Avarice - Anger: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"After all, you and M. Onésime may be right. If you would talk to me about silks and merino I might hold my own, but I am not much of a judge of privateers and privateering."

"I was sure you would agree with us. How could a person who is as generous, compassionate, and affectionate as you are think otherwise? or, rather, I could not think differently from what you do, my dear father, for if I have a horror of everything that is cruel and wicked, if I love everything that is good and beautiful, is it not to you and your example I owe it, as well as to the precepts of my poor mother whom you loved so devotedly? for not a day passes that Suzanne does not relate some instance of your deep affection for her."

The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the housekeeper, candle in hand, who, to Yvon's great surprise, announced:

"I am very sorry, but it is ten o'clock, monsieur."

"Well, what of it, Suzanne?"

"It is the hour the doctor said mademoiselle must go to bed, you know."

"Give me just a quarter of an hour more, Suzanne?"

"Not a single minute, mademoiselle."

"On the evening of my return, you might permit this slight dissipation, it seems to me, Suzanne."

"Heaven be thanked, mademoiselle will have plenty of opportunity to see you now, but allowing her to sit up later than ten o'clock is not to be thought of. She would be sure to be tired out, if not ill, to-morrow."

"In that case, I have nothing to say except good night, my dear child," said Cloarek, taking his daughter's face in his two hands, and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. "Sleep well, my dearest, and may the morning find you well and happy."

"You need feel no anxiety on that score, my dear father. Now I know that you are here beside me, and that you will be with me, not only to-morrow but always, I shall go to sleep with that blissful thought on my mind, and I shall sleep on and on and on like a dormouse — that is the word, isn't it, Suzanne? So good night, my dear father, good night, good night."

Then she whispered:

"I am sure Suzanne is going to speak to you about M. Onésime. How glad I am I got ahead of her. Good night, dearest father, good night."

"Good night, and pleasant dreams!"

"It will be the best night I have passed for many a month. Good night, my beloved father, good night."

"Good night, my child."

Then turning to the housekeeper, Cloarek added:

"Come back presently, Suzanne, I want to talk with you."

"Very well, monsieur; I have something I wish to speak to you about, too."

When he was left alone, Cloarek began to walk the room. As he passed the table, the Journal of the Empire attracted his attention. He picked it up and glanced over the article to which his daughter had alluded.

"How indiscreet in Verduron to make a strictly confidential letter public, and without warning me!" he exclaimed, evidently much annoyed. "I have always feared that man's stupidity and greed would cause me trouble sooner or later. Fortunately, I have concealed my place of abode from him. To think of this happening now, when my child's feelings and mental condition make dissimulation more imperative than ever. Poor child, such a discovery would kill her!"

At that very instant the housekeeper reëntered the room.

CHAPTER XII.

SUZANNE'S ENLIGHTENMENT

"My dear Suzanne," said M. Cloarek, "first of all, I want to thank you for the excellent care you have taken of my daughter."

"Poor Mlle. Sabine, didn't I nurse her when she was a baby, and isn't she almost like my own child to me?"

"You have been a second mother to my child, I know. And it is on account of the tender affection you have always manifested toward her that I wish to talk with you on a very important matter."

"What is it, monsieur?"

"You sent for your nephew in my absence. He has been here nearly two months, I understand."

"Yes, and it is in regard to the poor fellow that I wish to talk with you this evening, monsieur. I will explain — "

"Sabine has told me all about it."

"Great Heavens! you are not angry, I hope."

"Not angry, Suzanne, but greatly worried and alarmed."

"Alarmed! Alarmed about what?"

"The effect of your nephew's presence in this house."

"Had I foreseen that it would be disagreeable to you, I would not have sent for the poor boy; but he was so unhappy, and I knew your kindness of heart so well, that I thought I might take the liberty — "

"You have rendered too valuable service to each and every member of my family, Suzanne, for your relatives not to have a right to my interest and assistance. What I reproach you for is a great imprudence."

"Excuse me, monsieur, but I do not understand."

"Your nephew is young?"

"Twenty-five."

"He is well educated?"

"Too well for his position, monsieur. My poor sister and her husband made great sacrifices for him. His sight being so poor, they gave him an excellent education in the hope he might enter the clergy, but Onésime felt that he had no calling that way, so there was nothing for him to do but secure a clerkship."

"I know the rest, but how about his personal appearance? What kind of a looking young man is he?"

"The poor fellow is neither handsome nor ugly, monsieur. He has a very kind and gentle manner, but his extreme near-sightedness gives him a rather scared look. He is really the best-hearted boy that ever lived. Ask mademoiselle, and see what she will tell you."

"Really, Suzanne, such blindness on your part amazes me."

"Such blindness, monsieur?"

"Is it possible, Suzanne, that you, who are a person of so much experience and good sense, have not felt, I will not say the impropriety, but the grave imprudence there is in having your nephew under the same roof with my daughter, and allowing them to live in the extremely intimate relations of such a secluded existence as you lead here?"

"I know that I am only a servant, monsieur, and that my nephew — "

"That is not the question at all. Have not I and my daughter always striven to prove that we regarded you as a friend, and not as a servant?"