finest quality, and set it with an unsatisfied air
upon the table to his left, he opened his subject.
"You may tell Monsieur de Beaudrillart, madame, that I have put Fauvel
upon the right tack at last."
"I imagine, monsieur, that Fauvel will not venture to change any plan of
which my son has already approved?"
"Ah, Monsieur de Beaudrillart knows nothing about it--how should he? I
do," added M. Bourget, simply. "As for Fauvel, he understands a few
things, but not all. However, that is settled, and I shall sleep better
to-night for knowing that it has been seen to. There was something
else, madame, I wished to speak about. I asked my daughter to take me
to the picture-gallery."
"Are you thinking of insisting also upon the portraits being cleaned,
monsieur!" asked Claire, with a laugh.
"Not my business," said M. Bourget imperturbably. "But it's a pity
they should stop short as they do. Eighty years ago the last! One
would not have it said that the De Beaudrillarts had come to an end."
"Of late years, monsieur, their fortunes have diminished."
"Precisely, madame, precisely. But now that matters have improved--in
fact, madame, the long and short of the business is that I should wish
to have Madame Leon painted, and placed in the gallery with the other De
Beaudrillarts."
There was a pause such as follows a crash, an earthquake, or any other
horrible and unexpected convulsion. Nathalie cried out, "Oh no!" but
her father turned his back upon her, and hands on knees gazed squarely
at Mme. de Beaudrillart. She stared back at him as if she had failed to
comprehend his proposal.
"Madame Leon! In the picture-gallery!"
"Precisely, madame. Painted by the best artist in France."
"Monsieur, I do not think you understand what you suggest. Those are
our ancestors, the old De Beaudrillarts."
"Exactly why I wish to see her among them."
He leaned back, and faced her, the image of dogged resolution.
"But--monsieur, it is impossible!"
"And why, madame!"
"Because--because it is altogether unsuitable." She would have liked to
have said "preposterous."