The child was not to be deceived; at bottom, this impious man of science had a tender heart.
Then why this obstinate resistance?
At that moment Adèle opened the door.
“Madame is asking for Miss Julie.”
Marguerite de Baraglioul, it seems, was afraid of her brother-in-law’s influence and had no wish to leave her daughter alone with him for long. He ventured to say as much to her in a whisper a little later on, as the family were going in to dinner. But Marguerite, with an eye still slightly inflamed, glanced at Anthime:
“Afraid of you? My dear friend, Julie is more likely to convert a dozen infidels like you than to be moved a hair’s breadth by any of your scoffs. No, no! Our faith is not so easily shaken as that. But still, don’t forget that she is a child. She knows that in an age as corrupt as this, and in a country as shamefully governed as ours, nothing but blasphemy can be looked for. Nevertheless, it’s sad that her first experience of offence should come from her uncle, whom we should so much like her to respect.”
IV
Would Anthime feel the calming effect of words so temperate and so wise?
Yes; during the first two courses (the dinner, which was good but plain, did not comprise more than three dishes altogether) and as long as the talk meandered in domestic fashion round about subjects that were not contentious. Out of consideration for Marguerite’s eye, they first talked about eyesight and oculists (the Baragliouls pretended not to notice that Anthime’s wen had grown); then about Italian cooking—out of politeness to Veronica—with allusions to the excellence of her dinner; then Anthime enquired after the Fleurissoires, whom the Baragliouls had recently been to see at Pau, and after the Comtesse de Saint-Prix, Julius’s sister, who was in the habit of spending her holidays in that neighbourhood; and then after the Baragliouls’ charming elder daughter, whom they would have liked to bring with them to Rome, but who could never be persuaded to leave her work at the Hospital for Sick Children, in the Rue de Sèvres, where she went every morning to tend the suffering little ones. Julius then broached the serious subject of the expropriation of Anthime’s property: Anthime, when travelling as a young man for the first time in Egypt, had bought a piece of land, which, owing to its inconvenient situation, had hitherto been of very little value; but there had lately been some question of making the new Cairo-to-Heliopolis railway pass through it. There is no doubt that the Armand-Dubois’ budget, which had suffered from risky speculations, was in great need of this windfall. Julius, however, before leaving Paris, had discussed the affair with Maniton, the consulting engineer of the projected line, and he advised his brother-in-law not to raise his hopes too high—for the whole thing might very well end in smoke. Anthime, for his part, made no mention of the fact that the Lodge, which always backs its friends, was looking after his interests.
Anthime spoke to Julius about his candidature to the Academy and his chances of getting in; he spoke with a smile, for he had very little belief in them; and Julius himself pretended to a calm and, as it were, resigned indifference. What was the use of saying that his sister, the Comtesse de Saint-Prix, had got Cardinal André up her sleeve, and in consequence the other fifteen immortals who always voted with him? Anthime then said a vague word or two of sketchy compliment about Julius’s last novel, On the Heights. As a matter of fact he had thought it an extremely bad book; and Julius, who was not in the least deceived, hurriedly put himself in the right by saying: