in a while, to give lessons myself, and then we can keep a servant.'
"I stole away
softly, made some noise outside, and went into their
room to take the lamp, that Pauline tried to light for me. The dear
child had just poured soothing balm into my wounds. Her outspoken
admiration had given me fresh courage. I so needed to believe in
myself and to come by a just
estimate of my advantages. This revival
of hope in me perhaps colored my surroundings. Perhaps also I had
never before really looked at the picture that so often met my eyes,
of the two women in their room; it was a scene such as Flemish
painters have reproduced so
faithfully for us, that I admired in its
delightful
reality. The mother, with the kind smile upon her lips, sat
knitting stockings by the dying fire; Pauline was
painting hand-
screens, her brushes and paints,
strewn over the tiny table, made
bright spots of color for the eye to dwell on. When she had left her
seat and stood
lighting my lamp, one must have been under the yoke of
a terrible
passion indeed, not to admire her
faintly flushed
transparent hands, the girlish charm of her attitude, the ideal grace
of her head, as the lamplight fell full on her pale face. Night and
silence added to the charms of this
industrious vigil and peaceful
interior. The light-heartedness that sustained such
continuous toil
could only spring from
devoutsubmission and the lofty feelings that
it brings.
"There was an
indescribableharmony between them and their
possessions. The
splendor of Foedora's home did not satisfy; it called
out all my worst instincts; something in this lowly
poverty and
unfeigned
goodness revived me. It may have been that
luxury abased me
in my own eyes, while here my self-respect was restored to me, as I
sought to extend the
protection that a man is so eager to make felt,
over these two women, who in the bare
simplicity of the
existence in
their brown room seemed to live
wholly in the feelings of their
hearts. As I came up to Pauline, she looked at me in an almost
motherly way; her hands shook a little as she held the lamp, so that
the light fell on me and cried:
" 'Dieu! how pale you are! and you are wet through! My mother will try
to wipe you dry. Monsieur Raphael,' she went on, after a little pause,
'you are so very fond of milk, and to-night we happen to have some
cream. Here, will you not take some?'
"She pounced like a
kitten, on a china bowl full of milk. She did it
so quickly, and put it before me so prettily, that I hesitated.
" 'You are going to refuse me?' she said, and her tones changed.
"The pride in each felt for the other's pride. It was Pauline's
poverty that seemed to
humiliate her, and to
reproach me with my want
of
consideration, and I melted at once and accepted the cream that
might have been meant for her morning's breakfast. The poor child
tried not to show her joy, but her eyes sparkled.
" 'I needed it badly,' I said as I sat down. (An
anxious look passed
over her face.) 'Do you remember that passage, Pauline, where Bossuet
tells how God gave more
abundantreward for a cup of cold water than
for a victory?'
" 'Yes,' she said, her heart
beating like some wild bird's in a
child's hands.
" 'Well, as we shall part very soon, now,' I went on in an unsteady
voice, 'you must let me show my
gratitude to you and to your mother
for all the care you have taken of me.'
" 'Oh, don't let us cast
accounts,' she said laughing. But her
laughter covered an
agitation that gave me pain. I went on without
appearing to hear her words:
" 'My piano is one of Erard's best instruments; and you must take it.
Pray accept it without
hesitation; I really could not take it with me
on the journey I am about to make.'
"Perhaps the
melancholy tones in which I spoke enlightened the two
women, for they seemed to understand, and eyed me with
curiosity and
alarm. Here was the
affection that I had looked for in the glacial
regions of the great world, true
affection, unostentatious but tender,
and possibly lasting.
" 'Don't take it to heart so,' the mother said; 'stay on here. My
husband is on his way towards us even now,' she went on. 'I looked
into the Gospel of St. John this evening while Pauline hung our door-
key in a Bible from her fingers. The key turned; that means that
Gaudin is in health and doing well. Pauline began again for you and
for the young man in number seven--it turned for you, but not for him.
We are all going to be rich. Gaudin will come back a
millionaire. I
dreamed once that I saw him in a ship full of serpents; luckily the
water was rough, and that means gold or precious stones from over-
sea.'
"The silly, friendly words were like the crooning
lullaby with which a
mother soothes her sick child; they in a manner calmed me. There was a
pleasant heartiness in the
worthy woman's looks and tones, which, if
it could not remove trouble, at any rate soothed and quieted it, and
deadened the pain. Pauline, keener-sighted than her mother,
studied me
uneasily; her quick eyes seemed to read my life and my future. I
thanked the mother and daughter by an
inclination of the head, and
hurried away; I was afraid I should break down.
"I found myself alone under my roof, and laid myself down in my
misery. My
unhappyimagination suggested
numberless baseless projects,
and prescribed impossible resolutions. When a man is struggling in the
wreck of his fortunes, he is not quite without resources, but I was
engulfed. Ah, my dear fellow, we are too ready to blame the
wretched.
Let us be less harsh on the results of the most powerful of all social
solvents. Where
poverty is
absolute there exist no such things as
shame or crime, or
virtue or
intelligence. I knew not what to do; I
was as defenceless as a
maiden on her knees before a beast of prey. A
penniless man who has no ties to bind him is master of himself at any
rate, but a luckless
wretch who is in love no longer belongs to
himself, and may not take his own life. Love makes us almost
sacred in
our own eyes; it is the life of another that we
revere within us; then
and so it begins for us the cruelest trouble of all--the
misery with a
hope in it, a hope for which we must even bear our torments. I thought
I would go to Rastignac on the
morrow to
confide Foedora's strange
resolution to him, and with that I slept.
" 'Ah, ha!' cried Rastignac, as he saw me enter his
lodging at nine
o'clock in the morning. 'I know what brings you here. Foedora has
dismissed you. Some kind souls, who were
jealous of your ascendency
over the
countess, gave out that you were going to be married. Heaven
only knows what follies your rivals have equipped you with, and what
slanders have been directed at you.'
" 'That explains everything!' I exclaimed. I remembered all my
presumptuous speeches, and gave the
countess credit for no little
magnanimity. It pleased me to think that I was a miscreant who had not
been punished nearly enough, and I saw nothing in her
indulgence but
the long-suffering
charity of love.
" 'Not quite so fast,' urged the
prudent Gascon; 'Foedora has all the
sagacity natural to a
profoundlyselfish woman; perhaps she may have
taken your
measure while you still coveted only her money and her
splendor; in spite of all your care, she could have read you through
and through. She can dissemble far too well to let any dissimulation
pass undetected. I fear,' he went on, 'that I have brought you into a
bad way. In spite of her cleverness and her tact, she seems to me a
domineering sort of person, like every woman who can only feel
pleasure through her brain. Happiness for her lies entirely in a
comfortable life and in social pleasures; her
sentiment is only
assumed; she will make you
miserable; you will be her head footman.'
"He spoke to the deaf. I broke in upon him, disclosing, with an
affectation of light-heartedness, the state of my finances.
" 'Yesterday evening,' he rejoined, 'luck ran against me, and that
carried off all my
available cash. But for that
trivialmishap, I
would
gladly have shared my purse with you. But let us go and
breakfast at the
restaurant; perhaps there is good
counsel in
oysters.'
"He dressed, and had his tilbury brought round. We went to the Cafe de
Paris like a couple of
millionaires, armed with all the audacious
impertinence of the
speculator whose capital is
imaginary. That devil
of a Gascon quite disconcerted me by the
coolness of his manners and
his
absolute self-possession. While we were
taking coffee after an
excellent and well-ordered
repast, a young dandy entered, who did not
escape Rastignac. He had been nodding here and there among the crowd
to this or that young man,
distinguished both by personal attractions
and
elegantattire, and now he said to me:
" 'Here's your man,' as he beckoned to this gentleman with a wonderful