"Nothing. You can settle everything yourself. We know that you are generous with people you don't hate, and you won't hate Julien when you know him better."
"Very well, let him come at once; let him begin."
"No, he has some work that is urgent; he will give you a few hours to-morrow for a beginning."
On the following day Julien began to study the plant, and made several sketches of it, taking them from different points of view. Monsieur Antoine, faithful to the conditions exacted, did not see these sketches until they were submitted to him. He was more pleased with them than he chose to say. That conscientious method of studying the structure and bearing of the plant surprised and gratified him. Julien said little, but kept his eyes constantly on his model and seemed to love it passionately. The horticulturist began to feel some esteem for him, and as Madame Thierry had never mentioned to her son her brother-in-law's strange conduct toward her, as nothing in the young man's face or manners betrayed the slightest feeling of aversion, Antoine, who had the greater longing to become attached to some one as he became more selfish, conceived a latent, and if we may say so, an underground sort of friendship for him.
On the second day Julien began to paint; thereupon the uncle ceased to understand what he was doing and began to be uneasy. It was much worse when Julien informed him that he must finish the work in his studio, where the light was arranged as he wanted it, and where he had a multitude of little things which he could not carry back and forth without forgetting some of them. It was some distance from the pavilion to the hôtel de Melcy, and he would have no time to waste going to and fro the next day, for it was most essential to seize on the wing the plant's expression when it was in full bloom.
But to transport the model was to put it in peril, to hasten its blooming, weaken its stalk, deaden its lustre! Uncle Antoine, finding the artist immovable, determined to carry the priceless Antonia to the studio himself, with the greatest possible care, even at the risk of meeting Madame Thierry and being obliged to salute her.
In forcing this unpleasant sacrifice upon Uncle Antoine, Julien was not governed by the petty crotchets of a finical artist. He was following Marcel's advice, who was bent upon bringing about some sort of reconciliation between the relations, and who, having abandoned all hope of inducing Madame Thierry to make the slightest advance, had considered it necessary to surprise her by an unexpected meeting with her enemy.
Madame Thierry, whom we have represented to you as perfect in every respect, and who was as perfect as a woman can be, had nevertheless one little failing. Although she was not coquettish, although she did not pretend or believe herself to be still young, she had never said to herself: "I am an old woman."—What woman in her day was more sensible or more clear-sighted? Her youth had burst into flower among madrigals and gallant speech and manners. She had been so pretty, and she was so well preserved! Her husband, although he ruined her by his recklessness, had been in love with her to his last day, and it really seemed as if that old couple were destined to reproduce the legend of Philemon and Baucis. By dint of being told that she was still charming, which was perfectly true considering her age, good Madame Thierry still thought and felt herself to be all a woman, and after thirty-five years she had not forgotten how deeply the ex-armorer's proposal had wounded her pride and her self-esteem. That brutal man, who had had the audacity to say to her: "I am here, I am rich, you may as well love me instead of my brother," had caused her the only real mortification connected with what society in those days called "her fault." Later, her charm and loyalty had caused her husband's admirers to seek her society. She was able to hold her head erect, to triumph over prejudice, to occupy a place apart, an exceptional and most desirable place in public opinion. She was happy therefore except for a single wound, still bleeding, in the depths of her heart. It seemed to her that her honor had been sullied once in her life, by Monsieur Antoine's offers and aspirations.
Marcel was unable to penetrate this labyrinth of feminine refinements. He believed that time had wiped out the last trace of that absurd episode, and that Madame Thierry told the truth when she declared that she was ready to forgive everything in order to obtain for Julien his wealthy kinsman's favor.
Julien was not the man to covet Uncle Antoine's wealth. He had never said to himself that by fawning upon him he might make sure of a goodly share of his inheritance. For a long time he had fought against the idea of asking him for a slight service; but the longing to recover for his mother, by hard work, the house in which she had been so happy, had overcome his pride. Determined to devote his whole life, if necessary, to the task of paying his debt, he no longer blushed at the measures which Marcel took to induce Antoine to advance the necessary funds.