"Even so! for whom should I earn money, if not for my son?"
"But you rob yourself!"
"Of nothing at all. I find friendship and confidence wherever I am employed; and except a little good wine, which is an old man's milk, and which is neither scarce nor dear in our blessed climate, thank God! I need nothing. What does a man of my age require? Must I think of the future? Your sister is industrious; she will find a good husband. Is not my present lot what my lot will be to my last hour? There is nothing new for me to learn which I can put to any use. Why should I hoard money? to hoard it for your maturer years would be absurd; it would simply be depriving your youth of the means of developing and making sure of the future."
"Alas! it is the thought of your future that terrifies me, father! An old man's future is loss of strength, infirmity, neglect, destitution! And suppose all your sacrifices were wasted! Suppose I should prove to be devoid of virtue, intelligence, courage, talent! Suppose I should not succeed in making my fortune, in finding a good husband for my sister, and in assuring your comfort and security in your old age!"
"Nonsense! nonsense! it is insulting Providence to doubt yourself when you are conscious of being disposed to do what is right. Besides, let us put everything in the worst light, and you will see that nothing is lost. I will assume that you are simply an ordinary artist; you will still earn your living, and as you do not lack wit, you will know how to be contented with such pleasures as are within your reach. You will do like me, who, although I have never been rich, have never considered myself poor, because my wants have never exceeded my resources. That is a philosophy with which you are not familiar as yet, because you are at the age of expansive desires and expansive hopes; but it will come to you if your plans fail. Mind you, I do not admit that they can fail. That is why I do not preach moderation to you now. Power is still better. The man who aims true at the ring with his lance is drunk with joy. He carries off the prize, and congratulates himself on having had the courage to compete. But he who has broken several lances with no result goes away saying: 'My luck is bad; I will not try again.' And he too is pleased that he has profited by experience and has had the courage to read himself a salutary lesson. But the evening breeze dries the perspiration on my old forehead a little too quickly; I am going to the pantry to eat and drink. As there is nothing more for you to do here, you may as well get our tools together and go home."
"And when will you come home, father?"
"Ah! Michel, I don't know when or how! it will depend on how much I enjoy the supper. You know that I am very sober, generally speaking, and drink only to quench my thirst; but if they lead me on to laugh and sing, and chatter, I get excited and have paroxysms of merriment and poetic enthusiasm which carry me off to the moon; and then it's of no use to talk to me about going to bed. Don't be anxious about me. I shall not fall down in a corner, I am not a beastly sot; my drunkenness is that of brilliant minds, on the contrary, and I never act more reasonably than when I am a little mad; that is to say, I shall be at work again here at daylight to-morrow, to assist in undoing all we have done this week, and I shall be less tired than if I had passed the night in my bed."
"You must despise me for being unable to find in wine the superhuman strength that it gives you!"
"You have never cared to try!" cried the old man; and he added instantly: "and you have done well! because at your age it is an unnecessary stimulant. Ah! when I was young the lightest glance from a woman would have given me more strength than the whole of the princess's cellar would give me at this moment! Well, good-night, my boy."
As he spoke, Pier-Angelo started up the wooden staircase he had helped to put in place, for he and his son had been talking in the garden, where he had thrown himself on the turf to recover his breath. Michel detained him, and, instead of leaving him, said with inexplicable emotion: