The incident of the empty envelope had sent dreariest conviction home to
M. Bourget. That he should have read black proof in it was not perhaps
astonishing; yet he had so strong a sense of the code of honour which
governed an ancient family like that of Beaudrillart, and so obstinate a
belief in his own opinion, that the shock was staggering. Besides, it
dealt a direct blow at his vanity. He felt with a shiver that his
intimates at Tours would by their jeers revenge themselves for his
boasting speeches which they had been forced to endure in silence.
Already he saw the smiles, heard the gibes, and a cold sweat broke out
as he pictured the secret glee with which Leroux, for instance, under
pretence of sympathy, would hand him the local newspaper giving the
fullest particulars of this extraordinary affair. Already the letters
glared at him: "The Affair Beaudrillart--the Poissy Scandal." The
humiliation sent him hurrying along the straight, flat road as if he
felt Fate at his heels, shouting mockery.
Now and then he broke out into a rage of denial. A man working in a
way-side field was so amazed at the hoarse sound that he ran to the
hedge to behold, as he thought, a short, stout, red-faced mad bourgeois,
hastening along with violent gestures and clinched fists. The man
stared after him, scratching his head and reflecting. He was a madman,
no doubt; but if he were to attempt to secure him, he might very well
get some injuries for his pains. Besides, he would have to run to
overtake him, and if he stayed where he was, the keepers, who would
probably soon come along, might give him a few sous for his information.
So M. Bourget went on his excited way unmolested.
He did not think of Nathalie so much as of Raoul. Nathalie was a woman;
her father, moreover, had often been annoyed at her failing to show
sufficient interest in the great family in which he flattered himself he
had placed her. The toppling down of that edifice would not break her
heart. But Raoul--the boy whose inheritance should have come to him as
his father received it, and who now ran the risk of being branded for a
thief's son--it was when he dwelt upon Raoul that the cry of rage
escaped. The child's unconsciousness made the sin against him the
worse. Such a child, such a boy! Manly, daring, wilful, truthful--that
he should be weighted with a burden of dishonour!
"When he gets to understand it, if it doesn't kill him, it will ruin his
life," muttered his grandfather with a groan.
There was a further trial to his practical mind in being forced to
remain quiet. If he could have run about from office to office, set
lawyers at work, felt himself to be moving events, things would have
been more endurable. But Mme. de Beaudrillart's warning remained in his
mind. She had said that by going to Paris he might very likely cause
mischief, and he was sufficiently ignorant of the ways of the great city
and the great world in it to accept her opinion as probable. At Tours,
where he was known, he might browbeat his fellow-townsmen on any point
wherein he and they differed; but in Paris, what was he? A unit in a
position where his vanity did not care to picture himself.
He reached Tours weary and dusty, and felt the need for his usual cup of
coffee at the cafe--perhaps greater need for the exercise of his usual
self-assertion. On his way through the streets he met the doctor, who
held up his hands.
"Are you off a journey, my good Monsieur Bourget? You have the air of a
man who has been travelling all night."
"And why should I not, if it pleases me?" demanded M. Bourget, with his
most combative air.
"Why not? Why not indeed? Heaven forbid that I should be the one to
prevent you!" returned the doctor, laughing. "I merely venture to
remark that your journey, wherever it was, has apparently had the effect
of causing you fatigue."
"And you are quite wrong, monsieur, in both your suppositions. I have
not had any journey at all, and I am not a bit more fatigued than
ordinarily. I suppose I am not so infirm that a walk home from Poissy
is likely to prove fatal?"
"Oh, Poissy, is it!" exclaimed the doctor, preparing to escape. "No,
no, my good friend; on the contrary, you are quite right to keep up the
habit of exercise. But I must not stay gossiping when I have a pressing
case in the Rue Royale. Adieu, adieu!"
"Now what takes him off as if the devil himself were at his heels?"
muttered M. Bourget, looking after him discontentedly. "A pressing
case indeed! If anything serious were the matter in the Rue Royale, it
is quite certain that I should have heard of it by this time. The man
was fooling me. He didn't wish to talk about Poissy. And why?"
He marched on, his eyes on the ground, his under-lip thrust out. For
the first time for six years he turned into another street to avoid
passing the photographer's window. He reached the cafe in a bad humour,
tired, moreover, in spite of his disclaimer to the doctor, and dropped
into a solitary chair, where he sat frowning and facing the street. As
he anticipated, before he had been there five minutes M. Leroux
approached. M. Bourget thumped the table to draw his attention.
"If you are going to order this poisonous stuff," he said, "one table
will do for us both. Sit there."
But Leroux, sharp enough to see that he was wanted, was also sharp
enough to improve the opportunity. He shook his head.
"I can't afford to swallow coffee at a cafe, with all those mouths at
home, and that's the truth," he said.
"You can sit, I suppose," growled M. Bourget.
"Oh, I can sit, certainly. But I find it makes me thirsty to look at
others drinking, and, by your leave, I'll not stop to-day."
For answer M. Bourget rapped his cup with his spoon, and extracted two
sous from his pocket.
"There!" He shot the word at the waiter. "If you call this stuff
coffee, bring another cup. Now I suppose you're satisfied," he
continued to Leroux.
"And I shall pay for it," ejaculated the lawyer to himself. "Poissy,
Poissy, Poissy, he is only waiting to be set off. Confound Poissy!"
Aloud he said, "You were not at the meeting about the creche, Monsieur
Bourget."
"Creche? Absurdity! Why can't the women mind their own babies?"
grumbled the ex-builder. "No, monsieur. If I had been in the town and
had attended, it would only have been for the purpose of seeing my
fellow-townsmen make fools of themselves. As it was, I went early to
Poissy."
"Now it comes!" Leroux groaned, inwardly. "And what was going on at
Poissy?"
"What should go on!" demanded M. Bourget, jealously. "What should go
on?"
"Peste! how should I know? I suppose things happen there, as in other
places?"
"No foolishness about creches, at all events."
His retort pleased him so much that he chuckled, and Leroux, not to be
behindhand in civility, chuckled in company. But M. Bourget was too
anxious to know whether anything had leaked out to be put off even by
his own jests. He flung an elaborate veil of carelessness over his next
question, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair.
"You know most of the talk of the place, Leroux, and I have often
thought of asking you--merely out of curiosity, you will understand--
what is said of my son-in-law, Monsieur de Beaudrillart, in Tours?
People don't like to repeat anything to me, and naturally; but there
must be opinions expressed, and it would amuse me to hear them."
"Something is up," reflected the little lawyer, rapidly. "He is uneasy.
Has our fine son-in-law, perhaps, broken out again? What is said,
Monsieur Bourget? Well, not so much now."
"But what, what?" persisted the other.
"Well, for one thing, they say he is wiser than was supposed, and knows
which side his bread is buttered."
"And what may that mean?"
"That he has a solid father-in-law, whom it is just as well not to
offend."
Leroux said this with some malice, and expected an explosion. It
surprised him that M. Bourget showed no sign of wrath. He jerked his
head sideways, and flung open his hands.
"No more?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"As to that," said Leroux, spitefully, "there were enough disagreeables
said about the Baron Leon about the time he married Mademoiselle
Nathalie to serve for an ordinary lifetime."
"Perhaps," returned M. Bourget, tranquilly, "more has also been said
about others in past years than they would care to have brought up
against them."
The lawyer darted an uneasy look, and his manner changed.
"Do not suppose that I am offering my own opinion. You wished to know
what was said in the town, and I am trying to remember."
"I understand perfectly. I should like to know what were some of these
disagreeables to which you allude?"
But Leroux was alarmed.
"Ah, for that you must ask some one else. There is plenty of gossip
running about the town, but I have not the time or the inclination to
listen to it. Besides, what does it matter now! It is no longer a
question of marrying Mademoiselle Nathalie. There she is, safe at
Poissy, and there are you, father-in-law to a baron. What would you
have more?"
M. Bourget brought his hand down so heavily on the little marble table
that the cups jumped.
"What have I to do with it?" he asked, angrily. "Did I pay for your
coffee that you might inform me what I want or what I don't want? I ask
a plain question, and you wander off to give an opinion on my concerns.
Keep to your point. I suppose all you wiseacres had at least the sense
to see that Monsieur de Beaudrillart had began to economise before I
gave him my daughter? But perhaps they could give him no credit even
for that?"
"Oh, they saw he had raised money somehow," said Leroux, longing to
thump the table himself, "and his credit was so low that they said he
must have stolen it."
M. Bourget's face turned to a dull purple, his voice felt strangled, he
leaned forward, and said, with difficulty:
"They are rascals, and you are a fool!"
Leroux jumped up, with a smile on his sharp face. He had merely spoken
spitefully, and thought that his companion's anger was due to the fact
that any one should have dared to utter anything disrespectful of the
master of Poissy.
"Ah, I dare say, I dare say, my dear Monsieur Bourget; I only tell you
what is said, and you know best how much it is worth. A thousand thanks
for the coffee, and let me advise you to go home and rest, for you don't
look yourself."
"He knows more than he will say," groaned M. Bourget, leaning forward
with his elbows on the table, "otherwise he would never have ventured to
repeat what he did. There is a report abroad; I know it, I feel it! It
was evident enough that Dr Mathurin had heard something, for the very
moment I mentioned Poissy, he looked embarrassed, and started away.
Yes, yes, it has leaked out, it is in the air; and what wonder! A poor
devil whom no one knows or cares anything about has twice the chance.
But directly anything disgraceful happens to one of the noblesse, then
every stone in the wall has a voice to cry it out. And to a
Beaudrillart! No doubt all Paris has got hold of it I should not be
surprised if it were in the papers already."
A _Figaro_ was lying on the table near him; M. Bourget, with a gleam of
satisfaction that he had not to pay for it, took it up and hastily
scanned its columns. He had just satisfied himself that the thing he
dreaded was not there when he caught sight of an advancing figure.
"Monsieur Georges!"
"At your service, Monsieur Bourget."
"You are the very man I want. I am going in your direction."
"A la bonne heure. Permit me to venture to remark that you look a
little upset--fatigued, Monsieur Bourget."
"That is what every one finds it agreeable to say to me. Why should I
be fatigued? I have only walked from Poissy."
"Ah!" Across M. Georges's small anxious face flitted a tremulous
smile. Even he, politest of men, was aware of M. Bourget's weakness.
"They are all well there, I trust!"
His companion made no answer to the question. He said, abruptly:
"The baron is in Paris."
"So I heard."
"So he heard? Of course! Everything is known," reflected M. Bourget,
mopping his face with a red bandanna. "Have you heard anything else,
monsieur?"
"No. Why should I!" returned the other, with surprise. "But to tell
you the truth I have been a great deal taken up with my own affairs, for
I have had the misfortune to lose my old grandfather at Nantes,
monsieur; an excellent man, and an irreparable loss. As his only
descendant I inherit a small estate, and I have had to come here on
business connected with it. You will understand that this has occupied
me."
"A small estate!" repeated M. Bourget, gazing at him with a new
respect. "Things are then looking up for you, Monsieur Georges! That
is better than being intendant, even at Poissy. And I never thought the
Baron Leon behaved well in that matter."