Part 21 (1/2)
”But Butscha, where is he?”
”Let us take Butscha,” said the duke, smiling.
When the people on the quays, attracted in groups by the splendor of the royal equipage, saw the funny spectacle, the three little men with the spare gigantic woman, they looked at one another and laughed.
”If you melt all three together, they might make one man fit to mate with that big cod-fish,” said a sailor from Bordeaux.
”Is there any other thing you would like to take with you, madame?”
asked the duke, jestingly, while the footman awaited his orders.
”No, monseigneur,” she replied, turning scarlet and looking at her husband as much as to say, ”What did I do wrong?”
”Monsieur le duc honors me by considering that I am a thing,” said Butscha; ”a poor clerk is usually thought to be a nonent.i.ty.”
Though this was said with a laugh, the duke colored and did not answer.
Great people are to blame for joking with their social inferiors.
Jesting is a game, and games presuppose equality; it is to obviate any inconvenient results of this temporary equality that players have the right, after the game is over, not to recognize each other.
The visit of the grand equerry had the ostensible excuse of an important piece of business; namely, the retrieval of an immense tract of waste land left by the sea between the mouths of the two rivers, which tract had just been adjudged by the Council of State to the house of Herouville. The matter was nothing less than putting flood-gates with double bridges, draining three or four hundred acres, cutting ca.n.a.ls, and laying out roadways. When the duke had explained the condition of the land, Charles Mignon remarked that time must be allowed for the soil, which was still moving, to settle and grow solid in a natural way.
”Time, which has providentially enriched your house, Monsieur le duc, can alone complete the work,” he said, in conclusion. ”It would be prudent to let fifty years elapse before you reclaim the land.”
”Do not let that be your final word, Monsieur le comte,” said the duke.
”Come to Herouville and see things for yourself.”
Charles Mignon replied that every capitalist should take time to examine into such matters with a cool head, thus giving the duke a pretext for his visits to the Chalet. The sight of Modeste made a lively impression on the young man, and he asked the favor of receiving her at Herouville with her father, saying that his sister and his aunt had heard much of her, and wished to make her acquaintance. On this the count proposed to present his daughter to those ladies himself, and invited the whole party to dinner on the day of his return to the villa. The duke accepted the invitation. The blue ribbon, the t.i.tle, and above all, the ecstatic glances of the n.o.ble gentleman had an effect upon Modeste; but she appeared to great advantage in carriage, dignity, and conversation. The duke withdrew reluctantly, carrying with him an invitation to visit the Chalet every evening,--an invitation based on the impossibility of a courtier of Charles X. existing for a single evening without his rubber.
The following evening, therefore, Modeste was to see all three of her lovers. No matter what young girls may say, and though the logic of the heart may lead them to sacrifice everything to preference, it is extremely flattering to their self-love to see a number of rival adorers around them,--distinguished or celebrated men, or men of ancient lineage,--all endeavoring to s.h.i.+ne and to please. Suffer as Modeste may in general estimation, it must be told she subsequently admitted that the sentiments expressed in her letters paled before the pleasure of seeing three such different minds at war with one another,--three men who, taken separately, would each have done honor to the most exacting family. Yet this luxury of self-love was checked by a misanthropical spitefulness, resulting from the terrible wound she had received,--although by this time she was beginning to think of that wound as a disappointment only. So when her father said to her, laughing, ”Well, Modeste, do you want to be a d.u.c.h.ess?” she answered, with a mocking curtsey,--
”Sorrows have made me philosophical.”
”Do you mean to be only a baroness?” asked Butscha.
”Or a viscountess?” said her father.
”How could that be?” she asked quickly.
”If you accept Monsieur de La Briere, he has enough merit and influence to obtain permission from the king to bear my t.i.tles and arms.”
”Oh, if it comes to disguising himself, _he_ will not make any difficulty,” said Modeste, scornfully.
Butscha did not understand this epigram, whose meaning could only be guessed by Monsieur and Madame Mignon and Dumay.
”When it is a question of marriage, all men disguise themselves,”
remarked Latournelle, ”and women set them the example. I've heard it said ever since I came into the world that 'Monsieur this or Mademoiselle that has made a good marriage,'--meaning that the other side had made a bad one.”
”Marriage,” said Butscha, ”is like a lawsuit; there's always one side discontented. If one dupes the other, certainly half the husbands in the world are playing a comedy at the expense of the other half.”