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"And this gentleman?" inquired M. Chapelain. "Is a marquis, if you please, the Marquis de Tregars." Well, yes, it was this very name that Mlle. Gilberte was expecting, and well that she did; for she was thus able to command enough control over herself to check the cry that rose to her throat. "But this marriage is not made yet," pursued M. Favoral.
That valiant man, that old soldier, was timid; and he would have felt much more at ease under the fire of a battery than in that humble parlor in the Rue St. Gilles, under the uneasy glance of Maxence and Mme. Favoral. Having bowed, having made a little friendly sign to Mlle. Gilberte, he had stopped short, two steps from the door, his hat in his hand. Eloquence was not his forte.
You must see that I am in a state of fearful anxiety." It was the first time that he thus allowed something to appear of what was passing within him, the first time that he ever complained. "M. Costeclar alone, father, can give you the explanation you ask of us," said Mlle. Gilberte. The cashier of the Mutual Credit shook his head. "Do you suppose, then, that I have not questioned him?
Gilberte was listening to this young man, unknown to her a few moments since, and whose whole history she now knew as well as if she had always lived near him; for it never occurred to her to suspect his sincerity. No voice had ever vibrated to her ear like this voice, whose grave sonorousness stirred within her strange sensations, and legions of thoughts which she had never suspected.
With a little perspicacity, the worthy woman could easily have obtained her daughter's secret; for Mlle. Gilberte was not in condition to deny anything. But she contented herself with an explanation which meant nothing, and had not a suspicion, when the girl answered with a forced smile, "It's nothing, dear mother, nothing but an absurd idea that crossed my mind."
And Francoise would rouse me with: "What's wrong with you now, child?" and we would continue on our way until we reached their gate, where a porter, different from every other porter in the world, and saturated, even to the braid on his livery, with the same melancholy charm that I had felt to be latent in the name of Gilberte, looked at me as though he knew that I was one of those whose natural unworthiness would for ever prevent them from penetrating into the mysteries of the life inside, which it was his duty to guard, and over which the ground-floor windows appeared conscious of being protectingly closed, with far less resemblance, between the nobly sweeping arches of their muslin curtains, to any other windows in the world than to Gilberte's glancing eyes.
Gilberte was sick of the sight. "Enough," she interrupted, "enough!" Feeling no longer upon his shoulders the heavy hand of M. de Tregars, the stock-broker rose with difficulty to his feet. So livid was his face, that one might have thought that his whole blood had turned to gall.
Favoral alone at last with her children. She was about to call Maxence to account for his absence, when Mlle. Gilberte interrupted her. "I have to speak to you, mother," she said with a singular precipitation, "and to you also, brother." And at once she began telling them of M. Costeclar's strange visit, his inconceivable audacity, and his offensive declarations.
My father can say what he pleases: I take the whole responsibility upon myself." There was no time to argue: the bell rang. Mlle. Gilberte had barely time to escape through one of the doors of the parlor, whilst M. Costeclar was entering at the other. If he did have enough perspicacity to guess what had just taken place, he did not in any way show it.
I was sure that Gilberte was coming to the Champs-Elysees, and I felt an elation which seemed merely the anticipation of a great happiness when going into the drawing-room in the morning to kiss Mamma, who was already dressed to go out, the coils of her black hair elaborately built up, and her beautiful hands, plump and white, fragrant still with soap I had been apprised, by seeing a column of dust standing by itself in the air above the piano, and by hearing a barrel-organ playing, beneath the window, En revenant de la revue, that the winter had received, until nightfall, an unexpected, radiant visit from a day of spring.
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