The Thibaults Read Online Free Page B

such contamination?” His hands behind his back, his eyelids lowered, he paced the carpet behind his desk. Though he did not refer to it, the thought of the Congress he was missing rankled bitterly. “For over twenty years I’ve been devoting myself to the problem of juvenile criminality. For twenty years I’ve been fighting the good fight, by means of pamphlets, vigilance societies, and detailed reports addressed to various congresses. But I’ve done more than that!” He turned towards the priests. “Haven’t I created in my reformatory at Crouy a special department where depraved children belonging to a different social class from that of the other inmates are given a special course of moral re-education? Well, you’ll hardly believe it, but that department is always empty! Is it for me to force parents to incarcerate their erring sons there? I’ve moved heaven and earth to get the Ministry of Education to take steps about it. But,” he concluded, shrugging his shoulders and letting himself sink back into his chair, “what do those fine gentlemen who are ousting religion from our French schools care about public morals?”
    At that moment the parlour-maid handed him a visiting-card.
    “That woman!” he exclaimed, turning to his son. Then, addressing the maid, he asked: “What does she want?” and, without waiting for an answer, said to his son: “Antoine, you attend to this.”
    “You can’t very well refuse to see her,” Antoine pointed out, after glancing at the card.
    On the brink of an outburst, M. Thibault mastered his feelings and turned again to the two priests.
    “It’s Mme. de Fontanin! What’s to be done? A certain consideration is due to a woman, whoever she may be, isn’t it? And we mustn’t forget, this one is a mother.”
    “What’s that? A mother?” M. Chasle murmured, but the remark was only for himself.
    M. Thibault came to a decision. “Show the lady in.”
    When the maid brought the visitor up, he rose and bowed ceremoniously.
    Mme. de Fontanin had not expected to find so many people there. She drew back slightly on the threshold, then took a step towards Mademoiselle, who had jumped from her chair and was staring at the Protestant with horrified eyes. The softness had gone out of them and, no longer fawn-like, she looked like an outraged hen.
    “Mme. Thibault, I presume?” Mme. de Fontanin said in a low voice.
    “No,” Antoine hastened to explain. “This lady is Mile, de Waize, who has been with us for fourteen years—since my mother’s death— and brought us up, my brother and myself.”
    M. Thibault introduced the men to her.
    “Excuse me for disturbing you, M. Thibault,” Mme. de Fontanin began. All the men’s eyes converging on her made her feel uncomfortable, but she kept her self-possession. “I came to see if any news … Well, as we are both undergoing the same anxiety,. Monsieur, I thought the best thing for us might be to … to join forces. Don’t you agree?” she added with a faint smile, cordial if a little sad. But her frank gaze, as she watched M. Thibault, found no more response than a blind man’s stare.
    She tried to catch Antoine’s eye; despite the slight estrangement that the last phase of their conversation on the previous day had brought about, she felt drawn towards the young man whose pensive face and forthright manners were so different from the others’. He, too, as soon as she entered, had felt that a sort of alliance existed between them. He went up to her.
    “And how is the little invalid now, Madame?”
    M. Thibault cut him short. His impatience betrayed itself only in the way he kept on jerking his head to free his chin. Slewing himself round to face Mme. de Fontanin, he began addressing her with studied formality.
    “It should be unnecessary for me to tell you, Mme. de Fontanin, that no one understands your natural anxiety better than myself. As I was saying to my friends here, we cannot think about those poor lads without