“Dearly loved!” said Eve, with the quiet serenity of the love that is sure of itself.
“And so may well endure all that poor Bernard Palissy suffered—Bernard Palissy, the discoverer of Écouen ware, the Huguenot excepted by Charles IX on the day of Saint-Bartholomew. He lived to be rich and honored in his old age, and lectured on the ‘Science of Earths,’ as he called it, in the face of Europe.”
“So long as my fingers can hold an iron, you shall want for nothing,” cried the poor wife, in tones that told of the deepest devotion. “When I was Mme. Prieur’s forewoman I had a friend among the girls, Basine Clerget, a cousin of Postel’s, a very good child; well, Basine told me the other day when she brought back the linen, that she was taking Mme. Prieur’s business; I will work for her.”
“Ah! you shall not work there for long,” said David; “I have found out—”
Eve, watching his face, saw the sublime belief in success which sustains the inventor, the belief that gives him courage to go forth into the virgin forests of the country of Discovery; and, for the first time in her life, she answered that confident look with a half-sad smile. David bent his head mournfully.
“Oh! my dear! I am not laughing! I did not doubt! It was not a sneer!” cried Eve, on her knees before her husband. “But I see plainly now that you were right to tell me nothing about your experiments and your hopes. Ah! yes, dear, an inventor should endure the long painful travail of a great idea alone, he should not utter a word of it even to his wife. … A woman is a woman still. This Eve of yours could not help smiling when she heard you say, ‘I have found out,’ for the seventeenth time this month.”
David burst out laughing so heartily at his own expense that Eve caught his hand in hers and kissed it reverently. It was a delicious moment for them both, one of those roses of love and tenderness that grow beside the desert paths of the bitterest poverty, nay, at times in yet darker depths.
As the storm of misfortune grew, Eve’s courage redoubled; the greatness of her husband’s nature, his inventor’s simplicity, the tears that now and again she saw in the eyes of this dreamer of dreams with the tender heart—all these things aroused in her an unsuspected energy of resistance. Once again she tried the plan that had succeeded so well already. She wrote to M. Métivier, reminding him that the printing office was for sale, offered to pay him out of the proceeds, and begged him not to ruin David with needless costs. Métivier received the heroic letter, and shammed dead. His head-clerk replied that in the absence of M. Métivier he could not take it upon himself to stay proceedings, for his employer had made it a rule to let the law take its course. Eve wrote again, offering this time to renew the bills and pay all the costs hitherto incurred. To this the clerk consented, provided that Séchard senior guaranteed payment. So Eve walked over to Marsac, taking Kolb and her mother with her. She braved the old vinedresser, and so charming was she, that the old man’s face relaxed, and the puckers smoothed out at the sight of her; but when, with inward quakings, she came to speak of a guarantee, she beheld a sudden and complete change of the tippleographic countenance.
“If I allowed my son to put his hand to the lips of my cash box whenever he had a mind, he would plunge it deep into the vitals, he would take all I have!” cried old Séchard. “That is the way with children; they eat up their parents’ purse. What did I do myself, eh? I never cost my parents a farthing. Your printing office is standing idle. The rats and the mice do all the printing that is done in it. … You have a pretty face; I am very fond of you; you are a careful, hardworking woman; but that son of mine!—Do you know what David is? I’ll tell you—he is a scholar that will never do a stroke of work! If I had reared him, as I was reared myself, without knowing his letters, and if I had made a ‘bear’ of him, like his father before him, he would have money saved and put out to interest by now. … Oh! he is my cross, that fellow is, look you! And, unluckily, he is all the family I have, for there is never like to be a later edition. And when he makes you unhappy—”
Eve protested with a vehement gesture of denial.
“Yes, he does,” affirmed old Séchard; “you had to find a wet-nurse for the child. Come, come, I know all about it, you are in the county court, and the whole town is talking about you. I was only a ‘bear,’ I have no book learning, I was not foreman at the Didots’, the first printers in the world; but yet I never set eyes on a bit of stamped paper. Do you know what I say to myself as I go to and fro among my vines, looking after them and getting in my vintage, and doing my bits of business?—I say to myself, ‘You are taking a lot of trouble, poor old chap; working to pile one silver crown on another, you will leave a fine property behind you, and the bailiffs and the lawyers will get it all; … or else it will go in nonsensical notions and crotchets.’—Look you here, child; you are the
