Chapter Five.
A Whim.
Romance, which gives itself the airs of unfettered liberty, has nevertheless its laws, and it was contrary to these laws that Léon should have been in love with the girl who brought him such a fortune as put him at once beyond the reach of embarrassment. No one, not even his mother, believed it; if she had, it is doubtful whether she could have put up with Nathalie at all. She assured herself that the marriage belonged to the new developments of prudence in Léon, a praiseworthy continuation of his efforts to redeem the estate; and while she appreciated the sacrifice he had made, she never ceased to pity him for having been obliged to make it. Nothing which he could say or do succeeded in convincing her or his sisters as to what had been his real motive—perhaps no one in the world credited it except Nathalie herself.
It was true, however, that he really loved her, and with the easy carelessness of his nature managed to turn his back upon the past, to stop his ears when he heard it calling after him, and to forget that it has hands as well as voices. He had acknowledged to his father-in-law that there was a debt on the estate of two hundred thousand francs. M. Bourget closed his eyes and pursed his mouth.
“And this you propose to pay—how?”
“By instalments. My creditor does not press me.”
“He must be a fool or a relation, then,” announced the ex-builder, with a loud laugh. “Perhaps both. Well, Monsieur de Beaudrillart, pressed or not, we must get that stone off your neck, I suppose you have not sent much by way of repayment.”
“Five hundred francs.” Léon spoke in a low voice.
“Ta ta! It will take a good many five hundred francs to repay two hundred thousand,” mocked M. Bourget.
The young man was silent.