"And it's very true. He has a dozen millions which are quite his own, and can't be hurt by an accident; and his bank still goes on, and brings him in, one year with another, besides the interest on his dozen millions, three or four hundred thousand francs more. Nothing is more solid than the Chamblard bank; it's honest, it's venerable. Papa isn't fair to me, but I'm fair to him. When you have a father in business, it's a good thing when you go out not to be exposed to meet eyes which seem to say to you, 'My dear fellow, your father has swindled me.' Papa has but one passion: from five to seven every day he plays piquet at his club, at ten sous a point, and as he is an excellent player, he wins seven times out of ten. He keeps an account of his games with the same scrupulous exactitude he has in all things, and he was telling the day before yesterday that piquet this year had brought him in six thousand five hundred francs over and above the cost of the cards. He has a seat in the orchestra at the opera, not for the ballet, but for the music only; he never goes on the stage—neither do I, for that matter. Dancers don't attract me at all; they live in Batignolles, in Montmartre; they always walk with their mothers; they completely lack charm. In short, my father is what one calls a good man. You see I continue to be fair to him. Besides, I'm always right. Yes, it's a very good thing to have an honorable father, and Papa Chamblard is a model of all virtues, and he accumulates for me with a zeal! but I think, just at present, he accumulates a little too much. He has cut off my income. No marriage, no money. That's brief and decisive. That's his programme. And he has hunted up a wife for me—when I say one, I should say three."
"Three wives!"
"Yes. One morning he came to me and said: 'This must end. Look, here's a list—three splendid matches.' There were the names, the relations, the dowries—it was even arranged in the order of the dowries. I had to yield and consent to an interview with Number One. That took place at the Salon in the Champs Elysées. Ah, my boy, Number One—dry, flat, bony, sallow!"
"Then why did your father—"
"Why? Because she was the daughter, and only daughter, of a wealthy manufacturer from Roubaix. It was splendid! We each started with a hundred thousand francs income, and that was to be, in the course of time, after realized expectations, a shower of millions! It made papa supremely happy—the thought that all his millions in Paris would one day make an enormous heap with all those Roubaix millions. Millions don't frighten me, but on the condition that they surround a pretty, a very pretty and stylish woman—a great deal of style! That's my programme. I want to be able to take my wife to the theatres without having to blush before the box-openers."
"What do you mean? Before the box-openers?"
"Why, certainly. I am known, and I've a reputation to keep up. You see, the openers are always the same—always; and of course they know me. They've been in the habit of seeing me, during the last three or four years, come with the best-known and best-dressed women in Paris. Which is to say, that I should never dare present myself before them with that creature from Roubaix. They would think I had married for money. I tried to explain that delicately to papa, but one can't make him hear reason. There are things which he doesn't understand, which he can't understand. I have no grudge against him; he's of his time, I'm of mine. In short, I declared resolutely that I would never marry Number One. Notice that I discoursed most sensibly with papa. I said to him: 'You want me to have a home' (home is his word), 'but when I should have placed in that home a fright such as to scare the sparrows, my home would be a horror to me, and I should be forced, absolutely forced, to arrange a home outside. Thus I should have a household at home and a household outside, and it's then that the money would fly!' But papa won't listen to anything! He doesn't understand that I must have a little wife who is pretty, Parisian pretty—that is to say, original, gay, jolly, who is looked at on the street, and stared at through opera-glasses at the theatre, who will do me honor, and who will set me off well. I must be able to continue my bachelor life with her, and as long as possible. And then there's another thing that I can't tell papa. His name is Chamblard—it isn't his fault; only, in consequence, I too am named Chamblard, and it's not very agreeable, with a name like that, to try to get on in society. And a pretty, a very pretty, woman is the best passport. There, look at Robineau. He has just been received into the little club of the Rue Royale. And why? It's not the Union or the Jockey; but never mind, one doesn't get in there as into a hotel. And why was Robineau received?"
"I don't know."
"It's because he has married a charming woman, and this charming woman is a skater of the first rank. She had a tremendous success on the ice at the Bois de Boulogne. In the society columns of all the papers there was mention of the exquisite, delightful, and ideal Mme. Robineau. She was in the swim at one stroke. And Robineau, he too was in the swim. He was a member of the little club six weeks later! Papa, he doesn't understand the importance of these things; one can't reason with him about it; it's all Greek to him. However, as he had absolutely cut off my supplies, I had to submit, and consent to an interview with Number Two."
"And what was Number Two like?"