Fancies and Goodnights - Collier John - Страница 59
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«No,» said she. «Perhaps I do. But how can I answer you? It could not be for a year, perhaps two, possibly even three.»
«What of that?» cried he. «I will wait. In fact, I still have a great deal of money to save.» He told her of the prospects of the furniture business, and of the situation of his old mother, who had been treated abominably by certain relatives.
Marie was less explicit in her description of her background. She said, though, that she was treated very strictly, and could hardly introduce into her home a young man she had met so unconventionally on a bus.
«It is inconvenient,» said Henri, «but it is as it should be. Sooner or later we will manage something. Till then, we are affianced, are we not? We will come here every Sunday.»
«It will be very hard for me to get away,» said she.
«Never mind,» said he. «It will arrange itself. Meanwhile, we are affianced. Therefore I may embrace you.»
An interlude followed in which Henri experienced that happiness which is only revealed to young men of the meagrest proportions in the company of girls as delightfully rounded as Marie. At the close of the day Henri had drawn almost as deeply on his future marriage as he had upon his costume and his cane. «They are right,» thought he, «one is entitled to a little happiness on account.»
He went home the happiest young man in Marseilles, or in all France for that matter, and next day he actually carried his cane to the office with him, for he could not bear to part with it.
That evening, on the bus, he fixed his eyes on the people waiting at every stopping place. He felt that fortune might grant him an unappointed glimpse of his beloved. Sure enough, after a false alarm or two, he caught sight of her shoulder and the line of her neck as she stood in a knot of people two or three hundred yards up the street. He recognized this single curve immediately.
His heart pounded, his hands shook, his cane almost fell from his grasp. The bus came to a stop, and he turned to greet her as she entered. To his horror and dismay, she appeared not to recognize him, and, as he blundered toward her, she gave him a warning frown.
Henri saw that behind her was an old man, a man of nearly eighty, a colossal ruin of a man, with dim and hollow eyes, a straggly white mustache horribly stained, and two or three yellow tusks in a cavernous mouth. He took his seat beside the adorable Marie, and folded his huge and grimy hands, on which the veins stood out like whipcord, over the handle of a cheap and horrible cane, an atrocity, fashioned out of bamboo. He wore the expensive and ugly broadcloth of the well-to-do peasant.
Henri fixed his eyes on the pair. «Possibly he is her father,» thought he.
A lover, however, has an eye which is not easily deceived. Henri knew perfectly well that this old man was not her father. He tried to repress a feeling of acute uneasiness. «He is very old,» thought Henri. «It is more likely he is her grandfather. Possibly she has something to endure from him. He seems to be sitting beside her in a very familiar way. How I wish we could be married at once!»
At this point the conductor approached the old man, and jingled his little ticket machine under his nose. «Demand it of Madame,» said the old man in a low and thunderous rumble.
Henri sat as if struck by lightning. «It is impossible,» said he to himself over and over again. «After all, what is more natural than for a man to speak of his female companion as Madame, whether she is married or not, when he is addressing a waiter, a bus conductor, or someone of that sort? Besides, the old fool dotes; he doesn't know what the hell he is saying. He thinks it's his wife, her grandmother; his mind is in the past.»
As he said this, he saw before his eyes a picture of her left hand, with the white gloves on it, which she had removed so slowly and with so much trouble.
«She is a pure, sincere, serious, straightforward girl,» thought he. «Yes, but that is why she had so much trouble with that glove. An artful girl would have removed her wedding ring before meeting me. So much the more terrible!»
«No, no. I am going mad. He is her grandfather. Possibly her great-grandfather. See how old he is! People should be killed before reaching that age. Look at his mouth, his teeth! If he should be her husband, and fondle her! Nonsense! I am mad. The idea is absurd.»
Nevertheless he lived in torment till the end of the week, when a note reached him saying that Marie could slip out for an hour or two on Sunday. She would be at the same rendezvous at two o'clock.
Nothing could be more simple and reassuring than this note, which breathed innocence and affection. One or two words were artlessly misspelled, which always gives an effect of sincerity. Henri's suspicions departed as suddenly as they had come. «What a brute I was!» he thought, as he hastened to meet her. «I will beg her forgiveness. I will go down on my knees. But no, not in this suit. On the whole, I had better say nothing about it. What sort of a husband will she think I will make if I am already suspicious of a disgusting old man? Ah, here she comes! How lovely she is! How radiant! I certainly deserve to be thrashed with my own cane.»
She came smiling up to him, and put out her hand with the white cotton glove upon it. Henri's eyes fell upon this glove, and his debonair welcome died upon his lips. «Who,»said he hoarsely, «who was that old man who was with you?»
Marie dropped her hand and stared at Henri.
«He is not your father,» said Henri, in a tone of rage and despair.
«No,» said she, obviously terror-stricken.
«He is not your grandfather!» cried Henri. «He is your husband.»
«How did you know?» cried she.
«You have deceived me!» cried Henri. «I thought you pure, true, artless, without fault. I — I — I —— Never mind. Adieu, Madame! Be so good as to look at the newspaper in the morning, and see if any unfortunate has fallen from the ramparts of the Chateau d'If.»
With that he turned on his heel and strode away, in the ominous direction of the port, where the little boats take sightseers out to the Chateau d'If. Marie, with a cry, ran after him, and clasped his arm in both her hands.
«Do nothing rash,» she begged. «Believe me, I adore you.»
«And yet,» said he, «you marry a disgusting old man.»
«But that was before I knew you.»
«So be it, Madame. I wish you every felicity.»
«But, beloved,» said she, «you do me an injustice. He is rich. I was young. My parents urged me. You cannot think I love him.»
«Leave me, prostitute!» cried Henri.
«Ah, you are unkind!» said she. «Why should you be jealous? You are young. You are dressed in the mode, even to your cane. You are handsome. You are my dream. How could you threaten to commit a desperate act? The old man will not live forever. You and I would be rich. We could be happy. Henri, were we not happy last Sunday, out at the calanque? I am just the same.»
«What?» cried Henri. «Do you think I care for his dirty money? Could I be happy with you again, thinking of that old man?»
«Nevertheless,» said she, «it is nearly a million francs.»
«To the devil with it!» said Henri. «Supposing we stayed at the best hotels, travelled, had an apartment in Paris even, how could I enjoy anything, thinking of you and him together?»
«But he is so old,» said she. «He is nearly blind. He can scarcely speak. He is deaf. He has lost the use of all his senses. Yes, Henri, all his senses.»
«What do you mean, all his senses?» said Henri, halting in his stride.
«All his senses,» said she, facing round and nodding gravely at Henri. «All. All. All.»
«He is eighty years of age,» said she. «Who is jealous of a man of eighty? What is there to be jealous of? Nothing. Nothing at all.»
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