went to bed, and was soon fast asleep once more.
"What the devil are you doing here?" he shouted.
explained himself. A reporter of the Nation wished to interview M.
Krafft about the article which had appeared in the _Grand Journal_.
The reporter began to tell him what it was about.
article. At the very first words Christophe pricked up his ears. M.
Krafft was referred to as the greatest musical genius of the age.
"They are mad! Who has been pulling their legs?"
Christophe with a series of questions, which he answered unthinkingly.
prearranged knock which was only known to a few of their friends.
article.... How are you to get rid of a man who regards you as a genius!
Gamache himself, wished to see him: the car was waiting downstairs.
the end he gave way.
That day he had just "made" Christophe.
It was Olivier who in all innocence had belled the cat.
advantage for their rascally young sons.
going, it was impossible to direct or control.
"A fine thing I've done!"
already gone out with the journalists! He delayed lunch for him.
"What a lot of foolish things they will make him say!"
in fear and trembling what he had said and done.
good feed for a long time."
He began to recount the menu.
"And wine.... I had wine of every color."
Olivier interrupted him to ask who was there.
and charming to me--the cream of good fellows."
"Haven't you read the article?"
"Yes. I have. Have you read it?"
"Yes.... That is to say, I just glanced at it. I haven't had time."
Christophe took it up. At the first words he spluttered.
"Oh! The idiot!" he said.
"The swine! They're trying to make me out an idiot!..."
"I shall write and tell them so," said Christophe.
which he had been credited, and then Christophe ran and posted it.
done: the letter will appear to-morrow."
"Christophe, did you say anything imprudent at lunch?"
"Oh no," said Christophe with a laugh.
journalist, for he always has the last word.
Conservative paper, who at once credited him with anti-Republican views.
"He'd knock their heads together."
"Another howler?" he would ask.
"Of course," Christophe would reply in despair.
"I ought to be locked up.... But I swear that it is the last time."
"Yes, I know. Until the next...."
"No. This really is the last."
"Another one came to-day. I shut the door in his face."
may have said to their uses."
"When I shut the door in his face I told...."
"Yes. His or one of his people's...."
"How awful! You'll see it to-morrow on the front page!"
conversation which he had not had with him.
_Grand Journal_, for him to be taken to task by the other papers.
fancy portrait of Goujart).--The musicians made bitter fun of it all.
they refused the presents of Artaxerxes, which were not offered them.
not leave him in his obscurity to go on working patiently for years?
"A man must eat to work. Who will give him his bread?"
"But, sir, Mozart died of poverty."
living, and that Christophe was determined to do so.
"Oh yes! The _Grand Journal_ man!..."
invitations to dinner! Olivier could not believe his eyes.
only man who could go and see the beautiful ladies? Not at all, my boy!
It's my turn now. I want to amuse myself!"
"You? Amuse yourself? My dear old man!"
the relics of his own past life.
the mediocrity of the world they lived in.
a free man: to turn him into a smooth lackey.
caught in the net of Paris, but Olivier.
waking spring,--_Fruhlingserwachen_. Her name was Jacqueline Langeais.
absence of difficulties and the want of any goal to aim at.
As a rule, novels did not attract her: they were too precise, too dry.
Drop by drop in one long draught...."
in his arms to lift her up to the trapeze, she would be in ecstasies.
"Do you think he would look nice in a tie with blue spots?"
flinging themselves into the arms of the first man who comes along.
she knew that quite well, and it kept her from making a fool of herself.
A fool who knows his folly is worth two who don't.
be more precocious than a country girl: but the opposite is the case.
as not to say nothing.
lived, for she was more sincere.
There was one woman who had a good influence--only too brief--over her.
she would have passed unnoticed.
alone. Langeais had a great respect for her, though she bored him.
the triumph of the eldest son too dear a price to pay for their poverty.
perhaps, have been glad to know. She did not respond to their advances.
her, and spoke no word.
"Aunt," she would sigh sometimes, "I do so long to be happy!"
"Poor child!" Marthe would say, with a smile.
always be happy if they want to be."
"No? Really? Are you happy?"
"I want to be happy, but not like you."
"Poor child! I hope so, too!" said Marthe.
able to do many things."
to be happy in the way I want."
"You would find it very hard to say how!"
"I know quite well what I want."
"First of all, I want some one to love me."
"What good will it be to you if you do not love?"
"And suppose you did not love anybody?"
"The idea! One loves always, always."
Marthe shook her head doubtfully.
gift of God. Pray to Him that He may grant it you."
"But suppose my love is not returned?"
"Even if your love is not returned, you will be all the happier."
"I don't want that," she said. "It wouldn't give me any pleasure."
"Poor child!" she said once more.
don't want to be a poor child. I want--I want so much to be happy!"
"That is why I say: 'Poor child!'"
so much as a dull, even life.
But now she had even given up her weekly dinner at the Langeais'.
Jacqueline was hurt, and went and reproached her bitterly.
"My dear," said Marthe gently, "I am rather tired."
"Let your aunt be! Don't you know that the poor creature is very ill!"
that Marthe was dying of cancer: she had had it for some months.
transparent face seemed to shine like the light of an inward lamp.
nobody but Jacqueline. Then Jacqueline's visits had to be curtailed.
which hitherto had escaped her in her heedlessness.
pompous man, who was often at the house, but not on terms of intimacy.
great attraction for her. She longed to love him more, and to pity him.
holding out her arms to an unknown saviour, that she met Olivier.
that she loved it. There was too much sunlight in Christophe.
conversation round to those episodes in his life which included Olivier.
not by the magic and indulgence of love?
away in the middle of the evening, and did not appear again.
this sudden change of front: and the truth began dimly to dawn on him.
with a would-be indifferent air, Olivier asked him about the party.
brighten as he went on.
"Still tired?" he asked. "Why didn't you go to bed?"
"Oh! I'm much better," said Olivier. "I'm not the least tired now."
deceiving me, too. What a secret they made of it!"
to answer him, and turn her back on him.
Jacqueline and Olivier alone together.
almost heroic desire for it.
of Diderot's: "the chief thing is a straight backbone."
"The poor things are happy. I won't disturb their happiness."
the path of love smoother for his friend.
the interview which was the turning-point in their lives.
threatened to fall upon him.
"Why? Why? What does it mean?"
And she could not tell. He was a stranger.
"Why do I love him?"
feel that she almost hated Olivier.
Olivier saw tears trickling down Jacqueline's cheeks.
"You are crying?" he murmured, with trembling lips.
And the tears came to his own eyes.
the struggle: she was vanquished, and it was such sweet comfort to her!
After a moment or two Jacqueline dried her eyes and looked at Olivier.
And suddenly they kissed. O boundless happiness! Religious happiness!
So sweet and so profound that it is almost sorrow!
"Was your sister like you?"
"Why do you ask me about her? Did you know her?"
"Christophe told me.... You have suffered?"
Olivier nodded: he was too much moved to speak.
"I have suffered too," she said.
wept, wept until she thought she was going to die.
"We will love them both, as they both love each other."
"I wish they were here."
"How utterly alone we were!" he said.
They remembered him at length. The music had stopped. They went in.
"Sit down, and I'll play you something."
"You will love him dearly, won't you? You will love him dearly?"
earnest--"beware of women, but be twenty times more wary of rich women.
life is? Does he keep himself in touch with the raw realities of life?
upon the lives of the rest of humanity."
is not poor, or force her to become poor for love of me."
way of saving her. Keep yourself pure. Work."
supposing I wanted to marry him."
marry you. You must compromise me."
"Very well. We will kill ourselves."
and see M. Langeais and plead their cause.
would stop and draw himself up in silence; then he would go on again.
talent.... He gave his consent.
"You are so far away!"
"Come, don't constrain yourself. I am happy. Go on dreaming, my boy."
Christophe laughed and finished the sentence for him.
"... And even taking a lot of trouble over it!..."
registers, it does not bind man and wife together.
the wealthy relations, and the witnesses who wore decorations.
posing for the onlookers: and the onlookers were taking them all in. M.
gazing hungrily at Olivier, who did not look at him.
In the evening the young couple left for Italy. Christophe and M.
"Now we are both widowed!"
"The best of my soul is happy."
"My dear, are you glad?"
must be so, and he had no anxiety as to the future of their friendship.
chief. It had the effect of cooling his relations with Gamache.
"exposed to that great light in which a man is lost among the many."
life, I don't see how I could have got through."
it very pleasant to feel the warmth of their kind, honest hearts.
and often singing for nothing.
in keeping house, or talking about things domestic, or doing nothing.
with their uneasiness and their genius?
no ambition, and no desire for anything. She was much too lazy in mind!
bread. Especially when one has had to eat stale bread for so long!"
get any bread to eat at all!"
"Yes.... He is my brother."
"Ah!" he said.... "I know.... I have a brother, too...."
"Yes," he said.... "These are the joys of a family."
matter of course with Philomela.
"You can't go now! Stay until to-morrow morning."
shadow of an uneasy thought.