"Why? People don't die here sooner than in Europe.If he had gone to hide in Italy, for instance, you wouldn't think of saying that.""Well! And suppose he has become morally disintegrated.You know he was not a strong personality," the professor suggested moodily.
"My daughter's future is in question here."Renouard thought that the love of such a woman was enough to pull any broken man together - to drag a man out of his grave.And he thought this with inward despair, which kept him silent as much almost as his astonishment.At last he managed to stammer out a generous -"Oh! Don't let us even suppose..."
The professor struck in with a sadder accent than before -"It's good to be young.And then you have been a man of action, and necessarily a believer in success.But I have been looking too long at life not to distrust its surprises.Age! Age! Here Istand before you a man full of doubts and hesitation - SPE LENTUS, TIMIDUS FUTURI."He made a sign to Renouard not to interrupt, and in a lowered voice, as if afraid of being overheard, even there, in the solitude of the terrace -"And the worst is that I am not even sure how far this sentimental pilgrimage is genuine.Yes.I doubt my own child.It's true that she's a woman...."Renouard detected with horror a tone of resentment, as if the professor had never forgiven his daughter for not dying instead of his son.The latter noticed the young man's stony stare.
"Ah! you don't understand.Yes, she's clever, open-minded, popular, and - well, charming.But you don't know what it is to have moved, breathed, existed, and even triumphed in the mere smother and froth of life - the brilliant froth.There thoughts, sentiments, opinions, feelings, actions too, are nothing but agitation in empty space - to amuse life - a sort of superior debauchery, exciting and fatiguing, meaning nothing, leading nowhere.She is the creature of that circle.And I ask myself if she is obeying the uneasiness of an instinct seeking its satisfaction, or is it a revulsion of feeling, or is she merely deceiving her own heart by this dangerous trifling with romantic images.And everything is possible - except sincerity, such as only stark, struggling humanity can know.No woman can stand that mode of life in which women rule, and remain a perfectly genuine, ****** human being.Ah! There's some people coming out."He moved off a pace, then turning his head: "Upon my word! Iwould be infinitely obliged to you if you could throw a little cold water..." and at a vaguely dismayed gesture of Renouard, he added: "Don't be afraid.You wouldn't be putting out a sacred fire."Renouard could hardly find words for a protest: "I assure you that I never talk with Miss Moorsom - on - on - that.And if you, her father...""I envy you your innocence," sighed the professor."A father is only an everyday person.Flat.Stale.Moreover, my child would naturally mistrust me.We belong to the same set.Whereas you carry with you the prestige of the unknown.You have proved yourself to be a force."Thereupon the professor followed by Renouard joined the circle of all the inmates of the house assembled at the other end of the terrace about a tea-table; three white heads and that resplendent vision of woman's glory, the sight of which had the power to flutter his heart like a reminder of the mortality of his frame.
He avoided the seat by the side of Miss Moorsom.The others were talking together languidly.Unnoticed he looked at that woman so marvellous that centuries seemed to lie between them.He was oppressed and overcome at the thought of what she could give to some man who really would be a force! What a glorious struggle with this amazon.What noble burden for the victorious strength.
Dear old Mrs.Dunster was dispensing tea, looking from time to time with interest towards Miss Moorsom.The aged statesman having eaten a raw tomato and drunk a glass of milk (a habit of his early farming days, long before politics, when, pioneer of wheat-growing, he demonstrated the possibility of raising crops on ground looking barren enough to discourage a magician), smoothed his white beard, and struck lightly Renouard's knee with his big wrinkled hand.
"You had better come back to-night and dine with us quietly."He liked this young man, a pioneer, too, in more than one direction.Mrs.Dunster added: "Do.It will be very quiet.Idon't even know if Willie will be home for dinner." Renouard murmured his thanks, and left the terrace to go on board the schooner.While lingering in the drawing-room doorway he heard the resonant voice of old Dunster uttering oracularly -"...the leading man here some day....Like me."Renouard let the thin summer portiere of the doorway fall behind him.The voice of Professor Moorsom said -"I am told that he has made an enemy of almost every man who had to work with him.""That's nothing.He did his work....Like me.""He never counted the cost they say.Not even of lives."Renouard understood that they were talking of him.Before he could move away, Mrs.Dunster struck in placidly -"Don't let yourself be shocked by the tales you may hear of him, my dear.Most of it is envy."Then he heard Miss Moorsom's voice replying to the old lady -"Oh! I am not easily deceived.I think I may say I have an instinct for truth."He hastened away from that house with his heart full of dread.
