The Son of Clemenceau, A Novel of Modern Love and LifeDumas, Alexandre
General
The Son of Clemenceau, A Novel of Modern Love and Life
Dumas, Alexandre
Fiction
"Forever!" he repeated, following her into the window alcove, although
thirty pairs of eyes regarded them. "You cannot mean that. At least, I
deserve--have earned--your friendship by what I have undergone for you.
Let me have a word of hope! Though divorce is not allowed in this
country, death befalls any man, for while your statisticians figure out
that the married live longest, they do not assert that they are
immortal. Clemenceau dead, his widow may remarry. You say he is an
enthusiast--one of those college-growths which run to seed without any
fruit. I thought the contrary from the way he rode my horse and handled
the pistols. But, being an enthusiast, how can you expect to do anything
but vegetate? You will always be poor, for, if the man's ideas bore
fruit, he would only sink the gains in fresh enterprises. These artists
are always unthrifty, and they should wed their laundresses or their
cooks. But I--though they have tied up my German revenue, and I have
been practically banished--enjoy a tolerable return from my property in
this Empire. I have been offered a very handsome present if I wholly
transfer allegiance to the Napoleons. Would you not like to have the
_entré_ to the Empress's coterie and shine among the acknowledged
beauties? I give you my word that your peer is not among them, and the
leader would be enchanted with you. Come, suppose a little fatal
accident to Monsieur--may he not suck poison off his paint brush or cut
an artery with his sculptor's chisel? And, after a sojourn at Bravitz,
you might return to Paris a viscountess--a countess, perhaps, and rule
in a pretty court of your own!"
For a woman who had said adieu! she had lingered still listening much
too long. They continued the conversation, turned into this ominous
channel, in the same low key.
Césarine returned home with the sentiment of loneliness which had
oppressed her almost utterly removed. She did not love Gratian, but one
need not be a prisoner to understand how admirable the jailer with the
outer door-key may appear. She saw in him a precious friend and ally--a
worshiper who would obey a hint like a fanatic. Cautiously, at the
marchioness's, and more deeply than at Munich, she made inquiries upon
his pecuniary standing and was rejoiced to learn that he had not
deceived her in that respect. It was left to him to be a favorite in the
court, which, not succeeding in weaning away the scions of the
Legitimist nobility, greeted the foreign nobles cordially and sought to
attach them to its standard in foresight of a European war. One thing
was certain: Gratian had illimitable resources, and the sharp-witted,
who had sharp tongues, did not hesitate to aver that he was one of those
spoilt children of politics who are fed from State treasuries--not such
a shallow-brain as he pretended. The new type of diplomatist was like
him, the Morny's, not the effete Metternich's, gentlemen who settled
affairs of the State in the boudoir not in the cabinet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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