The Immortal; Or, One of the "Forty.": (L'immortel) - 1877Daudet, Alphonse
General
The Immortal; Or, One of the "Forty.": (L'immortel) - 1877
Daudet, Alphonse
Intellectuals -- France -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction
The way in which as he looked round he said, ‘Oh, it’s you,’ would have
been significant to anyone but his mother. She did not notice it, lost
in the delight of seeing him there, perfectly well, perfectly dressed.
She said not a word, but tearing her glove open she triumphantly handed
him the cheque. He did not ask her where she got it, or what she had
given for it, but put his arms round her, taking care not to crumple the
paper. ‘Dear old Mum’; that was all he said, but it was enough for
her, though her child was not as overjoyed as she expected, but rather
embarrassed. ‘Where are you going next?’ he said thoughtfully, with the
cheque in his hand.
‘Where next?’ she repeated, looking at him with disappointment. Why, she
had only just come, and made certain of spending a few minutes with him;
but she could go if she was in the way. ‘Why, I think I shall go to the
Princess’s. But I am in no hurry; she wearies me with her everlasting
lamentation for Herbert. You think she has done with it, and then it
takes a fresh start.’
Paul was on the point of saying something, which he did not say.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘Mammy, will you do something for me? I am expecting
somebody. Go and cash this for me, and let the agent have the money in
return for my drafts. You don’t mind?’
She did not indeed. If she went about his business she would seem to be
with him still. While he was signing his name, the mother looked round
the room. There were charming carpets and curtains, and nothing to mark
the profession of the occupant except an X ruler in old walnut, and some
casts from well-known friezes hung here and there. As she thought of her
recent agony and looked at the elaborate bouquets and the refreshments
laid by the sofa, it occurred to her that these were unusual
preparations for a suicide. She smiled without any resentment. The
naughty wretch! She only pointed with her parasol at the bonbons in the
box and said:
‘Those are to make a hole in your--your--what do you call it?’
He began to laugh too.
‘Oh, there’s a great change since yesterday.
The business, you know, the big thing I talked to you about, is really
coming off this time, I think.’
‘Really? So is mine.’
‘Eh? Ah yes, Sammy’s marriage.’
Their pretty cunning eyes, both of the same hard grey, but, the mother’s
a little faded, exchanged one scrutinising glance.
‘You’ll see, we shall be rolling in riches,’ he said after a moment.
‘Now you must be going,’ and he hurried her gently to the door.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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