I will tell him my brother's phrase.
I want to see what answer he will make.
But I will choose one of the moments when his eyes are shining.
Then he will not be able to lie to me.
"He must be a Danton!" she added after a long and vague reverie.
"Well, suppose the revolution begins again, what figures will Croisenois and my brother cut then?
It is settled in advance: Sublime resignation.
They will be heroic sheep who will allow their throats to be cut without saying a word.
Their one fear when they die will still be the fear of being bad form.
If a Jacobin came to arrest my little Julien he would blow his brains out, however small a chance he had of escaping.
He is not frightened of doing anything in bad form."
These last words made her pensive; they recalled painful memories and deprived her of all her boldness.
These words reminded her of the jests of MM. de Caylus, Croisenois, de Luz and her brother; these gentlemen joined in censuring Julien for his priestly demeanour, which they said was humble and hypocritical.
"But," she went on suddenly with her eyes gleaming with joy, "the very bitterness and the very frequency of their jests prove in spite of themselves that he is the most distinguished man whom we have seen this winter.
What matter his defects and the things which they make fun of?
He has the element of greatness and they are shocked by it. Yes, they, the very men who are so good and so charitable in other matters.
It is a fact that he is poor and that he has studied in order to be a priest; they are the heads of a squadron and never had any need of studying; they found it less trouble.
"In spite of all the handicap of his everlasting black suit and of that priestly expression which he must wear, poor boy, if he isn't to die of hunger, his merit frightens them, nothing could be clearer.
And as for that priest-like expression, why he no longer has it after we have been alone for some moments, and after those gentlemen have evolved what they imagine to be a subtle and impromptu epigram, is not their first look towards Julien?
I have often noticed it.
And yet they know well that he never speaks to them unless he is questioned.
I am the only one whom he speaks to.
He thinks I have a lofty soul.
He only answers the points they raise sufficiently to be polite.
He immediately reverts into respectfulness.
But with me he will discuss things for whole hours, he is not certain of his ideas so long as I find the slightest objection to them.
There has not been a single rifle-shot fired all this winter; words have been the only means of attracting attention.
Well, my father, who is a superior man and will carry the fortunes of our house very far, respects Julien.
Every one else hates him, no one despises him except my mother's devout friends."
The Comte de Caylus had or pretended to have a great passion for horses; he passed his life in his stables and often breakfasted there.
This great passion, together with his habit of never laughing, won for him much respect among his friends: he was the eagle of the little circle.
As soon as they had reassembled the following day behind madame de la Mole's armchair, M. de Caylus, supported by Croisenois and by Norbert, began in Julien's absence to attack sharply the high opinion which Mathilde entertained for Julien. He did this without any provocation, and almost the very minute that he caught sight of mademoiselle de la Mole.
She tumbled to the subtlety immediately and was delighted with it.
"So there they are all leagued together," she said to herself, "against a man of genius who has not ten louis a year to bless himself with and who cannot answer them except in so far as he is questioned.
They are frightened of him, black coat and all.
But how would things stand if he had epaulettes?"
She had never been more brilliant, hardly had Caylus and his allies opened their attack than she riddled them with sarcastic jests.
When the fire of these brilliant officers was at length extinguished she said to M. de Caylus,
"Suppose that some gentleman in the Franche-Comte mountains finds out to-morrow that Julien is his natural son and gives him a name and some thousands of francs, why in six months he will be an officer of hussars like you, gentlemen, in six weeks he will have moustaches like you gentlemen.
And then his greatness of character will no longer be an object of ridicule.
I shall then see you reduced, monsieur the future duke, to this stale and bad argument, the superiority of the court nobility over the provincial nobility.
But where will you be if I choose to push you to extremities and am mischievous enough to make Julien's father a Spanish duke, who was a prisoner of war at Besancon in the time of Napoleon, and who out of conscientious scruples acknowledges him on his death bed?" MM. de Caylus, and de Croisenois found all these assumptions of illegitimacy in rather bad taste.
That was all they saw in Mathilde's reasoning.
His sister's words were so clear that Norbert, in spite of his submissiveness, assumed a solemn air, which one must admit did not harmonise very well with his amiable, smiling face. He ventured to say a few words.
"Are you ill? my dear," answered Mathilde with a little air of seriousness.
"You must be very bad to answer jests by moralizing."
"Moralizing from you!
Are you soliciting a job as prefect?"
Mathilde soon forgot the irritation of the comte de Caylus, the bad temper of Norbert, and the taciturn despair of M. de Croisenois.
She had to decide one way or the other a fatal question which had just seized upon her soul.