THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
George by his side; and there was, moreover, in a corner of his heart a secret hope of at last seeing his child once more.
When he reached the convent he for a long time strolled up and down the pavement, backwards and forwards, looking from a distance at the gates of her home. Then he went nearer and waited for a servant to come out if he saw no one he could make enquiries of. At times he went home sad and cast down; at others he used to decide to go in and speak to the doorkeeper, who received him very sharply and with mistrustful looks.
But how happy he was when he could stop some one belonging to the house and make enquiries at his leisure. Now he had grown very cunning. He made up all kinds of stories, and he drew Mademoiselle de Rionne’s name in quite naturally, and waited anxiously to hear what answer he should get. When they said to him: “She is in good health, she is tall and pretty,” he felt inclined to thank the speaker as if he had congratulated him on the graces of his own child.
And then, lighthearted and happy, he went away, elbowing the passersby like a drunken man, repressing with difficulty his desire to sing aloud. He went up the faubourgs again, building all kinds of castles in the air. He turned down a side street, had some food in a little restaurant, laughing all the time, covered with mud and dust, and half-dead with fatigue and happiness, and only reached the impasse St. Dominique d’Enfer in the evening.
George was used to these little trips of Daniel. The first few times when his friend came in he joked him and almost scolded him, and as the truant kept a sullen silence he merely smiled now after every fresh excursion of Daniel, thinking to himself: “Well, I suppose my friend has been to pay a visit to his mistress.”
One day, as the young man reached home out of breath and with a radiant countenance, he took hold of his hand and risked saying, “She is pretty, of course,” Daniel, without answering, looked at him with such an astonished and wounded air that George’s conscience smote him for his folly, and from that time he religiously respected his friend’s secret. Thenceforth, after each day of Daniel’s absence, without knowing the reason, he loved him more and more.
Thus they lived on, side by side, day after day, admitting no one to their confidences. At first they received a neighbour, a young man of the name of Lorin, who was anxious to make a fortune. They admitted him, as they did not know very well how to shut the door in his face, but his bilious countenance and shifty eyes displeased and irritated them.
Lorin was a dealer in herbs, and he was watching for his opportunity, quite ready to take advantage of any good chance fate might bring him. He would constantly say that a straight course in life is the longest one. Nothing seemed to him more ill-advised than to take up a career — medicine or law, for instance, for doctors and lawyers could only hope to scrape together sufficient for a very poor living. For his part he must gain his ends quicker than that, so he kept a sharp lookout, and swore that he would make his fortune at one stroke.
And, sure enough, he made it, as he said he would. He talked of his winnings at play, of stock exchange speculations, and what not. No one ever knew exactly what to believe. Then he plunged into business, invested his money in trade, and in a few years, luck still helping him, he became mightily rich.
Daniel and George, who had heard unpleasant rumours about him, were delighted at not seeing him any more. He lived now in the rue Taitbout, and hated the very idea of the impasse St. Dominique d’Enfer.
He came one night, however, to pay them a visit, to display his wealth and fine appearance. In satisfying his ambition he had assumed a very smart appearance. Money had given him assurance and the bilious look had departed from his face. However, the two friends received him very coldly, and he never called again.
Daniel and George found their own company enough. They loved each other and were bound together by their intelligence. Nor did either of them think that they could ever be separated.
CHAPTER VII
One morning Daniel went to the rue d’Amsterdam, and on coming home he informed George that he would leave, perhaps never to return.
He had learnt during the day that Jeanne had finally come out of the convent and was living with her aunt. This news made him like a madman. He had now only one thought: to gain admittance and establish himself in the house where the dear object of his affection was.
He schemed, plotted, and laid his plans, and ended by finding out that Monsieur Tellier, who had at last entered Parliament, needed a secretary, and he immediately took a decisive course. He sought for a recommendation at the hands of the author of the Dictionary, who was still grateful to him, and he spoke to Monsieur Tellier in his favour. He was to present himself on the morrow, and he was sure to be accepted.
George, painfully surprised, stared at Daniel, unable to find one word to say. At last he opened his lips and protested: “But we cannot separate thus. We have work in hand to occupy us for several years. I reckoned on you. I have need of your assistance. Where are you going? What do you propose doing?”
“I am about to take the place of secretary to a deputy,” quietly answered Daniel.
“You a deputy’s secretary!” and George began to laugh. “You are joking, surely. You cannot really be thinking of sacrificing the fine career which is opening out before you for a place like that. Reflect well; our success is a certainty!”
Daniel shrugged his shoulders with perfect indifference, and his face had an almost contemptuous smile on it. What mattered celebrity to him? Was not his future the happiness of Jeanne? He gave up all for her without a regret. He lowered himself; he accepted an inferior position in order to watch at his leisure over the child who had been entrusted to him.
“So you do not intend to work at your masterpiece any more?” persisted George again.
“My masterpiece is elsewhere,” gently answered Daniel. “I am leaving you to go and work at it. Ask me no questions; I will tell you all some day when my task is done. Above all, do not bewail my lot. I am happy, for during the past twelve years I have been waiting for the joy which is mine for the first time. You know me; you know that I am incapable of a foolish or shameful action. Do not be anxious, therefore. Understand, my friend, that my heart is full of joy, and that I am about to accomplish the ‘task’ of my life.”
George for answer pressed his hand. Now he understood that the parting was a necessity, he felt there was in his friend’s words an ardour so noble that in this sudden departure he divined a limitless sacrifice.
On the morrow Daniel left him. He had not lain down all night, having spent it in setting everything in his room in order, bidding a solemn farewell to the walls which he probably would never see again. His heart beat violently and there was an indefinable sadness upon him, that sadness which the warm-hearted feel when leaving a home in which they have experienced both hope and sorrow. In the street he detained George a moment.
“If I can,” he said, “I shall come and see you. Do not be vexed with me, but go on and do the work of two.”
And he was off, hurrying away, as he had no wish that his friend should accompany him.
Such a flood of thought passed through his brain that he arrived at the rue d’Amsterdam without any consciousness of the road he had taken. He was full of the past and future. He saw once again Madame de Rionne dying; he followed with distinctness month by month the events of the years that had passed since then, and at the same time he sought to foresee the events which were about to follow.
One figure stood out supreme in his meditation — that of Jeanne — Jeanne, quite a little girl, such as he had left her on the gravel path in the boulevard des Invalides, and he felt a scorching flame in his breast, a burning affection in his heart.
This little girl belonged to him. She was his as an inheritance of love, he explained to himself. He was quite astonished that she had been stolen from him for so long a time. He rebelled, then was appeased when he came to remember that she was to be restored to him. She would be his, wholly his. He would love her as he had loved her mother, worship her as a saint; and wild notions