Public affairs, in fact, absorbed him, and he found it necessary to
steal the precious time to make a hasty trip to Rue Prony. A vacation,
it is true, was near. In less than a month, Vaudrey would have more
time at his disposal. But for more than three weeks yet, the minister
would have everything to modify and change,--everything to put into a
healthy shape, as Warcolier said--in the Hotel Beauvau.
What matter! He found the time to fly incognito to the Maison de Vanda,
leaving his coupe at the ministry. Marianne was always there for him
when he arrived. The male domestic or the femme de chambre received him
with all the deference that "domestics" show when they suspect that the
visitor brings any kind of subsidy to the house. To Vaudrey, there was a
sort of mystery in Mademoiselle Kayser's life. Ramel, who knew her uncle
Kayser, had told him of the poverty of the painter. How then, seeing
that her uncle was so shabby, could the niece be so sumptuously
established?
Kayser, whom he had once met at Marianne's, had answered such a question
by remarking that his niece was a _sly puss_ who understood life
thoroughly and would be sure to make headway. But that was all.
"I have suspected for a long time that that little head was not capable
of much," the painter had added. "I considered her a light-headed
creature, nothing more. Fool that I was! she is a shrewd woman, a clever
woman, a true woman. I only find fault with her for one thing."
"What?" asked Vaudrey.
"Do you ask what, Monsieur le Ministre? The style of her establishment.
It is flashy, tawdry, noisy, it is boudoir art. It lacks seriousness! It
lacks morality! I would have in it figures that have style, character. I
don't ask for saintly pictures, but moral allegories, austere art. I
understand only the severe in art. I am a puritan in the matter of the
brush. For that reason, I shall attain nothing in these days of _genre_
and water-color painting."
And Kayser went on painting allegories, to digest his dinner, the pate
de foie gras washed down with kummel, of which he had just partaken at
his niece's.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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