A Mutual Understanding
They were just ready to go in to dinner, on the following day, in the
private dining-room of the Andermatt and Ravenel families, when Gontran
opened the door announcing the "Mesdemoiselles Oriol."
They entered, with an air of constraint, pushed forward by Gontran, who
laughed while he explained:
"Here they are! I have carried them both off through the middle of the
street. Moreover, it excited public attention. I brought them here by
force to you because I want to explain myself to Madame Louise, and
could not do so in the open air."
He took from them their hats and their parasols, which they were still
carrying, as they had been on their way back from a promenade, made
them sit down, embraced his sister, pressed the hands of his father,
of his brother-in-law, and of Paul, and then, approaching Louise Oriol
once more, said:
"Here now, Mademoiselle, kindly tell me what you have against me for
some time past?"
She seemed scared, like a bird caught in a net, and carried away by the
hunter.
"Why, nothing, Monsieur, nothing at all! What has made you believe
that?"
"Oh! everything, Mademoiselle, everything at all! You no longer come
here--you no longer come in the Noah's Ark [so he had baptized the big
landau]. You assume a harsh tone whenever I meet you and when I speak
to you."
"Why, no, Monsieur, I assure you!"
"Why, yes, Mam'zelle, I declare to you! In any case, I don't want this
to continue, and I am going to make peace with you this very day. Oh!
you know I am obstinate. There's no use in your looking black at me.
I'll know easily how to get the better of your hoity-toity airs, and
make you be nice toward your sister, who is an angel of grace."
It was announced that dinner was ready; and they made their way to
the dining-room. Gontran took Louise's arm in his. He was exceedingly
attentive to her and to her sister, dividing his compliments between
them with admirable tact, and remarking to the younger girl: "As for
you, you are a comrade of ours--I am going to neglect you for a few
days. One goes to less expense for friends than for strangers, you are
aware."
And he said to the elder: "As for you, I want to bewitch you,
Mademoiselle, and I warn you as a loyal foe! I will even make love to
you. Ha! you are blushing--that's a good sign. You'll see that I am
very nice, when I take pains about it. Isn't that so, Mademoiselle
Charlotte?"
And they were both, indeed, blushing, and Louise stammered with her
serious air: "Oh! Monsieur, how foolish you are!"
He replied: "Bah! you will hear many things said by others by and by in
society, when you are married, which will not be long. 'Tis then they
will really pay you compliments."
Christiane and Paul Bretigny expressed their approval of his action in
having brought back Louise Oriol; the Marquis smiled, amused by these
childish affectations. Andermatt was thinking: "He's no fool, the sly
dog." And Gontran, irritated by the part which he was compelled to
play, drawn by his senses toward Charlotte and by his interests toward
Louise, muttered between his teeth with a sly smile in her direction:
"Ah! your rascal of a father thought to play a trick upon me; but I am
going to carry it with a high hand over you, my lassie, and you will
see whether I won't go about it the right way!"
And he compared the two, inspecting them one after the other.
Certainly, he liked the younger more; she was more amusing, more
lively, with her nose tilted slightly, her bright eyes, her straight
forehead, and her beautiful teeth a little too prominent in a mouth
which was somewhat too wide.
However, the other was pretty, too, colder, less gay. She would never
be lively or charming in the intimate relations of life; but when at
the opening of a ball "the Comtesse de Ravenel" would be announced, she
could carry her title well--better perhaps than her younger sister,
when she got a little accustomed to it, and had mingled with persons
of high birth. No matter; he was annoyed. He was full of spite against
the father and the brother also, and he promised himself that he would
pay them off afterward for his mischance when he was the master. When
they returned to the drawing-room, he got Louise to read the cards, as
she was skilled in foretelling the future. The Marquis, Andermatt, and
Charlotte listened attentively, attracted, in spite of themselves, by
the mystery of the unknown, by the possibility of the improbable, by
that invincible credulity with reference to the marvelous which haunts
man, and often disturbs the strongest minds in the presence of the
silly inventions of charlatans.
Paul and Christiane chatted in the recess of an open window. For some
time past she had been miserable, feeling that she was no longer loved
in the same fashion; and their misunderstanding as lovers was every day
accentuated by their mutual error. She had suspected this unfortunate
state of things for the first time on the evening of the _fête_ when
she brought Paul along the road. But while she understood that he had
no longer the same tenderness in his look, the same caress in his
voice, the same passionate anxiety about her as in the days of their
early love, she had not been able to divine the cause of this change.
It had existed for a long time now, ever since the day when she
had said to him with a look of happiness on reaching their daily
meeting-place: "You know, I believe I am really _enceinte_." He had
felt at that moment an unpleasant little shiver running all over his
skin. Then at each of their meetings she would talk to him about her
condition, which made her heart dance with joy; but this preoccupation
with a matter which he regarded as vexatious, ugly, and unclean clashed
with his devoted exaltation about the idol that he had adored. At a
later stage, when he saw her altered, thin, her cheeks hollow, her
complexion yellow, he thought that she might have spared him that
spectacle, and might have vanished for a few months from his sight, to
reappear afterward fresher and prettier than ever, thus knowing how to
make him forget this accident, or perhaps knowing how to unite to her
coquettish fascinations as a mistress, another charm, the thoughtful
reserve of a young mother, who only allows her baby to be seen at a
distance covered up in red ribbons.
She had, besides, a rare opportunity of displaying that tact which
he expected of her by spending the summer apart from him at Mont
Oriol, and leaving him in Paris so that he might not see her robbed
of her freshness and beauty. He had fondly hoped that she might have
understood him.
But, immediately on reaching Auvergne, she had appealed to him in
incessant and despairing letters so numerous and so urgent that he had
come to her through weakness, through pity. And now she was boring him
to death with her ungracious and lugubrious tenderness; and he felt an
extreme longing to get away from her, to see no more of her, to listen
no longer to her talk about love, so irritating and out of place. He
would have liked to tell her plainly all that he had in his mind,
to point out to her how unskillful and foolish she showed herself;
but he could not bring himself to do this, and he dared not take his
departure. As a result he could not restrain himself from testifying
his impatience with her in bitter and hurtful words.
She was stung by them the more because, every day more ill, more heavy,
tormented by all the sufferings of pregnant women, she had more need
than ever of being consoled, fondled, encompassed with affection. She
loved him with that utter abandonment of body and soul, of her entire
being, which sometimes renders love a sacrifice without reservations
and without bounds. She no longer looked upon herself as his mistress,
but as his wife, his companion, his devotee, his worshiper, his
prostrate slave, his chattel. For her there seemed no further need of
any gallantry, coquetry, constant desire to please, or fresh indulgence
between them, since she belonged to him entirely, since they were
linked together by that chain so sweet and so strong--the child which
would soon be born. When they were alone at the window, she renewed her
tender lamentation: "Paul, my dear Paul, tell me, do you love me as
much as ever?"
"Yes, certainly! Come now, you keep repeating this every day--it will
end by becoming monotonous."
"Pardon me. It is because I find it impossible to believe it any
longer, and I want you to reassure me; I want to hear you saying it to
me forever that word which is so sweet; and, as you don't repeat it to
me so often as you used to do, I am compelled to ask for it, to implore
it, to beg for it from you."
"Well, yes, I love you! But let us talk of something else, I entreat of
you."
"Ah! how hard you are!"
"Why, no! I am not hard. Only--only you do not understand--you do not
understand that----"
"Oh! yes! I understand well that you no longer love me. If you knew how
I am suffering!"
"Come, Christiane, I beg of you not to make me nervous. If you knew
yourself how awkward what you are now doing is!"
"Ah! if you loved me, you would not talk to me in this way."
"But, deuce take it! if I did not love you, I would not have come."
"Listen. You belong to me now. You are mine; I am yours. There is
between us that tie of a budding life which nothing can break; but will
you promise me that, if one day, you should come to love me no more,
you will tell me so?"
"Yes, I do promise you."
"You swear it to me?"
"I swear it to you."
"But then, all the same, we would remain friends, would we not?"
"Certainly, let us remain friends."
"On the day when you no longer regard me with love you'll come to find
me and you'll say to me: 'My little Christiane, I am very fond of
you, but it is not the same thing any more. Let us be friends, there!
nothing but friends.'"
"That is understood; I promise it to you."
"You swear it to me?"
"I swear it to you."
"No matter, it would cause me great grief. How you adored me last
year!"
A voice called out behind them: "The Duchess de Ramas-Aldavarra."
She had come as a neighbor, for Christiane held receptions each day
for the principal bathers, just as princes hold receptions in their
kingdoms.
Doctor Mazelli followed the lovely Spaniard with a smiling and
submissive air. The two women pressed one another's hands, sat down,
and commenced to chat.
Andermatt called Paul across to him: "My dear friend come here!
Mademoiselle Oriol reads the cards splendidly; she has told me some
astonishing things!"
He took Paul by the arm, and added: "What an odd being you are! At
Paris, we never saw you, even once a month, in spite of the entreaties
of my wife. Here it required fifteen letters to get you to come. And
since you have come, one would think you are losing a million a day,
you look so disconsolate. Come, are you hearing any matter that ruffles
you? We might be able to assist you. You should tell us about it."
"Nothing at all, my dear fellow. If I haven't visited you more
frequently in Paris--'tis because at Paris, you understand----"
"Perfectly--I grasp your meaning. But here, at least, you ought to be
in good spirits. I am preparing for you two or three _fêtes_, which
will, I am sure, be very successful."
"Madame Barre and Professor Cloche" were announced. He entered with his
daughter, a young widow, red-haired and bold-faced. Then, almost in the
same breath, the manservant called out: "Professor Mas-Roussel."
His wife accompanied him, pale, worn, with flat headbands drawn over
her temples.
Professor Remusot had left the day before, after having, it was said,
purchased his chalet on exceptionally favorable conditions.
The two other doctors would have liked to know what these conditions
were, but Andermatt merely said in reply to them: "Oh! we have made
little advantageous arrangements for everybody. If you desired to
follow his example, we might see our way to a mutual understanding--we
might see our way. When you have made up your mind, you can let me
know, and then we'll talk about it."
Doctor Latonne appeared in his turn, then Doctor Honorat, without his
wife, whom he did not bring with him. A din of voices now filled the
drawing-room, the loud buzz of conversation. Gontran never left Louise
Oriol's side, put his head over her shoulder in addressing her, and
said with a laugh every now and again to whoever was passing near him:
"This is an enemy of whom I am making a conquest."
Mazelli took a seat beside Professor Cloche's daughter. For some days
he had been constantly following her about; and she had received his
advances with provoking audacity.
The Duchess, who kept him well in view, appeared irritated and
trembling. Suddenly she rose, crossed the drawing-room, and interrupted
her doctor's confidential chat with the pretty red-haired widow,
saying: "Come, Mazelli, we are going to retire. I feel rather ill at
ease."
As soon as they had gone out, Christiane drew close to Paul's side,
and said to him: "Poor woman! she must suffer so much!"
He asked heedlessly: "Who, pray?"
"The Duchess! You don't see how jealous she is."
He replied abruptly: "If you begin to groan over everything you can lay
hold of now, you'll have no end of weeping."
She turned away, ready, indeed, to shed tears, so cruel did she find
him, and, sitting down near Charlotte Oriol, who was all alone in a
dazed condition, unable to comprehend the meaning of Gontran's conduct,
she said to the young girl, without letting the latter realize what her
words conveyed: "There are days when one would like to be dead."
Andermatt, in the midst of the doctors, was relating the extraordinary
case of Père Clovis, whose legs were beginning to come to life again.
He appeared so thoroughly convinced that nobody could doubt his good
faith.
Since he had seen through the trick of the peasants and the paralytic,
understood that he had let himself be duped and persuaded, the year
before, through the sheer desire to believe in the efficacy of the
waters with which he had been bitten, since, above all, he had not been
able to free himself, without paying, from the formidable complaints
of the old man, he had converted it into a strong advertisement, and
worked it wonderfully well.
Mazelli had just come back, after having accompanied his patient to her
own apartments.
Gontran caught hold of his arm: "Tell me your opinion, my good doctor.
Which of the Oriol girls do you prefer?"
The handsome physician whispered in his ear: "The younger one, to love;
the elder one, to marry."
"Look at that! We are exactly of the same way of thinking. I am
delighted at it!"
Then, going over to his sister, who was still talking to Charlotte:
"You are not aware of it? I have made up my mind that we are to visit
the Puy de la Nugère on Thursday. It is the finest crater of the chain.
Everyone consents. It is a settled thing."
Christiane murmured with an air of indifference: "I consent to anything
you like."
But Professor Cloche, followed by his daughter, was about to take his
leave, and Mazelli, offering to see them home, started off behind the
young widow. In five minutes, everyone had left, for Christiane went
to bed at eleven o'clock. The Marquis, Paul, and Gontran accompanied
the Oriol girls. Gontran and Louise walked in front, and Bretigny, some
paces behind them, felt Charlotte's arm trembling a little as it leaned
on his.
They separated with the agreement: "On Thursday at eleven for breakfast
at the hotel!"
On their way back they met Andermatt, detained in a corner of the park
by Professor Mas-Roussel, who was saying to him: "Well, if it does not
put you about, I'll come and have a chat with you to-morrow morning
about that little business of the chalet."
William joined the young men to go in with them, and, drawing himself
up to his brother-in-law's ear, said: "My best compliments, my dear
boy! You have acted your part admirably."
Gontran, for the past two years, had been harassed by pecuniary
embarrassments which had spoiled his existence. So long as he was
spending the share which came to him from his mother, he had allowed
his life to pass in that carelessness and indifference which he
inherited from his father, in the midst of those young men, rich,
_blasé_, and corrupted, whose doings we read about every morning in the
newspapers, who belong to the world of fashion but mingle in it very
little, preferring the society of women of easy virtue and purchasable
hearts.
There were a dozen of them in the same set, who were to be found every
night at the same _café_ on the boulevard between midnight and three
o'clock in the morning. Very well dressed, always in black coats and
white waistcoats, wearing shirt-buttons worth twenty louis changed
every month, and bought in one of the principal jewelers' shops,
they lived careless of everything, save amusing themselves, picking
up women, making them a subject of talk, and getting money by every
possible means.
As the only things they had any knowledge of were the scandals of the
night before, the echoes of alcoves and stables, duels and stories
about gambling transactions, the entire horizon of their thoughts was
shut in by these barriers. They had had all the women who were for sale
in the market of gallantry, had passed them through their hands, given
them up, exchanged them with one another, and talked among themselves
as to their erotic qualities as they might have talked about the
qualities of race-horses. They also associated with people of rank
whose voluptuous habits excited comment and whose women nearly all
kept up intrigues which were matters of notoriety, under the eyes of
husbands indifferent or averted or closed or devoid of perception; and
they passed judgment on these women as on the others, forming much the
same estimate about them, save that they made a slight distinction on
the grounds of birth and social position.
By dint of resorting to dodges to get the money necessary for the life
which they led, outwitting usurers, borrowing on all sides, putting
off tradesmen, laughing in the faces of their tailors when presented
with a big bill every six months, listening to girls telling about the
infamies they perpetrated in order to gratify their feminine greed,
seeing systematic cheating at clubs, knowing and feeling that they
were individually robbed by everyone, by servants, merchants, keepers
of big restaurants and others, becoming acquainted with certain sharp
practices and shady transactions in which they themselves had a hand in
order to knock out a few louis, their moral sense had become blunted,
used up, and their sole point of honor consisted in fighting duels when
they realized that they were suspected of all the things of which they
were either capable or actually guilty.
Everyone of these young _roués_, after some years of this existence,
ended with a rich marriage, or a scandal, or a suicide, or a mysterious
disappearance as complete as death. But they put their principal
reliance on the rich marriage. Some trusted to their families to
procure such a thing for them; others looked out themselves for it
without letting it be noticed; and they had lists of heiresses just
as people have lists of houses for sale. They kept their eyes fixed
especially on the exotics, the Americans of the north and of the south,
whom they dazzled by their "chic," by their reputation as fast men, by
talk about their successes, and by the elegance of their persons. And
their tradesmen also placed reliance on the rich marriage.
But this hunt after the girl with a fortune was bound to be protracted.
In any case it involved inquiries, the trouble of winning a female
heart, fatigues, visits, all that exercise of energy of which Gontran,
careless by nature, remained utterly incapable. For a long time
past, he had been saying to himself, feeling each day more keenly
the unpleasantness of impecuniosity: "I must, for all that, think
over it." But he did not think over it, and so he found nothing. He
had been reduced to the ingenious pursuit of paltry sums, to all the
questionable steps of people at the end of their resources, and, to
crown all, to long sojourns in the family, when Andermatt had suddenly
suggested to him the idea of marrying one of the Oriol girls.
He had, at first, said nothing through prudence, although the young
girl appeared to him, at first blush, too much beneath him for him to
consent to such an unequal match. But a few minutes' reflection had
very speedily modified his view; and he forthwith made up his mind
to make love to her in a bantering sort of way--the love-making of a
spa--which would not compromise him, and would permit him to back out
of it.
Thoroughly acquainted with his brother-in-law's character, he knew that
this proposition must have been cogitated for a long time, and weighed
and matured by him--that she meant to him a valuable prize such as it
would be hard to find elsewhere.
It would cost him no trouble but that of stooping down and picking up
a pretty girl, for he liked the younger sister very much, and he had
often said to himself that she would be nice to associate with later
on. He had accordingly selected Charlotte Oriol; and in a little time
would have brought matters to the point when a regular proposal might
have been made to her.
Now, as the father was bestowing on his other daughter the dowry
coveted by Andermatt, Gontran had either to renounce this union or
turn round to the elder sister. He felt intense dissatisfaction with
this state of affairs and he had been thinking in his first moments of
vexation of sending his brother-in-law to the devil and remaining a
bachelor until a fresh opportunity arose. But just at that very time
he found himself quite cleaned out, so that he had to ask, for his
play at the Casino, a sum of twenty-five louis from Paul, after many
similar loans, which he had never paid back. And again, he would have
to look for a rich wife, find her, and captivate her, while without any
change of place, with only a few days of attention and gallantry, he
could capture the elder of the Oriol girls just as he had been able to
make a conquest of the younger. In this way he would make sure in his
brother-in-law of a banker whom he might render always responsible, on
whom he might cast endless reproaches, and whose cash-box would always
be open for him.
As for his wife, he could bring her to Paris, and there introduce her
into society as the daughter of Andermatt's partner. Moreover, she bore
the name of the spa, to which he would never bring her back! Never!
never! in virtue of the natural law that streams do not return to their
sources. She had a nice face and figure, sufficiently distinguished
already to become entirely so, sufficiently intelligent to understand
the ways of society, to hold her own in it, to make a good show in
it, and even to do him honor. People would say: "This joker here has
married a lovely girl, at whom he looks as if he were not making a bad
joke of it." And he would not make a bad joke of it, in fact, for he
counted on resuming by her side his bachelor existence with the money
in his pockets.
So he turned toward Louise Oriol, and, taking advantage of the jealousy
awakened in the skittish heart of the young girl, without being aware
of it, had excited in her a coquetry which had hitherto slumbered, and
a vague desire to take away from her sister this handsome lover whom
people addressed as "Monsieur le Comte."
She had not said this in her own mind. She had neither thought it out
nor contrived it, being surprised at their being thrown together and
going off in one another's company. But when she saw him assiduous
and gallant toward her, she felt from his demeanor, from his glances,
and his entire attitude, that he was not enamored of Charlotte, and
without trying to see beyond that, she was in a happy, joyous, almost
triumphant frame of mind as she lay down to sleep.
They hesitated for a long time on the following Thursday before
starting for the Puy de la Nugère. The gloomy sky and the heavy
atmosphere made them anticipate rain. But Gontran insisted so strongly
on going that he carried the waverers along with him. The breakfast
was a melancholy affair. Christiane and Paul had quarreled the night
before, without apparent cause. Andermatt was afraid that Gontran's
marriage might not take place, for Père Oriol had, that very morning,
spoken of him in equivocal terms. Gontran, on being informed of this,
got angry and made up his mind that he would succeed. Charlotte,
foreseeing her sister's triumph, without at all understanding this
transfer of Gontran's affections, strongly desired to remain in the
village. With some difficulty they prevailed on her to come.
Accordingly the Noah's Ark carried its full number of ordinary
passengers in the direction of the high plateau which looks down on
Volvic. Louise Oriol, suddenly becoming loquacious, acted as their
guide along the road. She explained how the stone of Volvic, which
is nothing else but the lava-current of the surrounding peaks, had
helped to build all the churches and all the houses in the district--a
circumstance which gives to the towns in Auvergne the dark and
charred-looking aspect that they present.
She pointed out the yards where this stone was cut, showed them the
molten rock that was worked as a quarry, from which was extracted the
rough lava, and made them view with admiration, standing on a hilltop
and bending over Volvic, the immense black Virgin who protects the
town. Then they ascended toward the upper plateau, embossed with
extinct volcanoes. The horses went at a walking pace over the long and
toilsome road. Their path was bordered with beautiful green woods, and
nobody talked any longer.
Christiane was thinking about Tazenat. It was the same carriage;
they were the same persons; but their hearts were no longer the
same. Everything seemed as it had been--and yet? and yet? What then
had happened? Almost nothing. A little love the more on her part! A
little love the less on his! Almost nothing--the invisible rent which
weariness makes in an intimate attachment--oh! almost nothing--and the
look in the changed eyes, because the same eyes no longer saw the same
faces in the same way. What is this but a look? Almost nothing!
The coachman drew up, and said: "It is here, at the right, through that
path in the wood. You have only to follow it in order to get there."
All descended, save the Marquis, who thought the weather too warm.
Louise and Gontran went on in front, and Charlotte remained behind with
Paul and Christiane, who found difficulty in walking. The path appeared
to them long, right through the wood; then they reached a crest covered
with tall grass which led by a steep ascent to the sides of the old
crater. Louise and Gontran, halting when they got to the top, both
looking tall and slender, had the appearance of standing in the clouds.
When the others had come up with them, Paul Bretigny's enthusiastic
soul was inflamed with poetic rapture.
Around them, behind them, to right, to left, they were surrounded by
strange cones, decapitated, some shooting forth, others crushed into a
mass, but all preserving their fantastic physiognomy of dead volcanoes.
These heavy fragments of mountains with flat summits rose from south to
west along an immense plateau of desolate appearance, which, itself a
thousand meters above the Limagne, looked down upon it, as far as the
eye could reach, toward the east and the north, on to the invisible
horizon, always veiled, always blue.
The Puy de Dome, at the right, towered above all its fellows, with from
seventy to eighty craters now gone to sleep. Further on were the Puy de
Gravenoire, the Puy de Crouel, the Puy de la Pedge, the Puy de Sault,
the Puy de Noschamps, the Puy de la Vache. Nearer, were the Puy de
Come, the Puy de Jumes, the Puy de Tressoux, the Puy de Louchadière--a
vast cemetery of volcanoes.
The young men gazed at the scene in amazement. At their feet opened
the first crater of La Nugère, a deep grassy basin at the bottom of
which could be seen three enormous blocks of brown lava, lifted up with
the monster's last puff and then sunk once more into his throat as he
expired, remaining there from century to century forever.
Gontran exclaimed: "As for me, I am going down to the bottom. I want
to see how they give up the ghost--creatures of this sort. Come along,
Mesdemoiselles, for a little run down the slope." And seizing Louise's
arm, he dragged her after him. Charlotte followed them, running after
them. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped, watched them as they flew
along, jumping with their arms linked, and, turning back abruptly, she
reascended toward Christiane and Paul, who were seated on the grass
at the top of the declivity. When she reached them, she fell upon her
knees, and, hiding her face in the young girl's robe she wore, she
burst out sobbing.
Christiane, who understood what was the matter, and whom all the
sorrows of others had, for some time past, pierced like wounds
inflicted upon herself, flung her arms around the girl's neck, and,
moved also by her tears, murmured: "Poor little thing! poor little
thing!" The girl kept crying incessantly, and with her hands dropping
listlessly to the ground, she tore up the grass unconscious of what she
was doing.
Bretigny had risen up in order to avoid the appearance of having
observed her, but this misery endured by a young girl, this distress
of an innocent creature, filled him suddenly with indignation against
Gontran. He, whom Christiane's deep anguish only exasperated, was
touched to the bottom of his heart by a girl's first disillusion.
He came back, and kneeling down in his turn, in order to speak to her,
said: "Come, calm yourself, I beg of you. They are going to return
presently. They must not see you crying."
She sprang to her feet, scared by this idea that her sister might find
her with tears in her eyes. Her throat remained choking with sobs,
which she held back, which she swallowed down, which she sent back
into her heart, filling it with more poignant grief. She faltered:
"Yes--yes--it is over--it is nothing--it is over. Look here! It cannot
be noticed now. Isn't that so? It cannot be noticed now."
Christiane wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief, then passed it also
across her own. She said to Paul:
"Go, pray, and see what they are doing. We cannot see them any longer.
They have disappeared under the blocks of lava. I will look after this
little one, and console her."
Bretigny had again stood up, and in a trembling voice, said: "I am
going there--and I'll bring them back, but it will be my affair--your
brother--this very day--and he shall give me an explanation of his
unjustifiable conduct, after what he said to us the other day." He
began to descend, running toward the center of the crater.
Gontran, hurrying Louise along, had pulled her with all his strength
over the steep side of the chasm, in order to hold her up, to sustain
her, to put her out of breath, to make her dizzy, and to frighten her.
She, carried along by his wild rush, attempted to stop him, gasping:
"Oh! not so quickly--I'm going to fall--why, you're mad--I'm going to
fall!"
They knocked against the blocks of lava, and remained standing up, both
breathless. Then they walked round the crater staring at the big gaps
which formed below a kind of cavern, with a double outlet.
When at the end of its life, the volcano had cast out this last
mouthful of foam, unable to shoot it up to the sky as in former times,
he had spat it forth, so that, thick and half-cooled, it fixed itself
upon his dying lips.
"We must enter under there," said Gontran. And he pushed the young
girl before him. Then, when they were in the grotto, he said: "Well,
Mademoiselle, this is the moment to make a declaration to you."
She was stupefied: "A declaration--to me!"
"Why, yes, in four words--I find you charming!"
"It is to my sister you should say that!"
"Oh! you know well that I am not making a declaration to your sister."
"Come, now!"
"Look here! you would not be a woman if you did not understand that I
have paid attentions to her to see what you would think of it!--and
what looks you gave me on account of it. Why, you looked daggers at me!
Oh! I'm quite satisfied. So then I have tried to prove to you, by all
the consideration in my power, how much I thought about you."
Nobody had ever before talked to her in this way. She felt confused and
delighted, her heart full of joy and pride. He went on: "I know well
that I have been nasty toward your little sister. So much the worse.
She is not deceived by it, never fear. You see how she remained on the
hillside, how she was not inclined to follow us. Oh! she understands!
she understands!"
He had caught hold of one of Louise Oriol's hands, and he kissed the
ends of her fingers softly, gallantly, murmuring: "How nice you are!
How nice you are!"
She, leaning against the wall of lava, heard his heart beating with
emotion without uttering a word. The thought, the sole thought, which
floated in her agitated mind, was one of triumph; she had got the
better of her sister! But a shadow appeared at the entrance to the
grotto. Paul Bretigny was looking at them. Gontran, in a natural
fashion, let fall the little hand which he had been raising to his
lips, and said: "Hallo! you here? Are you alone?"
"Yes. We were surprised to see you disappearing down here."
"Oh! well, let us go back. We were looking at this. Isn't it rather
curious?"
Louise, flushed up to her temples, went out first, and began to
reascend the slope, followed by the two young men, who were talking
behind in a low tone.
Christiane and Charlotte saw them approaching, and awaited them with
clasped hands.
They went back to the carriage in which the Marquis had remained, and
the Noah's Ark set out again for Enval.
Suddenly, in the midst of a little forest of pine-trees the landau
stopped, and the coachman began to swear. An old dead ass blocked the
way.
Everyone wanted to look at it, and they got down off the carriage. He
lay stretched on the blackened dust, himself discolored, and so lean
that his worn skin at the places where the bones projected seemed as if
it would have been burst through if the animal had not breathed forth
his last sigh. The entire carcass outlined itself under the gnawed
hair of his sides, and his head looked enormous--a poor-looking head,
with the eyes closed, tranquil now on its bed of broken stones, so
tranquil, so calm in death, that it appeared happy and surprised at
this new-found rest. His big ears, now relaxed, lay like rags. Two raw
wounds on his knees told how often he had fallen that very day before
sinking down for the last time; and another wound on the side showed
the place where his master, for years and years, had been pricking him
with an iron spike attached to the end of a stick, to hasten his slow
pace.
The coachman, having caught its hind legs, dragged it toward a ditch,
and the neck was strained as if the dead brute were going to bray once
more, to give vent to a last complaint. When this was done, the man,
in a rage, muttered: "What brutes, to leave this in the middle of the
road!"
No other person had said a word; they again stepped into the carriage.
Christiane, heartbroken, crushed, saw all the miserable life of this
animal ended thus at the side of the road: the merry little donkey
with his big head, in which glittered a pair of big eyes, comical and
good-tempered, with his rough hair and his long ears, gamboling about,
still free, close to his mother's legs; then the first cart; the first
uphill journey; the first blows; and, after that, the ceaseless and
terrible walking along interminable roads, the overpowering heat of the
sun, and nothing for food save a little straw, a little hay, or some
branches, while all along the hard roads there was the temptation of
the green meadows.
And then, again, as age came upon him, the iron spike replacing the
pliant switch; and the frightful martyrdom of the animal, worn out,
bereft of breath, bruised, always dragging after it excessive loads,
and suffering in all its limbs, in all its old body, shabby as a
beggar's cart. And then the death, the beneficent death, three paces
away from the grass of the ditch, to which a man, passing by, drags it
with oaths, in order to clear the road.
Christiane, for the first time, understood the wretchedness of enslaved
creatures; and death appeared to her also a very good thing at times.
Suddenly they passed by a little cart, which a man nearly naked, a
woman in tatters, and a lean dog were dragging along, exhausted by
fatigue. The occupants of the carriage noticed that they were sweating
and panting. The dog, with his tongue out, fleshless and mangy, was
fastened between the wheels. There were in this cart pieces of wood
picked up everywhere, stolen, no doubt, roots, stumps, broken branches,
which seemed to hide other things; then over these branches rags, and
on these rags a child, nothing but a head starting out through gray old
scraps of cloth, a round ball with two eyes, a nose, and a mouth!
This was a family, a human family! The ass had succumbed to fatigue,
and the man, without pity for his dead servant, without pushing it even
into the rut, had left it in the open road, in front of any vehicles
which might be coming up. Then, yoking himself in his turn with his
wife in the empty shafts, they proceeded to drag it along as the beast
had dragged it a short time before. They were going on. Where? To do
what? Had they even a few sous? That cart--would they be dragging it
forever, not being in a position to buy another animal? What would they
live on? Where would they stop? They would probably die as their donkey
had died.
Were they married, these beggars, or merely living together? And their
child would do the same as they did, this little brute as yet unformed,
concealed under sordid wrappings. Christiane was thinking on all these
things; and new sensations rose up in the depths of her pitying soul.
She had a glimpse of the misery of the poor.
Gontran said, all of a sudden: "I don't know why, but I would think
it a delicious thing if we were all to dine together this evening at
the Café Anglais. It would give me pleasure to have a look at the
boulevard."
And the Marquis muttered: "Bah! we are well enough here. The new hotel
is much better than the old one."
They passed in front of Tournoel. A recollection of the spot
made Christiane's heart palpitate, as she recognized a certain
chestnut-tree. She glanced toward Paul, who had closed his eyes, so
that he did not see her meek, appealing face.
Soon they perceived two men before the carriage, two vinedressers
returning from work carrying their rakes on their shoulders, and
walking with the long, weary steps of laborers. The Oriol girls
reddened to their very temples. It was their father and their brother,
who had gone back to their vine-lands as in former times, and passed
their days sweating over the soil which they had enriched, and bent
double, with their buttocks in the air, kept toiling at it from morning
until evening, while the fine frock-coats, carefully folded up, were at
rest in the chest of drawers, and the tall hats in a press.
The two peasants bowed with a friendly smile, while everyone in the
landau waved a hand in response to their "Good evening."
When they got back, just as Gontran was stepping out of the Ark to go
up to the Casino, Bretigny accompanied him, and stopping on the first
steps, said:
"Listen, my friend! What you're doing is not right, and I've promised
your sister to speak to you about it."
"To speak about what?"
"About the way you have been acting during the last few days."
Gontran had resumed his impertinent air.
"Acting? Toward whom?"
"Toward this girl whom you are meanly jilting."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, I do think so--and I am right in thinking so."
"Bah! you are becoming very scrupulous on the subject of jilting."
"Ah, my friend, 'tis not a question of a loose woman here, but of a
young girl."
"I know that perfectly; therefore, I have not seduced her. The
difference is very marked."
They went on walking together side by side. Gontran's demeanor
exasperated Paul, who replied:
"If I were not your friend, I would say some very severe things to you."
"And for my part I would not permit you to say them."
"Look here, listen to me, my friend! This young girl excites my pity.
She was weeping a little while ago."
"Bah! she was weeping! Why, that's a compliment to me!"
"Come, don't trifle! What do you mean to do?"
"I? Nothing!"
"Just consider! You have gone so far with her that you have compromised
her. The other day you told your sister and me that you were thinking
of marrying her."
Gontran stopped in his walk, and in that mocking tone through which a
menace showed itself:
"My sister and you would do better not to bother yourselves about
other people's love affairs. I told you that this girl pleases me well
enough, and that if I happened to marry her, I would be doing a wise
and reasonable act. That's all. Now it turns out that to-day I like the
elder girl better. I have changed my mind. That's a thing that happens
to everyone."
Then, looking him full in the face: "What is it that you do yourself
when you cease to care about a woman? Do you look after her?"
Paul Bretigny, astonished, sought to penetrate the profound meaning,
the hidden sense, of these words. A little feverishness also mounted
into his brain. He said in a violent tone:
"I tell you again this is not a question of a hussy or a married woman,
but of a young girl whom you have deceived, if not by promises, at
least by your advances. That is not, mark you, the part of a man of
honor!--or of an honest man!"
Gontran, pale, his voice quivering, interrupted him: "Hold your tongue!
You have already said too much--and I have listened to too much of
this. In my turn, if I were not your friend I--I might show you that I
have a short temper. Another word, and there is an end of everything
between us forever!"
Then, slowly weighing his words, and flinging them in Paul's face,
he said: "I have no explanations to offer you--I might rather have
to demand them from you. There is a certain kind of indelicacy of
which it is not the part of a man of honor or of an honest man to be
guilty--which might take many forms--from which friendship ought to
keep certain people--and which love does not excuse."
All of a sudden, changing his tone, and almost jesting, he added:
"As for this little Charlotte, if she excites your pity, and if you
like her, take her, and marry her. Marriage is often a solution of
difficult cases. It is a solution, and a stronghold, in which one may
barricade himself against desperate obstacles. She is pretty and rich!
It would be very desirable for you to finish with an accident like
this!--it would be amusing for us to marry here, the same day, for
I certainly will marry the elder one. I tell it to you as a secret,
and don't repeat it as yet. Now don't forget that you have less right
than anyone else yourself ever to talk about integrity in matters of
sentiment, and scruples of affection. And now go and look after your
own affairs. I am going to look after mine. Good night!"
And suddenly turning off in another direction, he went down toward the
village. Paul Bretigny, with doubts in his mind and uneasiness in his
heart, returned with lingering steps to the hotel of Mont Oriol.
He tried to understand thoroughly, to recall each word, in order to
determine its meaning, and he was amazed at the secret byways, shameful
and unfit to be spoken of, which may be hidden in certain souls.
When Christiane asked him: "What reply did you get from Gontran?"
He faltered: "My God! he--he prefers the elder, just now. I believe he
even intends to marry her--and in answer to my rather sharp reproaches
he shut my mouth by allusions that are--disquieting to both of us."
Christiane sank into a chair, murmuring: "Oh! my God! my God!"
But, as Gontran had just come in, for the bell had rung for dinner, he
kissed her gaily on the forehead, asking: "Well, little sister, how do
you feel now? You are not too tired?"
Then he pressed Paul's hand, and, turning toward Andermatt, who had
come in after him:
"I say, pearl of brothers-in-law, of husbands, and of friends, can you
tell me exactly what an old ass dead on a road is worth?"