Since George was paying for Lizette, he felt he had the right to control her life. He gave her fair warning concerning his attitude. If she deceived him he would leave her immediately. He told this to her relatives also, and so he had them all watching her. She was never trusted out alone. Every Sunday George went to spend the day with his little “family,” so that his coming became almost a matter of tradition. He interested her in church affairs—mass and vespers were her regular occasions for excursions. George rented two seats, and the grandmother went with her to the services. The simple people were proud to see their name engraved upon the brass plate of the pew.
The reason for all these precautions was George’s terror of disease. He had been warned by his father as to the dangers which young men encounter in their amours. And these lessons had sunk deep into George’s heart; he had made up his mind that whatever his friends might do, he, for one, would protect himself.
That did not mean, of course, that he intended to live a virtuous life; such was the custom among young men of his class, not had it probably ever occurred to his father that it was possible for a young man to do such a thing. The French have a phrase, “l’homme moyen sensuel”—the average sensual man. And George was such a man. He had no noble idealisms, no particular reverence for women. The basis of his attitude was a purely selfish one; he wanted to enjoy himself, and at the same time to keep out of trouble.
He did not find any happiness in the renunciation which he imposed upon himself; he had no religious ideas about it. On the contrary, he suffered keenly, and was bitter because he had no share in the amusements of his friends. He stuck to his work and forced himself to keep regular hours, preparing for his law examinations. But all the time he was longing for adventures. And, of course, this could not go on forever, for the motive of fear alone is not sufficient to subdue the sexual urge in a full-blooded young man.
The affair with Lizette might have continued much longer had it not been for the fact that his father died. He died quite suddenly, while George was away on a trip. The son came back to console his broken-hearted mother, and in the two week they spent in the country together the mother broached a plan to him. The last wish of the dying man had been that his son should be fixed in life. In the midst of his intense suffering he had been able to think about the matter, and had named the girl whom he wished George to marry. Naturally, George waited with some interest to learn who this might be. He was surprised when his mother told him that it was his cousin, Henriette Loches.
He could not keep his emotion from revealing itself in his face. “It doesn’t please you?” asked his mother, with a tone disappointment.
“Why no, mother,” he answered. “It’s not that. It just surprises me.”
“But why?” asked the mother. “Henriette is a lovely girl and a good girl.”
“Yes, I know,” said George; “but then she is my cousin, and—” He blushed a little with embarrassment. “I had never thought of her in that way.”
Madame Dupont laid her hand upon her son’s. “Yes, George,” she said tenderly. “I know. You are such a good boy.”