I could not awake on the day after the _fête_, I was conscious that
Nixon was making a considerable noise,--that he shut and opened doors
and windows, splashed the water into my bath, and threw down my
boots with an unwonted energy; but through all this consciousness of
disturbance I slept on, and was determined to sleep, let him make what
uproar he pleased.
“It 's nigh two o'clock, sir!” whispered he in my ear, and I replied by
a snort.
“I 'm very sorry to be troublesome, sir; but the master is very
impatient: he was getting angry when I went in last time.”
These words served to dispel my drowsiness at once, and the mere thought
of my father's displeasure acted on me like a strong stimulant.
“Does papa want me?” cried I, sitting up in bed; “did you say papa
wanted me?”
“Yes, sir,” said a deep voice; and my father entered the room, dressed
for the street, and with his hat on.
“You may leave us,” said he to Nixon; and as the man withdrew, my father
took a chair and sat down close to my bedside.
“I have sent three messages to you this morning,” said he, gravely, “and
am forced at last to come myself.”
I was beginning my apologies, when he stopped me, and said, “That will
do; I have no wish to be told why you overslept yourself; indeed, I have
already heard more on that score than I care for.”
He paused, and though perhaps he expected me to say something, I was too
much terrified to speak.
“I perceive.” said he, “you understand me; you apprehend that I know of
your doings of last night, and that any attempt at excuse is hopeless.
I have not come here to reproach you for your misconduct; I reproach
myself for a mistaken estimate of you; I ought to have known--and if you
had been a horse I would have known--that your crossbreeding would tell
on you. The bad drop was sure to betray itself. I will not dwell on
this, nor have I time. Your conduct last night makes my continued
residence here impossible. I cannot continue in a city where my
tradespeople have become my guests, and where the honors of my house
have been extended to my tailor and my butcher. I shall leave this,
therefore, as soon as I can conclude my arrangements to sell this place:
you must quit it at once. Eccles will be ready to start with you this
evening for the Rhine, and then for the interior of Germany,--I suspect
Weimar will do. He will be paymaster, and you will conform to his wishes
strictly as regards expense. Whether you study or not, whether you
employ your time profitably and creditably, or whether you pass it in
indolence, is a matter that completely regards yourself. As for me,
my conscience is acquitted when I provide you with the means of
acquirement, and I no more engage you to benefit by these advantages
than I do to see you eat the food that is placed before you. The compact
that unites us enjoins distinct duties from each. You need not write
to me till I desire you to do so; and when I think it proper we should
meet, I will tell you.”
If, while he spoke these harsh words to me, the slightest touch of
feeling--had one trace of even sorrow crossed his face, my whole heart
would have melted at once, and I would have thrown myself at his feet
for forgiveness. There was, however, a something so pitiless in his
tone, and a look so full of scorn in his steadfast eye, that every
sentiment of pride within me--that same pride I inherited from
himself--stimulated me to answer him, and I said boldly: “If the people
I saw here last night were not as well born as your habitual guests,
sir, I 'll venture to say there was nothing in their manner or
deportment to be ashamed of.”
“I am told that Mademoiselle Pauline Delorme was charming,” said he; and
the sarcasm of his glance covered me with shame and confusion. He had no
need to say more: I could not utter a word.
“This is a topic I will not discuss with you, sir,” said he, after a
pause. “I intended you to be a gentleman, and to live with gentlemen.
_Your_ tastes incline differently, and I make no opposition to them. As
I have told you already, I was willing to launch you into life; I 'll
not engage to be your pilot. Any interest I take or could take in you
must be the result of your own qualities. These have not impressed me
strongly up to this; and were I to judge by what I have seen, I should
send you back to those you came from.”
“Do so, then, if it will only give me back the nature I brought away
with me!” cried I, passionately; and my throat swelled till I felt
almost choked with emotion.
“That nature,” said he, with a sneer on the word, “was costumed, if I
remember right, in a linen blouse and a pair of patched shoes; and I
believe they have been preserved along with some other family relics.”
I bethought me at once of the tower and its humble furniture, and a
sense of terror overcame me, that I was in presence of one who could
cherish hate with such persistence.
“The fumes of your last night's debauch are some excuse for your bad
manners, sir,” said he, rising. “I leave you to sleep them off; only
remember that the train starts at eight this evening, and it is my
desire you do not miss it.”
With this he left me. I arose at once and began to dress. It was a slow
proceeding, for I would often stop, and sit down to think what course
would best befit me to take at this moment. At one instant it seemed to
me I ought to follow him, and declare that the splendid slavery in
which I lived had no charm for me,--that the faintest glimmering of
self-respect and independence was more my ambition than all the luxuries
that surrounded me; and when I had resolved I would do this, a sudden
dread of his presence,--his eye that I could never face without
shrinking,--the tones of his voice that smote me like a lash,--so
abashed me that I gave up the effort with despair.
Might he not consent to give me some pittance--enough to save her from
the burden of my support--and send me back to my mother? Oh, if I could
summon courage to ask this! This assistance need be continued only for a
few years, for I hoped and believed I should not always have to live as
a dependant What if I were to write him a few lines to this purport? I
could do this even better than speak it.
I sat down at once and began:--
“Dear papa,”--he would never permit me to use a more endearing word.
“Dear papa, I hope you will forgive me troubling you about myself and my
future. I would like to fit myself for some career or calling by which I
might become independent. I could work very hard and study very closely
if I were back with my mother.”
As I reached this far, the door opened, and Eccles appeared.
“All right!” cried he; “I was afraid I should catch you in bed still,
and I 'm glad you 're up and preparing for the road. Are you nearly
ready?”
“Not quite; I wanted to write a letter before I go. I was just at it.”
“Write from Verviers or Bonn; you'll have lots of time on the road.”
“Ay, but my letter might save me from the journey if I sent it off now.”
He looked amazed at this, and I at once told him my plan and showed him
what I had written.
“You don't mean to say you 'd have courage to send this to your
father?”
“And why not?”
“Well, all I have to say is, don't do it till I 'm off the premises; for
I 'd not be here when he reads it for a trifle. My dear Digby,” said
he, with a changed tone, “you don't know Sir Roger; you don't know the
violence of his temper if he imagines himself what he calls outraged,
which sometimes means questioned. Take your hat and stick, and go seek
your fortune, in Heaven's name, if you must; but don't set out on your
life's journey with a curse or a kick, or possibly both. If I preach
patience, my dear boy, I have had to practise it too. Put up your traps
in your portmanteau; come down and take some dinner: we 'll start with
the night-train; and take my word for it, we 'll have a jolly ramble and
enjoy ourselves heartily. If I know anything of life, it is that there's
no such mistake in the world as hunting up annoyances. Let them find us
if they can, but let us never run after them.”
“My heart is too heavy for such enjoyment as you talk of.”
“It won't be so to-morrow, or, at all events, the day after. Come, stir
yourself now with your packing; a thought has just struck me that you
'll be very grateful to me for, when I tell it you.”
“What is it?” asked I, half carelessly.
“You must ask with another guess-look in your eye if you expect me to
tell you.”
“You could tell me nothing that would gladden me.”
“Nor propose anything that you'd like?” asked he.
“Nor that, either,” said I, despondingly.
“Oh, if that be the case, I give up my project; not that it was much of
a project, after all. What I was going to suggest was that instead
of dining here we should put our traps into a cab, and drive down to
Delorme's and have a pleasant little dinner there, in the garden;
it's quite close to the railroad, so that we could start at the last
whistle.”
“That does sound pleasantly,” said I; “there's nothing more irksome in
its way than hanging about a station waiting for departure.”
“So, then, you agree?” cried he, with a malicious twinkle in his eye
that I affected not to understand.
“Yes,” said I, indolently; “I see little against it; and if nothing
else, it saves me a leave-taking with Captain Hotham and Cleremont.”
“By the way, you are not to ask to see Madame; your father reminded
me to tell you this. The doctors say she is not to be disturbed on any
account. What a chance that I did not forget this!”
Whether it was that I was too much concerned for my own misfortunes to
have a thought that was not selfish, or that another leave-taking that
loomed in the distance was uppermost in my thoughts, certain it is, I
felt this privation far less acutely than I might.
“She's a nice little woman, and deserves a better lot than she has met
with.”
“What sort of dinner will Delorme give us?” said I, affecting the air of
a man about town, but in reality throwing out the bait to lead the talk
in that direction.
“First-rate, if we let him; that is, if we only say, 'Order dinner for
us, Monsieur Pierre.' There's no man understands such a mandate more
thoroughly.”
“Then that's what I shall say,” cried I, “as I cross his threshold.”
“He'll serve you Madeira with your soup, and Stein-berger with your
fish, thirty francs a bottle, each of them.”
“Be it so. We shall drink to our pleasant journey,” said I; and I
actually thought my voice had caught the tone and cadence of my father's
as I spoke.