“I’ll see if I can’t make you yield,” he said.
“You may crush me, perhaps. Make me yield, never!”
“Well, we shall see. You will see--Maxence and you--whether there
are no means by which a father can compel his rebellious children to
submit to his authority.”
And, feeling that he was no longer master of himself, he left,
swearing loud enough to shake the plaster from the stair-walls.
Maxence shook with indignation.
“Never,” he uttered, “never until now, had I understood the infamy
of my conduct. With a father such as ours, Gilberte, I should be
your protector. And now I am debarred even of the right to
interfere. But never mind, I have the will; and all will soon be
repaired.”
Left alone, a few moments after, Mlle. Gilberte was congratulating
herself upon her firmness.
“I am sure,” she thought, “Marius would approve, if he knew.”
She had not long to wait for her reward. The bell rang: it was her
old professor, the Signor Gismondo Pulei, who came to give her his
daily lesson.
The liveliest joy beamed upon his face, more shriveled than an
apple at Easter; and the most magnificent anticipations sparkled in
his eyes.
“I knew it, signora!” he exclaimed from the threshold: “I knew that
angels bring good luck. As every thing succeeds to you, so must
every thing succeed to those who come near you.”
She could not help smiling at the appropriateness of the compliment.
“Something fortunate has happened to you, dear master?” she asked.
“That is to say, I am on the high-road to fortune and glory,” he
replied. “My fame is extending; pupils dispute the privilege of
my lesson.”
Mlle. Gilberte knew too well the thoroughly Italian exaggeration of
the worthy maestro to be surprised.
“This morning,” he went on, “visited by inspiration, I had risen
early, and I was working with marvelous facility, when there was a
knock at my door. I do not remember such an occurrence since the
blessed day when your worthy father called for me. Surprised, I
nevertheless said, ‘Come in;’ when there appeared a tall and robust
young man, proud and intelligent-looking.”
The young girl started.
“Marius!” cried a voice within her.
“This young man,” continued the old Italian, “had heard me spoken
of, and came to apply for lessons. I questioned him; and from the
first words I discovered that his education had been frightfully
neglected, that he was ignorant of the most vulgar notions of the
divine art, and that he scarcely knew the difference between a
sharp and a quaver. It was really the A, B, C, which he wished me
to teach him. Laborious task, ungrateful labor! But he manifested
so much shame at his ignorance, and so much desire to be instructed,
that I felt moved in his favor. Then his countenance was most
winning, his voice of a superior tone; and finally he offered me
sixty francs a month. In short, he is now my pupil.”
As well as she could, Mlle. Gilberte was hiding her blushes behind
a music-book.
“We remained over two hours talking,” said the good and simple
maestro, “and I believe that he has excellent dispositions.
Unfortunately, he can only take two lessons a week. Although a
nobleman, he works; and, when he took off his glove to hand me a
month in advance, I noticed that one of his hands was blackened,
as if burnt by some acid. But never mind, signora, sixty francs,
together with what your father gives me, it’s a fortune. The end
of my career will be spared the privations of its beginning. This
young man will help making me known. The morning has been dark;
but the sunset will be glorious.”
The young girl could no longer have any doubts: M. de Tregars had
found the means of hearing from her, and letting her hear from him.
The impression she felt contributed no little to give her the
patience to endure the obstinate persecution of her father, who,
twice a day, never failed to repeat to her:
“Get ready to properly receive my protege on Saturday. I have not
invited him to dinner: he will only spend the evening with us.”
And he mistook for a disposition to yield the cold tone in which
she answered:
“I beg you to believe that this introduction is wholly unnecessary.”
Thus, the famous day having come, he told his usual Saturday guests,
M. and Mme. Desclavettes, M. Chapelain, and old man Desormeaux:
“Eh, eh! I guess you are going to see a future son-in-law!”
At nine o’clock, just as they had passed into the parlor, the sound
of carriage-wheels startled the Rue St. Gilles.
“There he is!” exclaimed the cashier of the Mutual Credit.
And, throwing open a window:
“Come, Gilberte,” he added, “come and see his carriage and horses.”
She never stirred; but M. Desclavettes and M. Chapelain ran. It was
night, unfortunately; and of the whole equipage nothing was visible
but the two lanterns that shone like stars. Almost at the same time
the parlor-door flew open; and the servant, who had been properly
trained in advance, announced:
“Monsieur Costeclar.”
Leaning toward Mme. Favoral, who was seated by her side on the sofa,
“A nice-looking man, isn’t he? a really nice-looking man,” whispered
Mme. Desclavettes.
And indeed he really thought so himself. Gesture, attitude, smile,
every thing in M. Costeclar, betrayed the satisfaction of self, and
the assurance of a man accustomed to success. His head, which was
very small, had but little hair left; but it was artistically drawn
towards the temples, parted in the middle, and cut short around
the forehead. His leaden complexion, his pale lips, and his dull
eye, did not certainly betray a very rich blood; he had a great long
nose, sharp and curved like a sickle; and his beard, of undecided
color, trimmed in the Victor Emmanuel style, did the greatest honor
to the barber who cultivated it. Even when seen for the first time,
one might fancy that he recognized him, so exactly was he like three
or four hundred others who are seen daily in the neighborhood of
the Cafe Riche, who are met everywhere where people run who pretend
to amuse themselves,--at the bourse or in the bois; at the first
representations, where they are just enough hidden to be perfectly
well seen at the back of boxes filled with young ladies with
astonishing chignons; at the races; in carriages, where they drink
champagne to the health of the winner.
He had on this occasion hoisted his best looks, and the full dress
_de rigueur_--dress-coat with wide sleeves, shirt cut low in the neck,
and open vest, fastened below the waist by a single button.
“Quite the man of the world,” again remarked Mme. Desclavettes.
M. Favoral rushed toward him; and the latter, hastening, met him
half way, and, taking both his hands into his--“I cannot tell you,
dear friend,” he commenced, “how deeply I feel the honor you do me
in receiving me in the midst of your charming family and your
respectable friends.”
And he bowed all around during this speech, which he delivered in
the condescending tone of a lord visiting his inferiors.
“Let me introduce you to my wife,” interrupted the cashier. And,
leading him towards Mme. Favoral--“Monsieur Costeclar, my dear,”
said he: “the friend of whom we have spoken so often.”
M. Costeclar bowed, rounding his shoulders, bending his lean form
in a half-circle, and letting his arms hang forward.
“I am too much the friend of our dear Favoral, madame,” he uttered,
“not to have heard of you long since, nor to know your merits, and
the fact that he owes to you that peaceful happiness which he enjoys,
and which we all envy him.”
Standing by the mantel-piece, the usual Saturday evening guests
followed with the liveliest interest the evolutions of the pretender.
Two of them, M. Chapelain and old Desormeaux, were perfectly able
to appreciate him at his just value; but, in affirming that he made
half a million a year, M. Favoral had, as it were, thrown over his
shoulders that famous ducal cloak which concealed all deformities.
Without waiting for his wife’s answer, M. Favoral brought his
protege in front of Mlle. Gilberte.
“Dear daughter,” said he, “Monsieur Costeclar, the friend of whom
I have spoken.”
M. Costeclar bowed still lower, and rounded off his shoulders again;
but the young lady looked at him from head to foot with such a
freezing glance, that his tongue remained as if paralyzed in his
mouth, and he could only stammer out:
“Mademoiselle! the honor, the humblest of your admirers.”
Fortunately Maxence was standing three steps off--he fell back in
good order upon him, and seizing his hand, which he shook vigorously:
“I hope, my dear sir, that we shall soon be quite intimate friends.
Your excellent father, whose special concern you are, has often
spoken to me of you. Events, so he has confided to me, have not
hitherto responded to your expectations. At your age, this is not
a very grave matter. People, now-a-days, do not always find at the
first attempt the road that leads to fortune. You will find yours.
From this time forth I place at your command my influence and my
experience; and, if you will consent to take me for your guide--”
Maxence had withdrawn his hand.
“I am very much obliged to you, sir,” he answered coldly; “but I am
content with my lot, and I believe myself old enough to walk alone.”
Almost any one would have lost countenance. But M. Costeclar was
so little put out, that it seemed as though he had expected just
such a reception. He turned upon his heels, and advanced towards
M. Favoral’s friends with a smile so engaging as to make it evident
that he was anxious to conquer their suffrages.
This was at the beginning of the month of June, 1870. No one as
yet could foresee the frightful disasters which were to mark the
end of that fatal year. And yet there was everywhere in France
that indefinable anxiety which precedes great social convulsions.
The plebiscitum had not succeeded in restoring confidence. Every
day the most alarming rumors were put in circulation and it was with
a sort of passion that people went in quest of news.
Now, M. Costeclar was a wonderfully well-posted man. He had,
doubtless, on his way, stopped on the Boulevard des Italiens, that
blessed ground where nightly the street-brokers labor for the
financial prosperity of the country. He had gone through the Passage
de l’Opera, which is, as is well known, the best market for the most
correct and the most reliable news. Therefore he might safely be
believed.
Placing his back to the chimney, he had taken the lead in the
conversation; and he was talking, talking, talking. Being a “bull,”
he took a favorable view of every thing. He believed in the
eternity of the second empire. He sang the praise of the new
cabinet: he was ready to pour out his blood for Emile Ollivier.
True, some people complained that business was dull and slow; but
those people, he thought, were merely “bears.” Business had never
been so brilliant. At no time had prosperity been greater. Capital
was abundant. The institutions of credit were flourishing.
Securities were rising. Everybody’s pockets were full to bursting.
And the others listened in astonishment to this inexhaustible
prattle, this “gab,” more filled with gold spangles than Dantzig
cordial, with which the commercial travelers of the bourse catch
their customers.
Suddenly:
“But you must excuse me,” he said, rushing towards the other end of
the parlor.
Mme. Favoral had just left the room to order tea to be brought in;
and, the seat by Mlle. Gilberte being vacant, M. Costeclar occupied
it promptly.
“He understands his business,” growled M. Desormeaux.
“Surely,” said M. Desclavettes, “if I had some funds to dispose of
just now.”
“I would be most happy to have him for my son-in-law,” declared M.
Favoral.
He was doing his best. Somewhat intimidated by Mlle. Gilberte’s
first look, he had now fully recovered his wits.
He commenced by sketching his own portrait.
He had just turned thirty, and had experienced the strong and the
weak side of life. He had had “successes,” but had tired of them.
Having gauged the emptiness of what is called pleasure, he only
wished now to find a partner for life, whose graces and virtues
would secure his domestic happiness.
He could not help noticing the absent look of the young girl; but
he had, thought he, other means of compelling her attention. And
he went on, saying that he felt himself cast of the metal of which
model husbands are made. His plans were all made in advance. His
wife would be free to do as she pleased. She would have her own
carriage and horses, her box at the Italiens and at the Opera, and
an open account at Worth’s and Van Klopen’s. As to diamonds, he
would take care of that. He meant that his wife’s display of
wealth should be noticed; and even spoken of in the newspapers.
Was this the terms of a bargain that he was offering?
If so, it was so coarsely, that Mlle. Gilberte, ignorant of life as
she was, wondered in what world it might be that he had met with so
many “successes.” And, somewhat indignantly:
“Unfortunately,” she said, “the bourse is perfidious; and the man
who drives his own carriage to-day, to-morrow may have no shoes to
wear.”