THE FOUR GOSPELS (Les Quatre Évangiles). Эмиль Золя

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ was. Well, scarcely six years have elapsed since he left us to go to the Credit National, and what do you think he is now earning there? Twelve thousand francs — you hear me — twelve thousand francs!”

      The last words rang out like a trumpet-call. The Moranges’ eyes dilated with ecstasy. Even the little girl became very red.

      “Last March,” continued Morange, “I happened to meet Michaud, who told me all that, and showed himself very amiable. He offered to take me with him and help me on in my turn. Only there’s some risk to run. He explained to me that I must at first accept three thousand six hundred, so as to rise gradually to a very big figure. But three thousand six hundred! How can one live on that in the meantime, especially now that this flat has increased our expenses?”

      At this Valerie broke in impetuously: “‘Nothing venture, nothing have!’ That’s what I keep on repeating to him. Of course I am in favor of prudence; I would never let him do anything rash which might compromise his future. But, at the same time, he can’t moulder away in a situation unworthy of him.”

      “And so you have made up your minds?” asked Mathieu.

      “Well, my wife has calculated everything,” Morange replied; “and, yes, we have made up our minds, provided, of course, that nothing unforeseen occurs. Besides, it is only in October that any situation will be open at the Credit National. But, I say, my dear friend, keep the matter entirely to yourself, for we don’t want to quarrel with the Beauchenes just now.”

      Then he looked at his watch, for, like a good clerk, he was very punctual, and did not wish to be late at the office. The servant was hurried, the coffee was served, and they were drinking it, boiling hot as it was, when the arrival of a visitor upset the little household and caused everything to be forgotten.

      “Oh!” exclaimed Valerie, as she hastily rose, flushed with pride, “Madame la Baronne de Lowicz!”

      Seraphine, at this time nine-and-twenty, was red-haired, tall and elegant, with magnificent shoulders which were known to all Paris. Her red lips were wreathed in a triumphant smile, and a voluptuous flame ever shone in her large brown eyes flecked with gold.

      “Pray don’t disturb yourselves, my friends,” said she. “Your servant wanted to show me into the drawingroom, but I insisted on coming in here, because it is rather a pressing matter. I have come to fetch your charming little Reine to take her to a matinee at the Circus.”

      A fresh explosion of delight ensued. The child remained speechless with joy, whilst the mother exulted and rattled on: “Oh! Madame la Baronne, you are really too kind! You are spoiling the child. But the fact is that she isn’t dressed, and you will have to wait a moment. Come, child, make haste, I will help you — ten minutes, you understand — I won’t keep you waiting a moment longer.”

      Seraphine remained alone with the two men. She had made a gesture of surprise on perceiving Mathieu, whose hand, like an old friend, she now shook.

      “And you, are you quite well?” she asked.

      “Quite well,” he answered; and as she sat down near him he instinctively pushed his chair back. He did not seem at all pleased at having met her.

      He had been on familiar terms with her during his earlier days at the Beauchene works. She was a frantic pleasure-lover, and destitute of both conscience and moral principles. Her conduct had given rise to scandal even before her extraordinary elopement with Baron de Lowicz, that needy adventurer with a face like an archangel’s and the soul of a swindler. The result of the union was a stillborn child. Then Seraphine, who was extremely egotistical and avaricious, quarrelled with her husband and drove him away. He repaired to Berlin, and was killed there in a brawl at a gambling den. Delighted at being rid of him, Seraphine made every use of her liberty as a young widow. She figured at every fete, took part in every kind of amusement, and many scandalous stories were told of her; but she contrived to keep up appearances and was thus still received everywhere.

      “You are living in the country, are you not?” she asked again, turning towards Mathieu.

      “Yes, we have been there for three weeks past.”

      “Constance told me of it. I met her the other day at Madame Seguin’s. We are on the best terms possible, you know, now that I give my brother good advice.”

      In point of fact her sister-in-law, Constance, hated her, but with her usual boldness she treated the matter as a joke.

      “We talked about Dr. Gaude,” she resumed; “I fancied that she wanted to ask for his address; but she did not dare.”

      “Dr. Gaude!” interrupted Morange. “Ah! yes, a friend of my wife’s spoke to her about him. He’s a wonderfully clever man, it appears. Some of his operations are like miracles.”

      Then he went on talking of Dr. Gaude’s clinic at the Hopital Marbeuf, a clinic whither society folks hastened to see operations performed, just as they might go to a theatre. The doctor, who was fond of money, and who bled his wealthy lady patients in more senses than one, was likewise partial to glory and proud of accomplishing the most dangerous experiments on the unhappy creatures who fell into his hands. The newspapers were always talking about him, his cures were constantly puffed and advertised by way of inducing fine ladies to trust themselves to his skill. And he certainly accomplished wonders, cutting and carving his patients in the quietest, most unconcerned way possible, with never a scruple, never a doubt as to whether what he did was strictly right or not.

      Seraphine had begun to laugh, showing her white wolfish teeth between her blood-red lips, when she noticed the horrified expression which had appeared on Mathieu’s face since Gaude had been spoken of. “Ah!” said she; “there’s a man, now, who in nowise resembles your squeamish Dr. Boutan, who is always prattling about the birth-rate. I can’t understand why Constance keeps to that old-fashioned booby, holding the views she does. She is quite right, you know, in her opinions. I fully share them.”

      Morange laughed complaisantly. He wished to show her that his opinions were the same. However, as Valerie did not return with Reine, he grew impatient, and asked permission to go and see what they were about. Perhaps he himself might be able to help in getting the child ready.

      As soon as Seraphine was alone with Mathieu she turned her big, ardent, gold-flecked eyes upon him. She no longer laughed with the same laugh as a moment previously; an expression of voluptuous irony appeared on her bold bad face. After a spell of silence she inquired, “And is my good cousin Marianne quite well?”

      “Quite well,” replied Mathieu.

      “And the children are still growing?”

      “Yes, still growing.”

      “So you are happy, like a good paterfamilias, in your little nook?”

      “Perfectly happy.”

      Again she lapsed into silence, but she did not cease to look at him, more provoking, more radiant than ever, with the charm of a young sorceress whose eyes burn and poison men’s hearts. And at last she slowly resumed: “And so it is all over between us?”

      He made a gesture in token of assent. There had long since been a passing fancy between them. He had been nineteen at the time, and she two-and-twenty. He had then but just entered life, and she was already married. But a few months later he had fallen in love with Marianne, and had then entirely freed himself from her.

      “All over — really?” СКАЧАТЬ