The Lesser Bourgeoisie by Honoré de Balzac (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📕

that of Madame Thuillier, as the abbe analyzed the generous action of Felix Phellion, until at last she whispered under her breath:--

"You hear, godmother, you hear!"

To destroy the inevitable effect which this hearty praise would surely have on Celeste, Thuillier hastened to say:--

"Unfortunately, Monsieur l'abbe, the young man of whom you speak so warmly is not altogether unknown to you. I have had occasion to tell you about him, and to regret that it was not possible to follow out certain plans which we once entertained for him; I allude to the very compromising independence he affects in his religious opinions."

"Ah! is that the young man?" said the abbe; "you surprise me much; I must say such an idea would never have crossed my mind."

"You will see him presently, Monsieur l'abbe," said la Peyrade, joining in the conversation, "and if you question him on certain grounds you will have no difficulty in discovering the ravages that a love of science can commit in the most gifted souls."

"I am afraid I shall not see him," said the abbe, "as my black gown would be out of place in the midst of the more earthly gaiety that will soon fill this salon. But I know, Monsieur de la Peyrade, that you are a man of sincerely pious convictions, and as, without any doubt, you feel as much interest in the young man's welfare as I do myself, I shall say to you in parting: Do not be uneasy about him; sooner or later, such choice souls come back to us, and if the return of these prodigals should be long delayed I should not fear, on seeing them go to God, that His infinite mercy would fail them."

So saying, the abbe looked about to find his hat, and proceeded to slip quietly away.

Suddenly a fearful uproar was heard. Rushing into the dining-room, whence came a sound of furniture overturned and glasses breaking, Brigitte found Colleville occupied in adjusting his cravat and looking himself over to be sure that his coat, cruelly pulled awry, bore no signs of being actually torn.

"What is the matter?" cried Brigitte.

"It is that old idiot," replied Colleville, "who is in a fury. I came to take my coffee with him, just to keep him company, and he took a joke amiss, and collared me, and knocked over two chairs and a tray of glasses because Josephine didn't get out of his way in time."

"It is all because you've been teasing him," said Brigitte, crossly; "why couldn't you stay in the salon instead of coming here to play your jokes, as you call them? You think you are still in the orchestra of the Opera-Comique."

This sharp rebuke delivered, Brigitte, like the resolute woman that she was, saw that she absolutely must get rid of the ferocious old man who threatened her household with flames and blood. Accordingly, she approached pere Picot, who was tranquilly engaged in burning brandy in his saucer.

"Monsieur," she said, at the top of her lungs, as if she were speaking to a deaf person (evidently thinking that a blind one ought to be treated in the same manner), "I have come to tell you something that may annoy you. Monsieur and Madame Phellion have just arrived, and they inform me that their son, Monsieur Felix, is not coming. He has a cold and a sore-throat."

"Then he got it this afternoon reading that lecture," cried the professor, joyfully. "That's justice!--Madame, where do you get your brandy?"

"Why, at my grocer's," replied Brigitte, taken aback by the question.

"Well, madame, I ought to tell you that in a house where one can drink such excellent champagne, which reminds me of that we used to quaff at the table of Monsieur de Fontanes, grand-master of the University, it is shameful to keep such brandy. I tell you, with the frankness I put into everything, that it is good only to wash your horses' feet, and if I had not the resource of burning it--"

"He is the devil in person," thought Brigitte; "not a word of excuse about all that glass, but he must needs fall foul of my brandy too!--Monsieur," she resumed, in the same raised diapason, "as Monsieur Felix is not coming, don't you think your family will be uneasy at your absence?"

"Family? I haven't any, madame, owing to the fact that they want to make me out a lunatic. But I have a housekeeper, Madame Lambert, and I dare say she will be surprised not to see me home by this time. I think I had better go now; if I stay later, the scene might be more violent. But I must own that in this strange quarter I am not sure if I can find my way."

"Then take a carriage."

"Carriage here, carriage there, indeed! my spiteful relations wouldn't lose the chance of calling me a spendthrift."

"I have an important message to send into your quarter," said Brigitte, seeing she must resolve to make the sacrifice, "and I have just told my porter to take a cab and attend to it. If you would like to take advantage of that convenience--"

"I accept it, madame," said the old professor, rising; "and, if it comes to the worst, I hope you will testify before the judge that I was niggardly about a cab."

"Henri," said Brigitte to the man-servant, "take monsieur down to the porter and tell him to do the errand I told him about just now, and to take monsieur to his own door, and be very careful of him."

"Careful of him!" echoed the old man. "Do you take me for a trunk, madame, or a bit of cracked china?"

Seeing that she had got her man fairly to the door, Brigitte allowed herself to turn upon him.

"What I say, monsieur, is for your good. You must allow me to observe that you have not an agreeable nature."

"Careful of him! careful of him!" repeated the old man. "Don't you know, madame, that by the use of such words you may get people put into lunatic asylums? However, I will not reply rudely to the polite hospitality I have received,--all the more because, I think, I have put Monsieur Felix, who missed me intentionally, in his right place."

"Go, go, go, you old brute!" cried Brigitte, slamming the door behind him.

Before returning to the salon she was obliged to drink a whole glassful of water, the restraint she had been forced to put upon herself in order to get rid of this troublesome guest having, to use her own expression, "put her all about."


CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN WHO THINKS THE STAR TOO BRIGHT

The next morning Minard paid a visit to Phellion in his study. The great citizen and his son Felix were at that moment engaged in a conversation which seemed to have some unusual interest for them.

"My dear Felix," cried the mayor of the eleventh arrondissement, offering his hand warmly to the young professor, "it is you who bring me here this morning; I have come to offer you my congratulations."

"What has occurred?" asked Phellion. "Have the Thuilliers--"

"It has nothing to do with the Thuilliers," interrupted the mayor. "But," he added, looking hard at Felix, "can that sly fellow have concealed the thing even from you?"

"I do not think," said Phellion, "that ever, in his life, has my son concealed a thing from me."

"Then you know about the sublime astronomical discovery which he communicated to the Academy of Sciences yesterday?"

"Your kindness for me, Monsieur le maire," said Felix, hastily, "has led you astray; I was only the reader of the communication."

"Oh! let me alone!" said Minard; "reader, indeed! I know all about it."

"But see," said Felix, offering Minard the "Constitutionnel," "here's the paper; not only does it announce that Monsieur Picot is the maker of the discovery, but it mentions the rewards which, without losing a moment, the government has bestowed upon him."

"Felix is right," said Phellion; "that journal is to be trusted. On this occasion I think the government has acted very properly."

"But, my dear commander, I repeat to you that the truth of the affair has got wind, and your son is shown to be a most admirable fellow. To put his own discovery to the credit of his old professor so as to obtain for him the recognition and favor of the authorities--upon my word, in all antiquity I don't know a finer trait!"

"Felix!" said Phellion, beginning to show some emotion, "these immense labors to which you have devoted so much time of late, these continual visits to the Observatory--"

"But, father," interrupted Felix, "Monsieur Minard has been misinformed."

"Misinformed!" cried Minard, "when I know the whole affair from Monsieur Picot himself!"

At this argument, stated in a way to leave no possible doubt, the truth began to dawn upon Phellion.

"Felix, my son!" he said, rising to embrace him.

But he was obliged to sit down again; his legs refused to bear his weight; he turned pale; and that nature, ordinarily so impassible, seemed about to give way under the shock of this happiness.

"My God!" said Felix, terrified, "he is ill; ring the bell, I entreat you, Monsieur Minard."

And he ran to the old man, loosened his cravat and unfastened the collar of his shirt, striking him in the palms of his hands. But the sudden faintness was but momentary; almost immediately himself again, Phellion gathered his son to his heart, and holding him long in his embrace, he said, in a voice broken by the tears that came to put an end to this shock of joy:--

"Felix, my noble son! so great in heart, so great in mind!"

The bell had been rung by Minard with magisterial force, and with such an accent that the whole household was alarmed, and came running in.

"It is nothing, it is nothing," said Phellion to the servants, sending them away. But almost at the same moment, seeing his wife, who now entered the room, he resumed his habitual solemnity.

"Madame Phellion," he said, pointing to Felix, "how many years is it since you brought that young man into the world?"

Madame Phellion, bewildered by the question, hesitated a moment, and then said:--

"Twenty-five years next January."

"Have you not thought, until now, that God had amply granted your maternal desires by making this child of your womb an honest man, a pious son, and by gifting him for mathematics, that Science of sciences, with an aptitude sufficiently remarkable?"

"I have," said Madame Phellion, understanding less and less what her husband was coming to.

"Well," continued Phellion, "you owe to God an additional thanksgiving, for He has granted that you be the mother of a man of genius; his toil, which lately we rebuked, and which made us fear for the reason of our child, was the way--the rough and jagged way--by which men come to fame."

"Ah ca!" cried Madame Phellion, "can't you stop coming yourself to an explanation of what you mean, and get there?"

"Your son," said Minard, cautious this time in measuring the joy he was about to bestow, fearing another fainting-fit of happiness, "has just made a very important scientific discovery."

"Is it true?" said Madame Phellion, going up to Felix, and taking him by both hands as she looked at him lovingly.

"When I say important," continued Minard, "I am only sparing your maternal emotions; it