Du Roy replied: "Really, I am not quite certain. I think within the last twenty or five-and-twenty years. It is, besides, the first time I ever was inside it."
"It is the same with me. I have never seen it."
The journalist, whose interest was awakened, remarked: "It seems to me that you are going over it very carefully. You are studying it in detail."
The other replied, with resignation: "I am not examining it; I am waiting for my wife, who made an appointment with me here, and who is very much behind time." Then, after a few moments" silence, he added: "It is fearfully hot outside."
Du Roy looked at him, and all at once fancied that he resembled Forestier.
"You are from the country?" said he, inquiringly.
"Yes, from Rennes. And you, sir, is it out of curiosity that you entered this church?"
"No, I am expecting a lady," and bowing, the journalist walked away, with a smile on his lips.
Approaching the main entrance, he saw the poor woman still on her knees, and still praying. He thought: "By Jove! she keeps hard at it." He was no longer moved, and no longer pitied her.
He pa.s.sed on, and began quietly to walk up the right-hand aisle to find Madame Walter again. He marked the place where he had left her from a distance, astonished at not seeing her. He thought he had made a mistake in the pillar; went on as far as the end one, and then returned. She had gone, then. He was surprised and enraged. Then he thought she might be looking for him, and made the circuit of the church again. Not finding her, he returned, and sat down on the chair she had occupied, hoping she would rejoin him there, and waited. Soon a low murmur of voices aroused his attention. He had not seen anyone in that part of the church. Whence came this whispering? He rose to see, and perceived in the adjacent chapel the doors of the confessional. The skirt of a dress issuing from one of these trailed on the pavement. He approached to examine the woman. He recognized her. She was confessing.
He felt a violent inclination to take her by the shoulders and to pull her out of the box. Then he thought: "Bah! it is the priest"s turn now; it will be mine to-morrow." And he sat down quietly in front of the confessional, biding his time, and chuckling now over the adventure. He waited a long time. At length Madame Walter rose, turned round, saw him, and came up to him. Her expression was cold and severe, "Sir," said she, "I beg of you not to accompany me, not to follow me, and not to come to my house alone. You will not be received. Farewell."
And she walked away with a dignified bearing. He let her depart, for one of his principles was never to force matters. Then, as the priest, somewhat upset, issued in turn from his box, he walked up to him, and, looking him straight in the eyes, growled to his face: "If you did not wear a petticoat, what a smack you would get across your ugly chops."
After which he turned on his heels and went out of the church, whistling between his teeth. Standing under the porch, the stout gentleman, with the hat on his head and his hands behind his back, tired of waiting, was scanning the broad squares and all the streets opening onto it. As Du Roy pa.s.sed him they bowed to one another.
The journalist, finding himself at liberty, went to the office of the _Vie Francaise_. As soon as he entered he saw by the busy air of the messengers that something out of the common was happening, and at once went into the manager"s room. Daddy Walter, in a state of nervous excitement, was standing up dictating an article in broken sentences; issuing orders to the reporters, who surrounded him, between two paragraphs; giving instructions to Boisrenard; and opening letters.
As Du Roy came in, the governor uttered a cry of joy: "Ah! how lucky; here is Pretty-boy!" He stopped short, somewhat confused, and excused himself: "I beg your pardon for speaking like that, but I am very much disturbed by certain events. And then I hear my wife and daughter speaking of you as Pretty-boy from morning till night, and have ended by falling into the habit myself. You are not offended?"
"Not at all!" said George, laughingly; "there is nothing in that nickname to displease me."
Daddy Walter went on: "Very well, then, I christen you Pretty-boy, like everyone else. Well, the fact is, great things are taking place. The Ministry has been overthrown by a vote of three hundred and ten to a hundred and two. Our prorogation is again postponed--postponed to the Greek calends, and here we are at the twenty-eighth of July. Spain is angry about the Morocco business, and it is that which has overthrown Durand de l"Aine and his following. We are right in the swim. Marrot is entrusted with the formation of a new Cabinet. He takes General Boutin d"Acre as minister of war, and our friend Laroche-Mathieu for foreign affairs. We are going to become an official organ. I am writing a leader, a simple declaration of our principles, pointing out the line to be followed by the Ministry." The old boy smiled, and continued: "The line they intend following, be it understood. But I want something interesting about Morocco; an actuality; a sensational article; something or other. Find one for me."
Du Roy reflected for a moment, and then replied: "I have the very thing for you. I will give you a study of the political situation of the whole of our African colony, with Tunis on the left, Algeria in the middle, and Morocco on the right; the history of the races inhabiting this vast extent of territory; and the narrative of an excursion on the frontier of Morocco to the great oasis of Figuig, where no European has penetrated, and which is the cause of the present conflict. Will that suit you?"
"Admirably!" exclaimed Daddy Walter. "And the t.i.tle?"
"From Tunis to Tangiers."
"Splendid!"
Du Roy went off to search the files of the _Vie Francaise_ for his first article, "The Recollections of a Cha.s.seur d"Afrique," which, rebaptized, touched up, and modified, would do admirably, since it dealt with colonial policy, the Algerian population, and an excursion in the province of Oran. In three-quarters of an hour it was rewritten, touched up, and brought to date, with a flavor of realism, and praises of the new Cabinet. The manager, having read the article, said: "It is capital, capital, capital! You are an invaluable fellow. I congratulate you."
And Du Roy went home to dinner delighted with his day"s work, despite the check at the Church of the Trinity, for he felt the battle won. His wife was anxiously waiting for him. She exclaimed, as soon as she saw him: "Do you know that Laroche-Mathieu is Minister for Foreign Affairs?"
"Yes; I have just written an article on Algeria, in connection with it."
"What?"
"You know, the first we wrote together, "The Recollections of a Cha.s.seur d"Afrique," revised and corrected for the occasion."
She smiled, saying: "Ah, that is very good!" Then, after a few moments"
reflection, she continued: "I was thinking--that continuation you were to have written then, and that you--put off. We might set to work on it now. It would make a nice series, and very appropriate to the situation."
He replied, sitting down to table: "Exactly, and there is nothing in the way of it now that cuckold of a Forestier is dead."
She said quietly, in a dry and hurt tone: "That joke is more than out of place, and I beg of you to put an end to it. It has lasted too long already."
He was about to make an ironical answer, when a telegram was brought him, containing these words: "I had lost my senses. Forgive me, and come at four o"clock to-morrow to the Parc Monceau."
He understood, and with heart suddenly filled with joy, he said to his wife, as he slipped the message into his pocket: "I will not do so any more, darling; it was stupid, I admit."
And he began his dinner. While eating he kept repeating to himself the
words: "I had lost my senses. Forgive me, and come at four o"clock to-morrow to the Parc Monceau." So she was yielding. That meant: "I surrender, I am yours when you like and where you like." He began to laugh, and Madeleine asked: "What is it?"
"Nothing," he answered; "I was thinking of a priest I met just now, and who had a very comical mug."
Du Roy arrived to the time at the appointed place next day. On the benches of the park were seated citizens overcome by heat, and careless nurses, who seemed to be dreaming while their children were rolling on the gravel of the paths. He found Madame Walter in the little antique ruins from which a spring flows. She was walking round the little circle of columns with an uneasy and unhappy air. As soon as he had greeted her, she exclaimed: "What a number of people there are in the garden."
He seized the opportunity: "It is true; will you come somewhere else?"
"But where?"
"No matter where; in a cab, for instance. You can draw down the blind on your side, and you will be quite invisible."
"Yes, I prefer that; here I am dying with fear."
"Well, come and meet me in five minutes at the gate opening onto the outer boulevard. I will have a cab."
And he darted off.
As soon as she had rejoined him, and had carefully drawn down the blind on her side, she asked: "Where have you told the driver to take us?"
George replied: "Do not trouble yourself, he knows what to do."
He had given the man his address in the Rue de Constantinople.
She resumed: "You cannot imagine what I suffer on account of you, how I am tortured and tormented. Yesterday, in the church, I was cruel, but I wanted to flee from you at any cost. I was so afraid to find myself alone with you. Have you forgiven me?"
He squeezed her hands: "Yes, yes, what would I not forgive you, loving you as I do?"
She looked at him with a supplicating air: "Listen, you must promise to respect me--not to--not to--otherwise I cannot see you again."
He did not reply at once; he wore under his moustache that keen smile that disturbed women. He ended by murmuring: "I am your slave."
Then she began to tell him how she had perceived that she was in love with him on learning that he was going to marry Madeleine Forestier. She gave details, little details of dates and the like. Suddenly she paused.
The cab had stopped. Du Roy opened the door.