CHAPTER XXII
Lewis's life in Paris fell into unusual, but not unhappy, lines. It wastrue that when others were around, Le Brux treated him as though he werea scullion or at least a poor relative living on his bounty, for thegreat sculptor was in dread lest it be noised about that he had at lasttaken a pupil. But when they were alone, he made up for all hisbrutality by a certain tenderness which he was at great pains todissemble. He had but one phrase of commendation, and it harped back andreminded them both of Leighton. When Le Brux was well pleased withLewis, he would say, "My son, I shall yet create thee."
It could not be said that master and pupil lived together. Lewis had aroom down the hall and the freedom of the great atelier, but he neverate with Le Brux and never accompanied him on his rare outings. From thevery first day he had learned that he must fend for himself.
Curiosity in all that was new about him sustained the boy for a fewdays, but as the fear of getting lost restricted him to the immediateneighborhood of his abode,--a neighborhood where the sign "On parleanglais" never appeared in the shop windows, and where a restaurateurwould not deign to speak English even if he knew it,--he graduallybecame a prey to the most terrible of all lonelinesses--the lonelinessof an outsider in a vast, gay city.
At first he did not dare go into a restaurant. When hunger forced him,he would enter a _patisserie_, point at one thing and another, takewithout question the change that was handed him, and return to his roomto eat. The neighborhood, however, was blessed with a series ofsecond-hand book-shops. One day his eyes fell on an English-Frenchphrase-book. He bought it. He learned the meaning of the cabalisticsign, "Table d'hote. Diner, 2f." He began to dine out.
In those lonely initiative weeks Lewis's mind sought out Nadir and dwelton it. He counted the months he had been away, and was astounded bytheir number. Never had time seemed so long and so short. He longed totalk to Natalie, to tell her the dream that had seized upon him andgradually become real. At the little book-shop he bought ink, paper, andpen, and began to write.
It was an enormous letter, for one talked easily to Natalie, even onpaper. At the end he begged her to write to him, to tell him all thathad happened at Nadir, if, indeed, anything beyond her marriage hadoccurred to mark the passing months. What about the goats? A wholestring of questions about the goats followed, and then, again, was shereally married? Was she happy?
The intricacies of getting that letter weighed, properly stamped, andposted were too much for Lewis. He sought aid not from Le Brux, but fromCellette. It took him a long time to explain what he wanted. Cellettestared at him. She seemed so stupid about it that Lewis felt likeshaking her again, an impulse that, assisted by memory, he easilycurbed.
"But," cried Cellette at last, "it is so easy--so simple! You go to thepost, you say, 'Kindly weigh this letter,' you ask how much to put onit, you buy the stamps, you affix them, you drop the letter in the slot._Voila_!" She smiled and started off.
Lewis reached out one arm and barred her way.
"Yes, yes," he stammered, "_voila_, of course." A vague recollection ofhis father taming Le Brux with a dinner came to his aid. He explained toCellette that if she would post the letter for him, he would be pleasedto take her to dinner.
Then Cellette understood in her own way.
"Ah," she cried brightly, "you make excuses to ask me to dine, eh? Thatis delicate. It is gallant. I am charmed. Let us go."
She hung on his arm. She chatted. She never waited for an answer.Together they went to the post. People glanced at them and smiled, somenodded; but Cellette's face was upturned toward Lewis's. She saw no oneelse. It was his evening.
Gradually it dawned upon her that Lewis was really helpless and terriblyalone. In that moment she took charge of him as a duck takes charge ofan orphaned chick. On succeeding evenings she led him to the water, butshe did not try to make him swim.
Parents still comfort themselves with the illusion that they can choosesafe guardians for their young. As a matter of fact, guardians ofinnocence are allotted by Fate. When Fate is kind, she allots theextremes, a guardian who has never felt a sensation or one who has tiredof all sensations. The latter adds wisdom to innocence, subtracts itfrom bliss, and--becomes an ideal.
Fate was kind to Lewis in handing him over to Cellette at the tragicage. Nature had shown him much; Cellette showed him the rest. She tookhim as a passenger through all the side-shows of life. She was tired ofpayments in flesh and blood. She found her recompense in teaching himhow to talk, walk, eat, take pleasure in a penny ride on a river boat oron top of a bus, and in spending his entire allowance to their bestjoint profit.
In return Lewis received many a boon. He was no longer alone. He wasintroduced as an equal to the haunts of the gay world of embryonicart--the only world that has ever solved the problem of being gaywithout money. From the first he was assumed to belong to Cellette. Howmuch of the assault, the jeers, the buffoonery, the downright evil ofinitiation, he was saved by this assumption he never knew. Celletteknew, but her tongue was held by shame. All her training had taught herto be ashamed of "being good." If ever the secret of their astoundinginnocence had got out, professional pride would have forced her to ruinLewis, body and soul, without a moment's hesitation.
Lewis also learned French--a French that rippled along mostly overshallows, but that had deep pools of art technic, and occasionally flewup and slapped you in the face with a fleck of well-aimed argot.
Weeks, months, passed before Leighton appeared on the scene, summoned bya scribbled note from Le Brux. When greetings were over, Leighton asked:
"Well, what is it this time? How is the boy getting along? Is he goingto be a sculptor?"
"You are wise to ask all your questions at once," said Le Brux. "Youknow I shall talk just as I please. Your boy, just as you said he would,has attacked me in the heart. He is a most entertaining babe. I am nolonger wet nurse. Somebody with the attributes has supplantedme--Cellette."
"H--m--m!" said Leighton.
Le Brux held up a ponderous hand.
"Not too fast," he said. "The lady assures me the babe is still on thebottle. Such being the case, I sent for you. They are inseparable. Theyhave put off falling in love so long that, when they do, it will prove acatastrophe for one of them. Take him away for a while. Distort hisconcentrated point of view."
"That's a good idea," said Leighton. "Perhaps I will."
"As for his work--" Le Brux stepped to the door and locked it. "Iwouldn't have him catch us looking at it for anything." He lifted thedamp cloth from Lewis's latest bit of modeling, two tense hands, longfingers curved like talons, thumbs bent in. They flashed to the eye theimpression of terrific action.
Leighton gazed long at the hands.
"So," he said, "somewhere the boy has seen a murder."
"Ha!" cried Le Brux. "You see it? You see it? He has not troubled to putthe throat within that grip but it's there. Ah, it's there! I could seeit. You see it. Presto! everybody will see it." He replaced the cloth.
"In a couple of years," he went on, "my work will be done. Let him shownothing, know nothing, till, then."