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Updated: May 10, 2025
When I turned from the Rue Moyenne, the Boulevard des Italiens of Bourges, into the Rue du Four, a blazing sun was drying the rain on the roofs, and the cuckoo clock at M. Festuquet's a neighbor of my uncle was striking the hour of meeting. I had not been three minutes at the garden door, a key to which had been given me by Madeleine, when M. Charnot appeared with Jeanne on his arm.
Soon, lulled by the motion of the carriage, the stream of reminiscence ran more slowly then ran dry. M. Charnot slept. We bowled at a good pace, without jolting, over the white road. A warm mist rose around us laden with the smell of vegetation, ripe corn, and clover from the overheated earth and the neighboring fields, which had drunk their full of sunlight.
Soon, lulled by the motion of the carriage, the stream of reminiscence ran more slowly then ran dry. M. Charnot slept. We bowled at a good pace, without jolting, over the white road. A warm mist rose around us laden with the smell of vegetation, ripe corn, and clover from the overheated earth and the neighboring fields, which had drunk their full of sunlight.
It is Monsieur Charnot, of the Institute, who was reading the Early Text." "Merciful Heavens!" I ejaculated, as I went back to my seat; "this must be the man of whom my tutor spoke, the other day! Monsieur Flamaran belongs to the Academy of Moral and Political Science, the other to the Institute of Inscriptions and the Belles-Lettres. Charnot? Yes, I have those two syllables in my ear.
M. Charnot hesitated. He was probably thinking of the blot of ink, and certainly of M. Mouillard's visit. But he doubtless reflected that Jeanne knew nothing of the old lawyer's proceedings, that we were far from Paris, that the opportunity was not to be lost; and in the end his passion for numismatics conquered at once his resentment as a bookworm and his scruples as a father.
With lifted chin and reddened cheek she shot this sentence at me from the edge of a lip disdainfully puckered: "There are such things as 'successes of esteem, sir!" Alas! I knew that well, and I had no need of this additional lesson to teach me the rudeness of my remark, to make me feel that I was a brute, an idiot, hopelessly lost in the opinion of M. Charnot and his daughter.
Well, I might give you this reason, which is quite good enough for you, but it is not the real one. I prefer to tell you frankly what passed. You have a very beautiful daughter, Monsieur." M. Charnot made his customary bow. "One of my friends is in love with her. He is shy, and dares not tell his love.
When she spoke, it was in a higher key: "Don't you think the breeze is very fresh this evening?" A long-drawn sigh came from the back part of the carriage. M. Charnot was waking up. He wished to prove that he had only been meditating. "Yes, my dear, it's a charming evening," he replied; "these Italian nights certainly keep up their reputation."
"Quite so; I have always found it answer. Your business did not seem clear to me. Was Mademoiselle Charnot betrothed, or was she not? To what extent had she encouraged your attentions? You never would have told me the story correctly, and I never should have known. That being so, I put my maxim into practice, and went to see her father." "You did that?" "Certainly I did."
M. Charnot was the first to break the silence. He did not seem altogether pleased at my appearance, and turned to his daughter, whose face had grown very red and yet rather chilling: "Jeanne, put your hat on; it is time to go to the station."
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