Part 27 (1/2)

”You stand for something in this generation, Xavier; but you must not be unjust. This man you refuse, because he is not like us, is not the less valiant for that.”

”That has to be seen.”

”Has he not declared that he will not enter the Government employ?”

”Because the country pleases him better--and my daughter pleases him also!”

”No; firstly because he is Alsatian.”

”Not like us, I will answer for that!”

”In a new way. They are obliged to live in the midst of Germans.

Their education is carried out in German schools, and their way of loving France leaves room for more honour and more strength of mind than was necessary in our time. Think, it is thirty years ago!”

”Alas!”

”They saw nothing of those times, they have only a traditional love, or a love which is of the imagination, or of family, and examples of forgetfulness are frequent around them!”

”Jean has had, in truth, examples of that sort.”

”That is why you ought to be more just to him. Think that your daughter in marrying him will found here an Alsatian family--very powerful, very wealthy. The officer will not live in Alsheim, nor even long in Alsace. He will soon be only a name.”

M. Bastian placed his heavy hand on M. Ulrich's shoulder, and spoke in a tone which did not allow the discussion to be continued.

”Listen, my friend, I have only one word. It cannot be, because I will not have that marriage: because all those of my generation, dead and living, would reproach me. And then, even if I yielded, Ulrich, there is a will near me stronger than mine, who will never say yes, do you understand, never!”

M. Bastian slipped down among the ferns, and shrugging his shoulders, and shaking his head--like some one who will hear no more--went downwards to his day workers. When he had pa.s.sed between the rows of the cut hops and reprimanded each of the workers, there was no more laughing, and the girls of Alsheim, and the farmer's sons, and the farmer himself, stooping under the burning sun, went on in silence with their work, which had been so joyously begun.

Already M. Ulrich was going up to his hermitage on Sainte Odile, distressed, asking himself what serious effect the refusal of M.

Bastian was going to have on Jean's destiny, and anxious to tell his nephew the news. Without hoping, without believing that there was any chance of it, he would try to make Odile's father give way, and plans hummed round him, like the gadflies in the pine woods, drunk with the sun, and following the traveller in his lonely climb. The streams were singing. There were flocks of thrushes, harbingers crossing the ravines, darting through the blue air to get to the vines and fruits of the plain. It was in vain--he was utterly downcast. He could think of nothing but of his nephew, so badly rewarded for his return to Alsheim. Between the trees and round the branches he gazed at the house of the Oberles.

Any one going into that house just then would have found it extraordinarily quiet. Every one there was suffering. M. Philippe Oberle, as usual had lunched in his room. Madame Oberle, at the express wish of her husband, had consented to come out of her room when M. von Ka.s.sewitz should be announced.

”All the same, I repeat,” she said, ”that I shall not go out of my way to entertain him. I will be there because by your orders I am bound to receive this person. But I shall not go beyond what is strictly necessary.”

”Right,” said M. Oberle, ”Lucienne, Jean, and I will talk to him.

That will suffice.”

And after his meal he had gone at once to his workroom, at the end of the park. Jean, who had shown no enthusiasm, had gone out, for his part, promising to return before three o'clock. Lucienne was alone in the big yellow drawing-room. Very well dressed in a grey princess dress, which had for its only ornament a belt buckle of two shades of gold, like the decorations in the dining-room; she was placing roses in crystal gla.s.ses and slender vases of transparent porcelain, which contrasted well with the hard, definite colour of the velvet furniture. Lucienne had the collectedness of a gambler who sees a game coming to an end, and knows she has won. She had herself, in two recent soirees at Strasburg carried the business through, which now wanted only the signatures of the contracting parties; the official candidature promised to M. Joseph Oberle in the first vacant district.

The visit of M. von Ka.s.sewitz was equivalent to the signing of the treaty. The opposing parties held their tongues, as Madame Oberle held hers, or stood aside in silent sulkiness, like the grandfather.

The young girl went from the mantelpiece to the gilt console, surmounted by a mirror, in which she saw herself reflected, and she thought the movement of her lips very pretty when she made them say ”Monsieur the Prefect!” One thing irritated her, and checked the pride she felt in her victory: the absolute emptiness which was making itself felt around her.

Even the servants seemed to have made up their minds not to be there when they were wanted. They did not answer the bell. After lunch M.

Joseph Oberle had been obliged to go into the servants' hall to find his father's valet, that good-tempered big Alsatian who looked upon himself as being at the beck and call of every one.

”Victor, you will put on your livery to receive the gentleman who will come about three o'clock!”

Victor had grown red and answered with difficulty: