And she had lost illusions about Léon. She saw that he was weak, that his very sweetness of temper was often mere selfishness, and clinging to what was pleasant. She loved him as passionately as ever, but she wanted to keep her boy from the same faults, and it did not seem as if she would succeed. For she was sure that if ever man had been injured by his bringing up, Léon was that man, and here were all the same influences, and more, at work. Mme. de Beaudrillart spoiled her grandchild outrageously. His father laughed at his naughtiness, and even M. Bourget could see in them nothing but an added charm. All the thwarting, all the reasoning, was left to the mother, forced often into strictness by the indulgence of others. The boy had a fine nature, brave and true; but in him, too, the Beaudrillart will was already asserting itself, and Nathalie, looking at him, trembled and prayed.
On the morning after the young baron’s departure for the La Ferrayes, there was a not infrequent scene in the breakfast-room. Raoul had been rude to his aunt Félicie, and his mother required him to say he was sorry. Mme. de Beaudrillart at once remonstrated.
“It is absurd to expect repentance from a baby. You weaken your authority by making sins out of such trifling matters. Come here, Raoul, and I will give you some melon.”
“No,” said Nathalie, with a firm grasp of the delinquent, “you must pardon me, madame, but Raoul knows that he must do what I have told him.”
“Ne veux pas,” said the small rebel, standing stiff and resolute.
“Pray don’t let us have a scene,” said Félicie, nervously. “I assure you, Nathalie, that I am not in the least vexed with him.”
“But I am,” said her sister-in-law, trying to smile. “Raoul, your aunt Félicie is very kind; will you go and kiss her, and say you are sorry!”
He hesitated, made a step towards her, and caught sight of his grandmother, smiling and signing to him with her head to come for the melon. With a laugh of gleeful mischief he broke from his mother, rushed to Mme. de Beaudrillart, cried out again, “Ne veux pas,” and buried his round black head in her lap.
“Let him alone, Nathalie,” said his grandmother, delightedly. “He has found sanctuary.”
From her! With a pang at her heart, Mme. Léon showed no trace of ill-temper. She followed, however, and lifted him, now kicking and crimson, in her strong young arms. Mme. de Beaudrillart looked much displeased.