“There is a God after all, you see, my dear,” says he, feeling her pulse. “You have caused a great misfortune; you must repair the mischief. The band of God is in all this. (What the hand of God is made to do is incredible!) Religion is religion; submit, be resigned; to begin with, it will calm your mind, and do as much to cure you as my drugs. Above all, remain here to take care of your master. And then, forgive! Forgiveness is the law of the Christian.”
This Goddet has promised that he will keep la Rabouilleuse in bed for three months. Perhaps the woman will insensibly become accustomed to our living under the same roof. I have secured the cook on my side. The abominable old thing tells her mistress that Max would have made life very hard for her. She declares that she heard the dead man say that if after the old man’s death he should be obliged to marry Flore, he did not mean to clog his career with a hussy. And the cook even insinuated that Max would have found means to get rid of her.
So all is well. My uncle, by old Hochon’s advice, has destroyed his will.
To Monsieur Giroudeau, at Mademoiselle Florentine’s, Rue de Vendôme au Marais.
My old Comrade—Find out whether that little puss Cesarine is engaged, and try to persuade her to be in readiness to come to Issoudun as soon as I ask her. The little slut must then start by return of post. She must get herself up respectably, and shed everything that smacks of the side-scenes; she would have to figure in the country as the daughter of a brave soldier killed on the field of honor. So the primmest behavior, a schoolgirl fit-out, and first-class virtue—these are the order of the day. If I should need her, and she is a success, at my uncle’s death she shall have fifty thousand francs. If she is busy, explain the case to Florentine, and find me, between you, some little walking lady who can play the part.
I had my scalp peeled in the duel with my fortune-grabber, and it has given my eye a twist. I will tell you all about it. Ah! old man, we will see good times yet, and have plenty of fun with others—not the same others. If you can forward me five hundred flimsies, I can find use for them. Ta-ta, old cock. Light your pipe with this document. It must be understood that the officer’s daughter hails from Châteauroux, and professes to be in need of help. However, I hope not to be obliged to have recourse to this dangerous game. Remember me to Mariette and all our friends.
Agathe, on hearing from Madame Hochon, hastened to Issoudun, and was received by her brother, who gave her Philippe’s old room. The poor mother, whose heart was soft again towards her villainous son, enjoyed a few happy days while hearing the citizens of Issoudun sing the Colonel’s praises.
“After all, dear child,” said Madame Hochon on the day of Agathe’s arrival, “youth must have its day. The follies of soldiers who served the Emperor cannot be the same as those of sons looked after by respectable fathers. If only you could know all the tricks that wretch Max would play here by night! Now, thanks to your son, Issoudun breathes and sleeps in peace. Judgment came late to Philippe, but it came; as he told us, three months’ imprisonment in the Luxembourg leaves a little ballast in the brain; in short, his conduct here has delighted Monsieur Hochon, and he has won general respect. If your son can but remain a little while out of the way of the temptations of Paris, he will end by giving you every satisfaction.”
Agathe, as she heard these comforting words, looked at her godmother with eyes full of happy tears.
Philippe played the good boy to his mother; he wanted to make use of her. This astute diplomatist did not want to have recourse to Cesarine unless he found himself the object of Flore’s aversion. He understood that Flore was an admirable tool, moulded by Maxence, and to his uncle a habit of life; he meant to make use of her rather than of a Parisian, who might have made the old man marry her. Just as Fouché advised Louis XVIII to lie between Napoleon’s sheets rather than to grant the Charter, Philippe would have liked to lie quietly between Gilet’s sheets. Still, he did not wish to cast a slur on the reputation he had just made in the province. Now, to carry on Max’s relations with la Rabouilleuse would be as odious on his part as on the woman’s. He might, without discredit, live under his uncle’s roof and at his uncle’s expense, in consideration of his relationship; but he could have nothing to say to Flore unless she were rehabilitated. In the meshes of these difficulties, the admirable plan occurred to him of making la Rabouilleuse his aunt. So, with this scheme unrevealed, he begged his mother to go to see the woman and show her some affection, treating her as a sister-in-law.
“I confess,
