Félicie went about with clasped hands and a radiant face, enchanted with her hundred francs. Claire’s features seemed to have grown a little sharper, and her voice more haughty, that was all; and so the cloud rolled off.
Léon came home. He looked ill; but, then, as Mme. de Beaudrillart said, he had been sadly harassed. She was a little disappointed that he did not communicate more particulars of the interview with M. de Cadanet, for on this point, although he generally talked very freely, he was reticent.
After all, as she told herself, what did it matter?
Chapter Four.
Nathalie.
Young M. de Beaudrillart was as good as his word. In her wildest dreams even his mother—whose hopes had undergone many deaths and many resurrections—had not ventured to picture him so content to remain in the quiet of the provinces as he proved himself. Whatever distaste he felt, very few outward signs betrayed it. An easy temper came to his help, and carried him lightly over rough places. He applied himself to looking into his affairs, a work which the unlucky M. Georges had long and vainly urged, and he showed a somewhat unexpected aptitude for business matters. He made no protests—beyond an occasionally wry face—against the strict economies of the household, and, to Félicie’s unbounded delight, not only refrained from mocking her pious works, but more than once gave her unexpected assistance. To the women it appeared as if golden days had begun, only Claire felt that here was the fruit of M. Georges’ prudent counsels, and thought it hard that M. Georges himself should remain under undeserved obloquy. Perhaps these few months were the happiest Mme. de Beaudrillart had ever known. Her belief in her son was justified—more than justified—and she looked the world proudly in the face.
Then Léon made another step in the path of surprises, and fell in love. As has been already remarked, a rich marriage had seemed the easiest way out of his difficulties, and again and again had been suggested to him, not only by his mother, but by his boon companions. Fortunes were dangled temptingly before his eyes, and he would none of them. Some strange scruple—strange, at least, in the man—some mastering sentiment, had rooted itself so deeply in his heart that it was not to be disposed of. It was the noblest thing there, and it was sighed over and laughed at, as first one, then another, tried their hand at eradication. Léon would not give it up. He declined to marry for anything short of love, and he had persuaded himself that he should never know what that meant, when he accidentally caught sight of a tall, fair, innocent-faced girl, with red-brown hair, and, once seen, would not rest until he had contrived to hear her speak and to learn her name. Then he went home and implored his mother to make the necessary advances.
Mme. de Beaudrillart yielded with scarcely a word, and yet the pang to her was great. She had been prepared for, had even urged upon her son, a sacrifice to mammon in the shape of a wife of inferior birth and large wealth. If such a one had been chosen in Paris she would hardly have sighed; but it was a different matter to be asked to accept a roturière at their very doors. The wrong to the De Beaudrillarts became infinitely more insulting, and though, as has been said, strong common-sense led her immediately to grasp the advantage and to yield, it was tolerably certain that she would never forgive the offender.