The Lesser Bourgeoisie, Honore de Balzac [good book recommendations .TXT] 📗

had not the resource of burning it--"

 

"He is the devil in person," thought Brigitte; "not a word of excuse

about all that glass, but he must needs fall foul of my brandy too!

--Monsieur," she resumed, in the same raised diapason, "as Monsieur

Felix is not coming, don't you think your family will be uneasy at

your absence?"

 

"Family? I haven't any, madame, owing to the fact that they want to

make me out a lunatic. But I have a housekeeper, Madame Lambert, and I

dare say she will be surprised not to see me home by this time. I

think I had better go now; if I stay later, the scene might be more

violent. But I must own that in this strange quarter I am not sure if

I can find my way."

 

"Then take a carriage."

 

"Carriage here, carriage there, indeed! my spiteful relations wouldn't

lose the chance of calling me a spendthrift."

 

"I have an important message to send into your quarter," said

Brigitte, seeing she must resolve to make the sacrifice, "and I have

just told my porter to take a cab and attend to it. If you would like

to take advantage of that convenience--"

 

"I accept it, madame," said the old professor, rising; "and, if it

comes to the worst, I hope you will testify before the judge that I

was niggardly about a cab."

 

"Henri," said Brigitte to the man-servant, "take monsieur down to the

porter and tell him to do the errand I told him about just now, and to

take monsieur to his own door, and be very careful of him."

 

"Careful of him!" echoed the old man. "Do you take me for a trunk,

madame, or a bit of cracked china?"

 

Seeing that she had got her man fairly to the door, Brigitte allowed

herself to turn upon him.

 

"What I say, monsieur, is for your good. You must allow me to observe

that you have not an agreeable nature."

 

"Careful of him! careful of him!" repeated the old man. "Don't you

know, madame, that by the use of such words you may get people put

into lunatic asylums? However, I will not reply rudely to the polite

hospitality I have received,--all the more because, I think, I have

put Monsieur Felix, who missed me intentionally, in his right place."

 

"Go, go, go, you old brute!" cried Brigitte, slamming the door behind

him.

 

Before returning to the salon she was obliged to drink a whole

glassful of water, the restraint she had been forced to put upon

herself in order to get rid of this troublesome guest having, to use

her own expression, "put her all about." 

CHAPTER XIII (THE MAN WHO THINKS THE STAR TOO BRIGHT)

The next morning Minard paid a visit to Phellion in his study. The

great citizen and his son Felix were at that moment engaged in a

conversation which seemed to have some unusual interest for them.

 

"My dear Felix," cried the mayor of the eleventh arrondissement,

offering his hand warmly to the young professor, "it is you who bring

me here this morning; I have come to offer you my congratulations."

 

"What has occurred?" asked Phellion. "Have the Thuilliers--"

 

"It has nothing to do with the Thuilliers," interrupted the mayor.

"But," he added, looking hard at Felix, "can that sly fellow have

concealed the thing even from you?"

 

"I do not think," said Phellion, "that ever, in his life, has my son

concealed a thing from me."

 

"Then you know about the sublime astronomical discovery which he

communicated to the Academy of Sciences yesterday?"

 

"Your kindness for me, Monsieur le maire," said Felix, hastily, "has

led you astray; I was only the reader of the communication."

 

"Oh! let me alone!" said Minard; "reader, indeed! I know all about

it."

 

"But see," said Felix, offering Minard the "Constitutionnel," "here's

the paper; not only does it announce that Monsieur Picot is the maker

of the discovery, but it mentions the rewards which, without losing a

moment, the government has bestowed upon him."

 

"Felix is right," said Phellion; "that journal is to be trusted. On

this occasion I think the government has acted very properly."

 

"But, my dear commander, I repeat to you that the truth of the affair

has got wind, and your son is shown to be a most admirable fellow. To

put his own discovery to the credit of his old professor so as to

obtain for him the recognition and favor of the authorities--upon my

word, in all antiquity I don't know a finer trait!"

 

"Felix!" said Phellion, beginning to show some emotion, "these immense

labors to which you have devoted so much time of late, these continual

visits to the Observatory--"

 

"But, father," interrupted Felix, "Monsieur Minard has been

misinformed."

 

"Misinformed!" cried Minard, "when I know the whole affair from

Monsieur Picot himself!"

 

At this argument, stated in a way to leave no possible doubt, the

truth began to dawn upon Phellion.

 

"Felix, my son!" he said, rising to embrace him.

 

But he was obliged to sit down again; his legs refused to bear his

weight; he turned pale; and that nature, ordinarily so impassible,

seemed about to give way under the shock of this happiness.

 

"My God!" said Felix, terrified, "he is ill; ring the bell, I entreat

you, Monsieur Minard."

 

And he ran to the old man, loosened his cravat and unfastened the

collar of his shirt, striking him in the palms of his hands. But the

sudden faintness was but momentary; almost immediately himself again,

Phellion gathered his son to his heart, and holding him long in his

embrace, he said, in a voice broken by the tears that came to put an

end to this shock of joy:--

 

"Felix, my noble son! so great in heart, so great in mind!"

 

The bell had been rung by Minard with magisterial force, and with such

an accent that the whole household was alarmed, and came running in.

 

"It is nothing, it is nothing," said Phellion to the servants, sending

them away. But almost at the same moment, seeing his wife, who now

entered the room, he resumed his habitual solemnity.

 

"Madame Phellion," he said, pointing to Felix, "how many years is it

since you brought that young man into the world?"

 

Madame Phellion, bewildered by the question, hesitated a moment, and

then said:--

 

"Twenty-five years next January."

 

"Have you not thought, until now, that God had amply granted your

maternal desires by making this child of your womb an honest man, a

pious son, and by gifting him for mathematics, that Science of

sciences, with an aptitude sufficiently remarkable?"

 

"I have," said Madame Phellion, understanding less and less what her

husband was coming to.

 

"Well," continued Phellion, "you owe to God an additional

thanksgiving, for He has granted that you be the mother of a man of

genius; his toil, which lately we rebuked, and which made us fear for

the reason of our child, was the way--the rough and jagged way--by

which men come to fame."

 

"Ah ca!" cried Madame Phellion, "can't you stop coming yourself to an

explanation of what you mean, and get there?"

 

"Your son," said Minard, cautious this time in measuring the joy he

was about to bestow, fearing another fainting-fit of happiness, "has

just made a very important scientific discovery."

 

"Is it true?" said Madame Phellion, going up to Felix, and taking him

by both hands as she looked at him lovingly.

 

"When I say important," continued Minard, "I am only sparing your

maternal emotions; it is, in truth, a sublime, a dazzling discovery.

He is only twenty-five years old, but his name, from henceforth, is

immortal."

 

"And this is the man," said Madame Phellion, half beside herself, and

kissing Felix with effusion, "to whom that la Peyrade is preferred!"

 

"No, not preferred, madame," said Minard, "for the Thuilliers are not

the dupes of that adventurer. But he has made himself necessary to

them. Thuillier fancies that without la Peyrade he could not be

elected; the election is still doubtful, and they are sacrificing

everything to it."

 

"But isn't it odious," cried Madame Phellion, "to consider such

interests before the happiness of their child!"

 

"Ah!" said Minard, "but Celeste is not their child, only their adopted

daughter."

 

"Brigitte's, if you like," said Madame Phellion; "but as for

Thuillier--"

 

"My good wife," said Phellion, "no censoriousness. The good God has

just sent us a great consolation; and, indeed, though certainly far

advanced, this marriage, about which I regret to say Felix does not

behave with all the philosophy I could desire, may still not take

place."

 

Seeing that Felix shook his head with a look of incredulity, Minard

hastened to say:--

 

"Yes, yes, the commander is quite right. Last night there was a hitch

about signing the contract, and it was not signed. You were not there,

by the bye, and your absence was much remarked upon."

 

"We were invited," said Phellion, "and up to the last moment we

hesitated whether to go or not. But, as you will readily see, our

position was a false one; besides, Felix--and I see now it must have

been in consequence of his lecture at the Academy--was completely worn

out with fatigue and emotion. To present ourselves without him would

have seemed very singular; therefore we decided that it would be

wisest and best to absent ourselves."

 

The presence of the man whom he had just declared immortal did not

deter Minard, when the occasion was thus made for him, from plunging

eagerly into one of the most precious joys of bourgeois existence,

namely, the retailing of gossip.

 

"Just imagine!" he began; "last night at the Thuilliers' the most

extraordinary things took place, one after another."

 

First he related the curious episode of pere Picot. Then he told of

the hearty approbation given to Felix's conduct by the Abbe Gondrin,

and the desire the young preacher had expressed to meet him.

 

"I'll go and see him," said Felix; "do you know where he lives?"

 

"Rue de la Madeleine, No. 8," replied Minard. "But the great event of

the evening was the spectacle of that fine company assembled to listen

to the marriage-contract, and waiting in expectation a whole hour for

the notary, who--never came!"

 

"Then the contract is not signed?" said Felix, eagerly.

 

"Not even read, my friend. Suddenly some one came in and told Brigitte

that the notary had started for Brussels."

 

"Ah! no doubt," said Phellion, naively; "some very important

business."

 

"Most important," replied Minard; "a little bankruptcy of five hundred

thousand francs which the gentleman leaves behind him."

 

"But who is this public officer," demanded Phellion, "so recreant, in

this scandalous manner, to the sacred duties of his calling?"

 

"Parbleu! your neighbor in the rue Saint-Jacques, the notary Dupuis."

 

"What!" said Madame Phellion, "that pious man? Why, he is churchwarden

of the parish!"

 

"Eh! madame, those are the very ones," said Minard, "to run off--there

are many precedents for that."

 

"But," said Phellion, "such news cast suddenly among the company must

have fallen like a thunderbolt."

 

"Especially," said Minard, "as it was brought in the most unexpected

and singular manner."

 

"Tell us all about it," said Madame Phellion, with animation.

 

"Well, it seems," continued Minard, "that this canting swindler had

charge of the savings of a number of servants, and that Monsieur de la

Peyrade--because, you see, they are all of a clique, these pious

people--was in the habit of recruiting clients for him in that walk of

life--"

 

"I always said so!" interrupted Madame Phellion. "I knew that

Provencal was no good at all."

 

"It seems," continued the mayor, "that he had placed in Dupuis's hands

all the savings of an old housekeeper, pious herself, amounting to a

pretty little sum. Faith! I think myself it was worth some trouble.

How much do you suppose it was? Twenty-five thousand francs, if you

please! This housekeeper, whose name is Madame Lambert--"

 

"Madame Lambert!" cried Felix; "why, that's Monsieur Picot's

housekeeper; close cap, pale, thin face, speaks always with her eyes

lowered, shows no hair?"

 

"That's she," said Minard,--"a regular hypocrite!"

 

"Twenty-five thousand francs of savings!" said Felix. "I don't wonder

that poor pere Picot is always out of money."

 

"And that someone had to meddle with the sale of his book," said

Minard, slyly. "However that may be, you can imagine that the woman

was in a fine state of mind on hearing of the flight