Part 14 (1/2)
Since last night the world was upside-down! Since last night he did not know himself! He knew nothing! Only that all Bernay-sur-Mer was changed. That everything was changed. That he had made Marie-Louise cry. That they had talked about that accursed piece of clay that had made Marie-Louise cry, as though it were worth talking about!
”_Sacre maudit_!” muttered Jean again. ”What does it all mean?”
And then he was watching her, this glorious American, coming now along the beach toward him with the man who Marie-Louise had said was mademoiselle's father.
”Jean!”--she was calling out to him. ”Here is father at last! Did you think we were never coming?”
Two hands fell upon his shoulders, holding him off at arms' length; and the man, with frank eagerness, was staring into his face. Over her father's shoulder, Myrna was laughing roguishly.
”So you are Jean Laparde?” Henry Bliss exclaimed heartily. ”Well, well! My daughter told me I would lose half my surprise when I had a good look at you, and I am free to admit she was right.” One hand fell from Jean's shoulder, caught Jean's hand and wrung it in a genial grip.
”Well, Jean, my boy, I want to say to you that if you will listen to me, this will be a day that you will remember as long as you live.”
From one to the other Jean stared bewilderedly.
”It is to the clay figure that monsieur refers, I know,” he said slowly; ”but I do not understand. Mademoiselle was kind enough to praise it, but--” He shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.
”But--nothing!” laughed Henry Bliss impulsively. ”Here--sit down!” He sat down himself on the boat's gunwale, and turned to his daughter.
”Myrna, we're going to talk business--are you going to stay?”
”Of course, I'm going to stay!” she declared merrily, perching herself beside her father and smiling up at Jean, who still remained standing.
”It will take both of us to convince him. Jean, father wants to take you to Paris.”
”To Paris!”--the words came from Jean with a sort of startled jerk.
His eyes searched the two faces for an instant uncertainly, and then he smiled incredulously. ”Mademoiselle is pleased to have a little joke with me--yes?” he said quietly.
It was Henry Bliss who answered.
”Indeed, she is not!” he a.s.serted, with brisk emphasis. ”That is exactly what I have to propose, my boy. My daughter tells me she cannot make you believe that the superb little statue you have made amounts to anything more than a gouged-out piece of mud. I'm not so much surprised that you have not sensed its actual worth, for I think that almost invariably the really big men in art, the men of real genius, are the last to appreciate themselves; but the astounding thing is that you have seen nothing in it at all. As a matter of fact, I can't believe it. It is impossible! It is simply that you have given it no thought. Think a little about it, Jean. How did you come to make it? How did you conceive it? Where did you get your model?”
”But I do not know,” said Jean a little absently--something, the fire, the enthusiasm, the earnestness in the other's voice was kindling a strange response within him. ”I do not know. I think it was the bronze statue in the great square of the city.”
”The--what?” demanded Henry Bliss quickly. ”What city? I know them all--and I do not recall anything that could have served as a model for you.”
”And you told me, Jean,” Myrna added, wagging her finger at him in pretty reproach, ”that you had never been away from Bernay-sur-Mer.”
Jean laughed uncomfortably, self-consciously.
”It is nothing!” he said. ”You do not understand. It is foolis.h.!.+ The statue and the square and the city are only in the dream that comes sometimes.”
”Ah--a dream!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Henry Bliss, with a quick nod of his head.
”Oh, Jean!” Myrna clapped her hands delightedly. ”Tell us about it.”
”There is nothing to tell, mademoiselle,” he replied, colouring. ”It is just a dream that comes sometimes when I am fis.h.i.+ng, when I lie awake at night, when I am not thinking of it. That is all, mademoiselle. It means nothing.”
”It means a great deal!” said Henry Bliss, jumping excitedly to his feet. ”And at least it should help you to understand that it is not so impossible after all when I tell you that, barring little crudities of technique that are a paltry consideration, there is no sculptor in France to-day could produce a piece of work comparable to that which you have done.”
Jean's lips were slightly parted. Excitement was upon him too. A strange stirring was in his soul.
”But I cannot believe that,” he said in a low voice.