Sentimental Education (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (63 page)

“Does he not speak well—Frederic Moreau, I mean?”

“Do you know him?”

“Oh! very well! We are neighbours; and he used to play with me when I was quite a little girl.”

Madame Arnoux cast at her a sidelong glance, which meant:

“You aren’t in love with him, are you?”

The young girl’s face replied with an untroubled look:

“Yes.”

“You see him often, then?”

“Oh, no! only when he comes to his mother’s house. ’Tis ten months now since he came. He promised, however, to come more often.”

“The promises of men are not to be too much relied on, my child.”

“But he has not deceived me!”

“As he did others!”

Louise shivered: “Can it be by any chance that he promised something to her;” and her face became puckered with distrust and hate.

Madame Arnoux was almost afraid of her; she would have gladly withdrawn what she had said. Then both became silent.

As Frédéric was sitting opposite them on a folding-stool, they kept staring at him, the one discreetly out of the corner of her eye, the other boldly, with parted lips, so that Madame Dambreuse said to him:

“Come, now, turn round, and let her have a good look at you!”

“Whom do you mean?”

“Why, Monsieur Roque’s daughter!”

And she teased him on having won the heart of this young girl from the provinces. He denied that this was so, and tried to laugh.

“Is it believable, I ask you? Such an ugly creature!”

However, he experienced an intense feeling of gratified vanity. He remembered the other party which he had left, his heart filled with bitter humiliation, and he drew a deep breath, for it seemed to him that he was now in the environment that really suited him, as if all these things, including the Dambreuse mansion, belonged to him. The ladies formed a semicircle around him while they listened to him, and in order to create an effect, he declared that he was in favor of the re-establishment of divorce,
^cm
which he maintained should be easily procurable, so as to enable people to leave and come back to one another without any limit as often as they liked. They uttered loud protests; a few of them began to talk in whispers. Little exclamations every now and then burst forth from the shadows at the foot of the creeper-covered wall. It was like the excited cackling of hens; and he went on developing his theory with that self-confidence which is generated by the awareness of success. A man-servant brought into the arbour a tray laden with ices. The gentlemen drew close together and began to chat about the recent arrests.

Thereupon Frédéric took his revenge on the Vicomte by making him believe that he might be prosecuted as a Legitimist. The other objected saying he had not stirred outside of his own room. His adversary enumerated the chances against him. MM. Dambreuse and Grémonville found the discussion very amusing. Then they complimented Frédéric, while expressing regret at the same time that he did not employ his abilities in the defence of order. They grasped his hand with the utmost warmth; he might for the future count on them. At last, just as everyone was leaving, the Vicomte made a low bow to Cécile:

“Mademoiselle, I have the honour of wishing you a very good evening.”

She replied coldly:

“Good evening.” But she gave Martinon a parting smile.

Pére Roque, in order to continue the conversation between himself and Arnoux, offered to see him home, “as well as Madame”—they were going the same way. Louise and Frédéric walked in front of them. She had caught hold of his arm; and, when she was some distance away from the others she said:

“Ah! at last! at last! I’ve suffered enough all evening! How nasty those women were! What haughty airs they had!”

He made an effort to defend them.

“First of all, you might certainly have spoken to me the moment you came in, after being away a whole year!”

“It was not a year,” said Frédéric, glad to be able to give some sort of rejoinder on this point in order to avoid the other questions.

“Be it so; the time appeared very long to me, that’s all. But, during this horrid dinner, one would think you felt ashamed of me. Ah! I understand—I don’t possess what is needed to please a man as they do.”

“You are mistaken,” said Frédéric.

“Really! Swear to me that you don’t love any of them.”

He did swear.

“You love nobody but me alone?”

“Good lord!”

This assurance filled her with delight. She would have liked to lose her way in the streets, so that they might walk about together the whole night.

“I have been so much tormented down there! Nothing was talked about but barricades. I imagined I saw you falling on your back covered with blood! Your mother was confined to her bed with rheumatism. She knew nothing about what was happening. I had to hold my tongue. I could stand it no longer, so I took Catherine with me.”

And she related to him all about her departure, her journey, and the lie she told her father.

“He’s bringing me back in two days. Come tomorrow evening, as if you were merely paying a casual visit, and take advantage of the opportunity to ask for my hand in marriage.”

Never had Frédéric been further from the idea of marriage. Besides, Mademoiselle Roque appeared to him a rather absurd little person. How different she was from a woman like Madame Dambreuse! A very different future was in store for him. He had found reason today to feel perfectly certain on that point; and, therefore, this was not the time to involve himself, from mere sentimental motives, in a step of such momentous importance. It was necessary now to be decisive—and then he had seen Madame Arnoux once more. Nevertheless he was rather embarrassed by Louise’s candour.

He said in reply to her last words:

“Have you considered this matter?”

“What?” she exclaimed, frozen with astonishment and indignation.

He said that to marry at such a time as this would be folly.

“So you don’t want me?”

“But, you don’t understand me!”

And he launched into a complicated speech in order to impress upon her that he was held back by more serious considerations; that he had business on hand which would take a long time to deal with; that even his inheritance had been placed in jeopardy (Louise cut all these explanations short with one simple word); that, last of all, the present political situation made the thing undesirable. So, then, the most reasonable course was to wait patiently for some time. Matters would, no doubt, right themselves—at least, he hoped so; and, as he couldn’t think of any more excuses, he pretended to have suddenly remembered that he should have been with Dussardier two hours ago.

Then, bowing to the others, he darted down the Rue Hauteville, took a turn round the Gymnase Theatre, returned to the boulevard, and quickly rushed up Rosanette’s four flights of stairs.

M. and Madame Arnoux left Père Roque and his daughter at the entrance of the Rue Saint-Denis. Husband and wife returned home without exchanging a word, as he was unable to continue chattering any longer, feeling quite worn out. She even leaned against his shoulder. He was the only man who had displayed any honourable sentiments during the evening. She felt full of indulgence towards him. Meanwhile, he was still feeling spite against Frédéric.

“Did you notice his face when a question was asked about the portrait? When I told you that he was her lover, you did not wish to believe what I said!”

“Oh! yes, I was wrong!”

Arnoux, gratified with his triumph, pressed the matter even further.

“I’d even make a bet that when he left us, a little while ago, he went to see her again. He’s with her at this moment, you may be sure! He’s finishing the evening with her!”

Madame Arnoux had pulled down her hat very low.

“Why, you’re shaking all over!”

“That’s because I feel cold!” was her reply.

As soon as her father was asleep, Louise made her way into Catherine’s room, and, taking her by the shoulders, shook her.

“Get up—quick! as quick as you can! and go and fetch a cab for me!”

Catherine replied that there was not one to be had at such an hour.

“Will you come with me yourself there, then?”

“Where, might I ask?”

“To Frédéric’s house!”

“Impossible! What do you want to go there for?”

It was in order to have a talk with him. She could not wait. She must see him immediately.

“Just think of what you’re about to do! To present yourself this way at a house in the middle of the night! Besides, he’s asleep by this time!”

“I’ll wake him up!”

“But this is not a proper thing for a young girl to do!”

“I am not a young girl—I’m his wife! I love him! Come—put on your shawl!”

Catherine, stood at the side of the bed, thinking. She said at last:

“No! I won’t go!”

“Well, stay behind then! I’ll go there by myself?”

Louise glided like a snake down the staircase. Catherine rushed after her, and joined her on the sidewalk outside the house. Her remonstrances were fruitless; and she followed the girl, fastening her jacket as she hurried along in the rear. The walk appeared to her exceedingly tedious. She complained that her legs were getting weak from age.

“After all, I haven’t the same thing to drive me on that you have!”

Then she grew softened.

“Poor soul! You haven’t anyone now but your Cathy do you?”

From time to time scruples took hold of her.

“Ah, this is a nice thing you’re making me do! Suppose your father happened to wake and miss you! Lord God, let us hope nothing terrible happens!”

In front of the Theatre des Variétés, a patrol of National Guards stopped them.

Louise immediately explained that she was going with her servant to look for a doctor in the Rue Rumfort. The patrol allowed them to pass on.

At the corner of the Madeleine they came across a second patrol, and, Louise having given the same explanation, one of the National Guards asked in return:

“Is it for a nine months’ ailment, deary?”

“Oh, damn it!” exclaimed the captain, “no foul language in the ranks! Pass on, ladies!”

In spite of the captain’s orders, they still kept cracking jokes.

“Have a good time!”

“My respects to the doctor!”

“Look out for the big bad wolf!”

“They like laughing,” Catherine remarked in a loud tone. “That’s the way it is to be young.”

At last they reached Frédéric’s house.

Louise gave the bell a vigorous pull, which she repeated several times. The door opened a little, and, in answer to her inquiry, the concierge said:

“No!”

“But he must be in bed!”

“I tell you he’s not. Why, for nearly three months he has not slept at home!”

And the little window of the lodge dropped back down sharply, like the blade of a guillotine.

They remained in the darkness under the archway.

An angry voice cried out to them:

“Be off with you!”

The door was again opened; they went out.

Louise had to sit down on a gate-stone; and clasping her face with her hands, she wept copious tears welling up from her full heart. The day was breaking, and carts were making their way into the city.

Catherine led her back home, holding her up, kissing her, and offering her every sort of consolation that she could extract from her own experience. She need not give herself so much trouble about a lover. If this one failed her, she could find others.

W
hen Rosanette’s enthusiasm for the Mobile Guards had calmed down, she became more charming than ever, and Frédéric gradually glided into the habit of living with her.

The best portion of the day was the morning on the terrace. In a light gauze dress, and with slippers on her bare feet, she kept moving about him—went and cleaned her canaries’ cage, gave her gold-fish some water, and with a coal shovel did a little gardening in the window-box filled with soil, from which arose a trellis of nasturtiums, climbing up the wall. Then, leaning, on the balcony, they stood side by side, gazing at the vehicles and the passers-by; and they warmed themselves in the sunlight, and made plans for the evening. He would go out for only two hours at most, and, after that, they would go to some theatre, where they would get seats in front of the stage; and Rosanette, with a large bouquet of flowers in her hand, would listen to the instruments, while Frédéric, leaning close to her ear, would whisper funny stories or loving words. At other times they took an open carriage to the Bois de Boulogne and would drive until late at night. At last they made their way home through the Arc de Triomphe and the grand avenue, inhaling the breeze, with the stars above their heads, and with all the gas-lamps aligned in the background like a double string of luminous pearls.

Frédéric always waited for her when they were going out together. She took a very long time fastening the two ribbons of her bonnet; and she smiled at herself in the mirror set in the wardrobe; then she would slip her arm through his, and, make him look at himself in the glass beside her:

“We look nice this way, the two of us side by side. Ah! my poor darling, I could eat you up!”

He was now her chattel, her property. She wore on her face a continuous radiance, while at the same time she seemed softer and more tender, more rounded in figure; and, without being able to explain in what way, he found her changed, nevertheless.

One day she informed him, as if it were a very important bit of news, that Arnoux had lately set up a linen-draper’s shop for a woman who was formerly employed in his factory. He used to go there every evening—“he spent a great deal on it no less than a week ago; he had even given her a set of rosewood furniture.”