Part 24 (1/2)
”There are seven or eight very large ones up in the garret, which were kept on account of the frames,” said Gilet.
”Let me see them!” cried the artist; and Max took him upstairs.
Joseph came down wildly enthusiastic. Max whispered a word to the Rabouilleuse, who took the old man into the embrasure of a window, where Joseph heard her say in a low voice, but still so that he could hear the words:--
”Your nephew is a painter; you don't care for those pictures; be kind, and give them to him.”
”It seems,” said Jean-Jacques, leaning on Flore's arm to reach the place were Joseph was standing in ecstasy before an Albano, ”--it seems that you are a painter--”
”Only a 'rapin,'” said Joseph.
”What may that be?” asked Flore.
”A beginner,” replied Joseph.
”Well,” continued Jean-Jacques, ”if these pictures can be of any use to you in your business, I give them to you,--but without the frames. Oh!
the frames are gilt, and besides, they are very funny; I will put--”
”Well done, uncle!” cried Joseph, enchanted; ”I'll make you copies of the same dimensions, which you can put into the frames.”
”But that will take your time, and you will want canvas and colors,”
said Flore. ”You will have to spend money. Come, Pere Rouget, offer your nephew a hundred francs for each copy; here are twenty-seven pictures, and I think there are eleven very big ones in the garret which ought to cost double,--call the whole four thousand francs. Oh, yes,” she went on, turning to Joseph, ”your uncle can well afford to pay you four thousand francs for making the copies, since he keeps the frames--but bless me! you'll want frames; and they say frames cost more than pictures; there's more gold on them. Answer, monsieur,” she continued, shaking the old man's arm. ”Hein? it isn't dear; your nephew will take four thousand francs for new pictures in the place of the old ones.
It is,” she whispered in his ear, ”a very good way to give him four thousand francs; he doesn't look to me very flush--”
”Well, nephew, I will pay you four thousand francs for the copies--”
”No, no!” said the honest Joseph; ”four thousand francs and the pictures, that's too much; the pictures, don't you see, are valuable--”
”Accept, simpleton!” said Flore; ”he is your uncle, you know.”
”Very good, I accept,” said Joseph, bewildered by the luck that had befallen him; for he had recognized a Perugino.
The result was that the artist beamed with satisfaction as he went out of the house with the Rabouilleuse on his arm, all of which helped Maxence's plans immensely. Neither Flore, nor Rouget, nor Max, nor indeed any one in Issoudun knew the value of the pictures, and the crafty Max thought he had bought Flore's triumph for a song, as she paraded triumphantly before the eyes of the astonished town, leaning on the arm of her master's nephew, and evidently on the best of terms with him. People flocked to their doors to see the crab-girl's triumph over the family. This astounding event made the sensation on which Max counted; so that when they all returned at five o'clock, nothing was talked of in every household but the cordial understanding between Max and Flore and the nephew of old Rouget. The incident of the pictures and the four thousand francs circulated already. The dinner, at which Lousteau, one of the court judges, and the Mayor of Issoudun were present, was splendid. It was one of those provincial dinners lasting five hours. The most exquisite wines enlivened the conversation. By nine o'clock, at dessert, the painter, seated opposite to his uncle, and between Flore and Max, had fraternized with the soldier, and thought him the best fellow on earth. Joseph returned home at eleven o'clock somewhat tipsy. As to old Rouget, Kouski had carried him to his bed dead-drunk; he had eaten as though he were an actor from foreign parts, and had soaked up the wine like the sands of the desert.
”Well,” said Max when he was alone with Flore, ”isn't this better than making faces at them? The Bridaus are well received, they get small presents, and are smothered with attentions, and the end of it is they will sing our praises; they will go away satisfied and leave us in peace. To-morrow morning you and I and Kouski will take down all those pictures and send them over to the painter, so that he shall see them when he wakes up. We will put the frames in the garret, and cover the walls with one of those varnished papers which represent scenes from Telemachus, such as I have seen at Monsieur Mouilleron's.”
”Oh, that will be much prettier!” said Flore.
On the morrow, Joseph did not wake up till midday. From his bed he saw the pictures, which had been brought in while he was asleep, leaning one against another on the opposite wall. While he examined them anew, recognizing each masterpiece, studying the manner of each painter, and searching for the signature, his mother had gone to see and thank her brother, urged thereto by old Hochon, who, having heard of the follies the painter had committed the night before, almost despaired of the Bridau cause.
”Your adversaries have the cunning of foxes,” he said to Agathe. ”In all my days I never saw a man carry things with such a high hand as that soldier; they say war educates young men! Joseph has let himself be fooled. They have shut his mouth with wine, and those miserable pictures, and four thousand francs! Your artist hasn't cost Maxence much!”
The long-headed old man instructed Madame Bridau carefully as to the line of conduct she ought to pursue,--advising her to enter into Maxence's ideas and cajole Flore, so as to set up a sort of intimacy with her, and thus obtain a few moments' interview with Jean-Jacques alone. Madame Bridau was very warmly received by her brother, to whom Flore had taught his lesson. The old man was in bed, quite ill from the excesses of the night before. As Agathe, under the circ.u.mstances, could scarcely begin at once to speak of family matters, Max thought it proper and magnanimous to leave the brother and sister alone together. The calculation was a good one. Poor Agathe found her brother so ill that she would not deprive him of Madame Brazier's care.
”Besides,” she said to the old bachelor, ”I wish to know a person to whom I am grateful for the happiness of my brother.”
These words gave evident pleasure to the old man, who rang for Madame Flore. Flore, as we may well believe, was not far off. The female antagonists bowed to each other. The Rabouilleuse showed the most servile attentions and the utmost tenderness to her master; fancied his head was too low, beat up the pillows, and took care of him like a bride of yesterday. The poor creature received it with a rush of feeling.
”We owe you much grat.i.tude, mademoiselle,” said Agathe, ”for the proofs of attachment you have so long given to my brother, and for the way in which you watch over his happiness.”