Jack by Alphonse Daudet (best novels for students .TXT) 📕

him that I have become somebody and something."
He pulled down his velvet vest, and glanced at his yellow boots and knapsack. Rondic made no remark, but seemed somewhat annoyed.
They passed through the low postern; on either side of the hall were small and badly lighted rooms, where clerks were very busy writing. In the inner room, a man with a stern and haughty face sat writing under a high window.
"Ah, it is you, Pere Rondic!"
"Yes, sir; I come to present the new apprentice, and to thank you for--"
"This is the prodigy, then, is it? It seems, young man, that you have an absolute talent for mechanics. But, Rondic, he does not look very strong. Is he delicate?"
"No, sir; on the contrary, I have been assured that he is remarkably robust."
"Remarkably," repeated Labassandre, coming forward, and, in reply to the astonished glance of the Director, proceeded to say that he left the manufactory six years before to join the opera in Paris.
"Ah, yes, I remember," answered the Director, coldly enough, rising at the same time as if to indicate that the conversation was at an end. "Take away your apprentice, Rondic, and try and make a good workman of him. Under you he must turn out well."
The opera-singer, vexed at having produced no effect, went away somewhat crestfallen. Rondic lingered and said a few words to his master, and then the two men and the child descended the stairs together, each with a different impression. Jack thought of the words "he does not look very strong," while Labassandre digested his own mortification as he best might. "Has anything gone wrong?" he suddenly asked his brother,--"the Director seems even more surly now than in my day."
"No; he spoke to me of Chariot, our poor sister's son, who is giving us a great deal of trouble."
"In what way?" asked the artist.
"Since his mother's death he drinks and gambles, and has contracted debts. He is a wonderful draughtsman, and has high wages, but spends them before he has them. He has promised us all to reform, but he breaks his promises as fast as he makes them. I have paid his debts for him several times, but I can never do it again. I have my own family, you see, and Zenaide is growing up, and she must be established. Poor girl! Women have more sense than we. I wanted her to marry her cousin, but she would not consent. Now we are trying to separate him from his bad acquaintances here, and the Director has found a situation at Nantes; but I dare say the obstinate fellow will object. You will reason with him to-night, can't you? He will, perhaps, listen to you."
"I will see what I can do," answered Labassandre, pompously.
As they talked they reached the main street, crowded at this hour with all classes of people, some in mechanics' blouses, others wearing coats. Jack was struck with the contrast presented by a crowd like this to one in Paris, composed of similar classes.
Labassandre was greeted with enthusiasm. The whisper went about that he received a hundred thousand francs per year for merely singing. His theatrical costume won universal admiration, and his bland smile shone first on one side and then on the other, as he nodded patronizingly to first one and then another of his old friends.
At the door of Rondic's house stood a young woman talking to a youth two or three steps below. Jack thought she must be the old man's daughter, and then remembered that he had married a second time. She was tall and slender, young and pretty, with a gentle face, white throat, and a graceful head which bent slightly forward as if bowed by its rich weight of hair. Unlike the Breton peasants, she wore no cap; her light dress and black apron were totally unlike the costume of a working woman.
"Is she not pretty?" asked Rondic of his brother. "She has been giving a lecture to her nephew."
Madame Rondic turned at that moment, and greeted them warmly. "I hope," she said to the child, "that you will be happy with us."
They entered the house, and as they took their seats at the table, Labassandre said with a theatrical start, "And where is Zenaide?"
"We will not wait for her," answered Rondic; "she will be here presently. She is at work now at the chateau, for she has become a famous seamstress."
"Indeed! Then she must have learned also to keep her temper well under control, if she can work at the Director's," said Labassandre, "for he is such an arrogant, haughty person--"
"You are very much mistaken," interrupted Ron-die; "he is, on the contrary, a most excellent man; strict, perhaps, but when a master has to manage two thousand operatives, he must be somewhat of a disciplinarian. Is not that so, Clarisse?" and the old man turned to his wife, who, seemingly occupied with her dinner, paid no attention to him. A certain preoccupation was very evident.
At this moment the youth, with whom Madame Rondic had been talking at the door, came in and shook hands with his uncle Labassandre, who replied coldly to his greeting; thinking, possibly, of the remonstrances he had promised to lavish upon him. Zenaide quickly followed: a plump little girl, red and out of breath; not pretty, and square in face and figure, she looked like her father. She wore a white cap, and her short skirts, and small shawl pinned over her shoulders, increased her general clumsiness. But her heavy eyebrows and square chin indicated an unusual amount of firmness and decision, offering the strongest possible contrast to the gentle, irresolute expression of her stepmother's sweet face. Without a moment's delay, not waiting to detach the enormous shears that hung at her side, or to disembarrass herself of the needles and pins which glittered on her breast like a cuirass, the girl slipped into a seat next to Jack. The presence of the strangers did not abash her in the least. Whatever she had to say she said, simply and decidedly; but when she spoke to her cousin Chariot, it was in a vexed tone.
He did not appear to notice this, but replied with jests which left more than one scar.
"And I wished them to marry each other," said Father Rondic, in a despairing, complaining tone, as he heard them dispute.
"And I made no objection," said the young man with a laugh, as he looked at his cousin.
"But I did, then," answered the girl abruptly, frowning and unabashed. "And I am glad of it. Had I married you, my handsome cousin, I should have drowned myself by this time!"
These words were said with so much unction that for a few moments the handsome cousin was silent and discomfited.
Clarisse was startled, and turned to her daughter-in-law with a timid look of appeal.
"Listen, Chariot," said Rondic, anxious to change the conversation: "to prove to you that the Director is a good man. He has found a splendid place at Guerigny for you. You will have a better salary there than here, and "--here Rondic hesitated, glanced at the irresponsive face of the youth, then at his daughter and at his wife, as if at a loss to finish his phrase.
"And, it is better to go away, uncle, than to be dismissed!" answered Chariot, roughly. "But I do not agree with you. If the Director does not want me, let him say so,--and I will then look out for myself!"
"He is right!" cried Labassandre, thumping loud applause on the table. A hot discussion now arose; but Chariot was firm in his refusal.
Zenaide did not open her lips, but she never took her eyes from her stepmother, who was busy about the table.
"And you, mamma," said she at last, "is it not your opinion that Chariot should go to Guerigny?"
"Certainly, certainly," answered Madame Rondic, quickly, "I think he ought to accept the offer."
Chariot rose quickly from his chair.
"Very well," he said, moodily, "since every one wishes to get rid of me here, it is easy for me to decide. I shall leave in a week; in the meantime I do not wish to hear any more about it."
The men now adjourned to a table in the garden, neighbors came in, and to each as he entered Rondic offered a measure of wine; they smoked their pipes, and talked and laughed loudly and roughly.
Jack listened to them sadly. "Must I become like these?" he said to himself, with a thrill of horror.
During the evening Rondic presented the lad to the foreman of the workshops. Labescam, a heavy Cyclops, opened his eyes wide when he saw his future apprentice, dressed like a gentleman, with such dainty white hands. Jack was very delicate and girlish in his appearance. His curls were cut, to be sure, but the short hair was in crisp waves, and the air of distinction characteristic of the boy, and which so irritated D'Argenton, was more apparent in his present surroundings than in his former home. Labescam muttered that he looked like a sick chicken.
"O," said Rondic, "it is only the fatigue of his journey and these clothes that give him that look;" and then turning to his wife, the good man said,
"You must find a blouse for the apprentice; and now send him to bed, he is half asleep, and to-morrow the poor lad must be up at five o'clock!"
The two women took Jack into the house: it was small and of two stories, the first floor divided into two rooms--one called the parlor, which had a sofa, armchairs, and some large shells on the chimney-piece.
One of the rooms above was nearly filled by a very large bed hung with damask curtains trimmed with heavy ball fringe. In Zenaide's room the bed was in the wall, in the old Breton style. A wardrobe of carved oak filled one side of the room; a crucifix and holy images, hung over by rosaries of all kinds, made of ivory, shells, and American corn, completed the simple arrangements. In a corner, however, stood a screen which concealed the ladder that led to the loft where the apprentice was to sleep.
"This is my room," said Zenaide, "and you, my boy, will be up there just over my head. But never mind that; you may dance as much as you please, I sleep too soundly to be disturbed."
A lantern was given to him. He said good-night, and climbed to his loft, which even at that hour of the night was stifling. A narrow window in the roof was all there was. The dormitory at Moronval had prepared Jack for strange sleeping-places; but there he had companionship in his miseries: here he had no Madou, here he had nobody. The child looked about him. On the bed lay his costume for the next day; the large pantaloons of blue cloth and the blouse looked as if some person had thrown himself down exhausted with fatigue.
Jack said half aloud, "It is I lying there!" and while he stood, sadly enough, he heard the confused noise of the men in the garden, and at the same time an earnest discussion in the room below between Zenaide and her stepmother.
The young girl's voice was easily distinguished, heavy like a man's; Madame Rondic's tones, on the contrary, were thin and flute-like, and seemed at times choked by tears.
"And he is going!" she cried, with more passion than her ordinary appearance would have led one to suppose her capable of.
Then Zenaide spoke--remonstrating, reasoning.
Jack felt himself in a new world; he was half afraid of all these people, but the memory of his mother sustained him. He thought of her as he looked at the