Complete Works of Emile Zola (33 page)

Lorin was an
habitué
of the house. Whilst he was making his fortune he had entrusted various sums to Monsieur Tellier, and the merchant having invested these sums had made them yield enormous profits for both. Hence their friendship. There were mischievous tongues that said the young man had other motives in going to the house, and that for a long time he had come to talk of business with the husband and of love with the wife. Whatever the case may have been, since Jeanne’s arrival Lorin neglected Madame Tellier very markedly.

He now took Daniel’s arm and crossed the room thus, talking to him confidentially.

“What!” said he, “you here? How pleased I am to meet you again!”

“I am extremely obliged, I am sure,” drily answered Daniel, annoyed at this meeting.

“How is Raymond?”

“First-rate.”

“So you allowed yourself to be drawn out of your cell and go astray in this world’s paradise?”

“Oh, I shall get back there. I know my way all right.”

“You come, perhaps, after that young lady out there, whom you are devouring with such greedy eyes?”

“Me!” exclaimed Daniel, in a strange voice.

And he looked Lorin in the face, trembling at the idea of having allowed this man to see into his heart.

“Well, is there anything that can be wondered at in that?” added Lorin. “We all love her. She has magnificent eyes and red, tempting lips. Then she is full of fun, and one could not possibly be dull with her.”

This praise of Jeanne from such a mouth angered Daniel extremely; yet he concealed his wrath, and tried to assume an air of indifference.

“But no money, my dear fellow,” went on Lorin; “not a fraction! Madame Tellier, who is well disposed towards me, had the kindness to warn me. The little girl is as beautiful as an angel, but she is one of those angels who is not satisfied with the clothing her wings give her, but goes to a frightful expense in silks and satins. She would make a charming wife; the worst of it is, she would cost abominably dear.”

After that he was silent a moment or two and seemed to be reflecting. Then suddenly he said:

“Raimboult, would you marry a woman who had not a sou?”

“I do not know,” answered Daniel, astonished at this abrupt question; “I have never considered the matter. I believe I should marry the woman I loved.”

“Perhaps you would be right,” slowly answered Lorin. “As far as I am concerned, I should think I was committing an act of egregious folly.” Then, hesitating, he stopped.

“Pooh!” exclaimed he at last. “Follies are committed every day.” And he changed the subject. He boasted of his fortune. Then he noticed Madame Tellier coming in, being quickly surrounded by a circle of admirers.

“Would you like,” he asked Daniel, “to be introduced to the queen of these regions?”

“There is no need to introduce me,” answered the other; “she is already acquainted with me.”

“But I have never seen you here.”

“It is the first time I have come downstairs. I live in the house. I have been Monsieur Tellier’s secretary the last fortnight.”

Those three short, dry sentences had a most disagreeable effect on Lorin.

“You have?” said he.

And this “you have” in his mouth meant distinctly, “Why the devil did you not inform me of this sooner? I would not have strolled about with you so long.”

He gently dropped Daniel’s arm, and went and joined the group round Madame Tellier. The moment he found out his old comrade was only a secretary, a paid servant, he considered it compromising to be seen with him.

Daniel smiled contemptuously, and regretted not having spoken out sooner, so as to have been the quicker rid of his obnoxious presence. He also, in turn, approached Madame Tellier, keeping, however, a few steps off.

The lady was most elaborately and carefully rejuvenated, having aimed at a youthful appearance, although her face already bore traces of wrinkles. From time to time she cast a furtive look towards Jeanne, and was overjoyed at noticing that she herself was still surrounded by the largest circle, and was still the most courted. The young girl merely represented an object of comparison for her that reassured her against the first signs of old age.

Lorin was there, attentive and gallant. He had far too much hypocritical diplomacy to break off suddenly with a power. He loved and admired the niece, but recollected that the aunt might be useful to him.

Madame Tellier, vain as she was, was yet by no means deceived as to the young man’s inmost thoughts. At the end of a few minutes she said to him in a mischievous, mocking way:

“Monsieur Lorin, pray go and entertain my niece a little; she seems rather dull out there by herself.”

The moment she had spoken, she was sorry. Lorin, annoyed at her guessing his thoughts, bowed and went across to Jeanne. He was followed by some other young men, who hastened to take Madame Tellier’s words literally. A circle was formed round the young girl. Daniel succeeded in gaining the first row.

Jeanne was no longer absent-minded or indifferent. Her eyes brightened and her mouth assumed a mocking expression. She entered feverishly into the worldly gossip carried on around her, stirring up the flippant talk with all the vivacity of her active spirit. Her heart had no share in it. Daniel listened in pained silence. He thought that she was not foolish like the others, but had all their hardness of heart. Then he remembered the dying woman’s words, and began to feel that the room was suffocating, and that his heart must soon cease beating in it.

Jeanne railed on like a spoiled child. She had taken Lorin apart and was saying to him: “So you are quite sure that I am adorable?”

“Most adorable,” emphatically repeated Lorin.

“Would you dare confess this before my aunt?”

“She herself has sent me to tell you so.”

“I am much obliged for her kindness, but I am merciful, and I warn you you are running a great risk.”

“What risk, may I ask?”

“That of my taking seriously what you have just said to me out of compliment.... You must know that I am about to set keepers near me.”

“Keepers! For what reason?” asked Lorin, for her vivacity had cut him to the quick.

Jeanne shrugged her shoulders and set off laughing.

“Can you not guess?” added she. “To prevent fools from falling into the dark pit dug for them by a dowerless girl.”

“I do not understand you,” muttered Lorin.

The young girl looked him in the face and made him lower his eyes.

“All the better,” said she. “Then you must have told me a falsehood; you do not find me adorable.” And she began speaking of other things.

“Have you heard of the terrible accident that took place yesterday at the ‘de la Marche’ races?” suddenly asked Lorin.

“No,” answered Jeanne. “What happened?”

“A jockey broke his ribs in taking the third obstacle. The wretched man uttered groans of agony, and the worst of it was that the horse following his broke his leg also.”

“I was there,” joined in a young man. “I never saw a more dreadful sight.”

A slight shudder contracted Jeanne’s calm face. A pang of pain shot through her form, and then she quietly said: “He must have been an awkward fellow. One ought never to fall off a horse.”

Daniel, so far, had listened in silence. The young girl’s last words made his heart bound in his breast Now he said: “Pardon me, these gentlemen do not know the whole story.” Every one turned towards the interrupter, who spoke with emotion.

“This morning,” continued he, “I read a full account of the accident in the paper. The awkward fellow, who committed the folly of getting killed, was carried, covered in blood, to his mother. This woman, a poor old thing of sixty, went mad with despair. At the present moment her son’s corpse is still unburied; and there is, in a little cell of the ‘Salprêtrière’ (lunatic asylum), a shrieking, lamenting mother.”

Lorin thought his former comrade’s sally in very bad taste, and considered the barbarian was decidedly incorrigible.

Whilst Daniel was speaking, Jeanne was looking fixedly at him. When he had finished, “I thank you, monsieur,” she simply said, and two tears trickled slowly down her cheeks that had become pale.

Daniel gazed at those falling tears with the most profound joy.

CHAPTER IX

SINCE the night when he made her cry, Daniel only lived for Jeanne. She, on her part, felt that he was very different from those who were usually about her; but to tell the truth, he repelled her more than he attracted her. This serious, sad-looking young man, who was strangely ugly, almost terrified her. But she knew that he was there in the house, and that he followed her every movement with the greatest interest.

When she went out in the carriage, although she had vowed she would never do so, she raised her eyes and saw him at the window. This look, however, spoiled all her drive. She wondered what grudge he could have against her. She began to cross-examine herself, fearing she had committed some error.

Daniel, on his side, understood that the battle had begun, and he played his dumb part of preceptor more or less well, longing all the time to throw himself down on his knees before the young girl and beg her forgiveness for the severity he seemed to be practising. He guessed he was displeasing her, and he feared making her thoroughly angry with him. And, indeed, when he saw her looking so beautiful, he felt seized with the most tender affection, and it seemed a crime to disturb her in her happiness.

But his duty spoke with inexorable voice. He had sworn to watch over Jeanne’s happiness, and this feverish worldliness which had taken possession of the young girl could only be a little voluptuousness, which would leave her afterwards repentant and cast down. He wished to withdraw her from these empty pleasures, and to try to do this he was constantly obliged to wound her in her gaieties and in her pride.

So he became a sort of nightmare to Jeanne and Madame Tellier. He dressed himself completely in black. He was always on the spot, putting himself like a barrier between these women and the unworthy life they were leading. He managed his time so that he could follow them wherever they went, to protest, by his presence, against the frivolity of their amusements.

Nothing was more extraordinary than to see this curious young man taking a walk among the fashionable world of Paris. He had been nicknamed “The Black Knight,” and truly he could have had many love affairs if he had chosen.

One day Jeanne was to do the
quête
in a church. Daniel, who had already saved some money, placed himself where the
quêteuse
must pass.

The young girl was advancing with a pleasant smile, thinking much more of the elegance of her toilette than of the misery of the poor. She was there, as if in a drawing room, with a half-mocking, half-smiling look on her face; at last she came in front of Daniel.

“For the poor, if you please,” she said, without looking at him.

The large amount of his offering made her raise her head, and when she recognised the young man she began to blush, without knowing why. She continued her
quête
, but there were tears in her eyes.

On another occasion she was present at a theatre at the representation of a rather risky piece, and she was laughing at, without, however, understanding, the actor’s dangerous jokes. As she turned round she noticed Daniel, who seemed to be looking at her reproachfully. This look went to her heart; she feared at once she was doing wrong since the Black Knight was angry. She laughed no more, and during the
entr’acte
, she went and hid herself at the back of the box.

But what struck her most was Daniel’s intervention in an unpleasant experience she and her aunt had one day. Madame Tellier had formerly, when alone, met with an insult, and this deplorable adventure was repeated on this particular occasion. Two young men, doubtless very much elevated after a superabundant lunch, met them, and thought they had to do with women of doubtful reputation, for the ladies were most showily dressed, and seemed to them to promise an easy conquest. One young man even pretended that he knew them.

“Hullo! Pomponette!” he exclaimed, addressing Jeanne. And as the young girl stared at him, terrified and speechless: “Are you going to do the proud?” he went on. But he suddenly felt himself seized by the arm. Daniel held him in a close grasp.

“Monsieur,” said he, “you have made a mistake.... Be quick and make your excuses to these ladies.” He pointed to them, and dragged him to the carriage door. The young man stammered, and the only excuse he made was to say:

“Pardon, but if respectable women are dressed like women that are the reverse, how do you expect people to distinguish between them?”

Daniel allowed him to depart, and he entered the carriage of Madame Tellier at her request. The coachman was told to return to the rue d’Amsterdam. He drove off, giggling and cracking his whip.

The carriage was crossing the place de la Concorde when Daniel perceived a queen of the
demi-monde
passing by, laughing immoderately. He pointed her out to Jeanne and quietly said:

“Mademoiselle, there is Pomponette!”

The young girl looked at the creature for whom she had just been mistaken, and she blushed when she saw that they were dressed in exactly the same style. There was the same extremity of fashion and the same reckless luxury. Directly she reached home she went up to her room to weep without being disturbed, and thus get over the wicked temper she felt against Daniel.

But Madame Tellier henceforth hated her husband’s secretary cordially. For his action in the last adventure that had happened to them she could not help but thank him, but she was singularly irritated by the forwardness of this young man, who formed, she said, a dark blot on her establishment.

On several occasions she had tried to have him dismissed, but the deputy clung to Daniel, for he had made himself indispensable to him. He could give full fling to his folly since he paid a brain to be intelligent for him, and he felt so thoroughly at home in his folly that he took great care not to deprive himself of that commodity. He received his wife’s complaints with condescending superiority; he sent her off to her furbelows, telling her that as he was tolerant to her toilettes, she, for her part, ought to tolerate his secretary. So long as he had been the mere tradesman he had shown himself tractable enough, but since he had become a deputy he had taken the attitude of a master, and intended to rule all around him.