THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      CHAPTER VI

      A SPECTRE

      Two years had passed. In the first months of them Marius married Fine and took a small flat on the Cours Bonaparte. M. Martelly, who put his signature to the marriage contract, endowed the bridegroom by taking him into his business; he was no longer a clerk, but a partner who brought his intelligence and zeal with him in lieu of capital. Fine, on her side, left her kiosk on the Cours Saint Louis, so as to be able to give her whole attention to her household; but as she wished to continue earning her living she made artificial flowers in her spare moments, and was so nimble with her fingers that her work looked almost natural. Sometimes, however, when people complimented her on her ability, she sighed, thought with regret of her fresh, sweet-smelling nosegays of other days, and answered:

      “Ah! but if you saw the roses of the good God!” These two years were twenty-four months of peaceful happiness. The young household lived liked birds in a warm, secluded nest of moss. Days followed days, one as happy as the other, full of delightful monotony, and the pair would have liked this sort of life to go on for ever, each hour bringing back to them the same kisses and the same joys. In the morning Marius left for his office; Fine placed herself before her small table twisting the stalks, crumpling the petals and deftly producing delicate muslin flowers with her agile fingers. Then of an evening they both went out for a walk along the noisy streets, and reached the seashore near Endoume. They had discovered a corner among the rocks there, where they seated themselves alone, facing the blue immensity; night set in, and they gazed with emotion at the great sea which had betrothed them at Saint Henri, in the old days. It was thus they came to thank it, and to seek in its deep voice an air suitable for their love. When they returned the bonds of their affection were drawn even closer than before.

      Every Sunday they had a day in the country which was spent at Saint Barnabé, setting out in the early morning and returning late at night. The visit they paid to the child of Blanche and Philippe, was a sort of pilgrimage for them; but, apart from that, they enjoyed themselves there under the mulberry trees at the door. The warm country air filled them with lively gaiety, they had enormous appetites and recovered all the turbulency of youth. Whilst he talked to the gardener she gambolled on the floor with the baby, amid peals of laughter and all sorts of charming foolishness.

      In accordance with the desire expressed by Blanche, they had acted as godfather and godmother to her son and had given him the name of Joseph. When Joseph called the young woman: “Mamma”, she sighed and clasped him in her arms for she loved him as if she had really been his mother.

      Joseph was growing up, charming and refined, like a child of love. He could already walk alone, and lisp a few words in that delightful prating of the baby age. For the moment, Marius and Fine confined themselves to loving him fondly, later on they would see to making a man of him, they said, and to assuring him the position to which he was entitled. But the young household were not so wrapped up in their own enjoyment as to forget the fugitive, that poor Philippe who was living alone and disconsolate in Italy. His brother had been taking active steps to obtain his pardon so that he might return to Marseille and begin life again, a life of work. Unfortunately the obstacles were numerous, and he encountered a stubborn resistance that put his most energetic efforts to naught. However, he did not despair of success, and felt, even, sure, that one day or other, he would attain his end.

      In the meantime he confined himself to exchanging a few letters with Philippe, urging him to be courageous, and above all not to give way to his craving to return to France. If he were guilty of that imprudence all might be lost. Philippe answered that he was at the end of his tether and was dying of weariness. This despair and impatience alarmed Marius who went so far as to invent untruths to keep the fugitive in exile. He promised him he would have his pardon in a month, then when the month was at an end, he assured him it would certainly be for the following month, and for more than a year he had in this way made him take patience.

      One Sunday evening, just as Fine and Marius had returned from Saint Barnabé, their neighbours informed them that a man had called to see them several times in the course of the afternoon. As they were retiring for the night, after having vainly endeavoured to think who this strange visitor could be, they heard a slight knock at their door. Marius, who opened it, was stupefied.

      “What, you!” he exclaimed in despair.

      Fine hastened to join him, and recognised Philippe who, after having embraced them both, answered:

      “Yes, it is I, I should have died over there. I was obliged to return at any price.”

      “What folly!” continued Marius, quite upset. “I was certain of your pardon. But now I will not answer for anything.”

      “Go along with you! I will keep in hiding until you have succeeded. I could not live away from you, from my child any longer. I was absolutely ill.”

      “But why not have advised me? I would have taken some precautions!”

      “Ah! But if I had told you of my intention, you would have persuaded me not to return to Marseille. I have done a headstrong thing, but you who are a sensible man, will repair everything;” and, turning to Fine, he said eagerly:

      “How is my little Joseph?”

      Then the danger the fugitive ran was forgotten. After the surprise and dissatisfaction of the first few moments came the unbosoming of their hearts, a long affectionate conversation which was prolonged until three o’clock in the morning. Philippe related his misfortunes and sufferings in exile. Here and there he had given French lessons for a livelihood, avoiding staying long in any one place, and living alone and unknown.

      When he had related in detail all he had gone through, his brother, who was deeply moved, avoided reproaching him with his return; on the contrary, he racked his brain to find a means of hiding him at Marseille, so that he could await his pardon and be near his child.

      Marius, first of all, insisted on Philippe being shaved, a performance that СКАЧАТЬ