The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence Part 58

The young woman clothed in mourning, half rec.u.mbent on a sick-chair, with silent happiness contemplated David, seated at a work-table and occupied in correcting one of Frederick's exercises.

Suddenly David, pursuing his reading, said, in a low voice:

"It is incomprehensible!"

"What is incomprehensible, M. David?"

"The really remarkable progress of this child, madame. We have been studying geometry only three weeks, and his apt.i.tude for the exact sciences develops with the same rapidity as his other faculties."

"If I must tell you, M. David, this apt.i.tude in Frederick astonishes me; it seems to me that those studies which require imagination and sentiment are what he would prefer."

"And that, madame, is what surprises and charms me. In this dear child everything obeys the same impulse, everything develops visibly, and nothing is injured. I read to you yesterday his last efforts, which were really eloquent, really beautiful."

"The fact is, M. David, that there is a striking difference between this last production and the best things he wrote before this terrible malady, which, thanks to you will lead to Frederick's regeneration. All that I now dread for him is excess of work."

"And for that reason, I moderate, as much as I can, his eagerness to learn, his impatient and jealous enthusiasm, his pa.s.sionate longing for the future which he wishes to make ill.u.s.trious and glorious, and that future will be his."

"Ah, M. David, what joy, what transport for us, if our antic.i.p.ations are realised!"

It is impossible to reproduce the tenderness Marie expressed in those words, "we--our antic.i.p.ations," which in themselves revealed the secret projects for happiness, tacitly formed by Marie and David.

The latter continued:

"Believe me, madame, we will see him great in heart and in intellect.

There is in him an extraordinary energy, which has developed twofold through this dreaded envy which has so much alarmed us."

"Indeed, on yesterday, M. David, he said to me, cheerfully:

"'Mother, now when I see the castle of Pont Brillant rising in the distance,--that once made me so unhappy,--I throw upon it only a glance of friendly regard and defiance.'"

"And you will see, madame, if, in eight or ten years, the name of Frederick Bastien will not resound more gloriously than that of the young marquis."

"I have the pride to share your hope, M. David. Guided by us, I do not know to what height my son may not attain."

"Then after a short silence Marie added:

"But do you know it all seems like a dream? When I think that it is scarcely two months ago, the evening of your arrival, you were there at that table, looking over Frederick's exercises, and deploring, like me, the veil which lay over the mind of this unhappy child."

"Do you recollect, madame, that gloomy, frozen silence, against which all our efforts proved unavailing?"

"And that might when, crazy with terror, I ran up-stairs to you, to beseech you not to abandon my son, as if you could have abandoned him."

"Say, madame, is there not a sort of charm in these painful memories, now that we are in perfect security and happiness?"

"Yes, there is a sad charm in them, but how much I prefer certain hopes!

So, M. David, I will tell you that I have made many plans to-night."

"Let us hear them, madame."

"There is one, very foolish,--really impossible."

"So much the better, they are usually the most charming."

"When our Frederick enters the Polytechnic School, we must be separated from him. Oh, make yourself easy, I will be brave, on one condition."

"And what is that condition?"

"You are going to laugh at it, because it is so childish, perhaps ridiculous. Ah, well, I wish we could dwell near him. And if I must confess all to you, my desire would be to take lodgings opposite the school, if that is possible. Now you are going to laugh at me."

"I do not laugh at this idea at all, madame; I think it is an excellent one, because, thanks to this proximity, you will be able to see our dear boy twice a day, and, besides visits, there will be two long days when we will have him all to ourselves."

"Really," answered Marie, smiling, "you do not think I am too fond a mother?"

"My reply is very short, madame. As it is always necessary to provide for things in the distance, I am going to write to Paris to-day to a reliable person who will watch for a convenient lodging opposite the school and engage it for us."

"How good you are!"

"Very easy kindness, really, to share with you the joy of being near our dear boy."

Marie remained silent a moment; then tears of grat.i.tude filled her eyes and she said, with inexpressible emotion, as she turned toward David:

"How sweet happiness is!"

And her tearful eyes sought and met the eyes of David; for a long time they gazed at each other in silent, divine ecstasy. The door of the chamber opened and Marguerite said to the preceptor, with an air at the same time joyous and mysterious:

"M. David, will you come, if you please?"

"And my son," asked Marie, "where is he?"

"M. Frederick is busy, madame, very busy," replied Marguerite, exchanging a glance of intelligence with the preceptor, who was going out of the door.

"If madame will permit it," said Marguerite, "I will stay with her, in case she may need something."

"Ah, Marguerite, Marguerite," said the young wife, smiling and shaking her head, "they are plotting something here."

"Why do you think that, madame?"

"Oh, I am very discerning! Since this morning, such goings and comings I have heard in the corridor, Frederick is absent during his study hour, and an unusual noise in the library; so you see--"

"I can a.s.sure you, madame, that--"

"Good! good! you are taking advantage of my condition," said Marie, smiling. "They all know that I cannot walk about and see myself what is happening out there."

"Oh, madame, what do you think?"

"Well, Marguerite, I think it is a surprise."

"A surprise, madame?"