The next day the door swung on its hinges, and the keys were handed to Madame Thierry, who, urged on by Julien, ventured timidly to enter the countess's flowery domain. That lady had determined to do the honors of her primroses and hyacinths in person, but an inevitable disclosure by Marcel had changed the course of her ideas and cooled her zeal in some measure.
The solicitor had called again to discuss her affairs. She made haste to tell him that she had made his aunt's acquaintance, and spoke of her in the warmest possible terms. Then she went on to ask questions.
"The charming woman told me of her birth, her love and her past happiness, and she was on the point of telling me about what she calls her present happiness, when we were interrupted. I supposed, on the other hand, that she was very unhappy. Have I not heard that she had been forced to sell all that she had?"
"That is the truth," Marcel replied; "but there is something in my excellent aunt's character which not everybody can understand, but which you will understand perfectly, madame la comtesse. I can tell you her husband's story and hers in a word. My uncle the artist had a great heart, much talent and wit, but very little method and no foresight at all. As he had never had anything in his youth, and earned from day to day, first the bare necessaries of life, afterward the luxuries, he allowed himself to be carried along by his natural recklessness; and as he had some rather extravagant tastes—an artist's tastes, that tells the whole story—he soon established his outlay upon a very agreeable but very hazardous footing. He loved society and was popular; he never went on foot, he had a carriage; he gave exquisite little dinners in what he called his hut at Sèvres, which was crowded with sumptuous trinkets and artistic objects, for which he paid great prices; so that he ran in debt. His wife's property paid his debts, and enabled them to continue this risky but delightful life. When he died he was over head and ears in debt once more. My dear aunt knew it, but did not choose to cast a shadow on his heedless and light-hearted old age by showing the slightest concern for their son's future. 'My son is sensible,' she said; 'he is studying his art with passionate zeal. He will have as much talent as his father. He will be poor, and he will make his fortune. He will pass through the trials and triumphs which his father passed through honorably and courageously, and, knowing him as I do, I know that he will never reproach me for placing all my confidence in his noble heart.'—It turned out as she had foreseen. On his father's death, Julien Thierry, discovering that he had inherited nothing but debts, set bravely to work to pay them all, and, far from complaining of his mother, he told her that she had done well never to annoy the best of fathers. I confess that I do not agree with him there. The best of fathers is the one who sacrifices his tastes and his pleasures to the welfare of those who will probably survive him. My uncle the painter was a great man, I might better say a great child. Genius is a very fine thing; but devotion to those whom one loves is a vastly finer thing, and, let me say it under my breath, my uncle's widow and son seem to me to be much greater than he. What is madame la comtesse's opinion?"
The countess had become very thoughtful, although she listened attentively.
"I think as you do, Monsieur Thierry," she replied, "and I admire your aunt and cousin with all my heart."
"But my story seems to have saddened you," said Marcel.
"Perhaps; it gives me something to think about. Do you know, I am deeply impressed by the example set us by some lives? I see that Madame Thierry is like me, being a widow and ruined; but I see that she is happy none the less, while I am not. She is proud to pay the debts of a husband whom she loved dearly,—and I—But I do not propose to retract the confession that escaped my lips yesterday in your presence. I wish to ask you one question. This son, this most excellent son of the worthy widow—where is he?"
"In Paris, madame, where he is working very hard and beginning to pay off the debts by painting pictures which are already almost as good as his father's. Some influential friends have become interested in him, and would push him ahead more rapidly if he were less scrupulous and proud; but with a little time he will be rich in his turn, indeed he now owes only a mere trifle, for which our Uncle Antoine has decided to become responsible, inasmuch as there is no longer any risk in so doing."
"This rich uncle seems to be about as timid and economical as my father-in-law the marquis?"