Camille [63]
I am at an age when no one any longer obeys a command."
My father turned pale at my answer.
"Very well, sir," he said, "I know what remains to be done."
He rang and Joseph appeared.
"Have my things taken to the Hotel de Paris," he said to my servant. And thereupon he went to his room and finished dressing. When he returned, I went up to him.
"Promise me, father," I said, "that you will do nothing to give Marguerite pain?"
My father stopped, looked at me disdainfully, and contented himself with saying, "I believe you are mad." After this he went out, shutting the door violently after him.
I went downstairs, took a cab, and returned to Bougival.
Marguerite was waiting for me at the window.
Chapter 21
"At last you have come," she said, throwing her arms round my neck. "But how pale you are!"
I told her of the scene with my father.
"My God! I was afraid of it," she said. "When Joseph came to tell you of your father's arrival I trembled as if he had brought news of some misfortune. My poor friend, I am the cause of all your distress. You will be better off, perhaps, if you leave me and do not quarrel with your father on my account. He knows that you are sure to have a mistress, and he ought to be thankful that it is I, since I love you and do not want more of you than your position allows. Did you tell him how we had arranged our future?"
"Yes; that is what annoyed him the most, for he saw how much we really love one another."
"What are we to do, then?"
"Hold together, my good Marguerite, and let the storm pass over."
"Will it pass?"
"It will have to."
"But your father will not stop there."
"What do you suppose he can do?"
"How do I know? Everything that a father can do to make his son obey him. He will remind you of my past life, and will perhaps do me the honour of inventing some new story, so that you may give me up."
"You know that I love you."
"Yes, but what I know, too, is that, sooner or later, you will have to obey your father, and perhaps you will end by believing him."
"No, Marguerite. It is I who will make him believe me. Some of his friends have been telling him tales which have made him angry; but he is good and just, he will change his first impression; and then, after all, what does it matter to me?"
"Do not say that, Armand. I would rather anything should happen than that you should quarrel with your family; wait till after to-day, and to-morrow go back to Paris. Your father, too, will have thought it over on his side, and perhaps you will both come to a better understanding. Do not go against his principles, pretend to make some concessions to what he wants; seem not to care so very much about me, and he will let things remain as they are. Hope, my friend, and be sure of one thing, that whatever happens, Marguerite will always be yours."
"You swear it?"
"Do I need to swear it?"
How sweet it is to let oneself be persuaded by the voice that one loves! Marguerite and I spent the whole day in talking over our projects for the future, as if we felt the need of realizing them as quickly as possible. At every moment we awaited some event, but the day passed without bringing us any new tidings.
Next day I left at ten o'clock, and reached the hotel about twelve. My father had gone out.
I went to my own rooms, hoping that he had perhaps gone there. No one had called. I went to the solicitor's. No one was there. I went back to the hotel, and waited till six. M. Duval did not return, and I went back to Bougival.
I found Marguerite not waiting for me, as she had been the day before, but sitting by the fire, which the weather still made necessary. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that I came close to her chair without her hearing me. When I put my lips to her forehead she started as if the kiss had suddenly awakened her.
"You frightened me," she said. "And your father?"
"I have not seen him. I do not know what it means. He was not at his hotel, nor anywhere where there was a chance of my finding him."
"Well, you must
My father turned pale at my answer.
"Very well, sir," he said, "I know what remains to be done."
He rang and Joseph appeared.
"Have my things taken to the Hotel de Paris," he said to my servant. And thereupon he went to his room and finished dressing. When he returned, I went up to him.
"Promise me, father," I said, "that you will do nothing to give Marguerite pain?"
My father stopped, looked at me disdainfully, and contented himself with saying, "I believe you are mad." After this he went out, shutting the door violently after him.
I went downstairs, took a cab, and returned to Bougival.
Marguerite was waiting for me at the window.
Chapter 21
"At last you have come," she said, throwing her arms round my neck. "But how pale you are!"
I told her of the scene with my father.
"My God! I was afraid of it," she said. "When Joseph came to tell you of your father's arrival I trembled as if he had brought news of some misfortune. My poor friend, I am the cause of all your distress. You will be better off, perhaps, if you leave me and do not quarrel with your father on my account. He knows that you are sure to have a mistress, and he ought to be thankful that it is I, since I love you and do not want more of you than your position allows. Did you tell him how we had arranged our future?"
"Yes; that is what annoyed him the most, for he saw how much we really love one another."
"What are we to do, then?"
"Hold together, my good Marguerite, and let the storm pass over."
"Will it pass?"
"It will have to."
"But your father will not stop there."
"What do you suppose he can do?"
"How do I know? Everything that a father can do to make his son obey him. He will remind you of my past life, and will perhaps do me the honour of inventing some new story, so that you may give me up."
"You know that I love you."
"Yes, but what I know, too, is that, sooner or later, you will have to obey your father, and perhaps you will end by believing him."
"No, Marguerite. It is I who will make him believe me. Some of his friends have been telling him tales which have made him angry; but he is good and just, he will change his first impression; and then, after all, what does it matter to me?"
"Do not say that, Armand. I would rather anything should happen than that you should quarrel with your family; wait till after to-day, and to-morrow go back to Paris. Your father, too, will have thought it over on his side, and perhaps you will both come to a better understanding. Do not go against his principles, pretend to make some concessions to what he wants; seem not to care so very much about me, and he will let things remain as they are. Hope, my friend, and be sure of one thing, that whatever happens, Marguerite will always be yours."
"You swear it?"
"Do I need to swear it?"
How sweet it is to let oneself be persuaded by the voice that one loves! Marguerite and I spent the whole day in talking over our projects for the future, as if we felt the need of realizing them as quickly as possible. At every moment we awaited some event, but the day passed without bringing us any new tidings.
Next day I left at ten o'clock, and reached the hotel about twelve. My father had gone out.
I went to my own rooms, hoping that he had perhaps gone there. No one had called. I went to the solicitor's. No one was there. I went back to the hotel, and waited till six. M. Duval did not return, and I went back to Bougival.
I found Marguerite not waiting for me, as she had been the day before, but sitting by the fire, which the weather still made necessary. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that I came close to her chair without her hearing me. When I put my lips to her forehead she started as if the kiss had suddenly awakened her.
"You frightened me," she said. "And your father?"
"I have not seen him. I do not know what it means. He was not at his hotel, nor anywhere where there was a chance of my finding him."
"Well, you must