"Go up, Henri," said M. Mauperin to his son, and then as Henri wanted
his father to pass first M. Mauperin repeated, "No, go on up."
Half an hour later father and son were coming downstairs again from the
office of the Keeper of the Seals.
"Well, you ought to be satisfied with me, Henri," observed M. Mauperin,
whose face was very red. "I have done as you and your mother wished. You
will have this name."
"Father----"
"All right, don't let us talk about it. Are you coming home with me?" he
asked, buttoning his frock-coat with that military gesture with which
old soldiers gird up their emotions.
"No, father, I must ask you to let me leave you now. I have so many
things to do to-day. I'll come to dinner to-morrow."
"Good-bye, then, till to-morrow. You'd better come; your sister is not
well."
When the carriage had driven away with his father Henri drew himself
up, looked at his watch, and with the brisk, easy step of a man who
feels the wind of fortune behind him blowing him along, walked briskly
towards the Rue de la Paix.
At the corner of the Chaussée d'Antin he went into the Café Bignon,
where some heavy-looking young men, suggestive of money and the
provinces, were waiting for him. During luncheon the conversation turned
on provincial cattle shows and competitions, and afterward, while
smoking their cigars on the boulevards, the questions of the varied
succession of crops, of drainage, and of liming were brought up, and
there was a discussion on elections, the opinions of the various
departments, and on the candidatures which had been planned, thought of,
or attempted at the agricultural meetings.
At two o'clock Henri left these gentlemen, after promising one of them
an article on his model farm; he then went into his club, looked at the
papers, and wrote down something in his note-book which appeared to give
him a great deal of trouble to get to his mind. He next hurried off to
an insurance company to read a report, as he had managed to get on to
the committee, thanks to the commercial fame and high repute of his
father. At four o'clock he sprang into a carriage and paid a round of
visits to ladies who had either a _salon_ or any influence and
acquaintances at the service of a man with a career. He remembered,
too, that he had not paid his subscription to the "Society for the Right
Employment of the Sabbath among the Working Classes," and he called and
paid it.
At seven o'clock, with cordial phrases on the tip of his tongue and
ready to shake hands with every one, he went upstairs at Lemardelay's,
where the "Friendly Association" of his old college friends held its
annual banquet. At dessert, when it was his turn to speak, he recited
the speech he had composed at his club, talked of this fraternal
love-feast, of coming back to his family, of the bonds between the past
and the future, of help to old comrades who had been afflicted with
undeserved misfortunes, etc.
There were bursts of applause, but the orator had already gone. He put
in an appearance at the d'Aguesseau lecture, left there, pulled a white
necktie out of his pocket, put it on in the carriage, and showed up at
three or four society gatherings.