He did.
Now, in October, 1869, from evidence in my possession, the fate of France was already definitely fixed. Bismarck had decided on war. He had not the slightest enmity toward France, nothing but contempt for her and for the wretched marionettes playing at Royalty in the Tuileries. He was assisting at the birth of the great German Empire, that giant who in a short twelve months was to leap living and armed from the womb of Time. The destruction of France was the surgical operation necessary for the birth—that was all. In October, 1869, the last rivets of the giant's armour were being welded.
My guardian knew nothing of this; yet that extraordinary man had already scented the coming ruin, guessing from the corruption around him the birds of prey beyond the frontier.
"Thank you!" said he, when I had given him permission to deal with my fortunes as his judgment dictated. "And now you have just time to dress for dinner. Remember, you are to accompany me to-night to the ball at the Marquis d'Harmonville's."
I went off to my own rooms not overjoyed. Society functions never appealed to me, and balls were my detestation, for then my lameness was brought into evidence. Condemned not to dance, it was bitter to see other young people enjoying themselves, and to have to stand by and watch them, pretending to oneself not to care. My lameness, though I have dwelt little upon it, was the bane of my life. I fancied that everyone noticed it, and either pitied me or ridiculed me. It was a bitter thing, tainting all my early manhood; it made me avoid young people, and people of the opposite sex. I have seen girls looking at me, and have put their regard down to ridicule or pity—fool that I was!
Joubert put out my evening clothes. Joubert of late had grown more testy than ever, and more domineering. He spent his life in incessant warfare with Beril, the factotum of my guardian; and the extra acidity that he could not vent on Beril he served up to me. But it was the business of Eloise and Franzius (that lot, as he called them) which he had now, to use a vulgar expression, in his nose.
"Not those boots," said I, as he took a pair of patent-leather boots from their resting-place. "Dancing shoes!"
"Dancing shoes!" said Joubert, putting the boots back. "Ah, yes; I forgot that monsieur was a dancer."
"You forgot no such thing, for you know very well I do not dance, but one does not go to a ball in patent-leather boots. You like to fling my lameness in my face. You are turning into vinegar these times. I will pension you, and send you off to the country to live, if M. le Vicomte does not do what he has threatened to do."
"And what may that be?" asked the old fellow, with the impudent air of a naughty child.