JEAN knew that there was one thing more he had to do, and it seemed to
him as if it were the only thing in the world left to him to do. He
could procure the four hundred francs for Margot. He found his Uncle
Romain in the best of humours; his wife had gone to the country to see
her mother for some days, and he felt half-empty Paris delightful.
“Ah, my dear boy!” he cried as Jean came into the smoking room. “You
will never know freedom until you marry! No bachelor can understand
the joys of escape, for he has nothing really to escape from. Freedom,
I have always thought, is the absence of restraint; and I take it one
must have restraint in order to lose it. The absence of restraint
is merely another way of saying ‘Your dear aunt has gone into the
country to see her mother.’ What a blessed institution one’s family
is! To me this aspect of the mother-in-law at some little distance
in the country, liable to occasional attacks of indigestion which
she mistakes for heart failure, has about it something that is very
touching, almost sacred! I believe in preserving these relationships.
All relationships are to my mind a direct ministration of Providence
to prevent the dangers of intimacy. This, Jean, is a very important
thing for you to remember. I sometimes think you overlook the value of
relationships; a mind that is not divided against itself is a bore.
I see that you are having one of those attacks of concentration at
the present moment! Light a cigarette, and you will find the liqueurs
behind the billiard table--take one and think of something else! It is
much too hot to be in earnest!”
“_Mon oncle_,” said Jean, waving his hand to decline the cigarette, the
liqueur, or any other consideration than his purpose, “I have worked
here now for three years in Paris, and I have not asked you for money,
have I?”
Romain leaned back in his immense armchair and opened his eyes very
wide with a charming smile in them.
“But my dear boy,” he said, “do not tell me that at the end of three
years you know less of life than at the beginning? I have never heard
such a confession of failure. Besides, you can’t sincerely mean to ask
me for money now--I never lend, you know, I borrow, and I don’t even
borrow as often as I could wish; but that, however, is not my fault. It
would charm me to be of service to you, of course, but tell me about
it; if it was the good Liane, now, I should be tempted; I met her the
other night, I thought her looking a little--well, as if she should
begin to lay up pears for the thirst. She won’t, you know, last much
longer. They say she eats nothing and sleeps in her stays. But the
years that take away from us everything else add, in spite of all we
may do to prevent it, to the figure. It is, indeed, the only addition
they seem prepared to make for us.”
“It is not Liane, _man oncle_,” said Jean. “I want to tell you the
story; you know, after all, we’re the same flesh and blood, and it is
good blood too, isn’t it? I think you’ll feel as I do, that something
horribly bad must be stopped.”
Romain did not become serious, but something in Jean’s tone silenced
him. He listened to his brother’s son, and as Jean told him the story
of Flaubert’s baseness to Margot he felt a curious twinge of sentiment;
he almost wished for a moment that Jean had been his own son instead.
He was silent when Jean had finished, and he let his cigarette go out;
he almost stopped smiling.
“Oh well, you know, my dear fellow,” he said at last, “the man’s
_canaille_, that’s all! there are those in Paris! Certainly one
mustn’t dun a woman for money when one is in search of her favour,
that is understood. Yes! it is rather base, that money! He must have
bourgeois blood. It reminds one of politics! It is quite the trick
of a politician that! Yes, your friend Flaubert leaves an unpleasant
taste in one’s mouth. I should like to help you. I don’t think I can,
but I should like to. Why didn’t you marry the little Pauline? It is
such a pity you let her slip into Pierre de Lodéve’s hands. Of course,
it is his aunt’s doing; she is an admirable woman, so pious! She made
the girl make magnificent settlements. I always rely on truly religious
people for the business instinct. They manage very thoroughly on earth
and we are told that they also lay up for themselves treasure in
heaven. I can well believe it. Now, as to the four hundred francs--I
have no money at all at present, but I happen to know that your dear
aunt has a thousand francs, I think--a sum in a little blue bag in her
desk, which she has set apart for a Home for Girls. I went there with
her once; it was a most painful sight, and I thought unnecessary. There
were two hundred of them; I did not think France had so many plain
daughters; they were to be saved from destruction, and really, as I
pointed out to your aunt at the time, nature had already provided for
their safety. It is a pity to try to improve upon Nature’s methods. Now
one might very well, I think, take the money to help a pretty girl! I
remember that the little Margot is pretty?”
Jean smiled in spite of himself.
“Yes, Uncle Romain,” he said, “very pretty.”
“And your friend, your charming friend, Madame Torialli, is she also
interested in the case?” asked Romain carelessly. Jean flushed to his
forehead.
“I--I have not spoken to her of it lately,” he said in a stifled voice.
“Ah well,” said Romain, “perhaps you are right. She is a sympathetic
woman, but, of course, in your situation it would be difficult to
unmask Flaubert.”
“I may have to leave the situation,” said Jean. “It will be impossible
for me to stay longer with Monsieur Flaubert.”
Romain looked at him again, and again he was sharply conscious of the
wish that Jean had been his son. It was absurd, he would have disliked
to have a son of that age very much, and three years ago he had
actually despised Jean; he despised him now a little, but he liked him
more than he despised him.
“_Bon!_” he said. “I will go and fetch the little bag; your aunt will
be enraged, but I shall tell her the goodness of the case and conceal
the prettiness of the girl; and, Jean, I cannot give you anything for
yourself. I should, you know, rather like to. Go and order a suit at my
tailor’s. You know the man? I never pay him. No, don’t thank me, only
if you should find yourself in any particularly bad place--or rather in
no place at all--I have a little _châlet_ at Joinville by the river.
You might run down there for a few days; they’ll look after you all
right--only let me know first, as it is sometimes occupied, and be
careful that you never let your aunt have the address. I do not think
the climate would suit her. You are sure you won’t have anything to
drink? I have an engagement to lunch out, or I should ask you to stay.”
“Thank you, Uncle Romain,” said Jean simply. “I felt sure you would
help me. I fear I shall not see you for some time. Jacques Cartier has
suggested my going with him to Russia for a year; I think that I shall
go.”
Romain glanced keenly at his nephew; then he looked away.
“And the Toriallis,” he drawled indifferently, “you will not return to
them?”
“It is not likely that I shall return to them,” said Jean.
Romain rose to his feet and tapped Jean lightly on the shoulder.
“_Mon vieux_,” he said, “this good Cartier is playing the part _du bon
Dieu_. It is a part I should rather like to play myself; but I have
never learnt how, I think I am too young for it!
“It does not matter, for I have always found there are others to whom
the rôle comes more naturally.
“You will do very well to accompany Cartier to Russia; when you come
back you will find many things different. A year is a very long time in
the life of a beautiful woman of middle age; it requires an infinite
amount of pains to hide it; whereas at your time of life it is less
than nothing to the appearance; but the amount of experience that it
contains--_mon Dieu_, that is colossal! I assure you, at your age I
once lost my heart, the whole of it--and I had an immense amount at the
time--twice in three weeks! It was a charming period; I nearly drowned
myself; but as a matter of fact I took a little voyage into the country
with a friend, and it came to quite the same thing in the end! Try it,
Jean--try it--_au revoir_!”
Romain followed Jean out into the hall with his hands in his pockets,
and his agreeable smile slightly deepened as he exclaimed: “After all,
it is in my power to offer you something; should you care for any of
those walking sticks in the stand, they look a little stouter than
yours, pray take one--but avoid any that have initials.
“I don’t suppose Monsieur Flaubert will give you much trouble; should
he wish more satisfaction than you intend to give him, you will of
course call on me; but _ces gens-là_ prefer the law. Look out your
trains and pack your things before you pay your little visit! You leave
your best respects for your aunt Marie, of course--doubtless they will
be worth a thousand francs to her--_au revoir_!”
Jean stepped back and shook his uncle’s hand again; their eyes met and
a light passed between them; they were of the same blood and at length
they understood each other.
“_Adieu_,” said Jean simply, and he picked out the strongest stick in
the hall, without initials, while Romain looked on smiling.