Chapter Six.
The Bliss of Monsieur Bourget.
M. Bourget of Tours, meanwhile, should have been a happy man, for he had all but reached the very summit of his desires. His daughter was installed at Poissy, and twenty times a day he turned in the direction of the château, as a fire-worshipper turns towards the sun, to offer a silent and rapturous homage, partly to past generations of Beaudrillarts, and partly to his own sagacious industry which had achieved this triumph. To his acquaintances he made no effort to conceal his elation. Conversation could not be carried on for five minutes without a dexterous twist bringing it round to Poissy. The very name in his mouth became larger and more substantial. To his cronies, those especially who had daughters, he grew insupportable, or only to be endured from fear of offending a man who was a powerful enemy, and had obtained great influence in town matters. His short, square, vigorous figure, attired in a light-coloured alpaca coat, and surmounted by a round grizzled head, red-faced and bull-necked, might be seen advancing towards the café where he daily took his coffee—just flavoured with absinthe—with an indescribable air of majesty, which excited the mockery of those who dared to laugh, but was not without its awe-inspiring influence upon others. Always his walk led him in the direction of the photographer’s, and always he stood for a few moments to gaze upon Poissy, but by some singular hesitation, out of keeping, as it seemed, with the pride which he made no attempt to conceal, he had never allowed himself to buy a copy of the object of his worship.
Outside the café, woe betide the acquaintance whom M. Bourget signalled to sit with him at one of the small tables where he took his usual refreshment! It was necessary that he should hear everything connected with the past, present, or future history of Poissy; its rooms had to be described in detail, the great question of who was to be trusted with the necessary repairs must be discussed, and the point whether they should begin with the hall or the chapel. He invited opinions, but if the opinions differed from his own he grew heated, brought down his fist upon the little table, and declared that only a fool could hold such ridiculous theories. One of his first victims was the little lawyer, M. Leroux, who, being miserably poor, endured like a peppery martyr, with the hope that for the sake of a good listener M. Bourget would be moved to the unusual generosity of paying for both portions of coffee. For this end he promised himself that, let his temper incite him as it might, nothing should induce him to contradict the formidable new aristocrat. He manfully endured a double-dose of Poissy, and choked down certain strong expressions which rose to the tip of his tongue when he heard M. Bourget excusing his son-in-law’s political opinions.
“After all, it is natural that if a man is born to such ideas, they should stick to him,” he said, paternally. “You and I, Leroux, are shot into the world, and left to pick up what we can; we have no traditions to offend, and no rights to relinquish. With my son-in-law it is different. He arrives. Behind him stretch a long line of Beaudrillarts, crying out, ‘Thou art of the race, thou; and the race must continue. We give thee Poissy for thy life; guard it, and pass it on.’ That puts him in another position from us, hein?”
“Altogether,” agreed the lawyer, sourly. He would have liked to have darted Léon’s extravagances at M. Bourget, and inquired where then had been his duty to his ancestors; but he feared.
“Besides, one must remember,” said the ex-builder, pouring an exactly measured spoonful of absinthe into his cup, and replacing the bottle before him, without apparently noticing M. Leroux’s clink of his own spoon, “one must remember that the De Beaudrillarts have earned their repose. In their day, and when you and I did not exist, they gave and received a pretty number of hard knocks.”
“Pray, did Monsieur de Beaudrillart then exist!” demanded the lawyer, with an irrepressible sneer; for he was stung by the distance of the absinthe bottle, and objected to such distinctions.
“His representatives. His former representatives,” repeated M. Bourget, imperturbably, with a grand air which embraced the ancient family. “No, I do not blame the young man for thinking differently from you and me. If he had an inclination to stand for the Chamber, I should even give him my vote.”