"I declare that Monsieur Antoine is a great man and a true philosopher!" cried Abbé de Nivières. "Suppose we adjourn to the table?"
"Let us go to dinner, mesdames and messieurs," said Monsieur Antoine, offering Julie his hand. "You will say it is a misalliance, but three millions for each of my nephews, that helps to rub the dirt off a family, and my grandnephews will have money to purchase titles with."
This last argument changed the blame of Julie's friends into somewhat reluctant congratulations. She had to resign herself to the necessity of appearing to sacrifice vainglory to wealth; but what did it matter to her after all? Julien knew what to think.
Julie, who was still in mourning for her father-in-law, went to Sèvres to pass the rest of the summer. Sèvres is a Norman oasis within two leagues of Paris. The apple-trees give it a rural savor, and the hills, covered with lovely rustic gardens, were at that time quite as charming and more unconventional than to-day. I must not, however, speak slightingly of the lovely villas of Sèvres as it now is, with their magnificent shade trees and the picturesque inequalities of the region through which the river boldly cuts its way. The railroad has not altogether dispelled the poesy of that wooded spot, and it is not unpleasant to be able to reach, in a quarter of an hour, the grass-grown paths and fields sloping to the water's edge. From the top of the hill one can distinguish Paris, an imposing silhouette against the blue sky, through the clumps of trees in the foreground; three steps away, in the bottom of the ravine, one can lose sight of the great city, turn away from the too white villas, and lose oneself in the genuine country, still unspoiled, although a bit rococo, and always lovely with flowers.
There Julie recovered her health, which was seriously impaired for some time, and before as after their marriage, Julien was all in all to her, as she was all in all to him. What society said and thought of their union, they did not care to know. Their real friends sufficed for them, and Madame Thierry was the happiest of mothers. Their happiness was disturbed, it is true, by the political tempests, the approach of which Julien had watched with no idea that they would be so swift and so radical. Having a clear conscience and a generous heart, he made himself very useful in his neighborhood by the pains which he took to relieve want, and to prevent it, so far as he could, from urging its victims on to deplorable acts of violence. For a long time he exerted great influence over the workmen in the factory at Sèvres, and in the faubourg which surrounded the hôtel D'Estrelle. On some days he was well-nigh overwhelmed; but nothing could induce him to do anything which his conscience disapproved, and he was threatened in his turn and was very near being suspected. The firmness with which he faced suspicion, the generous personal sacrifices he had made, the confidence he displayed in the midst of danger, saved him. Julie was as brave as he. The timid woman was transformed; she felt that her soul had developed and been tempered anew in its fusion, brought about by love, with a fearless and upright soul. Her heart was torn, doubtless, when several of her old friends were struck down by the Revolution, despite all Julien's efforts to rescue them. She succeeded in saving some of them by judicious advice and prudent measures. She concealed two in her own house; but she was unable to save the Baronne d'Ancourt, who ruined herself by her excessive fright and underwent a most rigorous captivity. The unfortunate Marquise d'Estrelle could not restrain her rage when the forced loans encroached on her savings. She died on the scaffold. The Duc de Quesnoy emigrated. Abbé de Nivières prudently turned Jacobin.
After the Terror, the suppression of the privilege attached to the royal establishments having enabled Julien to gratify a wish he had often formed, he labored to disseminate the industrial and artistic improvements which he had had leisure to study and to experiment upon at Sèvres. He earned no money by it; that was not his object; in fact he lost something; but he found therein the means of ameliorating the lives of many unfortunates. He was not rich, and his wife was overjoyed to see him continue his artistic work and devote himself lovingly to the education of his children.
Marcel purchased a cottage near theirs at Sèvres, and the two families passed together all the holidays and days of rest which the worthy solicitor was able to steal from his business. He made a little fortune by honorable methods, and Julien was able to manage his own competence with the prudence his father had lacked. Well for him that it was so, for the Revolutionary government confiscated Monsieur Antoine's property. The old man had continued to live alone, feeling no desire for family life, as gracious as it was in his power to be to the debtors whose gratitude flattered his pride, but unwilling to enter into any social relations which would have upset his habits. He had promised Marcel to think no more about marriage, and he kept his word; but he was attacked by another mania. He became, in politics, a reviler of all the events of the Revolution, whatever they might be. Everybody was mad, blundering, stupid. The king was too weak, the people too gentle, the guillotine too lazy and too greedy by turns. And then as that succession of tragedies disturbed his brain, which was more mad than cruel, he changed his opinions and passed from the most unbridled sansculottism to the most laughable dandyism. All this was quite harmless, for he did not intrigue for place, but contented himself with breaking out in words in his rare incursions into society; but he was denounced by workmen whom he had maltreated, and came near paying with his head for his riotous indulgence in obscure eloquence.
Julien and Marcel, by tireless persistence, succeeded in inducing him to leave the hôtel De Melcy, where he defied the storm every day. They kept him out of sight at Sèvres, where he made them very unhappy by his evil humor, and compromised them more than once by his imprudent acts. His property was under sequestration, and he recovered only a few shreds. He endured that terrible blow with much philosophy. He was one of those pilots who curse during the tempest, but keep cool when it is a question of salvage. He refused to take back any part of what Julien had received from him. As his garden had not been injured and he recovered it almost intact, he resumed his former habits and recovered comparative good humor. He lived there until 1802, still active and robust. One day they found him sitting perfectly still on a bench in the sunshine, his watering pot half full beside him, and on his knees an undecipherable manuscript, the last lucubration of his wornout brain. He had died without warning. The night before he had said to Marcel:
"Never fear, you shall have the millions you expected to inherit from me! Let me live only about ten years, and I shall make a larger fortune than I ever had. I have a scheme for a constitution which will save France from ruin; after that I will think a little of myself and go back to my exporting business."