yes.”
“I suppose you are quite sure the boy’s yours?”
“She wouldn’t have lied to me. She wouldn’t dare.”
“Men like to think that … .” He looked at d’Anton’s face. No, that was not the way out. So be it—the child was his. “It is a very serious sum of money,” he said. “For one night’s work five years ago it seems disproportionate. It could dog you for years.”
“She wants to wring what she can out of me. You can understand it, I suppose.” After all, she had the pain, he thought, she had the disgrace.
“I want to get it settled up within the next couple of months. I want to start off with Gabrielle with a clean slate.”
“I wouldn’t call it a clean slate, exactly,” Charpentier said gently. “That’s just what it isn’t. You’re mortgaging your whole future. Can’t you—”
“No, I can’t fight her over it. I was fond of her, at one time. And I think of the boy. Well, ask yourself—if I took the other attitude, would I be the kind of person you’d want for a son-in-law?”
“Yes, I see that, don’t mistake me, it’s just that I’m old and hardboiled and I worry about you. When does this woman want the final payment?”
“She said ’91, the first quarter day. Do you think I should tell Gabrielle about this?”
“That’s for you to decide. Between now and your wedding, can you contrive to be careful?”
“Look, I’ve got four years to pay this off. I’ll make a go of things.”
“Certainly, you can make money as a King’s Councillor. I don’t deny that.” M. Charpentier thought, he’s young, he’s raw, he has everything to do, and inside he cannot possibly be as sure as he sounds. He wanted to comfort him. “You know what Maître Vinot says, he says there are times of trouble ahead, and in times of trouble litigation always expands.” He rolled his pieces of paper together, ready for filing away. “I daresay something will happen, between now and ’91, to make your fortunes look up.”
M arch 2, 1787. It was Camille’s twenty-seventh birthday, and nobody had seen him for a week. He appeared to have changed his address again.
The Assembly of Notables had reached deadlock. The café was full, noisy and opinionated.
“What is it that the Marquis de Lafayette has said?”
“He has said that the Estates-General should be called.”
“But the Estates is a relic. It hasn’t met since—”
“1614.”
“Thank you, d’Anton,” Maitre Perrin said. “How can it answer to our needs? We shall see the clergy debating in one chamber, the nobles in another and the commons in a third, and whatever the commons propose will be voted down two to one by the other Orders. So what progress—”
“Listen,” d’Anton broke in, “even an old institution can take on a new form. There’s no need to do what was done last time.”
The group gazed at him, solemn. “Lafayette is a young man,” Maitre Perrin said.
“About your age, Georges.”
Yes, d‘Anton thought, and while I was poring over the tomes in Vinot’s office, he was leading armies. Now I am a poor attorney, and he is the hero of France and America. Lafayette can aspire to be a leader of the nation, and I can aspire to scratch a living. And now this young man, of undistinguished appearance, spare, with pale sandy hair, had captured his audience, propounded an idea; and d’Anton, feeling an unreasoning antipathy for the fellow, was compelled to stand here and defend him. “The Estates is our only hope,” he said. “It would have to give fair representation to us, the commons, the Third Estate. It’s quite clear that the nobility don’t have the King’s welfare at heart, so it’s stupid for him to continue to defend their interests. He must call the Estates and give real power to the Third—not just talk, not just consultation, the real power to do something.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Charpentier said.
“It will never happen,” Perrin said. “What
“I suppose you are quite sure the boy’s yours?”
“She wouldn’t have lied to me. She wouldn’t dare.”
“Men like to think that … .” He looked at d’Anton’s face. No, that was not the way out. So be it—the child was his. “It is a very serious sum of money,” he said. “For one night’s work five years ago it seems disproportionate. It could dog you for years.”
“She wants to wring what she can out of me. You can understand it, I suppose.” After all, she had the pain, he thought, she had the disgrace.
“I want to get it settled up within the next couple of months. I want to start off with Gabrielle with a clean slate.”
“I wouldn’t call it a clean slate, exactly,” Charpentier said gently. “That’s just what it isn’t. You’re mortgaging your whole future. Can’t you—”
“No, I can’t fight her over it. I was fond of her, at one time. And I think of the boy. Well, ask yourself—if I took the other attitude, would I be the kind of person you’d want for a son-in-law?”
“Yes, I see that, don’t mistake me, it’s just that I’m old and hardboiled and I worry about you. When does this woman want the final payment?”
“She said ’91, the first quarter day. Do you think I should tell Gabrielle about this?”
“That’s for you to decide. Between now and your wedding, can you contrive to be careful?”
“Look, I’ve got four years to pay this off. I’ll make a go of things.”
“Certainly, you can make money as a King’s Councillor. I don’t deny that.” M. Charpentier thought, he’s young, he’s raw, he has everything to do, and inside he cannot possibly be as sure as he sounds. He wanted to comfort him. “You know what Maître Vinot says, he says there are times of trouble ahead, and in times of trouble litigation always expands.” He rolled his pieces of paper together, ready for filing away. “I daresay something will happen, between now and ’91, to make your fortunes look up.”
M arch 2, 1787. It was Camille’s twenty-seventh birthday, and nobody had seen him for a week. He appeared to have changed his address again.
The Assembly of Notables had reached deadlock. The café was full, noisy and opinionated.
“What is it that the Marquis de Lafayette has said?”
“He has said that the Estates-General should be called.”
“But the Estates is a relic. It hasn’t met since—”
“1614.”
“Thank you, d’Anton,” Maitre Perrin said. “How can it answer to our needs? We shall see the clergy debating in one chamber, the nobles in another and the commons in a third, and whatever the commons propose will be voted down two to one by the other Orders. So what progress—”
“Listen,” d’Anton broke in, “even an old institution can take on a new form. There’s no need to do what was done last time.”
The group gazed at him, solemn. “Lafayette is a young man,” Maitre Perrin said.
“About your age, Georges.”
Yes, d‘Anton thought, and while I was poring over the tomes in Vinot’s office, he was leading armies. Now I am a poor attorney, and he is the hero of France and America. Lafayette can aspire to be a leader of the nation, and I can aspire to scratch a living. And now this young man, of undistinguished appearance, spare, with pale sandy hair, had captured his audience, propounded an idea; and d’Anton, feeling an unreasoning antipathy for the fellow, was compelled to stand here and defend him. “The Estates is our only hope,” he said. “It would have to give fair representation to us, the commons, the Third Estate. It’s quite clear that the nobility don’t have the King’s welfare at heart, so it’s stupid for him to continue to defend their interests. He must call the Estates and give real power to the Third—not just talk, not just consultation, the real power to do something.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Charpentier said.
“It will never happen,” Perrin said. “What
Similar Books
