第18章

MONSIEUR ALAIN TELLS HIS SECRETS

One evening Godefroid determined to pay a visit to his neighbor on the floor above him, with the intention of satisfying a curiosity more excited by the apparent impossibility of a catastrophe in such an existence than it would have been under the expectation of discovering some terrible episode in the life of a corsair.

At the words "Come in!" given in answer to two raps struck discreetly on the door, Godefroid turned the key which was in the lock and found Monsieur Alain sitting by the fire reading, before he went to bed, his accustomed chapter in the "Imitation of Jesus Christ," by the light of two wax-candles, each protected by a moveable green shade, such as whist-players use.

The goodman wore trousers /a pied/ and his gray camlet dressing-gown.

His feet were at a level with the fire, resting on a cushion done in worsted-work, as were his slippers, by Madame de la Chanterie.The fine head of the old man, without other covering than its crown of white hair, almost like that of a monk, stood out in clear relief against the brown background of an enormous armchair.

Monsieur Alain gently laid his book, which was much worn at the corners, on a little table with twisted legs, and signed to the young man to take another chair, removing as he did so a pair of spectacles which were hanging on the end of his nose.

"Are you ill, that you have left your room at this hour?" he asked.

"Dear Monsieur Alain," said Godefroid, frankly, "I am tortured with a curiosity which one word from you will make very harmless or very indiscreet; and that explains clearly enough the spirit in which Ishall ask my question."

"Oh! oh! and what is your question?" said the good soul, looking at the young man with an eye that was half mischievous.

"What was it that brought you here to lead the life that you live here? For, surely, to accept the doctrines of such total renunciation of all personal interests, a man must have been disgusted with the world, or else have injured others.""Eh! my dear lad," replied the old man, letting a smile flicker on his large lips, which gave to his rosy mouth the kindliest expression that the genius of a painter ever imagined, "can we not be moved to the deepest pity by the spectacle of human wretchedness which Paris holds within her walls? Did Saint Vincent de Paul need the spur of remorse or wounded vanity to make him devote himself to outcast children?""You close my mouth, for if ever a soul resembled that of the Christian hero, it is yours," said Godefroid.

In spite of the hardness which age had given to the wrinkled yellow skin of his face, the old man blushed, for he seemed to have provoked that comparison; though any one who knew his modesty would have been certain he never dreamed of it.Godefroid was aware by this time that Madame de la Chanterie's inmates had no taste for that sort of incense.Nevertheless, the extreme simplicity of the good old soul was more disturbed by this idea than a young girl would have been by an improper thought.

"Though I am very far indeed from Saint Vincent de Paul morally," said Monsieur Alain, "I think I do resemble him physically."Godefroid was about to speak, but was stopped by a gesture of the old man, whose nose, it must be owned, had the tuberous appearance of that of the Saint, and whose face, a good deal like that of an old vine-dresser, was an exact duplicate of the broad, common face of the founder of Foundling hospitals.

"As for me, you are right enough," he went on; "my vocation for our work was brought about by repentance, as the result of a--folly.""A folly,--you!" Godefroid exclaimed softly, the word entirely putting out of his head what he meant to say.

"Ah! dear me, what I am going to tell you will seem, I dare say, a trifle to you,--a mere bit of nonsense; but before the tribunal of conscience it was another thing.If you persist in wishing to share our work after hearing what I shall tell you, you will understand that the power of a sentiment is according to the nature of souls, and that a matter which would not in the least trouble a strong mind may very well torment the conscience of a weak Christian."After a preface of this kind, the curiosity of the disciple of course knew no bounds.What could be the crime of the worthy soul whom Madame de la Chanterie called her /paschal lamb/? The thought crossed Godefroid's mind that a book might be written on it, called "The Sins of a Sheep." Sheep are sometimes quite ferocious towards grass and flowers.One of the tenderest republicans of those days was heard to assert that the best of human beings was cruel to something.But the kindly Alain!--he, who like my uncle Toby, wouldn't crush a gnat till it had stung him twenty times,--that sweet soul to have been tortured by repentance!

This reflection in Godefroid's mind filled the pause made by the old man after saying, "Now listen to me!"--a pause he filled himself by pushing his cushion under Godefroid's feet to share it with him.

"I was then about thirty years of age," he said."It was the year '98, if I remember right,--a period when young men were forced to have the experience of men of sixty.One morning, a little before my breakfast hour, which was nine o'clock, my old housekeeper ushered in one of the few friends remaining to me after the Revolution.My first word was to ask him to breakfast.My friend--his name was Mongenod, a fellow about twenty-eight years of age--accepted, but he did so in an awkward manner.I had not seen him since 1793!""Mongenod!" cried Godefroid; "why, that is--""If you want to know the end before the beginning, how am I to tell you my history?" said the old man, smiling.

Godefroid made a sign which promised absolute silence.