We began to look out for flats. All those that we saw seemed to
Marguerite too dear, and to me too simple. However, we finally found,
in one of the quietest parts of Paris, a little house, isolated from
the main part of the building. Behind this little house was a
charming garden, surrounded by walls high enough to screen us from our
neighbours, and low enough not to shut off our own view. It was better
than our expectations.
While I went to give notice at my own flat, Marguerite went to see
a business agent, who, she told me, had already done for one of her
friends exactly what she wanted him to do for her. She came on to the
Rue de Provence in a state of great delight. The man had promised to pay
all her debts, to give her a receipt for the amount, and to hand over
to her twenty thousand francs, in return for the whole of her furniture.
You have seen by the amount taken at the sale that this honest man would
have gained thirty thousand francs out of his client.
We went back joyously to Bougival, talking over our projects for the
future, which, thanks to our heedlessness, and especially to our love,
we saw in the rosiest light.
A week later, as we were having lunch, Nanine came to tell us that my
servant was asking for me. "Let him come in," I said.
"Sir," said he, "your father has arrived in Paris, and begs you to
return at once to your rooms, where he is waiting for you."
This piece of news was the most natural thing in the world, yet, as we
heard it, Marguerite and I looked at one another. We foresaw trouble.
Before she had spoken a word, I replied to her thought, and, taking her
hand, I said, "Fear nothing."
"Come back as soon as possible," whispered Marguerite, embracing me; "I
will wait for you at the window."
I sent on Joseph to tell my father that I was on my way. Two hours later
I was at the Rue de Provence.