CHAPTER III. THE ADOPTION.
Madame Desprez, who answered to the Christian name of Anastasie,presented an agreeable type of her sex; exceedingly wholesome to lookupon, a stout _brune_, with cool smooth cheeks, steady, dark eyes, andhands that neither art nor nature could improve. She was the sort ofperson over whom adversity passes like a summer cloud; she might, in theworst of conjunctions, knit her brows into one vertical furrow for amoment, but the next it would be gone. She had much of the placidity ofa contented nun; with little of her piety, however; for Anastasie was ofa very mundane nature, fond of oysters and old wine, and somewhat boldpleasantries, and devoted to her husband for her own sake rather than forhis. She was imperturbably good-natured, but had no idea ofself-sacrifice. To live in that pleasant old house, with a green gardenbehind and bright flowers about the window, to eat and drink of the best,to gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, never to wear staysor a dress except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to be kept ina continual supply of racy novels, and to be married to Doctor Desprezand have no ground of jealousy, filled the cup of her nature to the brim.Those who had known the Doctor in bachelor days, when he had aired quiteas many theories, but of a different order, attributed his presentphilosophy to the study of Anastasie. It was her brute enjoyment that herationalised and perhaps vainly imitated.
Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made coffee to a nicety.She had a knack of tidiness, with which she had infected the Doctor;everything was in its place; everything capable of polish shonegloriously; and dust was a thing banished from her empire. Aline, theirsingle servant, had no other business in the world but to scour andburnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his house like a fatted calf, warmedand cosseted to his heart's content.
The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from theriver in a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a fricassee, and adish of asparagus, followed by some fruit. The Doctor drank half abottle _plus_ one glass, the wife half a bottle _minus_ the samequantity, which was a marital privilege, of an excellent Cote-Rotie,seven years old. Then the coffee was brought, and a flask of Chartreusefor madame, for the Doctor despised and distrusted such decoctions; andthen Aline left the wedded pair to the pleasures of memory and digestion.
'It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one,' observed theDoctor--'this coffee is adorable--a very fortunate circumstance upon thewhole--Anastasie, I beseech you, go without that poison for to-day; onlyone day, and you will feel the benefit, I pledge my reputation.'
'What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?' inquired Anastasie, notheeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence.
'That we have no children, my beautiful,' replied the Doctor. 'I thinkof it more and more as the years go on, and with more and more gratitudetowards the Power that dispenses such afflictions. Your health, mydarling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen delicacies, how they wouldall have suffered, how they would all have been sacrificed! And forwhat? Children are the last word of human imperfection. Health fleesbefore their face. They cry, my dear; they put vexatious questions; theydemand to be fed, to be washed, to be educated, to have their nosesblown; and then, when the time comes, they break our hearts, as I breakthis piece of sugar. A pair of professed egoists, like you and me,should avoid offspring, like an infidelity.'
'Indeed!' said she; and she laughed. 'Now, that is like you--to takecredit for the thing you could not help.'
'My dear,' returned the Doctor, solemnly, 'we might have adopted.'
'Never!' cried madame. 'Never, Doctor, with my consent. If the childwere my own flesh and blood, I would not say no. But to take anotherperson's indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I have too muchsense.'
'Precisely,' replied the Doctor. 'We both had. And I am all the betterpleased with our wisdom, because--because--' He looked at her sharply.
'Because what?' she asked, with a faint premonition of danger.
'Because I have found the right person,' said the Doctor firmly, 'andshall adopt him this afternoon.'
Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. 'You have lost your reason,' shesaid; and there was a clang in her voice that seemed to threaten trouble.
'Not so, my dear,' he replied; 'I retain its complete exercise. To theproof: instead of attempting to cloak my inconsistency, I have, by way ofpreparing you, thrown it into strong relief. You will there, I think,recognise the philosopher who has the ecstasy to call you wife. The factis, I have been reckoning all this while without an accident. I neverthought to find a son of my own. Now, last night, I found one. Do notunnecessarily alarm yourself, my dear; he is not a drop of blood to methat I know. It is his mind, darling, his mind that calls me father.'
'His mind!' she repeated with a titter between scorn and hysterics. 'Hismind, indeed! Henri, is this an idiotic pleasantry, or are you mad? Hismind! And what of my mind?'
'Truly,' replied the Doctor with a shrug, 'you have your finger on thehitch. He will be strikingly antipathetic to my ever beautifulAnastasie. She will never understand him; he will never understand her.You married the animal side of my nature, dear and it is on the spiritualside that I find my affinity for Jean-Marie. So much so, that, to beperfectly frank, I stand in some awe of him myself. You will easilyperceive that I am announcing a calamity for you. Do not,' he broke outin tones of real solicitude--'do not give way to tears after a meal,Anastasie. You will certainly give yourself a false digestion.'
Anastasie controlled herself. 'You know how willing I am to humour you,'she said, 'in all reasonable matters. But on this point--'
'My dear love,' interrupted the Doctor, eager to prevent a refusal, 'whowished to leave Paris? Who made me give up cards, and the opera, and theboulevard, and my social relations, and all that was my life before Iknew you? Have I been faithful? Have I been obedient? Have I not bornemy doom with cheerfulness? In all honesty, Anastasie, have I not a rightto a stipulation on my side? I have, and you know it. I stipulate myson.'
Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her colours instantly. 'Youwill break my heart,' she sighed.
'Not in the least,' said he. 'You will feel a trifling inconvenience fora month, just as I did when I was first brought to this vile hamlet; thenyour admirable sense and temper will prevail, and I see you already ascontent as ever, and making your husband the happiest of men.'
'You know I can refuse you nothing,' she said, with a last flicker ofresistance; 'nothing that will make you truly happier. But will this?Are you sure, my husband? Last night, you say, you found him! He may bethe worst of humbugs.'
'I think not,' replied the Doctor. 'But do not suppose me so unwary asto adopt him out of hand. I am, I flatter myself, a finished man of theworld; I have had all possibilities in view; my plan is contrived to meetthem all. I take the lad as stable boy. If he pilfer, if he grumble, ifhe desire to change, I shall see I was mistaken; I shall recognise himfor no son of mine, and send him tramping.'
'You will never do so when the time comes,' said his wife; 'I know yourgood heart.'
She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh; the Doctor smiled as hetook it and carried it to his lips; he had gained his point with greaterease than he had dared to hope; for perhaps the twentieth time he hadproved the efficacy of his trusty argument, his Excalibur, the hint of areturn to Paris. Six months in the capital, for a man of the Doctor'santecedents and relations, implied no less a calamity than total ruin.Anastasie had saved the remainder of his fortune by keeping him strictlyin the country. The very name of Paris put her in a blue fear; and shewould have allowed her husband to keep a menagerie in the back garden,let alone adopting a stable-boy, rather than permit the question ofreturn to be discussed.
About four of the afternoon, the mountebank rendered up his ghost; he hadnever been conscious since his seizure. Doctor Desprez was present athis last passage, and declared the farce over. Then he took Jean-Marieby the shoulder and led him out into the inn gar
den where there was aconvenient bench beside the river. Here he sat him down and made the boyplace himself on his left.
'Jean-Marie,' he said very gravely, 'this world is exceedingly vast; andeven France, which is only a small corner of it, is a great place for alittle lad like you. Unfortunately it is full of eager, shoulderingpeople moving on; and there are very few bakers' shops for so manyeaters. Your master is dead; you are not fit to gain a living byyourself; you do not wish to steal? No. Your situation then isundesirable; it is, for the moment, critical. On the other hand, youbehold in me a man not old, though elderly, still enjoying the youth ofthe heart and the intelligence; a man of instruction; easily situated inthis world's affairs; keeping a good table:--a man, neither as friend norhost, to be despised. I offer you your food and clothes, and to teachyou lessons in the evening, which will be infinitely more to the purposefor a lad of your stamp than those of all the priests in Europe. Ipropose no wages, but if ever you take a thought to leave me, the doorshall be open, and I will give you a hundred francs to start the worldupon. In return, I have an old horse and chaise, which you would veryspeedily learn to clean and keep in order. Do not hurry yourself toanswer, and take it or leave it as you judge aright. Only remember this,that I am no sentimentalist or charitable person, but a man who livesrigorously to himself; and that if I make the proposal, it is for my ownends--it is because I perceive clearly an advantage to myself. And now,reflect.'
'I shall be very glad. I do not see what else I can do. I thank you,sir, most kindly, and I will try to be useful,' said the boy.
'Thank you,' said the Doctor warmly, rising at the same time and wipinghis brow, for he had suffered agonies while the thing hung in the wind. Arefusal, after the scene at noon, would have placed him in a ridiculouslight before Anastasie. 'How hot and heavy is the evening, to be sure! Ihave always had a fancy to be a fish in summer, Jean-Marie, here in theLoing beside Gretz. I should lie under a water-lily and listen to thebells, which must sound most delicately down below. That would be alife--do you not think so too?'
'Yes,' said Jean-Marie.
'Thank God you have imagination!' cried the Doctor, embracing the boywith his usual effusive warmth, though it was a proceeding that seemed todisconcert the sufferer almost as much as if he had been an Englishschoolboy of the same age. 'And now,' he added, 'I will take you to mywife.'
Madame Desprez sat in the dining-room in a cool wrapper. All the blindswere down, and the tile floor had been recently sprinkled with water; hereyes were half shut, but she affected to be reading a novel as the theyentered. Though she was a bustling woman, she enjoyed repose betweenwhiles and had a remarkable appetite for sleep.
The Doctor went through a solemn form of introduction, adding, for thebenefit of both parties, 'You must try to like each other for my sake.'
'He is very pretty,' said Anastasie. 'Will you kiss me, my pretty littlefellow?'
The Doctor was furious, and dragged her into the passage. 'Are you afool, Anastasie?' he said. 'What is all this I hear about the tact ofwomen? Heaven knows, I have not met with it in my experience. Youaddress my little philosopher as if he were an infant. He must be spokento with more respect, I tell you; he must not be kissed andGeorgy-porgy'd like an ordinary child.'
'I only did it to please you, I am sure,' replied Anastasie; 'but I willtry to do better.'
The Doctor apologised for his warmth. 'But I do wish him,' he continued,'to feel at home among us. And really your conduct was so idiotic, mycherished one, and so utterly and distantly out of place, that a saintmight have been pardoned a little vehemence in disapproval. Do, dotry--if it is possible for a woman to understand young people--but ofcourse it is not, and I waste my breath. Hold your tongue as much aspossible at least, and observe my conduct narrowly; it will serve you fora model.'
Anastasie did as she was bidden, and considered the Doctor's behaviour.She observed that he embraced the boy three times in the course of theevening, and managed generally to confound and abash the little fellowout of speech and appetite. But she had the true womanly heroism inlittle affairs. Not only did she refrain from the cheap revenge ofexposing the Doctor's errors to himself, but she did her best to removetheir ill-effect on Jean-Marie. When Desprez went out for his lastbreath of air before retiring for the night, she came over to the boy'sside and took his hand.
'You must not be surprised nor frightened by my husband's manners,' shesaid. 'He is the kindest of men, but so clever that he is sometimesdifficult to understand. You will soon grow used to him, and then youwill love him, for that nobody can help. As for me, you may be sure, Ishall try to make you happy, and will not bother you at all. I think weshould be excellent friends, you and I. I am not clever, but I am verygood-natured. Will you give me a kiss?'
He held up his face, and she took him in her arms and then began to cry.The woman had spoken in complaisance; but she had warmed to her ownwords, and tenderness followed. The Doctor, entering, found themenlaced: he concluded that his wife was in fault; and he was justbeginning, in an awful voice, 'Anastasie--,' when she looked up at him,smiling, with an upraised finger; and he held his peace, wondering, whileshe led the boy to his attic.