Book #1: Suzy's Dream (Chapter 9 - Part 4)
The snow had begun to fall again, and the wind scattered the flakes under a pale gray sky. André noticed nothing,for his mind was filled with the hope that he would be useful to M. Douvry.
You will be glad, Suzy, will you not, when you hear what fate has done today? he thought as he walked through the snowstorm. If only you knew how happy it would make me to see you return to your mother! Oh, my dear little Suzy.
At the same time, André was worried about the presence of Georges de Flers near Suzy in Cannes. He stillremembered how much they had seemed made for each other when he saw them together at the station, Suzy holding inher hands the flowers Georges had just given her.
And suddenly a wild yearning seized André to go and find her, to find out what she was doing, to argue with her, if necessary, concerning this Georges de Flers, in whom he now sensed a rival in Suzy's young heart.
Thinking of her, he entered the chapel where his mother was waiting for him. Through the fragrant vapors of incense, the monstrance blazed in the light of the candles, and the deep song of the organ rose with the clear notes of children’s voices that were saying the Tantum ergo.
André stood at the entrance to the chapel and waited for the service to end.
Suddenly he thought that on that very Sunday Suzy must have stepped into the shade of a church, as he had doneat that moment, and he felt himself a little closer to her. In the depths of his mind, he began to search for the words ofprayer which he had once said when he was a child. He tried to repeat them, thinking that she too might have recited themthat same day.
The bell rang out, and all heads bowed. André bowed. The cry of his heart mingled with the prayers that arosewith the incense. O God, give Suzy happiness. Make life sweet and happy for her.
An hour later, Madame Vilbert, seated in her usual place near her worktable, questioned André about his afternoon activities. Usually, Sunday rest was heavy upon her, but when she had her son with her, she no longer thought of desiring anything else.
“André, you haven’t spoken to me about Sylvie. Have you not gone to see her today?”
The young man, absorbed by his new, preoccupied thoughts, abruptly raised his head.
“Oh, yes, mother. I found Aunt Sylvie with visitors at her house. A M. de Guillancourt and his daughter, who—”
“Anna de Guillancourt? Is she no longer in the convent?”
“I don't know— She’s left, I think,” said André, indifferent.
“Ah! And is she pleasant, this young lady?”
André began to laugh.
“Mother, you’ll think me very strange, but I scarcely remember her face from my visit.”
“What, my son, do you despise heiresses,” Madame Vilbert replied, in a tone of feigned disapproval.
Deep down, although very disinterested, she would like to see her son attach at least some importance to questions of money, despite their modest fortune.
“If you have seen M. de Guillancourt,” she continued, “he must have spoken to you of his phosphates?”
“Yes, fortunately, he did. Mother, you cannot imagine how much I will bless him and his new prospects, if both keep to what they promise.”
Madame Vilbert give him a shocked look.
“What do you mean, André? I don't understand...”
Then André began to explain the projects of M. de Guillancourt. A vivacious energy transformed him.
His mother listened attentively, a little surprised by the interest her son brought to the success of a business such as this.
“You very much wish to see M. Douvry put in charge of the management of M. de Guillancourt’s enterprise, don’t you? You’re right, by the way, my son. M. Douvry is a good friend to you, isn’t he?”
“Mother, at his home, I find a family.”
“So much the better, for you must be very lonely sometimes in Paris. If I were younger, my child, I would go and live near you…at least for a while. But old plants are not easily uprooted.”
Madame Vilbert stopped. The lamp sat at the other end of the room. The lampshade weakened the room’s light, and André could only distinguish the dark figure of his mother, her pale face standing out against the light and framed by the white hair, with her hands crossed over her black dress.
“André,” Madame Vilbert said suddenly. “André, you should marry.”
“Why would you say that, Mother?” he asked with agitation.
“Because it is my constant thought, my son. I would like to see you have a home of your own. You are twenty-seven years old. When a man reaches your age, it’s good for him to think of creating a family for himself. Your father was much younger than you when we got married, and our true happiness began the day we were united. My son, I would like to see you happy like we were.”
André didn’t answer. Without much thought, before his eyes appeared the drawing room in the Rue de Prony, Suzy seated before the fire, her lovely profile outlined against the red light of the flames.
“Why don't you talk to me about this, André?” replied Madame Vilbert. “Have you any reason to reject such a request?”
“No, Mother, you are speaking of my dearest desire,” he said with a low tremor in his voice.
Madame Vilbert raised her head a little and looked at her son's masculine face and his tall stature, the vigorous lines of which were outlined by the light of the lamp. A naïve pride swelled her heart.
“The day you want it, André, you will find a wife very quickly. You are a handsome boy just like your father was!”
André made a movement to stop Madame Vilbert, since it was such irony for him to hear her speak like that. She did not see his gesture and continued on.
“Let me look around here for a fiancée for you, my child. I ask this favor of you, somewhat for myself, because in this way I’ll have the hope of seeing you more often, here, in Amiens.”
She spoke in a somewhat anxious voice, fearful of the effect her request would have on her son. But her tone was full of emotional tenderness.
André came and sat down close to Madame Vilbert's chair, seized with a great desire to relay to her his dearest thoughts.
“Mother, listen to me. I love a young lady with all the strength of my heart.”
“In Paris?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Madame Vilbert was silent in thought for a moment. In a sudden light, she seemed to understand.
“André, is it Mademoiselle Douvry whom you love?”
He slowly nodded his head.
“Along with you, Mother, she is dearer to me than anything in the world.”
She winced at this. No doubt she ardently wished to see André united to the woman of his choice, but she didn’t want to believe that the day had already come when she would no longer occupy her son's heart alone. A secret anguish gripped her. She continued, however, dominated at once by the devoted instinct of her maternal love.
“Then, André, why don't you marry this young lady?”
“I asked her to listen to me one evening.” André stopped.
“And she didn't want to?”
“She was going to Cannes because her journey was useful to her family, and it was too late for me to plead my case. She could not have made up her mind so quickly, and I'm waiting for her return before I lose all hope.”
Madame Vilbert listened with her heart, feeling what a deep desire André had in obtaining Suzy's love one day.
“How good it seems to me, Mother, to speak her name to you.”
Madame Vilbert smiled. Perhaps in her memory there was a vision of the time when she was a young fiancée, loved certainly as much as André loved Suzy.
Her pale hand stroked her son’s hair, who was sitting on a low seat near her, as she had once done when he was a little boy.
“Tell me about her, my child, so that I may know her as well,” she said gently.
And in the calm of the maternal chamber, where a vague perfume of iris floated, while outside the snow spread its whiteness, André spoke of Suzy for a very long time.
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