'The two of us, my dear Armand, have serious matters to discuss.'
'I'm listening, father.'
'Will you promise to be frank with me?'
'I'm never anything else.'
'Is it true that you are living with a woman named Marguerite Gautier?'
'Yes.'
'Do you know what sort of woman she was?'
'She was a kept woman.'
'Was it on her account that you neglected to come down to see your sister and me this year?'
'Yes, father, I admit it.'
'So you love this woman very much?'
'You can see I do, father, since she made me forget a sacred duty, for which I now humbly ask your pardon.'
Clearly, my father had not been expecting such plain answers, for he appeared to reflect for a moment before saying:
'You must have know, of course, that you couldn't go on living like this forever?'
'I was afraid it might be so, father, but I knew no such thing.'
'But you must have known, ' my father continued in a slightly sharper tone of voice, 'that I would never allow it.'
'I told myself that, as long as I did nothing to prejudice the respect which I owe to your name and the time- honoured probity of the family, then I could behave as I have ?and this went some way to reassuring me about the fears I had.'
Passion arms us against sentiment. I was ready to fight any battle, even against my father, to keep Marguerite.
'Well, the time has come to behave differently.'
'But why, father?'
'Because you are on the point of committing actions which undermine the respect which you say you have for your family.'
'I don't understand what you're saying.'
'Then I'll explain what I said. If you have a mistress, all well and good. If you pay her like any gentleman pays to be loved by a kept woman, even better. But when you neglect your most sacred obligations on her account; when you allow rumours of your scandalous conduct to travel all the way down to my part of the world and cast the shadow of a stain on the honourable name I have given you, then that is something which cannot continue, nor shall it continue.'
'Allow me to say, father, that whoever told you all this about me was badly informed. I am Marguerite Gautier's lover, I live with her: it's really quite simple. I have not given Mademoiselle Gautier the name I received from you. I spend on her no more than my means permit, I haven't run up any debts and I haven't got myself into any of the predicaments which entitle a father to say to his son what you have just said to me.'
'A father is always entitled to turn his son from the ill-considered path on which he sees him set his foot. You have not done anything wrong as yet, but you will.'
'Really, father!'
'Sir, I know life better than you do. Wholly pure sentiments are to be found only in women who are wholly chaste. Every Manon can turn a man into a Des Grieux, and times and manners have changed. It would be pointless if the world grew older without growing wiser. You will leave your mistress.'
'It distresses me to disobey you, father, but that is out of the question.'
'I shall compel you.'
'Unfortunately, father, there aren't any St-Margaret's Islands nowadays where courtesans can be transported, and, even if there were, I should follow Mademoiselle Gautier there if you managed to have her sent away. I'm sorry, it may be wrong of me, but I can be happy only on the condition that I remain her lover.'
'Come, Armand, open your eyes and see your father who has always loved you and who wants only your happiness. Is it honourable for you to live as man and wife with a woman who's been had by everybody?'
'What does it matter, father, if no one else shall have her again? What does it matter if she loves me, if she has been transformed by the love she has for me and the love I feel for her? What can it possibly matter if there has been a spiritual change in her?'
'And do you think, sir, that the mission of a gentleman is to bring about spiritual changes in courtesans? Do you imagine that God has given life so grotesque a purpose, and that a man's heart must have no other zeal than this? How will this miraculous cure end? And what will you make of what you're saying now, when you're forty? You'll laugh at this affair, if you are still able to laugh, if, that is, it hasn't left an indelible mark on your past. Where would you be now if your father had thought as you do, if he'd surrendered his life to the enticements of love instead of setting it unshakeably upon a belief in honour and integrity? Think, Armand, and stop talking nonsense. Come, you shall leave this woman. Your father begs you to.'
I made no reply.
'Armand, ' continued my father, 'in the name of your saintly mother, listen to me: give up this way of life. You will forget it far more quickly than you think and, in any case, you are kept chained to it by a philosophy which is quite absurd. You are twenty-four: think of the future. You won't always be in love with this woman, nor will she love you forever. You have both exaggerated what you feel for each other. You're shutting all the doors to a career. Take one more step, and you'll never be able to get off the path you're on, and you'll regret your misspent youth for the rest of your life. Leave now. Come and stay for a month or two with your sister. Rest and devoted family love will soon cure you of this infatuation, for it is nothing else.
'Meanwhile, your mistress will get over it. She'll take another lover and then, when you see what kind of person almost made you quarrel with your father and forfeit his affection, you will say I was quite right to come and fetch you, and you will bless me for having done so.
'So you will come away, won't you, Armand?'
I felt that my father was right about women in general, but I was convinced that he was wrong about Marguerite. However, he spoke these last words so gently, so beseechingly, that I dared not answer.
'Well?' he said, in a voice heavy with emotion.
'Look, father, I can't promise anything, ' I said at length. 'What you are asking is more than I can do. Please believe me, ' I continued, seeing him stir impatiently, 'you're making too much of the consequences of this affair. Marguerite isn't the kind of girl you think she is. Far from setting me on the wrong road, this love of ours, on the contrary, has the power to nurture the finest sentiments in me. True love always makes a man finer, whatever sort of woman inspires it. If you knew Marguerite, you'd see that there's no risk to me. She is as noble as the noblest women. She is as disinterested as the others are grasping.'
'Though that hasn't stopped her pocketing all your money, for the sixty thousand francs your mother left you, which you want to give her, represents ?and take note of what I'm saying ?all the money you have.'
In all likelihood, my father had kept this peroration as a threat intended to undermine my last defences.
I felt stronger against his threats than against his entreaties.
'Who told you that I was to make the money over to her?' I went on.
'My solicitor. Would any honourable man have drawn up a deed of that kind without letting me know first? Well, it was to prevent you beggaring yourself for the benefit of some loose woman that brought me to Paris. When your mother died, she left you enough to live on decently, but not enough for you to go giving it away to your mistresses.'
'I swear to you, father, Marguerite knew nothing of this deed of gift.'
'Why did you have it drawn up, then?'
'Because Marguerite, the woman you've slandered and want me to give up, has sacrificed everything she owns to live with me.'
'And you have accepted this sacrifice? What sort of man are you, sir, that you will allow a Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier to make sacrifices for you? But, enough. You will leave this woman. A little while ago, I asked you to; now, I order you to. I will not have such obscenities in my family. Pack your trunks and get ready to come with me.'
'Forgive me, father, ' I said, 'but I shall not leave here.'
'Why not?'
'Because I am now at an age when I don't have to obey orders any more.'
At this, my father turned pale.
'Very well, sir, ' he went on, 'I am clear in my mind what remains to be done.'
He rang.
Joseph appeared.
'Have my trunks sent round to the Hotel de Paris, ' he told my servant. And with these words, he went into his bedroom where he finished dressing.
When he emerged, I went up to him.
'Will you promise me, father, ' I said, 'that you won't do anything to distress Marguerite?'
My father paused, gave me a look of contempt, and merely said:
'I do believe you've taken leave of your senses.'
Thereupon, he stormed out, slamming the door violently behind him.
Then I too left, took a cab and set off for Bougival.
Marguerite was waiting for me at the window.
Chapter 21
'AT last!' she cried, throwing her arms around my neck. 'You're back! You look so pale!'
Then I told her about the scene with my father.
'Oh my God! I was expecting something like this, ' she said. 'When Joseph came and told us your father had arrived, my heart stopped as though he'd brought bad news. Poor dear! And I'm to blame for all your troubles. Perhaps it would be better for you to leave me than quarrel with your father. Still, I never did him any harm. We live very quietly and we'll live more quietly still. Of course, he realizes that you must have a mistress, and he should be pleased it's me, because I love you and won't ask you for anything more than your circumstances warrant. Did you tell him what we've worked out for the future?'
'Yes, and that's what upset him most, because he took the fact that our minds were made up as a sure sign of our love for each other.'
'What do we do now?'
'Stay together, sweet Marguerite, and let the storm blow over.'
'And will it blow over?'
'Storms always do.'
'But your father won't leave it at that, will he?'
'What can he do?'
'How should I know? Everything a father can do to force his son to obey him. He'll remind you of my past life, and may even credit me with some new treachery invented for the purpose of persuading you to give me up.'
'You know how I love you.'
'Yes, but there's something else I know: sooner or later you'll have to obey your father, and in the end you may let yourself be convinced.'
'No, Marguerite, I'll do the convincing. He's furious because of the stories some of his friends have been putting about. But he's good and he's fair-minded, and he'll get over his first impressions. Anyway, even if he doesn't, it won't make any difference to me!'
'You mustn't say that, Armand. I'd rather anything than give people the idea that I've come between you and your family. Leave it for today, and return to Paris tomorrow. Your father will have thought things over and so will you, and perhaps you'll understand each other better. Don't offend his principles. Try to appear as though you're making some concessions to what he wants. Make it look as if you're not all that attached to me, and he'll leave matters as they are, Keep hoping, my dear, and be sure of one thing: whatever happens, your Marguerite will still be yours.'
'You swear it?'
'Do I need to?'
How sweet it is to let yourself be won round by a voice your love! Marguerite and I spent all day going over our plans as though we somehow knew we had to hurry them through. We were expecting something to happen at any minute but, happily, the day passed without further event.
The following morning, I set off at ten o'clock and reached the hotel around noon.
My father had already gone out.
I went to my apartment hoping that he might be there. No one had called. I went round to my solicitor's. There was no one there either!
I returned to the hotel and waited until six. Monsieur Duval did not return.
I set off back to Bougival.
I found Marguerite not waiting for me, as on the previous evening, but sitting by the fire which the season already required.
She was deep enough in her thoughts for me to come right up to her chair without her hearing me or turning round. When my lips touched her forehead, she started as though the kiss had woken her suddenly.
'You gave me a fright, ' she said. 'What did your father say?'
'I didn't see him. I can't make it out. I couldn't find him at his hotel nor in any of the places where he was likely to be.'
'Well, you'll have to try again tomorrow.'
'I've a good mind to wait for him to ask to see me. I think I've done everything that could be expected of me.'
'No, my dear, it's not enough. You must go and see your father again, and do it tomorrow.'
'Why tomorrow rather than any other day?'
'Because, ' said Marguerite, who, I thought, flushed slightly at my question, 'because then your determination will seem all the greater and consequently we shall be forgiven more quickly.'
For the remainder of that day, Marguerite seemed preoccupied, listless, downcast. I had to say everything twice to get an answer. She attributed her inattentiveness to the fears for the future which the events of the past two days had prompted.
I spent the night trying to reassure her, and she sent me off the next morning displaying a distinct uneasiness which I could not fathom.
As on the previous day, my father was out. But, before going, he had left me this letter:
'If you return to see me today, wait until four. If I'm not back by four, come back and dine with me tomorrow. I must speak with you.'
I waited until the appointed time. My father did not put in an appearance. So I left.
The evening before, I had found Marguerite downcast; now I found her feverish and agitated. When she saw me come in, she threw her arms around my neck, but she remained weeping in my arms for some time.
