For her part she did not know what
he could have to do with them, but on the other hand she was unable to
close her eyes to Aristide's ill-advised acts at Plassans. The
visitors to her drawing-room did not scruple to denounce the democratic
journalist with extreme severity. Granoux muttered that he was a
brigand, and Roudier would three or four times a week repeat to
Felicite: "Your son is writing some fine articles. Only yesterday he
attacked our friend Vuillet with revolting scurrility."
The whole room joined in the chorus, and Commander Sicardot spoke of
boxing his son-in-law's ears, while Pierre flatly disowned him. The poor
mother hung her head, restraining her tears. For an instant she felt
an inclination to burst forth, to tell Roudier that her dear child,
in spite of his faults, was worth more than he and all the others put
together. But she was tied down, and did not wish to compromise the
position they had so laboriously attained. Seeing the whole town so
bitter against Aristide, she despaired of his future, thinking he was
hopelessly ruining himself. On two occasions she spoke to him in
secret, imploring him to return to them, and not to irritate the yellow
drawing-room any further. Aristide replied that she did not understand
such matters; that she was the one who had committed a great blunder in
placing her husband at the service of the marquis. So she had to abandon
her son to his own courses, resolving, however that if Eugene succeeded
she would compel him to share the spoils with the poor fellow who was
her favourite child.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150