“What difference does it make if André or Raoul or Emile have finer carriages than we?—have more money in the bank?—does that mean they are happier than we? No—no— chère Marie ! Happiness cannot be bought with dollars—look at the Americans north of Canal Street and you’ll see I am right. They scramble and fight and scheme to gain a few dollars and when they have them what do they do? They fight and scramble and scheme for more!”
At the outset she let the discussion end there. But soon she began trying to point out that such a philosophy denoted only laziness—even absurdity. Jean, in turn, met her growing irritation with silence accompanied by a satisfied smile such as a parent would bestow on a child’s foolish remarks. It seemed to say to her: “Silly woman, you are so much in error, it’s useless even to discuss the matter with you—you couldn’t understand if you tried.”
Had Jean sought the manner which most surely would infuriate Mary, he could have found none so efficacious as this. Slowly at first, then with increasing vigour, she argued, pleaded with him, scorned or ridiculed his easygoing ways. She found him adamant and her irritation rapidly changed to excoriation. Morning, noon and night she nagged him. She wrote her father, who had invested heavily in an industrial insurance company operated by Negroes in Atlanta. His judgment vindicated, Mr. Robertson used his influence, and Jean received a flattering offer to associate himself with the Atlanta company. As a belated wedding present Mr. Robertson offered them a home in Atlanta, furnished and ready for immediate occupancy.
Then the real struggle began. Mary might not have succeeded even though easygoing Jean was becoming almost frantic at her eternal nagging. He yet loved her and she gave him no cause for divorce, even if such a way out of his dilemma had ever occurred to him, that would have been approved by the Catholic Church.