the cassocked gentleman? Perhaps they had mutually devoured each other? This last supposition appeared very unlikely, for I fancied that my uncle was quite incapable of swallowing a grain more nourishment at that moment.
At last the day dawned. I was very uneasy, and not venturing to go into the house myself, I went to one of my friends who lived opposite. I roused him, explained matters to him, much to his amusement and astonishment, and took possession of his window.
At nine o’clock he relieved me and I got a little sleep. At two o’clock I, in my turn, replaced him. We were utterly astonished.
At six o’clock the Jesuit left, with a very happy and satisfied look on his face, and we saw him go away with a quiet step.
Then, timid and ashamed, I went and knocked at my uncle’s door. When the servant opened it I did not dare to ask her any questions, but went upstairs without saying a word.
My uncle was lying pale, exhausted, with weary, sorrowful eyes and heavy arms, on his bed. A little religious picture was fastened to one of the bed-curtains with a pin.
“Why, uncle,” I said, “you in bed still? Are you not well?”
He replied in a feeble voice:
“Oh! my dear boy, I have been very ill; nearly dead.”
“How was that, uncle?”
“I don’t know; it was most surprising. But what is stranger still, is that the Jesuit priest who has just left—you know, that excellent man whom I have made such fun of—had a divine revelation of my state, and came to see me.”
I was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to laugh, and with difficulty said: “Oh, really!”
“Yes, he came. He heard a Voice telling him to get up and come to me, because I was going to die. It was a revelation.”
I pretended to sneeze, so as not to burst out laughing; I felt inclined to roll on the ground with amusement.
In about a minute I managed to say, indignantly: “And you received him, uncle, you? You, a freethinker, a freemason? You did not have him thrown out?”
He seemed confused, and stammered:
“Listen a moment, it is so astonishing—so astonishing and providential! He also spoke to me about my father; he knew him formerly.”
“Your father, uncle? But that is no reason for receiving a Jesuit.”
“I know that, but I was very ill, and he looked after me most devotedly all night long. He was perfect; no doubt he saved my life; those men are all more or less doctors.”
“Oh! he looked after you all night? But you said just now that he had only been gone a very short time.”
“That is quite true; I kept him to breakfast after all his kindness. He had it at a table by my bedside while I drank a cup of tea.”
“And he ate meat?”
My uncle looked vexed, as if I had said something very much out of place, and then added:
“Don’t joke, Gaston; such things are out of place at times. He has shown me more devotion than many a relation would have done and I expect you to respect his convictions.”
This rather upset me, but I answered, nevertheless: “Very well, uncle; and what did you do after breakfast?”
“We played a game of bezique, and then he repeated his breviary while I read a little book which he happened to have in his pocket, and which was not by any means badly written.”
“A religious book, uncle?”
“Yes, and no, or rather—no. It is the history of their missions in Central Africa, and is rather a book of travels and adventures. What these men have done is very good.”
I began to feel that matters were going badly, so I got up. “Well, goodbye, uncle,” I said, “I see you are going to leave freemasonry for religion; you are a renegade.”
He was still rather confused, and stammered:
“Well, but religion is a sort of freemasonry.”
“When is your Jesuit coming back?” I asked.
“I don’t—I don’t know exactly; tomorrow, perhaps; but it is not certain.”
I went out, altogether overwhelmed.
My joke turned out very badly for me! My uncle became radically converted, and if that had been all I should not have cared so much. Clerical or freemason, to me it is all the same; six of one and half a dozen of the other; but the worst of it is that he has just made his will—yes, made his will—and has disinherited me in favor of that holy Jesuit!
A Reckless Passion
The calm, glittering sea was scarcely stirred by the current of the tide. From the pier all Havre was watching the ships come in—visible as they were from a great distance; some—the big steamers—wreathed in smoke, others—the sailing-vessels—tugged along by almost invisible steamboats, raising their bare masts, like stripped trees, to the sky. These monsters hurried from every quarter of the globe to the narrow entrance of the dock that swallowed them up; and they whistled, they groaned, they shrieked, while they spat up jets of steam like someone gasping for breath.
Two young officers were walking on the crowded mole, bowing and being bowed to, with an occasional stop for a chat. Suddenly the taller of the two, Paul d’Henricel, pressed the arm of his friend, Jean Renoldi, and whispered: “Why, here’s Madame Poinçot, take a good look at her, I’ll swear she’s making eyes at you.”
She was walking arm-in-arm with her husband, a rich shipowner. She was about forty, still beautiful, rather stout, but thanks to this fact she had retained the freshness of youth. Among her friends she was known as the Goddess on account of her proud carriage, big black eyes, and her aristocratic manner. No suspicion of anything wrong had ever smirched her life; she was still without reproach. She was quoted as an example of the simple, honourable woman, so upright that no man had dared to covet her. And now for the past month Paul d’Henricel kept on repeating to his friend Renoldi that Madame Poinçot looked upon him with
