Towards one o’clock, the Josserands withdrew in their turn. Adèle always left a candle and some matches on a chair. When the members of the family, who had not exchanged a word coming upstairs, had entered the dining-room, from whence they had gone down in despair, they suddenly yielded to a mad delirious joy, holding each others’ hands, and dancing like savages round the table; the father himself gave way to the contagion, the mother cut capers, and the daughters uttered little inarticulate cries; whilst the candle in the middle of them showed up their huge shadows careering along the walls.
“At last, it is settled!” said Madame Josserand, out of breath, dropping on to a chair.
But she jumped up again at once, in a fit of maternal affection, and ran and imprinted two big kisses on Berthe’s cheeks.
“I am very pleased, very pleased indeed with you, my darling. You have just rewarded me for all my efforts. My poor girl, my poor girl it is true then, this time!”
Her voice was choking, her heart was in her mouth. She succumbed in her flaring dress, beneath the weight of a deep and sincere emotion, suddenly overwhelmed in the hour of her triumph by the fatigues of her terrible campaign which had lasted three winters. Berthe had to swear that she was not ill, for her mother thought she looked ill, and was full of little attentions, almost insisting on making her a cup of infusion. When the young girl was in bed, she went barefooted and carefully tucked her in, like in the already distant days of her childhood.
Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, his head on his pillow, awaited her. She blew out the light, and stepped over him, to reach the side of the bed nearest the wall. He was wrapped in thought, his uneasiness having returned, his conscience all upset by that promise of a dowry of fifty thousand francs. And he ventured to mention his scruples aloud. Why make a promise, when one has a doubt of being able to keep it? It was not honest.
“Not honest!” exclaimed Madame Josserand in the dark, her voice resuming its ferocious tone. “It is not honest to let your daughters become old maids, sir; yes, old maids, such was perhaps your dream! We have plenty of time to turn about, we can talk the matter over, we will end by persuading her uncle. And understand, sir, that in my family, we have always been honest!”
CHAPTER VI.
On the morrow, which was a Sunday, Octave with his eyes open lay thinking for an hour in the warmth of the sheets. He awoke happy, full of the lucidity of the morning laziness. What need was there to hurry? He was very comfortable at “The Ladies’ Paradise,” he was there losing all his provincial ways, and he had an absolute and profound conviction of one day possessing Madame Hédouin, who would make his fortune; but it was an affair that required prudence, a long series of gallant tactics, which his voluptuous passion for women was already enjoying by anticipation. As he was dozing off again, forming his plans, allowing himself six months to succeed in, Marie Pichon’s image resulted in calming his impatience. A woman like that was a real boon; he had merely to stretch out his arm, when he required her, and she did not cost him a sou. Whilst awaiting the other, he could certainly not hope for anything better. In his half-slumber, this bargain and this convenience ended by making him quite tender-hearted: she appeared to him very nice and pretty with all her good-nature, and he promised himself he would behave better to her in future.
“Hang it! nine o’clock!” said he thoroughly roused by his clock striking. “I must get up.”