My father will die one of these days,
and I am waiting for that event to live and do nothing."
Laurent spoke in a tranquil tone. In a few words he had just related a
characteristic tale that depicted him at full length. In reality he was
an idle fellow, with the appetite of a full-blooded man for everything,
and very pronounced ideas as to easy and lasting employment. The only
ambition of this great powerful frame was to do nothing, to grovel in
idleness and satiation from hour to hour. He wanted to eat well, sleep
well, to abundantly satisfy his passions, without moving from his place,
without running the risk of the slightest fatigue.
The profession of advocate had terrified him, and he shuddered at
the idea of tilling the soil. He had plunged into art, hoping to find
therein a calling suitable to an idle man. The paint-brush struck him
as being an instrument light to handle, and he fancied success easy.
His dream was a life of cheap sensuality, a beautiful existence full of
houris, of repose on divans, of victuals and intoxication.
The dream lasted so long as daddy Laurent sent the crown pieces. But
when the young man, who was already thirty, perceived the wolf at the
door, he began to reflect.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52