Fancies and Goodnights - Collier John - Страница 60

• Предыдущая
• 60/112
• Следующая

«All the same,» said Henri. «They are sometimes worse than the rest. Yes, a thousand times worse. Leave me. Let me go.»

«He is a log of wood,» said she earnestly. «Henri, is it possible to be jealous of a log of wood? It is not what you would choose, perhaps, or me either, but, after all, it is nothing. The same cannot be said of a million francs.»

Henri demanded ten thousand assurances, and was given them all. The Parisian in him urged a common-sense view of the situation. «After all, we must be broad-minded,» thought he. «Provided, of course, that it is really nothing. Absolutely and certainly nothing!»

«I shall be able to see you every Sunday afternoon,» said Marie. «I have suggested to him that he take a little stroll and a drink at the cafe between two and six. I made very poor excuses for not accompanying him, but to my surprise he assented eagerly. I expected a lot of trouble.»

«He is jealous, then?» cried Henri. «A log of wood is not jealous.»

«But all the more,» said Marie. «After all, is it so unreasonable, darling?»

«Nevertheless,» said Henri, «I cannot understand why he should be jealous. I am jealous; that is natural. But a log of wood —»

Marie soothed him again with another ten thousand assurances, and when at last he bade her farewell his happiness was completely restored.

Only one fly remained in his ointment. «When I consider,» thought he, «how extremely scrupulous I have been, unlike any other young man in Marseilles, it certainly seems very unfair. I have never spent my money on girls. I have never visited an establishment such as Madame Garcier's. And now I am to marry a girl who — It is true he is eighty. At eighty a man is no better than a log of wood. Nevertheless, it is a difference between us. It will give rise to a thousand bitter reflections when we are married. She is so beautiful. And there is the million francs. What a pity there should be any cause for bitterness! How lovely she looked today! I wish we could have been reconciled under that little pine tree out in the calanque. I should be able to view matters more calmly.»

At this moment a certain idea came into his head. It is impossible to say where it came from. Probably it was from the Parisian in him. «It would certainly balance accounts between us,» said he to himself. «It would go far to prevent bitterness. She would be all the happier for it. After all, it is not my fault we could not go to the calanque.»

Reflecting thus, he bent his steps toward the famous establishment of Madame Garcier, so highly recommended by his fellow clerks. This discreet haven had all the appearance of a private house; the door was answered by a maidservant, who ushered callers into an anteroom.

«Madame will be with you immediately,» said this maidservant to Henri, taking his hat and stick and depositing them in an old-fashioned hall-stand. With that she showed him into the anteroom and departed, leaving the door open behind her.

«This is an excellent idea,» thought Henri. «Now there will be two of us, and I shall be the worse of the two, as a man should be! So I shall not feel bitter. How happy we shall be! And after all, what is a little extravagance, when we are going to inherit a million francs ?»

At that moment he heard footsteps on the stairs, and the voice evidently of the Madame, who was ushering out some favourite patron.

«This has been a delightful surprise,» she was saying. «When I heard of your marriage, I declared we had seen the last of you. Delphine and Fifi were inconsolable.»

«What would you?» came the reply in a thunderous rumble, which caused Henri's hair to stand erect upon his head. «A man must settle down, Madame, especially when he is no longer as young as he was. It is, so to speak, a duty to the Republic. But, Madame, I am, thank God, still in my prime, and, when he is in his prime, a man demands variety. Besides, Madame, the young women in these days —»

Henri nearly fainted. He heard the front door close, and the footsteps of the proprietress approaching the room in which he sat. He felt he must get out at all costs.

«Pardon me, Madame,» he muttered. «I fear I have changed my mind. A sudden indisposition.»

«Just as you please, Monsieur,» said the old trot. «There is no compulsion in this establishment. But if Monsieur would like at least to inspect a young lady — to exchange a few pleasant remarks —»

«No, no, thank you,» said Henri desperately, edging into the hallway. «I must go. Ah, here is my hat. But my cane! Where is my cane?»

He stared, but his cane was gone. In its place the last visitor had left a cheap, nasty, battered old bamboo.

«There goes the tea bell,» said Mrs. Carter. «I hope Simon hears it.»

They looked out from the window of the drawing-room. The long garden, agreeably neglected, ended in a waste plot. Here a little summer-house was passing close by beauty on its way to complete decay. This was Simon's retreat. It was almost completely screened by the tangled branches of the apple tree and the pear tree, planted too close together, as they always are in the suburbs. They caught a glimpse of him now and then, as he strutted up and down, mouthing and gesticulating, performing all the solemn mumbo-jumbo of small boys who spend long afternoons at the forgotten ends of long gardens.

«There he is, bless him!» said Betty. «Playing his game,» said Mrs. Carter. «He won't play with the other children any more. And if I go down there — the temper! And comes in tired out!»

«He doesn't have his sleep in the afternoons?» asked Betty.

«You know what Big Simon's ideas are,» said Mrs. Carter. «'Let him choose for himself,' he says. That's what he chooses, and he comes in as white as a sheet.»

«Look! He's heard the bell,» said Betty. The expression was justified, though the bell had ceased ringing a full minute ago. Small Simon stopped in his parade exactly as if its tinny dingle had at that moment reached his ear. They watched him perform certain ritual sweeps and scratchings with his little stick, and come lagging over the hot and flaggy grass toward the house.

Mrs. Carter led the way down to the play-room, or garden-room, which was also the tea-room for hot days. It had been the huge scullery of this tall Georgian house. Now the walls were cream-washed, there was coarse blue net in the windows, canvas-covered armchairs on the stone floor, and a reproduction of Van Gogh's Sunflowers over the mantelpiece.

Small Simon came drifting in, and accorded Betty a perfunctory greeting. His face was an almost perfect triangle, pointed at the chin, and he was paler than he should have been. «The little elf-child!» cried Betty.

Simon looked at her. «No,» said he.

At that moment the door opened, and Mr. Carter came in, rubbing his hands. He was a dentist, and washed them before and after everything he did. «You!» said his wife. «Home already!»

«Not unwelcome, I hope,» said Mr. Carter, nodding to Betty. «Two people cancelled their appointments: I decided to come home. I said, I hope I am not unwelcome.»

«Silly!» said his wife. «Of course not.»

«Small Simon seems doubtful,» continued Mr. Carter. «Small Simon, are you sorry to see me at tea with you?»

«No, Daddy.»

«No, what?»

«No, Big Simon.»

«That's right. Big Simon and Small Simon. That sounds more like friends, doesn't it? At one time little boys had to call their father 'sir.' If they forgot — a good spanking. On the bottom, Small Simon! On the bottom!» said Mr. Carter, washing his hands once more with his invisible soap and water.

The little boy turned crimson with shame or rage.

• Предыдущая
• 60/112
• Следующая