Part 17 (1/2)

In the savage plainness of these words and the excited ring of the angry voice, the sculptor could scarcely recognise his gentle courteous friend, to whom mere living used to be a joy. The absent expression in his eye, the anxious wrinkle on his brow, and the heat of the hand which grasped Vedrine's, all betrayed his subjection to one absorbing pa.s.sion, one fixed idea. But the meeting with Vedrine seemed to have relieved his nerves, and he asked affectionately, 'Well, what are you doing, and how are you getting on? How is your wife? And the children?' His friend answered with his quiet smile. All were doing well, thank G.o.d. The little girl was just going to be weaned. The boy continued to fulfil his function of looking lovely, and was waiting impatiently for old Rehu's centenary. As for himself, he was hard at work. He had two pictures in the Salon this year, not badly hung, and not badly sold. On the other hand a creditor, not less unwise than hard, had taken possession of the Knight, and he had pa.s.sed from stage to stage, first lying much in the way in a fine suite of rooms on the ground floor in the Rue St.

Petersbourg, then packed off to a stable at Batignolles, and now s.h.i.+vering under a cowkeeper's shed at Levallois, where from time to time the sculptor and his family went to pay him a visit.

'So much for glory!' added Vedrine with a laugh, as the voice of the usher called for the witness Astier-Rehu. The head of the Permanent Secretary showed for a moment, outlined against the dusty light of the court-room, upright and steady; but his back he had forgotten to control, and the s.h.i.+ver of his broad shoulders betrayed intense feeling.

'Poor man,' muttered the sculptor, 'he's got heavy trials to go through.

This autograph business, and his son's marriage.'

'Is Paul Astier married?'

'Yes, three days ago, to the d.u.c.h.ess Padovani. It was a sort of morganatic marriage, with no guests but the young man's mamma and the four witnesses. I was one of them, as you may suppose, for a freak of fate seems to a.s.sociate me with all the acts and deeds of the Astier family.'

And Vedrine described the sorrowful surprise with which in the Mayor's room he had seen the d.u.c.h.ess Padovani appear, deathly pale, as haughty as ever, but withered and heart-broken, with a ma.s.s of grey hair, the poor beautiful hair that she no longer took the trouble to dye. By her side was Paul Astier, the Count, smiling, cold, and charming as before.

They all looked at one another, and n.o.body had a word to say except the official who, after a good stare at the two old ladies, felt it inc.u.mbent upon him to remark with a gracious bow:

'We are only waiting for the bride.'

'The bride is here,' replied the d.u.c.h.ess, stepping forward with head erect and a bitter smile which spoilt and twisted her beautiful mouth.

From the Mayor's office, where the deputy on duty had the good taste to spare them an oration, they adjourned to the Catholic Inst.i.tute in the Rue de Vaugirard, an aristocratic church, all over gilding and flowers and a blaze of candles, but not a soul there, n.o.body but the wedding party on a single row of chairs, to hear the Papal Nuncio, Monsignor Adriani, mumble an interminable homily out of an illuminated book. A fine thing it was, to hear the worldly prelate with large nose, thin lips, and hollow shoulders under his violet cape, talking of the 'honourable traditions of the husband and the charms of the wife,' with a sombre, cynical side-glance at the velvet cus.h.i.+ons of the unhappy couple. Then came the departure; cold good-byes were exchanged under the arches of the little cloister, and a sigh of relief with 'Well, that's over,' escaped the d.u.c.h.ess, said in the despairing, disenchanted accent of a woman who has measured the abyss, and leaps in with her eyes open only to keep her word.

'Ah, well,' Vedrine went on, 'I have seen gloomy and lamentable sights enough in the course of my lite, but never anything so heart-breaking as Paul Astier's wedding.'

'He's a fine rascal, though, is our young friend,' said Freydet, between his closed teeth.

'Yes, a precious product of the ”struggle for existence.”'

The sculptor repeated the phrase with emphasis. A 'struggler for existence' was his name for the novel tribe of young savages who cite the necessity of 'nature's war' as an hypocritical excuse for every kind of meanness. Freydet went on:

'Well, anyhow, he's rich now, which is what he wanted. His nose has not led him astray this time.'

'Wait and see. The d.u.c.h.ess is not easy to get on with, and he looked devilish wicked at the Mayor's. If the old lady bores him too much, we may still see him some day at the a.s.size Court, son and grandson of divinities as he is.'

'The witness Vedrine!' called the usher at the top of his voice.

At the same moment a huge roar of laughter ran over the thronging crowd and came through the door as it swung open. 'They don't seem bored in there,' said the munic.i.p.al officer posted in the pa.s.sage. The witnesses'

room, which had been gradually emptying during the chat of the two schoolfellows, now contained only Freydet and the caretaker, who, scared at having to appear in court, was twisting the strings of her cap like a lunatic. The worthy candidate, on the contrary, thought he had an unparalleled opportunity of burning incense at the shrine of the Academie Francaise and its Permanent Secretary. Left alone, when the good woman's turn came, he paced up and down the room, planted himself in front of the window, and let off well-rounded periods accompanied by magnificent gestures of his black gloves. But he was misunderstood in the house opposite; and a fat hand at the end of a bare arm pulled aside a pink curtain and waved to him. Freydet, flus.h.i.+ng crimson with shame, moved quickly away from the window, and took refuge in the pa.s.sage.

'The Public Prosecutor is speaking now,' said the doorkeeper in a whisper, as a voice in a tone of a.s.sumed indignation rang through the heated air of the court--'You played,' it said, 'on the innocent pa.s.sion of an old man.'

'But how about me?' said Freydet, thinking aloud.

'I expect you have been forgotten.'

Freydet was at first puzzled, but presently disgusted at the strange fate which prevented his coming forward in public as the champion of the Academie, and so getting himself talked about and seeing his name for once in the papers. Just then a shout of laughter greeted the enumeration of the forgeries in the Mesnil-Case collection; letters from kings, popes, empresses, Turenne, Buffon, Montaigne, La Boetie, Clemence Isaure, and the mere mention of the absurd list showed the extraordinary simplicity of the historian who had been befooled by the little dwarf.

But at the thought that this disrespectful laugh was a scoff at his master and protector, Freydet felt an indignation not altogether free from selfishness. He felt that he was himself hit by the recoil, and his candidature damaged again. He broke away, mingling in the stir of the general exodus amid a confusion of footmen running to and fro in the beautiful waning light of a fine June day, while the parasols, pink, white, mauve, or green opened like so many large flowers. Little explosions of laughter were still coming from the various groups, as if they had been seeing an amusing piece at the theatre. The little humpback had got it hot--five years' imprisonment and costs. But how comic Margery had been! Marguerite Oger was exclaiming in fits, 'Oh my dears, my dears!' and Danjou, escorting Madame Eviza to her carriage, said aloud in his cynical way, 'It's a slap in the face for the Academie, well planted--but it was cleverly done.'