The Awakening and Selected Short Stories - Page 46/161

Monsieur Farival thought that Victor should have been taken out in

mid-ocean in his earliest youth and drowned. Victor thought there would

be more logic in thus disposing of old people with an established claim

for making themselves universally obnoxious. Madame Lebrun grew a trifle

hysterical; Robert called his brother some sharp, hard names.

"There's nothing much to explain, mother," he said; though he explained,

nevertheless--looking chiefly at Edna--that he could only meet the

gentleman whom he intended to join at Vera Cruz by taking such and such

a steamer, which left New Orleans on such a day; that Beaudelet was

going out with his lugger-load of vegetables that night, which gave him

an opportunity of reaching the city and making his vessel in time.

"But when did you make up your mind to all this?" demanded Monsieur

Farival.

"This afternoon," returned Robert, with a shade of annoyance.

"At what time this afternoon?" persisted the old gentleman, with nagging

determination, as if he were cross-questioning a criminal in a court of

justice.

"At four o'clock this afternoon, Monsieur Farival," Robert replied, in

a high voice and with a lofty air, which reminded Edna of some gentleman

on the stage.

She had forced herself to eat most of her soup, and now she was picking

the flaky bits of a court bouillon with her fork.

The lovers were profiting by the general conversation on Mexico to speak

in whispers of matters which they rightly considered were interesting

to no one but themselves. The lady in black had once received a pair

of prayer-beads of curious workmanship from Mexico, with very special

indulgence attached to them, but she had never been able to ascertain

whether the indulgence extended outside the Mexican border. Father

Fochel of the Cathedral had attempted to explain it; but he had not

done so to her satisfaction. And she begged that Robert would interest

himself, and discover, if possible, whether she was entitled to the

indulgence accompanying the remarkably curious Mexican prayer-beads.

Madame Ratignolle hoped that Robert would exercise extreme caution

in dealing with the Mexicans, who, she considered, were a treacherous

people, unscrupulous and revengeful. She trusted she did them no

injustice in thus condemning them as a race. She had known personally

but one Mexican, who made and sold excellent tamales, and whom she would

have trusted implicitly, so soft-spoken was he. One day he was arrested

for stabbing his wife. She never knew whether he had been hanged or not.

Victor had grown hilarious, and was attempting to tell an anecdote

about a Mexican girl who served chocolate one winter in a restaurant in

Dauphine Street. No one would listen to him but old Monsieur Farival,

who went into convulsions over the droll story.