Part 7
“Yes, indeed,” cried Julie, snipping off the grapes and handing some to Louis. “These are delicious grapes--I wonder if they are grown at Dinard? Yes, Monsieur de Latour, I dare say those telegraph people are right and I did leave out one word, but only one, and that such a little one.”
“It was big enough to ruin sixteen vats of soap,” tartly responded Monsieur de Latour.
He wished that Julie were not quite so pretty, and that he could keep his eyes off her pink fingers and rosy mouth as she disposed of the grapes.
“But I heard you say yourself, monsieur,” she said, snipping off some more grapes and handing them to him, “that you never used soap--you always used white sand--so what does it matter about the sixteen vats?”
Monsieur de Latour groaned. Would he ever be able to make Julie understand the first principles of business? At the same time, the thought of parting with her was not agreeable to him--he enjoyed her society too much.
“Very well, mademoiselle,” he said, trying to be stern. “All I have to say is that you must be more careful in the future. The notary will be here to-morrow, bringing the papers arranging matters between my nephew and myself, and, luckily, he will no doubt correct any blunders which you may have made in the copy which I dictated to you.”
“I haven’t made any blunders,” cried Julie, laughing. “I wrote exactly what you dictated, and if there are any blunders they will be the notary’s. Come, now, if you are through scolding me, let us go and have coffee with the rest.”
Monsieur de Latour had meant to give her a tremendous wigging, but instead of that he found himself led, ostensibly by the arm and secretly by the nose, into the drawing-room, with Julie on his arm and Louis bringing up the rear.
As they entered the drawing-room, Julie joyfully proclaimed:
“Dear people, I have made the most amusing mistake this time. I have ruined sixteen vats of soap for Monsieur de Latour, and he, poor darling, takes it like an angel. But I won’t do so any more, I promise you, monsieur.”
“No, you won’t, mademoiselle,” replied Monsieur de Latour. “I sha’n’t give you the chance.”
And then, like the hospitable host he was, he proceeded to forget all about the sixteen vats of ruined soap, and they had a merry evening together, enlivened by Julie’s songs at the piano.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VI
JULIE’S LITTLE MISTAKE
The next day at twelve o’clock was the hour fixed for the signing of the papers making legal the adoption, by Monsieur de Latour, of Louis, and transferring to Louis’s credit three hundred thousand francs in the Bank of France. All of the guests of the Chateau of Montplaisir were invited to assemble in the grand saloon to witness this important affair. The notary, with his clerk, arrived, the papers were brought out and examined, and Monsieur de Latour, with a gold pen, a pompous air, and a great flourish, signed his name. This was followed by Louis, who took the occasion to make a graceful speech of thanks to Monsieur de Latour, and to assure all present that he felt it an honour to be related to so upright and enterprising a citizen. Monsieur de Latour replied affectionately, and then, luncheon being served, hosts and guests drank to the health of the new head of the house of De Latour.
Monsieur de Latour was indeed a happy man. He had been officially made a gentleman, and he considered three hundred thousand francs a very small price to pay for the honour.
All were in high spirits, and even Mademoiselle Cheri forebore to utter some of those plain and rather unpleasing truths with which she had occasionally prodded Monsieur de Latour.
The ladies, after luncheon, retired for their siesta, the party arranging to meet on the terrace, as usual, at five o’clock for tea. Then Monsieur de Latour said to Louis:
“Now, my dear nephew, come with me into the grand saloon, and let us talk over our future arrangements, and I should be obliged to you, Mademoiselle de Courcey, if you will come, too, as I may need your services as amanuensis.”
“Certainly,” replied Julie, “but first let me go and curl my hair. This damp climate takes all the curl out.”
Monsieur de Latour was a little annoyed at this, especially in the presence of Mademoiselle Cheri, who said nothing but saw everything. However, it would be a bold man who would refuse permission to a young lady to curl her hair, and so Monsieur de Latour merely asked Julie’s presence as soon as convenient.
In the grand saloon he unlocked the escritoire in which the papers had been stowed, and taking them out began to go over them for the second time with Louis. All at once Monsieur de Latour started and turned pale.
“Why, look here,” he said, “I didn’t notice this before, but instead of me, Victor Louis de Latour, adopting you, Louis Victor de Latour, here I see--” At this point Monsieur de Latour stopped, paled, and with a shaking finger pointed to the impressive legal paper with its great seals.
And there, sure enough, as plain as print, Louis Victor de Latour had adopted Victor Louis de Latour. Louis examined the paper carefully and laid it down. Monsieur de Latour, running his hands frantically through his scanty hair, cried out:
“It is all the work of that good-for-nothing Julie, who is now upstairs curling her hair. Well, it will have to be changed--that’s all. The fact is, she has never yet written a letter or prepared a document for me that she has not got one word wrong. But she is so devilish pretty and so fascinating and such a delightful little scamp altogether that there is no being angry with her. However, I shall give her a good scolding for this, and the work will all have to be done over again.”
Louis during all this had sat calmly examining the papers spread out before him. His silence aroused Monsieur de Latour’s suspicions.
“Of course,” cried the old soap-boiler, advancing and mopping his brow, “you see the necessity for undoing this nonsensical performance. You being my uncle, indeed!”
“I don’t know about that,” replied Louis coolly. “First let me ask you one question. Are you really in love with Mademoiselle Julie?”
The query staggered Monsieur de Latour, and he sat down quickly, as if some one had hit him a blow on the forehead.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “I don’t know whether I am or not, but one thing is certain--I intend to have the benefit of her society. It has occurred to me several times in the last few days that you were paying Mademoiselle de Courcey rather more attention than was necessary, and it was distinctly displeasing to me.”
“That settles it,” replied Louis gravely. “These papers stand. I cannot forego the honour of being uncle to such a nephew as yourself. I am proud of you, my dear Victor.”
Here Louis rose and patted Monsieur de Latour patronisingly on the back.
“It is not your money that I desire--that you are more than welcome to--but to say to the world that I have such a nephew as yourself gives me the highest pleasure.”
“Go to the devil!” bawled Monsieur de Latour, jumping up. “You are the most impudent, presumptuous dog I ever saw in my life. I your nephew, indeed!”
“But I thought you wanted to appear young so as to win favour, perhaps, in Mademoiselle Julie’s eyes.”
“So I do, but not so infernally and ridiculously young as you would make me appear.”
“Not at all. I might have a brother forty years older than myself, and you might be that brother’s son.”
“And I might elope with my great-grandfather’s sister-in-law,” bellowed Monsieur de Latour, “but we are not talking about such things as that. What I mean to say is that this ridiculous mistake must be rectified. I am willing to adopt you as my nephew--in fact, I am rather pleased to be related to you, because I have learned to like you in spite of your assaults upon my ribs. I am willing to be your uncle, but I am not willing to be your nephew.”
“My dear boy, the thing is done. It is signed, sealed, and delivered. You are my nephew, and you can’t help yourself. And remember that the arrangement carries with it the authority of a parent--for example, you cannot marry anybody without my consent. Our laws, you know, are very specific on that point.”
“Oh, yes, I know, but you are talking nonsense!”
“Am I? Then try to contravene my authority and see what will happen!”
Monsieur de Latour glared at Louis. And just then the door opened and Julie entered, looking, if possible, prettier than ever.
“Now,” she said to Monsieur de Latour, “I am ready to do anything you ask me--that is, for half an hour, when I expect the dressmaker--then I shall have to leave you.”
“Certainly,” answered Monsieur de Latour, laughing sardonically. “Between the hairdresser and the dressmaker, you may occasionally condescend to assist me. Thank you very much, mademoiselle. I am indebted to you, I think, for the present piece of work.”
He got up and, in his wrath taking Julie sternly by the arm, pointed with an accusing finger at the document.
“Do you see,” he thundered, “that through that little peculiarity of yours by which you always get one word wrong----”
“But only one word, monsieur, and then always a very small one.”
“Yes, I know, but big enough to do the business. Here you see that instead of Victor Louis de Latour adopting Louis Victor de Latour, it is completely turned around, and this young scapegrace has adopted me. Do you understand?”
In his rage Monsieur de Latour’s voice had risen to a roar, but Julie, glancing at the paper and then at Louis, burst into a ripple of laughter.
“Oh, how amusing!” she cried. “It is the most delightful thing I ever heard. Did I make that mistake?”
“You did!” shouted Monsieur de Latour, quite forgetting himself and actually shaking Julie’s arm.
“Well, what’s the harm?” she asked, breathless with the shaking and laughing still more. “You are just as much a De Latour of the Chateau of Montplaisir, monsieur, as you ever were. I thought that was the great point.”
Monsieur de Latour flung her into a chair as if she had been a parcel, and strode up and down the room.
“My dear Victor,” said Louis soothingly, “compose yourself. Have confidence in me, your uncle, and believe that everything that I shall do will be with an eye for your advantage. If you should require me to give back the three hundred thousand francs----”
“Oh, yes, give them back, indeed!” bawled Monsieur de Latour, going and standing before Louis. “You can afford to give them back because you practically have the control of all my property.”
“I sha’n’t interfere with that, my boy,” replied Louis. “I think you know how to manage your money matters very much better than I do. It is only your personal conduct in which I shall concern myself, and, by the way, I think it would be best for you to dispense with Mademoiselle de Courcey’s services as private secretary.”
“What have you to do with my private secretary?”
“Everything. I am your legal guardian, and I cannot allow you to continue what I thought from the first a very indiscreet arrangement. So, mademoiselle, I shall be pleased myself to engage your services at the same figure my nephew paid you, if you will accept the place.”
“Certainly!” responded Julie, jumping up.
Monsieur de Latour’s rage and chagrin at this was indescribable. He ground his teeth, and his scanty hair appeared actually to bristle with wrath. Meanwhile, Louis was smiling and imperturbable, and Julie was a picture of innocence.
“Only I shall stipulate,” continued Louis gravely, “that you are not to do any writing for me. I can’t take the risk.”
“Sixteen vats of soap spoiled!” interjected Monsieur de Latour, throwing himself into a chair.
“My dear Victor,” said Louis, “would you oblige me by allowing me a few minutes’ private conversation with Mademoiselle Julie?”
“What?” screamed Monsieur de Latour.
“A few minutes’ private conversation is what I ask.”
“Not under any circumstances.”
Monsieur de Latour was so beside himself with rage that he could not keep still, but, jumping up from his chair, bounced about the room.
“Then, mademoiselle,” remarked Louis, “I must ask you to step out with me upon the terrace for a moment.”
“Mademoiselle, I forbid you to go!” cried Monsieur de Latour.
But to this Julie paid no attention whatever, and followed Louis through the glass door that opened on the terrace. Once out in the clear and brilliant sunshine, Louis whispered in her ear:
“Did you do it on purpose?”
And Julie whispered back:
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“And was it because his consent was necessary to your marriage?”
Julie nodded her head and gave Louis her bewitching side glance.
“Very well, he shall remain my nephew until he has consented to our marriage.”
Julie bestowed upon Louis another side glance, a look of overpowering sweetness which ran like wine through Louis’s whole being. Monsieur de Latour, within the room, saw this exchange of tender and vivid glances, and a flood of light poured in upon him. He dashed out upon the terrace, almost knocking them over.
“Oh, I see how it is!” he cried. “You two are in a conspiracy against me. You”--pointing to Louis--“want to marry Mademoiselle de Courcey.”
“Oh, no,” replied Louis, “I want to marry Mademoiselle de Brésac!” And taking Julie’s hand he placed it within his arm.
Slowly the truth dawned upon Monsieur de Latour. He struck his forehead.
“I see it all,” he groaned. “It is a trick. You are Julie de Brésac. Strange I never suspected it before. But that old gadabout, your aunt, put you up to it, no doubt. Very well, all I have to say is that, under your respected father’s will, my consent is necessary to your marriage, and you won’t get that consent to marry my nephew.”
“Your uncle, you mean,” interposed Louis.
“Very well, very well!” cried Monsieur de Latour, walking off, quivering with rage. “You will see how it will turn out.”
Louis followed him.
“Now, my dear nephew,” he said in a pacifying tone, “don’t let us, with guests in the house, have a family row--these things are very bad form. It has never been the custom of the De Latours to do such things, and if you wish to prove yourself a genuine De Latour you must follow the traditions of the house. Now, it isn’t necessary to say how things really stand--I am willing to let you pose as my uncle, provided you show me the respect which is due me. So let us agree to say nothing about this, but I will have no interference between Mademoiselle Julie and myself.”
Monsieur de Latour paused and reflected for a whole minute.
“Perhaps you know,” he said, “that the Comtesse de Beauregard’s consent is necessary, as well as mine, for anyone to marry Julie.”
“I believe so, but that is very easily won. Just let me go on a gigantic lark and the old lady will consent at once.”
“Yes, but suppose she should marry? She might marry me, you know!”
“That will make our relationship still more interesting. You would be my nephew and at the same time you would be my uncle.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. What I mean is that I intend to checkmate you and that head-strong girl yonder.”
“But to marry Madame de Beauregard you would have to lead a very dissipated life, and then I should be in a position to checkmate you. I can exert my authority as your uncle, and put a stop to your wild career on the ground that you are squandering your fortune. I can put you on an allowance of a thousand francs a month. How would you like that?”
“Oh, it’s all a confounded muddle,” cried Monsieur de Latour, “but I intend to block your game, young man, with Julie, and you see if I don’t!”
While this turmoil was taking place in one part of the chateau a like one was occurring in another part of it. Just as luncheon was over General Granier’s card was brought in, and Madame de Beauregard insisted upon the rest of the party going with her to the orangery. There they found General Granier, who began to entertain them with anecdotes of some of his most notorious escapades during the Second Empire, varied with the recital of some startling indiscretions about three months before. His stories were really amusing, and even Mademoiselle Cheri laughed at them; but Mélanie, much scandalised, maintained a shocked silence, and Eugène de Contiac unconsciously did the same.
When General Granier had finished a story of having kissed a dowager duchess in mistake for her daughter-in-law, a story which sent Madame de Beauregard into convulsions of mirth, she suddenly looked around and caught Eugène in the act of handing a book to Mélanie. Madame de Beauregard seized it and read aloud the title, “Sermons and Discourses, by Bossuet.” From screams of laughter the old lady suddenly flew into a temper, and, giving Eugène a smart clip over the head with the book of sermons, she cried wrathfully:
“I will teach you to be reading sermons in good company! And what’s this?”
A sheet of paper fluttered out, which the old lady caught deftly and read aloud:
“DEAREST MÉLANIE:
“Don’t believe for one moment that my heart or my inclinations are in the dissipations which I sometimes follow. It is all the doing of my intolerable old aunt and that old rip, General Granier. My darling, as soon as my aunt is dead and I can follow my own inclinations you will have no fault to find with me. Even without your influence, dearest, I would wish to live a pious and God-fearing life. How much more so when you encourage me in those religious observances of which I am deprived! However, my old aunt can’t live forever, and when she is gone, and we can be married, rest assured that I shall lead with you a life of prayer and piety, with sermons for our only literature and church-going our dissipation. My aunt has not a bad heart, and let us unite in prayer, dear one, that she may mend her ways.
“Devotedly yours, “EUGÈNE DE CONTIAC.”
This was a letter calculated to exasperate a much milder person than Madame de Beauregard, and the old lady, although in general good-tempered, as most old reprobates are, was kindled into wrath. She sat up, whirled around in her chair, rose, and actually danced with rage.
“So you are planning to be pious when I am dead and buried!” she shrieked, shaking the unlucky letter in poor Eugène’s pallid face. “Very well, then, you and your saintly friend here can be pious on nothing at all. You and this sanctimonious minx will unite in prayer for me! Just let me catch you at it--that’s all I ask! Oh, if I had but a man in my family, he should have every franc I possess! Monsieur Bertoux,” she cried, turning to the silent advocate, who saw a good fee staring him in the face for making another will for Madame de Beauregard, “I desire you this minute to make another will for me!”
At this Monsieur Bertoux quietly took out some sheets of legal-looking paper.
“Here, madame,” he said resignedly, “I always keep myself prepared, and I knew when I arrived here yesterday and saw the situation of affairs that I should be called upon to make a will for you before the week was out. Will you, as usual, when you cut Monsieur de Contiac off, give your property to found a hospital for cats and dogs?”
“Yes,” answered Madame de Beauregard promptly, “except one hundred thousand francs to General Granier, as the last man with red blood in him who is left alive in France. He deserves a legacy and he shall have it, for knowing how to enjoy himself as a man should.”
General Granier bowed to the ground and said gallantly:
“I hope, madame, that I shall never come into the possession of that legacy. I should be far more pleased if you would consider the proposition which I have made to you at intervals for the last forty years.” Here the general put his hand to his heart and winked sentimentally at Madame de Beauregard.
“Marry you, you mean?” cried Madame de Beauregard. “Well, I have been considering it for forty years, as you say. But meanwhile I intend to punish my nephew--not that he appears to have a drop of my blood in him--so, Monsieur Bertoux, will you please to come into the grand saloon with me, and we will arrange this matter. And I beg to inform you, mademoiselle,” she added to the shrinking Mélanie, “that you may marry my nephew any time you like, and you will get a pious husband--and I could not desire you any worse punishment, for pious husbands are a terrible bore. I had one myself and I don’t propose to have another of that sort.”
Madame de Beauregard marched off to the saloon, escorted by Monsieur Bertoux and General Granier. Mademoiselle Cheri, Mélanie, and Eugène remained in the orangery. Eugène, like most men who have just lost a half-million francs, looked a little frightened. Not so Mélanie. Extending her hand to him, she said with a kind of timid boldness:
“I care nothing for the fortune you have lost. It is you that I love, and when I feel that you have perhaps secured your eternal salvation by giving up that money, it is in my heart to render thanks for losing it.”
Eugène was scarcely then equal to rendering thanks for the loss of a half-million francs, but he was sincerely in love with Mélanie, and her disinterested affection touched him deeply. And he could tell her with perfect truth, as he did, that any loss of money was trifling so long as he retained her love.
Mademoiselle Cheri, who was the most indulgent person in the world to lovers and children, considerately left the orangery and was walking up and down the terrace, leaving Eugène and Mélanie practically alone under the green shade of the orange-trees. The two stood hand in hand and were forgetful of all the world but themselves. It seemed to them but a few minutes that they were alone together, while it was really a half-hour.
Their Elysian dream was rudely interrupted by Monsieur de Latour bouncing in upon them. Monsieur de Latour had been very much tried that day, and this last straw had brought his wrath to the boiling pitch. So he bawled at the two young culprits: