Marianne was contented. Not that her ambition was completely satisfied,
but after all, Sulpice in place of Rosas was worth having. Though a
minister was only a passing celebrity, he was a personage. From the
depths of the bog in which she lately rolled, she would never have dared
to hope for so speedy a revenge.
Speedy, assuredly, but perhaps not sufficient. Her eager hunger
increased with her success. Since Vaudrey was hers, she sought some
means of bringing about some adventure that would give her fortune. What
could be asked or exacted from Sulpice? She recalled the traditions of
fantastic bargains, of extensive furnishings. She would find them. She
had but to desire, since he had abandoned himself, bound hand and foot,
like a child.
She knew him now, all his candor, all his weakness, for, in the presence
of this blasé woman, weary of love, Vaudrey permitted himself to confide
his thoughts with unreserved freedom, opening his heart and disclosing
himself with a clean breast in this duel with a woman:--a duel of
self-interest which he mistook for passion.
She had studied him at first and speedily ranked him, calling him:
"An innocent!"
She felt that in this house in Rue Prony, where she was really not in
her own home but was installed as in a conquered territory, Sulpice was
dazzled. Like a provincial, as Granet described him so often, he entered
there into a new world.
Uncle Kayser frequently called to see his niece. Severe in taste, he
cast long, disdainful looks at the tapestries and the artistic trifles
that adorned the house. In his opinion, it was rubbish and the luxury of
a decaying age. He never changed his tune, always riding the hobby-horse
of an æsthetic moralist.
"It lacks severity, all this furnishing of yours," was his constantly
repeated criticism to Marianne, as he sat smoking his pipe on a divan,
as was his custom in his own, wretched studio.
Then, in an abrupt way, with his eye wandering over the ceiling as if he
were following the flight of a chimera, he would say:
"Why! your minister must do a great deal, if all this comes from the
ministry!"
Marianne interrupted him. It was no business of his to mix himself up
with matters that did not concern him. Above all, he must hold his
tongue. Did he forget that Vaudrey was married? The least indiscretion--
"Oh! don't alarm yourself," the painter broke in, "I am as dumb as a
carp, the more so since your escapade is not very praiseworthy!--For you
have, in fact, deserted the domestic hearth--yes, you have deserted the
hearth.--It is pretty here, a little like a courtesan's, perhaps, but
pretty, all the same.--But you must acknowledge that it is a case of
interloping. It is not the genuine home with its dignity, its virtuous
severity, its--What time does your minister come? I would like to speak
to him--"
"To preach morality to him?" asked Marianne, glancing at her uncle with
an ironical expression.
"Not at all. I am considered to be ignorant--No, I have a plan to
decorate in a uniform way, all the mayors' offices in Paris and I want
to propose it to him--_The Modern Marriage_, an allegorical
treatment!--_Law Imposing Duty on Love_. Something noble, full of
expression, moralizing. Art that will set people thinking, for the
contemplation of lofty works can alone improve the morals and the
masses--You understand?"
"Perfectly. You want a commission!"
"Ah! that's a contemptible word, hold! A commission! Is a true artist
commissioned? He obeys his inspiration, he follows his ideal--A
commission! a commission! Ugh!--On my word, you would break the wings of
faith! Little one, have you any of that double zero Kummel left, that
you had the other day?"
Marianne sought to spare Sulpice the importunities of her uncle. She
wished to keep the minister's entire influence for herself.
She had nothing to fear, moreover. Sulpice was hers as fully as she
believed. Like so many others who have lived without living, Sulpice
did not know _woman_, and Marianne was ten times a woman, woman-child,
woman-lover, woman-courtesan, woman-girl, and every day and every night
she appeared to her lover renewed and surprising, freshly created for
passion and pleasure. Everything about her, even the frame that
surrounded her beauty, the dwelling, perfumed with passionate love,
distractedly captivated Sulpice. Behind the dense curtains in the
dressing-room upholstered like a boudoir, with its carpet intended only
for naked feet, as the reclining chair with its extra covering of
Oriental silk was adapted to moments of languishing repose, Sulpice saw
and contemplated the vast wardrobe with its three mirrors reflecting the
huge marble washstand with its silver spigots, its silver bowl, wherein
the scented water gleamed opal-like with its perfumes, the gas
illuminating the brushes decorated with monograms, standing out against
the white marble, the manicure sets of fine steel, the dark-veined
tortoise-shell combs, the coquettish superfluity of scissors and files
scattered about amongst knickknacks, inlaid enamels, and Japanese ivory
ornaments, and there, stretched out and watching Marianne, who came and
went before him with a smile on her face, her hair unfastened, sometimes
with bare shoulders, Sulpice saw, through a half-open door in the middle
of a bathroom floored with blue Delft tiles, the bath that steamed with
a perfumed vapor, odorous of thyme, and the water which was about to
envelop in its warm embrace that rosy form that displayed beneath the
lights and under the full blaze of the gas, the nudity of her flesh
beneath a transparent Surah chemise, silky upon the living silk.
Milk-white reflections seemed to play on her shoulders and Sulpice never
forgot those ardent visions that followed him, clung to him, thrust
themselves before his gaze and into his recollections, never leaving
him, either at the Chamber, the Council Board or even when he was with
Adrienne.--The young woman, seeing his absorption, hesitated to disturb
his thoughts, political as they were, no doubt, while he mused upon his
hours of voluptuous enjoyment, forever recalling the youthful roundness
of her shoulders, and the inflections of her body, the ivory-like curve
of her neck, whose white nape rested upon him, and her curls escaped
from the superb arrangement of her hair, held in its place at the top by
a comb thrust into this fair mass like a claw plunged into flesh.
Vaudrey must have had an active and prompt intelligence at times to
forget suddenly these passionate images, when he unexpectedly found
himself compelled to ascend the tribune during a discussion or to
express his opinion clearly at the Ministerial Council. He increased his
power, finding, perhaps, a new excitement, a new spur in the love that
renewed his youth. He had never been seen more active and more stirring
in the Chamber, though he was somewhat nervous. He determined to put
himself in evidence at the Ministry and to prove to the phrase-monger
Warcolier that he knew how to act. The President of the Council,
Monsieur Collard--of Nantes--said several times to Sulpice:
"Too much zeal, my dear minister. A politician ought to be cooler."
"I shall be cooler with age!" Sulpice replied with a laugh.
From time to time he went to seek advice from Ramel, as he had promised.
The little shopkeepers and laundresses of Rue Boursault hardly suspected
when they saw a coupé stop at the door of the old journalist, that a
minister alighted from it.
Sulpice felt amid the bustle of his life, amid the spurring and
over-excited events of his existence, the need of talking with his old
friend. Besides, Rue Boursault was on the way to Rue Prony. As Marianne
was frequently not at home, Sulpice would spend the time before her
return in chatting with Ramel.
"Well! Ramel, are you satisfied with me?"
"How could I be otherwise? You are an honest man and faithful and
devoted to your ideas. I am not afraid of you, but I am of those by whom
you are surrounded."
"Warcolier?"
"Warcolier and many others, of those important fellows who ask me--when
they deign to speak to me--with an insignificant air of superiority and
almost of pity, the idiots: 'Well! you are no longer doing anything!
When will you do something?' As if I had not done too much already,
seeing that I have made them!"
Denis Ramel smiled superciliously and the minister looked with a sort of
respect at this vanguard warrior, this laborer of the early morn who had
never received his recompense or even claimed it.
"I should like you to resume your journal in order to announce all these
truths," Vaudrey said to him.
"Do you think so? Why, a journal that would proclaim the truth to
everybody would not last six months, since no one would buy it."
As Sulpice was about to go, there was a ring at Ramel's door.
"Ah! who can it be? A visit. I beg you will excuse me, my dear Vaudrey."
Denis went to open the door.
It was a man of about fifty, dressed in the garb of a poor workman,
wearing a threadbare greatcoat and trousers that were well polished at
the knees, who as he entered held his round, felt hat in his hand. He
was thin, pale and tired-looking, with a dark, dull complexion and a
voice weak rather than hoarse. He bowed timidly, repeating twice: "I
earnestly ask your pardon;" and then he remained standing on the
threshold, without advancing or retiring, in an embarrassed attitude,
while a timid smile played beneath his black beard, already sprinkled
with gray.
"Pardon--I disturb you--I will return--"
"Come in, Garnier," said Ramel.
The man entered, saluting Vaudrey, who was not known to him, and at a
gesture from Denis, he took a seat on the edge of a chair, scarcely
sitting down and constantly twirling his round-shaped hat between his
lean fingers. From time to time, he raised his left hand to his mouth to
check the sound of a dry cough which rose in his muscular throat, that
might be supposed to be a prey to laryngitis.
"You ask for the truth--Listen a moment, a single moment," Ramel
whispered in the ear of the minister.
Without mentioning Sulpice's name, he began to question Garnier, who
grew bolder and talked and gossiped, his cheek-bones now and then
heightened in color by small, pink spots.
"Well! Garnier, about the work?--Oh! you may speak before monsieur, it
interests him."
The man shrugged his shoulders with a sad, somewhat bitter smile, but
resigned at least. He very quietly, but without any complaint,
acknowledged all that he was enduring. Work was in a bad way. It
appeared that it was just the same everywhere in Europe, in fact, but
indeed that doesn't provide work at the shop. The master, a kind man, in
faith, had grown old, and was anxious to sell his business of an art
metal worker. He had not found a purchaser, then he had simply closed
his shop, being too ill to continue hard work, and the four or five
workmen whom he employed found themselves thrown into the street. There
it is! Happily for Garnier, he had neither wife nor child, nothing but
his own carcass. One can always get one's self out of a difficulty, but
the others who had households and brats! Rousselet had five. Matters
were not going to be very cheerful at home. He must rely on charity or
credit, he did not know what, but something to stave off that distress,
real and sad distress, since it was not merited.
"Do you interest yourself in politics?" asked Vaudrey curiously,
surmising that this man was possessed of strong and quick intelligence,
although he looked so worn and crushed and his cough frequently
interrupted his remarks.
Garnier looked at Ramel before replying, then answered in a quiet tone:
"Oh! not now! That is all over. I vote like everybody else, but I let
the rest alone. I have had my reckoning."
He had said all this in a low tone without any bitterness and as if
burdened with painful memories.
"It is, however, strange, all the same," added the workman, "to observe
that the more things change, the more alike they are. Instead of
occupying themselves over there with interpellations and seeking to
overthrow or to strengthen administrations, would it not be better if
they thought a little of those who are dying of hunger? for there are
some, it is necessary to admit that such are not wanting! What is it to
me whether Pichereau or Vaudrey be minister, when I do not know at the
moment where I shall sleep when I have spent my savings, and whether
the baker will give me credit now that I am without a shop?"
At the mention of Vaudrey's name, Ramel wished to make a sign to this
man, but Sulpice had just seized the hand of his old friend and pressed
it as if to entreat him not to interrupt the conversation. The voice
that he heard, interrupted by a cough, was the voice of a workman and he
did not hear such every day.
"Note well that I am not a blusterer or a disturber, isn't that so,
Monsieur Ramel? I have always been content with my lot, myself--One
receives and executes orders and one is satisfied. Everything goes on
all right--My politics at present is my work; when I shall have broken
my back to bring journalists into power--I beg your pardon, Monsieur
Ramel, you know very well that it is not of you that I speak thus--I
shall be no fatter for it, I presume. I only want just to keep life and
soul together, if it can be done. I suppose you could not find me a
place, Monsieur Ramel? I would do anything, heavy work if need be, or
bookkeeping, if it is desired. I would like bookkeeping better, although
it is not my line, because the forge fire, the coal and heat, as you
see, affect me there now--he touched his neck--it strangles me and
hastens the end too quickly. It is true for that I am in the world."
Vaudrey felt himself stirred even to his bones by the mournful, musical
voice of the consumptive, by this true misery, this poverty expressed
without phrases and this claim of labor. All the questions _yonder_, as
Garnier said, in the committees and sub-committees, in the tribune and
in the lobbies, discussions, disputes, personal questions cloaked under
the guise of the general welfare, suddenly appeared to him as petty and
vain, narrow and egotistical beside the formidable question of bread
which was propounded to him so quietly by this man of the people, who
was not a rebel of the violent days, but the unfortunate brother, the
eternal Lazarus crying, without threat, but simply, sadly: "And I?"
He would have liked, without making himself known, to give something to
this sufferer, to promise him a position. He did not dare to offer it or
to mention his name. The man would have refused charity and the
minister, in all the personnel of bustling employés, often useless, that
fill the ministry, had not a single place to give to this workman whose
chest was on fire and whose throat was choking.
"I will return and we will talk about him," he said to Ramel, as he
arose, indicating Garnier by a nod. "Do not tell him who I am. On my
word, I should be ashamed--Poor devil!"
"Multiply him by three or four hundred thousand, and be a statesman,"
said Ramel.
Vaudrey bowed to the workman, who rose quickly and returned his salute
with timid eagerness, and the minister went rapidly down the stairs of
the little house and jumped into his carriage, making haste to get
away.
He bore with him a feeling akin to remorse, and in all sincerity, for he
still heard ringing in his ears, the poor consumptive's voice saying:
"What is it to me, who am suffering, whether Vaudrey or Pichereau be
minister?"
On reaching Place Beauvau, he found a despatch requesting his immediate
presence at the Élysée. At the Palace he received information that
surprised him like a thunderbolt. Monsieur Collard--of Nantes--had just
been struck down by apoplexy in the corridors of the ministry. The
President of the Council was dead and the Chief of the State had turned
to Vaudrey to fill the high position which, but two hours before, had
been held by Monsieur Collard.
President of the Council! He, Vaudrey! Head of the Ministry! The first
in his country after the supreme head? The joyful surprise that such a
proposition caused him, so occupied his mind that he was unable to feel
very much moved by the loss of Monsieur Collard--of Nantes--. Sulpice,
moreover, had never profoundly cared for this austere advocate, although
he had been much associated with him. His liking for this man who
brought to the Council old-time opinions and preconceived ideas was a
merely political affection. The President's offer proved to him that his
own popularity, as well as his influence over parliament, had only
increased since his recent entry on public life. He was then about to be
in a position to assert his individuality still better. What a glorious
time for Grenoble and what wry faces Granet would make!
Sulpice hastened to announce this news to Adrienne, although it would
not become official until after Collard's funeral obsequies. He returned
almost triumphantly to the Hôtel Beauvau. Only one thought, a sombre
image, clouded his joy: it was not the memory of Collard, but the sad
image of the man whom he had met at Ramel's, and who, when the
_Officiel_ should speak, should make the announcement, would shrug his
shoulders and say ironically:
"Well! and what then?"
He had scarcely whispered these words to Adrienne: "President of the
Council! I am President of the Council!" when, without being astonished
at the faint, almost indifferent smile that escaped the young wife, he
suddenly thought that he was under obligation to make a personal visit
to the Ministry of Justice where Collard was lying dead.
He ordered himself to be driven quickly to Place Vendôme.
At every moment, carriages brought to the ministry men of grave mien,
decorated with the red ribbon, who entered wearing expressions suitable
to the occasion and inscribed their names in silence on the register,
passing the pen from one to another just as the aspergillus is passed
along in church. Everybody stood aside on noticing Vaudrey. It seemed to
him that they instinctively divined that Collard being out of the way
it was he who must be the man of the hour, the necessary man, the
President of the Council marked out in advance, the chief of the coming
_ministry_.
"Poor Collard!" thought Sulpice, as he inscribed his name on the
register. "One will never be able to say: the _Collard Administration_.
But it would be glorious if one day history said: the _Vaudrey
Administration_."
He re-entered the Hôtel Beauvau, inflated with the idea. In the
antechamber, there were more office-seekers than were usually in
attendance. One of them, on seeing Vaudrey, rose and ran to him and said
quickly to Sulpice, who did not stop:
"Ah! Monsieur le Ministre--What a misfortune--Monsieur Collard--If there
were no eminent men like Your Excellency to replace him!--"
Vaudrey bowed without replying.
"What is the name of that gentleman?" said he as soon as he entered his
cabinet, to the usher who followed him. "I always find him, but I cannot
recognize him."
"He! Monsieur le Ministre? Why, that is, _Monsieur Eugène_!"
"Ah! very good! That is right! The eternal Monsieur Eugène!"
Just then Warcolier opened the door, looking more morose than sad, and
holding a letter that he crushed in his hand, while at the same time he
greeted Vaudrey with a number of long phrases concerning the dreadful,
unexpected, sudden, unlooked-for, crushing death--he did not select his
epithets, but allowed them to flow as from an overrunning cask--the
dramatic decease of Collard--of Nantes--. From time to time, Warcolier,
while speaking, cast an involuntary, angry glance at the paper that he
twisted in his fingers, so much so that Vaudrey, feeling puzzled, at
last asked him what the letter was.
"Don't speak to me about it--" said the fat man. "An imbecile!"
"What imbecile?"
"An imbecile whom I received with some little courtesy the other
morning--I who, nevertheless, go to so much trouble to make myself
agreeable."
"And that is no sinecure!--Well, the imbecile in question?"
"Left furious, no doubt, because of the reception accorded him--and to
me, me, the Under-Secretary of State, this is the letter that he writes,
that he dares to write! Here, Monsieur le Ministre, listen! Was ever
such stupidity seen? '_Monsieur le Secrétaire d'Etat, you have under
your orders a very badly trained Undersecretary of State, who will make
you many enemies, I warn you. As you are his direct superior, I permit
myself to notify you of his conduct_,' etc., etc. You laugh?" said
Warcolier, seeing that a smile was spreading over Vaudrey's
blond-bearded face.
"Yes, it is so odd!--Your correspondent is evidently ignorant that there
are only Under-Secretaries of State in the administration!--unless this
innocent is but simply an insolent fellow."
"If I thought that!" said Warcolier, enraged. "No, but it is true," he
said with astonishing candor, a complete overflowing of his satisfied
egotism, "there are a lot of people who ask for everything and are good
for nothing!--Malcontents!--I should like to know why they are
malcontents!--What are they dreaming about, then? What do they want? I
am asking myself ever since I came into office: What is it they want?
Doesn't the present government carry out the will of the majority?--It
is just like those journalists with their nagging articles!--They squall
and mock! What they print is disgusting! Granted that we have demanded
liberty, but that does not mean license!"
While Warcolier, entirely concerned about himself, with erect head and
oratorical gesture, spoke as if in the presence of two thousand hearers,
Sulpice Vaudrey again recalled, still sad and sick, the dark and sunken
cheeks and the colorless ears, the poor projecting ears of the
consumptive Garnier with whom he had come in contact at Ramel's.
He was anxious to be with Adrienne again, and above all, with Marianne.
What would his mistress say to him when she knew of his reaching the
presidency of the Council?
Adrienne had certainly received the news with little pleasure.
"If you are happy!"--was all she said, with a sigh.
It was the very expression she had used at the moment when, on the
formation of the "Collard Cabinet," he had gone to her and cried out: "I
am a minister!"
Adrienne was impassive.
In truth, Sulpice was beginning to think that she was too indifferent to
the serious affairs of life. The delightful joys of intimacy, now,
moreover, discounted, ought not to make a woman forget the public
successes of her husband. Instinctively comparing this gentle, slender
blonde, resigned and pensive, with Marianne, with her tawny locks and
passionate nature, whom he adored more intensely each day, Vaudrey
thought that a man in his position, with his ambition and merit, would
have been more powerfully aided, aye, even doubled in power and success
by a creature as strongly intelligent, as energetic and as fertile in
resource as Mademoiselle Kayser.
He still had before him a peculiar smile of indefinable superiority
expressed by his mistress when Adrienne and Marianne chanced to meet one
evening at the theatre, which made him feel that his mistress was
watching and analyzing his wife. The next day, Marianne with exquisite
grace, but keen as a poisoned dart, said to him:
"Do you know, my dear, Madame Vaudrey is charming?"
He felt himself blush at these words hurled at him point-blank, then his
cheeks grew cold. Never, till that moment, had Mademoiselle Kayser
mentioned Adrienne's name.
"You like blondes, I see!" said Marianne. "I am almost inclined to be
jealous!"
"Will you do me a great favor?" then interrupted Sulpice. "Never let us
speak of her. Let us speak of ourselves."
"Yes," continued the perfidious Marianne in a patronizing tone, as if
she had not heard him, "she is certainly charming! A trifle--just a
trifle--bourgeoise--But charming! Decidedly charming!"
Knowing Vaudrey well, she understood what a keen weapon she was plunging
straight into him. A little _bourgeoise_! This conclusion rendered by
the Parisienne with a smile now haunted Sulpice, who was annoyed at
himself and he sought to discover in his wife, the dear creature whom he
had so tenderly loved, whom he still loved, some self-satisfying excuse
for his passion and adultery.
"Bah!" he thought. "Is it adultery? There is no adultery save for the
wife. The husband's faithlessness is called a caprice, an adventure, a
craving or madness of the senses. Only the wife is adulterous."
In all candor, what sin had he committed? Was Adrienne less loved? He
would have sacrificed his life for her. He overwhelmed her with
presents, created surprises for her that she received without emotion,
and simply said in a doleful tone:
"How good you are, my dear!"
He was ruining neither her nor his children! Ah! if he but had children!
Why had not Adrienne had children? A woman should be a mother. It is
maternity that in the marriage estate justifies a man in abandoning his
freedom and a woman her shame.
A mother! And was Marianne a mother?
No, but Marianne was Marianne. Marianne was not created for the domestic
fireside and the cradle. Her statuesque and seductively lovely limbs
only craved for the writhings of pleasure, not the pangs of maternity.
Adrienne, on the contrary, was the wife, and the childless wife soon
took another name: the friend. No, he robbed her of nothing, Adrienne
lost none of his affection, none of his fortune. The money squandered at
Rue Prony, Vaudrey had acquired; it was the savings of the honest people
of Saint-Laurent-du-Pont, the parents, the _old folks_, that he
threw--as in smelting--into the crucible of the girl's mansion.
Adrienne expressed no desire that was not fulfilled, and Sulpice who
was, moreover, confident and lulled by her quietude, felt no remorse. He
did not enquire if his passion for Marianne would endure. He flung
himself upon this love as upon some prey; nor was desire the only
influence that now attached him to this woman, he was drawn to her also
by the admiration that he felt for her boldness of thought, her
singular opinions, her careless expressions, her devilish spirit; her
appetizing and voluptuous attractions surprised and ensnared him--
What a counselor and ally such a woman would be!
Well and good! When Vaudrey informed her that he was about to become
first minister, to preside over the Council, to show his power--this was
his eternal watchword--Marianne immediately comprehended the new
situation and what increase of influence in the country such a fortunate
event would give him.
He observed with pleasure that something like a joyful beam gleamed in
Mademoiselle Kayser's gray eyes.
She also doubtless thought that it was desirable to take advantage of
the occasion, to seize and cling to the opportunity.
"Then it is official?" she asked.
"Not yet. But it is certain."
What could Marianne hope for? Again, she had no well-defined object; but
she watched her opportunity, and since Vaudrey's power was enlarged,
well, she was to profit by it. Claire Dujarrier, who had already served
her so well, could be useful to her again and advise her advantageously.
That will be seen.
"Are you desirous of attending Collard's funeral?" Vaudrey asked
Marianne.
She laughed as she asked:
"Why! what do you think that would be to me?"
"It will be very fine. All the authorities, the magistrates, the
Institute, the garrison of Paris will be present."
"Then you think it is amusing to see soldiers file past? I am not at all
curious! You will describe it all to me and that will be quite
sufficient for me."
Vaudrey walked at the head of the cortége that accompanied through Place
Vendôme and Rue de la Paix, black with the crowd, the funeral procession
of Collard--of Nantes--to the Madeleine. Troops of the line in parade
uniforms lined the route. From time to time was heard the muffled roll
of drums shrouded in crêpe. The funeral car was immense and was crowded
with wreaths. As with bowed head he accompanied the funeral procession
of his colleague, almost his friend,--but, bah! friendship of committees
and sub-committees!--Sulpice was sufficiently an artist to be somewhat
impressed with the contrast afforded by the display of official pomp
crowning the rather obscure life of the Nantes advocate. He had ever
obtrusively before him, as if haunted by the spectre of the Poor Man
before Don Juan, the lean face of Garnier and the white moustache of
Ramel. Which of the two had better served his cause, Ramel vanquished or
Collard--of Nantes--dying in the full blaze of success?
He pondered over this during the whole of the ceremony. He thought of it
while the notes of the organ swelled forth, while the blue flames of the
burning incense danced, and while the butts of the soldiers' muskets
sounded from time to time on the flagstones, as the men stood around
the bier and followed the orders of the officer who commanded them.
On leaving the ceremony, Granet approached Sulpice while gently stroking
his waxed moustache, and said in an ironical tone:
"Do you know that it is suggested that a statue be raised in Collard's
honor?"
"Really?"
"Yes, because he is considered to have shown a great example."
"What?"
"He is one of those rare cases of ministers dying in office. Imitate
him, my dear minister,--to the latest possible moment."
Sulpice made an effort to smile at Granet's pleasantry. This cunning
fellow decidedly displeased him; but there was nothing to take offence
at, it was mere diplomatic pleasantry expressed politely.
Before returning to the ministry, Vaudrey had himself driven to Rue
Prony. Jean, the domestic, told him that Madame had gone out; she had
been under the necessity of going to her uncle's. After all, Sulpice
thought this was a very simple matter; but he was determined to see
Marianne, so he ordered his carriage to be driven to the artist's
studio. Uncle Kayser opened the door, bewildered at receiving a call
from the minister and, at the same time, showing that he was somewhat
uneasy, coughing very violently, as if choked with emotion, or perhaps
as a signal to some one.
"Is Mademoiselle Kayser here?" asked Sulpice.
"Yes--Ah! how odd it is--Chance wills that just now one of our
friends--a connoisseur of pictures--"
Vaudrey had already thrust open the door of the studio and he perceived,
sitting near Marianne and holding his hat in his hand, a young man with
pale complexion and reddish beard, whom Mademoiselle Kayser, rising
quickly and without any appearance of surprise, eagerly presented to
him:
"Monsieur José de Rosas!"
In the simple manner in which she had pronounced this name, she had
infused so triumphant an expression, such manifest ostentation, that
Vaudrey felt himself suddenly wounded, struck to the heart.
He recalled everything that Marianne had said to him about this man.
He greeted Rosas with somewhat frigid politeness and from the tone in
which Marianne began to speak to him, he at once realized that she had
some interest in allowing the Spaniard to surmise nothing. She unduly
emphasized the title by which she addressed him, repeating a little too
frequently: "Monsieur le Ministre."--Whenever Vaudrey sought to catch
her glance she looked away in a strange fashion and managed to avoid
carrying on any formal conversation with Sulpice. On the contrary, she
addressed Rosas affably, asking what he had done in London, what he had
become and what he brought back new.
"Nothing," José answered with a peculiar expression that displeased
Vaudrey. "Nothing but the conviction that one lives only in Paris
surrounded by persons whom one vainly seeks to avoid and toward whom one
always returns--in spite of one's self, at times."
Vaudrey observed the almost proud, triumphant expression that flashed in
Marianne's eyes. He vaguely realized an indirect confession expressed in
that trite remark made by Rosas. The Spaniard's voice trembled slightly
as he spoke.
Marianne smiled as she listened.
"You have taken a new journey, monsieur?" asked Sulpice, uncertain what
bearing to assume.
"Oh! just a temporary absence! A trip to London--"
"Have you returned long?"
"Only this morning."
His first call was at Simon Kayser's house, where perhaps, he expected
to see Marianne. And the proof--
Vaudrey instinctively thought that it was a very hasty matter to call so
soon on Uncle Kayser. This man's first visit was not to the painter's
studio, but in reality to the woman who--Sulpice still heard Marianne
declare that--who would not become his mistress. There was something
strange in that. Eh! _parbleu!_ it was perhaps Monsieur de Rosas who had
sent for Marianne.
She endeavored to make it clear that only chance was responsible for
bringing them together here, but Sulpice doubted, he was uneasy and
angry.
He felt almost determined to declare, if it were only by a word, the
prize of possession, the conquest of this woman, whom he felt that Rosas
was about to contend with him for.
She surmised everything and interrupted Sulpice even before he could
have spoken and, with a sort of false respect, displayed before Rosas
the friendship which Monsieur le Ministre desired to show her and of
which she was proud.
"By the way, my dear minister, as to your appointment as President of
the Council?"
Vaudrey knit his brows.
"That is so! I ask your pardon. I am betraying a state secret. Monsieur
de Rosas will not abuse it. Isn't that so, Monsieur le Duc?"
Rosas bowed; Vaudrey was growing impatient.
"Madame Vaudrey will, of course, be delighted at this appointment,
Monsieur le Ministre?" continued Marianne.
She smiled at Sulpice who was greatly astonished to hear Adrienne's name
mentioned there; then, turning to Rosas, she charmingly depicted a
quasi-idyllic sketch of the affection of Monsieur le Ministre for Madame
Vaudrey. A model household. There was nothing surprising in that,
moreover. "Monsieur le Ministre" was so amiable--yes, truly amiable,
without any flattery,--and Madame Vaudrey so charming!
Sulpice, who was very nervous and had become slightly pale, endeavored
to discover the meaning of this riddle. He asked himself what Marianne
was thinking about, what she meant to say or dissimulate.
Monsieur de Rosas sat motionless on his chair, very cool, looking calmly
on without speaking a word.
He seemed to await an opportunity to leave the studio, and since Vaudrey
had arrived he had only spoken a few brief phrases in strict propriety.
Marianne, all smiles and happy, with beaming eyes, interrogated Vaudrey
and sought to provide a subject of conversation for the unexpected
interview of these two men. Was there a great crowd at Collard's
funeral? Who had sung at the ceremony? Vaudrey answered these questions
rapidly, like a man absorbed in other thoughts.
After a moment's interval, Monsieur de Rosas arose and bowed to Marianne
with gentlemanly formality.
"Are you going, my dear duke?"
"Yes, I have seen you again. You are getting along well. I am
satisfied."
"You will come again, at any rate? My uncle has some new compositions to
show you."
"Oh! great ideas," began Kayser. "Things that will make famous
frescoes!--For a palace--or the Pantheon!--either one!"
He had looked alternately at the duke and Vaudrey.
Rosas bowed to the minister and withdrew without replying, followed by
Kayser and Marianne who, on reaching the threshold of the salon, seized
his hand and pressed it nervously within her own soft one and said
quickly:
"You will return, oh! I beg you! Ah! it is too bad to have run away! You
will come back!"
She was at once entreating and commanding him. Rosas did not reply, but
she felt in the trembling of his hand, as he pressed her own, in his
brilliant glance, that she would see him again. And since he had
returned to Paris alone, weary of being absent from her, perhaps, seeing
that he had hastened back after having desired to free himself from her,
did it not seem this time that he was wholly captivated?
All this was expressed by a pressure of the fingers, a glance, a sigh.
Rosas went rapidly away, like one distracted. Marianne, who motioned to
Uncle Kayser to disappear, reappeared in the studio, entirely
self-possessed.
Vaudrey had risen from the divan on which he had been sitting and he was
standing, waiting.
"I believed that I understood that you had dismissed Monsieur de Rosas?"
"I might have told you that I did so, since it is true."
"You smiled at him, nevertheless, just now."
"Yes."
"A man who begged you to be his mistress!"
"And whom I rejected, yes!"
She looked at Sulpice with her winsome, sidelong glance, curling her
lovely pink lips that he had kissed so many times.
"Then you love that man?"
"I! not at all, only it is flattering to me to have him return like
that, just like some penitent little boy."
"I do not understand--"
"_Parbleu!_ you are not a woman, that is all that that proves!--It is
irritating to our self-love to see people too promptly accept the
dismissal one gives them. What! Don't they suffer? Don't they say
anything? Don't they complain? Monsieur de Rosas comes back to me, that
proves that he was hurt, and I triumph. Now, do you understand?"
"And--that joy that I observed is--?"
"It is because Monsieur de Rosas is in Paris."
"And you don't love him? You don't love him?" asked Vaudrey, clasping
Marianne's hands in his.
She laughed and said:
"I do not love him in the least."
"And you love me?"
"Yes, you, I love you!"
"Marianne, you know that it would be very wicked and wrong to lie! It is
not necessary to love me at all if you must cease to love me!"
"In other words, one should never lend money unless one is obliged to
lend one's whole fortune."
He felt extremely dissatisfied with Marianne's ironical remark. She
looked at him with an odd expression which was all the more disquieting
and intoxicating.
"Let us speak no more about that, shall we?" she said. "I repeat to you
that I am satisfied at having seen Monsieur de Rosas again, because it
affords my self-love its revenge. Now, whether he comes back or not, it
matters little to me. He has made the _amende honorable_. That is the
principal thing, and you, my dear, must not be jealous; I find Othello's
rôle tiresome; oh! yes, tiresome!--The more so, because you have no
right to treat me as a Desdemona. The Code does not permit it."
"You want to remind me again, then, that I am married? A moment ago, you
stabbed me by pin-thrusts."
"In speaking of your household? Say then with knife-thrusts."
"Why did you mention my wife before Monsieur de Rosas?"
"Why," said Marianne, "you do not understand anything. It was for your
sake, for you alone, in order to explain the presence in Marianne's
house, of a minister who is considered to lead a puritan life. Nothing
could be more simple!--Would you have me tell him that you neglect your
wife and that you are my lover? Perhaps you would have liked that
better!"
"Yes, perhaps," said Vaudrey passionately.
"Vain fellow!" the pretty girl said as she placed upon his mouth her
little hand which he kept upon his lips. "Then you would like me to
parade our secrets everywhere and to publicly announce our happiness?"
"I should like," he said, as he removed his lips from the soft palm of
her hand, "that all the world should know that you are mine, mine
only--only mine, are you not?--That man?"
His eyes entreated her and lost their fire.
Marianne shrugged her shoulders.
"Let Monsieur de Rosas alone in tranquillity and let us return to my
house, _our house_," she said, with a tender expression in her eyes.
"You do not love him?"
"No."
"And you love me?"
"I have told you so."
"You love me? You love me?"
"I love you!--Ah!" she said, "how unhappy you would be, nevertheless, if
I told you aloud some day in one of the lobbies of the Assembly what you
ask me to repeat here in a whisper."
"I should prefer that to losing you and to knowing that you did not love
me."
"He is telling the truth, however, the great fool!" cried Marianne,
laughing.
"The real, sincere, profound truth!"
He drew her to him, seated on the vulgar divan where Simon Kayser was
wont to display his paradoxes, and encircling her waist with both arms
he felt her yielding form beneath her satin gown, and wished her to bend
her fair face to his lips that were craving a kiss.
Marianne took his face between her soft hands, and looking at him with
an odd smile, tender and ironical at once, at this big simpleton who was
completely dominated by her mocking tenderness, she said:
"You are just the same Sulpice!"--as she spoke, she bent over him
engagingly, and laughed merrily while he kissed her.