JACKY. All this sounds very fantastical to me. I don't understand it at all. And I can do nothing for you in this matter. I have nothing for you. It is all too strange.
LILIAN. It is you who are strange and unjust. I am very unhappy at vegetating down here and I worry and fret when I think of you!
JACKY. (With surprise.) What! Poor little Lilian, does she really think about me sometimes?
LILIAN. I shall be in Paris tomorrow evening at five p.m. I have to see a customer. I have many customers in Paris now.
This was a lie to tease me and make me jealous, and to confirm my opinion, I try the following proposition:
“I will come and meet you at the station.”
LILIAN. (Quickly.) Suppose you do? How much better off will you be? What good will that do you?
JACKY. No good at all, but I should see you for a few minutes. As you don't care about it, I will not trouble you.
We were now home again, and nothing more definite had been said. I bade good bye to her mother, who gave me a lump of pudding to take away, and Lilian and her father accompanied me to the station. Mademoiselle was very quiet, and looked embarrassed, but caressed me furtively on the way. My plain words had evidently been a surprise for her. It was half-past twelve; time for the last train.
I can see myself now standing on top of the steep steps that led to the bridge conducting to the up platform. Papa and his Lilian looking up at me, as I wave my hand to them. She gazes at me with a look of wonder and puzzled wistfulness in her large eyes. I turn away with a feeling of pity and sadness for her. She does not know me, and does not possess any delicate feelings, and the advice that her Papa will give her will never be conducive to her benefit.
I returned home with the impression that she would no longer have any wish to see me again. I was glad I had found the courage to speak plainly. How many men would have dared to tell a woman they desired anything that might cause them to lose her? I supposed she would send for me, if she wanted me, and if she did not, so much the better for me; it would be a worry the less, for considering the slight amount of sensual satisfaction I got at rare intervals, it was not worth-while associating with the semi-incestuous couple.
I had to write to Papa the next day about a bitch he had ready to whelp-more in-breeding! — and to send to his bureau in the rue Vissot a box of writing-paper for Lilian, which I had promised her as far back as the famous eleventh of November, but which I could not get from the maker. I had two boxes made. One was for my Lilian at home. It was fancy dark blue note, with the name of Lilian in the corner, embossed in white.
Mr. Arvel knew about the paper and I think he knew a little more.
I determined I would not make the slightest move towards her.
My lady readers will be very angry with me, and tell me I expected too much, having been cruel, really quite too awfully cruel morally, to a poor little girl, whose only crime was that she wanted to get on in the world, and how could she do that, unless she got somebody to help her-lover or husband?
To which I reply that had Miss Arvel been a poor little milliner, living alone in one small room, working truly for her daily bread, depending on the caprice of her employers, I should have befriended her to the utmost, and moved heaven and earth to make her comfortable. But she had a good home, and everything she wanted, with parents who, whatever their vices, did all they could to sweeten her life, and at any rate kept her off the streets.
I was to be the victim, it seemed. What beasts men are! There was my poor dying companion at home ready to deprive herself of the common necessaries of life if I so willed it; ready to do without her doctors and medicines unfortunately useless-if my purse was empty, and I was neglecting her, and fencing with this little viper, a living lie, and bad all through, from her tapering heels to the ends of her black tresses.
I ought to have behaved with the same dignity as the year before, when I refused to go to their Christmas dinner, for what had I gleaned? That she was certainly no longer a virgin, and had become her “Papa's" plaything. In answer to my accusation of venality, she simply replied by a description of her commercial projects. There was not a word of womanly tenderness; being so taken by surprise, she had no time to invent any story. For a year, she had the reins loose on her neck. I suddenly woke up, and blurted out my real idea of her disposition. What a surprise it must have been for her!
Like many women of strong passions I have met, she is perfectly hysterical and readily anxious to try all kinds of strange joys, but they never have any idea of truth, or what is right or wrong, or of the flight of time. Everything is muddled in their brain, and they are only fit to be enjoyed, and avoided as much as possible out of bed, or they would lead you to hell. This theory explains her strange proposals: marriage, and going into business with me, etc.
I sent her the box of pretty writing-paper on the thirtieth of December. I wrote inside the lid, “1899. A Happy New Year! Never answer any letters.”
The same evening, I received a New Year's card, representing a sailor in a boat, with “1899” painted on the bow. In the distance, a brig is rapidly sinking, a perfect wreck, but flying a flag, whereon is inscribed: “1898.” In the boat is a large bouquet of lilies. Underneath the picture are the words: “A Good and Happy New Year!” and my charmer had enclosed her father's card, and written thereon, with her own fair hand: “With Mr., Mrs., and Miss Arvel's best wishes.”
I really think they would have allowed me to set the girl up in business, or marry her, or anything, as long as there was money hanging to it. I think they would have sold her to me, or shut their eyes, if she was a rich man's mistress. Anything for money. My eyes being open, I found all this very curious and amusing.
10
Even as a botanist only wants one leaf to determine the family to which a plant belongs, even as Cuvier would reconstruct an animal of which he had only a few bones, we can deduce the knowledge of the man in whom we have remarked one single trait of character, especially if the act be a trifling one.
Indeed, for important things, people take precautions; while in trifles, they act according to their natures, without taking the trouble to disseminate.
ERIC ARVEL TO JACKY.
Sonis-sur-Marne. January 6, 1899.
My dear Jacky,
Many thanks for your letter, and for all the good wishes it contained. They are heartily reciprocated for you and yours.
We had a funny commencement to our New Year. At about three in the morning, we were woke by our unruly Bordeaux hound, who barked without ceasing. I went downstairs, and found that he had wanted to give us notice that the little bitch put into the warm kitchen with him in a box of her own, had given birth to a litter of puppies to the credit of Blackamoor, who is unmistakably represented. There are six puppies, three of each-one male and one female-the very image of their father. The latter pup is dead, but the male remains. The five which live are white, save one-the color and marking of your Smike and likely as a female to make a good match for him. Will you come down and see them on Sunday, taking breakfast with us?
Yours very truly,
ERIC ARVEL.
I began the New Year under the impression that Lilian Arvel would cease all communication with me after my frankly brutal speech of Boxing night, and would naturally, or rather, unnaturally, in this case, wean her father from me, as I was more and more convinced that she was the real mistress of the house.