Nothing of importance happened up to the date of Cora's confinement,
which occurred on the last day of September. The child, being a daughter,
was called Désirée. As they wished to make the christening an imposing
event, it was decided to postpone the ceremony until they were settled in
the new country house which they were going to buy.
They chose a beautiful estate at Asnières, on the hills that overlook
the Seine. Great changes had taken place during the winter. As soon as the
legacy was secured, Cachelin asked for his pension, which was granted, and
he left the office. He employed his leisure moments in cutting, with the
aid of a little scroll-saw, the covers of cigar-boxes. He made clocks,
caskets, jardinières, and all sorts of odd little pieces of furniture. He
had a passion for this work, the taste for which had come to him on seeing
a peripatetic merchant working thus with sheets of wood on the Avenue de
l'Opéra; and each day he obliged everybody to admire some new design both
complicated and puerile. He was amazed at his own work, and kept on
saying: "It is astonishing what one can accomplish!"
The assistant-chief, M. Rabot, being dead at last, Lesable fulfilled
the duties of his place, although he did not receive the title, for
sufficient time had not elapsed since his last promotion.
Cora had become a wholly different woman, more refined, more elegant,
instinctively divining all the transformations that wealth imposes. On
New Year's Day she made a visit to the wife of her husband's chief, a
commonplace person, who remained a provincial, notwithstanding a residence
of thirty-five years in Paris, and she put so much grace and seductiveness
into her prayer that Mme Torchebeuf should stand godmother to her child
that the good woman consented. Grandpapa Cachelin was the godfather.
The ceremony took place on a brilliant Sunday in June. All the
employees of the office were invited to witness it, except the handsome
Maze, who was seen no more in the Cachelin circle.
At nine o'clock Lesable waited at the railway station for the train
from Paris, while a groom, in livery covered with great gilt buttons, held
by the bridle a plump pony hitched to a brand-new phaeton.
The engine whistled, then appeared, dragging its train of cars, which
soon discharged their freight of passengers.
M. Torchebeuf descended from a first-class carriage with his wife, in
a magnificent toilette, while Pitolet and Boissel got out of a
second-class carriage. They had not dared to invite old Savon, but it was
understood that they were to meet him by chance in the afternoon and bring
him to dinner with the consent of the chief.
Lesable hurried to meet his superior, who advanced slowly, the lapel
of his frock-coat ornamented with a decoration that resembled a full-blown
red rose. His enormous head, surmounted by a large hat that seemed to
crush his small body, gave him the appearance of a phenomenon, and his
wife, if she had stood on tiptoe, could have looked over his head without
any trouble.
Léopold, radiant, bowed and thanked his guests. He seated them in the
phaeton, then running toward his two colleagues, who were walking modestly
behind, he pressed their hands, regretting that his phaeton was too small
to accommodate them also. "Follow the quay," he directed, "and you will
reach my door--'Villa Désirée,' the fourth one after the turn. Make
haste!"
And mounting the phaeton, he took the reins and drove off, while the
groom leaped lightly to the little seat behind.
The ceremony was very brilliant, and afterwards they returned for
luncheon. Each one found under his napkin a present proportioned to his
station. The godmother received a bracelet of solid gold, her husband a
scarf-pin of rubies, Boissel a pocket book of Russian leather, and Pitolet
a superb meerschaum pipe. "It was Désirée," they said, "who offered these
presents to her new friends."
Mme Torchebeuf, blushing with confusion and pleasure, placed on her fat
arm the brilliant circle, and, as the chief wore a narrow black cravat,
which would not receive the pin, he stuck the jewel in the lapel of his
frock-coat, under the Legion of Honour, as if it had been another
decoration of an inferior order.
Outside the window the shining band of the river was seen, curving
toward Suresnes, its banks shaded with trees. The sun fell in a rain on
the water, making it seems a river of fire. The beginning of the repast
was rather solemn, being made formal by the presence of M. and Mme
Torchebeuf. After a while, however, things began to go better. Cachelin
threw out some heavy jokes, which he felt would be permitted him since he
was rich, and everyone laughed at them. If Pitolet or Boissel had uttered
them, the guests would certainly have been shocked.
At dessert, the infant was brought in and received a kiss from each of
the company. Smothered in a cloud of snowy lace, the baby looked at the
guests with its blue eyes void of intelligence or expression, and rolled
its bald head from side to side with an air of newly awakened interest.
Pitolet, amid the confusion of voices, whispered in the ear of Boissel:
"It looks like a little Mazette."
The joke went round the Ministry next day.
At two o'clock the health of the newly christened baby was drunk, and
Cachelin proposed to show his guests over the property, and then to take
them for a walk on the banks of the Seine.
They moved in a slow procession from room to room, from the cellar to
the garret; then they examined the garden tree by tree, plant by plant;
after which, separating into two parties, they set out for a walk.
Cachelin, who did not feel at home in the company of ladies, drew
Boissel and Pitolet into a café on the bank of the river, while Mesdames
Torchebeuf and Lesable, with their husbands, walked in the opposite
direction, these refined ladies not being able to mingle with the common
Sunday herd.
They walked slowly along the path, followed by the two men, who talked
gravely of the affairs of the office. On the river the boats were
continually passing, propelled by long strokes of the oars in the hands of
jolly fellows, the muscles of whose bare arms rolled under the sunburned
skin. Women, reclining on black or white fur rugs, managed the tillers,
drowsing under the hot sun, holding open over their heads, like enormous
flowers floating on the surface of the water, umbrellas of red, yellow,
and blue silk. Cries from one boat to the other, calls, and shouts, and a
remote murmur of human voices lower down, confused and continuous,
indicated where the swarming crowds were enjoying a holiday.
Long files of fishermen stood motionless all along the river, while the
swimmers, almost naked, standing in heavy fishing boats, plunged in
headforemost, climbed back upon the boats and leaped into the water
again.
Mme Torchebeuf looked on in surprise.
Cora said to her: "It is like this every Sunday; it spoils this charming
country for me."
A canoe moved softly by. Two women rowed, while two men were stretched
in the bottom of the boat. One of the women, turning her head towards
the shore, cried:
"Hello! hello! you respectable women! I have a man for sale, very
cheap! Do you want him?"
Cora turned away contemptuously and taking the arm of her companion
said: "We cannot remain here; let us go. What infamous creatures!"
They moved away as M. Torchebeuf was saying to Lesable: "It is settled
for the first of January. The head of the Department has positively
promised me."
"I don't know how to thank you, dear master," Lesable replied.
When they reached home they found Cachelin, Pitolet, and Boissel
laughing immoderately and almost carrying old Savon, whom they jokingly
declared they had found on the beach in the company of a girl.
The frightened old man was crying: "It is not true, no, it is not true.
It is not right to say that, M. Cachelin, it is not kind."
And Cachelin, choking with laughter, cried: "Ah, you old rogue, did you
not call her your 'sweet goose quill'? We caught you, you rascal!"
Then the ladies, too, began to laugh at the dismay of the poor old man.
Cachelin continued: "With M. Torchebeuf's permission, we will keep him
prisoner as a punishment and make him dine with us."
The chief good-humouredly consented, and they continued to laugh about
the lady abandoned by the old man, who protested all the time, annoyed
at this mischievous farce.
The subject was the occasion of inexhaustible wit throughout the evening,
which sometimes even bordered on the obscene.
Cora and Mme Torchebeuf, seated under a tent on the lawn, watched the
reflections of the setting sun, which threw upon the leaves a purple
glow.
Not a breath stirred the branches, a serene and infinite peace fell
from the calm and flaming heavens.
Some boats still passed, more slowly, drifting with the tide.