Suddenly, in the midst of a
powerful elucubration on the Wagnerian school, at the moment when thought was
vanishing, dismayed, with no hope of returning to its true path, when sounds
gradually gave way to noises whose musical value was no longer appreciable—suddenly
a simple, melodic piece, of gentle character and perfectly apt feeling, began
to sing beneath the pianist's fingers. This was the calm after the storm, the
heart's true note after so much wailing and roaring.
"Ah!"
Jacques smiled.
"My
friends, " Quinsonnas resumed, "there is still one great unknown
artist who alone epitomized the genius of all music. This piece dates from
1947, and it is the last sigh of expiring art. "
"And
it's by... ?" Michel asked.
"It's
by your father, who was my beloved master. "
"My
father!" the young man exclaimed, nearly in tears.
"Yes.
Listen. " And Quinsonnas, reproducing melodies which Beethoven or Weber
would have been proud to sign, rose to the sublime heights of interpretation.
"My
father!" Michel repeated.
"Yes!"
Quinsonnas replied, closing his piano with contained fury. "After him,
nothing! Who would understand his music now? Enough, my sons—enough of this
return to the past! Let us remember the present, our present, when
industrialism has come into its own, its empire, its triumph!" And with
these words he touched the instrument, whereupon the keyboard folded up and in
its place revealed a bed entirely made up, with a well-stocked night table
attached to one side. "Now this, " he said, "is what our epoch
was worthy of inventing! A piano-bed-dresser-commode!"
"And
night table as well, " Jacques added.
"Just
as you say, my dear fellow. That puts the lid on it!"
Since
that memorable evening, the three young men had become close friends; they
constituted a little world of their own in the vast capital of France.
Michel
spent his days on the Ledger, apparently resigned to his work, though his
happiness was spoiled by not having time to visit Uncle Huguenin, with whom he
would have felt in the bosom of a veritable family, having his uncle for father
and his two friends for elder brothers. He wrote frequently to the old librarian,
who replied almost as often.
Four
months passed in this fashion; Michel evidently gave satisfaction in the offices;
his cousin treated him a little less scornfully; Quinsonnas praised him to the
skies. The young man had apparently found his way—he was born to dictate.
Winter
passed, stoves and gas heaters mustered to combat it with success. And spring
arrived. Michel obtained a whole day's freedom, a Sunday, and resolved to
spend it with Uncle Huguenin. At eight in the morning he gaily left the bank
building, delighted to breathe more oxygen away from the central business
district. The weather was splendid. April was awakening and preparing its new
flowers, with which the florists waged advantageous combat; Michel felt very
much alive.
His
uncle lived far away, having had to transport his Penates where it did not cost
too much to shelter them. Young Dufrénoy proceeded to the Madeleine station,
took his ticket, and hoisted himself onto an upper-level seat; the signal for
departure sounded, and the train moved up the Boulevard Malesherbes, soon
leaving on its right the heavily ornamented church of Saint-Augustin and on its
left the Parc Monceau, surrounded by splendid edifices; it crossed the two Metropolitan
rings and stopped at the Porte d'Asniéres
station, near the old fortifications. The first part of the journey was over:
Michel leaped down and followed the Rue d'Asniéres
as far as the Rue de la Révolte,
turned left, passing under the Versailles Railway, and finally reached the
corner of the Rue du Caillou. Here stood an apartment house of modest
appearance, high and densely inhabited; he asked the concierge for Monsieur
Huguenin.
"Ninth
floor, first door to your right, " responded this important personage, a
government employee directly appointed to this confidential position. Michel
thanked him, took his place in the elevator, and in a few seconds was standing
on the ninth-floor landing. He rang. Monsieur Huguenin himself came to the
door.
"Uncle!"
exclaimed Michel.
"My
dear boy!" the old man replied, throwing wide his arms. "Here you are
at last. "
"Yes,
Uncle, and my first free day is for you!"
"Thank
you, my boy, " replied Monsieur Huguenin, leading the young man into his
apartment. "What a pleasure to see you! But sit down, let me have your
hat, make yourself comfortable—you'll stay awhile, won't you?"
"All
day, Uncle, if it's no trouble for you. "
"Trouble!
My dear boy, I've been waiting for you all this time!"
"Waiting!
But I really haven't had time to let you know in advance—I'd have got here
before my letter. "
"I
expected you each Sunday, Michel, and your place has always been set at the
table, as it is now. "
"Can
this be possible?"
"I
knew perfectly well you'd be coming to see your uncle one day or another. Till
now, it's always been another.
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