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Updated: June 26, 2025
That seemed to surprise the good woman a little, that any one could stay in bed so late; but the sure instinct which, in default of education, acts as a guide to intelligent natures, prevented her from saying so to the servants, and she at once asked to speak to Paul de Géry. "He is travelling." "Bompain Jean-Baptiste then?" "He's at the Chamber with Monsieur." Her great gray eyebrows contracted.
"I ought to have recognised you, M. de Gery. You resemble your father. Sit down, I beg of you." Then he finished running through the letter. His mother asked him nothing precise, but, in the name of the services which the de Gery family had rendered them in former years, she recommended M. Paul to him.
His existence was really very full, and yet de Géry relieved him from the most difficult part of it, the complicated department of solicitations and contributions.
And in his haste, in his vainglorious delight, he dragged Jansoulet away so quickly that the latter had no time to present his companion, Paul de Géry, whom he was introducing into society. The young man was well pleased to be overlooked.
A very brief explanation having calmed Andre Maranne's mind, he offered his apologies to de Gery, begged him to sit down in the arm-chair of carved wood which was used by his sitters, and their conversation quickly assumed an intimate and sympathetic character, brought about by the so abrupt avowal at its opening.
The sight of the little studio, cold and cheerless under its glass ceiling, the empty fireplace, the wind blowing as it blows outside, and making the candle flicker, the only light that shone upon that vigil of a penniless recluse, reflected upon scattered sheets all covered with writing, in a word, that atmosphere of inhabited cells wherein the very soul of the inhabitants exhales, enabled de Géry to comprehend at once the impassioned André Maranne, his long hair thrown back and flying in the wind, his somewhat eccentric appearance, very excusable when one pays for it with a life of suffering and privations; and his sympathy instantly went out to the courageous youth, whose militant pride he fully divined at a single glance.
Thereupon the Nabob flew into a terrible passion, which caused him to destroy a service of porcelain, and it appears that, had it not been for M. de Gery, he would have rushed off at once to punch Moessard's head. "And he would have done very well," remarked M. Noel, entering at these last words, very much excited. "There is not a line of truth in that rascal's article.
As de Géry realized that if he remained only a few hours longer at Tunis his drafts would be in great danger of being confiscated, he engaged his passage on an Italian packet that was to sail for Genoa the next day and passed the night on board, and his mind was not at rest until he saw the white terraces of Tunis at the upper end of its bay, and the cliffs of Cape Carthage fading from sight behind him.
But I had not time to offer him my respects. "Who has done that?" asked the judge, opening the book where a page was torn out. "Don't lie, now." I did not lie; I knew nothing of it, never having had to do with the books. However, I thought it my duty to mention M. de Gery, the Nabob's secretary, who often came at night into the office and shut himself up for hours casting balances.
"Well," he said to de Géry, entering his room, as he did every morning, and surprising him with the paper in his hand and evidently deeply moved, "I suppose you have seen, my name is not in the Officiel?" He tried to smile, his features distorted like those of a child struggling to restrain his tears.
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