Such as he was, plainly dressed, and his frame evidently hardened by his recent hard life, Philippe was a hero in his poor mother’s eyes; but he had, in fact, become what the common people plainly describe as “a bad lot.”
Madame Bridau, startled by her darling son’s destitute condition, had a complete outfit made for him at le Havre; as she listened to the tale of his woes, she had not the heart to check his eating, drinking, and amusing himself, as a man was bound to drink and enjoy himself on his return from the Champ d’Asile.
The occupation of Texas by the remnant of the Grand Army was no doubt a splendid idea; but it was the men that were found wanting rather than the conditions, since Texas is now a Republican state of great promise. The experiment made under the Restoration proved emphatically that the interests of the Liberals were purely selfish, and in no sense national; aiming at power, and at nothing else. Neither the material, the place, the idea, nor the goodwill was lacking, only the money and the support of that hypocritical party; they had vast sums at their disposal, and would give nothing when the reinstatement of an Empire was at stake. Housewives of Agathe’s stamp have the good sense which enables them to see through such political frauds. The hapless mother saw the truth as she heard her son’s story; for, during his absence, her interest in the exile had led her to listen to the pompous announcements of the Constitutional newspapers, and to watch the vicissitudes of the braggart subscription, which yielded scarcely a hundred and fifty thousand francs when five or six millions were needed. The leaders of the Liberal party very soon discovered that they were, in fact, doing the job for Louis XVIII by sending away the glorious remnant of the French army, and they abandoned to their fate the most devoted and ardent enthusiasts, who were the first to go. Agathe never was able to explain to Philippe that he had been the prey of fraud rather than of persecution. In her belief in her idol she accused herself of stupidity, and lamented the disasters of the times which had fallen on Philippe.
And it was true that, until now, in all his misfortunes he had been less a sinner than a victim to his fine temper and energy, to the Emperor’s overthrow, to the duplicity of the Liberals and the vindictiveness of the Bourbons towards the Bonapartists. All through the week they spent at le Havre—a horribly expensive week—she never dared hint that he should become reconciled to the King’s Government and call at the War Office; she had enough to do to get him away from le Havre, where living is very dear, and back to Paris, when she had no money left but just enough for the journey. Madame Descoings and Joseph, who met them as they alighted from the coach in the yard of the Messageries Royales, were shocked at the change in Agathe.
“Your mother has grown ten years older in two months,” said the old lady to Joseph, in the midst of the embracing, while their trunks were taken down.
“Well, Granny Descoings, and how are you?” was Philippe’s tender greeting to the grocer’s widow, whom Joseph affectionately addressed as Maman Descoings.
“We have no money to pay for the cab,” said Agathe piteously.
“But I have,” replied the young painter. “My brother is splendidly burnt!” he exclaimed, looking at Philippe.
“Yes, I am colored like a pipe. But you have not altered, little man.”
Joseph, now one-and-twenty, and much appreciated by a few friends who had stood by him in evil days, felt his powers, and was conscious of his talent. In a little society of young men devoted to science, letters, politics, and philosophy, he represented painting; he was hurt by his brother’s contemptuous tone, emphasized by an incivility; Philippe pulled his ear as if he were a mere child. Agathe observed the sort of chill which came over Madame Descoings and Joseph after their first affectionate month, but she set matters right by speaking of the privations endured by Philippe during his exile.
Madame Descoings, anxious to make a high day in honor of the return of the prodigal son, as she called him in her own mind, had prepared the best of dinners, to which she had invited old Claparon and the elder Desroches. All the friends of the family were invited, and came in the evening. Joseph had asked Léon Giraud, d’Arthez, Michel Chrestien, Fulgence Ridal, and Bianchon, his friends of the coterie. Madame Descoings had told Bixiou—her stepson, as she called him—that the young people would play a game of écarté. The younger Desroches, sternly forced by his father to become a law-student, also joined the party. Du Bruel, Claparon, Desroches, and the Abbé Loraux stared at the traveler, frightened by his coarse face and manners, his voice husky with dram-drinking, his vulgar language and looks. While Joseph was setting out the card-tables, her most intimate friends gathered round Agathe and asked her:
“What do you intend to do with Philippe?”
“I do not know,” said she. “But he is still determined not to serve under the Bourbons.”
“It is very difficult to find him a place in France. If he will not reenter the army, he will not easily find a pigeonhole ready for him in the civil service,” said old du Bruel. “And only to listen to him is enough to prove that he will never make a fortune, like my son, by writing plays.”
Agathe’s glance in reply was enough to make them all understand how anxious she was as to Philippe’s prospects; and as neither of her friends had
