Chapter III: Part 3

Marcel was about to reply. Julie, who evidently knew nothing about business, paid no heed to him, but answered ingenuously:

"Oh! I know nothing about that. You are well-known to be a shrewd and fair-minded man; you may fix the price yourself."

Regardless of her solicitor's reproachful glance, she continued:

"You cannot believe, Monsieur Thierry, that the purpose of my visit to your garden was to haggle with you over the price of my small property. I know that it will probably be of advantage to you to own it, and you know that I am in straitened circumstances; that is no reason why we should be unreasonable in our demands upon each other; but in justice to myself I must tell you this, that I would not for a million francs consent to distress madame your sister-in-law, because I love and honor her especially. That being understood, you can think it over and let me know your decision; for you owe me a call now, my dear neighbor, and I shall not release you from the debt, whether we come to terms or not."

The countess withdrew, leaving the rich man dazzled by her charms; but, as he did not choose to allow Marcel to see his emotion, he pretended to exult for another reason.

"Well, attorney," he said triumphantly, "so you are fairly caught, and sheepish enough! What did you say about that lady's demands? She has more sense than you, and is willing to take my valuation----"

"Very good, very good, rejoice at her charming manners," replied Marcel, "and make the most of the praise which you owe to her politeness; but try to understand and to rise to the level of the rôle which she ascribes to you!"

"After all," rejoined Antoine, who was a very shrewd man of business, "when you say to a man like me: 'Pay what you choose,' it means: 'Pay like a great nobleman!' Very good, I will pay you a good price, _mordi!_ and the great lady shall see whether I'm an old curmudgeon like her father-in-law the marquis! There is one thing that surprises me on the part of a woman who seems to be no fool: and that is the fuss she makes about my sister-in-law! I am not quite sure whether she meant to be agreeable to me or to make sport of me when she was talking about her."

"She meant to be agreeable to you."

"Of course, as she needs me; but then my sister-in-law must have made me out a miser?"

"My aunt has not mentioned you. Act in such a way that she will have no reason to complain."

"Let her complain if she chooses! what do I care? What do I want of this countess's esteem and friendship?"

"True," said Marcel, taking his hat, "it is all a matter of the utmost indifference to you! No matter, don't try to make yourself out a boor, and let us agree on a day so that I can announce your visit."

Antoine selected the second day thereafter, and they parted; but on the next day, without a word to Marcel, he took measures, indirectly but adroitly, to repurchase the house at Sèvres without loss to himself. Had he decided to make his nephew that present, to give his sister-in-law that pleasure? No indeed. There never was a more vindictive man, because nothing had occurred to wear out his passions, good or evil. There had been nothing in his narrow life of sufficient importance to soften the asperities of his nature. But a blow had been dealt at his secret vanity, and Julie d'Estrelle, without artifice, without scheming to that end, had subdued that savage spirit. He found in her an irresistible charm and an unaffected tone of equality, which, to be sure, he attributed to her need of money, but which flattered him as he had never been flattered in his life before. He had determined therefore to pretend to feel something like compassion for Madame Thierry. He was afraid that she would really do him an injury in Julie's estimation, and by purchasing the house at Sèvres in his own name, he persuaded himself that he would hold his foe in respect by the hope that that transaction would prove to be for Julien's benefit.

Meanwhile Marcel continued his efforts to relieve Madame d'Estrelle gradually from her burden, and on the evening of the day of her visit to Monsieur Antoine, he called upon her to scold her for her recklessness, and to insist that she should make the purchaser jump high for the sugar-plum. He found her disinclined to assent to any manœuvring to secure the desired result.

"Do as you think best, my dear Monsieur Thierry," she said; "but do not ask me to assist you. You told me that your uncle was a little vain, that I could easily gain some influence over him by virtue of my title, and that, by means of that influence, I could arouse his interest in his sister-in-law's lot. I made haste to test my power. You tell me that you hope for some good result; I did what my heart dictated, do not ask me to do anything more. Why are you in such a hurry to sell the pavilion? Didn't you tell me that my husband's creditors would be patient when they found that I was provided with an additional piece of real estate, that the marquis would never allow the hôtel d'Estrelle to be sold, and that I might venture to forget my troubles for some time? Keep your word and let your uncle hover about the pavilion, for that will give me an excuse for pleading Madame Thierry's cause. I told the truth when I said that I did not propose that she should be turned out of her present quarters against her will, and I tell you now that I should regret exceedingly to lose her as a neighbor."

Marcel, being unable to shake her determination, went to see his aunt Thierry and told her and Julien of the countess's generous action and of her kindly feeling for them. Madame Thierry was affected to tears, and, as Julien was careful to play his part well, so that certain suspicions might be dissipated, she ventured to express herself freely in praise of Julie d'Estrelle. Her heart was overflowing with gratitude which she had with difficulty restrained for two days past. Thus did the poor mother herself pour oil on the flame.

However, her suspicions came to life again more than once. She watched Julien furtively at every word that she uttered, and he seemed always perfectly tranquil; but suddenly there came a revelation. As she was saying to Marcel that she did not wish to stand in the way of Julie's selling the pavilion, and that she would pretend not to regret the necessity of moving, Julien warmly remonstrated.

"Move again?" he said. "We cannot do it. We spent a great deal, considering our income, in getting settled here."

"Our uncle will attend to that," said Marcel; "if he makes you move, I will undertake to make him pay----"

"My dear fellow," replied Julien, still very earnest, "you are full of zeal and kindness for us; but you know very well that my mother does not like your appeals to Uncle Antoine, that you have made them in a measure against her will, and that, if my interests were not involved, she would have peremptorily forbidden them. Whether she is right or wrong in considering Monsieur Thierry a detestable creature is not for us to judge. For my own part, however painful it may be to me, I will make all possible concessions to our kinsman's extraordinary character; but I do not propose that my mother's pride shall be wounded in her relations with him."

"No, no! I have no pride," cried Madame Thierry. "I have none now, Julien! You work too hard, you will surely be sick if we refuse to treat with Monsieur Antoine. Whatever Marcel does, I approve, and if I must humble myself, I shall be happy to do it! Let us do our duty, pay all our debts before everything. Let us say to the countess that it makes little difference to us whether we live here or somewhere else, so that she can sell at once; and let Marcel say to Monsieur Thierry that we demand our rights or that we appeal to his generosity--anything will satisfy me that will restore your health and peace of mind."

"My health is excellent," replied Julien warmly, "and nothing except moving again would disturb my peace of mind. I like my studio, I have a picture under way."

"But you are talking selfishly, my child! You forget that the countess is having trouble with her creditors as we are, even more than we are just now."

"And do you think that Monsieur Antoine will save her by buying this old barrack? Marcel knows better."

"What I think," said Marcel, "is that Uncle Antoine will submit to any conditions that the Comtesse d'Estrelle chooses to impose on him; he will pay a high price and he won't turn you out. Leave it to me and I may bring him to something even better."

"To what, pray?"

"That is my secret. You shall know later, if I do not fail."

"Bless my soul!" said Madame Thierry, abruptly changing the subject, "I forgot to bring my snuff-box; go and get it for me, Julien."

Julien went upstairs and his mother took advantage of the opportunity to say hastily to Marcel:

"Be careful, my dear child! a great disaster is hanging over us: Julien is in love with the countess!"

"Nonsense!" cried Marcel in utter stupefaction; "you are dreaming, my dear aunt, it isn't possible!"

"Speak lower. It is possible, it is a fact. Arrange for us to leave these dangerous quarters at once. Find some way without letting him suspect what I say. Save him and save me! Hush! he is coming down again!"

Julien had done the errand in a moment. He was in a hurry to resume the conversation; but he noticed a shade of constraint in his mother's glance, a suggestion of bewilderment and surprise in Marcel's manner. He suspected that he had betrayed himself, and he at once assumed a cheerful and indifferent air, which did not deceive Madame Thierry, but which reassured the solicitor. So Marcel took his leave, saying to himself that he would sound his cousin some day, but fully persuaded that his aunt was losing her wits a little, in the midst of all her excitement.

But Marcel made a much more astonishing discovery, a discovery so truly astonishing that we beg our readers to prepare themselves for it a long while beforehand.

Uncle Antoine paid his visit to Madame d'Estrelle. Madame d'Estrelle, without preparation or effort, was as charming, perhaps more charming than at their first interview. She received the horticulturist with neither more nor less affability than a person of her own station. Being gifted with a penetration which made up for his lack of experience, he realized that his reception was unexceptionable, and felt that he had never been so well treated by a person of such high rank. He recognized, moreover, that she was entirely indifferent to the question of money, and that her condescension concealed no ulterior motive, not even the motive of effecting a reconciliation between himself and Madame Thierry, as she avowed it frankly and with a most earnest and confident expression of her desire.

Marcel, seeing the gratification which his uncle derived from that interview, and which he almost forgot to conceal, realized that perfect sincerity was in some cases the shrewdest diplomacy, and that Madame d'Estrelle had accomplished more for her protégés and herself than if she had attempted to use craft.

"Now," said Monsieur Antoine, without waiting to be questioned, "we must settle this business of the pavilion. It is worth forty thousand francs to me, I know; I will give that amount, and as I propose to take possession at once, I owe it to Madame Thierry to submit to any claims she may make. I don't propose to have any discussion with that woman. So tell her that I will pay the six thousand francs for which I made myself responsible, and release her from any claim on that account; here is my receipt. And if she needs a few more francs to pay the expenses of moving, I won't refuse to let her have them. Go, and don't let me hear any more of her troubles; but, first of all, take the countess my offer, which I think is rather generous, and tell her of my promise to indemnify her protégés to their satisfaction."

Marcel, amazed but overjoyed, carried the good news first to Madame Thierry, who thanked heaven, and was very near blessing her brother-in-law for his determination to make her move instantly and at any price.

Madame d'Estrelle was not so well pleased; she had seen the attractive widow again, and had already become very fond of talking with her; moreover, she had some scruples; Monsieur Antoine's munificence seemed to her the foolish act of a parvenu and therefore humiliating to her.

"He will think," she said, "that I schemed to induce him to make this sacrifice, and that idea is abhorrent to me. No, I will accept only half of that sum. I much prefer to retain his esteem and my influence in behalf of the poor Thierrys. Go and tell him that I want but twenty thousand francs and a renewal of your aunt's lease."

"But my aunt is most anxious to move," Marcel replied. "Remember that a sum of considerable importance to her is involved."

"In that case give no more attention to her affairs in my name, but take special care of my dignity, which I place in your hands."

This reply, being duly transmitted to Monsieur Antoine, caused an explosion which astonished Marcel.

"So she declines my services," cried the rich man, "for I did intend to do her a service, knowing her embarrassment, and I went to her as a friend, since she had treated me like a friend! Ah! you see, Marcel, she is proud, she despises me, and she lied when she told me that she esteemed me! Very good, if that's how it is, I'll have my revenge. Yes, I'll have a cruel revenge, and she shall have only what she deserves, and, death of my life! I'll force her to go on her knees to me!"

Marcel silently scrutinized the angry rich man's still handsome and decidedly cruel face.

"What is this new mystery?" he said to himself, as he watched the black eyes, made larger by the fierce wrath which caused them to emit threatening flames. "Can wounded vanity cause such an outbreak? Can it be that my uncle is on the verge of madness? Is this solitary, monotonous, preoccupied life too much for his strength, and has his persistent turning of his back on everything that gives light and warmth to the lives of other men finally caused derangement in his brain?"

Antoine continued vehemently, heedless of Marcel's careful study of his person:

"I see what the game is! She wants my sacrifices to help Madame Thierry. Well, I tell you that I snap my fingers at Mademoiselle de Meuil! It's a long time since I ceased to have either hatred or affection for her. Let her go to the devil, and don't let me hear her name again! I will pay forty thousand francs for the pavilion, or I won't buy it. That's my way of thinking."

Matters remained in this position for several days; Madame d'Estrelle laughing at what she considered an attack of madness on the part of the old parvenu, and he, without Marcel's knowledge, acting in such a way as to put the finishing touch to that madness.

He purchased secretly all the debts which were hanging over the Comte d'Estrelle's widow, and, without saying a word, placed himself in a position where he could ruin her or save her, according to the attitude she might assume with respect to him. He purchased on his own account, but under a fictitious name, and with a deed of defeasance, the house at Sèvres with all its beautiful and costly contents. He did not let it, but placed a caretaker there to keep it in order. All this was done in a few days and without regard to cost; then, having artfully made inquiries of Marcel as to Madame d'Estrelle's intimate friends, he called upon the Baronne d'Ancourt, who received him with her grandest manner, but condescended to listen attentively when she learned that he had come to place her in a position to save Madame d'Estrelle from certain ruin.

Their interview was long and mysterious. The servants at the hôtel d'Ancourt, who were exceedingly puzzled by such a conference between their haughty mistress and a man dressed like a peasant, heard the baroness's shrill tones, then the rustic voice in labored and emphatic declamation--a dispute, in short, with intervals of raillery or merriment; for at times the baroness laughed until the windows shook.

An hour later the baroness hurried to Madame d'Estrelle.

"My dear," she said in great excitement, "I bring you five millions or poverty; choose."

"Ah! an old husband, I suppose?" said Julie; "you cling to your idea, do you?"

"A very old husband; but five millions!"

"With a great name, of course?"

"Not the faintest shadow of a name! a downright plebeian; but five millions, Julie!"

"An honorable man, at all events?"

"He is so considered. Have you decided?"

"Yes, I refuse. Wouldn't you do as much? Would you think well of me if I should accept?"

"I said just what you say: I sent my man about his business, I laughed at him. He replied obstinately; 'Five millions, madame, five millions!'"

"And he must have convinced you, since you are here?"

"Convinced or not, I was surprised, dazzled. I said, like the queen: 'You persuade me strongly!'"

"Then you advise me to say yes?"

"Don't say yes, say _perhaps_; then you can reflect and I will reflect for you; for at this moment my brain is a little confused: those millions intoxicated me. What would you have? The man is old, and before long you will be free and people will have done crying out against the misalliance; besides, everybody knows that your own descent is not very distinguished. You will open a salon which will eclipse all Paris, and where all Paris will trample upon itself to take part in your entertainments; for, when all is said, all Paris has only one thing in its head, which is to be amused and to go where people are amused. You will give balls, concerts and theatricals; you will have artists, fine singers and fine talkers; in a word, bright people to stir up and amuse the people of quality, who are not bright. Ah! if I had millions--if I had just two--I should know what to do with them! Come, don't think I am mad, and don't be cowardly. Accept the plebeian and opulence."

"And what about the husband's old age?"

"An additional reason!"

Julie was indignant, Amélie was offended; they had a falling-out. Madame d'Ancourt had not mentioned the suitor's name--it had not occurred to Julie to inquire. She placed the matter in Marcel's hands, desiring that her refusal should be placed beyond question. She was afraid that her impulsive friend, in her anger, would compromise her by giving her protégé some reason to hope. Marcel went to Madame d'Ancourt to learn the name of the man with the five millions.

"Ah! she thinks better of it, does she?" cried the baroness.

"No, madame, quite the reverse."

"Very well, I shall not tell you. I gave my word of honor not to mention any names, if the offer was rejected."

Marcel went to his uncle; he had a suspicion of the truth, but he had not dared suggest it to Madame d'Estrelle, thinking justly that she would reproach him for having brought her into relations with an insane old man. Moreover, he knew nothing of his uncle's fortune beyond the two millions which he admitted, and that figure, which had been often repeated to Julie, and so had prevented her from suspecting the truth, went far to destroy Marcel's suspicions.

"Well, my little uncle," he said abruptly as soon as he entered the room "so you have five millions, have you?"

"Why not thirty?" retorted the old man with a shrug; "have you gone mad?"

Marcel worried him with questions to no purpose; the uncle was inscrutable. Moreover, a most momentous event had come to pass on his domain, and his thoughts were completely diverted from his dreams of marriage. The mysterious lily, at which he had so often gazed, which he had watched and nurtured and watered so carefully, in the hope of being able to give it his name, had unexpectedly, during those few days of forgetfulness and neglect, put forth a sturdy shoot, which was already laden with swelling buds; indeed, one of the buds had partly opened, displaying a corolla soft as satin, of an incomparable sheeny white, with bright red stripes. That exotic plant surpassed in oddity and in beauty all its congeners, and the frantic horticulturist, endowed with new life and almost consoled for his matrimonial mishap, exclaimed again and again, as he paced his hothouse floor in intense excitement, pausing at intervals to gloat over the budding of his plant:

"There it is! there it is! my reputation is made. That shall be the _Antonia Thierrii_, and all the collectors in Europe may burst with rage if they choose."

"Well, well!" said Marcel to himself, "is it the _Antonia_ or the countess that my uncle is in love with?"

III

Marcel, seeing that his uncle's vanity as a horticulturist had resumed the upper hand, and thinking that he might exploit his delight to the advantage of his aunt and cousin, lavished the most fulsome praise on the future Antonia.

"You intend, of course, to present it to the Royal Garden. The learned professors will hold you in the greatest esteem!"

"Oh! as to that, not much!" replied Monsieur Antoine; "they can look at it to their heart's content, describe it in their fine language, _specificize_ it as they say; but it's the only specimen of its kind, and I won't part with it until I have a lot of bulbs."

"But what if it dies without offspring?"

"Why, then my name will live in the catalogues!"

"That isn't enough! If I were in your place I would have it painted, in case of accident."

"How painted? do you mean to say that they paint flowers now? Ah! I understand, you mean that I ought to have a portrait made of it? I have thought of that for some of my other rare plants; but I was on bad terms with my brother, and when I went to other painters I was never satisfied with their crazy daubing. I paid big prices and then slashed the canvas or tore the paper."

"And you have never thought of Julien?"

"Bah! Julien! an apprentice!"

"Have you ever seen any of his work?"

"No, nothing, faith!"

"Do you want me to bring----"

"No, nothing, I tell you. We are not on good terms."

"Yes you are! He has always called on you on the first of January every year, and you have never had any fault to find with his manner toward you."

"True, he is well brought up, he isn't stupid or bad-looking; but since I refused to advance him the money to redeem the house at Sèvres----"

"Julien has never uttered a word of blame or dissatisfaction, I give you my word of honor."

"All that doesn't prove that he has the necessary talent!"

"Look! a small specimen tells the story as well as a large one. Take your magnifying glass and look at this."

Marcel took from his pocket a pretty little tortoise-shell snuff-box, on the lid of which was a bouquet painted in miniature by Julien. Although it was not in his regular line of work, he had made a microscopic reproduction of one of his large canvases to decorate this gift for Marcel, and it was in truth a little _chef-d'œuvre._

Uncle Antoine did not know enough about painting to appreciate its artistic qualities; but he knew the structure of every detail of a plant as well as the most accomplished botanist, and, armed with his magnifying glass, if he could not count the stamens of each flower and the veins of each leaf, he could at all events assure himself that, in the sacrifices which the artist had made in favor of the general effect, there was involved no error, no caprice of the imagination, no offence, however slight, against the unchangeable laws of creation.

He looked a long while, then ingenuously inquired if Julien was capable of painting flowers as large as life, and upon Marcel's replying in the affirmative he decided that Julien should paint the portrait of the _Antonia Thierrii_, but that it must be done under his eyes, so that he could see to it that it was absolutely exact in the smallest details.

"I know what these painters are!" he said; "they always want to invent, to improve on the original. They talk to you about _style_ and _light_ and _effect!_ Oh! I remember all their foolish words! If Julien chooses to obey me, between us we may perhaps succeed in producing something fine! Go and tell him, so that he will be ready to come and pass an hour here the day after to-morrow; it will be in full flower then."

Marcel went to consult Julien, then returned and told his uncle that he would require at least two days to study his model, and that he must let him work at it without making any suggestions until he should ask for them, when he would comply with them if they seemed judicious to him.

"He is very proud!" said the uncle angrily. "Here he is, raising objections already, like his father! Does he think that I ask him to do this as a favor? I intend to pay him, and to pay him as well as any other man would. What is a day of any gentleman's work worth?"

"He doesn't want to be paid. If you are satisfied with what he does, he will ask you for your custom."

"I know what that means; he will ask me----"

"Nothing. You can settle everything yourself. We know that you are generous with people you don't hate, and you won't hate Julien when you know him better."

"Very well, let him come at once; let him begin."

"No, he has some work that is urgent; he will give you a few hours to-morrow for a beginning."

On the following day Julien began to study the plant, and made several sketches of it, taking them from different points of view. Monsieur Antoine, faithful to the conditions exacted, did not see these sketches until they were submitted to him. He was more pleased with them than he chose to say. That conscientious method of studying the structure and bearing of the plant surprised and gratified him. Julien said little, but kept his eyes constantly on his model and seemed to love it passionately. The horticulturist began to feel some esteem for him, and as Madame Thierry had never mentioned to her son her brother-in-law's strange conduct toward her, as nothing in the young man's face or manners betrayed the slightest feeling of aversion, Antoine, who had the greater longing to become attached to some one as he became more selfish, conceived a latent, and if we may say so, an underground sort of friendship for him.

On the second day Julien began to paint; thereupon the uncle ceased to understand what he was doing and began to be uneasy. It was much worse when Julien informed him that he must finish the work in his studio, where the light was arranged as he wanted it, and where he had a multitude of little things which he could not carry back and forth without forgetting some of them. It was some distance from the pavilion to the hôtel de Melcy, and he would have no time to waste going to and fro the next day, for it was most essential to seize on the wing the plant's expression when it was in full bloom.

But to transport the model was to put it in peril, to hasten its blooming, weaken its stalk, deaden its lustre! Uncle Antoine, finding the artist immovable, determined to carry the priceless _Antonia_ to the studio himself, with the greatest possible care, even at the risk of meeting Madame Thierry and being obliged to salute her.

In forcing this unpleasant sacrifice upon Uncle Antoine, Julien was not governed by the petty crotchets of a finical artist. He was following Marcel's advice, who was bent upon bringing about some sort of reconciliation between the relations, and who, having abandoned all hope of inducing Madame Thierry to make the slightest advance, had considered it necessary to surprise her by an unexpected meeting with her enemy.

Madame Thierry, whom we have represented to you as perfect in every respect, and who was as perfect as a woman can be, had nevertheless one little failing. Although she was not coquettish, although she did not pretend or believe herself to be still young, she had never said to herself: "I am an old woman."--What woman in her day was more sensible or more clear-sighted? Her youth had burst into flower among madrigals and gallant speech and manners. She had been so pretty, and she was so well preserved! Her husband, although he ruined her by his recklessness, had been in love with her to his last day, and it really seemed as if that old couple were destined to reproduce the legend of Philemon and Baucis. By dint of being told that she was still charming, which was perfectly true considering her age, good Madame Thierry still thought and felt herself to be all a woman, and after thirty-five years she had not forgotten how deeply the ex-armorer's proposal had wounded her pride and her self-esteem. That brutal man, who had had the audacity to say to her: "I am here, I am rich, you may as well love me instead of my brother," had caused her the only real mortification connected with what society in those days called "her fault." Later, her charm and loyalty had caused her husband's admirers to seek her society. She was able to hold her head erect, to triumph over prejudice, to occupy a place apart, an exceptional and most desirable place in public opinion. She was happy therefore except for a single wound, still bleeding, in the depths of her heart. It seemed to her that her honor had been sullied once in her life, by Monsieur Antoine's offers and aspirations.

Marcel was unable to penetrate this labyrinth of feminine refinements. He believed that time had wiped out the last trace of that absurd episode, and that Madame Thierry told the truth when she declared that she was ready to forgive everything in order to obtain for Julien his wealthy kinsman's favor.

Julien was not the man to covet Uncle Antoine's wealth. He had never said to himself that by fawning upon him he might make sure of a goodly share of his inheritance. For a long time he had fought against the idea of asking him for a slight service; but the longing to recover for his mother, by hard work, the house in which she had been so happy, had overcome his pride. Determined to devote his whole life, if necessary, to the task of paying his debt, he no longer blushed at the measures which Marcel took to induce Antoine to advance the necessary funds.

But, when it was time for his uncle to appear, Julien had some scruples about deceiving his mother. He was afraid that the surprise would be too great, and he tried to prepare her for the visit he expected. Madame Thierry made the best of it; but she had hardly saluted Monsieur Antoine when she went up to her room on the first pretext that occurred to her, and there remained, unable to make up her mind to face that antipathetic individual. Antoine, who had not seen her for thirty years or more, did not recognize her at once, and had not the presence of mind to apologize. He had walked across his grounds, which had a servants' gate opening on Rue de Babylone, near the pavilion. As he would trust no one but himself to touch his beplumed lily, he had brought it in with his own hands. He placed it with his own hands on the table in the little studio. He removed with his own hands the enormous horn of white paper which protected it; and when he saw that the artist was fairly at work, he took a newspaper which Madame d'Estrelle sent to Madame Thierry every morning, and dozed in a corner of the studio.

Julien expected Marcel, who had promised to attempt to effect the reconciliation which he had planned; but Marcel was detained by unexpected business and did not appear. Madame Thierry did not come down. Julien felt that he could not break the ice unassisted by his cousin; so he did not speak, but worked on, did his best, and thought of Julie.

Uncle Antoine slept with one eye open. He felt agitated, excited, constrained, in the house of the woman he hated, and in sight of the hôtel d'Estrelle, where his new inamorata lived. He rose, walked back and forth in his squeaking shoes, sat down again, and, forgetting his lily for a moment, tried to talk with Julien.

"Do you have much work?" he asked.

"A good deal."

"And people pay you well?"

"Well enough. I have no reason to complain."

"How much do you earn a day?"

"About thirty francs, taking one day with another," said Julien, with a smile.

"That's not very much; but your father at your age didn't earn so much as that, and you will increase your prices from year to year, I suppose?"

"I hope so and expect so."

"You lead a temperate and regular life, so I am told?"

"I am forced to do so, uncle."

"You don't go into society, I imagine?"

"I have no time for that."

"But you know some people of quality?"

"Those who were friends of my father have not forgotten me."

"Do you sometimes pay visits?"

"Rarely, and only when it is necessary."

"Do you know the Baronne d'Ancourt?"

"I know her name, nothing more."

"Isn't she a friend of Madame d'Estrelle?"

"I have no idea."

"But you know Madame d'Estrelle?"

"No, uncle."

"You have never seen her?"

"Never."

Julien told this lie with resolution. It seemed to him that everybody was trying to pry into his secret, and he had determined to conceal it more securely with a cloak of savage distrust.

"That's funny," continued Uncle Antoine, who may have conceived some suspicions of his own in order to remain true to his habit of suspecting everybody. "Your mother passes hours and days in her garden, even in her salon, they say, and you----"

"I am not my mother."

"You mean that you are not noble?"

"I mean that I am not old enough to call on a person who receives only older people."

"Perhaps you regret that you are too young, eh?"

"I am very glad that I am young, I assure you!" replied Julien, laughing at his uncle's peculiar reflections.

The uncle, foiled in his attack, began to pace the floor again with a jerky, nerve-wearing step; then he said to Julien:

"Will it take you much longer?"

"Two or three hours."

"May I look?"

"If you choose."

"Oho! that's not bad; that begins to look like something. But you're painting the whole background; where will you put the plant's name? I want it in big gold letters."

"Then I won't put it anywhere. It would spoil my effect."

"Ah! upon my word! But I will have my name!"

"You can have it put in large black letters on a raised plate at the top or bottom of the gilt frame."

"Good! that's a good idea! If you give me a masterpiece, I'll invite you to the ceremony of baptism."

"Pshaw! a ceremony?"

"Oh! yes, the gentlemen from the Royal Garden are coming to breakfast with me to-morrow. I have invited them. I expect they'll come, and, as it tires me to sit in one place with folded arms, I'll just go home and see if everything is going on all right, for I mean to have a sort of party. Take good care of my lily, don't let anyone disturb you, work without stopping. I will come back in an hour."

And as each touch of the brush, wielded by Julien with an enthusiastic and unerring hand, seemed to make the marvellous plant actually live on the canvas, the uncle was profoundly impressed, smiled, and softened so far as to pat the young man's shoulder, saying:

"Courage, my boy, courage! Satisfy me, and perhaps you won't be sorry."

He went out, but, instead of returning to his own house, he bent his steps mechanically in the direction of the hôtel d'Estrelle. A confused multitude of ideas, alluring, disturbing, audacious, caused a mad whirl in that poor brain, at once enfeebled and excited by isolation, wealth, ennui and vanity.

"I made a mistake," he said to himself, "in entrusting my proposal to that rattle-pated baroness. She went about it the wrong way; she didn't even mention my name! She said that I was an old _roturier_--that was all; and the little countess never guessed that she was referring to a well-preserved man, whom she herself praised for his excellent health and fine appearance; a man she knows to be generous and big-hearted, and whose talents as an amateur gardener and producer of varieties are not to be despised. I propose to straighten matters out. I am going to declare myself, and find out whether I am to love her or hate her."

He resolutely entered the house, and asked for an interview with the countess on business. She hesitated a little about receiving him; she knew that he was queer and she considered him a sort of maniac. She would have liked Marcel to be present at the interview; but she knew her old neighbor's sensitiveness, and she was afraid that she might impair Madame Thierry's interests by refusing to see him. So she bade her servant show him in. She was alone, but she thought that it would be the most absurd prudery to take alarm at a tête-à-tête with an old man whose rigid morals were well-known.

The rich man arrived prepared for a struggle; he imagined that he would have to fight to obtain this tête-à-tête. When he found that it was accorded him with no other obstacle than about two minutes of waiting, when he saw the slightly reserved but always courteous and affable greeting of his fair neighbor, his courage failed him. Like all those who have no opportunity to exchange their thoughts and no one to contradict them, he was as bold as any man could be in his projects; it was that boldness which had made him rich, and he had full confidence in it; but as he had never acted except behind the scenes, he was as incapable of taking a step in his own person on the stage of the world and of speaking to a lady, as he would have been of commanding a ship and negotiating with the Algonquin Indians. He turned pale, stammered, replaced his hat on his head, and fell into such dire confusion that Madame d'Estrelle, surprised and disturbed, was forced to come to his assistance by broaching the subject which, in her mind, was the motive of his visit.

"So we seem to be treading on delicate ground, my dear neighbor," she said to him in an amiable tone, "with respect to that wretched pavilion, which, I fondly hoped, was to establish a good understanding between us and put us on a neighborly footing. Do you know that I consider you unreasonable and that I am inclined to scold you?"

"I am mad, everyone knows that," rejoined Antoine sulkily. "If people keep on telling me so, they will end by making me believe it!"

"I ask nothing better than to be proved in the wrong," replied Julie; "but give me some good reason for accepting the gift you offer. I defy you to do it."

"You defy me? Then you wish me to speak? The reason is plain enough. I am interested in you."

"You are very kind!" said Julie, with an imperceptible smile of irony; "but----"

"But it's a fact, madame la comtesse, that you are made to make people think about you--and I was thinking about you, deuce take me! I said to myself: 'It's a pity that a person so--a lady who--in fact, a good woman should be hunted by bailiffs. I am only a vulgar fellow, but I have an idea that I'm not such a curmudgeon as the fine gentlemen and ladies of her family.'--That is why I said what I said; and you took offence at it, which shows that you look down on me."

"Oh! not that, no indeed!" cried the countess. "Look down on you because you wanted to do a kind deed? No, a hundred times, no! You know that that is impossible!"

"Then why refuse?"

"Listen, Monsieur Thierry; will you give me your word as a man of honor that you fully understand me, that you are quite sure of the sincerity and unselfishness of my behavior toward you?"

"Yes, madame, I give you my word of honor. If that wasn't so, _mordié!_ do you suppose I would have come to see you again?"

"Very well, then I accept," said Julie, offering him her hand; "but on one condition, and that is that you give me back your good will."

Old Antoine lost his head when he felt that soft little hand in his hard dry one. He had a sort of dizzy feeling, and, in his uncertainty what to do with that hand, which he thought that he ought not to kiss, and which he dared not press, he let it fall again, and stammered out his thanks incoherently, but with something like warmth.

"Since you treat me as if you were my debtor," continued Madame d'Estrelle, "I warn you that I shall be very exacting. As a matter of fact, I need only twenty thousand francs for the moment. Authorize me to offer the other twenty thousand to Madame Thierry as from you."

"Oh! that isn't possible!" said Antoine angrily. "She will refuse.--There's a person who detests me! I have just been to call on her. She turned tail and ran up into her garret!"

"Is it that you have wronged her in some way then, neighbor?"

"Never! If she chooses to think otherwise--But let her say what she will, I am an honorable man."

"She has never said that you weren't."

"Has she never spoken to you about me? Come, on _your_ word of honor?"

"On my honor, never!"

"In that case--look you! tell her to respect me as she ought, and don't talk about giving her money that belongs to you; for, deuce take me! if you choose to think well of me and not blush at my friendship, I'll toss her a pretty little present! I'll redeem her house at Sèvres. What would you say to that, eh?"

"I should say, my dear neighbor," exclaimed Madame d'Estrelle, deeply touched, "that you are the best of men!"

"The best, honor bright?" said the rich man, flattered to the last degree in his pride; "the best, you say?"

"Yes, the best rich man whom I know."

"Then it's as good as done! Will you come to breakfast at my house to-morrow with some scientific men, very famous men of intellect, and attend a christening? Will you be godmother and stand up with me?"

"Yes, at what hour?"

"Twelve o'clock."

"I will come! but I must come with some one, as you are to have men there who do not know me. I will come with----"

"With my sister-in-law; I see what you are coming at!"

"Do you forbid me?"

"Forbid you? Do you know that you talk as if I were your master?" he rejoined, with a fatuous, mysterious air.

"As if you were my father," replied Julie artlessly.

An old man of impure morals would have been wounded by that remark; but Antoine was virtuous in his madness, and we have no hesitation in asserting that he was not in love with Julie. The countess alone, not the woman, was the object of his passion. It mattered little to him whether she was his adopted daughter or his wife. Provided that he could show her to his grave and learned guests on the morrow, to Marcel, to Julien, to Madame Thierry above all, and to all his gardeners, leaning on his arm or seated at his table, and manifesting a sort of filial affection for him, undisturbed by any thought of what people might say, it seemed to him that he should be perfectly happy.

"And if I am not satisfied yet," he mused, speaking to himself of himself with boundless affection, "I shall be in time to tame her and lead her on to marriage, to sacrifice her title for the name of Thierry senior, which will then be quite as illustrious as that of my brother, Thierry the painter!--Since you are so _polite_," he said to Julie, "I will not be outdone. I will do all that you want me to do. For instance, be kind enough to invite Madame André Thierry in my name, and say to her that if you should fail to keep your appointment to-morrow through her fault, I will never forgive her as long as I live."

"I will answer for her, neighbor. Until to-morrow, and have no fear!"

"Would it trouble you to say _my friend_?" said Antoine, whose tongue was loosened under the influence of internal well-being.

"It would not trouble me at all," replied Julie, laughingly; "I will call you that to-morrow, if you keep your word."

"You will call me that--in public?"

"In public, with all my heart."

The old man took his leave, staggering like a drunken man. In the street he muttered to himself, with gleaming eyes and vehement gestures. The people he met took him for an escaped lunatic.

He followed the wall of the Estrelle garden, instinctively turning to see if Julien was still working and if his lily was uninjured. Suddenly it occurred to him that Madame d'Ancourt might ruin everything if she should reveal to Madame d'Estrelle the name of the suitor she had described. Julie evidently had no suspicion; evidently she saw no ulterior purpose behind her old neighbor's attachment. There was no reason why she should not come around gradually to the point of accepting him for a husband as she had more experience of his munificence; but he had undertaken to progress too rapidly; he had come within an ace of spoiling everything. As the baroness was not opposed to his success, he must hasten to her before thinking of anything else, tell her how matters had progressed and enjoin silence upon her. He jumped into an empty cab which happened to pass, and ordered the cabman to take him to the hôtel d'Ancourt.

Julie was profoundly moved; like every generous heart which has set on foot and carried through a good action, she was happy in absolute forgetfulness of self. That forgetfulness of self was so complete that she threw over her shoulders a light cape of violet silk and ran to the pavilion, impatient to announce the great news to Madame André, and to make her promise to chaperone her at the banquet at the hôtel de Melcy. She was thinking no more of Julien than if he had never existed, or, if she did think of him, she had no conception of the danger she ran in meeting him. That danger, of the gravity of which she was entirely ignorant, seemed to her a trifle in comparison with the great event which led her to go to his mother. Moreover, she was alone. No one in her salon, no one in the garden. Would the roses be scandalized by her action, would the nightingales cry out over the walls that Madame d'Estrelle was going into a house where there might be a young man whom she had never seen?

At that moment Julien had no leisure to watch for Julie's approach. He must paint rapidly and without distraction. The lily could not promise not to fade and curl at the edges before the last stroke of the brush. Madame Thierry was in her room with Marcel, who, after exchanging a few words with Julien, was attempting to confess and convince his aunt by lecturing her in private, as the subject of his homily had thus far been kept from the young artist, and it was thought best to keep him in ignorance of it.

Madame d'Estrelle tapped gently at the door of the pavilion. A huge dray laden with stone was passing along the street at that moment. The creaking of the wheels, the shouts of the drayman and the cracking of his whip drowned the faint sound of her knocking. Being most anxious to see Madame Thierry before she was informed of what had happened, and offended by some gruff message from the eccentric Antoine, Madame d'Estrelle resolutely opened the outer door, then a second one, and found herself in Julien's studio, face to face with him; for his model was placed in the light that shone through the window upon that door, and Julie appeared to the artist in a flood of radiance, as if she had come to him in a sunbeam.

He was so unprepared for that vision that he nearly fell senseless. All his blood rushed to his heart and his face turned whiter than Monsieur Antoine's lily. He could neither speak nor bow; he stood rooted to the floor, palette in hand, with staring eyes and as if actually turned to stone.

What analogous process was taking place in the lovely countess's heart and senses? It is certain that at the sight of that wonderfully beautiful young man, of a type of beauty wherein nobility of outline was surpassed only by intelligence of expression, she had a sort of instinctive feeling of respect; for he was not really a stranger to her. She knew the whole story of his upright, noble labor, his persistence in working earnestly and regularly, his filial love, his generous aspirations, the esteem and affection which he deserved, and which nobody who knew him could deny him. It may be that she had sometimes been curious to see him, but if so she had forbidden herself to give way to curiosity, whether because it seemed childish to her, or because she had a vague presentiment of some danger to herself.

Let us not attempt to dissect her feelings farther. She was apparently all ready for the invasion of the sentiment which was to decide her fate. She received a terrible shock; the confusion which paralyzed Julien took complete possession of her, and for a moment she was as silent and motionless as he.

If anyone had seen that beautiful couple, fashioned by the hands of God, in some region inaccessible to social prejudices, coming together under the natural and awe-inspiring conditions of the all-governing logic, he would have said unhesitatingly that logic, born of God, had made that magnificent man for that fascinating woman, and that sensible, genuine woman for that high-spirited and earnest man. All was charm and gentleness in Julie's grace; all was passion and unselfishness in Julien's beauty. As at last their glances met in the bright radiance of that May sun, redolent with the fragrance of nature's new light, each one uttered mentally, as it were an outcry of irresistible love, the names which chance had given them--_Julie, Julien_--as if they were destined to have but one name between them.

Thus it required a mighty effort of will for them to remember the distance that separated them socially.

"Of course, it is the young painter," thought Julie; "I fancied for a moment that I saw a demi-god."

"Alas!" said Julien to himself, "it is the _grande dame_; I fancied for a moment that I saw the half of myself."

She bowed first, and asked him if he were Monsieur Julien Thierry. He bowed to the ground as he said with a hypocritical expression of doubt:

"Madame la Comtesse d'Estrelle?"

What trifling! as if they had any occasion to ask questions before taking possession of each other.

"Is madame your mother out?"

"No, madame, I will call her."

And he did not stir; his feet seemed to be nailed to the floor.

"She is with my cousin Marcel Thierry," he added; "shall I tell him to come down and receive his orders?"