Love takes up the challenge

Love takes up the challenge

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Copyright

Max the Veuzit

Love takes up the challenge

Max the Veuzit is the pen name of Alphonsine Zéphirine Vavasseur, born in Petit-Quevilly 29 October 1876 and died in Bois-Colombes 15 April 1952. It is a French language writer, author of numerous romance novels with great success.

I

Chantal was dimly aware that there was someone in his room and instantly she stood up on her bed

She saw Nadine who advanced in the shadows, bringing breakfast on a tray.

- Is the mail arrived, Nadine?

- Yes, miss, but still no letter this morning for you.

Chantal's hands tightened on the sheet.

The old servant set the tray on the bedside table and a busy air headed toward the window.

As she was pulling double satin curtains, she said:

- A delay does not mean anything, miss. I remember when Mr. had made his trip to America, Madame was worried as you, and yet ...

As Nadine was turning the espagnolette instinctively Chantal burrowed in bed A flood of light came dazzle the girl.

- No letter last week ... she repeated indignantly.

The old nurse was doing his service as a rite. Now she approached the bed, picked up grumbling magazines hanging on the carpet.

- You have already read how late?

- Not very late, midnight, perhaps, but in two hours I could not sleep.

- What a pity ! growled the old. Come on, lift you.

She straightened the pillows, while the girl was pulled out of bed again

- Oh ! I avenge myself, you know.

- It is said that ...

Nadine put the tray on the edge of the bed

- You put too much bread, I tell you every day.

- You have to eat, you will not wither ... because your love does not write you? Look at yourself in a mirror. You think it identifies around the eyes makes you more beautiful?

- Is it my fault if I can not sleep?

- Drink your tea before it cools.

Chantal shook her blonde hair that the sun was gold Glitter.

- I've never liked it, I think, but now I hate him.

- Do not say that, huffed the woman. Do we know why he did not write? Perhaps is it prevented.

- You still believe that London is the world's end. London is only one hour from Paris, my poor old.

Nadine stared the girl looked like she had an idol. Had she not seen born? Despite the fatigue of a sleepless night succeeding six sleepless nights, despite the fatigue, Chantal was still for her the most beautiful girl and the most desirable it imaginable.

Of course, she thought, Lucien had never seen so neglected in the wake of the silk shirt widely indented on the shadow of his throat, but was it possible that this young girl to neglected face of an ancient purity of black eyes made her so alive: a young wonderful girl named Chantal Angeville?

With a mechanical gesture, Chantal dipped a slice of bread in the tea.

- Dad went to the factory?

- He is afraid to wake up ... he left quietly.

- Prepare my gray suit.

The old servant would still try to comfort the girl.

- Young people are not reasonable, but everything can still work out.

- Of course, everything can always work out, but seldom as desired. Ah! seamstress or if I was selling flowers, it would be easy ... But I am Chantal Angeville and all seamstresses and all the little flower sellers envy Chantal Angeville.

A sob lifted juvenile chest.

The girl pushed the tray and turning suddenly collapsed, his face in his pillow.

Powerless, the old nurse stepped back to the door. She knew that at this point of the crisis it should not try to console Chantal.

- I do not want your pity, she told him once.

With difficulty, Nadine still looked that hair that shook with sobs and was leaving when Chantal straightened:

- I will not be harmed as long, Nadine! He will see this lout, if I wait his pleasure. I want revenge and get married right away, with anyone, but I will not be humiliated by him.

- Miss Chantal!

- You go prepare my tailor.

The old servant retreated.

Chantal jumped out of bed and went into the bathroom. When she came back fifteen minutes later, wrapped in her robe, his face relaxed in the bath, she approached her psyche and mira.

The monster ! She whispered through the tapered tip of his fingers on the circle of her eyes, that identifies which made him perhaps most disturbing face, pathetic, all added to her beauty.

Lucien, she added, you understand, but a little late, it is not with impunity that one humbles Chantal Angeville.

She even gave a last look at his face in the mirror and she removed her robe to dress. At that moment, she saw the photo of Lucien asked his secretary. A large photo with games of light and a signed portrait painter of renown.

The first movement of the girl was to remove the image of his presence, but a judgment is imposed on his mind to justify this execution.

Is what I liked Lucien when I locked her picture in this frame of leather? A little fop, called a neck to thicken and a small thin lip, biting ... How could I love that boy? His gaze is foolish ...

- You think too much, told him one day his friends. Would not it just stupidity?

With what he had the conceit:

- Miss Chantal Angeville, my bride. My stepfather is industrial, the Angeville lathes, milling Angeville.

To believe that he would marry a machine tool.

She had told him once:

- Listening to you, Lucien, do not we believe that our marriage will be that of a bottle of champagne and a turn?

He laughed, fool.

A disdainful fold marked Chantal's lips.

"What we need is that everyone knows that it is I who have broken. I will say :

"- I thought I loved, I was wrong. Was not it better to break before? I bring him happiness, that poor boy, making him free.

We will judge me cruel but clever. Now there are only stupidity that does not forgive.

She took part. Slowly, she removed the photo and put it away in a drawer.

I'll make him her ring, but I must do quickly, I do not want him ahead of me.

Later, the girl asked a question to wonder if she was not yet come to his mind for a week she suffered.

What he went to London? Sell ​​paternal champagne?

She made a gesture of indifferent disdain.

It noted with pleasure that hurt, the dryness of his heart. The case was closed now for her, her decision.

Already she said: Who ... who can marry Chantal Angeville, Angeville of machine tools? as Lucien said. Five hectares of plants in Saint-Denis, a thousand workers ...

Why had it that the name Jacques came to his lips with her perfume first love?

Jacques de Chalençais, a name and a crown of count, if a large fortune ... Jacques, proud and elegant, yes, she had loved him ... And him? Also awkward it in its early exchange of kisses. He closed his right and the other day she had seen in Lacour. There seemed to be very busy with this silly Armelle. Obviously, a blue-blooded conspiracy. Well ! that the wife, Armelle this, with his big nose and his silly smile! ... Getting married? Why are we married? For love, everyone will tell you, but Chantal Angeville does not believe in love, in April morning especially, in eighth day without letter ... But enough thought about that one.

Now, Chantal sat at her dressing table, this is no longer the mirror it questions, it is his soul, his memories too.

"Love ... what madness! A love match like Irene? Three days of drunkenness and three years of tears, and eventually separation.

Mom would have said: We get married to have children. "Maybe the others, but me? ... Of the children crying at night, crying on the day, as well as measles, whooping cough, finally, all the trouble, little girl, I knew ... no, maybe later, but now I have no intention of being a mother, even with a nanny who, morning and evening, bring me a clean package kissing.

"Ah! I'm there ! loneliness, old single ... one day be an old maid! That's why we get married, it is not to be is not to be ...

"This is not to be neglected, the one others say:

"- This poor girl, a beautiful girl, despite her fortune, she did not find to get married!

"They would be too happy, Monique, Gisele, the Armelle, all those abandoning their husbands, those who look forward to an adventure or those drowned children.

No, my dear friends, you will not have that pleasure, because Chantal Angeville marry threw the girl out loud, as defiantly.

One last look in the mirror, for herself, this time for pleasure. Finally satisfied with her figure, her eyes, the movements of her hair, the arc of her lips Chantal left her room.

It was ten o'clock. His father was certainly still in the office, Jena Avenue. It was close by. Chantal decided to walk there.

The air was still cool, but already the chestnut trees turning green.

Before their shriveled leaves go at the option of the autumn wind driving on asphalt, thought the girl walking briskly, I'll be married. With anyone, but I will be Mrs.

*

- I break with Lucien.

This phrase was launched by Chantal in breaking into the office of his father.

- No letter? inquired Mr. Angeville forward.

- I laugh at his letters ... it's an ugly character. I do not want to hear about it.

- Calm down, Chantal. If I wrote in Epernay? I thought about just now.

- At his father? Ah! No, such a cad, and he can tell his set: Watch her wishes to me: she did write to my father by his. Moreover, it is a blessing from Heaven that I had forgotten in the race, I have never loved!

- Your words exceed your mind. Remember the night of your engagement.

- Does What it had on the night of my engagement?

- Your joy, my child.

- A girl is too happy to say, Whew! I will not stay to account.

- Chantal, what you say is monstrous, it is despite inspires you is ...

- Vexation ! Do not say that word again ... You imagine yourself in the Beautiful time, Dad! Serenades, love, always, and big mustaches Gypsy, coming grind his violin in the ear of his beloved. Think, you still build the machines grandfather exhibited in 1900 between the Big Wheel and Eiffel Tower? No, is not it? Well ! love is like the Big Wheel: he turned and it no longer exists. Now, what you call love has a distant relationship with these fine sentiments which speak novels of your younger days.

With patience, the father replied:

- Let that love no longer exists: your intention is to stay single?

- No, Dad. I get married, but not with Lucien ... it's over.

Mr. Angeville was a fair share of the wrath of her daughter.

In truth, he was not really sorry to break this threat. Lucien had never seemed to him the ideal son. Pretty boy, sure, but a little too ... son to dad, too tried to walk with his father's legs. He, Victor Angeville, he had inherited the Tours Angeville but a small workshop, he had a factory instead of a tower model, came out twenty types of machine tools.

And secretly, another reason made him, in the eyes of the industry, an imperfect son Chantal was his only daughter. Chantal married to Lucien pass the champagne and immediately later, when he had closed his eyes and no longer would direct the factory, the Machine Tools Angeville would do more to Chantal and her children as a source of dividend.

Since the day he realized that his wife would not give him other children that his daughter, Victor Angeville had been harassed by this idea: a son formed by him and one day become the boss. And, later, grandchildren who might say to an old machine:

This old trick that you have there, that's my grandfather, Victor Angeville, who had invented speed reducers ...

Unleashing his impatience, the girl was nervous and had in the office.

Suddenly, someone knocked at the door and a secretary brought the mail.

- There is a communication from Mr. Lancey, she announced.

- Ask it here, I will see later, said Mr. Angeville.

A moment disturbed by this interruption, the father looked when he was in this unexpected conversation with her daughter. It does not give him time to recover.

- What kind of man is this, your Lancey?

Victor Angeville stopped, supporting the eyes of his daughter.

- Lancey ... my engineer?

- I do not think you have here a whole tribe of Lancey?

- He is not here, he is in Saint-Denis. Here, I only have commercial services.

Saint-Denis, the name evoked for Chantal huge halls where rumbled aligned machines with workers in blue overalls looking at her, an amused smile.

- Chantal, what are you dreams?

- I do not think of anything, I ask you a question.

- Lancy fate of Central, a remarkable spirit ... the genius of melancholy ... one of my best employees.

- He is not married ?

- No.

- Engaged?

- I do not know ... I do not think so ...

Industrial stared at his daughter in astonishment.

In an instant, like a kind of cinema amok, he lives with dizzying speed images unfold, Chantal ready to marry anyone, a stranger, and perhaps even ... Lancey?

- Why not ?

Has he spoken, or is she who replies?

- Lancey, why not?

Mr. Angeville was barely recovered from his astonishment that already Chantal was gone. She followed the corridors where two service chiefs hailed the passage and its small glass cage, the operator saw the pass, haughty and proud.

- Who is it ? whispered a little typist, entered the factory recently.

- The boss's daughter ...

A look of envy followed the elegant silhouette.

- She has the vein ... sighed the young employee!.

In his office, Victor Angeville remained motionless, his head in his hands, and the secretary who had seen the girl out the so surprised.

- You do not remember the Mr. Lancey promotion date?

- No, sir, but I can find out.

- Yes, that's it, get me his file.

Now, Chantal went back the avenue Jena. The Arc de Triomphe, close, evil emanated from the