A Start in Life [83]
DE Pierrotin a place in the coupe?" asked Georges,
ironically replying to Pierrotin's rebuff.
"No; my coupe is taken by a peer of France, the son-in-law of Monsieur
Moreau, Monsieur le Baron de Canalis, his wife, and his mother-in-law.
I have nothing left but one place in the interieur."
"The devil! so peers of France still travel in your coach, do they?"
said Georges, remembering his adventure with the Comte de Serizy.
"Well, I'll take that place in the interieur."
He cast a glance of examination on Oscar and his mother, but did not
recognize them.
Oscar's skin was now bronzed by the sun of Africa; his moustache was
very thick and his whiskers ample; the hollows in his cheeks and his
strongly marked features were in keeping with his military bearing.
The rosette of an officer of the Legion of honor, his missing arm, the
strict propriety of his dress, would all have diverted Georges
recollections of his former victim if he had had any. As for Madame
Clapart, whom Georges had scarcely seen, ten years devoted to the
exercise of the most severe piety had transformed her. No one would
ever have imagined that that gray sister concealed the Aspasia of
1797.
An enormous old man, very simply dressed, though his clothes were good
and substantial, in whom Oscar recognized Pere Leger, here came slowly
and heavily along. He nodded familiarly to Pierrotin, who appeared by
his manner to pay him the respect due in all lands to millionaires.
"Ha! ha! why, here's Pere Leger! more and more preponderant!" cried
Georges.
"To whom have I the honor of speaking?" asked old Leger, curtly.
"What! you don't recognize Colonel Georges, the friend of Ali pacha?
We travelled together once upon a time, in company with the Comte de
Serizy."
One of the habitual follies of those who have fallen in the world is
to recognize and desire the recognition of others.
"You are much changed," said the ex-farmer, now twice a millionaire.
"All things change," said Georges. "Look at the Lion d'Argent and
Pierrotin's coach; they are not a bit like what they were fourteen
years ago."
"Pierrotin now controls the whole service of the Valley of the Oise,"
replied Monsieur Leger, "and sends out five coaches. He is the
bourgeois of Beaumont, where he keeps a hotel, at which all the
diligences stop, and he has a wife and daughter who are not a bad help
to him."
An old man of seventy here came out of the hotel and joined the group
of travellers who were waiting to get into the coach.
"Come along, Papa Reybert," said Leger, "we are only waiting now for
your great man."
"Here he comes," said the steward of Presles, pointing to Joseph
Bridau.
Neither Georges nor Oscar recognized the illustrious artist, for his
face had the worn and haggard lines that were now famous, and his
bearing was that which is given by success. The ribbon of the Legion
of honor adorned his black coat, and the rest of his dress, which was
extremely elegant, seemed to denote an expedition to some rural fete.
At this moment a clerk, with a paper in his hand, came out of the
office (which was now in the former kitchen of the Lion d'Argent), and
stood before the empty coupe.
"Monsieur and Madame de Canalis, three places," he said. Then, moving
to the door of the interieur, he named, consecutively, "Monsieur
Bellejambe, two places; Monsieur de Reybert, three places; Monsieur--
your name, if you please?" he said to Georges.
"Georges Marest," said the fallen man, in a low voice.
The clerk then moved to the rotunde, before which were grouped a
number of nurses, country-people, and petty shopkeepers, who were
bidding each other adieu. Then, after bundling in the six passengers,
he called to four young men who mounted to the imperial; after which
he cried: "Start!" Pierrotin got up beside his driver, a young man in
a blouse, who called out: "Pull!"
ironically replying to Pierrotin's rebuff.
"No; my coupe is taken by a peer of France, the son-in-law of Monsieur
Moreau, Monsieur le Baron de Canalis, his wife, and his mother-in-law.
I have nothing left but one place in the interieur."
"The devil! so peers of France still travel in your coach, do they?"
said Georges, remembering his adventure with the Comte de Serizy.
"Well, I'll take that place in the interieur."
He cast a glance of examination on Oscar and his mother, but did not
recognize them.
Oscar's skin was now bronzed by the sun of Africa; his moustache was
very thick and his whiskers ample; the hollows in his cheeks and his
strongly marked features were in keeping with his military bearing.
The rosette of an officer of the Legion of honor, his missing arm, the
strict propriety of his dress, would all have diverted Georges
recollections of his former victim if he had had any. As for Madame
Clapart, whom Georges had scarcely seen, ten years devoted to the
exercise of the most severe piety had transformed her. No one would
ever have imagined that that gray sister concealed the Aspasia of
1797.
An enormous old man, very simply dressed, though his clothes were good
and substantial, in whom Oscar recognized Pere Leger, here came slowly
and heavily along. He nodded familiarly to Pierrotin, who appeared by
his manner to pay him the respect due in all lands to millionaires.
"Ha! ha! why, here's Pere Leger! more and more preponderant!" cried
Georges.
"To whom have I the honor of speaking?" asked old Leger, curtly.
"What! you don't recognize Colonel Georges, the friend of Ali pacha?
We travelled together once upon a time, in company with the Comte de
Serizy."
One of the habitual follies of those who have fallen in the world is
to recognize and desire the recognition of others.
"You are much changed," said the ex-farmer, now twice a millionaire.
"All things change," said Georges. "Look at the Lion d'Argent and
Pierrotin's coach; they are not a bit like what they were fourteen
years ago."
"Pierrotin now controls the whole service of the Valley of the Oise,"
replied Monsieur Leger, "and sends out five coaches. He is the
bourgeois of Beaumont, where he keeps a hotel, at which all the
diligences stop, and he has a wife and daughter who are not a bad help
to him."
An old man of seventy here came out of the hotel and joined the group
of travellers who were waiting to get into the coach.
"Come along, Papa Reybert," said Leger, "we are only waiting now for
your great man."
"Here he comes," said the steward of Presles, pointing to Joseph
Bridau.
Neither Georges nor Oscar recognized the illustrious artist, for his
face had the worn and haggard lines that were now famous, and his
bearing was that which is given by success. The ribbon of the Legion
of honor adorned his black coat, and the rest of his dress, which was
extremely elegant, seemed to denote an expedition to some rural fete.
At this moment a clerk, with a paper in his hand, came out of the
office (which was now in the former kitchen of the Lion d'Argent), and
stood before the empty coupe.
"Monsieur and Madame de Canalis, three places," he said. Then, moving
to the door of the interieur, he named, consecutively, "Monsieur
Bellejambe, two places; Monsieur de Reybert, three places; Monsieur--
your name, if you please?" he said to Georges.
"Georges Marest," said the fallen man, in a low voice.
The clerk then moved to the rotunde, before which were grouped a
number of nurses, country-people, and petty shopkeepers, who were
bidding each other adieu. Then, after bundling in the six passengers,
he called to four young men who mounted to the imperial; after which
he cried: "Start!" Pierrotin got up beside his driver, a young man in
a blouse, who called out: "Pull!"