A CRITICAL INTERVIEW
Madame Desvarennes had been driven to the Hotel du Louvre without losing
a minute. She most wanted to know in what state of mind her daughter's
betrothed had arrived in Paris. Had the letter, which brutally told him
the truth, roused him and tightened the springs of his will? Was he
ready for the struggle?
If she found him confident and bold, she had only to settle with him as
to the common plan of action which must bring about the eviction of the
audacious candidate who wished to marry Micheline. If she found him
discouraged and doubtful of himself, she had decided to animate him with
her ardor against Serge Panine.
She prepared these arguments on the way, and, boiling with impatience,
outstripped in thought the fleet horse which was drawing her past the
long railings of the Tuileries toward the Hotel du Louvre. Wrapped in
her meditations she did not see Pierre. She was saying to herself:
"This fair-haired Polish dandy does not know with whom he has to deal.
He will see what sort of a woman I am. He has not risen early enough in
the morning to hoodwink me. If Pierre is only of the same opinion as I,
we shall soon spoil this fortune-hunter's work."
The carriage stopped.
"Monsieur Pierre Delarue?" inquired the mistress.
"Madame, he went out a quarter of an hour ago."
"To go where?"
"He did not say."
"Do you know whether he will be absent long?"
"I don't know."
"Much obliged."
Madame Desvarennes, quite discomfited by this mischance, reflected.
Where could Pierre have gone? Probably to her house. Without losing a
minute, she reentered the carriage, and gave orders to return to the Rue
Saint-Dominique. If he had gone at once to her house, it was plain that
he was ready to do anything to keep Micheline. The coachman who had
received the order drove furiously. She said to herself:
"Pierre is in a cab. Allowing that he is driving moderately quick he
will only have half-an-hour's start of me. He will pass through the
office, will see Marechal, and however eager he be, will lose a quarter
of an hour in chatting to him. It would be most vexing if he did
anything foolish in the remaining fifteen minutes! The fault is mine:
I ought to have sent him a letter at Marseilles, to tell him what line of
conduct to adopt on his arrival. So long as he does not meet Micheline
on entering the house!"
At that idea Madame Desvarennes felt the blood rushing to her face. She
put her head out of the carriage window, and called to the coachman:
"Drive faster!"
He drove more furiously still, and in a few minutes reached the Rue
Saint-Dominique.
She tore into the house like a hurricane, questioned the hall-porter, and
learned that Delarue had arrived. She hastened to Marechal, and asked
him in such a strange manner, "Have you seen Pierre?" that he thought
some accident had happened.
On seeing her secretary's scared look, she understood that what she most
dreaded had come to pass. She hurried to the drawing-room, calling
Pierre in a loud voice. The French window opened, and she found herself
face to face with the young man. A glance at her adopted son's face
increased her fears. She opened her arms and clasped Pierre to her
heart.
After the first emotions were over, she longed to know what had happened
during her absence, and inquired of Pierre:
"By whom were you received on arriving here?"
"By Micheline."
"That is what I feared! What did she tell you?"
"Everything!"
In three sentences these two strong beings had summed up all that had
taken place. Madame Desvarennes remained silent for a moment, then,
with sudden tenderness, and as if to make up for her daughter's
treachery, said:
"Come, let me kiss you again, my poor boy. You suffer, eh? and I too!
I am quite overcome. For ten years I have cherished the idea of your
marrying Micheline. You are a man of merit, and you have no relatives.
You would not take my daughter away from me; on the contrary I think you
like me, and would willingly live with me. In arranging this marriage
I realized the dream of my life. I was not taking a son-in-law-I was
gaining a new child."
"Believe me," said Pierre, sadly, "it is not my fault that your wish is
not carried out."
"That, my boy, is another question!" cried Madame Desvarennes, whose
voice was at once raised two tones. "And that is where we do not agree.
You are responsible for what has occurred. I know what you are going,
to tell me. You wished to bring laurels to Micheline as a dower. That
is all nonsense! When one leaves the Polytechnic School with honors, and
with a future open to you like yours, it is not necessary to scour the
deserts to dazzle a young girl. One begins by marrying her, and
celebrity comes afterward, at the same time as the children. And then
there was no need to risk all at such a cost. What, are we then so
grand? Ex-bakers! Millionaires, certainly, which does not alter the
fact that poor Desvarennes carried out the bread, and that I gave change
across the counter when folks came to buy sou-cakes! But you wanted to
be a knight-errant, and, during that time, a handsome fellow. Did
Micheline tell you the gentleman's name?"
"I met him when I came here; he was with her in the garden. We were
introduced to each other."
"That was good taste," said Madame Desvarennes with irony. "Oh, he is a
youth who is not easily disturbed, and in his most passionate transports
will not disarrange a fold of his cravat. You know he is a Prince?
That is most flattering to the Desvarennes! We shall use his coat-of-
arms as our trade-mark. The fortune hunter, ugh! No doubt he said to
himself, 'The baker has money--and her daughter is agreeable.' And he is
making a business of it."
"He is only following the example of many of his equals. Marriage is
to-day the sole pursuit of the nobility."
"The nobility! That of our country might be tolerated, but foreign
noblemen are mere adventurers."
"It is well known that the Panines come from Posen--the papers have
mentioned them more than twenty times."
"Why is he not in his own country?"
"He is exiled."
"He has done something wrong, then!"
"He has, like all his family, fought for independence."
"Then he is a revolutionist!"
"A patriot."
"You are very kind to tell me all that."
"I may hate Prince Panine," said Pierre, simply, "but that is no reason
why I should not be just to him."
"So be it; he is an exceptional being, a great citizen, a hero, if you
like. But that does not prove that he will make my daughter happy. And
if you take my advice, we shall send him about his business in a very
short time."
Madame Desvarennes was excited and paced hurriedly up and down the room.
The idea of resuming the offensive after she had been forced to act on
the defensive for months past pleased her. She thought Pierre argued too
much. A woman of action, she did not understand why Pierre had not yet
come to a resolution. She felt that she must gain his confidence.
"You are master of the situation," she said. "The Prince does not suit
me--"
"Micheline loves him," interrupted Pierre.
"She fancies so," replied Madame Desvarennes. "She has got it into her
head, but it will wear off. You thoroughly understand that I did not bid
you to come from Africa to be present at my daughter's wedding. If you
are a man, we shall see some fun. Micheline is your betrothed. You have
our word, and the word of a Desvarennes is as good as the signature.
--It has never been dishonored. Well, refuse to give us back our
promise. Gain time, make love, and take my daughter away from that
dandy."
Pierre remained silent for a few minutes. In a moment he measured the
extent of the mischief done, by seeing Micheline before consulting Madame
Desvarennes. With the help of this energetic woman he might have
struggled, whereas left to his own strength, he had at the outset been
vanquished and forced to lay down his arms. Not only had he yielded, but
he had drawn his ally into his defeat.
"Your encouragements come too late," said he. "Micheline asked me to
give her back her promise, and I gave it to her."
"You were so weak as that!" cried Madame Desvarennes. "And she had so
much boldness? Does she dote on him so? I suspected her plans, and I
hastened to warn you. But all is not lost. You have given Micheline
back her promise. So be it. But I have not given you back yours. You
are pledged to me. I will not countenance the marriage which my daughter
has arranged without my consent! Help me to break it off. And, faith,
you could easily find another woman worth Micheline, but where shall I
find a son-in-law worth you? Come, the happiness of us all is in peril;
save it!"
"Why continue the struggle? I am beaten beforehand."
"But if you forsake me, what can I do single-handed with Micheline?"
"Do what she wishes, as usual. You are surprised at my giving you this
advice? It is no merit on my part. Until now you have refused your
daughter's request; but if she comes again beseeching and crying, you who
are so strong and can say so well 'I will,' will be weak and will not be
able to refuse her her Prince. Believe me; consent willingly. Who
knows? Your son'-in-law may be grateful to you for it by-and-by."
Madame Desvarennes had listened to Pierre with amazement.
"Really, you are incredible," she said; "you discuss all this so calmly.
Have you no grief?"
"Yes," replied Pierre, solemnly, "it is almost killing me."
"Nonsense! You are boasting!" cried Madame Desvarennes, vehemently.
"Ah, scholar! figures have dried up your heart!"
"No," replied the young man, with melancholy, "but work has destroyed in
me the seductions of youth. It has made me thoughtful, and a little sad.
I frightened Micheline, instead of attracting her. The worst is that we
live in such a state of high pressure, it is quite impossible to grasp
all that is offered to us in this life-work and pleasure. It is
necessary to make a choice, to economize one's time and strength, and to
work with either the heart or the brain alone. The result is that the
neglected organ wastes away, and that men of pleasure remain all their
lives mediocre workers, while hard workers are pitiful lovers. The
former sacrifice the dignity of existence, the latter that which is the
charm of existence. So that, in decisive moments, when the man of
pleasure appeals to his intelligence, he finds he is unfit for duty, and
when the man of toil appeals to his heart, he finds that he is
unqualified for happiness."
"Well, my boy, so much the worse for the women who cannot appreciate men
of work, and who allow themselves to be wheedled by men of pleasure.
I never was one of those; and serious as you are, thirty years ago I
would have jumped at you. But as you know your ailment so well, why
don't you cure yourself? The remedy is at hand."
"What is it?"
"Strong will. Marry Micheline. I'll answer for everything."
"She does not love me."
"A woman always ends by loving her husband."
"I love Micheline too much to accept her hand without her heart."
Madame Desvarennes saw that she would gain nothing, and that the game was
irrevocably lost. A great sorrow stole over her. She foresaw a dark
future, and had a presentiment that trouble had entered the house with
Serge Panine. What could she do? Combat the infatuation of her
daughter! She knew that life would be odious for her if Micheline ceased
to laugh and to sing. Her daughter's tears would conquer her will.
Pierre had told her truly. Where was the use of fighting when defeat was
certain? She, too, felt that she was powerless, and with heartfelt
sorrow came to a decision.
"Come, I see that I must make up my mind to be grandmother to little
princes. It pleases me but little on the father's account. My daughter
will have a sad lot with a fellow of that kind. Well, he had better keep
in the right path; for I shall be there to call him to order. Micheline
must be happy. When my husband was alive, I was already more of a mother
than a wife; now my whole life is wrapped up in my daughter."
Then raising her vigorous arms with grim energy, she added:
"Do you know, if my daughter were made miserable through her husband, I
should be capable of killing him."
These were the last words of the interview which decided the destiny of
Micheline, of the Prince, of Madame Desvarennes, and of Pierre. The
mistress stretched out her hand and rang the bell. A servant appeared,
to whom she gave instructions to tell Marechal to come down. She thought
it would be pleasant for Pierre to pour out his griefs into the heart of
his friend. A man weeps with difficulty before a woman, and she guessed
that the young man's heart was swollen with tears. Marechal was not far
off. He arrived in a moment, and springing toward Pierre put his arms
round his neck. When Madame Desvarennes saw the two friends fully
engrossed with each other, she said to Marechal:
"I give you leave until this evening. Then bring Pierre back with you;
I wish to see him after dinner."
And with a firm step she went toward Micheline's room, where the latter
was waiting in fear to know the result of the interview.