WHICH TREATS OF A PAINFUL DOMESTIC SCENE
So long as Maurice confined his selection of mistresses to respectable
women, his conduct had called forth no reproach. It was a different
matter when he took up with Bouchotte. His mother, who had closed her
eyes to liaisons which, though guilty, were elegant and discreet, was
scandalised when it came to her ears that her son was openly parading
about with a music-hall singer. By dint of much prying and probing,
Berthe, Maurice's younger sister, had got to know of her brother's
adventures, and she narrated them, without any indignation, to her young
girl friends. His little brother Léon declared to his mother one day, in
the presence of several ladies, that when he was big he, too, would go
on the spree, like Maurice. This was a sore wound to the maternal heart
of Madame d'Esparvieu.
About the same time there occurred a family event of a very grave nature
which occasioned much alarm to Monsieur René d'Esparvieu. Drafts were
presented to him signed in his name by his son. His writing had not been
forged, but there was no doubt that it had been the son's intention to
pass off the signature as his father's. It showed a perverted moral
sense; whence it appeared that Maurice was living a life of profligacy,
that he was running into debt and on the point of outraging the
decencies. The paterfamilias talked the matter over with his wife. It
was arranged that he should give his son a very severe lecture, hint at
vigorous corrective measures, and that in due course the mother should
appear with gentle and sorrowing mien and endeavour to soothe the
righteous indignation of the father. This plan being agreed upon,
Monsieur René d'Esparvieu sent for his son to come to him in his study.
To add to the solemnity of the occasion, he had arrayed himself in his
frock-coat. As soon as Maurice saw it he knew there was something
serious in the wind. The head of the family was pale, and his voice
shook a little (for he was a nervous man), as he declared that he would
no longer put up with his son's irregular behaviour, and insisted on an
immediate and absolute reform. No more wild courses, no more running
into debt, no more undesirable companions, but work, steadiness, and
reputable connexions.
Maurice was quite willing to give a respectful reply to his father,
whose complaints, after all, were perfectly justified; but,
unfortunately, Maurice, like his father, was shy, and the frock-coat
which Monsieur d'Esparvieu had donned in order to discharge his
magisterial duty with greater dignity seemed to preclude the possibility
of any open and unconstrained intercourse. Maurice maintained an awkward
silence, which looked very much like insolence, and this silence
compelled Monsieur d'Esparvieu to reiterate his complaints, this time
with additional severity. He opened one of the drawers in his historic
bureau (the bureau on which Alexandre d'Esparvieu had written his "Essay
on the Civil and Religious Institutions of the World"), and produced the
bills which Maurice had signed.
"Do you know, my boy," said he, "that this is nothing more nor less than
forgery? To make up for such grave misconduct as that----"
At this moment Madame d'Esparvieu, as arranged, entered the room attired
in her walking-dress. She was supposed to play the angel of forgiveness,
but neither her appearance nor her disposition was suitable to the part.
She was harsh and unsympathetic. Maurice harboured within him the seeds
of all the ordinary and necessary virtues. He loved his mother and
respected her. His love, however, was more a matter of duty than of
inclination, and his respect arose from habit rather than from feeling.
Madame René d'Esparvieu's complexion was blotchy, and having powdered
herself in order to appear to advantage at the domestic tribunal, the
colour of her face suggested raspberries sprinkled over with sugar.
Maurice, being possessed of some taste, could not help realising that
she was ugly and rather repulsively so. He was out of tune with her, and
when she began to go through all the accusations his father had brought
against him, making them out to be blacker than ever, the prodigal
turned away his head to conceal his irritation.
"Your Aunt de Saint-Fain," she went on, "met you in the street in such
disgraceful company that she was really thankful that you forbore to
greet her."
"Aunt de Saint-Fain!" Maurice broke out. "I like to hear her talking
about scandals! Everyone knows the sort of life she has led, and now the
old hypocrite wants to----"
He stopped. He had caught sight of his father, whose face was even more
eloquent of sorrow than of anger. Maurice began to feel as though he had
committed murder, and could not imagine how he had allowed such words to
escape him. He was on the point of bursting into tears, falling on his
knees, and imploring his father to forgive him, when his mother, looking
up at the ceiling, said with a sigh:
"What offence can I have committed against God, to have brought such a
wicked son into the world?"
This speech struck Maurice as a piece of ridiculous affectation, and it
pulled him up with a jerk. The bitterness of contrition suddenly gave
place to the delicious arrogance of wrong-doing. He plunged wildly into
a torrent of insolence and revolt, and breathlessly delivered himself of
utterances quite unfit for a mother's ear.
"If you will have it, mamma, rather than forbid me to continue my
friendship with a talented lyrical artist, you would be better employed
in preventing my elder sister, Madame de Margy, from appearing, night
after night, in society and at the theatres with a contemptible and
disgusting individual that everybody knows is her lover. You should also
keep an eye on my little sister Jeanne, who writes objectionable letters
to herself in a disguised hand, and then, pretending she has found them
in her prayer-book, shows them to you with assumed innocence, to worry
and alarm you. It would be just as well, too, if you prevented my little
brother Léon, a child of seven, from being quite so much with
Mademoiselle Caporal, and you might tell your maid...."
"Get out, sir, I will not have you in the house!" cried Monsieur René
d'Esparvieu, white with anger, pointing a trembling finger at the door.