“This young man is a hero. Heroism makes him one of us!”
By which his wife had meant, that one might safely receive Marcel Guibert in a drawing-room so distinguished as that of La Chênaie!
Not wishing to commit himself, he hastened to raise several objections:
“But you wish for a life of calm, I suppose, my dear Alice. You don’t want a husband who goes about conquering the world. You have a tranquil and peaceful nature. Will Marcel remain at Chambéry?”
“Father,” said the girl, remembering Paule’s lesson of heroism, “a wife must help her husband and not hamper his career.”
“His career? Well, he can follow that near us. Chambéry is a garrison that is very much sought after. He can exchange—nothing is easier—and we have influence with the War Office. Or he might resign. But then he has no money.”
Alice was silent, and her father, coming nearer, saw her tears. His heart was stirred, and the real foundation of his nature was laid bare, a nature which snobbishness and the habit of dependence had overlap. He gently stroked his daughter’s face with his hand.
“Don’t cry, darling. I want you to be happy.”
But all his hankerings after self-assertion fled at once like birds before the beater; for the door opened and Madame Dulaurens, having at last gotten rid of Madame Orlandi and growing uneasy about Alice’s prolonged absence, entered the study in her turn. The little imperious air which had adorned M. Dulaurens’s face for his daughter’s benefit was no more, and his final tenderness had gone. Instinctively he assumed the modest attitude which suits a clerk in the presence of his chief. Robbed of all conjugal courage and only wishing to avoid a family scene, he fled with a well-turned phrase:
“I leave our daughter to you, my dear. She wants to get married and will tell you all about it.”