42
THE NABOB.
which you may read to the depths of their
souls? You will find all that, this Sunday
morning, in a house which you know already
—a new house, up yonder, at the extremity of
the old Faubourg. The glass case on the
ground-floor is brighter than usual, the bill-
boards dance more merrily than ever above the
door, and joyous bursts rise out of the open
window, like the frolics of happiness.
"Accepted! It isaccepted! Oh, what luck!
Henrietta, Elise, come, quick. Monsieur Mar-
anne's play is accepted!"
Andre knows the news since yesterday.
Cardailhac, the lessee of Nouveautés, had sent
for him to tell him that his drama would be
taken up at once and played next month. They
passed the evening together, talking of the
decoration, scenery, and caste. It was too late,
when he left the theatre, to knock at his neigh-
bor's door; therefore the happy author watched
for the day with feverish impatience, and as
soon as he heard footsteps below, and the shut-
ters open with a clap against the wall, he quickly
went down to tell the news to his good friends.
Now they are all assembled, the young ladies in
their pretty morning dresses, their hair hastily
twisted in a knot behind, and Monsieur Joyeuse,
whom the news surprised as he was shaving',
showing under his braided cap a strange halfl
shaven face. But the most excited is Andre
Maranne; for you know what the acceptance of
" Révolte " implies for him, and what is the un-
derstanding between them and Bonne-Maman.
The poor fellow looks at her, as if to seek en-
couragement in her eyes; and those chaffing but
kindly eyes seem to say: " Try! what risk is
there?" The better to muster up his courage, he
looks at Mademoiselle Elise, blooming like a
flower, with her long lashes lowered. At last
plucking up his spirits:
" Monsieur Joyeuse, " says he, with a stran-
gled voice, " I have something very important
to communicate to you."
Monsieur Joyeuse is astonished.
"Something  important  to  communicate-
Good heavens! you frighten me!"
And lowering his voice also :
"Perhaps the young ladies are in the way?"
"No.    Bonne-Maman   knows   all about it.
Mademoiselle Elise suspects what it is also.    It
is only the children-----"   Henrietta and her
sister are invited to pass into the next room
which they do, one with a majestic look of
wounded feelings, like a true daughter of the
Saint-Amands; the other, the young Chinese
Yaia, hardly able to keep herself from laugh-
ing.                                                           h
_ A great silence follows. Then the lover be-
gins his little story.
I am inclined to think Mademoiselle Elise
suspects something; for as soon as the young
neighbor began to speak of communicating
something, she pulled her French History out
of her pocket, and was instantly absorbed in
the adventures of So-and-so, called "le Hutin "
a pathetic subject which makes her book trem-
ble between her fingers. It is indeed enough to
make any one tremble to see the surprise the
indignant stupefaction, with which Monsieur
Joyeuse receives the proposal for his daughter's
Is it possible? How did that happen' What
a prodigious thing! Who ever would have sus-
pected it?
Suddenly the good man bursts into a loud
laugh. Well! no; it is not so. He has long
known all about it.   Sombody told him every-
Somebody told him everything ! Has Bonne-
Maman betrayed them? Seeing the reproachful
looks which are turned upon her, the little cul-
prit comes forward with a smile:
" Yes, dears, it was I. The secret was too
heavy for me to keep alone. Besides, father ia
frornh'   ^* lmpossible to conceal anything
«, JvîS sPeal»ng> she throws her arms round
the little man s neck; but there is room enough
for two; and even after Mademoiselle Elise has
Sde o„rt Xe i*ere; Mo5sieur J°yeuse's hand ^
held out, affectionate and paternal, to him whom
emh™^  T*  C°nSi?erS  aS  his  s™-     S«ent
embraces, long  passionate  looks  exchanged
happy moments one would like to hold back
1^1by lhf, frai?ile ends of their ^gs! S
now they talk, they laugh softly, as they re-
uïèsthAT™ deïailS- Monsie™ We<iYe re-
lates that the secret was revealed to him in the
was aTonT-6 bI kS°C-king SpiritS' 0Qe day m he
was alone m Andre's rooms. "How is busi
ness getting on, Monsieur Maranne?" asked the
spirits; and it was himself who answered in the
absence of Maranne: "Pretty well for the time
of the year, gentle spirits." You should have
seen the roguish look of the little man as he
kept repeating " Pretty well for the time of the
year;" whilst Mademoiselle Elise, full of con-
fusion, at the idea that it was with her father
she had been communicating, absolutely van-
ished under her fair locks.
The first excitement over, and the voices
having recovered their steadiness, they speak
more seriously. One thing is certain, that
Madame Joyeuse, ~nee De Saint-Amand, would
never have consented to that marriage. Andre
Maranne is not rich, still less noble. Fortu-
nately the old accountant does not share his
wife's ideas of grandeur. They love, they are
young, healthy, and good; that is wealth
enough, and of a kind which will require no
lawyer's help to settle. The young couple shall
take their abode in the story above. The pho-
tographic studio shall be kept, unless "Révolte "
produces enormous receipts—trust the dreamer
for that. In this way the father will always be
with them. He has a good situation in a stock-
broker's office, books to audit; provided the
small craft keeps in the water of the big ship,
everything will get on swimmingly—tide, wind,
and their good star helping!
One thing inspires Monsieur Joyeuse with
misgivings. " Will Andre's parents consent to
that marriage?   Will Doctor Jenkins, so rich,
so eminent in his profession-----"
" Let us not speak of that man," says Andre,
turning pale; "he is a wretch to whom I am
under no obligation—who is nothing to me."
He stops, rather embarrassed, to explain that
uncontrollable burst of passion ; then he resumes
somewhat more gently:
"My mother, who occasionally comes here
to see me, in spite of injunctions to the contrary
was the first to know my projects. She already
loves Mademoiselle Elise like her own daughter.
You shall see, Mademoiselle, how good beauti-
ful, and amiable she is. What a pity she be-
longs to that wicked man, who tyrannizes over
her, tortures her to the point of forbidding her
to pronounce the name of her son!"
Poor Maranne heaves a sigh, pregnant with
the grief which he conceals in the depths of his
heart. But what melancholy could be proof
against that dear face radiant with fair locks
and the brilliant prospect of future happiness?
All the grave points having been settled, the
door is opened, and the two exiles are invited
to come in. In order that those little heads
may not be filled with thoughts above their
ages, it has been agreed that nothing should be
said before them of the prodigious event, that
they should only be told to dress quickly
breakfast more quickly still, in order that they
might all go and pass the afternoon at the
tfois, where Maranne is to read them his play
before they go to Suresnes, to eat whitebait at
Koutzens.
A whole programme of delights, in honor of
the success of " Révolte" and of another good
news which they shall hear later.
"Ah! indeed. What is it?" ask the two lit-
tle girls with their most innocent looks.
But if you think they do not know what it is
—it you think that, when Mademoiselle Elise
was knocking three times against the ceiling
they believed that it was specially to inquire
about the customers-then all I can tell you is
that you are more credulous than old Joyeuse
"Nevermind, never'mind, mesdemoiselles-
go and get dressed."                                       '
Then begins another tune:
" What dress shall I put on, Bonne-Maman?
Ihe gray one?
to'mBo™te;Maman, Ihaveonly got one string
"Bonne-Maman, my dear, how is it I have
no more starched cravats?"
For ten minutes, there is a continual whirr
IwT F"\ and cominS' and of Questions
asked to the charming "grannv." Everv one
wants her. She has all the keys, gives out the
pretty white goffered linen, the embroidered
handkerchiefs, the gloves, all the treasures
which, when they have left their boxes and
cupboards, and lie spread out on the beds, give
to a house its Sunday look of joyful festivitv
Hard-working people, those who work bv
the job, a one know that joy, which returns
every week, and which is consecrated bv the
customs of a nation. For them, held prisoners
during the week, the Sunday is marked in their
small almanacs as a luminous space with re-
freshing breezes. That Sunday, so wearisom
to the rich, to the Parisians of the boulevard?
whose habits it disturbs, so sad to those exile,
away from their families, constitutes for a great
many beings the only reward, the only goal t„
which they tend through the desperate effort!
of six days' hard work. Neither the rain nor
the hail can prevent them from going out anil
shutting behind them the door of the deserted
workshop, of the little close lodgings. But
when the spring comes, when the May sunshine
brightens the Sunday, as it does this mornino-
when it dresses it in bright happy colors of i
then, that day is the feast of feasts!
If you wish to know it well, go and see it
in the working quarters of Paris, in the dark
streets which it lightens, which it widens bv
closing the shops, by putting up the dray
carts, thus making room for the rings of well
washed and cleanly-dressed children, for the
games of shuttlecock, mixing with the circuitous
flight of swallows, under some porch of old
Paris. Go and see it in the swarming, feverish
faubourgs, where, from early morn, its presence
is felt, calm and reposing, in the silence of the
mill ; watch it as it passes, with the ringing of
its bells, with the sharp whistle of locomotive-
engines, pouring, in the horizon, all around the
suburbs, like an immense song of holiday and
deliverance. Then will you understand and
love it.
Paris Sunday, Sunday of hard and humble
workingmen, often have I abused thee without
reason, wasted seas of ink in reviling thy
noisy exuberant merriment, the dust of rail-
way-stations full of thy noise, the helpless
omnibuses which thou takest by storm, thy
wine-songs issuing from the tilted carts which
pass decked out in green and pink robes, thy
barrel-organs grinding their melopœias under
the balcony of an empty court-yard. But now
abjuring my past errors, I praise and bless
thee, for all the joy and solace thou bringest to
honest and courageous labor, for the laugh of
children who welcome thee, for the pride whieh
mothers feel in dressing up their little ones in
thy honor, for the dignity which thou givest
to the humblest abodes, for the gaudy clothes
put aside for thee in the halting chest of
drawers; above all, I bless thee for the increase
of happiness which thou didst provide for the
big new house, at the end of the old faubourg
When they are all dressed, and have taken
a hasty breakfast—for the young girls eat very
little—they pass into the drawing-room to put
on their hats before the mirror. Bonne-Maman
gives a last look to each in particular, sticking
a pin here, tying a ribbon there, tidying the
paternal cravat. But whilst all these little
folks are pawing with impatience, attracted out
by the beauty of the day, suddenly the door-
bell rings and disturbs the feast.
" Suppose we don't open?" the children pro-
pose.                                                        r
And what relief, what shouts of exultation
when they see their friend Paul!
"Quick, quick, come in. We have good
news to tell you!"
He knew before any of them that the play
was accepted. He had had a deal to do to in-
duce Cardailhac to read it. For the lessee, at
the mere sight of the little lines, as he called
the verses, wished to send the manuscript
to the Levantine and her shampooer, as was
done with all the plays of his theatre. But
faul took good care not to mention his inter-
vention. As for the other event, that of which
nobody spoke for fear of the children, he had
no difficulty in guessing it by the tremulous
Good-morning " of Maranne, whose fair mane
stood erect on his skull, raised with both hands
by the poet—a usual thing with him to express
his joy—by the embarrassed looks of Elise by
the triumphant bearing of Monsieur Joyeuse,
who drew himself up proudly in his new
clothes his face beaming with the happiness of
his children.
Bonne-Maman alone preserved her usual quiet
"Si ,A7she busied herself about her sister, a
still tenderer attention than usual, a greater
çare to render her prettier was apparent
in her It was a delightful sight to watch
that girl of twenty adorning another, without
jealousy, without regret, with a touch of a
mother s denial, happy in the young love of her
daughter in remembrance of her own past hap-
piness Paul saw that; nay, he was the only
one who saw it. But as he stood admiring
Aline, he asked himself with sadness whether
there would ever be room, in that maternal
heart, for other affections than those of her près-