“So, you see, my dear child,” said the old lady in conclusion, “that it will be no small matter to drag this fortune out of the wolf’s mouth—”
“It seems to me so difficult, with such a scoundrel as you have described, and a slut like that young witch, that it must be impossible,” said Joseph. “We should have to remain at Issoudun a year at least to combat their influence and undo their power over my uncle.—No fortune is worth so much vexation, to say nothing of having to stoop to a thousand dishonorable tricks. My mother has but a fortnight’s leave of absence; her appointment is a certainty, and she must not risk losing it. In the month of October I have some important work to do which Schinner has secured for me in a nobleman’s house. And to me, madame, you see, fortune lies in my paintbrushes.”
This speech was received with profound amazement. Madame Hochon, though relatively superior to the place she lived in, did not believe in painting. She looked at her goddaughter, and again grasped her hand.
“This Maxence is a second edition of Philippe,” said Joseph in his mother’s ear; “but with more policy, more style than Philippe has.”—“Well, madame,” he added aloud, “we shall not long put Monsieur Hochon out of his way by staying here.”
“Oh, you are young; you know nothing of the world,” said the old lady. “In a fortnight, with a little political manoeuvring, you may do something. Listen to my advice, and act as I may direct you.”
“Oh, very gladly!” cried Joseph. “I am conscious of ineffable incapacity in domestic tactics; and I am sure I do not know what Desroches himself would advise us to do if, for instance, my uncle refuses to see us tomorrow.”
Mesdames Borniche, Goddet-Hérau, Beaussier, Lousteau-Prangin, and Fichet, graced by their husbands, now came in.
After the usual greetings, and when the fourteen persons had found seats, Madame Hochon could not avoid introducing to them her goddaughter Agathe and Joseph Bridau. Joseph remained on a sofa, and gave himself up to a covert study of the sixty faces which from half-past five till nine came to sit to him gratis, as he said to his mother. And Joseph’s attitude throughout this evening in regard to the patricians of Issoudun did nothing to alter the views of the little town in regard to him. Everyone left chilled by his ironical gaze, uncomfortable under his smile, or alarmed by his face, sinister, no doubt, to people who could not discern the eccentricity of genius.
At ten o’clock, when everybody went to bed, the old lady detained her goddaughter in her room till midnight. Then, knowing that they were alone, the two women, while telling each other the troubles of their lives, made an exchange of suffering. As she measured the vastness of the solitude in which all the powers of a beautiful soul had been spent unrecognized, as she heard the last utterances of an intelligence that had missed its opportunities, as she learned the sorrows of a heart so essentially generous and charitable, but whose generosity and charity had never had full play, Agathe no longer regarded herself as the more unfortunate of the two, as she perceived how much mitigation and minor happiness her Paris life had afforded in the midst of the discipline appointed her by God.
“You who are so pious, godmother, tell me my faults,” said she. “Tell me what it is that God is punishing me for.”
“He prepares us, my child,” replied the old lady as midnight struck.
At midnight the Knights of Idlesse were making their way, one by one, like shades, to meet under the trees of the Boulevard Baron, and walked to and fro, talking in low whispers.
“What is up?” was the first question of each newcomer.
“I fancy,” said François, “that all Max intends is to give us a feed.”
“No. Matters are looking awkward for him and la Rabouilleuse. He has concocted some plot against these Parisians no doubt—”
“It would be good fun to pack them off again.”
“My grandfather,” said Baruch, “is in a fright already at having two more mouths to fill, and he would jump at any excuse—”
“Well, Knights!” cried Max in a low voice as he came up, “why are you gazing at the stars? They will not distil kirsch on our heads. To la Cognette’s! To la Cognette’s!”
“To la Cognette’s!”
The shout as of one voice produced a fearful din, that swept across the little town like the hue of soldiers rushing on an assault; then utter silence fell. Next morning more than one person would say to his neighbor: “Did you hear that fearful yell last night at about one o’clock? I thought there was a fire somewhere.”
A supper worthy of la Cognette cheered the eyes of the two-and-twenty guests, for the Order was present in all its numbers. At two in the morning, when they were beginning to siroter, a word of their own peculiar slang, fairly descriptive of the art of drinking in sips and slowly tasting the wine, Max addressed the meeting:—
“My dear boys, this morning, in consequence of the never-to-be forgotten trick we played with Fario’s cart, your Grand Master was so grossly insulted on a point of honor by that base corn-dealer, and a Spaniard to boot—Ah, those hulks!—that I am determined to let that miscreant feel the whole weight of my vengeance, within the strict limits of our sports. After considering the matter all day, I have hit on a plan for playing him a capital trick, a trick that is enough to drive him mad. While avenging the Order attacked in my person, we may feed certain animals worshiped by the Egyptians, little beasts which are, after all, God’s creatures though men persecute them unjustly. Good comes of evil, and evil of good; such is the divine law! I require you each and all, under pain of your humble servant and Grand Master’s displeasure, to procure, as secretly
