The blood rose in the young artist's cheeks; he gazed earnestly at Monsieur Antoine, trying to persuade himself that he was really so irresponsible that his invectives should not affect a self-possessed man. Antoine divined his thought and made an effort to be calmer.
"Well, let us say no more about that!" he said. "I will go and pick up the ruins and the picture; I have lost my outlay of kindness of heart and confidence. It will teach me not to depart from my ideas and principles again! Walk first and don't say another word!"
They returned to the studio. There Monsieur Antoine, silent as hatred, took the flower, the plant, the picture, and refusing to accept anyone's assistance, without looking at Julien, without moving his lips, he left the pavilion and did not appear again.
Marcel soon returned and asked Julien what had taken place. Julien told him frankly and unhesitatingly in Madame Thierry's presence.
"Now," he added, "my inconsiderate conduct alarmed you, I know. You thought that I was as mad as Uncle Antoine, and my mother is terrified by a sentiment which she thinks is likely to be disastrous to me. Undeceive yourself and be calm, my dear mother, and do you, Marcel, give me back the esteem which you should entertain for a man of sense. One may be such a man, even if he has been guilty of an imprudence, and I realize that I was very reckless when I offered our benefactress a thing which did not belong to me. That was an impulse of gratitude, sadly misplaced, it is true, but which did not scandalize her, because she saw in it nothing more than an emotion that was worthy of her and consistent with the respect that is her due. I flatter myself that she is even more convinced of it since she granted me an interview, and I swear to you both, by all I hold most sacred, by filial love and faithful friendship, that there shall be nothing unpleasant to Madame d'Estrelle, nothing distressing to you, nothing unbecoming on my part in my future conduct. Let us not regret the house at Sèvres, my dear mother: we could not obtain it unless Madame d'Estrelle became Madame Antoine Thierry, and you certainly do not think that could ever have come to pass. As for you, my dear Marcel, I bless you for all the trouble you have taken, but surely you are convinced now that it was all thrown away, and that Uncle Antoine gives nothing for nothing. Let us be calm now, let us take up our lives where we dropped them when this evil dream of wealth began. I still have arms to work with and a heart to love you, and indeed, from this day forth, I feel more zealous, braver and surer of the future than I have ever been."
This time Julien was speaking the truth and not simply forcing himself to be brave in order to comfort his mother. He felt, not perfectly tranquil, but strong; his two interviews with Julie in quick succession had given his heart a new direction, a more unerring impulse. He had found in her presence the inspiration which gave full play to the seriousness and the generosity of his passion. He was sure that he had laid bare his heart to her, and that he had neither terrified nor insulted her. Did he believe that she loved him? No, but it may be that he had a vague feeling that she did, and there was a mysterious enjoyment in his reverie. He had attained a perfect understanding of his mission in the life of exalted and unselfish sentiment which was really his normal life. What he had said, he proposed to do, and he had strength to do it. To love in silence, to seek nothing, to obtain nothing by surprise, and to seize nothing except an opportunity to devote himself unreservedly to his mission, such was his plan, his determination, his profession of faith, so to speak.
"And now," he thought, "it may be that I shall suffer terribly despite my determination; but I shall so enjoy suffering nobly and holding my peace for love of her, that I shall triumph over my suffering, and my mother will not again feel its rebound. I must be very strong in the struggle between my instincts and my duties. And why should I not? I have always loved lofty ideas and sentiments which are beyond the reach of the common herd. As I am obliged to be a man, and as I am persuaded that duty is found in family ties, I shall doubtless do some day as Marcel has done: I shall marry a virtuous woman, who will be thereafter my best friend. Until then I propose to remain free and chaste. I propose to love without hope, and if possible, without desire, this nobly born Julie who can never be mine; I will overcome the desire, I will carry fraternal feeling to the point of sublimity, and I will nourish all my faculties with the sublime. I will be to other people only a very patient, very amiable young working man, seeking grace and charm in baskets of roses; but by dint of studying the divine mystery of purity in the hearts of flowers, one may obtain a revelation of sanctity in love. It seems to me a fine thing to say to oneself that one might scheme to surprise the virtue of the woman one loves, and that one loves her too well to attempt it. The life of which I dream is all meditation and sentiment. Very well; I will live it as long as possible. I will live by my thoughts as other people live by their acts, and it may be that I shall be the happiest of men! I shall feel that I am sustained by an enthusiasm which will not be worn to shreds by disappointments. I shall live and breathe alone and every moment in the beautiful, the pure and the great, with even more satisfaction than my poor father, who was conscious of a craving for it, but who thought that he could gratify his craving amid luxurious surroundings or in the society of this or that great personage. I shall need nothing of that sort, and I shall be far, far richer, having no other desire than to be satisfied with myself."
In soaring thus resolutely into the regions of the ideal, Julien was in truth following a secret tendency which had developed in him early in life. He had received an exceedingly good education, and, while studying his art assiduously, had read a great deal; but, being naturally inclined to enthusiasm of an austere sort, he did not indulge his tastes in all directions or plunge into all sorts of pleasure. Of all that his youth had fed upon, he had revelled in the great Corneille with the most satisfaction and benefit. There he had found, in the loftiest form, the strongest and most daring aspirations to heroism. He preferred teaching of that sort put in action, those noble virtues manifesting and giving expression to themselves, to the discussions of contemporary philosophy. This is not equivalent to saying that he despised the spirit of his time, or that he held aloof from the extraordinary upheaval of ideas then in progress. On the contrary he was one of the sturdiest products of that period which is unique in all history in respect to its magnificent illusions pending the formation of awe-inspiring resolutions. Those were the last days of the monarchy, and very few people then thought of overturning it. At all events Julien was not one of those who thought of it; he went very far beyond anticipation of any event whatsoever in politics. He was intoxicated with the discoveries and dreams of science, moral and physical, recently set free, en masse so to speak, from the clouds of the past. Lagrange, Bailly, Lalande, Berthollet, Monge, Condorcet and Lavoisier were already revolutionizing thought. When we reflect upon that rapid succession of fortunate experiments which, in a few years, produced astronomy from astrology, chemistry from alchemy, and replaced blind prejudice by experimental analysis all along the line of human knowledge, we realize that by making war on superstitions, the philosophers of the 18th century freed individual genius from its fetters simultaneously with the religious and social conscience of nations. What presumption then, what excitement, what intoxication in these first reachings out toward the future! The human intellect has hailed the bright sun of progress, and already it thinks to take possession of all its rays. No sooner has the first balloon arisen on its wings of flame, than two men risk the crossing of the Straits of Dover. Instantly mankind cries: "We are masters of the roads through the air, we are the inhabitants of the sky!"
At the period in which the action of our story happens to be laid, this noble beginning of the new ideas had found its formula in the word perfectibility. It was Condorcet who eloquently outlined the doctrine, and taking no account of human weakness, predicted for it a boundless destiny. He believed in infinity so absolutely that he hoped to find the secret of the destruction of death, and everybody who used his mind, everybody who read was beginning to believe with him in the indefinite prolongation of physical life. Parmentier believed moreover that he could banish forever the spectre of famine by acclimatizing the potato. Mesmer believed that he had discovered a mysterious agent, the source of all marvels. Saint-Martin proclaimed the rehabilitation of the human soul and illumined the terrors of the old-fashioned dogmas with the dogma of infinite light. Cagliostro pretended to revive ancient magic in a natural and comprehensible way; in a word the vertigo of the future had set every brain in a whirl, from the most prosaic to the most romantic, and, at the height of that intense excitement, the present was a trifling obstacle which no one deigned to notice. The old monarchy, the unbending clergy, were still on their feet, striving to retain their crumbling power; but liberty had been inaugurated in America, and France felt that her day was at hand. She had no thought of bloodshed; pleasant chimeras exclude ideas of revenge; on the eve of the terrible storm men's minds were making holiday, and an indescribable feverish grasping for the ideal paved the way for the magnificent outburst of '89.
Julien was full of that faith and determination which seems to descend to earth providentially at the moment fixed for mighty struggles; but with it all there was a certain calmness due to the direction, the habit and the temperament of his thought. There was a certain philosophical mysticism, not in the stage of discussion but in the stage of instinct, and a sort of craving to love. If he had not loved a woman, he would have loved liberty to fanaticism. Love consecrated him to self-sacrifice. As soon as Julie's image filled his heart, he no longer thought of himself except as a force which might serve to protect Julie. Did he entertain the idea that she could or would be likely to belong to him? Yes, he undoubtedly did, a confused idea, sometimes imperious, but valiantly combated. He had no prejudices; he was not, like his uncle Antoine, dazzled by rank, title and show; he knew that Julie was born in modest station and that her fortune was much impaired. Moreover, he felt that he was her equal, for he was one of those men of the third estate, who, being filled with a legitimate and tenacious pride, were beginning to say to one another: "The third estate is everything," just as they said later: "The people are everything," and just as they will say some day: "Everyone is everything," denying no kind of nobility, whether due to the sword, the toga, the factory or the plough. Thus Julien did not look upon the Comtesse d'Estrelle as a woman placed above him by circumstances, but by personal merit. That merit he exaggerated possibly in his own mind; it is the privilege of love to tend constantly toward the loftier regions of the soul, and to believe that it is summoned to the conquest of divinities. So that in his passion admirable humility was combined with boundless pride.