Madame Arnoux did not notice that this was said through a feeling of spite against her.
Meanwhile, the Vicomte was torturing his brain in the effort to make a conquest of Mademoiselle Cécile. He commenced by finding fault with the shape of the decanters and the graving of the knives, in order to show his artistic tastes. Then he talked about his stable, his tailor and his shirtmaker. Finally, he took up the subject of religion, and seized the opportunity of conveying to her that he fulfilled all his duties.
Martinon set to work in a better fashion. With his eyes fixed on her continually, he praised, in a monotonous fashion, her birdlike profile, her dull fair hair, and her hands, which were unusually short. The plain-looking young girl was delighted at this shower of flatteries.
It was impossible to hear anything, as all present were talking at the tops of their voices. M. Roque wanted “an iron hand” to govern France. Nonancourt even regretted that the political scaffold was abolished. They ought to have all these scoundrels put to death together.
“Now that I think of it, are we speaking of Dussardier?” said M. Dambreuse, turning towards Frederick.
The worthy shopman was now a hero, like Sallesse, the brothers Jeanson, the wife of Pequillet, etc.
Frederick, without waiting to be asked, related his friend’s history; it threw around him a kind of halo.
Then they came quite naturally to refer to different traits of courage.
According to the diplomatist, it was not hard to face death, witness the case of men who fight duels.
“We might take the Vicomte’s testimony on that point,” said Martinon.
The Vicomte’s face got very flushed.
The guests stared at him, and Louise, more astonished than the rest, murmured:
“What is it, pray?”
“He sank before Frederick,” returned Arnoux, in a very low tone.
“Do you know anything, Mademoiselle?” said Nonancourt presently, and he repeated her answer to Madame Dambreuse, who, bending forward a little, began to fix her gaze on Frederick.
Martinon did not wait for Cécile’s questions. He informed her that this affair had reference to a woman of improper character. The young girl drew back slightly in her chair, as if to escape from contact with such a libertine.
The conversation was renewed. The great wines of Bordeaux were sent round, and the guests became animated. Pellerin had a dislike to the Revolution, because he attributed to it the complete loss of the Spanish Museum.
This is what grieved him most as a painter.
As he made the latter remark, M. Roque asked:
“Are you not yourself the painter of a very notable picture?”
“Perhaps! What is it?”
“It represents a lady in a costume—faith!—a little light, with a purse, and a peacock behind.”
Frederick, in his turn, reddened. Pellerin pretended that he had not heard the words.
“Nevertheless, it is certainly by you! For your name is written at the bottom of it, and there is a line on it stating that it is Monsieur Moreau’s property.”
One day, when Père Roque and his daughter were waiting at his residence to see him, they saw the Maréchale’s portrait. The old gentleman had even taken it for “a Gothic painting.”
“No,” said Pellerin rudely, “ ’tis a woman’s portrait.”
Martinon added:
“And a living woman’s, too, and no mistake! Isn’t that so, Cisy?”
“Oh! I know nothing about it.”
“I thought you were acquainted with her. But, since it causes you pain, I must beg a thousand pardons!”
Cisy lowered his eyes, proving by his embarrassment that he must have played a pitiable part in connection with this portrait. As for Frederick, the model could only be his mistress. It was one of those convictions which are immediately formed, and the faces of the assembly revealed it with the utmost clearness.
“How he lied to me!” said Madame Arnoux to herself.
“It is for her, then, that he left me,” thought Louise.
Frederick had an idea that these two stories might compromise him; and when they were in the garden, Mademoiselle Cécile’s wooer burst out laughing in his face.
“Oh, not at all! ’twill do you good! Go ahead!”
What did he mean? Besides, what was the cause of this good nature, so contrary to his usual conduct? Without giving any explanation, he proceeded towards the lower end, where the ladies were seated. The men were standing round them, and, in their midst, Pellerin was giving vent to his ideas. The form of government most favourable for the arts was an enlightened monarchy. He was disgusted with modern times, “if it were only on account of the National Guard”—he regretted the Middle Ages and the days of Louis XIV. M. Roque congratulated him on his opinions, confessing that they overcame all his prejudices against artists. But almost without a moment’s delay he went off when the voice of Fumichon attracted his attention.
Arnoux tried to prove that there were two Socialisms—a good and a bad. The manufacturer saw no difference whatever between them, his head becoming dizzy with rage at the utterance of the word “property.”
“ ’Tis a law written on the face of Nature! Children cling to their toys. All peoples, all animals are of my opinion. The lion even, if he were able to speak, would declare himself a proprietor! Thus I myself, messieurs, began with a capital of fifteen thousand francs. Would you be surprised to hear that for thirty years I used to get up at four o’clock every morning? I’ve had as much pain as five hundred devils in making my fortune! And people will come and tell me I’m not the master, that my money is not my money; in short, that property is theft!”
“But Proudhon—”
“Let me alone with your Proudhon! if he were here I think I’d strangle him!”
He would have strangled him. After the intoxicating drink he had swallowed Fumichon did not know what he was talking about any longer, and his apoplectic face was on
