“It is better to have this explanation out all at once,” thought mademoiselle de la Mole; she went into the garden alone, Julien did not appear. Mathilde went and walked near the salon window. She found him very much occupied in describing to madame de Fervaques the old ruined chateau which crown the banks along the Rhine and invest them with so much atmosphere. He was beginning to acquit himself with some credit in that sentimental picturesque jargon which is called wit in certain salons. Prince Korasoff would have been very proud if he had been at Paris. This evening was exactly what he had predicted.
He would have approved the line of conduct which Julien followed on the subsequent days.
An intrigue among the members of the secret government was going to bestow a few blue ribbons; madame maréchale de Fervaques was insisting on her great uncle being made a chevalier of the order. The marquis de la Mole had the same pretensions for his father-in-law; they joined forces and the maréchale came to the Hôtel de la Mole nearly every day. It was from her that Julien learned that the marquis was going to be a minister. He was offering to the Camarilla a very ingenious plan for the annihilation of the charter within three years without any disturbance.
If M. de la Mole became a minister, Julien could hope for a bishopric: but all these important interests seemed to be veiled and hazy. His imagination only perceived them very vaguely, and so to speak, in the far distance. The awful unhappiness which was making him into a madman could find no other interest in life except the character of his relations with mademoiselle de la Mole. He calculated that after five or six careful years he would manage to get himself loved again.
This cold brain had been reduced, as one sees, to a state of complete disorder. Out of all the qualities which had formerly distinguished him, all that remained was a little firmness. He was literally faithful to the line of conduct which prince Korasoff had dictated, and placed himself every evening near madame Fervaques’ armchair, but he found it impossible to think of a word to say to her.
The strain of making Mathilde think that he had recovered exhausted his whole moral force, and when he was with the maréchale he seemed almost lifeless; even his eyes had lost all their fire, as in cases of extreme physical suffering.
As madame de la Mole’s views were invariably a counterpart of the opinions of that husband of hers who could make her into a Duchess, she had been singing Julien’s praises for some days.