Old Richard and his son jointly occupied a dreary room on the fifth
floor of a dilapidated house, which might have made a fit adjunct to
the home of Mariette and her god-mother. The same wretchedness, the
same destitution was visible everywhere. A thin mattress in one corner
for the father, a straw bed in the other for the son, a mouldy table, a
few chairs and an old wardrobe, composed the entire furniture of the
dingy apartment.
On his way homeward, the public scribe had purchased his supper and was
now laying the frugal meal on the table; an appetizing slice of ham,
placed carefully on a piece of white paper that served as a plate, and
a four-pound loaf of bread, the remains of which were to serve as
breakfast the next morning. Add to this a bottle of fresh water,
standing opposite a thin candle that scarcely dissipated the gloom of
the room, and the picture of wretchedness was complete.
Louis Richard was a young man of about twenty-five years, with a frank,
open countenance, expressive of gentleness and intelligence, and a
natural grace which his shabby, worn-out clothes could not conceal. As
he dropped his modest traveling bag to the floor and embraced his
father, whom he fairly worshipped, the happiness of being near him once
more and the certainty of seeing Mariette the next day, made his face
perfectly radiant with joy.
"And so you made a good voyage, my son," observed the old man, his
delight over the young man's return somewhat dampened by the uneasiness
he felt concerning his cherished projects for the future and the
remembrance of the events of the day.
"Excellent, father!" returned Louis.
"I am glad to hear it, my boy, and--but will you have some dinner? We
can talk while eating."
"Will I have some dinner? Well, I should say so! I did not share the
meals of the other travelers, and for the best of reasons," laughed the
young man gaily, slapping his empty wallet.
"Upon my word, you lost but little, my son," rejoined the father,
cutting the slice of ham into two unequal pieces and giving the largest
to the young man, "those hotel dinners are expensive and not worth
much!"
Having offered Louis a formidable piece of bread, the old man helped
himself to a crust, and both father and son bravely attacked the meager
meal, with robust appetites, sprinkling it plentifully with glorious
draughts of clear water.
"Tell me all about your journey now, my boy," resumed the old man, when
he had satisfied the first pangs of hunger.
"Really, father, there is not much to tell," remarked Louis. "The
notary had given me copies of several deeds, which M. Ramon was to
read. Well, he read and studied them most leisurely, taking five whole
days! after which the said papers were given back to me, profusely
annotated by that wary parsonage, and--thank heaven--here I am at last!"
"Thank heaven?--can it be that you were lonely at Dreux?" queried the
old man, looking up anxiously.
"I was bored to death, my dear father."
"What kind of a man must this M. Ramon be, that you were so displeased?"
"The very worst kind in the world--a miser."
"Hum! hum!" coughed the old man, as if swallowing a disagreeable dose.
"So he is a miser? He must be rich then?"
"I don't know, but one may be as avaricious with a small fortune as
with a great one; and if we are to measure M. Ramon's wealth by his
parsimony, he must be a triple millionaire--such a wretched old miser!"
continued Louis, contemptuously, biting into his bread with a sort of
frenzy.
"Had you been brought up in luxury and abundance, I might understand
your recriminations against this old miser--as you call him," rejoined
old Richard, testily, "but we have always lived in such poverty that,
however miserly M. Ramon may be, you must have found but little
difference between his manner of existence and our own."
"But you don't understand me, father. M. Ramon keeps two servants, and
we have none; he occupies a whole house and we live in one attic room;
he has three or four dishes for his dinner, while we eat anything we
may chance to have. And yet, we live a hundred times better than this
greedy personage!"
"I really don't understand you, my child," returned the father, more
and more annoyed at his son's opinion of his late host. "There can
certainly be no comparison between that gentleman's luxury and our
poverty."
"My dear father, we are veritably poor, at least! We cheerfully endure
our privations; and if in my days of ambition, I have sometimes dreamed
of a more comfortable existence, it was not for myself, you may rest
assured, for I am perfectly satisfied with my fate."
"I know your kind heart, my dear boy, as well as your love for me; and
my only consolation in our poverty is to know that you do not complain
of your condition."
"Complain! do you not share it with me? and then, after all, what more
could we want?"
"We might want a little more comfort."
"Upon my word, I don't see it in that light, father. We don't eat
stuffed chicken, it is true; but we eat all we want and with
appetite--witness this empty paper and the disappearance of the
four-pound loaf between us. Our clothes are shabby and worn, but they
are warm; our room is up five nights of stairs, but it shelters us; we
earn from sixteen to eighteen hundred francs per annum between us--the
sum is not enormous, but it suffices; we have no debts! Ah! my dear
father, may heaven never send us worse days, and I shall never
complain."
"My dear boy, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to hear you speak
thus, and to see you accept your fate so bravely. Tell me the
truth--have you--have you always been happy?"
"Very happy."
"Truly?"
"Why should I try to deceive you? Now, my dear father, have you ever
seen me gloomy or thoughtful? do I look like a discontented person?"
"You are endowed with such an excellent character!"
"Oh, that depends on circumstances! If, for instance, I were obliged
to live with M. Ramon, that abominable griping miser, I should
certainly become unbearable, unmanageable and frantic!"
"What can you have against that poor man?"
"All the ferocious resentment and rancour gathered during five days of
torture!"
"Torture?"
"What else can it be, to inhabit a large dilapidated house, so empty,
so cold and gloomy, that a tomb would be a cheerful dwelling in
comparison? And then, to see the two wan, emaciated servants coming
and going like shadows in this sepulchre; to assist at those meals--and
what meals, great heavens!--where the master of the house seems to
count the bites you swallow! And such a daughter!--for the wretch has
a daughter, alas! and, his race may perhaps be perpetuated. It is she
who lays aside the servants' insufficient shares and puts the remains
of the meager meal under lock and key! All I can say is that,
notwithstanding my usual good appetite, five minutes at that table
sufficed to disgust me. For one is either one thing or the other; if
rich, avarice is contemptible; if poor, it is stupid to attempt any
display."
"My dear Louis, I find you strangely hostile to this poor man and his
daughter--you who are always so kind and benevolent!"
"His daughter! do you call that a daughter?"
"What in the devil do you mean! do you take her for a monster?"
"I don't take her for a woman."
"My dear boy, you must have taken leave of your senses!"
"But, my dear father, what would, you call a tall, dry creature,
growling and snarling, with hands and feet like a man, a face like a
nut-cracker, and a nose--great heavens, what a nose!--as long as this
knife, and red as a brick! But to be just, I must admit that this
incomparable creature has yellow hair and black teeth."
"The portrait is not flattering; but all women cannot be equally
beautiful. A kind heart is often better than a pretty face; and as for
me, ugliness has always inspired me with pity."
"I will say that I was much inclined to pity her when I saw her
disagreeable face at first, especially as she was condemned to live
with a man as greedy as her father; but when I saw that red-nosed
creature eternally nagging and growling at those two unhappy servants,
measure their food, and rival with her father in avarice, my first
impulse of compassion was immediately turned to aversion for that
wicked red-nose. Notwithstanding my good nature, I felt a strong
temptation to contradict and annoy this red-nose; but, fearing to
compromise my employer's interests, I kept my peace and swallowed my
rancour."
"And you are relieving your mind with a vengeance.
"Ah! what a relief, after five long days of that red-nose!"
"You are painfully prejudiced, my son; I would wager that this lady,
who appears so miserly and detestable in your eyes, is merely a woman
of firm character and economical habits."
"Well, it matters little to me what she is! Only, I must say, there
seems to exist singular contrasts in certain families."
"What do you mean?"
"Imagine my surprise in discovering in one of the rooms of this dull
house, the portrait of a woman so beautiful, charming and distingué,
that it seemed placed there expressly to continually mock and scoff at
that wicked red nose. The portrait so closely resembled one of my old
class-mates, that I could not refrain from questioning the old miser
about it. He then gruffly informed me that the original was his
sister, Madame de Saint-Herem, who died some years since. But you
would have died laughing had you seen them when I asked if she had left
a son."
"Well, what did they do?"
"At the name of young Saint-Herem you would have thought I had evoked
the devil. Red-nose grew fiery and fairly glowed; while her worthy
father admitted, with a withering glance at me, that he had the
misfortune, in fact, to be the uncle of an infernal young bandit known
as Saint-Herem."
"This young man must bear a very bad reputation."
"Florestan?--why, he is the noblest and most charming fellow in the
world!"
"But his uncle tells you--"
"My dear father, Saint-Herem and myself were close friends at college,
and you must judge of him by what I shall relate. I had lost sight of
him for years, when, as I was passing along the boulevard six months
ago, I saw everybody turn to look at something on the road, and I did
likewise. I then perceived two magnificent horses harnessed to a
phaeton, with two tiny domestics behind. This equipage was so elegant
and rich that it attracted general attention--and who do you suppose
was seated in that carriage? My old classmate Saint-Herem, more
brilliant and handsome than ever!"
"It seems to me he must be a reckless spendthrift."
"Wait till I have finished my story, father. The equipage stopped
abruptly, and while the two little pages alighted from their seats to
hold the horses by the bridles, Saint-Herem leaped from the carriage,
ran toward me, and fairly embraced me in his joy to find me again after
so long a separation. I was dressed like a poor devil of a notary
student, as I am; with my maroon redingote, my black trousers and laced
shoes. You must admit that many _lions of society_ would have shrunk
from the public recognition of a fellow as shabbily dressed as your
humble servant. Florestan was so delighted to see me, however, that he
paid no heed to my clothes. As for me, I was very happy and almost
ashamed of this proof of friendship; for we presented such a contrast
that everybody stared at us. Noticing the attention we attracted, my
friend asked me where I was going and proposed to take me to my office,
saying it would give us more time to talk. 'What,' I protested, 'enter
your beautiful carriage with my umbrella, my shabby coat and coarse
shoes!' Florestan shrugged his shoulders, took me by the arm, and led
me to the carriage in spite of my remonstrances; and when he left me at
the office he made me promise to call on him at his apartments."
"Bah!" ejaculated the old man contemptuously; "it was merely the result
of a first impulse. I always distrust people who make extravagant
displays; and, besides, you are not in a position to mix with _society
lions_."
"And yet I had to keep my word and breakfast with him one Sunday. He
received me like a prince and welcomed me like a friend. Shortly
afterward, however, he left Paris, and I have not seen him since."
"How strange that you never told me of this breakfast, Louis!"
"I feared that in your tender solicitude for me you might imagine that
the sight of Florestan's luxury was capable of turning my head and
disgust me with my poor condition. The suspicion I knew would grieve
you, and I therefore resolved to conceal the fact that once in my life
I had breakfasted in the style of a Sardanapalus or a Lucullus!"
"I understand the delicacy of your conduct, and am deeply touched by
it, my boy," said the old man, with emotion; "it is another proof of
your goodness and generosity of heart. But listen to me, my son, for
it is to your kind heart and affection for me that I address myself."
"What is it?"
"It is something very grave and serious; not only for you, but for me
also."
The old man's expression was so solemn as he uttered the last words,
that the son looked up in surprise.
There was a knock at the door at that moment, and the concierge
entered, saying, "Here is a letter for you, Monsieur Louis."
"Very well," said the young man, taking the letter absent-mindedly, his
whole attention centered on the grave subject just announced by his
father.
"If you should go out this evening, Monsieur Louis," added the man, as
he moved away, "don't forget to stop at my lodge; I have something to
say to you."
"Very well," replied Louis carelessly, as the man vanished.
Old Richard had recognized Mariette's letter at a first glance, and for
a moment he was tempted to allow Louis to read it at once; but on
further reflection he resolved to delay the blow.
"My dear boy," he remarked, "you will have plenty of time to read your
letter later, and I want you to listen to me just now, for the subject
is of the highest importance to us both."
"I am at your service, father," replied Louis, laying the letter on the
table.