"That may be," she said, "but I think my wishes might also be respected.
Raoul, would you not rather remain here and let Jean drive you?"
"No," said Raoul, sturdily. "And I shall go to Tours, because mother
promised."
"Ah, it is a pity your mother spoils you," said Mme. de Beaudrillart,
rising, and looking displeased. "May I ask when you start!"
"At once," Nathalie answered, "so as to be at home when Leon arrives."
"I shall want him to walk with me."
"Certainly, madame." As her mother-in-law left the room, Mme. Leon
took up her husband's letters, which lay on the table. "Such a black
border!" she remarked, looking at one of them. "These letters of
announcement always give one a shiver."
"That need not, at any rate, for it does not concern you," said Claire,
carelessly. "I suppose you have scarcely heard of old Monsieur de
Cadanet, in Paris?"
"Leon and I were speaking of him only yesterday. Is he dead?"
"So it seems. By-the-way, if Leon had been at home, perhaps he would
have run up for the funeral."
"It appears as if it would require a great deal to drag Leon to Paris,"
Nathalie remarked, smiling.
"Perhaps, my dear, he has never informed you of the reasons he has to
avoid it."
Her sister-in-law coloured.
"No," she said, "he never speaks of his life there."
"And such a good wife asks no questions! Well, I have often wished to
go there myself."
"Oh, you are quite extraordinary, Claire," said Felicie, shuddering.
"When Paris is such a wicked place!"
"I believe I should like to see a little of the wickedness and judge for
myself," Claire announced, as she followed her mother out of the room.
When Nathalie and her boy reached M. Bourget's house, he had already
been more than once to the door to see if they were coming, although he
would not have acknowledged it for worlds. He professed great surprise
at their appearing, for, by an established fiction, they were never
expected on the days when they arrived, and by another fiction it was
supposed to be an extraordinary fact that Raoul should have been allowed
to drive in with his mother.
M. Bourget would stand, thumbs in button-holes, and look him up and
down with a pride which cannot be described.
"Ta, ta, ta, and this is our baby?" he would say, pursing his lips.
"Only the other day he was tied into his chair, and here, if you please,
he is driving with his mamma like a gentleman! The times march, upon my
word!"
By this time Raoul would have plunged his hands into his grandfather's
pocket.
"Softly, softly, what now!" And, aside to his daughter, "He grows more
of a Beaudrillart every day. What he will have, he will, one can see it
in everything. Now then, little robber, little brigand, what are you
stealing from your poor grandfather!"
And with a shout of delight, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief,
Raoul would extract a whip, or a top, or a packet of chocolates, and run
round the room chased by M. Bourget with terrific show of indignation.
Later on, another ceremony was observed, which Nathalie herself always
suggested, having discovered the pleasure it afforded to her father.
All three would set forth for a walk through the streets of Tours, M.
Bourget with his grandson by his side. The ostensible reason for the
promenade was that Raoul should see the shops, and to this end they
walked up and down the streets for half an hour. M. Bourget did not,
at these times, stop to converse with any of his friends, but he took
care that they should see him, passed and repassed the cafe and his
other most usual haunts, and would have been greatly disappointed had he
not met Leroux, Docteur Mathurin, and at least one of the principal
officials. If they went into the cathedral, where Raoul liked to look
at the tomb of the little boy and girl princess with their watching
angels, he would even make the concession of lifting him up to dip his
small fingers into the stoup for holy-water. Then, while Nathalie knelt
and prayed--little knowing, poor soul, how much at that very moment her
prayers were needed!--the two would wander off into quiet corners, Raoul
putting questions which his grandfather treasured jealously, to be
repeated with shaking shoulders to the impatient Leroux.
"He must have an answer for everything," M. Bourget would declare, and
Leroux, who, as a father, suffered under the not unusual infliction
himself, was expected to express amazement.
After this, it was necessary to stand in front of the cathedral, and
scatter crumbs, brought for the purpose, to the pigeons; returning by
way of the Rue Royale, that M. Bourget might be certain Raoul had not
forgotten how Balzac was born in Number 39. Raoul knew it as well as
his grandfather, by this time, but he would sometimes pretend
forgetfulness in order to have his memory jogged by chocolates.
On this day the round was shorter, as Mme. Leon wished to be at home
early to meet her husband.
"He will hear of the death of an old cousin," she said, knowing her
father's interest in all Beaudrillart affairs--"Monsieur de Cadanet. I
believe he was very old, but I do not think there had been any news sent
of his illness, so that I do not suppose it was expected."
"Ah," said M. Bourget, "Cadanet. Yes. A branch. His grandmother was
a Beaudrillart. Have they said much about it at Poissy?"
"Not to me," she replied, briefly. "Leon, you know, is absent."
"It is too far off, probably, for Raoul to benefit," remarked his
grandfather, gazing at him. "If he could have seen him now! Monsieur
de Beaudrillart should have taken him there on a visit."
"It might have been only another to spoil him," she said, with a laugh,
capturing her son as he was thumping upon the table with both lists.
"Pooh, you are a fidget! He gets no spoiling here. I dare say those
women at Poissy don't know how a boy should be treated. Let him hammer.
The table is solid. You lose your authority by always scolding. Come
here, Raoul, and tell me how the pony goes. And Jean? Does he do what
you tell him?"
Driving back that afternoon, Nathalie reflected, as she reflected often,
on the difficulties which lay about the bringing up of her little son.
Indulged on all sides, with the strong family will quite ready to
develop itself, it seemed as if his path was to be strewn with
rose-leaves. She had absolutely no one to help her, except Jacques
Charpentier, Jean's father, an honest, sensible man, devoted to the
family, and no less so to Mme. Leon. When Raoul was with him, his
mother was at ease. With his grandmother and aunts, she was sure that
they often indulged the boy out of opposition to her. His father hated
disturbance of any sort, and found it easier to laugh than to rebuke.
All the training was left to her. Her own father, usually sensible,
here was weak, and, in fact, it was who should gain his love by
yielding. Happily, as yet, Raoul adored his mother, and as she thought
of this she blamed herself for her misgivings.
She told herself, with a sigh, that she was a very happy woman. And
afterwards she stared back at that sigh with amazement at her ignorant
discontent.
Leon received the news of M. de Cadanet's death in silence, which was
unusual. He answered Claire's question whether he would have gone to
the funeral briefly in the negative, and was leaving the room, when his
mother detained him to say in a low voice:
"It will make no difference to you!"
"No. But it might have."
"Who will have his money?"
"I imagine he will leave all he can to one Monsieur Charles Lemaire, his
wife's nephew."
"Ah, well! I am glad things were settled before there could be any
complications."
Leon, who was pale, went out of the room without answering her.