"Then you are going to drop me? You are a wretch, a scoundrel, like the
others, do you know it?"
William smiled. He was really a superior man.
"Oh! don't say useless things. I have made you no promises. Nor have
you made me any. People meet; that is well. They part; that is well,
too. Life is life."
And he added, sententiously:
"You see, Célestine, in life there must be conduct; there must be what
I call administration. You have no conduct; you have no administration.
You allow yourself to be carried away by your nerves. In our business
nerves are a very bad thing. Remember this well: life is life."
I think I should have thrown myself upon him and torn his face,
his emotionless and cowardly face of a flunky, with furious digs
of my nails, if tears had not suddenly come to soften and relax my
overstrained nerves. My wrath fell, and I begged:
"Oh! William! William! my little William! my dear little William! how
unhappy I am!"
William tried to revive my drooping spirits a little. I must say that
he made use of all his powers of persuasion and all his philosophy.
During the day he generously overwhelmed me with lofty thoughts, with
grave and consoling aphorisms, in which these words, provoking and
soothing at the same time, continually recurred:
"Life is life."
I must do him justice. This last day he was charming, though a little
too solemn, and he did things very well. In the evening, after dinner,
he put my trunks on a cab, and escorted me to a lodging-house where he
was known, paying a week's rent in advance out of his own pocket, and
recommending the proprietor to take good care of me. But he could not
stay himself, for he had an appointment with Edgar!
"You understand, of course, that I cannot disappoint Edgar. And
perhaps, too, he might know of a place for you. A place gotten through
Edgar,--ah! that would be astonishing."
On leaving me, he said:
"I will come to see you to-morrow. Be wise; no more stupidities.
They do you no good. And get this truth well into your head,
Célestine,--that life is life!"
The next day I waited for him in vain. He did not come.
"It is life," I said to myself.
But the following day, being impatient to see him, I went to the
house. I found in the kitchen only a tall blonde girl, bold and
pretty,--prettier than I.
"Eugénie is not here?" I asked.
"No, she is not here," answered the tall girl, dryly.
"And William?"
"Nor William either."
"Where is he?"
"How do I know?"
"I want to see him. Go tell him I want to see him."
The tall girl looked at me scornfully.
"Say, am I your servant?"