Yet with a wave of the hand he accepted the roll of
bills, and signed the receipt with an air which said, "These forms must
be observed, I suppose."
What he would have done if the three hundred and fifty dollars had not
been given him, it would be hard to say, for with gentle asperity he had
declined a loan from his friend M. Fille, and he had but one silver
dollar in his pocket, or in the world. Indeed, Jean Jacques was living in
a dream in these dark days--a dream of renunciation and sacrifice, and in
the spirit of one who gives up all to some great cause. He was not yet
even face to face with the fulness of his disaster. Only at moments had
the real significance of it all come to him, and then he had shivered as
before some terror menacing his path. Also, as M. Mornay had said, his
philosophy was now in his bones and marrow rather than in his words. It
had, after all, tinctured his blood and impregnated his mind. He had
babbled and been the egotist, and played cock o' the walk; and now at
last his philosophy was giving some foundation for his feet. Yet at this
auction-sale he looked a distracted, if smiling, whimsical, rather
bustling figure of misfortune, with a tragic air of exile, of isolation
from all by which he was surrounded. A profound and wayworn loneliness
showed in his figure, in his face, in his eyes.
The crowd thinned in time, and yet very many lingered to see the last of
this drama of lost fortunes.
Pages:
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285