Those pleasant days of late summer and early autumn were a halcyon1 time to Paul and Lucie, and to Toni and Denise. Toni was troubled with no qualms2, whatever, with regard to Denise’s superiority to him, and the fact that she might justly aspire3 to something far beyond a private soldier. He was the Toni of old, and, like the great Napoleon, he reckoned that if he wanted a thing, it was his already; and, instead of shrinking from the idea of Denise’s impressive fortune of ten thousand francs, he was glad she had so much, and wished that it was more—not that he meant to squander4 it or that he loved Denise for it. He would have loved her just as well without a franc. Nor did he love her any better for having it, but he did not consider that the ten thousand francs placed any barrier between Denise and himself. And then from the first moment their eyes had met on the night of the ball in the public square, that old, sweet feeling of being cared for and protected by Denise had stolen into his heart. Toni wanted a wife to protect him from other people and from himself—that was the long and short of it. As for Denise, her nature had shaped itself to the idea of looking after Toni and she wanted to give him all the buns and good things in life. With Paul and Lucie this was exactly reversed. Lucie felt the most charming sense of protection in Paul’s strong arm and strong sense.
Toni courted Denise assiduously, and did the same by Mademoiselle Duval and the sergeant5, and succeeded, in the course of time, in winning a grudging6 respect from the sergeant. That stern warrior7 knew too much about Toni’s boyhood to accept him at his own value, but his perfect knowledge of the voltige was an irresistible8 recommendation to the sergeant, and moreover, there was no denying that Toni was a good soldier, attentive9 to his duty. He had not once been punished since he had joined; and this was a remarkable10 record even for the best of soldiers. Then Toni stood well with his sublieutenant. This counted for something with the sergeant; nevertheless, he remembered how, in the old days at Bienville, Toni’s black shock and Paul Verney’s blond head were often close together, and these youthful friendships have a strong hold on many men. Still, Paul Verney was not the man to overlook the sins of a conscript, and the sergeant was forced to admit that no fault could be found with Toni so far.
He had begun by suspecting Toni’s intentions toward Denise, but his suspicions had been completely lulled12 to sleep, chiefly by Denise herself. This young person, who rarely raised her eyes from the ground and might have posed for a statue of Simplicity13, knew perfectly14 well how to throw dust in the sergeant’s eyes. Concerning Toni, she never allowed him to be mentioned without some disparaging15 remark, such as, “That ridiculous Toni,” or “That absurd creature.” She called attention to the fact, which everybody knew, that Toni’s nose was a snub. She also observed, what nobody else had, that Toni slouched when he walked and was very ugly. Toni, in truth, was the most graceful16 fellow in the regiment17, and handsome in his black-eyed, black-browed way. Denise would scarcely admit that Toni knew how to ride, but even this did not put the sergeant on his guard. She openly complained that Toni did not know how to dance and waltzed all over her feet when he danced with her in the evenings in the public square. When in her father’s presence, and Toni was there, Denise treated him like a dog. He was the only person living to whom she had ever shown any active hostility18, but the mild, the gentle Denise would take him up on the smallest provocation19, yawned at his jokes, laughed when he told of his discomforts20 and contradicted most of his assertions.
Mademoiselle Duval, who had become a great friend of Toni’s, lectured Denise on this, and even the sergeant told her that he thought she was rather hard on poor Toni. At this Denise shrugged21 her shoulders.
“He’s such a bore,” she said. “I always recollect22 him as a dirty, greedy little boy at Bienville. I believe he is just the same.”
Now, Toni certainly showed neither of those traits at present, but Denise would not allow a word to be said in his favor. Toni, however, strange to say, did not appear to be discomposed by this conduct of Denise’s, but joined the Duval party two or three times a week when they sat, on the pleasant evenings, in the public square listening to the music; and invariably asked Denise to dance with him. He even had the assurance, when it grew cool in the autumn evenings, to come to their lodgings24, and it was here that Denise’s neglect of him inspired the sergeant to remonstrate25 with her.
Toni had the superlative impudence26 even to bring an occasional bag of roasted chestnuts27 or some little cakes to Denise, for Toni was a connoisseur28 in cakes, but she invariably declared that they were very bad of their kind. This same Denise, when she and Toni danced together, would whisper in his ear, “Be sure and ask me to dance at least twice more,” or, tripping along the street, would meet him and, lifting her pretty eyes to him, would say, “Toni, when are you coming to see us again?”—but such is the nature of woman.
Early in September Madame Marcel arranged to come to pay Toni a visit, as Toni could not go to see her, and Toni engaged a lodging23 for her in the same house where Mademoiselle Duval and Denise lodged29.
“What do you think, aunt?” cried Denise, on learning this from the landlady30, “that impudent31 Toni has dared to engage a room for his mother on the same floor with us.”
The sergeant happened to be present. He had grateful recollections of Madame Marcel, the neat[Pg 202]ness of her shop and the thriving trade she had, as well as that lady’s personal charms.
“Denise,” said he, “you gibe32 at Toni entirely33 too much, and as for his mother, a most estimable woman is Madame Marcel, and an old friend and neighbor, and I desire that you treat her with politeness.”
“Certainly I shall, papa,” replied Denise, “but as for that odious34 Toni, you know I can’t stand him.”
“You will have to stand him,” replied the sergeant tartly35. “He is a good soldier and seems to have reformed completely, and you must show him some respect while his mother is here at least. Do you understand me, Denise?”
Denise understood him perfectly, only the sergeant did not in the least understand Denise.
It was on an early autumn afternoon that Toni met his mother in the third-class waiting-room at the station. When he took her in his arms he felt himself a little boy again. Madame Marcel was not much changed, except that her hair, of a satin blackness like Toni’s when he had last seen her, was now amply streaked36 with gray.
“Mama, Mama!” cried Toni, kissing her, while the big tears ran down his cheeks, “your hair is gray and it is I who have done it.”
“No, no, Toni,” cried Madame Marcel, who was kissing him all over his face, and, who, like most mothers, was unwilling37 to admit that the prodigal38 had been at fault, “your mother is growing old, my son; that is it.”
She was still handsome, though, and very well dressed in her black bonnet39 and silk mantle40, and looked quite the lady. Toni felt proud of her as he escorted her through the street, carrying her bags and parcels on his arm; and Madame Marcel felt proud of her handsome young soldier with his trim uniform, for Toni, under the guidance and recommendation of his corporal, had developed into a model of soldierly smartness in dress. Toni showed his mother up stairs into the neat room he had engaged for her, and Madame Marcel stowed away the provisions she had brought for herself and Toni, being a thoughtful soul. Then Toni sat in his mother’s lap, as he had done when he was a little boy, and told her everything that had happened to him, except about Nicolas and Pierre. He was trying to oust41 those two villains42 from his mind and to shut the door on that terrible secret that he shared with them. He told his mother about Denise and Mademoiselle Duval; and Madame Marcel, knowing Denise to be the most correct of young girls, with ten thousand francs as her fortune, rejoiced that Toni had fallen in love with her, for it was clearly impossible that Denise, or any other girl, could resist her Toni, now that he was clean and was doing his duty.
After a while, a tap came at the door, and when Toni opened it, there stood the sergeant, got up as if he were on dress parade under the eye of the general himself, his mustaches beautifully waxed, not only waxed but flagrantly dyed a shining black. He greeted Madame Marcel with effusion, and then said:
“I came to request that Madame Marcel will have supper with us to-night. She has not yet made her arrangements, perhaps, and my s............