I owned that I loved
her--and when I left for Paris we were secretly engaged.
Mon Dieu! Now I worked indeed! To win this girl for my own, to show
myself worthy of her innocent faith, supplied me with the most powerful
incentive in life. In the quarter they regarded me first with ridicule,
then with wonder, and, finally, with respect. For my enthusiasm did not
fade. "He has turned over a new leaf," they said, "he means to be
famous!" It was understood. No more excursions for Silvestre, no more
junketings and recklessness! In the morning as soon as the sky was
light I was at my easel; in the evening I studied, I sketched, I wrote
to Berthe, and re-read her letters. I was another man--my ideal of
happiness was now a wife and home.
For a year I lived this new life. I progressed. Men--men whose approval
was a cachet--began to speak of me as one with a future. In the Salon a
picture of mine made something of a stir. How I rejoiced, how grateful
and sanguine I was! All Paris sang "Berthe" to me; the criticisms in
the papers, the felicitations of my friends, the praise of the public,
all meant Berthe--Berthe with her arms about me, Berthe on my breast.
I said that it was not too soon for me to speak now; I had proved my
mettle, and, though I foresaw that her father would ask more before he
gave his consent, I was, at least, justified in avowing myself. I
telegraphed to my mother to expect me; I packed my portmanteau with
trembling hands, and threw myself into a cab.
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