“Ah, my dear boy!” he cried as Jean came into the smoking room. “You will never know freedom until you marry! No bachelor can understand the joys of escape, for he has nothing really to escape from. Freedom, I have always thought, is the absence of restraint; and I take it one must have restraint in order to lose it. The absence of restraint is merely another way of saying ‘Your dear aunt has gone into the country to see her mother.’ What a blessed institution one’s family is! To me this aspect of the mother-in-law at some little distance in the country, liable to occasional attacks of indigestion which she mistakes for heart failure, has about it something that is very touching, almost sacred! I believe in preserving these relationships. All relationships are to my mind a direct ministration of Providence to prevent the dangers of intimacy. This, Jean, is a very important thing for you to remember. I sometimes think you overlook the value of relationships; a mind that is not divided against itself is a bore. I see that you are having one of those attacks of concentration at the present moment! Light a cigarette, and you will find the liqueurs behind the billiard table—take one and think of something else! It is much too hot to be in earnest!”
“Mon oncle,” said Jean, waving his hand to decline the cigarette, the liqueur, or any other consideration than his purpose, “I have worked here now for three years in Paris, and I have not asked you for money, have I?”
Romain leaned back in his immense armchair and opened his eyes very wide with a charming smile in them.
“But my dear boy,” he said, “do not tell me that at the end of three years you know less of life than at the beginning? I have never heard such a confession of failure. Besides, you can’t sincerely mean to ask me for money now—I never lend, you know, I borrow, and I don’t even borrow as often as I could wish; but that, however, is not my fault. It would charm me to be of service to you, of course, but tell me about it; if it was the good Liane, now, I should be tempted; I met her the other night, I thought her looking a little—well, as if she should begin to lay up pears for the thirst. She won’t, you know, last much longer. They say she eats nothing and sleeps in her stays. But the years that take away from us everything else add, in spite of all we may do to prevent it, to the figure. It is, indeed, the only addition they seem prepared to make for us.”
“It is not Liane, man oncle,” said Jean. “I want to tell you the story; you know, after all, we’re the same flesh and blood, and it is good blood too, isn’t it? I think you’ll feel as I do, that something horribly bad must be stopped.”
Romain did not become serious, but something in Jean’s tone silenced him. He listened to his brother’s son, and as Jean told him the story of Flaubert’s baseness to Margot he felt a curious twinge of sentiment; he almost wished for a moment that Jean had been his own son instead. He was silent when Jean had finished, and he let his cigarette go out; he almost stopped smiling.
“Oh well, you know, my dear fellow,” he said at last, “the man’s canaille, that’s all! there are those in Paris! Certainly one mustn’t dun a woman for money when one is in search of her favour, that is understood. Yes! it is rather base, that money! He must have bourgeois blood. It reminds one of politics! It is quite the trick of a politician that! Yes, your friend Flaubert leaves an unpleasant taste in one’s mouth. I should like to help you. I don’t think I can, but I should like to. Why didn’t you marry the little Pauline? It is such a pity you let her slip into Pierre de Lodéve’s hands. Of course, it is his aunt’s doing; she is an admirable woman, so pious! She made the girl make magnificent settlements. I always rely on truly religious people for the business instinct. They manage very thoroughly on earth and we are told that they also lay up for themselves treasure in heaven. I can well believe it. Now, as to the four hundred francs—I have no money at all at present, but I happen to know that your dear aunt has a thousand francs, I think—a sum in a little blue bag in her desk, which she has set apart for a Home for Girls. I went there with her once; it was a most painful sight, and I thought unnecessary. There were two hundred of them; I did not think France had so many plain daughters; they were to be saved from destruction, and really, as I pointed out to your aunt at the time, nature had already provided for their safety. It is a pity to try to improve upon Nature’s methods. Now one might very well, I think, take the money to help a pretty girl! I remember that the little Margot is pretty?”
Jean smiled in spite of himself.
“Yes, Uncle Romain,” he said, “very pretty.”
“And your friend, your charming friend, Madame Torialli, is she also interested in the case?” asked Romain carelessly. Jean flushed to his forehead.