The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de MaupassantЧитать онлайн книгу.
walls? You are really stupid. We will say that the Count de Vaudrec left his fortune between us. That is all. But you cannot accept this legacy without my authorization. I will only give it on condition of a division, which will hinder me from becoming a laughing stock.”
She looked at him again with a penetrating glance, and said: “As you like. I am agreeable.”
Then he rose, and began to walk up and down again. He seemed to be hesitating anew, and now avoided his wife’s penetrating glance. He was saying: “No, certainly not. Perhaps it would be better to give it up altogether. That is more worthy, more correct, more honorable. And yet by this plan nothing could be imagined against us — absolutely nothing. The most unscrupulous people could only admit things as they were.” He paused in front of Madeleine. “Well, then, if you like, darling, I will go back alone to Maitre Lamaneur to explain matters to him and consult him. I will tell him of my scruples, and add that we have arrived at the notion of a division to prevent gossip. From the moment that I accept half this inheritance, it is plain that no one has the right to smile. It is equal to saying aloud: ‘My wife accepts because I accept — I, her husband, the best judge of what she may do without compromising herself. Otherwise a scandal would have arisen.’”
Madeleine merely murmured: “Just as you like.”
He went on with a flow of words: “Yes, it is all as clear as daylight with this arrangement of a division in two. We inherit from a friend who did not want to make any difference between us, any distinction; who did not wish to appear to say: ‘I prefer one or the other after death, as I did during life.’ He liked the wife best, be it understood, but in leaving the fortune equally to both, he wished plainly to express that his preference was purely platonic. And you may be sure that, if he had thought of it, that is what he would have done. He did not reflect. He did not foresee the consequences. As you said very appropriately just now, it was you to whom he offered flowers every week, it is to you he wished to leave his last remembrance, without taking into consideration that— “
She checked him, with a shade of irritation: “All right; I understand. You have no need to make so many explanations. Go to the notary’s at once.”
He stammered, reddening: “You are right. I am off.”
He took his hat, and then, at the moment of going out, said: “I will try to settle the difficulty with the nephew for fifty thousand francs, eh?”
She replied, with dignity: “No. Give him the hundred thousand francs he asks. Take them from my share, if you like.”
He muttered, shamefacedly: “Oh, no; we will share that. Giving up fifty thousand francs apiece, there still remains to us a clear million.” He added: “Goodbye, then, for the present, Made.” And he went off to explain to the notary the plan which he asserted had been imagined by his wife.
They signed the next day a deed of gift of five hundred thousand francs, which Madeleine Du Roy abandoned to her husband. On leaving the notary’s office, as the day was fine, George suggested that they should walk as far as the boulevards. He showed himself pleasant and full of attention and affection. He laughed, pleased at everything, while she remained thoughtful and somewhat severe.
It was a somewhat cool autumn day. The people in the streets seemed in a hurry, and walked rapidly. Du Roy led his wife to the front of the shop in which he had so often gazed at the longed-for chronometer. “Shall I stand you some jewelry?” said he.
She replied, indifferently: “Just as you like.”
They went in, and he asked: “What would you prefer — a necklace, a bracelet, or a pair of earrings?”
The sight of the trinkets in gold, and precious stones overcame her studied coolness, and she scanned with kindling and inquisitive eyes the glass cases filled with jewelry. And, suddenly moved by desire, said: “That is a very pretty bracelet.”
It was a chain of quaint pattern, every link of which had a different stone set in it.
George inquired: “How much is this bracelet?”
“Three thousand francs, sir,” replied the jeweler.
“If you will let me have it for two thousand five hundred, it is a bargain.”
The man hesitated, and then replied: “No, sir; that is impossible.”
Du Roy went on: “Come, you can throw in that chronometer for fifteen hundred; that will make four thousand, which I will pay at once. Is it agreed? If not, I will go somewhere else.”
The jeweler, in a state of perplexity, ended by agreeing, saying: “Very good, sir.”
And the journalist, after giving his address, added: “You will have the monogram, G. R. C., engraved on the chronometer under a baron’s coronet.”
Madeleine, surprised, began to smile, and when they went out, took his arm with a certain affection. She found him really clever and capable. Now that he had an income, he needed a title. It was quite right.
The jeweler bowed them out, saying: “You can depend upon me; it will be ready on Thursday, Baron.”
They paused before the Vaudeville, at which a new piece was being played.
“If you like,” said he, “we will go to the theater this evening. Let us see if we can have a box.”
They took a box, and he continued: “Suppose we dine at a restaurant.”
“Oh, yes; I should like that!”
He was as happy as a king, and sought what else they could do. “Suppose we go and ask Madame de Marelle to spend the evening with us. Her husband is at home, I hear, and I shall be delighted to see him.”
They went there. George, who slightly dreaded the first meeting with his mistress, was not ill-pleased that his wife was present to prevent anything like an explanation. But Clotilde did not seem to remember anything against him, and even obliged her husband to accept the invitation.
The dinner was lovely, and the evening pleasant. George and Madeleine got home late. The gas was out, and to light them upstairs, the journalist struck a wax match from time to time. On reaching the first-floor landing the flame, suddenly starting forth as he struck, caused their two lit-up faces to show in the glass standing out against the darkness of the staircase. They resembled phantoms, appearing and ready to vanish into the night.
Du Roy raised his hand to light up their reflections, and said, with a laugh of triumph: “Behold the millionaires!”
French
XV
The conquest of Morocco had been accomplished two months back. France, mistress of Tangiers, held the whole of the African shore of the Mediterranean as far as Tripoli, and had guaranteed the debt of the newly annexed territory. It was said that two ministers had gained a score of millions over the business, and Laroche-Mathieu was almost openly named. As to Walter, no one in Paris was ignorant of the fact that he had brought down two birds with one stone, and made thirty or forty millions out of the loan and eight to ten millions out of the copper and iron mines, as well as out of a large stretch of territory bought for almost nothing prior to the conquest, and sold after the French occupation to companies formed to promote colonization. He had become in a few days one of the lords of creation, one of those omnipotent financiers more powerful than monarchs who cause heads to bow, mouths to stammer, and all that is base, cowardly, and envious, to well up from the depths of the human heart. He was no longer the Jew Walter, head of a shady bank, manager of a fishy paper, deputy suspected of illicit jobbery. He was Monsieur Walter, the wealthy Israelite.
He wished to show himself off. Aware of the monetary embarrassments of the Prince de Carlsbourg, who owned one of the finest mansions in the Rue de Faubourg,