November 25th.
Next day I found my rooms done out and dusted, and even flowers put in
the vases, by old Philippe. I began to feel at home. Only it didn't
occur to anybody that a Carmelite schoolgirl has an early appetite, and Rose had no end of trouble in getting breakfast for me.
"Mlle. goes to bed at dinner-time," she said to me, "and gets up when
the Duke is just returning home."
I began to write. About one o'clock my father knocked at the door of
the small drawing-room and asked if he might come in. I opened the
door; he came in, and found me writing to you.
"My dear," he began, "you will have to get yourself clothes, and to
make these rooms comfortable. In this purse you will find twelve
thousand francs, which is the yearly income I purpose allowing you for
your expenses. You will make arrangements with your mother as to some
governess whom you may like, in case Miss Griffith doesn't please you, for Mme. de Chaulieu will not have time to go out with you in the mornings. A carriage and man-servant shall be at your disposal."
"Let me keep Philippe," I said.
"So be it," he replied. "But don't be uneasy; you have money enough of
your own to be no burden either to your mother or me."
"May I ask how much I have?"
"Certainly, my child," he said. "Your grandmother left you five
hundred thousand francs; this was the amount of her savings, for she
would not alienate a foot of land from the family. This sum has been
placed in Government stock, and, with the accumulated interest, now
brings in about forty thousand francs a year. With this I had purposed
making an independence for your second brother, and it is here that
you have upset my plans. Later, however, it is possible that you may
fall in with them. It shall rest with yourself, for I have confidence
in your good sense far more than I had expected.
"I do not need to tell you how a daughter of the Chaulieus ought to
behave. The pride so plainly written in your features is my best
guarantee. Safeguards, such as common folk surround their daughters
with, would be an insult in our family. A slander reflecting on your
name might cost the life of the man bold enough to utter it, or the
life of one of your brothers, if by chance the right should not
prevail. No more on this subject. Good-bye, little one."
He kissed me on the forehead and went out. I cannot understand the
relinquishment of this plan after nine years' persistence in it. My
father's frankness is what I like. There is no ambiguity about his
words. My money ought to belong to his Marquis son. Who, then, has had
bowels of mercy? My mother? My father? Or could it be my brother?
I remained sitting on my grandmother's sofa, staring at the purse
which my father had left on the mantelpiece, at once pleased and vexed
that I could not withdraw my mind from the money. It is true, further
speculation was useless. My doubts had been cleared up and there was
something fine in the way my pride was spared.
Philippe has spent the morning rushing about among the various shops
and workpeople who are to undertake the task of my metamorphosis. A
famous dressmaker, by name Victorine, has come, as well as a woman for
underclothing, and a shoemaker. I am as impatient as a child to know
what I shall be like when I emerge from the sack which constituted the
conventual uniform; but all these tradespeople take a long time; the
corset-maker requires a whole week if my figure is not to be spoilt. You see, I have a figure, dear; this becomes serious. Janssen, the Operatic shoemaker, solemnly assures me that I have my mother's foot. The whole morning has gone in these weighty occupations. Even a glovemaker has come to take the measure of my hand. The underclothing woman has got my orders.
At the meal which I call dinner, and the others lunch, my mother told
me that we were going together to the milliner's to see some hats, so
that my taste should be formed, and I might be in a position to order
my own.
This burst of independence dazzles me. I am like a blind man who has
just recovered his sight. Now I begin to understand the vast interval
which separates a Carmelite sister from a girl in society. Of
ourselves we could never have conceived it.