Daniel briefly explained to him who he was and what he had come about.
“Oh, well,” he answered, “I have heard of you, and I think we shall be able to come to an understanding. Pray take a seat.” And he himself sat down in the armchair in front of the bureau.
Monsieur Tellier was far from being a bad man, and he had given proof at times of much intelligence. When certain topics were touched on, three or four fixed ideas wandered through his brain like those little dolls which turn round in Barbary organs. When these ideas slept his conversation revealed a blank in his brain that was perfectly appalling.
He had only one vice — that of thinking himself a profound politician. He laid down the law in politics with the greatest gravity. He would have ruled States as doorkeepers in large mansions rule their lodgers — repeating the same phrases, wrapping up his few ideas in a deluge of words. Nevertheless he was thoroughly sincere, and lived at peace in his folly.
From childhood he had prated of the people and “Liberty” with overwhelming solemnity. Later, when in full prosperity and having under him crowds of workmen, he went on with his philanthropical discourses, never dreaming that he would do far better to talk less and raise his workmen’s wages. But the people and “Liberty” were to him abstract things that must be loved platonically.
When he amassed a colossal fortune he set his mind on living only for that which afforded him the greatest pleasure. He managed to be made a “deputy” (member of Parliament). He experienced a childlike joy when he repaired to the Chamber. He listened religiously to the great speeches, the long empty sentences that he loved, and every night when he got home he felt quite sure that he had just saved France from utter ruin! In his own eyes he acquired a considerable importance. He thought he was, so to speak, the necessary bulwark against the invasion of tyranny. He was astonished that the people as he passed through the streets did not bow before him as before the father of his country.
Sometimes he did make a speech in the Legislative Assembly, reading endless discourses. On one occasion he had gone into an industrial question, and he handled it very well, for there he was in his element. But his vanity dreamt of grand discussions of patriotic principles, and then he lost himself miserably.
His wife did all she could to prevent him from entering the Chamber. Her only ambition being luxury, she would have preferred that her husband should keep quite away from public life. But he held his ground, and informed her that he left her full liberty to pursue her own pleasures, and therefore, for his part, he intended to amuse himself as he liked, and do as he pleased. So they each went their own ways. His wife being exasperated at his obstinacy decked herself out in most eccentric toilettes, and threw her money about in all directions, while the husband declaimed against luxury, eulogised the wholesome simplicity of republics, and displayed the empty rhetoric of his pet subject — the good of the masses. When you came to examine into these two, the wife and husband, their follies were, after all, about on a par. From the moment he became a deputy Monsieur Tellier’s ambition knew no bounds, and there was nothing he desired more than to be called an “author.” He undertook a vast work on political economy, in which he was very soon completely at sea; and it was at this time that he felt the need of a secretary.
Daniel showed himself modest and willing. He accepted all the conditions Monsieur Tellier chose to impose upon him; but really he barely listened to them, for he was all anxiety to be established in the house. Just as a complete understanding was on the point of being arrived at, the deputy said:
“Ah! I was forgetting, since we shall have to live together there must be no misunderstanding between us. You are quite free to believe in what you like, and I would not ask you to make the least concession to your conscience. But what are your political opinions?”
“My opinions!” echoed Daniel, bewildered; “oh! liberal; I could not be more so,” the young man hastened to answer, happily remembering the marble statue, and he turned instinctively towards the pedestal on which it stood.
“Have you seen it?” said Monsieur Tellier, much struck. He rose and took the little image in his fingers, speaking very emphatically. “It is the great Mother, the Human Virgin whose office is to regenerate the nation.”
A look of perplexity came into Daniel’s face, and he was very much astonished to hear such big words made use of with respect to so small a thing. The deputy gazed lovingly at the piece of marble with the look of a big child playing with a doll.
It happened one day, long before, that his plaything disappeared, and he was searching for it several hours; it was Jeanne, who having come out of the convent for a holiday, had taken it and was thus nursing Liberty in her little arms, thinking she was nursing a doll.
Gazing at the deeply-moved expression of Monsieur Tellier’s face, Daniel saw clearly that this little image was, to him, an exact representation of the goddess in her strength and power. That Liberty which he clamoured for so loudly was in reality nothing more than this smiling and attractive grisette in marble. In other words it was merely a Liberty you could put in your pocket.
Monsieur Tellier then took it into his head to sit down again in his armchair. He definitely accepted Daniel’s services, and plunged into political questions of the most intricate kind. The poor young man was beginning his apprenticeship as an obedient piece of furniture.
In the midst of a long diatribe the orator was most disagreeably interrupted by peals of laughter which issued from a neighbouring room.
“Uncle, uncle!” cried a young voice, and the door immediately opened.
A tall young girl came in boisterously, and running to Monsieur Tellier she showed him two birds shut up in a gilt cage that she was holding in her hand.
“Oh, do look, uncle!” said she; “do look how pretty they are, with their red breasts, their yellow wings, and their black aigrettes! Some one has just made me a present of them.” And she laughed, with her head thrown back in order to see the little captives better, her movements displaying the most charming grace.
Tall girl as she was, she had still the manner of a child. She seemed to fill the gloomy study with light and air; her white skirt shed a soft clear brilliancy around her; her face shone like a vermilion star. She flitted about with the cage in her hand, taking possession of the whole room, leaving behind her the fresh perfume of youth and beauty. Then she drew herself up, became serious and proud-looking, with her broad forehead and deep eyes in haughty and ignorant maidenhood.
It was little Jeanne — his little Jeanne! Daniel had risen trembling, gazing at his dear daughter with a kind of respectful terror. He had never dreamt that she could have grown up. He had always pictured her just as he had left her, and he expected when he saw her again he would have to stoop down to kiss her on the forehead.
And now here she was — tall, beautiful, and proud-looking. She seemed to him very much the same as those other women that laughed at him. Not for anything in the world would he have gone up and kissed her. At the thought that she would soon see him he felt quite faint.
Surely a stranger had been substituted for his little girl. He wanted a child, not a young lady, for never could he address this grand and beautiful person, who laughed so gaily, and seemed so proud. In the first moment of surprise he scarcely understood what he was doing there; he had forgotten what the dead woman had said to him. He took refuge in a corner, standing bolt upright and not knowing what to do with his hands. But notwithstanding his nervousness, he could not keep his eyes off the young girl; he was considering how like she was to her mother and he felt a delicious warmth creeping into his heart.
Jeanne, who was attending to her uncle’s remonstrances, did not even see him. Monsieur Tellier, vexed at being interrupted, looked at her severely, half inclined to be angry. These outbursts of the young girl were not pleasing to him, as they disturbed him in his reflections.
“Good Heavens!” said he, “you come in like a whirlwind; you are no longer at school now. Try and be a little more considerate.”
Jeanne, much hurt, became serious, and a scarcely perceptible smile of disdain was noticeable on her rosy