"You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me to see you accept your lot in life so cheerfully. But tell me, are you really happy?"
"Very happy."
"Really and truly?"
"Why should I wish to deceive you? Do I ever look glum and sour like a man who is discontented with his lot?"
"That is only because you have such an uncommonly good disposition, perhaps."
"That depends. If I were obliged to live with that abominable old skinflint Ramon, I should soon become intolerable."
"Why are you so hard upon that poor man?"
"The recollection of the torture I endured under his roof, I suppose."
"Torture?"
"What else do you call it, father, to live in a big, cold, dilapidated, cheerless house, — a house so dreary, in fact, that the grave seems a cheerful abode in comparison? And then to see those two thin, solemn-faced, famished-looking servants wandering about in that grim sepulchre! And the meals, — meals at which the master of the house seems to count each morsel that you eat! And his daughter, — for the man has a daughter who will perpetuate the breed, I suppose, — and his daughter, who doles out scanty portions for the domestics, and then carefully locks up the remains of the meagre meal!"
"Louis, Louis, how is it that you, who are usually so charitably inclined, should be so strangely hostile to this poor man and his daughter?"
"His daughter! Can you call such a thing as that a daughter, a big, raw-boned creature, with feet and hands like a man's, a face like a nutcracker, and a nose, — great Heavens! what a nose, — a nose as long as that, and of a brick-red colour? But justice compels me to say that this incomparable creature has yellow hair and black teeth to make up for her red nose."
"The portrait is not flattered, evidently, but all women cannot be pretty, and a kind heart is much better than a pretty face."
"True, father, but how strange it is that there should be such remarkable contrasts in some families."
"What do you mean?"
"Judge of my surprise on seeing in one of the apartments of that gloomy house the portrait of a woman with such a charming, refined, distinguished face that it seemed as if the picture must have been placed there expressly to spite hateful Miss Red Nose. You shake your head, father, but I am sure you ought not to censure me very severely. At first I felt very sorry for the young lady when I saw her so excessively ugly, and, above all, condemned to live with such an old skinflint of a father; but afterwards, when I saw her nearly badger the life out of those two poor servants, scolding them continually for the merest trifle, and doling out the very smallest amount of food that would suffice to keep them alive, my compassion changed to aversion and positive loathing. But to return to the subject of the picture. The portrait bore such a striking resemblance to one of my old schoolmates that I asked old Harpagon who the lady was, and greatly to my surprise he told me that it was a portrait of his sister, the late Madame de Saint-Herem. 'Then this lady is, doubtless, the mother of the young Marquis de Saint-Herem?' I asked, and if you could only have seen old Ramon's face! One would have supposed I had just evoked the very devil himself. Miss Red Nose, too, made a gesture of pious horror (I forgot to tell you, to complete the picture, that she is one of the worst of bigots), whereupon her worthy parent answered that he had the misfortune to be the uncle of an infernal scoundrel named Saint-Herem."
"This M. de Saint-Herem must bear a very bad reputation, I judge."
"What! Florestan? the bravest and most delightful fellow in the world."
"But his uncle — "
"Listen, father, and you shall judge for yourself. Saint-Herem and I were very intimate at college, but I had lost sight of him for a long time, when about six months ago, as I was walking along the boulevard, I saw everybody turning to look at a beautiful mail phaeton drawn by two magnificent horses, and with two tiny footmen perched up behind. And who do you suppose was driving this exquisite turnout? My old college friend, Saint-Herem, who looked handsomer than ever; in fact, it would be impossible to conceive of a more distinguished-looking young man."
"I should judge that he must be a terrible spendthrift, though."
"Wait until you hear the end of my story, my dear father. The vehicle stopped suddenly, the little grooms jumped down and ran to the horses' heads. Saint-Herem sprang out of the phaeton, rushed up to me, and positively embraced me in his delight at meeting me again after such a long separation. I was dressed like the poor devil of a notary's clerk that I am, and you must admit, my dear father, that most men of fashion would have shrunk from even recognising such a plebeian-looking creature, but Florestan did not even seem to notice my plain apparel. As for me, I was both pleased and embarrassed by this manifestation of friendly feeling on his part, for we seemed to attract a great deal of attention. Saint-Herem, too, must have noticed the fact, for he exclaimed:
"'Did you ever see such a set of gaping idiots? Where are you going?'
"'To the office.'
"'Then get in with me. We can talk as we drive along.'
"'What! get into that stylish carriage with my clumsy shoes and big umbrella? What will people think?' I replied. But Florestan only shrugged his shoulders, and, seizing me by the arm, half led, half dragged me to the carriage. On our way to the office he made me promise that I would come and see him, and finally he set me down at the notary's door with the warmest protestations of friendship and good-will. Now what do you think of a man who would act like that, father?"
"Pooh!" responded the scrivener, with a by no means enthusiastic air, "he yielded to a kindly impulse, that is all. I always distrust people who are so inclined to make a display of their friendship; besides, you are in no position to keep up such an acquaintance."
"I know that; still, under the circumstances, I felt obliged to keep my promise to take breakfast with Florestan on the following Sunday. The kind-hearted fellow treated me as if I were a prince, and begged me to come again, but I left for Dreux soon afterward, so I have not seen him since."
"It is very strange that you never said anything to me about your visit to him."
"Shall I tell you why I did not? I said to myself: 'My poor father loves me so much he may fear that the sight of Florestan's splendour will excite my envy, and make me dissatisfied with my own humble condition in life, so I will conceal the fact that I once breakfasted with a Sardanapalus or a Lucullus.'"
"My dear, brave boy!" exclaimed the old man, with deep emotion, "I understand; and the delicacy of your conduct touches me deeply. It is only one more proof of your kindness and generosity of heart, but I beg that you will now listen to me attentively for a moment, for it is to this very generosity of feeling, as well as to your affection for me, that I am about to appeal. There is an extremely grave and important matter about which I must speak to you."
The scrivener's expression had become so serious and even solemn that the young man gazed at him with surprise; but just then the porter knocked at the door and said:
"Here is a letter for you, M. Louis."
"Very well," replied the young man, abstractedly, too much engaged in wondering what the important matter to which his father had alluded could be to pay much attention to the letter, which Father Richard instantly recognised as the one which he had written to his son that morning, and which he had addressed to the Rue de Grenelle instead of to Dreux, as poor Mariette had requested.
Knowing the contents of the missive, the old scrivener was on the point of advising his son to read the letter immediately, but, after a moment's reflection,