Daniel lay down to rest on a little couch, the covering of which was in tatters. When the lamp was put out his friend said:
“By-the-bye, my name is George Raymond. What is yours?”
“Mine,” said he, “mine is Daniel Raimboult.”
CHAPTER V
In the morning George presented Daniel to a sort of author-editor for whom he worked, and gained him admission as a fellow-helper in the compiling of an Encyclopaedic Dictionary that some thirty young men were engaged upon. They were there under the title of clerks; they were, in fact, hacks and ghosts. They compiled work for ten hours per day, and received eighty to a hundred francs a month, according to their rate of progress. The chief walked about the offices with the air of a schoolmaster overlooking his pupils; he did not even read the manuscripts, but merely signed his name at the foot of everything. This profession of overseer of galley slaves brought him in about twenty thousand francs a year.
Daniel accepted with joy and gratitude the brute labour offered him. George, who had advanced some little money, all his savings indeed, opened an account for him at the little restaurant, and hired a small room close by his own for him in the house of the “Impasse St. Dominique d’Enfer.”
During the first fortnight Daniel was, as it were, crushed by the new life he was leading, for he was not used to such work. In the evening his head was full of what he had been doing in the day. He no longer had any thoughts of his own.
One Sunday morning, as he had a free day all to himself, he was seized with an ardent longing to see Jeanne again. The night before he had dreamt of the poor dead one, and all his enthusiasm had come back to him.
He went out secretly, without giving George warning, and directed his steps towards the boulevard des Invalides. He proceeded gaily along. His limbs had become stiff during the fortnight he had passed seated on a chair, turning over the pages of old books; he seemed to be taking a holiday like a schoolboy who must return to school on the morrow.
He cared little, he said to himself. He was going to see Jeanne, and, like a child, he enjoyed the fresh air and exercise. Along the route from the impasse St. Dominique d’Enfer to the boulevard des Invalides everything presented a joyous aspect. There was not the least sadness, the slightest anxiety.
When he came to the gate of the mansion of Jeanne’s father a sudden fear seized him. He asked himself what he should do when there, what he should say, and what they would say to him in return. He became fainthearted.
His difficulty above all was how to explain his visit. But, however, he would not stay for reflection, for he felt his courage oozing away, and he rang the bell boldly, though inwardly he was quaking all the time.
The gate opened, he crossed the garden, and, feeling that he had never been more awkward-looking, he stopped at the first of the house steps. When he had taken his breath, he ventured to raise his eyes.
A violent noise of hammers was heard coming from the house. Workmen were repairing the door of the vestibule, and painters were fastened to the front of the house scraping the walls.
Daniel, astonished, perhaps even rather pleased, went up to a workman and asked him where Monsieur de Rionne was. The workman sent him to the porter, who informed him that Monsieur de Rionne had just sold the mansion, and that he now lived in the rue de Provence.
The day after his wife’s death the widower had begun to detest this abode of mourning. The odours of death still lingered in the rooms, and he shivered as he went downstairs, always imagining he heard the sound of the coffin bumping against the banisters. So he decided to move to another house as quickly as possible.
Then he reflected too that the sale of the mansion would place in his hands a good round sum. Moreover, he was not sorry to leave the boulevard des Invalides, and go and live in more fashionable quarters. So he hired the whole of a first floor and moved.
Daniel took down the new address, and, driven by his desire to see Jeanne, he proceeded towards the rue de Provence.
But during his long walk his heart did not sing so gaily. The difficulties of his task, the uncertainties of life rose up before him more threateningly than ever. A shower obliged him to take refuge in a doorway. He resumed his journey through muddy streets, and when he went up the sumptuous staircase of the house where Monsieur de Rionne lived, he noticed with horror that he had terribly dirty boots.
It was Louis who opened the door for him. His immovable face did not express the least surprise. One would have said that he did not recognise the young man, but there, in the corner of his lips, was that nearly imperceptible smile which never left him.
He informed Daniel politely that monsieur was out, but that he would not be long before he returned; and he showed him into a magnificent drawingroom, where he left him.
Daniel did not dare to sit down. His feet made great stains on the carpet, and he remained planted there in one spot, afraid to take one step forward, for his heart failed him at each new mark he left behind him. Raising his eyes he saw himself full length in a big mirror. Nothing seemed more strange to him than his own person, and it almost made him lighthearted again.
Really he was almost delighted at the turn things were taking. He was by no means anxious to see Monsieur de Rionne, and hoped that he would be able to embrace Jeanne, and then go quickly away before her father came in. He listened anxiously, and if he had by chance heard the child’s laughter he would quietly have made his way to her.
Whilst his eyes were thus on the alert the bell rang, and he heard the rustling of a silk dress in the antechamber. There was a woman’s laugh, and the newcomer began talking in low tones to Louis. The exact words did not reach the young man.
At the expiration of a minute or two the silk dress was heard lightly rustling again, the drawingroom door opened and a young woman came in. It was Julia. She was ravishingly dressed in light gray, with white lace and ribbons of pale blue. Her little head with sharp, bold features was attractively surrounded by fair hair. The powder and paint with which she had covered her face gave her a kind of wicked charm. Her hat consisted of tresses of straw with blue flowers inserted, Julia was in difficulties. They were about to sell up her furniture, and she had remembered Monsieur de Rionne, whom she had not seen for a fortnight. Driven by necessity she had run to him for assistance and it had made her furious.
She advanced, and when she was in the middle of the drawingroom in front of Daniel, the effort she made to restrain the burst of laughter which almost overpowered her, nearly suffocated her. This hulking fellow, with the long face and yellow hair, who stood there with legs apart, quite dumbfounded, seemed to her an object of the utmost absurdity and strangeness. She was choking with amusement She hurried into an adjacent room where Daniel heard her laughing as if she were mad. Then came the sound of another bell; this time it was Monsieur de Rionne coming in. He exchanged a few words with Louis; then suddenly he flew into a passion. He opened the door of the drawingroom violently.
Daniel shrunk back out of sight, whilst asking himself the terrible question: What should he say, and what answer should he get? He had taken refuge in a comer, in an agony of suspense. Monsieur de Rionne did not see him. He hastily crossed the room and went into the adjoining apartment where Julia was. At that moment he was truly indignant at her audacity. His wife’s body seemed to be still in the house and he made a virtue of his mourning.
Daniel, without wishing to listen, overheard these words pronounced in a high pitch:
“What do you want here?” demanded Monsieur de Rionne, in a furious tone of voice.
“I have come to pay you a visit,” quietly answered Julia.
“You know I have forbidden you to come here; you ought to come here less than ever, considering the mourning I am in.”
“Would you like me to go away?”
Monsieur