an armchair, with a look of enquiry on his face.
“This is the whole business,” said Lorin; “Madame Tellier is kind enough to receive me as a friend at her house, and I have had the opportunity of meeting Mademoiselle Jeanne de Rionne there. I have the honour of asking you for her hand in marriage.”
The father, surprised that he had a daughter to give in marriage, could not find an answer ready at the moment, and Lorin took advantage of his silence to tell him who he was, and inform him of the amount of his fortune. While he was speaking Monsieur de Rionne’s face brightened and his manner became one of extreme politeness. It was not a question of being asked for money; very likely it was one of receiving some.
They had a quiet talk.
Monsieur de Rionne was on the verge of poverty. Julia had eaten up what play had spared him. His debts were becoming pressing, he could no longer get credit, and, age creeping on, he strove from shame to stop himself going further down the hill he was rolling. He was distracted with a hundred thoughts as to what would become of him and where he should go and lodge when obliged to leave his apartments. He did not dare to think of his sister, for he knew she would crush him under all her contempt as a practical woman of the world.
He had still a little pride, however, left in him, when a fresh desertion took away the last vestige of it. Louis, his valet, always imperturbable, had remained faithful to him so long as he could rob him at his ease; but when he found there was nothing more left for him to plunder he went off one fine morning to enjoy his ill-gotten hoard en bourgeois. His mysterious smile was at last explained. This humble, precise human machine was laughing up his sleeve when the gold pieces which went astray found their way — by attraction — into his pocket. Moralists say that even in this world evil will find its own punishment. Louis, who had acquired the habit of stealing, was idiotic enough to steal Julia from his master. One day Monsieur de Rionne, when he came to pay his mistress a visit, had the door shut in his face by his valet.
He had sunk to these depths when Lorin came to ask Jeanne of him in marriage. It had never yet entered his head that he could make any capital out of his daughter, and the young man’s petition was a revelation to him. He was seeking a refuge in every direction, and now the refuge was found. He was about to have a sure retreat, where he could grow old peacefully and in luxury. And, in a vague sort of way, he hoped he should be able to get a large enough allowance from the young couple, so that perhaps he need not spend such a very dull life after all. He played the part of the dignified father pretty well. His manner was neither too eager nor too frigid. Inwardly he was quaking lest the marriage should not come off. Lorin assured him that Jeanne loved him. That allayed his anxiety, and he became more outspoken. He talked of his daughter with an emotion truly paternal; all he wished for, he said, was her happiness. It was decided that they should both start the next day for Mesuil Rouge, in order that all the arrangements for the marriage might be made, and before Jeanne came back to Paris. Lorin was not sorry to hasten matters, for he had still some hesitation, and he argued that once the folly was committed he must needs put up with the consequences. Directly after their arrival the question of the wedding was raised, and the young girl was consulted.
Daniel did not close an eye all night. His brain was in such a jumble that he did not know really what to believe. One moment he believed that Lorin was lying; that Jeanne would never marry him. Then a terrible fear seized him, and he was convinced that the marriage would take place. Uppermost in him was a burning sensation of pain in his heart When he depicted Jeanne and Lorin in his mind, side by side, he had furious bursts of rage. When daylight came he tried to calm himself. After all, he said, he only had Lorin’s word to cause him all this despair and irritation. Nothing, perhaps, was settled. He must wait and see; and having gone downstairs, he tried to find out the truth from the expression of the faces round him.
Monsieur Tellier had his everyday look; nothing in the way of emotion could ever be seen on that massive face. Monsieur de Rionne was manifestly delighted; he paid all sorts of little attentions to his daughter, for he looked on her as a precious object is looked on that one is afraid to lose.
Madame Tellier was laughing nervously. She, also, seemed to have passed a bad night The fact was that Lorin’s proposal had exasperated her, and she had to reason with herself for a long time, so as not to have an outbreak of passion. She knew that Jeanne was becoming a dangerous rival, and the best thing she could do would be to get rid of her as soon as possible. It would be at the cost of an admirer — she called Lorin her admirer — but it was better to sacrifice one of the number, she thought, than to keep this little girl near her with her clear, ringing, and dangerous laugh. She tried in this way to console herself, but she was really beside herself with anger.
Lorin was paying his court to Jeanne. With his heart free he played the part of a lover to perfection. Moreover, he appreciated his full value, and had no ridiculous affectation of eagerness about him.
But the face that Daniel studied with the greatest anxiety was that of Jeanne herself. The young girl had resumed her Parisian coquetry, and was happy in being courted. She willingly allowed it. If she did not show too lively a joy outwardly, yet she seemed charmed with Lorin’s attentions, and talked of Paris like a schoolgirl talks of a ball.
Then Daniel, with terror, understood how cowardly he had been in forgetting himself in the sweet voluptuousness of Mesuil Rouge. During those long excursions he ought to have made known to her in what light he stood to her; whilst they were there, the young girl and himself, in the silence and freshness of the islets, far from the world, he ought to have opened his heart to her. And now the world stood between them once more.
Jeanne, during that period, had simply amused herself in playing about like a big child. Now, Lorin’s presence was sufficient to bring back her evil spirit. He seemed to her to be a good enough fellow, rather foolish, but otherwise very well behaved.
When she was made acquainted with his proposal — which she expected, by the way — she recklessly accepted it, seeing only in the marriage a means of having an establishment of her own; otherwise she knew nothing.
Daniel had an instinct of what was passing through that young head, and he vowed with ungovernable anger that he could never allow such a marriage to take place. It was revolting to him. In fact, he had forgotten his mission; he no longer sought to conform simply to the wish of the dead woman; his whole being was urging him to snatch Jeanne from Lorin’s arms.
In the evening, after a long day of agony, he stopped the young girl on the banks of the Seine.
“Are you going to be married?” he asked her, abruptly.
“Yes,” she answered, amazed at the emotion he betrayed.
“Do you know Monsieur Lorin well?”
“Most decidedly.”
“But it is twelve years since I first met him, and I have not the least respect for him.”
Jeanne drew herself up haughtily. She was about to answer him when Daniel violently stayed her, saying:
“Not a word! Believe me, the marriage is an impossible one. I will not allow you to marry this man.”
He spoke as a master, an angered father who intends to be obeyed. Jeanne looked at him with an expression of contemptuous stupefaction.
For one instant Daniel had the thought of telling her everything, and of commanding her in the name of her mother to dismiss Lorin. He, however, deferred the confession, and only added in a more gentle voice: “For pity’s sake, reflect, and do not drive me to desperation.”
Jeanne set off laughing. The astonishing audacity of the secretary
