Thus, as he contemplated this symbol of suffering on earth, Frank's features gradually became serene and grave. Perhaps he was ashamed of his weakness and discouragement, when he remembered the immeasurable sorrow and the angelic patience of the One whose Calvary was so high and whose cross was so heavy.
I returned home sadder but less unhappy. Some kindly feelings cooled the burning regrets that were consuming me. I no longer had the heart to begrudge Frank his happiness; nor did I rejoice over his poverty when I had seen how courageously he bore it. The love I bore to Hélène, the remembrance of my mother, who had loved her so much, of my father, to whom she had been like a daughter, brought better and more generous thoughts into my mind. I wished that I might be of some service to them both, and to this end I went the next day to see Lord Falmouth.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE DEPARTURE
My idea was to beg Lord Falmouth to buy for me, in his own name, the oil-painting and the two water-colours by Frank; and afterwards to order, still in his name, a set of drawings on subjects from the works of Schiller, Shakespeare, Goethe, and Walter Scott.
My object was to assure the future for a certain length of time to Hélène and Frank by this easy and pleasing work, which would not interfere in any way with that inspiration necessary to more serious labours, and in doing this I hoped to liberate this noble young man from those sad and annoying preoccupations which often react with fatal effect on even the greatest geniuses.
I addressed myself to Lord Falmouth in preference to any other man, because, in spite of his reputation as a man who was perfectly blasé, and his disdainful and profound scepticism of all and everything, he was the only man among my acquaintances that I dared to take so much into my confidence. I had noticed in him—doubtless to give credit to that common saying, that extremes meet—a great inclination, not to feel, but at least to contemplate, all emotions that were young, innocent, and happy.
It was anything but easy to get to see him before four o'clock in the afternoon, the hour at which he got up; however, he received me.
"Where do you come from?" said he; "for the last eight days no one has caught a glimpse of you anywhere. I know very well that Madame de Pënâfiel has left town, but you are not the kind of man to be inconsolable; besides, a departure is always flattering—when one stays behind."
"I want to speak to you very seriously," said I, fearing that if our conversation took on such a bantering tone, he would interpret the service I was about to ask of him in a false manner.