The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence

David bowed, and followed her in silence.

CHAPTER XXI

IT was nearly dark.

Madame Bastien took a lamp, and, passing through the little dining-room where Marguerite was laying the table for the frugal evening meal, led the way to the garret, which was divided into three rooms, one occupied by Marguerite, another by the gardener, while the third was allotted to the tutor.

This was M. Bastien's arrangement. His wife had vainly endeavoured to convince him of the impropriety of lodging a tutor in this fashion, and had begged him to allow her to fit up a room on the floor below for his use, but he had flown into a violent passion, and declared that, if his wife disobeyed him, he would send the spouter of Latin up to the garret where he belonged as soon as he found it out.

Madame Bastien knew he was quite capable of carrying this threat into execution, so, to spare the new tutor such a humiliation, she had resigned herself to seeing her son's preceptor occupy a room so little in harmony with the importance of his functions.

If the young woman had taken so much to heart what she regarded as an insult to the dignity of her son's former tutor, one can judge of her feelings when it was inflicted upon Henri David, whose disinterestedness merited such heartfelt gratitude. Consequently, it was with painful confusion that she opened the door of the garret room which she had done her best to make cosy and inviting. A small blue and white china vase containing a bouquet of chrysanthemums and late roses stood on the walnut table, the floor was of spotless whiteness, the white curtains were tied back with ribbons, in short, a desire to make the plainness of the apartment forgotten by dint of assiduous care and good-will was everywhere apparent.

"It is with deep regret, I assure you, that I am compelled to offer you this room," said Madame Bastien, "but my utter inability to place a more suitable apartment at your disposal must be my excuse."

Henri David could not repress a slight movement of surprise as he glanced around him, and, after a brief silence, he said, with a melancholy smile:

"By a singular chance, madame, this room strongly resembles one I occupied in boyhood beneath my father's roof, and it is pleasant to be thus reminded of the happiest years of my life."

When they went down-stairs they found supper ready.

"I am very much afraid that Frederick will refuse to come to the table this evening. Excuse me a moment, monsieur, while I go and call him."

Having learned from Marguerite that Frederick was in his room, Madame Bastien hastened there, and found her son thoughtfully pacing the room.

"Supper is ready, my son," his mother said. "Won't you come?"

"Thanks, I am not hungry, mother. I intend to go to bed almost immediately."

"You are not feeling ill, I trust?"

"No; only tired. I seem to need rest."

"I hope, my son, that you will consider how your words would have pained M. David, who already feels the tenderest interest in you, if he had not felt certain that he would soon overcome your prejudice by his kindness. He will be to you not a master, but a friend; I would say a brother but for the disparity in your ages."

Frederick made no reply. His mouth contracted slightly, and he hung his head, and Madame Bastien, who had made a careful study of her son's face for some time past, saw that he was resolved to maintain an obstinate silence, so she insisted no further, but rejoined M. David.

After a frugal supper, Henri, wishing to divert his companion's thoughts, begged her to let him see Frederick's note-books and exercises, as well as some of the essays he had written in happier days, hoping he might find in these last some clue to the origin of the unfortunate ideas which seemed to have taken such entire possession of his mind.

While the new tutor was thus engaged the young mother watched him closely, in order that she might judge of the effect these specimens of Frederick's work produced upon him. Soon he took up an essay Frederick had written upon a theme suggested by his mother, and at first the young mother felt doubtful of its success, for M. David's features remained grave and thoughtful, but suddenly he smiled, and the smile was followed by several approving nods of the head, and two or three times he even murmured, "Good, very good." Then something seemed to displease him, for he crumpled one of the sheets of manuscript impatiently, and his features became impassible again as he continued his reading.

Marie's face reflected each shade of feeling depicted on David's face; but soon, and for the first time in a long while, the happy mother, forgetting her anxieties at least temporarily, could once more rejoice in Frederick's triumphs, for the signs of approbation on the new tutor's part became more frequent. He not only appeared to take a deep interest, but likewise a personal pride and delight in what he was reading, and at last he exclaimed, suddenly:

"No, no; it is impossible that the author of sentiments as noble and generous as these should not listen sooner or later to the voice of justice and reason. May I ask, madame, if this was written very long before the time at which you first began to notice the change in your son's character?"

After a moment's reflection, Madame Bastien replied:

"As nearly as I can recollect, this was written just before a visit we paid to the Château de Pont Brillant the latter part of June. It was not until about a month afterward that I began to feel uneasy about Frederick."

After a moment's thought, David asked:

"Have you anything that Frederick has written since you noticed this marked change in his nature? If you have, it might aid us in solving this mystery."

"The idea is a good one," replied Madame Bastien, and, struck by a sudden recollection, she selected one of her son's books. She handed it to M. David, saying as she did so:

"Several pages are lacking here, as you see. I asked Frederick why he had mutilated it in this fashion, and he replied that he was dissatisfied with what he had written and did not want me to read it. This occurred just as I was beginning to feel really anxious about him."

"And you noticed nothing significant in the remaining pages, madame?"

"You can see for yourself, monsieur. Since that time Frederick has written little or nothing, his distaste for work becoming more and more marked from that time on. In vain I have suggested themes of divers kinds; he would write a few lines, then drop his pen, and, burying his face in his hands, sit for hours together, deaf alike to all my questions and entreaties."

While Madame Bastien was speaking David was hastily glancing over the fragmentary writings his hostess had just handed to him.

"It is strange," he remarked, after several minutes, "these incoherent lines show none of the nobility of feeling that characterise your son's other writings. His mind seems to have become clouded, and the lassitude and ennui his work caused him is everywhere apparent. But here are a few words which seem to have been carefully erased," added David, trying to decipher them.

Marie approached her guest with the intention of assisting him, if possible, and as she bent over the table her arm lightly grazed David's.

The pressure was so slight that Marie did not even notice it, but it sent a sort of electric thrill through David; but so great was his self-control that he remained perfectly impassive, though he realised for the first time since he made his generous offer that the woman with whom he was to live on such terms of intimacy was young and wonderfully beautiful, as well as endowed with the most admirable traits of character.

He gave no sign of all this, however, but with Marie's assistance continued his efforts to decipher the words Frederick had erased, and after patient study they succeeded in making out here and there the following phrases which seemed to have no connection whatever with what preceded or followed them, but had apparently been jotted down almost involuntarily under the influence of some strong emotion. For instance, one leaf bore this fragmentary sentence:

" …for persons doomed to a humiliating obscurity of lot, the inability to lift oneself from it is – "

Two or three words at the beginning of the sentence had been entirely obliterated.

Farther on, upon another page were these two words, but slightly blurred, as if their laconicism was sufficient protection against interpretation:

"Why? By what right – "

And lastly, this more complete sentence was deciphered with great difficulty:

"Through you, great and holy Revolution, the weak became the strong. The hour of vengeance came at last, terrible indeed, but grand and far-reaching in its – "

As David was slowly perusing these words a second time as if to gather their hidden significance, the clock on the mantel struck twelve.

"Twelve!" exclaimed Madame Bastien, in surprise, "twelve o'clock already!"

David rose at once, and, taking the book, said:

"With your permission, madame, I will take this with me. What we have deciphered is very vague, but it may give us a clue to the truth. Good night, madame."

"Good night, M. David. I gladly accept all the encouragement you hold out to me. I need it more than I can tell you. To-morrow will be a momentous day to us. God grant it may prove a propitious one."

"God grant it, madame."

CHAPTER XXII

AS soon as his mother's words brought a full realisation of the crime he had tried to commit, Frederick experienced the keenest remorse; but though he was conscientious enough to feel appalled by his attempt at homicide, he was far from being cured of his hatred and envy.