The Ink-Stain (Tache d'encre) Part 35

"Of course I am, to a certain extent."

"'To a certain extent'! Why, she loves you."

"But the obstacles, Sylvestre!"

"Nonsense!"

"Perhaps insurmountable--those were his words."

"Why, obstacles are the salt of all our joys. What a deal you young men want before you can be called happy! You ask Life for certainties, as if she had any to give you!"

And he began to discuss my fears, but could not quite disperse them, for neither of us could guess what the obstacles could be.

August 2d.

After ten days of waiting, during which I have employed Lamp.r.o.n and M.

Flamaran to intercede for me, turn and turn about; ten days pa.s.sed in hovering between mortal anguish and extravagant hopes, during which I have formed, destroyed, taken up again and abandoned more plans than I ever made in all my life before, yesterday, at five o'clock, I got a note from M. Charnot, begging me to call upon him the same evening.

I went there in a state of nervous collapse. He received me in his study, as he had done seven months before, at our first interview, but with a more solemn politeness; and I noticed that the paper-knife, which he had taken up from the table as he resumed his seat, shook between his fingers. I sat in the same chair in which I had felt so ill at ease.

To tell the truth, I felt very much the same, yesterday. M. Charnot doubtless noticed it, and wished to rea.s.sure me.

"Monsieur," said he, "I receive you as a friend. Whatever may be the result of our interview, you may be a.s.sured of my esteem. Therefore do not fear to answer me frankly."

He put several questions to me concerning my family, my tastes, and my acquaintance in Paris. Then he requested me to tell the simple story of my boyhood and my youth, the recollections of my home, of the college at La Chatre, of my holidays at Bourges, and of my student life.

He listened without interruption, playing with the ivory paperknife.

When I reached the date--it was only last December--when I saw Jeanne for the first time--

"That's enough," said he, "I know or guess the rest. Young man, I promised you an answer; this is it--"

For the moment, I ceased to breathe; my very heart seemed to stop beating.

"My daughter," went on M. Charnot, "has at this moment several proposals of marriage to choose from. You see I hide nothing from you. I have left her time to reflect; she has weighed and compared them all, and communicated to me yesterday the result of her reflections. To richer and more brilliant matches she prefers an honest man who loves her for herself, and you, Monsieur, are that honest man."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, Monsieur!" I cried.

"Wait a moment, there are two conditions."

"Were there ten, I would accept them without question!"

"Don't hurry. You will see; one is my daughter's, the other comes from both of us."

"You wish me to have some profession, perhaps?"

"No, that's not it. Clearly my son-in-law will never sit idle. Besides, I have some views on that subject, which I will tell you later if I have the chance. No, the first condition exacted by my daughter, and dictated by a feeling which is very pleasant to me, is that you promise never to leave Paris."

"That I swear to, with all the pleasure in life!"

"Really? I feared you had some ties."

"Not one."

"Or dislike for Paris."

"No, Monsieur; only a preference for Paris, with freedom to indulge it.

Your second condition?"

"The second, to which my daughter and I both attach importance, is that you should make your peace with your uncle. Flamaran tells me you have quarrelled."

"That is true."

"I hope it is not a serious difference. A mere cloud, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately not. My uncle is very positive--"

"But at the same time his heart is in the right place, so far as I could judge from what I saw of him--in June, I think it was."

"Yes."

"You don't mind taking the first step?"

"I will take as many as may be needed."

"I was sure you would. You can not remain on bad terms with your father's brother, the only relative you have left. In our eyes this reconciliation is a duty, a necessity. You should desire it as much as, and even more than, we."

"I shall use every effort, Monsieur, I promise you."

"And in that case you will succeed, I feel sure."

M. Charnot, who had grown very pale, held out his hand to me, and tried hard to smile.

"I think, Monsieur Fabien, that we are quite at one, and that the hour has come--"

He did not finish the sentence, but rose and went to open a door between two bookcases at the end of the room.

"Jeanne," he said, "Monsieur Fabien accepts the two conditions, my dear."

And I saw Jeanne come smiling toward me.

And I, who had risen trembling, I, who until then had lost my head at the mere thought of seeing her, I, who had many a time asked myself in terror what I should say on meeting her, if ever she were mine, I felt myself suddenly bold, and the words rushed to my lips to thank her, to express my joy.

My happiness, however, was evident, and I might have spared my words.

For the first half-hour all three of us talked together.

Then M. Charnot pushed back his armchair, and we two were left to ourselves.

He had taken up a newspaper, but I am pretty sure he held it upside down. In any case he must have been reading between the lines, for he did not turn the page the whole evening.