The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de MaupassantЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Oh, George, that is unworthy of you,” and pressing her two hands to her heart, began to choke and sob.
When he saw the tears come he took his hat from the corner of the mantelpiece, saying: “Oh, you are going to cry, are you? Goodbye, then. So it was to show off in this way that you came here, eh?”
She had taken a step forward in order to bar the way, and quickly pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket, wiped her eyes with an abrupt movement. Her voice grew firmer by the effort of her will, as she said, in tones tremulous with pain, “No — I came to — to tell you some news — political news — to put you in the way of gaining fifty thousand francs — or even more — if you like.”
He inquired, suddenly softening, “How so? What do you mean?”
“I caught, by chance, yesterday evening, some words between my husband and Laroche-Mathieu. They do not, besides, trouble themselves to hide much from me. But Walter recommended the Minister not to let you into the secret, as you would reveal everything.”
Du Roy had put his hat down on a chair, and was waiting very attentively.
“What is up, then?” said he.
“They are going to take possession of Morocco.”
“Nonsense! I lunched with Laroche-Mathieu, who almost dictated to me the intention of the Cabinet.”
“No, darling, they are humbugging you, because they were afraid lest their plan should be known.”
“Sit down,” said George, and sat down himself in an armchair. Then she drew towards him a low stool, and sitting down on it between his knees, went on in a coaxing tone, “As I am always thinking about you, I pay attention now to everything that is whispered around me.”
And she began quietly to explain to him how she had guessed for some time past that something was being hatched unknown to him; that they were making use of him, while dreading his cooperation. She said, “You know, when one is in love, one grows cunning.”
At length, the day before, she had understood it all. It was a business transaction, a thumping affair, worked out on the quiet. She smiled now, happy in her dexterity, and grew excited, speaking like a financier’s wife accustomed to see the market rigged, used to rises and falls that ruin, in two hours of speculation, thousands of little folk who have placed their savings in undertakings guaranteed by the names of men honored and respected in the world of politics of finance.
She repeated, “Oh, it is very smart what they have been up to! Very smart. It was Walter who did it all, though, and he knows all about such things. Really, it is a first-class job.”
He grew impatient at these preliminaries, and exclaimed, “Come, tell me what it is at once.”
“Well, then, this is what it is. The Tangiers expedition was decided upon between them on the day that Laroche-Mathieu took the ministry of foreign affairs, and little by little they have bought up the whole of the Morocco loan, which had fallen to sixty-four or sixty-five francs. They have bought it up very cleverly by means of shady brokers, who did not awaken any mistrust. They have even sold the Rothschilds, who grew astonished to find Morocco stock always asked for, and who were astonished by having agents pointed out to them — all lame ducks. That quieted the big financiers. And now the expedition is to take place, and as soon as we are there the French Government will guarantee the debt. Our friends will gain fifty or sixty millions. You understand the matter? You understand, too, how afraid they have been of everyone, of the slightest indiscretion?”
She had leaned her head against the young fellow’s waistcoat, and with her arms resting on his legs, pressed up against him, feeling that she was interesting him now, and ready to do anything for a caress, for a smile.
“You are quite certain?” he asked.
“I should think so,” she replied, with confidence.
“It is very smart indeed. As to that swine of a Laroche-Mathieu, just see if I don’t pay him out one of these days. Oh, the scoundrel, just let him look out for himself! He shall go through my hands.” Then he began to reflect, and went on, “We ought, though, to profit by all this.”
“You can still buy some of the loan,” said she; “it is only at seventy-two francs.”
He said, “Yes, but I have no money under my hand.”
She raised her eyes towards him, eyes full of entreaty, saying, “I have thought of that, darling, and if you were very nice, very nice, if you loved me a little, you would let me lend you some.”
He answered, abruptly and almost harshly, “As to that, no, indeed.”
She murmured, in an imploring voice: “Listen, there is something that you can do without borrowing money. I wanted to buy ten thousand francs’ worth of the loan to make a little nest-egg. Well, I will take twenty thousand, and you shall stand in for half. You understand that I am not going to hand the money over to Walter. So there is nothing to pay for the present. If it all succeeds, you gain seventy thousand francs. If not, you will owe me ten thousand, which you can pay when you please.”
He remarked, “No, I do not like such pains.”
Then she argued, in order to get him to make up his mind. She proved to him that he was really pledging his word for ten thousand francs, that he was running risks, and that she was not advancing him anything, since the actual outlay was made by Walter’s bank. She pointed out to him, besides, that it was he who had carried on in the Vie Francaise the whole of the political campaign that had rendered the scheme possible. He would be very foolish not to profit by it. He still hesitated, and she added, “But just reflect that in reality it is Walter who is advancing you these ten thousand Francs, and that you have rendered him services worth a great deal more than that.”
“Very well, then,” said he, “I will go halves with you. If we lose, I will repay you the ten thousand francs.”
She was so pleased that she rose, took his head in both her hands, and began to kiss him eagerly. He did not resist at first, but as she grew bolder, clasping him to her and devouring him with caresses, he reflected that the other would be there shortly, and that if he yielded he would lose time and exhaust in the arms of the old woman an ardor that he had better reserve for the young one. So he repulsed her gently, saying, “Come, be good now.”
She looked at him disconsolately, saying, “Oh, George, can’t I even kiss you?”
He replied, “No, not to-day. I have a headache, and it upsets me.”
She sat down again docilely between his knees, and asked, “Will you come and dine with us tomorrow? You would give me much pleasure.”
He hesitated, but dared not refuse, so said, “Certainly.”
“Thanks, darling.”
She rubbed her cheek slowly against his breast with a regular and coaxing movement, and one of her long black hairs caught in his waistcoat. She noticed it, and a wild idea crossed her mind, one of those superstitious notions which are often the whole of a woman’s reason. She began to twist this hair gently round a button. Then she fastened another hair to the next button, and a third to the next. One to every button. He would tear them out of her head presently when he rose, and hurt her. What happiness! And he would carry away something of her without knowing it; he would carry away a tiny lock of her hair which he had never yet asked for. It was a tie by which she attached him to her, a secret, invisible bond, a talisman she left with him. Without willing it he would think of her, dream of her, and perhaps love her a little more the next day.
He said, all at once, “I must leave you, because I am expected at the Chamber at the close of the sitting. I cannot miss attending to-day.”
She sighed, “Already!” and then added, resignedly, “Go, dear, but you will come to dinner tomorrow.”
And suddenly she drew aside. There was a short and sharp pain in her head, as though needles