After the departure of Madeleine, Jules would have found his apartment
cheerless, if he had not used it merely for sleeping. As soon as he rose
in the morning, he went to Madame Perrault's, where he breakfasted with
Mademoiselle Blanche. In spite of her duties elsewhere, Madeleine kept
his rooms in order, and his new domestic arrangements did not in the
least inconvenience him. Indeed, he liked them, and he almost dreaded
the return of Mademoiselle's mother. This would probably not take place
for several weeks, however, for the illness of her aunt Sophie proved to
be very tedious, though after the first ten days she was pronounced out
of danger. Madeleine had speedily won the affections of Mademoiselle
Blanche, and she secretly confided to Jules that the girl was an angel.
"I knew you'd think so," Jules replied. "I've thought so ever since I
first saw her."
"Ah, but it's wicked that she should have to do those dreadful things
every night!" Madeleine cried, rolling her eyes, and throwing up her
hands in horror. "It freezes my blood."
"But she likes it," Jules explained.
"Ah, it's wicked just the same, the poor child!"
Madeleine had speedily adapted herself to her duties as dresser to
Mademoiselle Blanche, and her nightly trips to the theatre were the most
exciting experiences of her life. After seeing the plunge from the top
of the Circus, however, she had refused to look at it again. "It freezes
my blood," she would repeat, whenever Jules referred to it. "It's too
horrible!"
"But she makes a lot of money by it," Jules insisted.
"She would do much better to stay poor," Madeleine replied, with a
tartness that was rare with her and made Jules burst out laughing.
"Madeleine," he said, confidentially. "Madeleine, come over here."
Madeleine bent her head towards him with a smile on her face.
"Madeleine, do you think there's any one--any one that she cares about
particularly--any one you know? Eh?"
Madeleine's wrinkles deepened, as the smile spread over her face and
lighted her faded eyes.
"Ah, Monsieur Jules, she is very fond of her sisters. She is always
talking about them, especially about _la petite_ Jeanne. Then she's very
fond of her mamma, too, of course."
"Madeleine, you're trying to plague me now. You know I don't mean that.
I mean any--any--?"
"Any gentleman, Monsieur Jules?" the old woman asked.
"Yes, Madeleine, any gentleman."
Madeleine grew thoughtful.
"She often speaks of Monsieur Berthier, who is going to marry her
mother. She says he's very kind to her sisters."
"And is that all, Madeleine? Doesn't she speak of any one else? Doesn't
she ever speak of--of me?"
"Oh, yes, Monsieur Jules, she thinks you've been very good to her and
her mother. She often speaks of that."
This was all the information that Jules could extract from Madeleine. On
several occasions he tried her again, but though she seemed amused by
his questions, she evaded them. Once he said to her:
"Madeleine, how would you like to go away with me--to travel--a long
distance?"
Madeleine carefully considered the question. Then she replied simply:
"I should not like to leave Paris, Monsieur Jules, but, if you wanted me
to go, I would go."
After that, Madeleine was less worried. She had little to say, and, like
most silent people, she observed and thought a great deal. For
Mademoiselle Blanche she had conceived a genuine affection, and she
looked forward with regret to the time when she would have to leave the
_rue St. Honore_ for Jules' lonely apartment.
One Saturday night, on their return from the Circus, Jules asked
Mademoiselle Blanche if she were going to high mass the next day as
usual. He was surprised when she replied that she was going at eight
o'clock instead.
"But that is too early," he said. "You won't have sleep enough."
"I'm going to communion," she explained.
"Oh!"
He could not understand why this announcement should impress him as it
did. He had supposed that of course she went to communion; she had
probably gone to confession early in the afternoon before the _matinee_.
Once again he felt awed by her goodness. How strange it was that she
should be in the confessional at three o'clock, and two hours later
perform in her fleshings before a crowd of people! The very publicity of
her life seemed to exalt the simplicity and the purity of her character.
Jules was so absorbed in thinking of these things that he did not speak
again till the cab reached the _rue St. Honore_. Then, as he helped
Mademoiselle out, he said:
"I'll go to church with you to-morrow, if you will let me. You won't
leave before half-past seven, will you?"
She protested that he ought not to get up so early; he needed a good
night's rest after his hard work of the week. But he laughed and waved
his hand to her in parting, and told her not to wait for him after a
quarter to eight; now that he didn't have Madeleine to call him, he
might not wake up in time.
He was in time, however, and as he walked to church in the cold December
air with Mademoiselle by his side, he felt repaid for his sacrifice. She
wore a tight-fitting fur coat and a black cloth dress, with the little
fur-trimmed hat he had admired when he first walked with her in the
_Champs Elysees_. Her face was protected by a thick dotted veil, but
under it he could see her sparkling eyes and the color in her cheeks.
"I'm paying you a very great compliment," he said, as they hurried along
towards _St. Philippe de Roule_. "I haven't got up so early on a Sunday
since I was a boy."
She smiled in reply; it was too cold for her to speak. He could see her
breath steaming faintly through the veil.
He felt a curious desire to hear her voice again; he did not realize
that her devotion to the Church made her seem more remote from him, but
he had an unpleasant consciousness that his own lack of religious faith
created a barrier between them.
In the church he kept glancing from the priest celebrating the mass, to
her. She was absorbed in reading her prayer-book, and she did not once
look up at him. He compared her as she appeared then with her appearance
in the glamor of the circus ring. She was the same person, yet
different. She represented to him a kind of miracle. How humble she was,
how sweet and good, as she knelt there!
When the priest began to distribute the communion and Blanche left her
seat and joined the throng approaching the altar, Jules was touched with
a tenderness he had never felt before. He buried his face in his hands,
and prayed that he might be made worthy of her. He did not dare pray for
her love; a certain sense of shame at having neglected God and church
for so many years, at having lived solely for his own gratification,
kept him from that; but if he had examined his motives, he would have
found that this was really what he was praying for. He deceived himself
so easily that he instinctively felt that he might be able to deceive
God too.
On leaving the church, Jules proposed that they go to a restaurant for
breakfast. "We'll make a holiday of it," he said, "and drink to your
Aunt Sophie's health."
But Blanche protested that Madeleine would expect them, and would be
worried if she were not back by half-past nine.
"Then we'll go out at one o'clock. I'll take you over to Bertiny's, in
the _Champs Elysees_. It's very gorgeous; the twins took me there once
to celebrate Dufresne's luck when he won five hundred francs at the
races."
Though the sun was shining, it was still very cold, and as they hurried
to the little apartment Jules could see that she was trembling.
Madeleine had prepared some hot coffee for them and some eggs, and over
these they were very gay. Jules was in a particularly good humor, and
Mademoiselle Blanche laughed at his jokes, though most of them she had
heard before. She had a very pretty laugh, he thought,--like her
mother's, though not so deep and gurgling. After breakfast her face
flushed from her walk and she looked even prettier than she appeared in
the church.
As Madeleine cleared away the table, Blanche began to water the flowers
by the window, and Jules opened the copy of the _Petit Journal_ that he
had bought on the way from the church. He kept glancing up at
Mademoiselle, however, and each time he looked at her he had a new
sensation of pleasure. How domestic she looked in the little dress of
gray wool that she had put on after her return from mass! She seemed to
create an atmosphere of home around her. In her belt were the roses he
had given her the night before, still fresh and sparkling with drops of
water from her fingers. How good it was, he thought, that he could be
with her like this! How lonely his own apartment would be to him when
Madame Perrault came back! He almost wished that she would never return,
that she would marry Monsieur Berthier, and they might go on in this way
forever. He laughed at the thought, and just then Mademoiselle turned
her head.
"Monsieur seems to be amused," she said. "What is he smiling at?"
"I'm smiling because I'm so happy," Jules replied. "Don't you smile when
you're happy?"
She took a seat by the table, where she rested one hand.
"No, I don't think I do," she said, apparently giving the question
serious consideration. "When I am very happy I look serious. Then mamma
sometimes fancies I feel sad."
He took a cigarette-case from his pocket and began to smoke.
"Do you know," he said at last, "I shall be sorry when your mother
returns?"
"Sorry?"
"Yes, because Madeleine will come back to me then, and I shall have to
stay at home. I can't come any more as I do now."
A look of alarm appeared in her face. "But why can't you come just the
same?" she asked, innocently.
He burst out laughing, and he felt a sudden desire to pat her on the
cheek as he might have done to a child. What a child she was, anyway!
Yet he would not have wished her to be different; she seemed to him just
what a young girl should be.
"When your mother comes, I can't take breakfast with you any more, and I
can't come early on Sunday mornings and stay all day. I shall have to go
back to my lonely apartment."
"But you have Madeleine," she said, with a faint smile.
"Madeleine, yes, and she is good enough in her way." Then he suddenly
threw his cigarette into the fireplace, and bent toward her. "Don't you
know," he whispered, in a voice so low that Madeleine, who was moving
about in the next room, could not hear him, "can't you see that it's
_you_ I shall miss? Can't you see that you've become everything in the
world to me? Without you, dear Blanche, I shouldn't care to live. Before
I met you I didn't know what life really was--I didn't know what love
was. I loved you the first time I saw you, and the more I've seen you,
the better I've known you, the dearer you've become to me. I don't think
I ever really understood what it was to be pure and good till I knew
you. You've made me ashamed of myself. Sometimes I feel as if I had no
right to go near you. But I do love you, Blanche, and they say love
helps a man to be good. I haven't dared to tell you this before; I've
been afraid to ask you if you loved me. But this morning in church, it
all came over me so--so that I must tell you. Blanche," he went on,
taking her hand, "you aren't offended with me for saying this, are you?
I love you so much--I can't help loving you. If you'll only love me a
little, dear, I'll be satisfied. Won't you tell me if you do care for me
a little--just a little?"
He knelt by her side, and tried to look into her face; but she turned
her head away, and he saw that her neck was crimson. Her bosom kept
rising and falling convulsively. Then he pressed toward her and clasped
her in his arms and kissed her again and again,--on the face, the
forehead, the hair, even on her ears when she buried her head on his
shoulder. His lips were wet with her tears, and he felt radiantly,
exultantly happy.
"I love you, I love you!" he kept repeating.
For the first time he felt sure that his love was returned; but he was
not satisfied. He wanted to hear her speak out her love. His lips were
on her cheek, and she was lying motionless in his arms, as he whispered:
"Won't you say that you love me, dear? Just three words. That isn't
much, and it will make me the happiest man that ever lived."
Instead of speaking, she put her arms on his shoulders, as a child might
have done, and he pressed her close to his breast again. Then he heard a
noise behind him, and he saw Madeleine standing, big-eyed, in the
doorway; she seemed too startled to move. He rose quickly to his feet,
and still holding Blanche's hand, he said:
"Madeleine, come here!"
She came forward timidly, as if afraid she might be punished for her
intrusion.
"Mademoiselle Blanche is going to be my wife, Madeleine."
Madeleine held out her arms to the girl, and for a moment they stood
clasped in each other's embrace.
"Ah, Monsieur Jules," the old woman cried, "I pray God your mother can
look down from heaven and see what a good daughter she's getting!"