PAYOT AND DUVAL
"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men,
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain
For promised joy."
Burns.
If you turn past the church of Notre Dame de Lorette and walk towards
the corner of the Rue La Bruyère, you will notice a charming detached
villa on the right with a little garden all to itself shut in by
ornamental railings.
It was the third evening after the events related in the last chapter,
when a military man might have been seen in his cabriolet leaving the
elaborately wrought iron gates of the villa, and directing his coachman
to proceed to No--Boulevard Haussmann near the Arc de Triomphe.
It had been raining heavily all the afternoon, and the foot passengers
could be seen picking their way between the omnibuses, and endeavouring
to avoid the mud which splashed up on all sides. The cafés and
restaurants were beginning to light up, and the little marble tables
outside became more and more crowded with guests. A crowd had assembled
in one of the small side streets, listening to a trio of musicians who
were playing outside one of those curious little café-restaurants only
patronised by a select fraternity of Bohemians who meet nightly year
in and year out to chat and play dominoes, and take their evening meal
at 1 fr. 50 c., wine inclusive, with clock-like regularity. A woman
who had evidently been trained as a public singer, and who had known
better days, was singing one of those exquisite airs of Charles Gounod
with a voice which still bore traces of its former richness. But the
scene was unheeded by the occupant of the carriage, who was mentally
rehearsing the manoeuvres which would give him the most favourable
position in the mimic campaign which he was about to undertake.
At length the driver stopped opposite the house indicated, and his fare
alighted, enquired if Monsieur Payot were at home, as he handed in a
card bearing the name of General Duval. A footman in livery showed him
into a large hall decorated with old carved oak furniture and a perfect
armoury of mediæval weapons and shields interspersed with rows of
marvellous Delft and Sèvres ware.
"Ah! mon Général, delighted to see you," said Payot, with a beaming
smile as he entered the room. "I am quite alone this evening, so we can
have a chat tête-a-tête."
The person addressed was a pompous little man, rather corpulent, with
a double chin, and immensely impressed with his own importance. He had
a bald head, and a white moustache with the ends drawn out to a great
length, and so twisted and waxed that they resembled a pair of skewers.
This, together with the fact that his eyes were chronically inflamed
and bulging with a constant tendency to roll, gave him an aspect of
terrible ferocity. He was a bon vivant, and possessed a high reputation
for his judgment of wines, an opinion which was always taken as final
in any dispute at the clubs. He was in his element when reviewing his
troops, where he might be seen cantering up and down in a state of
great excitement, spurring his horse to make it rear and plunge to the
terror and amazement of the nursemaids who formed a rear guard with
their perambulators. One would have imagined that his men were all
stone deaf judging by the way he addressed them in tones of thunder.
In fact he always gave his hearers the impression that he was in a
towering passion. For admiration and glory he had an insatiable thirst,
which was only equalled by his greed for gold. Indeed it was a common
joke amongst his officers that in the next campaign he would be found
defending himself to the last drop of his blood with his drawn salary
in his hand. Notwithstanding his absurd vanity, he was, like all French
officers, brave to the core, and fearless as a lion, and for this
reason alone he was adored by his men, who felt that he would prove
his metal and lead them on to victory no matter what odds were against
them when they were all but defeated, and leading a forlorn hope.
"Well, mon ami, how has the world been treating you since I saw you
last?" said Duval père.
"So, so, but I must confess I have hardly recovered yet from the shock
I got at Villebois' house the other night. Didn't you hear of it? Well
you must know that fellow, Delapine, was staying with them as a guest,
and he got into a discussion about spiritualism and all that sort of
nonsense. Amongst other things he gave out that he was a conjurer, and
so I thought I would put his powers to the test. Whereupon he spirited
away my watch, and it was found in my hat in the spare bedroom. When I
got it back again I offered to make him a present of it, if he could
take it away again without my knowledge.
"After a while all sorts of strange things happened. Rings and
pencil-cases, watches and pocket-books changed hands all over the room.
Everybody lost something, and found something else in its place. I lost
my pocket-book containing bank notes to the tune of 10,000 frs., and in
some mysterious manner it was found in the butler's breast pocket. I am
certain it was not the result of pure conjuring, since the professor
never came near me, and yet all the things I had in my pockets
vanished, and were found in other people's pockets. I feel convinced
that he is in league with the devil, and practices the black art. I
really think he should be exposed. He is certainly a most undesirable
man to have anything to do with. It seemed to me also that he has some
sort of sinister spell over my daughter Renée, and I feel it must be
put a stop to at once."
"Most certainly," replied Duval, delighted to think that the game was
playing into his hands so nicely. "We must put our heads together and
see how we can get Villebois to forbid him to come near his house
again. It is very curious that you should mention this subject, because
it is closely related with the object of my visit, my dear Payot.
"Of course you are aware what a surprising future is opening up for my
son Pierre. He is rapidly rising in his profession, and is sure to make
his mark wherever he goes. I think he would make an ideal husband, he
is so extremely amiable, so attentive and so thoughtful. Besides, I
shall leave him nearly all my property, which amounts to considerably
over a million francs. Now, it seems to me that it would be mutually to
our benefit if we could arrange a match between your daughter and my
son. I have great influence with the minister of commerce, and I can
give you private information as to the Government's policy, so that you
can manipulate your shares to the greatest advantage in the Bourse,
before the agents or the public know anything about it. In this way you
will be able to make a grand coup without any risk of being found out."
Payot slowly raised his gold-rimmed pince-nez and adjusted them to his
nose with great deliberation, fixing his eyes on the General with a
cynical smile.
"Hum, hum," he muttered half aloud. "Renée is a great prize, mon cher
Duval. This is only her first season, and she has already had three
proposals from young wealthy men in good positions. Why she has refused
them all is a mystery to me, considering what very advantageous offers
they all were."
"I am not in the least surprised at that," replied Duval, "seeing that
my son had known her some months, and has already permitted her to see
that cupid has severely wounded him with his shaft. A chance, mon ami,
to have a husband like my son can only come to her once in a lifetime,
n'est-ce pas?"
The eyeglass came up again as slowly and cautiously as before.
"Listen, mon ami," said Payot, "Monsieur Ribout, the Minister for
Foreign Affairs, is, I understand, about to raise a loan for the new
Morocco-Tunisian Railway. Do you think you can get me the concession
for flotation?"
"My dear Payot, you anticipate me. I have it in my portfolio?"
"What! Do you mean to say that you actually have it here, in your
portfolio?" cried Payot in a shrill tremor of delight.
"C'est vrai, mon ami. Just wait a moment and I will show it you. Here
it is, now we can arrange these things beautifully."
Payot rubbed his hands together in a fever of delight, while his eyes
sparkled with impatient greed, as he stretched out his hand to clasp
the precious document.
"Stop, stop, mon vieux, there are a few, just a few little
preliminaries to arrange before I give it up to you. In the first
place I must ask you to sign this little paper, undertaking to pay
me twenty-five per cent. of the net profits which you make over the
concession. A mere form, of course, but between friends it is always as
well to attend to these little details."
The eyeglass went up again with more deliberation than ever, and Payot
calmly surveyed as much of him as was visible above the table. "What is
his little game now?" he muttered to himself.
"And now," continued Duval, "you have only to sign this, and give me
your solemn promise that Renée shall marry my son, and the concession
is yours."
Payot sat still, playing an imaginary tune upon the table, evidently
thinking intently.
"Twenty-five per cent. is rather a high price to pay, mon vieux. Let
me see," said he, casting up the figures in his head. "The concession
is for a capital of 45,000,000 frs., and my profit on the deal will be
2,000,000 frs. Then there are certain deductions to be made. Yes, to
be sure," he muttered to himself. "750,000 frs., and 200,000 frs., and
50,000 frs., that leaves a million francs, and twenty-five per cent. on
a million is 250,000 frs. Two hundred and fifty thousand francs is a
lot of money to give away," said Payot, nervously playing with his wine
glass.
"But you see what you are getting for it," said Duval, "Seven hundred
and fifty thousand francs."
"A mere bagatelle compared with my daughter. Why, I am simply giving
her away, sir--giving her away!" and he heaved a sigh as if he had been
asked to sign away his birthright.
"Well then," said Duval, anxious to strike while the iron was hot, "we
will call it a bargain," and without any further to-do he pushed the
paper over to Payot to sign.
Payot seeing that further haggling was useless, took his pen and
mechanically signed the document.
Duval rang the bell.
"What do you want?" cried Payot, wondering why Duval should take upon
himself the ordering of his servants.
"Oh, it's all right, mon ami," said Duval, as the butler entered. "I
merely wanted someone to witness our signatures."
While the butler was signing the document under Duval's directions it
suddenly struck Payot that this was rather sharp practice on Duval's
part. But it was too late to interfere now, as the General had neatly
folded up the paper and put it inside his portfolio.
"My dearest friend," said Duval, "I see you were a little surprised
at my summoning the butler, but it was a mere habit of mine, my dear
sir, a mere habit. As an officer I become so accustomed to ringing
the bell and issuing orders, that it becomes part of my nature," and
he reached out his hand to Payot with the most bewitching smile that
he could command on the spur of the moment. "With our two families
united by marriage, my dear comrade, we shall be able to carry out some
magnificent projects."
"I admit the combination will be very advantageous to our interests,
considering the hostile cliques we have to contend with on every side.
I am a little, just a little bit afraid that that fellow Delapine may
prove an obstacle to our schemes," Duval rejoined with a broad grin
which displayed a magnificent set of false teeth.
"I confess, my dear General, I share your views. His impudence, his
brazen effrontery, and most of all the extraordinary power he seems to
exercise over other people's minds, will not render my task an easy
one."
"Oh, you leave him to me," said Duval. "My knowledge of strategy will
enable me to outmanoeuvre him at every turn. It will be mere child's
play to me."
"I suppose that Renée will consent to marry Pierre?" added Duval after
a slight pause.
"My dear General, how can you ask such a question? Why, Renée adores
Pierre--she can't help it. No girl could withstand his attractions,
especially when she knows how he worships her. How could any girl be
insensible to his charms with his wealth and his talents? Don't you
worry yourself on that score."
"But suppose that she loves Delapine?"
"Oh, oh! you are too funny, mon Général. What an absurd idea! What on
earth can Renée find to admire in a mad fossil like Delapine? Besides,
he is as poor as a church mouse; he has nothing in the world beyond his
pittance from the Government--a mere fifteen thousand francs a year.
Why, it would hardly keep me in wines and cigars. I give my little girl
credit for more sense than that. Besides, supposing she did commit the
folly of refusing your son, when I come to put the situation before
her, her natural common-sense would soon bring her round to my way
of thinking. A little well-timed severity, a few threats on my side
followed by a burst of tears on hers, and then she will surrender
unconditionally."
"No, no," replied Duval, "I have no fear on that score whatever. You
can have no possible objection to my retaining the concession until
the engagement is announced. It will act as a kind of fillip to you,
and besides, it will be the most potent inducement to Renée to alter
her mind, and obey you, should she have any affection for Delapine or
any other man. By the way, mon ami," added Duval, seeing that Payot
was about to reply, "this Tokay is really quite excellent. It has a
surprisingly fine bouquet," and he emptied his glass at a draught.
"Hullo! it is already eight o'clock, and I have an appointment at the
Elysée with the Minister of Finance in half an hour. Au revoir, mon
ami, au revoir," and so saying he shook hands, and seizing his hat and
portfolio, left the house before the bewildered Payot could collect his
senses and remonstrate.
"Confound that fellow," said Payot, shaking his fist at the retreating
carriage of the General, "what did he mean by running away with that
concession? Does he take me for a robber? I will pay you out for that,
you old villain. I will be even with you yet, see if I don't! Still, it
does not matter much after all, I know he is as anxious as I am that
the deal should go through, as he knows that he can no more do without
me than I can do without him. Yes, yes, it makes no difference. We
must work together, although he is a rascal, and a damned rascal too."
Payot was a widower past middle age. Thirty years had passed since he
had left his home near Belfort to enter the military college of St.
Cyr. Clever, handsome, full of ambition and energy, the young man was
the pride of his mother's heart, and it was with great misgiving that
she allowed him to leave the paternal roof.
At college his talents soon prepared the way for promotion, whilst
his open frankness and engaging manners made him popular with all his
comrades.
At St. Cyr, he made the acquaintance of young Jaques Duval, an
acquaintance which soon ripened into friendship, and the two comrades
in arms became inseparable.
During the Franco-Prussian war Duval gained rapid promotion, and for
his gallant conduct at Mars-la-Tour he was gazetted General. Payot was
carried off the field in the same battle, having been struck on the
head by a fragment of shell. For some weeks he hung between life and
death, and had it not been for the unceasing care and attention of his
nurse, he must have died. The devotion of this young girl soon awoke
a response in his heart, and during his convalescence he declared his
love for her, and was accepted with equal fervour.
Soon after leaving the hospital he retired from the army, married, and
went into business.
Two years later his wife bore him a daughter. Nothing could surpass the
affection of this child for her parents, and especially for her mother.
As Renée grew up, she became the darling of the parish. Absolutely
unconscious of any superiority due to her position and wealth, she
would mingle in the games of the poorest children. Any day she might
be seen teaching the little girls to trim their hats with woodbine, to
play puss-in-the-corner, or hide-and-seek. Sometimes she would take
them into the woods to hear the cuckoo, or the nightingale. It was
entirely through her entreaties that her father induced the organist of
the parish church to give singing lessons in the village choir, and she
herself practised the violin that she might be able to give concerts
to the villagers, who would assemble in an old barn and join lustily
in the singing. There was one old fellow in particular named Caillot;
he lived quite alone in a little cottage and was unable to work at a
trade owing to a defect in his eyes which rendered him nearly blind. He
picked up a scanty pittance by playing the violin, which he did with
uncommon skill. Wherever she was you would invariably find the little
man playing or singing, and he was of such a cheerful disposition that
he got the nickname of "Le Pinson" (Chaffinch). His admiration for
Renée amounted to worship, and the ne plus ultra of happiness was when
Renée and her governess would consent to enter his little room and play
a duet with him on the violin.
To see the little Chaffinch chirping and hustling around, placing a
soft cushion on a chair for Mam'selle Renée to sit on, and looking
through his well-thumbed collection of music for some piece he knew she
was especially fond of, was a proof of the most intense devotion. So
absorbed and wrapped up was he in attending to Mam'selle Renée that the
poor governess had to find a chair for herself as best she could, and
it invariably ended in Renée refusing to play a note until Caillot had
found a cushion and chair for her also.
Whenever a marriage took place in the village, the Chaffinch was
certain to be sent for, and Renée insisted on being allowed to deck
him out with gay ribbons in the presence of the bride and bridegroom.
"Viola, mon p'tit Papa Pinson," she would say with a smile, "you look
the handsomest man in the village to-day, and here is a new five-franc
piece which I persuaded my father to give me, because I told him I
wanted you to put on your brightest smile. N'est ce pas, p'tit papa?"
But one day the man fell ill, and was unable to earn his rent. Poor
little man, he was all alone, and might have died of hunger and neglect
if his illness had not by a pure accident reached the ears of Renée.
"What!" she exclaimed when she heard the tale, "do you mean to say that
they are going to turn mon pauvre Pinson out of his house, because he
is unable to pay his rent? Oh! my poor Caillot!"
In spite of her mother's remonstrances she emptied the contents of her
money-box into her pocket, and ran out of the house as fast as she
could to his lodgings all alone. Alas! all her little savings were not
enough to meet the rent which had accumulated for some weeks. What
could she do? A happy thought struck her, and she went the round of the
village, begging from the doctor, the priest, and the notary, until she
had collected enough, not only to pay off the arrears of rent, but to
purchase a few comforts besides.
"My poor little Pinson, what would you do without your Renée?"
No wonder she was popular owing to her intense sympathy for others,
her exquisite eyes beaming with love and tenderness, and yet withal
sparkling with fun, her smile for all, and her light girlish step.
No wonder the poor looked upon her as something "outre tombe," an
incarnate angel sent to minister unto them.
Anyone daring to speak disparagingly of Mam'selle Renée would have done
so at the risk of his life. A fine horse-woman, she usually accompanied
her father in the chase, and many a time she would run a race across
country with him and the squire's son at break-neck pace. Ah, those
were halcyon days indeed.
One day when she was about eighteen years old her mother was suddenly
taken ill with pneumonia, and died after a short illness. The happiest
home in all France speedily became the most tragic and miserable. A
change came over her father. The injury to his head received years
before on the battlefield, suddenly became rekindled by the shock and
grief at his wife's death, and from being an ideal husband he grew
morbid, avaricious, selfish, and dead to all affection. He seemed at
times to have forgotten the very existence of his daughter. Renée bore
up as long as she could, but at length Dr. Villebois, who for years had
been the family physician, insisted on taking her to his home as she
seemed to be rapidly pining away. It was here that she met Delapine for
the first time. The awe, akin to worship, which a clever, high-spirited
young girl sometimes perceives for a man possessing talent of a
remarkable order--a feeling by the way which is entirely independent
of age--soon changed into one of deep and lasting love, and although
she succeeded in concealing it from him and all the world, her womanly
instinct soon told her that Delapine had the same feeling for her, and
secretly worshipped the very ground she trod on.
Had they lived in the Middle Ages and had she been condemned to die
at the stake, Delapine would no more have hesitated to take her place
at the burning pile, than he would have thought twice about giving
all the money he had in his pocket to a poor student to purchase his
class-books.
Delapine possessed that extraordinary magnetic power which attracts
certain people with a force that defies all reason to explain.
Shakespeare expounds it in immortal language in Romeo and Juliet.
Goethe observed it and gave it a name "Wahlverwandschaft," or elective
affinity. We see it turning up in the most unexpected places; in the
palace, the cottage, the prison, nay even on the scaffold. Myth and
lore teem with it. History is ennobled by it. It is the same spirit
which knit the souls of David and Jonathan, Damon and Pythias, Dante
and Beatrice, Hermann and Dorothea, Catarina and Camoens. This intense
affection is the exact opposite of that passion which is popularly
called love. The former has nothing to do with sex, the latter is
merely a sexual impulse. The former is the most unselfish thing in the
world, the latter is entirely selfish. The former is purely spiritual,
the latter of the earth, earthy.
True love remains when everything else has perished, the latter dies,
or has wings and flies away.
"Tout ce que touche l'amour est sauvé de la mort."[6]
It was the supreme development of this spiritual power which we call
love in its purest and highest sense, which led St. Paul to express
himself in that exquisite ode to charity, in the First Epistle to the
Corinthians. It is the fruit of this spirit which has produced the
martyrs, the heroes, and the golden deeds of this and every age.
* * * * *
The next day after the remarkable conversation between the General and
Payot, Renée was busy writing in her boudoir, when she heard a knock at
the door.
A servant entered bearing a note which ran as follows:--
My dear Renée,
I should be very much obliged if you would come and see me at my
house. I have some important news for you. I shall expect you at five
o'clock.
Your affectionate father,
Alexandre.
Renée turned the letter over to see whether it contained any news on
the other side.
"I wonder what my father wants me for in such a hurry. Did he leave any
message?" she enquired of the servant.
"No, madame. He merely told me to deliver this note, and to let him
know if the time would be convenient."
"Tell my father I shall be with him at five o'clock this evening, and
let the coachman know that he is to be here punctually at a quarter to
the hour, as my father cannot bear to be kept waiting."
The maid bowed and retired, wondering in her mind what could have given
rise to her icy reply.
"Mademoiselle is generally so sweet to everyone," she said to herself.
"I never saw her so nervous and reserved before, I wonder what can have
happened. However, it is no business of mine." And she went downstairs
to discuss the affair with the cook.
Poor Renée trembled all over, and a deep sigh escaped her as soon as
she was alone.
"I know my father has only sent for me to make me promise to marry some
horrid man. It must be for some such reason. What else could he want me
for? Oh dear, oh dear, why cannot he leave me in peace? I am so happy
here."
"I wonder who he can have in his mind? I am certain it cannot be anyone
really nice, all his male friends are such horrid people."
For a long time she lay down in a kind of stupor, until at length
her maid knocked at the door, and informed her that the carriage was
waiting. Hurriedly putting on her hat and cloak, she ran downstairs,
and drove off to her father's house.
The clock had just struck five as she entered the vestibule and handed
her card to the portier.
The moment she was ushered into the sitting-room her father rose to
receive her.
"Well, my child," said Monsieur Payot, closing the door after she had
taken off her things, "sit down and let me talk to you quietly."
Renée sat down, and her father beat a tattoo on the table with his
fingers, as if he were calling up his troops before charging the enemy.
"I have observed," he said slowly, clearing his throat, "I have
observed that for some time past, Pierre, the son of my old friend
General Duval, has evidently expressed a passion for you, and yesterday
the General called to ask me formally for your hand on his behalf."
Renée's heart thumped so violently that she felt her head beginning to
swim.
"I felt exceedingly delighted, as you can well imagine, since the
General is not only one of my oldest friends," continued Payot, "as
well as one of my former comrades in arms, but the chance of such a
distinguished alliance will greatly add to my wealth and position.
Moreover Pierre is not only rich, but he will inherit at least two
considerable fortunes, besides being a most charming and lovable young
man with an unbounded future before him. Of his affection for you there
is not a shadow of doubt."
The girl grew scarlet, and remained too bewildered to reply.
"That's a good girl, Renée, I can see by your blushes," her father
went on to say, "that you return his affection, and that your silence
implies your consent to his offer," and he rubbed his hands and
chuckled with satisfaction.
"But, papa, you don't really mean to say that I have to marry Pierre,"
said Renée gasping for breath, while the tears began to flow.
"What! What!! What!!! you dare to tell me that you refuse?" said Payot,
his voice rising almost to a scream. "You silly child, you don't
appreciate the honour he is doing you. Why, Pierre can have the pick
of half the girls in Paris. A chance like this will never occur again.
Consider what it means," and he marked off the points with his fingers
one by one. "A fine, handsome, devoted husband. A large fortune. A
magnificent 'Dot.' Carriages and horses. A country chateau. A house
in the Bois. Jewels. Think of it, Renée, any quantity of diamonds and
pearls. Dresses and servants to your heart's content. Introductions to
all the best houses in Paris, and a box at the opera. Why, all your
girl acquaintances will grow green with envy. In God's name what more
can you want? Such a lucky girl as you ought to be beside herself with
joy."
"Please, father, do drop the subject. I will never, never marry
Pierre--I detest him. Besides, I don't want any diamonds or a box at
the opera."
"You ungrateful, wretched, hateful minx," shouted Payot, working
himself up into a rage. "Is this the way you repay me for all my love
and affection? Have I not toiled all these years to give you, my only
child, a fortune and a position? And now you dare to refuse to marry
the son of my best friend. Are you without a spark of gratitude? Are
you blind to your own interests? Can't you see that I am arranging a
marriage for you which will at once introduce you into all the best
circles in Paris? You ought to fall on your knees and thank God that He
has vouchsafed such happiness to you. You miserable thing, you vile....
I disown you," said her father, trying in vain to think of a suitable
epithet. "How dare you disobey your father's wishes?" And he shook her
violently with both hands until her teeth chattered.
"Don't, don't, you'll kill me," sobbed Renée, trying to escape. "Oh,
father, why can't you leave me alone to be happy in my own way? Oh,
what is the matter? How strange you are. You don't look a bit like the
dear old father you used to be." And she looked at her father with a
terrified expression.
He stood before her nearly beside himself with passion and hardly able
to breathe.
Renée slowly rose and held on to the table to steady herself, her heart
thumping almost audibly, while she strove to hold back her sobs which
were nearly choking her. Monsieur Payot sat down in his chair, feeling
keenly the rebuff that his daughter had given him, a defeat which he
was not accustomed to, especially from his daughter who, as a rule,
gave way to him at once. He wiped away the perspiration from his brow
with his red silk handkerchief, while he revolved in his mind what move
he should take next. At length an idea struck him.
"Look here, my child, be reasonable. Your old father only wishes to see
you happy," and he tried in vain to smile sweetly, while he patted her
head affectionately. "You love your father, don't you?"
Renée nodded between her gulps and sobs, and then burst out afresh.
"Well now, listen. Last night the General brought me a concession for
the sole rights to construct the new Morocco-Algerian Railway, which
is worth a couple of million francs to me immediately, and he promised
to hand it over to me to deal with, the moment you became engaged to
Pierre. Now, just imagine what that means to me. Not only two million
francs, but indirectly I shall make three or four millions more.
Besides, with the General's influence, I shall have an entrée to the
Elysée, and be able to secure the Government contracts through the
Minister of Finance. Of late several of my schemes have misfired, and
my credit on the Bourse is nearly gone, but the moment I can secure
this concession directly from the Government, I can obtain credit for
as many millions as I require, and then my position is assured for
ever. You do want to help your old father, don't you? Now, my child,
consider this marriage carefully, and come and tell me to-morrow
that you have altered your mind, and that you are sorry that your
selfishness stood in the way of your father's recovering his lost
credit and fortune."
Renée did not reply but merely looked at her father with a dazed
expression, and became as pale as death.
"Well! Well!" said Payot, kissing her forehead, and patting her
affectionately on the head, "you can leave me now and go home and think
it over."
At this he got up and handed her her hat and cloak, and conducted her
to his carriage which he had summoned to take her home. Left to himself
he paced up and down the room, and said under his breath as he heard
the carriage roll away, "Drat that girl, one can never do anything
but a woman gets in the way and upsets one's best schemes--confound
her!" he muttered, "what an obstinate little fool she is. This is the
way she repays me for all my love. Has she no natural affection left I
wonder? I believe that fool Delapine is at the bottom of it all. I must
checkmate his little game whatever it is. Well, Monsieur Delapine, your
conjuring tricks will not help you much when I come to deal with you."
Happily unconscious of her father's real hostility and muttered curses,
Renée leaned back in the carriage and gave way to her grief. Arrived
at the house of her adopted father, she threw herself on the bed in
a torrent of weeping. "Oh! mother, darling mother, why did you leave
me? Everyone seems to have forsaken me now. Mother, dear mother, come
and help me," and she sobbed again. A couple of hours passed away, but
Renée seemed oblivious of the time. The gong sounded for dinner, but
she did not put in an appearance, and everyone wondered what had become
of her.
At length Madame Villebois excused herself to the guests, and going
upstairs entered her room.
"Renée, ma chérie," she said, "why are you lying on the bed? Mon Dieu!
what is the matter--what have they been doing to you?"
"Oh! nothing, Maman, really nothing. I am only a little tired, I
suppose it must be the heat," said Renée, trying to smile through her
tears.
"Come downstairs at once, the soup will be quite cold, and we are all
waiting for you."
Renée washed her face, and followed Madame Villebois downstairs
into the dining-room, trying to smile all the time, but looking so
dreadfully miserable that everyone felt distressed and sorry for her.
Fortunately Pierre was not there, and as soon as she sat down next to
Delapine she became calm at once.
The professor squeezed her hand under the table, and said something
which evoked a happy smile.
"Courage, Renée ma chérie," he whispered. "Take courage. Some day it
will all come right, but not yet--not yet. The night comes, and with
it much sorrow--much sorrow first. I can see it all clearly--it must
be; but the joy will be all the greater when the morning breaks. There
is no rose without a thorn; no crown without a cross; no salvation
without sacrifice. Remember this, my beloved, for your little bark is
just entering the storm. You will be shipwrecked first, but when the
masts are broken, and the sails are blown away, and all hope abandoned,
then, but not till then will salvation be at hand. Remember, dear, what
I have said, for I shall not be able to help you, although I shall be
with you always. Patience, ma chérie, always patience and courage."
A shiver went through her as she heard this, and she could not conceive
what he meant, but she was too frightened to ask him. When dinner was
over she went out of doors, and sat in the little summer house, hoping
that the night breezes might cool her fevered brain.
"Remember what I have said, for I shall not be able to help you,
although I shall be with you always--what could Henri mean?" And she
puzzled her little head trying in vain to make sense of it. She sat
musing for some time looking up at the stars and the fleecy clouds
which continually floated across the face of the moon, when suddenly
she became aware of someone stealthily approaching. She saw no one,
but felt that someone was watching her. She heard a slight cough, and
looking round saw Pierre approaching behind her.
"Good evening, dear Renée," said Pierre, holding out his hand and
smiling. "I hope it is not too chilly for you out here? I caught sight
of you in the summer house, and came to bring you this cloak to wrap
round you."
Renée suffered him to put the cloak round her shoulders, but she was
too distracted with the memory of Delapine's words to listen, and too
indifferent to Pierre's attentions to thank him.
She looked lovely in the moonlight. Her dark wavy hair, her exquisite
eyes, sparkling like diamonds with the reflection of her tears, and the
flush of her face reddened with her intense excitement heightened her
beauty.
Pierre was visibly affected at her loveliness and sat down beside her.
"What a splendid evening to be sure, how I do enjoy these moonlight
nights, don't you?" he added, turning towards her.
"Yes," she answered mechanically without turning her head.
"Are you sure you don't feel cold?" he asked, as he began to steal his
arm around her waist.
Renée never replied, but the fact that she did not remove his arm,
caused him to grow bolder.
"You don't know how I have longed for this opportunity of declaring my
love to you, Renée," and suiting his action to his words he bent down
and implanted a kiss on her lips.
He could not have chosen a worse moment for his caresses. With her
heart distracted with grief--her father's reproaches ringing in
her ears, her natural modesty, and Delapine's mysterious words of
foreboding evil, produced the same effect as the sting of a lash on a
sleeping tiger.
Springing up with flashing eyes and quivering lips, her whole body
trembling with excitement, she gave him a blow across the face with all
her strength.
"How dare you? Let go, do you hear me?" and she stamped her little foot
on the ground. "Let go this instant," she screamed.
"Damn you, you little beast," he cried, wiping his face which was
smarting terribly, and he raised his fist as if to strike back; but
his natural caution, together with the fear that if he pushed matters
too far he might lose all chance of possessing her, checked him, and
pausing for a moment he suppressed his anger, and rapidly changed his
tactics.
"My darling pet!" he exclaimed after a short pause in the mildest
of voices, "you really look more lovely than ever when you are in a
temper," and he tried to encircle her waist again.
But she shook him off with a violent effort, while trembling from head
to foot. "Go! go, and never let me see you again. Henri, Henri," she
shrieked at the top of her voice as he still continued his attentions.
"Help me! Help me!"
Renée attempted to escape, and rose up with the idea of doing so, but
her limbs trembled so much that she was quite unable to walk, and
dropping into her seat from sheer exhaustion, buried her face in her
hands, and burst into an uncontrollable flood of tears.
Pierre was becoming really frightened at what he had done, and
proceeded to apologise for his conduct, but she showed no signs of
having heard him.
Fearing lest her sobs and cries would attract the household, Pierre
stepped back shrugging his shoulders, and with a scarcely audible
adieu, he hurried out of the garden humming an air to himself, and
disappeared down the street in the direction of the Avenue Rossini, and
hailing a passing fiacre, ordered the coacher to drive rapidly to his
father's house.
"Who was that chap she kept calling out to help her," he kept saying
to himself in the cab. "Henri, Henri--oh, of course, that is the
Christian name of that humbug Delapine. Now I remember seeing him once
squeeze her hand under the table when they thought no one was looking.
I can see it all clearly now. She is in love with the professor. That
explains why she was so cold to me, and why she was so furious when I
kissed her. What a fool I was not to see it before. Otherwise she would
have been only too proud for a wealthy, handsome fellow like me to pay
her attention. It is Delapine who has drawn her away from me--curse
him. If it had not been for that interfering fellow she would have
thrown herself into my arms. Never mind, I will have her yet, in spite
of all his fine tricks, and that before many days are over." Chuckling
to himself at the sweet thought of revenge, he entered the house.
"Hullo, Pierre my boy, where have you been?" asked the General, as his
son entered the room.
"Oh, I've just been over to Dr. Villebois' house."
"Oh fie, so you've been over there to see the pretty bird in its cage,
have you? Well, I'm only too delighted to hear it. I could not wish
you to marry a better girl. Payot and I have had a little chat about
it, and we have come to the conclusion that it will suit our books to
a 'T,' if you become her fiancé. The whole thing has been arranged
between us, and all you have to do is to go and propose to her and
the thing is done. Nothing could possibly be easier. I know she has a
soft place in her heart for you, and if she hadn't it is not likely
that she would be such a fool as to refuse a man of your position and
wealth."
"But, father, I have just seen her, and she not only refused me, but
she slapped my face, and told me never to speak to her again."
"What!" exclaimed Duval, "Do you mean to tell me that she actually hit
you?"
"Yes, father, and what is more she shouted at the top of her voice for
Delapine to come to her assistance. 'Henri, Henri,' she cried, 'help
me, help me,' and then she went into hysterics and hoped she would
never set eyes on me again."
The General whistled. After a moment.... "This is a fine state of
things," he said. "We must put our heads together and see whether we
should merely watch and wait, or make a counter attack, or fight a
rearguard action. The fat is in the fire, and no mistake. But, tell me,
what did you do to her to put her in such a rage?"
"I merely went into the garden with some wraps, and when I had put them
round her and paid her a few lover's compliments, I kissed her. Nothing
else, I swear."
"Now tell me, Pierre, as man to man, on your honour that you did
nothing else."
"Absolutely nothing, on my honour, sir, I swear to you."
"Then the solution of the problem is simple ... she is in love with
Delapine."
"I am of that opinion too," replied Pierre, "because I have seen them
billing and cooing together more than once, and besides that, she
addressed the professor by his Christian name when she called out for
help. I remembered his Christian name was Henri.
"Now I know for certain that she is in love with Delapine. Well, we
must outmanoeuvre him, n'est-ce pas?
"But that is easier said than done," said Pierre.
"Tut, tut, my boy, that is nothing for an old soldier like me. When
you have been through three campaigns as I have, you will laugh at a
little skirmish like this. A mere trifle, my boy, a mere trifle believe
me," and so saying he lit a cigarette and puffed away calmly, while
considering the position of affairs.
"We'll go over and put the matter before old Payot. He is very keen on
your marrying his daughter, and he intends to raise heaven and earth to
get her for you. There is no one whatever in the way except Delapine,
believe me. Get him out of the way, and the girl is yours. I know
Payot will give her a magnificent dot, because I bargained for that
last night, and with her income and yours there is nothing you can't
accomplish."
Pierre felt more in love with her than ever. The rebuff he had
encountered served to stimulate his passion to fever heat, and the very
fact that she had struck him with her fist only elicited a mad desire
in his mind to conquer her and bring her captive to his feet. His
jealousy grew until it knew no bounds, and the mere fact that his pride
had met with a severe check, made him all the more eager to have his
revenge.
"Curse that fellow," he kept saying to himself. "My father is quite
right. Delapine is the only obstacle, there cannot be a shadow of
doubt on that score. I have lost a fearful lot lately at the club, and
I must get some money somehow to pay my debts, or I shall be ruined.
If I could only marry her, I could pay my debts with her dot, and put
matters right.
"Look here, father," he said after a pause, "can't we get old Villebois
to tell the professor he has to leave the house at once?"
"I have thought of that plan, and even suggested it to Payot, but
after mature reflection I find it won't work. You see, Villebois is
absolutely infatuated with Delapine, and thinks the world of him.
Besides, he is so anxious to watch the antics and spirit-rappings and
all that nonsense that Delapine indulges in, that no consideration
would induce Villebois to part with him. No, no, that wouldn't do at
all."
"Well then, can't we send Renée away somewhere? Payot could take her
away to some place where I could see her from time to time."
"True, but the moment she finds out that you are keen upon seeing her,
the more determined she will be to prevent you. Besides, if she is sent
away, she will think of him all the more, and we shall not be able to
watch her schemes, or stop their writing letters to each other every
day. You must not forget Renée is no longer a child, but has arrived at
that time of life when love-intrigues become part of her second nature."
"Well, isn't it possible to get Payot to forbid her speaking to the
professor?"
"Why, that would be the very way to encourage her to do it all
the more. They would seek every opportunity to meet each other
clandestinely. Does not Almanni say 'Le cose victate fan crescere la
voglia?' You know the proverb, 'You may lead a horse to the water, but
you can't make him drink.' Oh, I know what women are, believe me. I
haven't been an old campaigner for nothing. The story of Eve and the
apple is absolutely true to life. You have only to forbid a girl to
do something, and she immediately raises heaven and earth in order to
do it; whereas, if you had said nothing at all she would never have
dreamt of it. No, no, we must first have a talk with Payot before the
Professor sees Renée again, and then we will see how we can surprise
the enemy."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: Romain Rolland.]