"Is it a serious matter?" he asked.
"Yes."
"We can stop if you wish."
"Yes; but first of all, did Mme. and Mlle. Derame leave here this
morning on the express for Marseilles?"
"Yes, at 9.55. Why do you ask that? Has there been any accident?"
"No, no accident; it can't be called that; on the contrary. Come, come
into the little parlor."
He told him everything, showed him the despatch, gave him certain
necessary explanations about the words, such as Number Three. And there
they were, choking, delighted--both the father of the young man and the
father of the young girl. What luck, what a providential meeting!
"But you told me that your son didn't wish to marry."
"He didn't wish to, but he has seen your daughter, and now he wishes to.
Come, hurry up and send a telegram to Marseilles to Mme. Derame."
"But she will be thunderstruck when I present to her a son-in-law by
telegraph."
Return of the footman. It was a despatch for M. Derame. He opens it.
"It's from my wife, from Mâcon, 2.15."
"Good," says M. Chamblard; "all goes well, very well."
"Very disturbed. Met in the train the son of M. C., of Rue Rougemont,
your club friend. He was presented by Maurice. You often spoke to me of
a possible alliance there. Evidently he thinks her charming. Just at
present he is talking to her, and looks at her, looks at her. What shall
I do? Shall I put a stop to it or allow it to continue? Large fortune,
isn't there?"
M. Derame in his turn showed his despatch to M. Chamblard. They
continued to talk, in high good-humor and in excellent accord, and went
on with their game of piquet only after having sent the following two
telegrams to the Hôtel de Noailles:
First despatch to Mme. Derame: "If it pleases you, if it pleases her,
yes. Enormous fortune."
Second despatch to Raoul: "Have spoken to D. He is telegraphing to Mme.
D. He approves, so do I."
A footman carried the two despatches at the same time to the
telegraph-office in the Place de la Bourse, and during the time that,
running over the wires along the railroad, they passed the express
towards half-past six in the neighborhood of Saint-Rambert, the Derames,
Raoul, and Maurice, in the best possible spirits and in most perfect
harmony, dined at the same table, and Martha looked at Raoul, and Raoul
looked at Martha, and Mme. Derame said to herself: "Martha's falling in
love; I know her, she is falling in love. She fell in love just so last
year at a ball with a little youth who was very dandified, but without
fortune. This time, luckily, yes--Edward told me so--there is plenty of
money; so, naturally, if Martha is willing we are."
The train ran on, and on, and on; and Raoul talked, and talked, and
talked. He even let slip practical thoughts, raised himself up to
general ideas, and developed with force the theory that the first duty
of a woman was to be, in all things, refined elegance. He explained,
with endless detail, what the life of an absolutely correct fashionable
woman was, what it was to be an absolutely fashionable woman. He
triumphantly took _his fashionable woman_ from Paris to Trouville, from
Trouville to Lake Como, from Lake Como to Monte-Carlo. He drew the
trunks of the fashionable woman, marvellous trunks, which were heaped up
in the vestibules of first-class hotels. Besides, he had also invented a
trunk.
Then, very tactfully, he put Martha through a little examination, which
had nothing in common with the examinations of the Sorbonne or the Hôtel
de Ville.
"Did she skate?" That's what he wanted to know first! He was himself a
very distinguished skater. He needed a sport-loving wife. He had but
just pronounced the word skating when suddenly the young brother (how
precious little brothers sometimes are) exclaimed: "Ah, it's sister who
skates well! She makes figures-of-eight. And who swims well, too--like a
fish!"
She skated, she swam, she was sport-loving. Raoul said to the young
girl, with deep enthusiasm: "I congratulate you. A woman who can't swim
isn't a woman."
And he added, with increasing energy:
"A woman who can't skate isn't a woman."
When he had a strong thought, he willingly used it again in a brief but
striking form.
Martha's face beamed with joy. She was really a woman. Never had a
sweeter word been said to her.
Night had come; it was necessary, therefore, to tear one's self away
from that exquisite conversation, and return to the parlor-car. Young
Derame was going to sleep; so they began to prepare for the trip through
the train.
Here is the platform, the platform of the morning, the platform of the
first meeting. She walks ahead of him, and in a whisper he says to her,
"It's here that this morning--"
She turns round, and smiling repeats, "Yes, it's here that this
morning--"
Always with that little English accent which never leaves her, even when
she is most agitated.
_It is here that this morning_--That was all, and it said all. A
delightful evening. No more rain, no more dust. Already there was the
soft, balmy air of the South. The moon lit that idyl at full speed.
Spring-time everywhere, in the sky and in the hearts.
"She loves me," he said to himself.
"He adores me," she said to herself.
How right they were to give themselves up thus, without a struggle,
without resistance, to the inclination which carried them, quite
naturally, towards each other. There had been between them, from the
first word, so perfect, so complete a community of tastes, ideas, and
sentiments. They were so well made, this little puppet and this little
doll, to roll off, both together, gloriously in the "Chamblard coupé,"
so well matched to walk in the world, accomplishing mechanically,
automatically, at the right hour, in the prescribed costume, everywhere
where it was correct to take pleasure, all the functions of fashionable
life, and all the rituals of worldly worship.
They arrive in the parlor-car. The shades are drawn over the lamps;
travellers are stiff, drowsy, and asleep in the big red arm-chairs.
"Change places," Raoul whispers to Maurice; "sit beside her. I am going
to sit by the mother; I must speak to her."
Maurice lent himself to this manoeuvre with perfect docility, Martha
did not understand it. Why did he abandon her? Why was he talking to her
mother, and so low, so low that she couldn't hear? What was he saying?
What was he saying?
This is what he said between Montélimar, 8.35, and Pierrelatte, 8.55:
"Listen to me, madam, listen to me. I am an honest man; I wish, I
ought, to let you know the situation, the entire situation. Let us first
settle an important point. My father knows M. Derame."
"Yes, yes, I know."
"Another more important point. Let us mention the essential things
first. My father is very rich."
"I know, I know that too."
"Good, then, very good. I continue. I left Paris this morning, and I
have here in my pocket a ticket for cabin No. 27 on the _Traonaddy_,
which leaves to-morrow at four o'clock from the Bay of Joliette for
Suez, Aden, Colombo, and Singapore, and I shall go on board to-morrow at
four o'clock if you don't let me hope to become your son-in-law."
"Sir!"
"Don't move, madam, don't move. Mlle. Martha is pretending to sleep, but
she isn't sleeping; she is watching us, and I haven't said all yet. I am
but just beginning. You are going to answer me--oh, I know it--that you
don't know me, that Mlle. Martha doesn't know me. Allow me to tell you
that Mlle. Martha and myself know each other better than three-fourths
of engaged couples on the day of their marriage. You know how it is
usually done. A rapid glance from afar in a theatre--one brings good
lorgnettes, one examines. 'How do you like him?' 'Fairly, fairly.'
Then, several days later, at a ball, in the midst of the figures of the
quadrille, several gasping, breathless phrases are exchanged. Then a
meeting in a picture-gallery. There, there is more intimacy, because it
takes place in a small room. It happened to me with a young provincial.
I had pegged away that morning at the Joanne guide, so as to be able to
find something to say about the Raphaels and the Murillos. And at the
end of several interviews of that sort it is over, one has made
acquaintance, one suits the other, and the marriage is decided. Mlle.
Martha and I are already old comrades. In the first place, to begin
with, this morning at half-past eleven she fell into my arms."
"My daughter in your arms!"
"Don't jump, madam; Mlle. Martha will see you jump."
Martha had, in fact, closely followed the scene with half-shut eyes, and
said to herself, "Good gracious! what is he telling mamma? She is
obliged to hold on to the arms of her seat to keep herself from jumping
up."
"Yes, madam, in my arms; by the greatest, by the most fortunate of
accidents, we stumbled over each other on one of the platforms of the
train. And since I have seen her, not in the false light of a theatre
or a gallery, but in the full glare of sunlight. I have seen her at
lunch, munching nuts with the prettiest teeth there are in the world; I
have seen her, just now, in the moonlight; and I know that she skates,
and I know that she swims, and I know she would like to have a
pearl-gray coupé, and she ought to have it. And now I admire her in the
semi-obscurity. Ravishing! isn't she ravishing?"
"Sir, never has a mother found herself--"
"In such a situation? I acknowledge it, madam, and for that very reason
you must get out of the situation quickly; it's evident that it can't be
prolonged."
"That's true--"
"Here is what I propose to you. You go to the Hôtel de Noailles; I, too,
naturally. You have all the morning to-morrow to talk to Mlle. Martha,
and the telephone to talk through to M. Derame. You know who I am. You
have seen me, too, in the daylight. I have talked--talked a great deal.
You could, you and Mlle. Martha, find out what I am, what I think. Well,
to-morrow--what time do you expect to breakfast to-morrow?"
"But I don't know. I assure you that I am choking, upset, overcome."
"Let us settle on an hour all the same; eleven o'clock--will you, at
eleven?"
"If you wish."
"Well, to-morrow at eleven o'clock I shall be in the dining-room of the
hotel. If you say 'Go' I shall go; if you say 'Stay' I shall stay. Don't
answer me; take time to reflect; it's worth while. Till to-morrow,
madam, till to-morrow at eleven."
* * * * *
In the morning very interesting communications passed between Paris and
Marseilles.
When Mme. Derame entered the dining-room of the hotel at eleven o'clock,
Raoul went straight to her, and the cavalryman, always adroit in his
manoeuvres, had taken possession of Mlle. Martha. A short dialogue
ensued between Raoul and Mme. Derame, who was much agitated.
"They tell me there are boats every fortnight between Indo-China and
Marseilles--you could put off your departure--merely taking another
boat--"
"Ah, thanks, madam, thanks!"
* * * * *
At two o'clock the Derames and young Chamblard accompanied Maurice to
the boat for Africa. On the deck of the steamer Raoul said to his
friend:
"It's understood that you are to be best man. On arriving, ask your
colonel for leave at once. It will take place, I think, in six weeks."
Raoul was mistaken. It was decidedly an express marriage; five weeks
were sufficient.
When they were mounting the steps of the Madeleine, Raoul said to
Martha:
"Twelve o'clock."
"What are you thinking of?"
"Ah, you too."
"Twelve, the hour of the platform, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's it."
They began to laugh, but quickly became serious, and made an
irreproachable entry into church.
They were looked at eagerly, and on all sides the following remarks were
exchanged:
"You know it's a love-match." "Yes, it appears it was a meeting on the
train." "A lightning-stroke!" "What a charming affair!" "And so rare!"
"Oh yes, so rare! A love-match! A true love-match!"