CHAPTER VI
The two women went upstairs; Bert lit a cigarette, and retired to smokein the tiny yard behind the house. Soon he heard footsteps descending,and hastily throwing away his cigarette he entered the little room againjust as Julie came into it. She had been quicker than her mother.
Bert did not waste time in preambles. He knew he only had a few minutesat the best.
"Joolie," he began hurriedly, "why do you never let me see you alone?Will you never be any nicer to me?"
"Aren't I nice to you, Bertie? I don't mean not to be."
"You know quite well what I mean. I want you to like me better. Oh,Joolie, you haven't a notion how fond I am of you. It seemed to comeover me all of a sudden that day we walked in the Park, when your motherfor once didn't come with us. And since then I haven't had a moment'speace. Not a single solitary moment. Wherever I look, whether it's goingto the office, or at my work, or after it's done, I seem to see nothingbut you, Joolie, and I don't want to see anything else either."
He moved closer to her and she retreated instinctively.
"Don't be afraid! I won't touch you," he said with a certain bitterness."I know you can't bear the sight of me, but I'd give my life to make youhappy."
"Oh, Bert," she said, and her tone was full of contrition. "It isn'ttrue that I can't bear the sight of you. I like you very much, I doindeed. We are such old friends. And it is so nice of you to like me somuch, but why can't we go on just being friends?"
"Joolie, Joolie," cried the young man. "You don't understand. I loveyou, Joolie. I love you so much, dear! Don't you think you could marryme some day? There, I didn't mean to ask you now," he went on quickly,seeing the look on the girl's face, "don't answer me now. I know whatyou're going to say and I can't bear to hear it. Wait a while andperhaps I shall be able to get you to care for me in time."
Before she could reply Madame Querterot's foot was on the stair, and inanother moment she came in smiling and arrayed in her best.
They set out without further delay and proceeded by a succession ofbuses to the Strand. Descending there, they made their way into one ofthe neighbouring streets and took their places in a queue of people whowere already waiting for the doors of the theatre to open.
Though not by any means the first to enter, they secured good placesin the pit and settled down in them to await the beginning of theperformance, each of them, in his or her different way, prepared toenjoy the evening to the utmost.
When at length the curtain rose they followed the fortunes of thecharacters with a breathless intensity of interest, and the play itselfformed the subject of a heated discussion afterwards, which lastedall the way home, Julie maintaining that an honest course was alwaysdesirable whatever excuses might be adduced for other conduct.
Bert and Madame Querterot held, it appeared, more elastic opinions, Bertdeclaring that there were people it was a sin to leave in possession oftheir ill-gotten gains, and Madame Querterot inclining to the view thatif anyone was so stupid as not to be able to keep what they had, smallblame need attach to those who were clever enough to take it from them.
She upheld this contention by pointing out that no one did blame thegentleman burglar who formed the central figure of the play; the heroineherself, who was assuredly in a high degree the pattern of all thevirtues, had easily forgiven his little lapses, slips which had beenmade entirely for her sake.
"For my part," she asserted, "I admire a man of that sort. Not that itis common to find one like him. Most men have too high a regard for thesafety of their own skins. But one must admit that the young girl, forwhom this brave man took all those risks, was of no ordinary beauty. Itis possible that if there were more like her there would also be morelovers, young and ardent, ready to chance prison and the gallows towin the wealth that should make her theirs. Ah, there is no chivalrynowadays," and Madame Querterot heaved a heavy sigh. Possibly she wasthinking of the base way in which Eugene had deserted her in the hour ofneed.
"Wealth is not always enough," said Bert disconsolately, "and, anyhow,wealth is an abomination and a snare. In the ideal socialistic statethere won't be any such thing. All riches will be equally divided andevery one will have enough to live on, but no more. Anyone who wantsluxuries will just have to work for them."
"You look too far ahead, my young friend," returned Madame Querterotphilosophically. They were walking up the dark streets that led to herhouse, Bert having insisted on seeing them home in spite of protests asto the lateness of the hour and the necessity for his getting up earlynext morning.
"You have brains," she continued, "and you use them, which is not toogeneral. But in this world it is a mistake to show that one is clever.The stupid only dislike one for differing from them in a way that theycannot understand, and clever people actually hate others who dare inthis manner to resemble them. If you wish to be loved it is best toappear foolish. No one desires a lover too intelligent to care for theiropinions. If you wish to obtain respect do not show yourself unusuallybrilliant. You will only be thought eccentric or even mad. And finallyif you want to make money never allow anyone to suspect that you are notperfectly an idiot. People will be on their guard if they think theyhave to do with a clever man, but if they think you a fool precautionswill seem unnecessary and it will be very easy for you to deal with themto your own advantage."
Bert listened to these remarks with more attention than he usuallydisplayed.
"Do you really think a man has more chance with a girl if he is foolishand rich?" he asked in a low tone. They were walking behind Julie, thepavement having narrowed so as to make it impossible to continue threeabreast.
Madame Querterot slackened her pace and fell back a little.
"Run on, Julie, my angel," she called out, "and prepare me a cup ofcoffee. I feel a kind of faintness and will walk more slowly if Bertiewill give me his arm."
Bert made a gesture of annoyance, and would have left her in pursuit ofJulie, who hurried on as she was told, but Madame Querterot clutched athis arm and held him back.
"Stay with me, I wish to speak to you," she said, clinging so tightly tohim that without roughness he could not have shaken her off.
"What is it? I want to speak to Joolie," he said crossly.
"You can speak to her any time; listen to me now. You asked me a minuteago if I thought one had more chance with a girl if one was rich."
"Yes." He spoke with returning interest. "You do think so, I suppose?"
"Bert, let me speak. I must tell you that for some time I have seenclearly that you have a tenderness for my daughter. You wish to marryher, is it not so?"
"It is the only wish of my life."
"It is easy to see. You show it in each word, in your whole mannertowards her. But let me tell you, my friend, that in my country itis not only the consent of a young girl that is sought by a would-behusband. It would have been more _convenable_ if you had approached me,her mother, in this matter."
"Madame Querterot, will you help me? Joolie doesn't seem to care aboutme. Is there any other man?"
"There is no other man. Julie has an absurd idea of entering into areligious house, but she is a dutiful daughter and will not go againstmy wishes in that or any other matter. As regards this question ofmarriage she will, I am convinced, be guided by me. Ah, how she lovesme, that child! There is nothing she would not do to please me. I say toyou that Julie is not a girl. She is an angel!"
"I know that," grunted Bert; "if you'll help me with her, MadameQuerterot, and there's ever anything I can do to show my gratitude, why,you can take it that I'll do it, that's all."
"Ah, Bert, now is the time to prove that. Words, words, words! But if itcame to the point what would you do, not to show gratitude, but to winthe hand of Julie? That is what I ask myself."
"I'd do anything. By Jove, I believe there's nothing I would stick at."
"Very well. Now, with me as your friend and ally I think you might makecertain that my daughter will consent to the marriage. But I, Bert, willnever agree
to her marrying a poor man. I have other ideas for her, Iassure you."
"You know I am poor," said Bert. "I despise riches, but for Joolie Iwouldn't raise an objection to them if they were in my reach. But youknow very well I shall always be poor as long as this beastly capitalistgovernment has its own way. Some day perhaps things will change."
"Bert," said Madame Querterot, dropping her voice, "it is yourself whohave suggested to me a way by which one might become rich. SupposingI were to tell you that I had a plan; that I knew a way by which in aflash you might gain both riches and Julie, and at the same time showyour faith in the truth of your own gospel? What then, Bert? Have you alittle courage, my boy? Girls do not understand your modern ideas, thatevery one should be of an equal poverty; they like to have money, theylike what money can give them. Did you not hear Julie say this eveningthat she adored jewels?"
They had reached the door of the shop and Bert turned towards it withoutanswering. But Madame Querterot made as if to continue their walk, andafter a moment's hesitation he turned and paced beside her.
"I would give her all the diamonds in the world," he said, "if shewanted them and I could get them for her. What do you suppose I care formy ideas, as you call them? Nothing! Oh, nothing matters beside Joolie!Still, I'm hanged," said Bert, "if I can see what you're driving at."
"I see a way," replied his companion, "of doing a little good business.For it I need the assistance that a young man like yourself cangive. Some one with courage, with determination, and who will not bediscouraged by a few apparent difficulties. But to succeed the affairmust be kept secret. It is indeed of the most private character. BeforeI say more, swear to me by your love for Julie that you will die beforeyou repeat a word of what I am going to tell you."
"I swear it," said Bert solemnly.
Madame Querterot gave one more quick, penetrating glance at his paleface and, apparently reassured by the light that burned in the darkeyes, began to talk again in low, persuasive tones as they paced up anddown before the little house.
Julie came to the door and cried to them that the coffee was ready; thendespairing of an answer she retired to her bedroom, where a light burnedfor a little while; presently it was extinguished, and Julie in a fewminutes was peacefully asleep.
But still her mother and her lover walked and turned on the pavementbeneath her window.