"He will send it to me mysteriously," she thought; "it will be an anonymous offering, and in that case——"
But the gift did not arrive; so it was not for her after all. What folly to think that he intended it for her! Julien was in love with some other woman—some petty bourgeoise or some society woman of easy morals—perhaps an actress! She did not sleep for two nights; then she happened to see the fan in Madame Thierry's hand, and she breathed again.
In spite of her determination, she could not avoid speaking of Julien to his mother, and she resorted to every sort of detour to bring him into the conversation. She wished to know about the sort of life led by a young painter, of which she had no idea; and, although she dreaded to learn some unpleasant or painful details, she continued to ask questions, at first concerning the tastes and habits of artists, in general; then of a sudden she asked:
"Your son, for example; did he not lead a brilliant, dissipated, or at least an enjoyable life before the death of his father and your subsequent troubles?"
"My son has always been of a serious turn of mind," replied Madame André, "and I must say that the young men of all ranks seem to me very different to-day from those whom I used to see in my youth. My dear husband was a type of those men with fertile, ingenious and easily impressed imaginations, whose lives were filled with unexpected pleasures, and whose aim seemed to be the enjoyment of everything that was agreeable, rather than the ambitious pursuit of renown. He painted chefs-d'œuvre for amusement, and no anxieties ever disturbed his mind. To-day the modern artists are tearing themselves to pieces to do better than their predecessors. Criticism has been invented. Monsieur Diderot, whom my husband used to see very often, taught him to have a higher opinion of himself than he would have thought of doing, and my little Julien would listen to that great intellect, devouring him with his searching, inquisitive great eyes. Then Monsieur Diderot would say: 'There's a child who has the sacred fire!' But my husband didn't want to have too many ideas put into his head. He thought that the beautiful should be keenly felt and not studied overmuch. Was he right? He sought to embellish the imagination, not to overburden it. Julien was gentle and placid; he read and mused a great deal. His painting is more highly esteemed than his father's by genuine connoisseurs, and when he is talking of art you can see that he understands everything; but his work isn't so universally liked, and he doesn't care at all for society. His mind is full of all kinds of subjects of meditation, and when I say to him: 'You don't laugh, you are not in good spirits, you haven't the enthusiasm of your years,' he answers: 'I am happy as I am. I never feel the need of excitement. There are so many things to think about!'"
These outpourings of Madame Thierry's heart gradually revealed Julien to Madame d'Estrelle, and the sort of instinctive respect which had taken her by surprise when she first saw him, became a sort of awe which made her love him all the more. It was no longer possible for her to look upon him as an inferior, and yet the young artist was one of the class whom her associates referred to as those people! She made an effort sometimes, when she was talking with her friends, to plead for the strong and the intelligent in whatever class they might be found. Her friends were sufficiently far advanced to reply to her: "You are a thousand times right, birth is nothing, merit alone is of consequence;" but those were simply maxims for the benefit of enlightened persons, and nothing more. The actual practice of equality had in no wise been incorporated in the national morals, and the same persons were not at all backward, a moment later, in blaming the Duke of So-and-So for fertilizing his estates with a plebeian dowry, or Princess Blank for falling in love with a wretched adventurer to the point of wanting to marry him, to the great scandal of virtuous folk. A young woman, unmarried or widowed, might fall in love with a man of noble birth, even though he were poor; but, if he had no birth, it was a disgraceful infatuation, an indecent attachment; she sacrificed her principles to her passions; marriage failed to justify her and she became an object of public contempt. Julie, who had lived in the esteem and regard of her friends, her only compensation for her unhappy youth, had ice-cold shivers when she heard that sort of talk; and if the object of her secret passion had chanced at such a moment to enter her little circle, apparently so tolerant and good-humored, she would have been compelled to rise and say to him: "Why have you come here, monsieur?"
But the little party separated at nine, and ten minutes later Julie was in the garden; she gazed at the light in the pavilion, twinkling like a green star through the foliage, and she fancied that, if Julien should appear at a bend in the path, she should not be able to fly.
Throughout all this period of agitation on poor Julie's part, Julien was almost calm; his purpose was so upright, so sincere, that his mind had recovered its health sufficiently to deceive itself.
"No," he thought, "I did not lie to my mother. What Madame d'Estrelle inspires in me is a very strong, lofty, exquisitely delicate friendship; but it is not, as I thought at first, a frantic and disastrous passion; or, if I had an attack of that fever at the beginning, it disappeared on the day when I saw that simple, kindly, trustful woman close at hand, when I heard her sweet, chaste voice, when I realized that she was an angel and that my aspirations were not worthy of her. No, no, I am not in love, according to the common understanding of the term; I love with a full heart, that is all, and I will not allow my imagination to torment me. The earth has hardly closed over my poor father; I have not an hour to waste if I wish to save my mother. No, no, I have no right, I have no time to give way to passion."
Marcel noticed Julien's tranquillity and was unable to understand the mental perturbation which made itself manifest in Madame d'Estrelle's behavior. He found her one day just returned from a visit to her father-in-law the marquis. His life was thought to be no longer in danger, and Marcel might hope to talk with him again before long concerning his client's pecuniary embarrassments.