Part 20 (1/2)
Jack was able to see the interiors of the various workshops, the doors being set widely open on account of the heat; he saw rapid movements of arms and blackened faces; he saw machines in motion, first in shadow, and then with a red light playing over their polished surface.
Puffs of hot air, a smell of oil and of iron, accompanied by an impalpable black dust, a dust that was as sharp as needles and sparkled like diamonds,--all this Jack felt; but the peculiar characteristic of the place was a certain jarring, something like the effort of an enormous beast to shake off the chains that bound him in some subterranean dungeon.
They had now reached an old chateau of the time of the League.
”Here we are,” said Rondic; and addressing his brother, ”Will you go up with us?”
”Indeed I will; I am, besides, by no means unwilling to see 'the monkey'
once more, and to show him that I have become somebody and something.”
He pulled down his velvet vest, and glanced at his yellow boots and knapsack. Rondic made no remark, but seemed somewhat annoyed.
They pa.s.sed through the low postern; on either side of the hall were small and badly lighted rooms, where clerks were very busy writing. In the inner room, a man with a stern and haughty face sat writing under a high window.
”Ah, it is you, Pere Rondic!”
”Yes, sir; I come to present the new apprentice, and to thank you for--”
”This is the prodigy, then, is it? It seems, young man, that you have an absolute talent for mechanics. But, Rondic, he does not look very strong. Is he delicate?”
”No, sir; on the contrary, I have been a.s.sured that he is remarkably robust.”
”Remarkably,” repeated Laba.s.sandre, coming forward, and, in reply to the astonished glance of the Director, proceeded to say that he left the manufactory six years before to join the opera in Paris.
”Ah, yes, I remember,” answered the Director, coldly enough, rising at the same time as if to indicate that the conversation was at an end.
”Take away your apprentice, Rondic, and try and make a good workman of him. Under you he must turn out well.”
The opera-singer, vexed at having produced no effect, went away somewhat crestfallen. Rondic lingered and said a few words to his master, and then the two men and the child descended the stairs together, each with a different impression. Jack thought of the words ”he does not look very strong,” while Laba.s.sandre digested his own mortification as he best might. ”Has anything gone wrong?” he suddenly asked his brother,--”the Director seems even more surly now than in my day.”
”No; he spoke to me of Chariot, our poor sister's son, who is giving us a great deal of trouble.”
”In what way?” asked the artist.
”Since his mother's death he drinks and gambles, and has contracted debts. He is a wonderful draughtsman, and has high wages, but spends them before he has them. He has promised us all to reform, but he breaks his promises as fast as he makes them. I have paid his debts for him several times, but I can never do it again. I have my own family, you see, and Zenade is growing up, and she must be established. Poor girl!
Women have more sense than we. I wanted her to marry her cousin, but she would not consent. Now we are trying to separate him from his bad acquaintances here, and the Director has found a situation at Nantes; but I dare say the obstinate fellow will object. You will reason with him to-night, can't you? He will, perhaps, listen to you.”
”I will see what I can do,” answered Laba.s.sandre, pompously.
As they talked they reached the main street, crowded at this hour with all cla.s.ses of people, some in mechanics' blouses, others wearing coats.
Jack was struck with the contrast presented by a crowd like this to one in Paris, composed of similar cla.s.ses.
Laba.s.sandre was greeted with enthusiasm. The whisper went about that he received a hundred thousand francs per year for merely singing. His theatrical costume won universal admiration, and his bland smile shone first on one side and then on the other, as he nodded patronizingly to first one and then another of his old friends.
At the door of Rondic's house stood a young woman talking to a youth two or three steps below. Jack thought she must be the old man's daughter, and then remembered that he had married a second time. She was tall and slender, young and pretty, with a gentle face, white throat, and a graceful head which bent slightly forward as if bowed by its rich weight of hair. Unlike the Breton peasants, she wore no cap; her light dress and black ap.r.o.n were totally unlike the costume of a working woman.
”Is she not pretty?” asked Rondic of his brother. ”She has been giving a lecture to her nephew.”
Madame Rondic turned at that moment, and greeted them warmly. ”I hope,”