“Let us change the subject,” said he. “You have sold your business; what do you think of doing now?”
“What do you expect me to do?” cried Dupuis vehemently. “I shall finish by dying!”
“Morbleu! you had better resuscitate. Let us talk seriously, George. When you married you created for yourself new duties, which you have fulfilled to the utmost, honestly and generously. You have provided amply for the future of your wife and daughter. What is there, then, to prevent you now from plunging yourself for two or three years into the vortex of life, and so awaken and reinvigorate your benumbed faculties? The facilities of travel nowadays are wonderful. In the space of two years you can run over the whole of Europe, and even explore a part of Asia and Africa. All the freshness and vivacity of thought you once possessed will return to you when you find yourself in contact with the most glorious creations of art and nature. In the course of two years—two years, mark you!—you can lay at rest for ever every one of those regretful feelings which are now eating out your heart and shortening your life! Choose now: suicide or travel? Remember that you are free in your choice—you are free to do as you like!”
“Pish!” cried George, turning on his heel and pursuing his walk. “Is it probable that at my time of life I shall set out alone to scour the highways of Europe?”
“But who wants you to go alone?” said Rouvière, going up to him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Am not I ready to go with you? My experience, my post-chaise, my servant—everything I have is at your service, George!”
“Is it possible, Tom? Are you really in earnest?” exclaimed Dupuis, gratified beyond expression at this proof of his friend’s affection. “You really will accompany me?”
“I will lead you by the hand, my boy!” answered Rouvière gaily; and, falling into step with George, the two friends paced the room together. “I will spare you the torment of guides and ciceroni, and all that species of vermin which besets the tourist. No, don’t thank me,” he continued, when Dupuis began to express his gratitude. “The thought delights me as much as it does you. Your new impressions will revive mine of past days. And won’t it be delicious, George, to end our lives as we began them—participating in the same adventures, in the same pleasures, and even sharing our purses? Come, now, is it settled?”
“My dear friend,” replied Dupuis, with a slight hesitation in his voice, “I will confess to you that no project was ever more agreeable to me, but....”
“No buts! no buts!” cried Rouvière imperatively; “it is settled! We will go direct from this to Paris and wait there until the spring. The museums and theatres will help us to while away the time. I will take you behind the scenes; you shall hear Ristori and Patti! You used to love music!”
“I love it still,” said George, smiling; “I play the flute!”