THE THREE CITIES

 PARIS

 BY

 EMILE ZOLA

 TRANSLATED BY ERNEST A. VIZETELLY

 BOOK IV

I

PIERRE AND MARIE

ON the mild March morning when Pierre left his little house at Neuilly toaccompany Guillaume to Montmartre, he was oppressed by the thought thaton returning home he would once more find himself alone with nothing toprevent him from relapsing into negation and despair. The idea of thishad kept him from sleeping, and he still found it difficult to hide hisdistress and force a smile. 

The sky was so clear and the atmosphere so mild that the brothers hadresolved to go to Montmartre on foot by way of the outer boulevards. Nineo'clock was striking when they set out. Guillaume for his part was verygay at the thought of the surprise he would give his family. It was as ifhe were suddenly coming back from a long journey. He had not warned themof his intentions; he had merely written to them now and again to tellthem that he was recovering, and they certainly had no idea that hisreturn was so near at hand. 

When Guillaume and Pierre had climbed the sunlit slopes of Montmartre, and crossed the quiet countrified Place du Tertre, the former, by meansof a latch-key, quietly opened the door of his house, which seemed to beasleep, so profound was the stillness both around and within it. Pierrefound it the same as on the occasion of his previous and only visit. First came the narrow passage which ran through the ground-floor, affording a view of all Paris at the further end. Next there was thegarden, reduced to a couple of plum-trees and a clump of lilac-bushes, the leaves of which had now sprouted. And this time the priest perceivedthree bicycles leaning against the trees. Beyond them stood the largework-shop, so gay, and yet so peaceful, with its huge window overlookinga sea of roofs. 

Guillaume had reached the work-shop without meeting anybody. With anexpression of much amusement he raised a finger to his lips. "Attention, Pierre, " he whispered; "you'll just see!"

Then having noiselessly opened the door, they remained for a moment onthe threshold. 

The three sons alone were there. Near his forge stood Thomas working aboring machine, with which he was making some holes in a small brassplate. Then Francois and Antoine were seated on either side of theirlarge table, the former reading, and the latter finishing a block. Thebright sunshine streamed in, playing over all the seeming disorder of theroom, where so many callings and so many implements found place. A largebunch of wallflowers bloomed on the women's work-table near the window;and absorbed as the young men were in their respective tasks the onlysound was the slight hissing of the boring machine each time that theeldest of them drilled another hole. 

However, although Guillaume did not stir, there suddenly came a quiver, an awakening. His sons seemed to guess his presence, for they raisedtheir heads, each at the same moment. From each, too, came the same cry, and a common impulse brought them first to their feet and then to hisarms. 

"Father!"

Guillaume embraced them, feeling very happy. And that was all; there wasno long spell of emotion, no useless talk. It was as if he had merelygone out the day before and, delayed by business, had now come back. Still, he looked at them with his kindly smile, and they likewise smiledwith their eyes fixed on his. Those glances proclaimed everything, theclosest affection and complete self-bestowal for ever. 

"Come in, Pierre, " called Guillaume; "shake hands with these young men. "

The priest had remained near the door, overcome by a singular feeling ofdiscomfort. When his nephews had vigorously shaken hands with him, he satdown near the window apart from them, as if he felt out of his elementthere. 

"Well, youngsters, " said Guillaume, "where's Mere-Grand, and where'sMarie?"

Their grandmother was upstairs in her room, they said; and Marie hadtaken it into her head to go marketing. This, by the way, was one of herdelights. She asserted that she was the only one who knew how to buynew-laid eggs and butter of a nutty odour. Moreover, she sometimesbrought some dainty or some flowers home, in her delight at provingherself to be so good a housewife. 

"And so things are going on well?" resumed Guillaume. "You are allsatisfied, your work is progressing, eh?"

He addressed brief questions to each of them, like one who, on his returnhome, at once reverts to his usual habits. Thomas, with his rough facebeaming, explained in a couple of sentences that he was now sure ofperfecting his little motor; Francois, who was still preparing for hisexamination, jestingly declared that he yet had to lodge a heap oflearning in his brain; and then Antoine produced the block which he wasfinishing, and which depicted his little friend Lise, Jahan's sister, reading in her garden amidst the sunshine. It was like a florescence ofthat dear belated creature whose mind had been awakened by his affection. 

However, the three brothers speedily went back to their places, revertingto their work with a natural impulse, for discipline had made them regardwork as life itself. Then Guillaume, who had glanced at what each wasdoing, exclaimed: "Ah! youngsters, I schemed and prepared a lot of thingsmyself while I was laid up. I even made a good many notes. We walked herefrom Neuilly, but my papers and the clothes which Mere-Grand sent me willcome in a cab by-and-by. . . . Ah! how pleased I am to find everything inorder here, and to be able to take up my task with you again! Ah! I shallpolish off some work now, and no mistake!"

He had already gone to his own corner, the space reserved for him betweenthe window and the forge. He there had a chemical furnace, several glasscases and shelves crowded with appliances, and a long table, one end ofwhich he used for writing purposes. And he once more took possession ofthat little world. After glancing around with delight at seeingeverything in its place, he began to handle one object and another, eagerto be at work like his sons. 

All at once, however, Mere-Grand appeared, calm, grave and erect in herblack gown, at the top of the little staircase which conducted to thebedrooms. "So it's you, Guillaume?" said she. "Will you come up for amoment?"

He immediately did so, understanding that she wished to speak to himalone and tranquillise him. It was a question of the great secret betweenthem, that one thing of which his sons knew nothing, and which, afterSalvat's crime, had brought him much anguish, through his fear that itmight be divulged. When he reached Mere-Grand's room she at once took himto the hiding-place near her bed, and showed him the cartridges of thenew explosive, and the plans of the terrible engine of warfare which hehad invented. He found them all as he had left them. Before anyone couldhave reached them, she would have blown up the whole place at the risk ofperishing herself in the explosion. With her wonted air of quiet heroism, she handed Guillaume the key which he had sent her by Pierre. 

"You were not anxious, I hope?" she said. 

He pressed her hands with a commingling of affection and respect. "Myonly anxiety, " he replied, "was that the police might come here and treatyou roughly. . . . You are the guardian of our secret, and it would befor you to finish my work should I disappear. "

While Guillaume and Madame Leroi were thus engaged upstairs, Pierre, still seated near the window below, felt his discomfort increasing. Theinmates of the house certainly regarded him with no other feeling thanone of affectionate sympathy; and so how came it that he considered themhostile? The truth was that he asked himself what would become of himamong those workers, who were upheld by a faith of their own, whereas hebelieved in nothing, and did not work. The sight of those young men, sogaily and zealously toiling, ended by quite irritating him; and thearrival of Marie brought his distress to a climax. 

Joyous and full of life, she came in without seeing him, a basket on herarm. And she seemed to bring all the sunlight of the spring morning withher, so bright was the sparkle of her youth. The whole of her pink face, her delicate nose, her broad intelligent brow, her thick, kindly lips, beamed beneath the heavy coils of her black hair. And her brown eyes everlaughed with the joyousness which comes from health and strength. 

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I have brought such a lot of things, youngsters. Just come and see them; I wouldn't unpack the basket in the kitchen. "

It became absolutely necessary for the brothers to draw round the basketwhich she had laid upon the table. "First there's the butter!" said she;"just smell if it hasn't a nice scent of nuts! It's churned especiallyfor me, you know. Then here are the eggs. They were laid only yesterday, I'll answer for it. And, in fact, that one there is this morning's. Andlook at the cutlets! They're wonderful, aren't they? The butcher cutsthem carefully when he sees me. And then here's a cream cheese, realcream, you know, it will be delicious! Ah! and here's the surprise, something dainty, some radishes, some pretty little pink radishes. Justfancy! radishes in March, what a luxury!"

She triumphed like the good little housewife she was, one who hadfollowed a whole course of cookery and home duties at the Lycee Fenelon. The brothers, as merry as she herself, were obliged to compliment her. 

All at once, however, she caught sight of Pierre. "What! you are there, Monsieur l'Abbe?" she exclaimed; "I beg your pardon, but I didn't seeyou. How is Guillaume? Have you brought us some news of him?"

"But father's come home, " said Thomas; "he's upstairs with Mere-Grand. "

Quite thunderstruck, she hastily placed her purchases in the basket. "Guillaume's come back, Guillaume's come back!" said she, "and you don'ttell me of it, you let me unpack everything! Well, it's nice of me, Imust say, to go on praising my butter and eggs when Guillaume's comeback. "

Guillaume, as it happened, was just coming down with Madame Leroi. Mariegaily hastened to him and offered him her cheeks, on which he planted tworesounding kisses. Then she, resting her hands on his shoulders, gave hima long look, while saying in a somewhat tremulous voice: "I am pleased, very pleased to see you, Guillaume. I may confess it now, I thought I hadlost you, I was very anxious and very unhappy. "

Although she was still smiling, tears had gathered in her eyes, and he, likewise moved, again kissed her, murmuring: "Dear Marie! How happy itmakes me to find you as beautiful and as affectionate as ever. "

Pierre, who was looking at them, deemed them cold. He had doubtlessexpected more tears, and a more passionate embrace on the part of anaffianced pair, whom so grievous an accident had separated almost on theeve of their wedding. Moreover, his feelings were hurt by thedisproportion of their respective ages. No doubt his brother still seemedto him very sturdy and young, and his feeling of repulsion must have comefrom that young woman whom, most decidedly, he did not like. Ever sinceher arrival he had experienced increasing discomfort, a keener and keenerdesire to go off and never return. 

So acute became his suffering at feeling like a stranger in his brother'shome, that he at last rose and sought to take his leave, under thepretext that he had some urgent matters to attend to in town. 

"What! you won't stay to /dejeuner/ with us!" exclaimed Guillaume inperfect stupefaction. "Why, it was agreed! You surely won't distress melike that! This house is your own, remember!"

Then, as with genuine affection they all protested and pressed him tostay, he was obliged to do so. However, he soon relapsed into silence andembarrassment, seated on the same chair as before, and listening moodilyto those people who, although they were his relatives, seemed to be farremoved from him. 

As it was barely eleven o'clock they resumed work, but every now andagain there was some merry talk. On one of the servants coming for theprovisions, Marie told the girl to call her as soon as it should be timeto boil the eggs, for she prided herself on boiling them to a nicety, insuch wise as to leave the whites like creamy milk. This gave anopportunity for a few jests from Francois, who occasionally teased herabout all the fine things she had learnt at the Lycee Fenelon, where herfather had placed her when she was twelve years old. However, she was notafraid of him, but gave him tit for tat by chaffing him about all thehours which he lost at the Ecole Normale over a mass of pedagogic trash. 

"Ah! you big children!" she exclaimed, while still working at herembroidery. "You are all very intelligent, and you all claim to havebroad minds, and yet--confess it now--it worries you a little that a girllike me should have studied at college in the same way as yourselves. It's a sexual quarrel, a question of rivalry and competition, isn't it?"

They protested the contrary, declaring that they were in favour of girlsreceiving as complete an education as possible. She was well aware ofthis; however, she liked to tease them in return for the manner in whichthey themselves plagued her. 

"But do you know, " said she, "you are a great deal behind the times? I amwell aware of the reproaches which are levelled at girls' colleges byso-called right-minded people. To begin, there is no religious elementwhatever in the education one receives there, and this alarms manyfamilies which consider religious education to be absolutely necessaryfor girls, if only as a moral weapon of defence. Then, too, the educationat our Lycees is being democratised--girls of all positions come to them. Thanks to the scholarships which are so liberally offered, the daughterof the lady who rents a first floor flat often finds the daughter of herdoor-keeper among her school-fellows, and some think this objectionable. It is said also that the pupils free themselves too much from homeinfluence, and that too much opportunity is left for personal initiative. As a matter of fact the extensiveness of the many courses of study, allthe learning that is required of pupils at the examinations, certainlydoes tend to their emancipation, to the coming of the future woman andfuture society, which you young men are all longing for, are you not?"

"Of course we are!" exclaimed Francois; "we all agree on that point. "

She waved her hand in a pretty way, and then quietly continued: "I'mjesting. My views are simple enough, as you well know, and I don't askfor nearly as much as you do. As for woman's claims and rights, well, thequestion is clear enough; woman is man's equal so far as nature allowsit. And the only point is to agree and love one another. At the same timeI'm well pleased to know what I do--oh! not from any spirit of pedantrybut simply because I think it has all done me good, and given me somemoral as well as physical health. "

It delighted her to recall the days she had spent at the Lycee Fenelon, which of the five State colleges for girls opened in Paris was the onlyone counting a large number of pupils. Most of these were the daughtersof officials or professors, who purposed entering the teachingprofession. In this case, they had to win their last diploma at the EcoleNormale of Sevres, after leaving the Lycee. Marie, for her part, thoughher studies had been brilliant, had felt no taste whatever for thecalling of teacher. Moreover, when Guillaume had taken charge of herafter her father's death, he had refused to let her run about givinglessons. To provide herself with a little money, for she would acceptnone as a gift, she worked at embroidery, an art in which she was mostaccomplished. 

While she was talking to the young men Guillaume had listened to herwithout interfering. If he had fallen in love with her it was largely onaccount of her frankness and uprightness, the even balance of her nature, which gave her so forcible a charm. She knew all; but if she lacked thepoetry of the shrinking, lamb-like girl who has been brought up inignorance, she had gained absolute rectitude of heart and mind, exemptfrom all hypocrisy, all secret perversity such as is stimulated by whatmay seem mysterious in life. And whatever she might know, she hadretained such child-like purity that in spite of her six-and-twentysummers all the blood in her veins would occasionally rush to her cheeksin fiery blushes, which drove her to despair. 

"My dear Marie, " Guillaume now exclaimed, "you know very well that theyoungsters were simply joking. You are in the right, of course. . . . Andyour boiled eggs cannot be matched in the whole world. "

He said this in so soft and affectionate a tone that the young womanflushed purple. Then, becoming conscious of it, she coloured yet moredeeply, and as the three young men glanced at her maliciously she grewangry with herself. "Isn't it ridiculous, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said, turning towards Pierre, "for an old maid like myself to blush in thatfashion? People might think that I had committed a crime. It's simply tomake me blush, you know, that those children tease me. I do all I can toprevent it, but it's stronger than my will. "

At this Mere-Grand raised her eyes from the shirt she was mending, andremarked: "Oh! it's natural enough, my dear. It is your heart rising toyour cheeks in order that we may see it. "

The /dejeuner/ hour was now at hand; and they decided to lay the table inthe work-shop, as was occasionally done when they had a guest. Thesimple, cordial meal proved very enjoyable in the bright sunlight. Marie's boiled eggs, which she herself brought from the kitchen coveredwith a napkin, were found delicious. Due honour was also done to thebutter and the radishes. The only dessert that followed the cutlets wasthe cream cheese, but it was a cheese such as nobody else had everpartaken of. And, meantime, while they ate and chatted all Paris laybelow them, stretching away to the horizon with its mighty rumbling. 

Pierre had made an effort to become cheerful, but he soon relapsed intosilence. Guillaume, however, was very talkative. Having noticed the threebicycles in the garden, he inquired of Marie how far she had gone thatmorning. She answered that Francois and Antoine had accompanied her inthe direction of Orgemont. The worry of their excursions was that eachtime they returned to Montmartre they had to push their machines up theheight. From the general point of view, however, the young woman wasdelighted with bicycling, which had many virtues, said she. Then, seeingPierre glance at her in amazement, she promised that she would some dayexplain her opinions on the subject to him. After this bicycling becamethe one topic of conversation until the end of the meal. Thomas gave anaccount of the latest improvements introduced into Grandidier's machines;and the others talked of the excursions they had made or meant to make, with all the exuberant delight of school children eager for the open air. 

In the midst of the chatter, Mere-Grand, who presided at table with theserene dignity of a queen-mother, leant towards Guillaume, who sat nextto her, and spoke to him in an undertone. Pierre understood that she wasreferring to his marriage, which was to have taken place in April, butmust now necessarily be deferred. This sensible marriage, which seemedlikely to ensure the happiness of the entire household, was largely thework of Mere-Grand and the three young men, for Guillaume would neverhave yielded to his heart if she whom he proposed to make his wife hadnot already been a well-loved member of the family. At the present timethe last week in June seemed, for all sorts of reasons, to be afavourable date for the wedding. 

Marie, who heard the suggestion, turned gaily towards Mere-Grand. 

"The end of June will suit very well, will it not, my dear?" said thelatter. 

Pierre expected to see a deep flush rise to the young woman's cheeks, butshe remained very calm. She felt deep affection, blended with the mosttender gratitude, for Guillaume, and was convinced that in marrying himshe would be acting wisely and well both for herself and the others. 

"Certainly, the end of June, " she repeated, "that will suit very wellindeed. "

Then the sons, who likewise had heard the proposal, nodded their heads byway of assenting also. 

When they rose from table Pierre was absolutely determined to go off. Thecordial and simple meal, the sight of that family, which had beenrendered so happy by Guillaume's return, and of that young woman whosmiled so placidly at life, had brought him keen suffering, though why hecould not tell. However, it all irritated him beyond endurance; and hetherefore again pretended that he had a number of things to see to inParis. He shook hands in turn with the young men, Mere-Grand and Marie;both of the women evincing great friendliness but also some surprise athis haste to leave the house. Guillaume, who seemed saddened and anxious, sought to detain him, and failing in this endeavour followed him into thelittle garden, where he stopped him in order to have an explanation. 

"Come, " said he, "what is the matter with you, Pierre? Why are yourunning off like this?"

"Oh! there's nothing the matter I assure you; but I have to attend to afew urgent affairs. "

"Oh, Pierre, pray put all pretence aside. Nobody here has displeased youor hurt your feelings, I hope. They also will soon love you as I do. "

"I have no doubt of it, and I complain of nobody excepting perhapsmyself. "

Guillaume's sorrow was increasing. "Ah! brother, little brother, " heresumed, "you distress me, for I can detect that you are hiding somethingfrom me. Remember that new ties have linked us together and that we loveone another as in the old days when you were in your cradle and I used tocome to play with you. I know you well, remember. I know all yourtortures, since you have confessed them to me; and I won't have yousuffer, I want to cure you, I do!"

Pierre's heart was full, and as he heard those words he could notrestrain his tears. "Oh! you must leave me to my sufferings, " heresponded. "They are incurable. You can do nothing for me, I am beyondthe pale of nature, I am a monster. "

"What do you say! Can you not return within nature's pale even if you/have/ gone beyond it? One thing that I will not allow is that you shouldgo and shut yourself up in that solitary little house of yours, where youmadden yourself by brooding over the fall of your faith. Come and spendyour time with us, so that we may again give you some taste for life. "

Ah! the empty little house which awaited him! Pierre shivered at thethought of it, at the idea that he would now find himself all alonethere, bereft of the brother with whom he had lately spent so many happydays. Into what solitude and torment must he not now relapse after thatcompanionship to which he had become accustomed? However, the verythought of the latter increased his grief, and confession suddenly gushedfrom his lips: "To spend my time here, live with you, oh! no, that is animpossibility. Why do you compel me to speak out, and tell you thingsthat I am ashamed of and do not even understand. Ever since this morningyou must have seen that I have been suffering here. No doubt it isbecause you and your people work, whereas I do nothing, because you loveone another and believe in your efforts, whereas I no longer know how tolove or believe. I feel out of my element. I'm embarrassed here, and Iembarrass you. In fact you all irritate me, and I might end by hatingyou. There remains nothing healthy in me, all natural feelings have beenspoilt and destroyed, and only envy and hatred could sprout up from suchruins. So let me go back to my accursed hole, where death will some daycome for me. Farewell, brother!"

But Guillaume, full of affection and compassion, caught hold of his armsand detained him. "You shall not go, I will not allow you to go, withouta positive promise that you will come back. I don't wish to lose youagain, especially now that I know all you are worth and how dreadfullyyou suffer. I will save you, if need be, in spite of yourself. I willcure you of your torturing doubts, oh! without catechising you, withoutimposing any particular faith on you, but simply by allowing life to doits work, for life alone can give you back health and hope. So I beg you, brother, in the name of our affection, come back here, come as often asyou can to spend a day with us. You will then see that when folks haveallotted themselves a task and work together in unison, they escapeexcessive unhappiness. A task of any kind--yes, that is what is wanted, together with some great passion and frank acceptance of life, so that itmay be lived as it should be and loved. "

"But what would be the use of my living here?" Pierre muttered bitterly. "I've no task left me, and I no longer know how to love. "

"Well, I will give you a task, and as for love, that will soon beawakened by the breath of life. Come, brother, consent, consent!"

Then, seeing that Pierre still remained gloomy and sorrowful, andpersisted in his determination to go away and bury himself, Guillaumeadded, "Ah! I don't say that the things of this world are such as onemight wish them to be. I don't say that only joy and truth and justiceexist. For instance, the affair of that unhappy fellow Salvat fills mewith anger and revolt. Guilty he is, of course, and yet how many excuseshe had, and how I shall pity him if the crimes of all of us are laid athis door, if the various political gangs bandy him from one to another, and use him as a weapon in their sordid fight for power. The thought ofit all so exasperates me that at times I am as unreasonable as yourself. But now, brother, just to please me, promise that you will come and spendthe day after to-morrow with us. "

Then, as Pierre still kept silent, Guillaume went on: "I will have it so. It would grieve me too much to think that you were suffering frommartyrdom in your solitary nook. I want to cure and save you. "

Tears again rose to Pierre's eyes, and in a tone of infinite distress heanswered: "Don't compel me to promise. . . . All I can say is that I willtry to conquer myself. "

The week he then spent in his little, dark, empty home proved a terribleone. Shutting himself up he brooded over his despair at having lost thecompanionship of that elder brother whom he once more loved with hiswhole soul. He had never before been so keenly conscious of his solitude;and he was a score of times on the point of hastening to Montmartre, forhe vaguely felt that affection, truth and life were there. But on eachoccasion he was held back by a return of the discomfort which he hadalready experienced, discomfort compounded of shame and fear. Priest thathe was, cut off from love and the avocations of other men, he wouldsurely find nothing but hurt and suffering among creatures who were allnature, freedom and health. While he pondered thus, however, there rosebefore him the shades of his father and mother, those sad spirits thatseemed to wander through the deserted rooms lamenting and entreating himto reconcile them in himself, as soon as he should find peace. What washe to do, --deny their prayer, and remain weeping with them, or go yonderin search of the cure which might at last lull them to sleep and bringthem happiness in death by the force of his own happiness in life? Atlast a morning came when it seemed to him that his father enjoined himwith a smile to betake himself yonder, while his mother consented with aglance of her big soft eyes, in which her sorrow at having made so bad apriest of him yielded to her desire to restore him to the life of ourcommon humanity. 

Pierre did not argue with himself that day: he took a cab and gaveGuillaume's address to the driver for fear lest he should be overcome onthe way and wish to turn back. And when he again found himself, as in adream, in the large work-shop, where Guillaume and the young men welcomedhim in a delicately affectionate way, he witnessed an unexpected scenewhich both impressed and relieved him. 

Marie, who had scarcely nodded to him as he entered, sat there with apale and frowning face. And Mere-Grand, who was also grave, said, afterglancing at her: "You must excuse her, Monsieur l'Abbe; but she isn'treasonable. She is in a temper with all five of us. "

Guillaume began to laugh. "Ah! she's so stubborn!" he exclaimed. "You canhave no idea, Pierre, of what goes on in that little head of hers whenanybody says or does anything contrary to her ideas of justice. Suchabsolute and lofty ideas they are, that they can descend to nocompromise. For instance, we were talking of that recent affair of afather who was found guilty on his son's evidence; and she maintainedthat the son had only done what was right in giving evidence against hisfather, and that one ought invariably to tell the truth, no matter whatmight happen. What a terrible public prosecutor she would make, eh?"

Thereupon Marie, exasperated by Pierre's smile, which seemingly indicatedthat he also thought her in the wrong, flew into quite a passion: "Youare cruel, Guillaume!" she cried; "I won't be laughed at like this. "

"But you are losing your senses, my dear, " exclaimed Francois, whileThomas and Antoine again grew merry. "We were only urging a question ofhumanity, father and I, for we respect and love justice as much as youdo. "

"There's no question of humanity, but simply one of justice. What is justand right is just and right, and you cannot alter it. "

Then, as Guillaume made a further attempt to state his views and win herover to them, she rose trembling, in such a passion that she couldscarcely stammer: "No, no, you are all too cruel, you only want to grieveme. I prefer to go up into my own room. "

At this Mere-Grand vainly sought to restrain her. "My child, my child!"said she, "reflect a moment; this is very wrong, you will deeply regretit. "

"No, no; you are not just, and I suffer too much. "

Then she wildly rushed upstairs to her room overhead. 

Consternation followed. Scenes of a similar character had occasionallyoccurred before, but there had never been so serious a one. Guillaumeimmediately admitted that he had done wrong in laughing at her, for shecould not bear irony. Then he told Pierre that in her childhood and youthshe had been subject to terrible attacks of passion whenever shewitnessed or heard of any act of injustice. As she herself explained, these attacks would come upon her with irresistible force, transportingher to such a point that she would sometimes fall upon the floor andrave. Even nowadays she proved quarrelsome and obstinate whenever certainsubjects were touched upon. And she afterwards blushed for it all, fullyconscious that others must think her unbearable. 

Indeed, a quarter of an hour later, she came downstairs again of her ownaccord, and bravely acknowledged her fault. "Wasn't it ridiculous of me?"she said. "To think I accuse others of being unkind when I behave likethat! Monsieur l'Abbe must have a very bad opinion of me. " Then, afterkissing Mere-Grand, she added: "You'll forgive me, won't you? Oh!Francois may laugh now, and so may Thomas and Antoine. They are quiteright, our differences are merely laughing matters. "

"My poor Marie, " replied Guillaume, in a tone of deep affection. "You seewhat it is to surrender oneself to the absolute. If you are so healthyand reasonable it's because you regard almost everything from therelative point of view, and only ask life for such gifts as it canbestow. But when your absolute ideas of justice come upon you, you loseboth equilibrium and reason. At the same time, I must say that we are allliable to err in much the same manner. "

Marie, who was still very flushed, thereupon answered in a jesting way:"Well, it at least proves that I'm not perfect. "

"Oh, certainly! And so much the better, " said Guillaume, "for it makes melove you the more. "

This was a sentiment which Pierre himself would willingly have re-echoed. The scene had deeply stirred him. Had not his own frightful tormentsoriginated with his desire for the absolute both in things and beings? Hehad sought faith in its entirety, and despair had thrown him intocomplete negation. Again, was there not some evil desire for the absoluteand some affectation of pride and voluntary blindness in the haughtybearing which he had retained amidst the downfall of his belief, thesaintly reputation which he had accepted when he possessed no faith atall? On hearing his brother praise Marie, because she only asked life forsuch things as it could give, it had seemed to him that this was advicefor himself. It was as if a refreshing breath of nature had passed beforehis face. At the same time his feelings in this respect were still vague, and the only well-defined pleasure that he experienced came from theyoung woman's fit of anger, that error of hers which brought her nearerto him, by lowering her in some degree from her pedestal of sereneperfection. It was, perhaps, that seeming perfection which had made himsuffer; however, he was as yet unable to analyse his feelings. That day, for the first time, he chatted with her for a little while, and when hewent off he thought her very good-hearted and very human. 

Two days later he again came to spend the afternoon in the large sunlitwork-shop overlooking Paris. Ever since he had become conscious of theidle life he was leading, he had felt very bored when he was alone, andonly found relief among that gay, hardworking family. His brother scoldedhim for not having come to /dejeuner/, and he promised to do so on themorrow. By the time a week had elapsed, none of the discomfort and coverthostility which had prevailed between him and Marie remained: they metand chatted on a footing of good fellowship. Although he was a priest, she was in no wise embarrassed by his presence. With her quiet atheism, indeed, she had never imagined that a priest could be different fromother men. Thus her sisterly cordiality both astonished and delightedPierre. It was as if he wore the same garments and held the same ideas ashis big nephews, as if there were nothing whatever to distinguish himfrom other men. He was still more surprised, however, by Marie's silenceon all religious questions. She seemed to live on quietly and happily, without a thought of what might be beyond life, that terrifying realm ofmystery, which to him had brought such agony of mind. 

Now that he came every two or three days to Montmartre she noticed thathe was suffering. What could be the matter with him, she wondered. Whenshe questioned him in a friendly manner and only elicited evasivereplies, she guessed that he was ashamed of his sufferings, and that theywere aggravated, rendered well-nigh incurable, by the very secrecy inwhich he buried them. Thereupon womanly compassion awoke within her, andshe felt increasing affection for that tall, pale fellow with feverisheyes, who was consumed by grievous torments which he would confess tonone. No doubt she questioned Guillaume respecting her brother's sadness, and he must have confided some of the truth to her in order that shemight help him to extricate Pierre from his sufferings, and give him backsome taste for life. The poor fellow always seemed so happy when shetreated him like a friend, a brother!

At last, one evening, on seeing his eyes full of tears as he gazed uponthe dismal twilight falling over Paris, she herself pressed him toconfide his trouble to her. And thereupon he suddenly spoke out, confessing all his torture and the horrible void which the loss of faithhad left within him. Ah! to be unable to believe, to be unable to love, to be nothing but ashes, to know of nothing certain by which he mightreplace the faith that had fled from him! She listened in stupefaction. Why, he must be mad! And she plainly told him so, such was herastonishment and revolt at hearing such a desperate cry of wretchedness. To despair, indeed, and believe in nothing and love nothing, simplybecause a religious hypothesis had crumbled! And this, too, when thewhole, vast world was spread before one, life with the duty of living it, creatures and things to be loved and succoured, without counting theuniversal labour, the task which one and all came to accomplish!Assuredly he must be mad, mad with the gloomiest madness; still she vowedshe would cure him. 

From that time forward she felt the most compassionate affection for thisextraordinary young man, who had first embarrassed and afterwardsastonished her. She showed herself very gentle and gay with him; shelooked after him with the greatest skill and delicacy of heart and mind. There had been certain similar features in their childhood; each had beenreared in the strictest religious views by a pious mother. But afterwardshow different had been their fates! Whilst he was struggling with hisdoubts, bound by his priestly vows, she had grown up at the LyceeFenelon, where her father had placed her as soon as her mother died; andthere, far removed from all practice of religion, she had graduallyreached total forgetfulness of her early religious views. It was aconstant source of surprise for him to find that she had thus escaped alldistress of mind at the thought of what might come after death, whereasthat same thought had so deeply tortured him. When they chatted togetherand he expressed his astonishment at it, she frankly laughed, saying thatshe had never felt any fear of hell, for she was certain that no hellexisted. And she added that she lived in all quietude, without hope ofgoing to any heaven, her one thought being to comply in a reasonable waywith the requirements and necessities of earthly life. It was, perhaps, in some measure a matter of temperament with her; but it was also amatter of education. Yet, whatever that education had been, whateverknowledge she had acquired, she had remained very womanly and veryloving. There was nothing stern or masculine about her. 

"Ah, my friend, " she said one day to Pierre, "if you only knew how easyit is for me to remain happy so long as I see those I love free from anyexcessive suffering. For my own part I can always adapt myself to life. Iwork and content myself no matter what may happen. Sorrow has only cometo me from others, for I can't help wishing that everybody should befairly happy, and there are some who won't. . . . I was for a long timevery poor, but I remained gay. I wish for nothing, except for things thatcan't be purchased. Still, want is the great abomination which distressesme. I can understand that you should have felt everything crumbling whencharity appeared to you so insufficient a remedy as to be contemptible. Yet it does bring relief; and, moreover, it is so sweet to be able togive. Some day, too, by dint of reason and toil, by the good andefficient working of life itself, the reign of justice will surely come. But now it's I that am preaching! Oh! I have little taste for it! Itwould be ridiculous for me to try to heal you with big phrases. All thesame, I should like to cure you of your gloomy sufferings. To do so, allthat I ask of you is to spend as much time as you can with us. You knowthat this is Guillaume's greatest desire. We will all love you so well, you will see us all so affectionately united, and so gay over our commonwork, that you will come back to truth by joining us in the school of ourgood mother nature. You must live and work, and love and hope. "

Pierre smiled as he listened. He now came to Montmartre nearly every day. She was so nice and affectionate when she preached to him in that waywith a pretty assumption of wisdom. As she had said too, life was sodelightful in that big workroom; it was so pleasant to be all together, and to labour in common at the same work of health and truth. Ashamed asPierre was of doing nothing, anxious as he was to occupy his mind andfingers, he had first taken an interest in Antoine's engraving, askingwhy he should not try something of the kind himself. However, he feltthat he lacked the necessary gift for art. Then, too, he recoiled fromFrancois' purely intellectual labour, for he himself had scarcely emergedfrom the harrowing study of conflicting texts. Thus he was more inclinedfor manual toil like that of Thomas. In mechanics he found precision andclearness such as might help to quench his thirst for certainty. So heplaced himself at the young man's orders, pulled his bellows and heldpieces of mechanism for him. He also sometimes served as assistant toGuillaume, tying a large blue apron over his cassock in order to help inthe experiments. From that time he formed part of the work-shop, whichsimply counted a worker the more. 

One afternoon early in April, when they were all busily engaged there, Marie, who sat embroidering at the table in front of Mere-Grand, raisedher eyes to the window and suddenly burst into a cry of admiration: "Oh!look at Paris under that rain of sunlight!"

Pierre drew near; the play of light was much the same as that which hehad witnessed at his first visit. The sun, sinking behind some slightpurple clouds, was throwing down a hail of rays and sparks which on allsides rebounded and leapt over the endless stretch of roofs. It mighthave been thought that some great sower, hidden amidst the glory of theplanet, was scattering handfuls of golden grain from one horizon to theother. 

Pierre, at sight of it, put his fancy into words: "It is the sun sowingParis with grain for a future harvest, " said he. "See how the expanselooks like ploughed land; the brownish houses are like soil turned up, and the streets are deep and straight like furrows. "

"Yes, yes, that's true, " exclaimed Marie gaily. "The sun is sowing Pariswith grain. See how it casts the seed of light and health right away tothe distant suburbs! And yet, how singular! The rich districts on thewest seem steeped in a ruddy mist, whilst the good seed falls in goldendust over the left bank and the populous districts eastward. It is there, is it not, that the crop will spring up?"

They had all drawn near, and were smiling at the symbol. As Marie hadsaid, it seemed indeed that while the sun slowly sank behind the laceworkof clouds, the sower of eternal life scattered his flaming seed with arhythmical swing of the arm, ever selecting the districts of toil andeffort. One dazzling handful of grain fell over yonder on the district ofthe schools; and then yet another rained down to fertilise the districtof the factories and work-shops. 

"Ah! well, " said Guillaume gaily. "May the crop soon sprout from the goodground of our great Paris, which has been turned up by so manyrevolutions, and enriched by the blood of so many workers! It is the onlyground in the world where Ideas can germinate and bloom. Yes, yes, Pierreis quite right, it is the sun sowing Paris with the seed of the futureworld, which can sprout only up here!"

Then Thomas, Francois and Antoine, who stood behind their father in arow, nodded as if to say that this was also their own conviction; whilstMere-Grand gazed afar with dreamy eyes as though she could already beholdthe splendid future. 

"Ah! but it is only a dream; centuries must elapse. We shall never seeit!" murmured Pierre with a quiver. 

"But others will!" cried Marie. "And does not that suffice?"

Those lofty words stirred Pierre to the depths of his being. And all atonce there came to him the memory of another Marie*--the adorable Marieof his youth, that Marie de Guersaint who had been cured at Lourdes, andthe loss of whom had left such a void in his heart. Was that new Mariewho stood there smiling at him, so tranquil and so charming in herstrength, destined to heal that old-time wound? He felt that he wasbeginning to live again since she had become his friend. 

 * The heroine of M. Zola's "Lourdes. "

Meantime, there before them, the glorious sun, with the sweep of itsrays, was scattering living golden dust over Paris, still and ever sowingthe great future harvest of justice and of truth. 

II

TOWARDS LIFE

ONE evening, at the close of a good day's work, Pierre, who was helpingThomas, suddenly caught his foot in the skirt of his cassock and narrowlyescaped falling. At this, Marie, after raising a faint cry of anxiety, exclaimed: "Why don't you take it off?"

There was no malice in her inquiry. She simply looked upon the priestlyrobe as something too heavy and cumbersome, particularly when one hadcertain work to perform. Nevertheless, her words deeply impressed Pierre, and he could not forget them. When he was at home in the evening andrepeated them to himself they gradually threw him into feverishagitation. Why, indeed, had he not divested himself of that cassock, which weighed so heavily and painfully on his shoulders? Then a frightfulstruggle began within him, and he spent a terrible, sleepless night, again a prey to all his former torments. 

At first sight it seemed a very simple matter that he should cast hispriestly gown aside, for had he not ceased to discharge any priestlyoffice? He had not said mass for some time past, and this surely meantrenunciation of the priesthood. Nevertheless, so long as he retained hisgown it was possible that he might some day say mass again, whereas if hecast it aside he would, as it were, strip himself, quit the priesthoodentirely, without possibility of return. It was a terrible step to take, one that would prove irrevocable; and thus he paced his room for hours, in great anguish of mind. 

He had formerly indulged in a superb dream. Whilst believing nothinghimself he had resolved to watch, in all loyalty, over the belief ofothers. He would not so lower himself as to forswear his vows, he wouldbe no base renegade, but however great the torments of the void he feltwithin him he would remain the minister of man's illusions respecting theDivinity. And it was by reason of his conduct in this respect that he hadended by being venerated as a saint--he who denied everything, who hadbecome a mere empty sepulchre. For a long time his falsehood had neverdisturbed him, but it now brought him acute suffering. It seemed to himthat he would be acting in the vilest manner if he delayed placing hislife in accord with his opinions. The thought of it all quite rent hisheart. 

The question was a very clear one. By what right did he remain theminister of a religion in which he no longer believed? Did not elementaryhonesty require that he should quit a Church in which he denied thepresence of the Divinity? He regarded the dogmas of that Church aspuerile errors, and yet he persisted in teaching them as if they wereeternal truths. Base work it was, that alarmed his conscience. He vainlysought the feverish glow of charity and martyrdom which had led him tooffer himself as a sacrifice, willing to suffer all the torture of doubtand to find his own life lost and ravaged, provided that he might yetafford the relief of hope to the lowly. Truth and nature, no doubt, hadalready regained too much ascendancy over him for those feelings toreturn. The thought of such a lying apostolate now wounded him; he nolonger had the hypocritical courage to call the Divinity down upon thebelievers kneeling before him, when he was convinced that the Divinitywould not descend. Thus all the past was swept away; there remainednothing of the sublime pastoral part he would once have liked to play, that supreme gift of himself which lay in stubborn adherence to the rulesof the Church, and such devotion to faith as to endure in silence thetorture of having lost it. 

What must Marie think of his prolonged falsehood, he wondered, andthereupon he seemed to hear her words again: "Why not take your cassockoff?" His conscience bled as if those words were a stab. What contemptmust she not feel for him, she who was so upright, so high-minded? Everyscattered blame, every covert criticism directed against his conduct, seemed to find embodiment in her. It now sufficed that she should condemnhim, and he at once felt guilty. At the same time she had never voicedher disapproval to him, in all probability because she did not think shehad any right to intervene in a struggle of conscience. The superbcalmness and healthiness which she displayed still astonished him. Hehimself was ever haunted and tortured by thoughts of the unknown, of whatthe morrow of death might have in store for one; but although he hadstudied and watched her for days together, he had never seen her give asign of doubt or distress. This exemption from such sufferings as his ownwas due, said she, to the fact that she gave all her gaiety, all herenergy, all her sense of duty, to the task of living, in such wise thatlife itself proved a sufficiency, and no time was left for mere fanciesto terrify and stultify her. Well, then, since she with her air of quietstrength had asked him why he did not take off his cassock, he would takeit off--yes, he would divest himself of that robe which seemed to burnand weigh him down. 

He fancied himself calmed by this decision, and towards morning threwhimself upon his bed; but all at once a stifling sensation, a renewal ofhis abominable anguish, brought him to his feet again. No, no, he couldnot divest himself of that gown which clung so tightly to his flesh. Hisskin would come away with his cloth, his whole being would be lacerated!Is not the mark of priesthood an indelible one, does it not brand thepriest for ever, and differentiate him from the flock? Even should hetear off his gown with his skin, he would remain a priest, an object ofscandal and shame, awkward and impotent, shut off from the life of othermen. And so why tear it off, since he would still and ever remain inprison, and a fruitful life of work in the broad sunlight was no longerwithin his reach? He, indeed, fancied himself irremediably stricken withimpotence. Thus he was unable to come to any decision, and when hereturned to Montmartre two days later he had again relapsed into a stateof torment. 

Feverishness, moreover, had come upon the happy home. Guillaume wasbecoming more and more annoyed about Salvat's affair, not a day elapsingwithout the newspapers fanning his irritation. He had at first beendeeply touched by the dignified and reticent bearing of Salvat, who haddeclared that he had no accomplices whatever. Of course the inquiry intothe crime was what is called a secret one; but magistrate Amadieu, towhom it had been entrusted, conducted it in a very noisy way. Thenewspapers, which he in some degree took into his confidence, were fullof articles and paragraphs about him and his interviews with theprisoner. Thanks to Salvat's quiet admissions, Amadieu had been able toretrace the history of the crime hour by hour, his only remaining doubtshaving reference to the nature of the powder which had been employed, andthe making of the bomb itself. It might after all be true that Salvat hadloaded the bomb at a friend's, as he indeed asserted was the case; but hemust be lying when he added that the only explosive used was dynamite, derived from some stolen cartridges, for all the experts now declaredthat dynamite would never have produced such effects as those which hadbeen witnessed. This, then, was the mysterious point which protracted theinvestigations. And day by day the newspapers profited by it to circulatethe wildest stories under sensational headings, which were speciallydevised for the purpose of sending up their sales. 

It was all the nonsense contained in these stories that fannedGuillaume's irritation. In spite of his contempt for Sagnier he could notkeep from buying the "Voix du Peuple. " Quivering with indignation, growing more and more exasperated, he was somehow attracted by the mirewhich he found in that scurrilous journal. Moreover, the othernewspapers, including even the "Globe, " which was usually so dignified, published all sorts of statements for which no proof could be supplied, and drew from them remarks and conclusions which, though couched inmilder language than Sagnier's, were none the less abominably unjust. Itseemed indeed as if the whole press had set itself the task of coveringSalvat with mud, so as to be able to vilify Anarchism generally. According to the journalists the prisoner's life had simply been one longabomination. He had already earned his living by thievery in hischildhood at the time when he had roamed the streets, an unhappy, forsaken vagrant; and later on he had proved a bad soldier and a badworker. He had been punished for insubordination whilst he was in thearmy, and he had been dismissed from a dozen work-shops because heincessantly disturbed them by his Anarchical propaganda. Later still, hehad fled his country and led a suspicious life of adventure in America, where, it was alleged, he must have committed all sorts of unknowncrimes. Moreover there was his horrible immorality, his connection withhis sister-in-law, that Madame Theodore who had taken charge of hisforsaken child in his absence, and with whom he had cohabited since hisreturn to France. In this wise Salvat's failings and transgressions werepitilessly denounced and magnified without any mention of the causeswhich had induced them, or of the excuses which lay in the unhappy man'sdegrading environment. And so Guillaume's feelings of humanity andjustice revolted, for he knew the real Salvat, --a man of tender heart anddreamy mind, so liable to be impassioned by fancies, --a man cast intolife when a child without weapon of defence, ever trodden down or thrustaside, then gradually exasperated by the perpetual onslaughts of want, and at last dreaming of reviving the golden age by destroying the old, corrupt world. 

Unfortunately for Salvat, everything had gone against him since he hadbeen shut up in strict confinement, at the mercy of the ambitious andworldly Amadieu. Guillaume had learnt from his son, Thomas, that theprisoner could count on no support whatever among his former mates at theGrandidier works. These works were becoming prosperous once more, thanksto their steady output of bicycles; and it was said that Grandidier wasonly waiting for Thomas to perfect his little motor, in order to startthe manufacture of motor-cars on a large scale. However, the successwhich he was now for the first time achieving, and which scarcely repaidhim for all his years of toil and battle, had in certain respectsrendered him prudent and even severe. He did not wish any suspicion to becast upon his business through the unpleasant affair of his formerworkman Salvat, and so he had dismissed such of his workmen as heldAnarchist views. If he had kept the two Toussaints, one of whom was theprisoner's brother-in-law, while the other was suspected of sympathy withhim, this was because they had belonged to the works for a score ofyears, and he did not like to cast them adrift. Moreover, Toussaint, thefather, had declared that if he were called as a witness for the defence, he should simply give such particulars of Salvat's career as related tothe prisoner's marriage with his sister. 

One evening when Thomas came home from the works, to which he returnedevery now and then in order to try his little motor, he related that hehad that day seen Madame Grandidier, the poor young woman who had becomeinsane through an attack of puerperal fever following upon the death of achild. Although most frightful attacks of madness occasionally came overher, and although life beside her was extremely painful, even during theintervals when she remained downcast and gentle as a child, her husbandhad never been willing to send her to an asylum. He kept her with him ina pavilion near the works, and as a rule the shutters of the windowsoverlooking the yard remained closed. Thus Thomas had been greatlysurprised to see one of these windows open, and the young woman appear atit amidst the bright sunshine of that early spring. True, she onlyremained there for a moment, vision-like, fair and pretty, with smilingface; for a servant who suddenly drew near closed the window, and thepavilion then again sank into lifeless silence. At the same time it wasreported among the men employed at the works that the poor creature hadnot experienced an attack for well-nigh a month past, and that this wasthe reason why the "governor" looked so strong and pleased, and worked sovigorously to help on the increasing prosperity of his business. 

"He isn't a bad fellow, " added Thomas, "but with the terrible competitionthat he has to encounter, he is bent on keeping his men under control. Nowadays, says he, when so many capitalists and wage earners seem bent onexterminating one another, the latter--if they don't want tostarve--ought to be well pleased when capital falls into the hands of anactive, fair-minded man. . . . If he shows no pity for Salvat, it isbecause he really believes in the necessity of an example. "

That same day Thomas, after leaving the works and while threading his waythrough the toilsome hive-like Marcadet district, had overtaken MadameTheodore and little Celine, who were wandering on in great distress. Itappeared that they had just called upon Toussaint, who had been unable tolend them even such a trifle as ten sous. Since Salvat's arrest, thewoman and the child had been forsaken and suspected by one and all. Driven forth from their wretched lodging, they were without food andwandered hither and thither dependent on chance alms. Never had greaterwant and misery fallen on defenceless creatures. 

"I told them to come up here, father, " said Thomas, "for I thought thatone might pay their landlord a month's rent, so that they might go homeagain. . . . Ah! there's somebody coming now--it's they, no doubt. "

Guillaume had felt angry with himself whilst listening to his son, for hehad not thought of the poor creatures. It was the old story: the mandisappears, and the woman and the child find themselves in the streets, starving. Whenever Justice strikes a man her blow travels beyond him, fells innocent beings and kills them. 

Madame Theodore came in, humble and timid, scared like a lucklesscreature whom life never wearies of persecuting. She was becoming almostblind, and little Celine had to lead her. The girl's fair, thin face woreits wonted expression of shrewd intelligence, and even now, howeverwoeful her rags, it was occasionally brightened by a childish smile. 

Pierre and Marie, who were both there, felt extremely touched. Near themwas Madame Mathis, young Victor's mother, who had come to help Mere-Grandwith the mending of some house-linen. She went out by the day in thisfashion among a few families, and was thus enabled to give her son anoccasional franc or two. Guillaume alone questioned Madame Theodore. 

"Ah! monsieur, " she stammered, "who could ever have thought Salvatcapable of such a thing, he who's so good and so humane? Still it's true, since he himself has admitted it to the magistrate. . . . For my part Itold everybody that he was in Belgium. I wasn't quite sure of it, stillI'm glad that he didn't come back to see us; for if he had been arrestedat our place I should have lost my senses. . . . Well, now that they havehim, they'll sentence him to death, that's certain. "

At this Celine, who had been looking around her with an air of interest, piteously exclaimed: "Oh! no, oh! no, mamma, they won't hurt him!"

Big tears appeared in the child's eyes as she raised this cry. Guillaumekissed her, and then went on questioning Madame Theodore. 

"Well, monsieur, " she answered, "the child's not old or big enough towork as yet, and my eyes are done for, people won't even take me as acharwoman. And so it's simple enough, we starve. . . . Oh! of course I'mnot without relations; I have a sister who married very well. Her husbandis a clerk, Monsieur Chretiennot, perhaps you know him. Unfortunatelyhe's rather proud, and as I don't want any scenes between him and mysister, I no longer go to see her. Besides, she's in despair just now, for she's expecting another baby, which is a terrible blow for a smallhousehold, when one already has two girls. . . . That's why the onlyperson I can apply to is my brother Toussaint. His wife isn't a bad sortby any means, but she's no longer the same since she's been living infear of her husband having another attack. The first one carried off allher savings, and what would become of her if Toussaint should remain onher hands, paralysed? Besides, she's threatened with another burden, for, as you may know, her son Charles got keeping company with a servant at awine shop, who of course ran away after she had a baby, which she lefthim to see to. So one can understand that the Toussaints themselves arehard put. I don't complain of them. They've already lent me a littlemoney, and of course they can't go on lending for ever. "

She continued talking in this spiritless, resigned way, complaining onlyon account of Celine; for, said she, it was enough to make one's heartbreak to see such an intelligent child obliged to tramp the streets aftergetting on so well at the Communal School. She could feel too thateverybody now kept aloof from them on account of Salvat. The Toussaintsdidn't want to be compromised in any such business. There was onlyCharles, who had said that he could well understand a man losing his headand trying to blow up the /bourgeois/, because they really treated theworkers in a blackguard way. 

"For my part, monsieur, " added Madame Theodore, "I say nothing, for I'monly a woman. All the same, though, if you'd like to know what I think, well, I think that it would have been better if Salvat hadn't done whathe did, for we two, the girl and I, are the real ones to suffer from it. Ah! I can't get the idea into my head, that the little one should be thedaughter of a man condemned to death. "

Once more Celine interrupted her, flinging her arms around her neck: "Oh!mamma, oh! mamma, don't say that, I beg you! It can't be true, it grievesme too much!"

At this Pierre and Marie exchanged compassionate glances, whileMere-Grand rose from her chair, in order to go upstairs and search herwardrobes for some articles of clothing which might be of use to the twopoor creatures. Guillaume, who, for his part, had been moved to tears, and felt full of revolt against the social system which rendered suchdistress possible, slipped some alms into the child's little hand, andpromised Madame Theodore that he would see her landlord so as to get herback her room. 

"Ah! Monsieur Froment!" replied the unfortunate woman. "Salvat was quiteright when he said you were a real good man! And as you employed him herefor a few days you know too that he isn't a wicked one. . . . Now thathe's been put in prison everybody calls him a brigand, and it breaks myheart to hear them. " Then, turning towards Madame Mathis, who hadcontinued sewing in discreet silence, like a respectable woman whom noneof these things could concern, she went on: "I know you, madame, but I'mbetter acquainted with your son, Monsieur Victor, who has often come tochat at our place. Oh! you needn't be afraid, I shan't say it, I shallnever compromise anybody; but if Monsieur Victor were free to speak, he'dbe the man to explain Salvat's ideas properly. "

Madame Mathis looked at her in stupefaction. Ignorant as she was of herson's real life and views, she experienced a vague dread at the idea ofany connection between him and Salvat's family. Moreover, she refused tobelieve it possible. "Oh! you must be mistaken, " she said. "Victor toldme that he now seldom came to Montmartre, as he was always going about insearch of work. "

By the anxious quiver of the widow's voice, Madame Theodore understoodthat she ought not to have mixed her up in her troubles; and so in allhumility she at once beat a retreat: "I beg your pardon, madame, I didn'tthink I should hurt your feelings. Perhaps, too, I'm mistaken, as yousay. "

Madame Mathis had again turned to her sewing as to the solitude in whichshe lived, that nook of decent misery where she dwelt withoutcompanionship and almost unknown, with scarcely sufficient bread to eat. Ah! that dear son of hers, whom she loved so well; however much he mightneglect her, she had placed her only remaining hope in him: he was herlast dream, and would some day lavish all kinds of happiness upon her!

At that moment Mere-Grand came downstairs again, laden with a bundle oflinen and woollen clothing, and Madame Theodore and little Celinewithdrew while pouring forth their thanks. For a long time after they hadgone Guillaume, unable to resume work, continued walking to and fro insilence, with a frown upon his face. 

When Pierre, still hesitating and still tortured by conflicting feelings, returned to Montmartre on the following day he witnessed with muchsurprise a visit of a very different kind. There was a sudden gust ofwind, a whirl of skirts and a ring of laughter as little PrincessRosemonde swept in, followed by young Hyacinthe Duvillard, who, on hisside, retained a very frigid bearing. 

"It's I, my dear master, " exclaimed the Princess. "I promised you avisit, you remember, for I am such a great admirer of your genius. Andour young friend here has been kind enough to bring me. We have only justreturned from Norway, and my very first visit is for you. "

She turned as she spoke, and bowed in an easy and gracious way to Pierreand Marie, Francois and Antoine, who were also there. Then she resumed:"Oh! my dear master, you have no idea how beautifully virginal Norway is!We all ought to go and drink at that new source of the Ideal, and weshould return purified, rejuvenated and capable of great renunciations!"

As a matter of fact she had been well-nigh bored to death there. To makeone's honeymoon journey to the land of the ice and snow, instead of toItaly, the hot land of the sun, was doubtless a very refined idea, whichshowed that no base materialism formed part of one's affections. It wasthe soul alone that travelled, and naturally it was fit that only kissesof the soul should be exchanged on the journey. Unfortunately, however, Hyacinthe had carried his symbolism so far as to exasperate Rosemonde, and on one occasion they had come to blows over it, and then to tearswhen this lover's quarrel had ended as many such quarrels do. Briefly, they had no longer deemed themselves pure enough for the companionship ofthe swans and the lakes of dreamland, and had therefore taken the firststeamer that was sailing for France. 

As it was altogether unnecessary to confess to everybody what a failuretheir journey had proved, the Princess abruptly brought her rapturousreferences to Norway to an end, and then explained: "By the way, do youknow what I found awaiting me on my return? Why, I found my housepillaged, oh! completely pillaged! And in such a filthy condition, too!We at once recognised the mark of the beast, and thought of Bergaz'syoung friends. "

Already on the previous day Guillaume had read in the newspapers that aband of young Anarchists had entered the Princess's little house bybreaking a basement window. She had left it quite deserted, unprotectedeven by a caretaker; and the robbers had not merely removed everythingfrom the premises--including even the larger articles of furniture, buthad lived there for a couple of days, bringing provisions in fromoutside, drinking all the wine in the cellars, and leaving every room ina most filthy and disgusting condition. On discovering all this, Rosemonde had immediately remembered the evening she had spent at theChamber of Horrors in the company of Bergaz and his acolytes, Rossi andSanfaute, who had heard her speak of her intended trip to Norway. The twoyoung men had therefore been arrested, but Bergaz had so far escaped. ThePrincess was not greatly astonished by it all, for she had already beenwarned of the presence of dangerous characters among the mixedcosmopolitan set with which she associated. Janzen had told her inconfidence of a number of villanous affairs which were attributed toBergaz and his band. And now the Anarchist leader openly declared thatBergaz had sold himself to the police like Raphanel; and that theburglary at the Princess's residence had been planned by the policeofficials, who thereby hoped to cover the Anarchist cause with mire. Ifproof was wanted of this, added Janzen, it could be found in the factthat the police had allowed Bergaz to escape. 

"I fancied that the newspapers might have exaggerated matters, " saidGuillaume, when the Princess had finished her story. "They are inventingsuch abominable things just now, in order to blacken the case of thatpoor devil Salvat. "

"Oh! they've exaggerated nothing!" Rosemonde gaily rejoined. "As a matterof fact they have omitted a number of particulars which were too filthyfor publication. . . . For my part, I've merely had to go to an hotel. I'm very comfortable there; I was beginning to feel bored in that houseof mine. . . . All the same, however, Anarchism is hardly a cleanbusiness, and I no longer like to say that I have any connection withit. "

She again laughed, and then passed to another subject, asking Guillaumeto tell her of his most recent researches, in order, no doubt, that shemight show she knew enough chemistry to understand him. He had beenrendered thoughtful, however, by the story of Bergaz and the burglary, and would only answer her in a general way. 

Meantime, Hyacinthe was renewing his acquaintance with hisschool-fellows, Francois and Antoine. He had accompanied the Princess toMontmartre against his own inclinations; but since she had taken towhipping him he had become afraid of her. The chemist's little homefilled him with disdain, particularly as the chemist was a man ofquestionable reputation. Moreover, he thought it a duty to insist on hisown superiority in the presence of those old school-fellows of his, whomhe found toiling away in the common rut, like other people. 

"Ah! yes, " said he to Francois, who was taking notes from a book spreadopen before him, "you are at the Ecole Normale, I believe, and arepreparing for your licentiate. Well, for my part, you know, the idea ofbeing tied to anything horrifies me. I become quite stupid when there'sany question of examination or competition. The only possible road forone to follow is that of the Infinite. And between ourselves what duperythere is in science, how it narrows our horizon! It's just as well toremain a child with eyes gazing into the invisible. A child knows morethan all your learned men. "

Francois, who occasionally indulged in irony, pretended to share hisopinion. "No doubt, no doubt, " said he, "but one must have a naturaldisposition to remain a child. For my part, unhappily, I'm consumed by adesire to learn and know. It's deplorable, as I'm well aware, but I passmy days racking my brain over books. . . . I shall never know very much, that's certain; and perhaps that's the reason why I'm ever striving tolearn a little more. You must at all events grant that work, likeidleness, is a means of passing life, though of course it is a lesselegant and aesthetic one. "

"Less aesthetic, precisely, " rejoined Hyacinthe. "Beauty lies solely inthe unexpressed, and life is simply degraded when one introduces anythingmaterial into it. "

Simpleton though he was in spite of the enormity of his pretensions, hedoubtless detected that Francois had been speaking ironically. So heturned to Antoine, who had remained seated in front of a block he wasengraving. It was the one which represented Lise reading in her garden, for he was ever taking it in hand again and touching it up in his desireto emphasise his indication of the girl's awakening to intelligence andlife. 

"So you engrave, I see, " said Hyacinthe. "Well, since I renouncedversification--a little poem I had begun on the End of Woman--becausewords seemed to me so gross and cumbersome, mere paving-stones as itwere, fit for labourers, I myself have had some idea of trying drawing, and perhaps engraving too. But what drawing can portray the mystery whichlies beyond life, the only sphere that has any real existence andimportance for us? With what pencil and on what kind of plate could onedepict it? We should need something impalpable, something unheard of, which would merely suggest the essence of things and beings. "

"But it's only by material means, " Antoine somewhat roughly replied, "that art can render the essence of things and beings, that is, theirfull significance as we understand it. To transcribe life is my greatpassion; and briefly life is the only mystery that there is in things andbeings. When it seems to me that an engraving of mine lives, I'm wellpleased, for I feel that I have created. "

Hyacinthe pouted by way of expressing his contempt of all fruitfulness. Any fool might beget offspring. It was the sexless idea, existing byitself, that was rare and exquisite. He tried to explain this, but becameconfused, and fell back on the conviction which he had brought back fromNorway, that literature and art were done for in France, killed bybaseness and excess of production. 

"It's evident!" said Francois gaily by way of conclusion. "To do nothingalready shows that one has some talent!"

Meantime, Pierre and Marie listened and gazed around them, somewhatembarrassed by this strange visit which had set the usually grave andpeaceful workroom topsy-turvy. The little Princess, though, evinced muchamiability, and on drawing near to Marie admired the wonderful delicacyof some embroidery she was finishing. Before leaving, moreover, Rosemondeinsisted upon Guillaume inscribing his autograph in an album whichHyacinthe had to fetch from her carriage. The young man obeyed her withevident boredom. It could be seen that they were already weary of oneanother. Pending a fresh caprice, however, it amused Rosemonde toterrorize her sorry victim. When she at length led him away, afterdeclaring to Guillaume that she should always regard that visit as amemorable incident in her life, she made the whole household smile bysaying: "Oh! so your sons knew Hyacinthe at college. He's a good-naturedlittle fellow, isn't he? and he would really be quite nice if he wouldonly behave like other people. "

That same day Janzen and Bache came to spend the evening with Guillaume. Once a week they now met at Montmartre, as they had formerly done atNeuilly. Pierre, on these occasions, went home very late, for as soon asMere-Grand, Marie, and Guillaume's sons had retired for the night, therewere endless chats in the workroom, whence Paris could be seen spangledwith thousands of gas lights. Another visitor at these times wasTheophile Morin, but he did not arrive before ten o'clock, as he wasdetained by the work of correcting his pupils' exercises or some otherwearisome labour pertaining to his profession. 

As soon as Guillaume had told the others of the Princess's visit thatafternoon, Janzen hastily exclaimed: "But she's mad, you know. When Ifirst met her I thought for a moment that I might perhaps utilise her forthe cause. She seemed so thoroughly convinced and bold! But I soon foundthat she was the craziest of women, and simply hungered for newemotions!"

Janzen was at last emerging from his wonted frigidity and mysteriousness. His cheeks were quite flushed. In all probability he had suffered fromhis rupture with the woman whom he had once called 'the Queen of theAnarchists, ' and whose fortune and extensive circle of acquaintance hadseemed to him such powerful weapons of propaganda. 

"You know, " said he, when he had calmed down, "it was the police who hadher house pillaged and turned into a pigstye. Yes, in view of Salvat'strial, which is now near at hand, the idea was to damn Anarchism beyondpossibility of even the faintest sympathy on the part of the/bourgeois/. "

"Yes, she told me so, " replied Guillaume, who had become attentive. "ButI scarcely credit the story. If Bergaz had merely acted under suchinfluence as you suggest, he would have been arrested with the others, just as Raphanel was taken with those whom he betrayed. Besides, I knowsomething of Bergaz; he's a freebooter. " Guillaume made a sorrowfulgesture, and then in a saddened voice continued: "Oh, I can understandall claims and all legitimate reprisals. But theft, cynical theft for thepurpose of profit and enjoyment, is beyond me! It lowers my hope of abetter and more equitable form of society. Yes, that burglary at thePrincess's house has greatly distressed me. "

An enigmatical smile, sharp like a knife, again played over Janzen'slips. "Oh! it's a matter of heredity with you!" said he. "The centuriesof education and belief that lie behind you compel you to protest. Allthe same, however, when people won't make restoration, things must betaken from them. What worries me is that Bergaz should have sold himselfjust now. The public prosecutor will use that farcical burglary as acrushing argument when he asks the jury for Salvat's head. "

Such was Janzen's hatred of the police that he stubbornly clung to hisversion of the affair. Perhaps, too, he had quarrelled with Bergaz, withwhom he had at one time freely associated. 

Guillaume, who understood that all discussion would be useless, contentedhimself with replying: "Ah! yes, Salvat! Everything is against thatunhappy fellow, he is certain to be condemned. But you can't know, myfriends, what a passion that affair of his puts me into. All my ideas oftruth and justice revolt at the thought of it. He's a madman certainly;but there are so many excuses to be urged for him. At bottom he is simplya martyr who has followed the wrong track. And yet he has become thescapegoat, laden with the crimes of the whole nation, condemned to payfor one and all!"

Bache and Morin nodded without replying. They both professed horror ofAnarchism; while Morin, forgetting that the word if not the thing datedfrom his first master Proudhon, clung to his Comtist doctrines, in theconviction that science alone would ensure the happiness and pacificationof the nations. Bache, for his part, old mystical humanitarian that hewas, claimed that the only solution would come from Fourier, who bydecreeing an alliance of talent, labour and capital, had mapped out thefuture in a decisive manner. Nevertheless, both Bache and Morin were sodiscontented with the slow-paced /bourgeoise/ Republic of the presentday, and so hurt by the thought that everything was going from bad toworse through the flouting of their own particular ideas, that they werequite willing to wax indignant at the manner in which the conflictingparties of the time were striving to make use of Salvat in order toretain or acquire power. 

"When one thinks, " said Bache, "that this ministerial crisis of theirshas now been lasting for nearly three weeks! Every appetite is openlydisplayed, it's a most disgusting sight! Did you see in the papers thismorning that the President has again been obliged to summon Vignon to theElysee?"

"Oh! the papers, " muttered Morin in his weary way, "I no longer readthem! What's the use of doing so? They are so badly written, and they alllie!"

As Bache had said, the ministerial crisis was still dragging on. ThePresident of the Republic, taking as his guide the debate in the Chamberof Deputies, by which the Barroux administration had been overthrown, hadvery properly sent for Vignon, the victor on that occasion, and entrustedhim with the formation of a new ministry. It had seemed that this wouldbe an easy task, susceptible of accomplishment in two or three days atthe utmost, for the names of the friends whom the young leader of theRadical party would bring to power with him had been freely mentioned formonths past. But all sorts of difficulties had suddenly arisen. For tendays or so Vignon had struggled on amidst inextricable obstacles. Then, disheartened and disgusted, fearing, too, that he might use himself upand shut off the future if he persisted in his endeavours, he had beenobliged to tell the President that he renounced the task. Forthwith thePresident had summoned other deputies, and questioned them until he hadfound one brave enough to make an attempt on his own account; whereuponincidents similar to those which had marked Vignon's endeavours had oncemore occurred. At the outset a list was drawn up with every prospect ofbeing ratified within a few hours, but all at once hesitation arose, somepulled one way, some another; every effort was slowly paralysed tillabsolute failure resulted. It seemed as though the mysterious manoeuvreswhich had hampered Vignon had begun again; it was as if some band ofinvisible plotters was, for some unknown purpose, doing its utmost towreck every combination. A thousand hindrances arose with increasingforce from every side--jealousy, dislike, and even betrayal were secretlyprompted by expert agents, who employed every form of pressure, whetherthreats or promises, besides fanning and casting rival passions andinterests into collision. Thus the President, greatly embarrassed by thisposture of affairs, had again found it necessary to summon Vignon, who, after reflection and negotiation, now had an almost complete list in hispocket, and seemed likely to perfect a new administration within the nextforty-eight hours. 

"Still it isn't settled, " resumed Bache. "Well-informed people assertthat Vignon will fail again as he did the first time. For my part I can'tget rid of the idea that Duvillard's gang is pulling the strings, thoughfor whose benefit is a mystery. You may be quite sure, however, that itschief purpose is to stifle the African Railways affair. If Monferrandwere not so badly compromised I should almost suspect some trick on hispart. Have you noticed that the 'Globe, ' after throwing Barroux overboardin all haste, now refers to Monferrand every day with the most respectfulsympathy? That's a grave sign; for it isn't Fonsegue's habit to show anysolicitude for the vanquished. But what can one expect from that wretchedChamber! The only point certain is that something dirty is being plottedthere. "

"And that big dunderhead Mege who works for every party except his own!"exclaimed Morin; "what a dupe he is with that idea that he need merelyoverthrow first one cabinet and then another, in order to become theleader of one himself!"

The mention of Mege brought them all to agreement, for they unanimouslyhated him. Bache, although his views coincided on many points with thoseof the apostle of State Collectivism, judged each of his speeches, eachof his actions, with pitiless severity. Janzen, for his part, treated theCollectivist leader as a mere reactionary /bourgeois/, who ought to beswept away one of the first. This hatred of Mege was indeed the commonpassion of Guillaume's friends. They could occasionally show some justicefor men who in no wise shared their ideas; but in their estimation it wasan unpardonable crime for anybody to hold much the same views asthemselves, without being absolutely in agreement with them on everypossible point. 

Their discussion continued, their various theories mingling or clashingtill they passed from politics to the press, and grew excited over thedenunciations which poured each morning from Sagnier's newspaper, likefilth from the mouth of a sewer. Thereupon Guillaume, who had becomeabsorbed in reverie while pacing to and fro according to his habit, suddenly exclaimed: "Ah! what dirty work it is that Sagnier does! Beforelong there won't be a single person, a single thing left on which hehasn't vomited! You think he's on your side, and suddenly he splashes youwith mire! . . . By the way, he related yesterday that skeleton keys andstolen purses were found on Salvat when he was arrested in the Bois deBoulogne! It's always Salvat! He's the inexhaustible subject forarticles. The mere mention of him suffices to send up a paper's sales!The bribe-takers of the African Railways shout 'Salvat!' to create adiversion. And the battles which wreck ministers are waged round hisname. One and all set upon him and make use of him and beat him down!"

With that cry of revolt and compassion, the friends separated for thenight. Pierre, who sat near the open window, overlooking the sparklingimmensity of Paris, had listened to the others without speaking a word. He had once more been mastered by his doubts, the terrible struggle ofhis heart and mind; and no solution, no appeasement had come to him fromall the contradictory views he had heard--the views of men who onlyunited in predicting the disappearance of the old world, and could makeno joint brotherly effort to rear the future world of truth and justice. In that vast city of Paris stretching below him, spangled with stars, glittering like the sky of a summer's night, Pierre also found a greatenigma. It was like chaos, like a dim expanse of ashes dotted with sparkswhence the coming aurora would arise. What future was being forged there, he wondered, what decisive word of salvation and happiness would comewith the dawn, and wing its flight to every point of the horizon?

When Pierre, in his turn, was about to retire, Guillaume laid his handsupon his shoulders, and with much emotion gave him a long look. "Ah! mypoor fellow, " said he, "you've been suffering too for some days past, Ihave noticed it. But you are the master of your sufferings, for thestruggle you have to overcome is simply in yourself, and you can subdueit; whereas one cannot subdue the world, when it is the world, itscruelty and injustice that make one suffer! Good night, be brave, act asyour reason tells you, even if it makes you weep, and you will find peacesurely enough. "

Later on, when Pierre again found himself alone in his little house atNeuilly, where none now visited him save the shades of his father andmother, he was long kept awake by a supreme internal combat. He had neverbefore felt so disgusted with the falsehood of his life, that cassockwhich he had persisted in wearing, though he was a priest in name only. Perhaps it was all that he had beheld and heard at his brother's, thewant and wretchedness of some, the wild, futile agitation of others, theneed of improvement among mankind which remained paramount amidst everycontradiction and form of weakness, that had made him more deeplyconscious of the necessity of living in loyal and normal fashion in thebroad daylight. He could no longer think of his former dream of leadingthe solitary life of a saintly priest when he was nothing of the kind, without a shiver of shame at having lied so long. And now it was quitedecided, he would lie no longer, not even from feelings of compassion inorder that others might retain their religious illusions. And yet howpainful it was to have to divest himself of that gown which seemed tocling to his skin, and how heartrending the thought that if he did removeit he would be skinless, lacerated, infirm, unable, do what he might, tobecome like other men!

It was this recurring thought which again tortured him throughout thatterrible night. Would life yet allow him to enter its fold? Had he notbeen branded with a mark which for ever condemned him to dwell apart? Hethought he could feel his priestly vows burning his very flesh likered-hot iron. What use would it be for him to dress as men dress, if inreality he was never to be a man? He had hitherto lived in such aquivering state, in a sphere of renunciation and dreams! To know manhoodnever, to be too late for it, that thought filled him with terror. Andwhen at last he made up his mind to fling aside his cassock, he did sofrom a simple sense of rectitude, for all his anguish remained. 

When he returned to Montmartre on the following day, he wore a jacket andtrousers of a dark colour. Neither an exclamation nor a glance that mighthave embarrassed him came from Mere-Grand or the three young men. Was notthe change a natural one? They greeted him therefore in the quiet waythat was usual with them; perhaps, with some increase of affection, as ifto set him the more at his ease. Guillaume, however, ventured to smilegood-naturedly. In that change he detected his own work. Cure was coming, as he had hoped it would come, by him and in his own home, amid the fullsunlight, the life which ever streamed in through yonder window. 

Marie, who on her side raised her eyes and looked at Pierre, knew nothingof the sufferings which he had endured through her simple and logicalinquiry: "Why not take your cassock off?" She merely felt that byremoving it he would be more at ease for his work. 

"Oh, Pierre, just come and look!" she suddenly exclaimed. "I have beenamusing myself with watching all the smoke which the wind is layingyonder over Paris. One might take it to be a huge fleet of ships shiningin the sunlight. Yes, yes, golden ships, thousands of golden ships, setting forth from the ocean of Paris to enlighten and pacify the world!"

III

THE DAWN OF LOVE

A COUPLE of days afterwards, when Pierre was already growing accustomedto his new attire, and no longer gave it a thought, it so happened thaton reaching Montmartre he encountered Abbe Rose outside the basilica ofthe Sacred Heart. The old priest, who at first was quite thunderstruckand scarcely able to recognise him, ended by taking hold of his hands andgiving him a long look. Then with his eyes full of tears he exclaimed:"Oh! my son, so you have fallen into the awful state I feared! I nevermentioned it, but I felt that God had withdrawn from you. Ah! nothingcould wound my heart so cruelly as this. "

Then, still trembling, he began to lead Pierre away as if to hide such ascandal from the few people who passed by; and at last, his strengthfailing him, he sank upon a heap of bricks lying on the grass of one ofthe adjoining work-yards. 

The sincere grief which his old and affectionate friend displayed upsetPierre far more than any angry reproaches or curses would have done. Tears had come to his own eyes, so acute was the suffering he experiencedat this meeting, which he ought, however, to have foreseen. There was yetanother wrenching, and one which made the best of their blood flow, inthat rupture between Pierre and the saintly man whose charitable dreamsand hopes of salvation he had so long shared. There had been so manydivine illusions, so many struggles for the relief of the masses, so muchrenunciation and forgiveness practised in common between them in theirdesire to hasten the harvest of the future! And now they were parting;he, Pierre, still young in years, was returning to life, leaving his agedcompanion to his vain waiting and his dreams. 

In his turn, taking hold of Abbe Rose's hands, he gave expression to hissorrow. "Ah, my friend, my father, " said he, "it is you alone that Iregret losing, now that I am leaving my frightful torments behind. Ithought that I was cured of them, but it has been sufficient for me tomeet you, and my heart is rent again. . . . Don't weep for me, I prayyou, don't reproach me for what I have done. It was necessary that Ishould do it. If I had consulted you, you would yourself have told methat it was better to renounce the priesthood than to remain a priestwithout faith or honour. "

"Yes, yes, " Abbe Rose gently responded, "you no longer had any faithleft. I suspected it. And your rigidity and saintliness of life, in whichI detected such great despair, made me anxious for you. How many hoursdid I not spend at times in striving to calm you! And you must listen tome again, you must still let me save you. I am not a sufficiently learnedtheologian to lead you back by discussing texts and dogmas; but in thename of Charity, my child, yes, in the name of Charity alone, reflect andtake up your task of consolation and hope once more. "

Pierre had sat down beside Abbe Rose, in that deserted nook, at the veryfoot of the basilica. "Charity! charity!" he replied in passionateaccents; "why, it is its nothingness and bankruptcy that have killed thepriest there was in me. How can you believe that benevolence issufficient, when you have spent your whole life in practising it withoutany other result than that of seeing want perpetuated and even increased, and without any possibility of naming the day when such abomination shallcease? . . . You think of the reward after death, do you not? The justicethat is to reign in heaven? But that is not justice, it is dupery--duperythat has brought the world nothing but suffering for centuries past. "

Then he reminded the old priest of their life in the Charonne district, when they had gone about together succouring children in the streets andparents in their hovels; the whole of those admirable efforts which, sofar as Abbe Rose was concerned, had simply ended in blame from hissuperiors, and removal from proximity to his poor, under penalty of moresevere punishment should he persist in compromising religion by thepractice of blind benevolence without reason or object. And now, was henot, so to say, submerged beneath the ever-rising tide of want, awarethat he would never, never be able to give enough even should he disposeof millions, and that he could only prolong the agony of the poor, who, even should they eat today, would starve again on the morrow? Thus he waspowerless. The wound which he tried to dress and heal, immediatelyreopened and spread, in such wise that all society would at last bestricken and carried off by it. 

Quivering as he listened, and slowly shaking his white head, the oldpriest ended by replying: "that does that matter, my child? what doesthat matter? One must give, always give, give in spite of everything!There is no other joy on earth. . . . If dogmas worry you, contentyourself with the Gospel, and even of that retain merely the promise ofsalvation through charity. "

But at this Pierre's feelings revolted. He forgot that he was speaking toone of simple mind, who was all love and nothing else, and couldtherefore not follow him. "The trial has been made, " he answered, "humansalvation cannot be effected by charity, nothing but justice canaccomplish it. That is the gathering cry which is going up from everynation. For nearly two thousand years now the Gospel has proved afailure. There has been no redemption; the sufferings of mankind areevery whit as great and unjust as they were when Jesus came. And thus theGospel is now but an abolished code, from which society can only drawthings that are troublous and hurtful. Men must free themselves from it. "

This was his final conviction. How strange the idea, thought he, ofchoosing as the world's social legislator one who lived, as Jesus lived, amidst a social system absolutely different from that of nowadays. Theage was different, the very world was different. And if it were merely aquestion of retaining only such of the moral teaching of Jesus as seemedhuman and eternal, was there not again a danger in applying immutableprinciples to the society of every age? No society could live under thestrict law of the Gospel. Was not all order, all labour, all lifedestroyed by the teaching of Jesus? Did He not deny woman, the earth, eternal nature and the eternal fruitfulness of things and beings?Moreover, Catholicism had reared upon His primitive teaching such afrightful edifice of terror and oppression. The theory of original sin, that terrible heredity reviving with each creature born into the world, made no allowance as Science does for the corrective influences ofeducation, circumstances and environment. There could be no morepessimist conception of man than this one which devotes him to the Devilfrom the instant of his birth, and pictures him as struggling againsthimself until the instant of his death. An impossible and absurdstruggle, for it is a question of changing man in his entirety, killingthe flesh, killing reason, destroying some guilty energy in each andevery passion, and of pursuing the Devil to the very depths of thewaters, mountains and forests, there to annihilate him with the very sapof the world. If this theory is accepted the world is but sin, a mereHell of temptation and suffering, through which one must pass in order tomerit Heaven. Ah! what an admirable instrument for absolute despotism isthat religion of death, which the principle of charity alone has enabledmen to tolerate, but which the need of justice will perforce sweep away. The poor man, who is the wretched dupe of it all, no longer believes inParadise, but requires that each and all should be rewarded according totheir deserts upon this earth; and thus eternal life becomes the goodgoddess, and desire and labour the very laws of the world, while thefruitfulness of woman is again honoured, and the idiotic nightmare ofHell is replaced by glorious Nature whose travail knows no end. Leaningupon modern Science, clear Latin reason sweeps away the ancient Semiticconception of the Gospel. 

"For eighteen hundred years, " concluded Pierre, "Christianity has beenhampering the march of mankind towards truth and justice. And mankindwill only resume its evolution on the day when it abolishes Christianity, and places the Gospel among the works of the wise, without taking it anylonger as its absolute and final law. "

But Abbe Rose raised his trembling hands: "Be quiet, be quiet, my child!"he cried; "you are blaspheming! I knew that doubt distracted you; but Ithought you so patient, so able to bear suffering, that I relied on yourspirit of renunciation and resignation. What can have happened to makeyou leave the Church in this abrupt and violent fashion? I no longerrecognise you. Sudden passion has sprung up in you, an invincible forceseems to carry you away. What is it? Who has changed you, tell me?"

Pierre listened in astonishment. "No, " said he, "I assure you, I am suchas you have known me, and in all this there is but an inevitable resultand finish. Who could have influenced me, since nobody has entered mylife? What new feeling could transform me, since I find none in me? I amthe same as before, the same assuredly. "

Still there was a touch of hesitation in his voice. Was it really truethat there had been no change within him? He again questioned himself, and there came no clear answer; decidedly, he would find nothing. It wasall but a delightful awakening, an overpowering desire for life, alonging to open his arms widely enough to embrace everyone andeverything indeed, a breeze of joy seemed to raise him from the groundand carry him along. 

Although Abbe Rose was too innocent of heart to understand thingsclearly, he again shook his head and thought of the snares which theDevil is ever setting for men. He was quite overwhelmed by Pierre'sdefection. Continuing his efforts to win him back, he made the mistake ofadvising him to consult Monseigneur Martha, for he hoped that a prelateof such high authority would find the words necessary to restore him tohis faith. Pierre, however, boldly replied that if he was leaving theChurch it was partly because it comprised such a man as Martha, such anartisan of deception and despotism, one who turned religion into corruptdiplomacy, and dreamt of winning men back to God by dint of ruses. Thereupon Abbe Rose, rising to his feet, could find no other argument inhis despair than that of pointing to the basilica which stood besidethem, square, huge and massive, and still waiting for its dome. 

"That is God's abode, my child, " said he, "the edifice of expiation andtriumph, of penitence and forgiveness. You have said mass in it, and nowyou are leaving it sacrilegiously and forswearing yourself!"

But Pierre also had risen; and buoyed up by a sudden rush of health andstrength he answered: "No, no! I am leaving it willingly, as one leaves adark vault, to return into the open air and the broad sunlight. God doesnot dwell there; the only purpose of that huge edifice is to defy reason, truth and justice; it has been erected on the highest spot that could befound, like a citadel of error that dominates, insults and threatensParis!"

Then seeing that the old priest's eyes were again filling with tears, andfeeling on his own side so pained by their rupture that he began to sob, Pierre wished to go away. "Farewell! farewell!" he stammered. 

But Abbe Rose caught him in his arms and kissed him, as if he were arebellious son who yet had remained the dearest. "No, not farewell, notfarewell, my child, " he answered; "say rather till we meet again. Promiseme that we shall see each other again, at least among those who starveand weep. It is all very well for you to think that charity has becomebankrupt, but shall we not always love one another in loving our poor?"

Then they parted. 

On becoming the companion of his three big nephews, Pierre had in a fewlessons learnt from them how to ride a bicycle, in order that he mightoccasionally accompany them on their morning excursions. He went twicewith them and Marie along the somewhat roughly paved roads in thedirection of the Lake of Enghien. Then one morning when the young womanhad promised to take him and Antoine as far as the forest ofSaint-Germain, it was found at the last moment that Antoine could notcome. Marie was already dressed in a chemisette of fawn-coloured silk, and a little jacket and "rationals" of black serge, and it was such awarm, bright April day that she was not inclined to renounce her trip. 

"Well, so much the worse!" she gaily said to Pierre, "I shall take youwith me, there will only be the pair of us. I really want you to see howdelightful it is to bowl over a good road between the beautiful trees. "

However, as Pierre was not yet a very expert rider, they decided thatthey would take the train as far as Maisons-Laffitte, whence they wouldproceed on their bicycles to the forest, cross it in the direction ofSaint-Germain, and afterwards return to Paris by train. 

"You will be here for /dejeuner/, won't you?" asked Guillaume, whom thisfreak amused, and who looked with a smile at his brother. The latter, like Marie, was in black: jacket, breeches and stockings all of the samehue. 

"Oh, certainly!" replied Marie. "It's now barely eight o'clock, so wehave plenty of time. Still you need not wait for us, you know, we shallalways find our way back. "

It was a delightful morning. When they started, Pierre could fancyhimself with a friend of his own sex, so that this trip together throughthe warm sunlight seemed quite natural. Doubtless their costumes, whichwere so much alike, conduced to the gay brotherly feeling he experienced. But beyond all this there was the healthfulness of the open air, thedelight which exercise brings, the pleasure of roaming in all freedomthrough the midst of nature. 

On taking the train they found themselves alone in a compartment, andMarie once more began to talk of her college days. "Ah! you've no idea, "said she, "what fine games at baseball we used to have at Fenelon! Weused to tie up our skirts with string so as to run the better, for wewere not allowed to wear rationals like I'm wearing now. And there wereshrieks, and rushes, and pushes, till our hair waved about and we werequite red with exercise and excitement. Still that didn't prevent us fromworking in the class-rooms. On the contrary! Directly we were at study wefought again, each striving to learn the most and reach the top of theclass!"

She laughed gaily as she thus recalled her school life, and Pierreglanced at her with candid admiration, so pink and healthy did she lookunder her little hat of black felt, which a long silver pin kept inposition. Her fine dark hair was caught up behind, showing her neck, which looked as fresh and delicate as a child's. And never before had sheseemed to him so supple and so strong. 

"Ah, " she continued in a jesting way, "there is nothing like rationals, you know! To think that some women are foolish and obstinate enough towear skirts when they go out cycling!"

Then, as he declared--just by way of speaking the truth, and without thefaintest idea of gallantry--that she looked very nice indeed in hercostume, she responded: "Oh! I don't count. I'm not a beauty. I simplyenjoy good health. . . . But can you understand it? To think that womenhave an unique opportunity of putting themselves at their ease, andreleasing their limbs from prison, and yet they won't do so! If theythink that they look the prettier in short skirts like schoolgirls theyare vastly mistaken! And as for any question of modesty, well, it seemsto me that it is infinitely less objectionable for women to wearrationals than to bare their bosoms at balls and theatres and dinners associety ladies do. " Then, with a gesture of girlish impulsiveness, sheadded: "Besides, does one think of such things when one's rolling along?. . . Yes, rationals are the only things, skirts are rank heresy!"

In her turn, she was now looking at him, and was struck by theextraordinary change which had come over him since the day when he hadfirst appeared to her, so sombre in his long cassock, with his faceemaciated, livid, almost distorted by anguish. It was like aresurrection, for now his countenance was bright, his lofty brow had allthe serenity of hope, while his eyes and lips once more showed some ofthe confident tenderness which sprang from his everlasting thirst forlove, self-bestowal and life. All mark of the priesthood had already lefthim, save that where he had been tonsured his hair still remained rathershort. 

"Why are you looking at me?" he asked. 

"I was noticing how much good has been done you by work and the openair, " she frankly answered; "I much prefer you as you are. You used tolook so poorly. I thought you really ill. "

"So I was, " said he. 

The train, however, was now stopping at Maisons-Laffitte. They alightedfrom it, and at once took the road to the forest. This road rises gentlytill it reaches the Maisons gate, and on market days it is often crowdedwith carts. 

"I shall go first, eh?" said Marie gaily, "for vehicles still alarm you. "

Thereupon she started ahead, but every now and again she turned with asmile to see if he were following her. And every time they overtook andpassed a cart she spoke to him of the merits of their machines, whichboth came from the Grandidier works. They were "Lisettes, " examples ofthose popular bicycles which Thomas had helped to perfect, and which theBon Marche now sold in large numbers for 250 francs apiece. Perhaps theywere rather heavy in appearance, but on the other hand their strength wasbeyond question. They were just the machines for a long journey, so Mariedeclared. 

"Ah! here's the forest, " she at last exclaimed. "We have now reached theend of the rise; and you will see what splendid avenues there are. Onecan bowl along them as on a velvet carpet. "

Pierre had already joined her, and they rode on side by side along thebroad straight avenue fringed with magnificent trees. 

"I am all right now, " said Pierre; "your pupil will end by doing youhonour, I hope. "

"Oh! I've no doubt of it. You already have a very good seat, and beforelong you'll leave me behind, for a woman is never a man's equal in amatter like this. At the same time, however, what a capital educationcycling is for women!"

In what way?"

"Oh! I've certain ideas of my own on the subject; and if ever I have adaughter I shall put her on a bicycle as soon as she's ten years old, just to teach her how to conduct herself in life. "

"Education by experience, eh?"

"Yes, why not? Look at the big girls who are brought up hanging to theirmothers' apron strings. Their parents frighten them with everything, theyare allowed no initiative, no exercise of judgment or decision, so thatat times they hardly know how to cross a street, to such a degree doesthe traffic alarm them. Well, I say that a girl ought to be set on abicycle in her childhood, and allowed to follow the roads. She will thenlearn to open her eyes, to look out for stones and avoid them, and toturn in the right direction at every bend or crossway. If a vehicle comesup at a gallop or any other danger presents itself, she'll have to makeup her mind on the instant, and steer her course firmly and properly ifshe does not wish to lose a limb. Briefly, doesn't all this supply properapprenticeship for one's will, and teach one how to conduct and defendoneself?"

Pierre had begun to laugh. "You will all be too healthy, " he remarked. 

"Oh, one must be healthy if one wants to be happy. But what I wish toconvey is that those who learn to avoid stones and to turn properly alongthe highways will know how to overcome difficulties, and take the bestdecisions in after life. The whole of education lies in knowledge andenergy. "

"So women are to be emancipated by cycling?"

"Well, why not? It may seem a droll idea; but see what progress has beenmade already. By wearing rationals women free their limbs from prison;then the facilities which cycling affords people for going out togethertend to greater intercourse and equality between the sexes; the wife andthe children can follow the husband everywhere, and friends likeourselves are at liberty to roam hither and thither without astonishinganybody. In this lies the greatest advantage of all: one takes a bath ofair and sunshine, one goes back to nature, to the earth, our commonmother, from whom one derives fresh strength and gaiety of heart! Justlook how delightful this forest is. And how healthful the breeze thatinflates our lungs! Yes, it all purifies, calms and encourages one. "

The forest, which was quite deserted on week days, stretched out inquietude on either hand, with sunlight filtering between its deep bandsof trees. At that hour the rays only illumined one side of the avenue, there gilding the lofty drapery of verdure; on the other, the shady side, the greenery seemed almost black. It was truly delightful to skim, swallow-like, over that royal avenue in the fresh atmosphere, amidst thewaving of grass and foliage, whose powerful scent swept against one'sface. Pierre and Marie scarcely touched the soil: it was as if wings hadcome to them, and were carrying them on with a regular flight, throughalternate patches of shade and sunshine, and all the scattered vitalityof the far-reaching, quivering forest, with its mosses, its sources, itsanimal and its insect life. 

Marie would not stop when they reached the crossway of the Croix deNoailles, a spot where people congregate on Sundays, for she wasacquainted with secluded nooks which were far more charmingresting-places. When they reached the slope going down towards Poissy, she roused Pierre, and they let their machines rush on. Then came all thejoyous intoxication of speed, the rapturous feeling of darting alongbreathlessly while the grey road flees beneath one, and the trees oneither hand turn like the opening folds of a fan. The breeze blowstempestuously, and one fancies that one is journeying yonder towards thehorizon, the infinite, which ever and ever recedes. It is like boundlesshope, delivery from every shackle, absolute freedom of motion throughspace. And nothing can inspirit one more gloriously--one's heart leaps asif one were in the very heavens. 

"We are not going to Poissy, you know!" Marie suddenly cried; "we have toturn to the left. "

They took the road from Acheres to the Loges, which ascends andcontracts, thus bringing one closer together in the shade. Graduallyslowing down, they began to exert themselves in order to make their wayup the incline. This road was not so good as the others, it had beengullied by the recent heavy rains, and sand and gravel lay about. Butthen is there not even a pleasure in effort?

"You will get used to it, " said Marie to Pierre; "it's amusing toovercome obstacles. For my part I don't like roads which are invariablysmooth. A little ascent which does not try one's limbs too much rousesand inspirits one. And it is so agreeable to find oneself strong, andable to go on and on in spite of rain, or wind, or hills. "

Her bright humour and courage quite charmed Pierre. "And so, " said he, "we are off for a journey round France?"

"No, no, we've arrived. You won't dislike a little rest, eh? And now, tell me, wasn't it worth our while to come on here and rest in such anice fresh, quiet spot. "

She nimbly sprang off her machine and, bidding him follow her, turnedinto a path, along which she went some fifty paces. They placed theirbicycles against some trees, and then found themselves in a littleclearing, the most exquisite, leafy nest that one could dream of. Theforest here assumed an aspect of secluded sovereign beauty. Thespringtide had endowed it with youth, the foliage was light and virginal, like delicate green lace flecked with gold by the sun-rays. And from theherbage and the surrounding thickets arose a breath of life, laden withall the powerful aroma of the earth. 

"It's not too warm as yet, fortunately, " exclaimed Marie, as she seatedherself at the foot of a young oak-tree, against which she leant. "InJuly ladies get rather red by the time they reach this spot, and all thepowder comes off their faces. However, one can't always be beautiful. "

"Well, I'm not cold by any means, " replied Pierre, as he sat at her feetwiping his forehead. 

She laughed, and answered that she had never before seen him with such acolour. Then they began to talk like children, like two young friends, finding a source of gaiety in the most puerile things. She was somewhatanxious about his health, however, and would not allow him to remain inthe cool shade, as he felt so very warm. In order to tranquillise her, hehad to change his place and seat himself with his back to the sun. Then alittle later he saved her from a large black spider, which had caughtitself in the wavy hair on the nape of her neck. At this all her womanlynature reappeared, and she shrieked with terror. "How stupid it was to beafraid of a spider!" she exclaimed a moment afterwards; yet, in spite ofher efforts to master herself, she remained pale and trembling. 

Silence at last fell between them, and they looked at one another with asmile. In the midst of that delicate greenery they felt drawn together byfrank affection--the affection of brother and sister, so it seemed tothem. It made Marie very happy to think that she had taken an interest inPierre, and that his return to health was largely her own work. However, their eyes never fell, their hands never met, even as they sat theretoying with the grass, for they were as pure, as unconscious of all evil, as were the lofty oaks around them. 

At last Marie noticed that time was flying. "You know that they expect usback to lunch, " she exclaimed. "We ought to be off. "

Thereupon they rose, wheeled their bicycles back to the highway, andstarting off again at a good pace passed the Loges and reachedSaint-Germain by the fine avenue which conducts to the chateau. Itcharmed them to take their course again side by side, like birds of equalflight. Their little bells jingled, their chains rustled lightly, and afresh breeze swept past them as they resumed their talk, quite at ease, and so linked together by friendship that they seemed far removed fromall the rest of the world. 

They took the train from Saint-Germain to Paris, and on the journeyPierre suddenly noticed that Marie's cheeks were purpling. There were twoladies with them in the compartment. 

"Ah!" said he, "so you feel warm in your turn now?"

But she protested the contrary, her face glowing more and more brightlyas she spoke, as if some sudden feeling of shame quite upset her. "No, I'm not warm, " said she; "just feel my hands. . . . But how ridiculous itis to blush like this without any reason for it!"

He understood her. This was one of those involuntary blushing fits whichso distressed her, and which, as Mere-Grand had remarked, brought herheart to her very cheeks. There was no cause for it, as she herself said. After slumbering in all innocence in the solitude of the forest her hearthad begun to beat, despite herself. 

Meantime, over yonder at Montmartre, Guillaume had spent his morning inpreparing some of that mysterious powder, the cartridges of which heconcealed upstairs in Mere-Grand's bedroom. Great danger attended thismanufacture. The slightest forgetfulness while he was manipulating theingredients, any delay, too, in turning off a tap, might lead to aterrible explosion, which would annihilate the building and all who mightbe in it. For this reason he preferred to work when he was alone, so thaton the one hand there might be no danger for others, and on the otherless likelihood of his own attention being diverted from his task. Thatmorning, as it happened, his three sons were working in the room, andMere-Grand sat sewing near the furnace. Truth to tell, she did not count, for she scarcely ever left her place, feeling quite at ease there, however great might be the peril. Indeed, she had become so wellacquainted with the various phases of Guillaume's delicate operations, and their terrible possibilities, that she would occasionally give him ahelping hand. 

That morning, as she sat there mending some house linen, --her eyesightstill being so keen that in spite of her seventy years she wore nospectacles, --she now and again glanced at Guillaume as if to make surethat he forgot nothing. Then feeling satisfied, she would once more bendover her work. She remained very strong and active. Her hair was onlyjust turning white, and she had kept all her teeth, while her face stilllooked refined, though it was slowly withering with age and had acquiredan expression of some severity. As a rule she was a woman of few words;her life was one of activity and good management. When she opened herlips it was usually to give advice, to counsel reason, energy andcourage. For some time past she had been growing more taciturn than ever, as if all her attention were claimed by the household matters which werein her sole charge; still, her fine eyes would rest thoughtfully on thoseabout her, on the three young men, and on Guillaume, Marie and Pierre, who all obeyed her as if she were their acknowledged queen. If she lookedat them in that pensive way, was it that she foresaw certain changes, andnoticed certain incidents of which the others remained unconscious?Perhaps so. At all events she became even graver, and more attentive thanin the past. It was as if she were waiting for some hour to strike whenall her wisdom and authority would be required. 

"Be careful, Guillaume, " she at last remarked, as she once more looked upfrom her sewing. "You seem absent-minded this morning. Is anythingworrying you?"

He glanced at her with a smile. "No, nothing, I assure you, " he replied. "But I was thinking of our dear Marie, who was so glad to go off to theforest in this bright sunshine. "

Antoine, who heard the remark, raised his head, while his brothersremained absorbed in their work. "What a pity it is that I had this blockto finish, " said he; "I would willingly have gone with her. "

"Oh, no matter, " his father quietly rejoined. "Pierre is with her, and heis very cautious. "

For another moment Mere-Grand continued scrutinising Guillaume; then sheonce more reverted to her sewing. 

If she exercised such sway over the home and all its inmates, it was byreason of her long devotion, her intelligence, and the kindliness withwhich she ruled. Uninfluenced by any religious faith, and disregardingall social conventionalities, her guiding principle in everything was thetheory of human justice which she had arrived at after suffering sogrievously from the injustice that had killed her husband. She put herviews into practice with wonderful courage, knowing nothing of anyprejudices, but accomplishing her duty, such as she understood it, to thevery end. And in the same way as she had first devoted herself to herhusband, and next to her daughter Marguerite, so at present she devotedherself to Guillaume and his sons. Pierre, whom she had first studiedwith some anxiety, had now, too, become a member of her family, a dwellerin the little realm of happiness which she ruled. She had doubtless foundhim worthy of admission into it, though she did not reveal the reasonwhy. After days and days of silence she had simply said, one evening, toGuillaume, that he had done well in bringing his brother to live amongthem. 

Time flew by as she sat sewing and thinking. Towards noon Guillaume, whowas still at work, suddenly remarked to her: "As Marie and Pierre haven'tcome back, we had better let the lunch wait a little while. Besides, Ishould like to finish what I'm about. "

Another quarter of an hour then elapsed. Finally, the three young menrose from their work, and went to wash their hands at a tap in thegarden. 

"Marie is very late, " now remarked Mere-Grand. "We must hope that nothinghas happened to her. "

"Oh! she rides so well, " replied Guillaume. "I'm more anxious on accountof Pierre. "

At this the old lady again fixed her eyes on him, and said: "But Mariewill have guided Pierre; they already ride very well together. "

"No doubt; still I should be better pleased if they were back home. "

Then all at once, fancying that he heard the ring of a bicycle bell, hecalled out: "There they are!" And forgetting everything else in hissatisfaction, he quitted his furnace and hastened into the garden inorder to meet them. 

Mere-Grand, left to herself, quietly continued sewing, without a thoughtthat the manufacture of Guillaume's powder was drawing to an end in anapparatus near her. A couple of minutes later, however, when Guillaumecame back, saying that he had made a mistake, his eyes suddenly rested onhis furnace, and he turned quite livid. Brief as had been his absence theexact moment when it was necessary to turn off a tap in order that nodanger might attend the preparation of his powder had already gone by;and now, unless someone should dare to approach that terrible tap, andboldly turn it, a fearful explosion might take place. Doubtless it wastoo late already, and whoever might have the bravery to attempt the featwould be blown to pieces. 

Guillaume himself had often run a similar risk of death with perfectcomposure. But on this occasion he remained as if rooted to the floor, unable to take a step, paralysed by the dread of annihilation. Heshuddered and stammered in momentary expectation of a catastrophe whichwould hurl the work-shop to the heavens. 

"Mere-Grand, Mere-Grand, " he stammered. "The apparatus, the tap . . . Itis all over, all over!"

The old woman had raised her head without as yet understanding him. "Eh, what?" said she; "what is the matter with you?" Then, on seeing howdistorted were his features, how he recoiled as if mad with terror, sheglanced at the furnace and realised the danger. "Well, but it's simpleenough, " said she; "it's only necessary to turn off the tap, eh?"

Thereupon, without any semblance of haste, in the most easy and naturalmanner possible, she deposited her needlework on a little table, rosefrom her chair, and turned off the tap with a light but firm hand. "There! it's done, " said she. "But why didn't you do it yourself, myfriend?"

He had watched her in bewilderment, chilled to the bones, as if touchedby the hand of death. And when some colour at last returned to hischeeks, and he found himself still alive in front of the apparatus whenceno harm could now come, he heaved a deep sigh and again shuddered. "Whydid I not turn it off?" he repeated. "It was because I felt afraid. "

At that very moment Marie and Pierre came into the work-shop all chatterand laughter, delighted with their excursion, and bringing with them thebright joyousness of the sunlight. The three brothers, Thomas, Francisand Antoine, were jesting with them, and trying to make them confess thatPierre had at least fought a battle with a cow on the high road, andridden into a cornfield. All at once, however, they became quite anxious, for they noticed that their father looked terribly upset. 

"My lads, " said he, "I've just been a coward. Ah! it's a curious feeling, I had never experienced it before. "

Thereupon he recounted his fears of an accident, and how quietlyMere-Grand had saved them all from certain death. She waved her hand, however, as if to say that there was nothing particularly heroic inturning off a tap. The young men's eyes nevertheless filled with tears, and one after the other they went to kiss her with a fervour instinctwith all the gratitude and worship they felt for her. She had beendevoting herself to them ever since their infancy, she had now just giventhem a new lease of life. Marie also threw herself into her arms, kissingher with gratitude and emotion. Mere-Grand herself was the only one whodid not shed tears. She strove to calm them, begging them to exaggeratenothing and to remain sensible. 

"Well, you must at all events let me kiss you as the others have done, "Guillaume said to her, as he recovered his self-possession. "I at leastowe you that. And Pierre, too, shall kiss you, for you are now as goodfor him as you have always been for us. "

At table, when it was at last possible for them to lunch, he reverted tothat attack of fear which had left him both surprised and ashamed. He whofor years had never once thought of death had for some time past foundideas of caution in his mind. On two occasions recently he had shudderedat the possibility of a catastrophe. How was it that a longing for lifehad come to him in his decline? Why was it that he now wished to live? Atlast with a touch of tender affection in his gaiety, he remarked: "Do youknow, Marie, I think it is my thoughts of you that make me a coward. IfI've lost my bravery it's because I risk something precious when anydanger arises. Happiness has been entrusted to my charge. Just now when Ifancied that we were all going to die, I thought I could see you, and myfear of losing you froze and paralysed me. "

Marie indulged in a pretty laugh. Allusions to her coming marriage wereseldom made; however, she invariably greeted them with an air of happyaffection. 

"Another six weeks!" she simply said. 

Thereupon Mere-Grand, who had been looking at them, turned her eyestowards Pierre. He, however, like the others was listening with a smile. 

"That's true, " said the old lady, "you are to be married in six weeks'time. So I did right to prevent the house from being blown up. "

At this the young men made merry; and the repast came to an end in veryjoyous fashion. 

During the afternoon, however, Pierre's heart gradually grew heavy. Marie's words constantly returned to him: "Another six weeks!" Yes, itwas indeed true, she would then be married. But it seemed to him that hehad never previously known it, never for a moment thought of it. Andlater on, in the evening, when he was alone in his room at Neuilly, hisheart-pain became intolerable. Those words tortured him. Why was it thatthey had not caused him any suffering when they were spoken, why had hegreeted them with a smile? And why had such cruel anguish slowlyfollowed? All at once an idea sprang up in his mind, and became anoverwhelming certainty. He loved Marie, he loved her as a lover, with alove so intense that he might die from it. 

With this sudden consciousness of his passion everything became clear andplain. He had been going perforce towards that love ever since he hadfirst met Marie. The emotion into which the young woman had originallythrown him had seemed to him a feeling of repulsion, but afterwards hehad been slowly conquered, all his torments and struggles ending in thislove for her. It was indeed through her that he had at last foundquietude. And the delightful morning which he had spent with her thatday, appeared to him like a betrothal morning, in the depths of the happyforest. Nature had resumed her sway over him, delivered him from hissufferings, made him strong and healthy once more, and given him to thewoman he adored. The quiver he had experienced, the happiness he hadfelt, his communion with the trees, the heavens, and every livingcreature--all those things which he had been unable to explain, nowacquired a clear meaning which transported him. In Marie alone lay hiscure, his hope, his conviction that he would be born anew and at lastfind happiness. In her company he had already forgotten all thosedistressing problems which had formerly haunted him and bowed him down. For a week past he had not once thought of death, which had so long beenthe companion of his every hour. All the conflict of faith and doubt, thedistress roused by the idea of nihility, the anger he had felt at theunjust sufferings of mankind, had been swept away by her fresh coolhands. She was so healthy herself, so glad to live, that she had imparteda taste for life even to him. Yes, it was simply that: she was making hima man, a worker, a lover once more. 

Then he suddenly remembered Abbe Rose and his painful conversation withthat saintly man. The old priest, whose heart was so ingenuous, and whoknew nothing of love and passion, was nevertheless the only one who hadunderstood the truth. He had told Pierre that he was changed, that therewas another man in him. And he, Pierre, had foolishly and stubbornlydeclared that he was the same as he had always been; whereas Marie hadalready transformed him, bringing all nature back to his breast--allnature, with its sunlit countrysides, its fructifying breezes, and itsvast heavens, whose glow ripens its crops. That indeed was why he hadfelt so exasperated with Catholicism, that religion of death; that waswhy he had shouted that the Gospel was useless, and that the worldawaited another law--a law of terrestrial happiness, human justice andliving love and fruitfulness!

Ah, but Guillaume? Then a vision of his brother rose before Pierre, thatbrother who loved him so fondly, and who had carried him to his home oftoil, quietude and affection, in order to cure him of his sufferings. Ifhe knew Marie it was simply because Guillaume had chosen that he shouldknow her. And again Marie's words recurred to him: "Another six weeks!"Yes, in six weeks his brother would marry the young woman. This thoughtwas like a stab in Pierre's heart. Still, he did not for one momenthesitate: if he must die of his love, he would die of it, but none shouldever know it, he would conquer himself, he would flee to the ends of theearth should he ever feel the faintest cowardice. Rather than bring amoment's pain to that brother who had striven to resuscitate him, who wasthe artisan of the passion now consuming him, who had given him his wholeheart and all he had--he would condemn himself to perpetual torture. Andindeed, torture was coming back; for in losing Marie he could but sinkinto the distress born of the consciousness of his nothingness. As he layin bed, unable to sleep, he already experienced a return of hisabominable torments--the negation of everything, the feeling thateverything was useless, that the world had no significance, and that lifewas only worthy of being cursed and denied. And then the shudder born ofthe thought of death returned to him. Ah! to die, to die without evenhaving lived!

The struggle was a frightful one. Until daybreak he sobbed in martyrdom. Why had he taken off his cassock? He had done so at a word from Marie;and now another word from her gave him the despairing idea of donning itonce more. One could not escape from so fast a prison. That black gownstill clung to his skin. He fancied that he had divested himself of it, and yet it was still weighing on his shoulders, and his wisest coursewould be to bury himself in it for ever. By donning it again he would atleast wear mourning for his manhood. 

All at once, however, a fresh thought upset him. Why should he strugglein that fashion? Marie did not love him. There had been nothing betweenthem to indicate that she cared for him otherwise than as a charming, tender-hearted sister. It was Guillaume that she loved, no doubt. Then hepressed his face to his pillow to stifle his sobs, and once more sworethat he would conquer himself and turn a smiling face upon theirhappiness. 

IV

TRIAL AND SENTENCE

HAVING returned to Montmartre on the morrow Pierre suffered so grievouslythat he did not show himself there on the two following days. Hepreferred to remain at home where there was nobody to notice hisfeverishness. On the third morning, however, whilst he was still in bed, strengthless and full of despair, he was both surprised and embarrassedby a visit from Guillaume. 

"I must needs come to you, " said the latter, "since you forsake us. I'vecome to fetch you to attend Salvat's trial, which takes place to-day. Ihad no end of trouble to secure two places. Come, get up, we'll have/dejeuner/ in town, so as to reach the court early. "

Then, while Pierre was hastily dressing, Guillaume, who on his sideseemed thoughtful and worried that morning, began to question him: "Haveyou anything to reproach us with?" he asked. 

"No, nothing. What an idea!" was Pierre's reply. 

"Then why have you been staying away? We had got into the habit of seeingyou every day, but all at once you disappear. "

Pierre vainly sought a falsehood, and all his composure fled. "I had somework to do here, " said he, "and then, too, my gloomy ideas cane back tome, and I didn't want to go and sadden you all. "

At this Guillaume hastily waved his hand. "If you fancy that your absenceenlivens us you're mistaken, " he replied. "Marie, who is usually so welland happy, had such a bad headache on the day before yesterday that shewas obliged to keep her room. And she was ill at ease and nervous andsilent again yesterday. We spent a very unpleasant day. "

As he spoke Guillaume looked Pierre well in the face, his frank loyaleyes clearly revealing the suspicions which had come to him, but which hewould not express in words. 

Pierre, quite dismayed by the news of Marie's indisposition, andfrightened by the idea of betraying his secret, thereupon managed to tella lie. "Yes, she wasn't very well on the day when we went cycling, " hequietly responded. "But I assure you that I have had a lot to do here. When you came in just now I was about to get up and go to your house asusual. "

Guillaume kept his eyes on him for a moment longer. Then, eitherbelieving him or deciding to postpone his search for the truth to somefuture time, he began speaking affectionately on other subjects. With hiskeen brotherly love, however, there was blended such a quiver ofimpending distress, of unconfessed sorrow, which possibly he did not yetrealise, that Pierre in his turn began to question him. "And you, " saidhe, "are you ill? You seem to me to have lost your usual serenity. "

"I? Oh! I'm not ill. Only I can't very well retain my composure; Salvat'saffair distresses me exceedingly, as you must know. They will all end bydriving me mad with the monstrous injustice they show towards thatunhappy fellow. "

Thenceforward Guillaume went on talking of Salvat in a stubbornpassionate way, as if he wished to find an explanation of all his painand unrest in that affair. While he and Pierre were partaking of/dejeuner/ at a little restaurant on the Boulevard du Palais he relatedhow deeply touched he was by the silence which Salvat had preserved withregard both to the nature of the explosive employed in the bomb and thefew days' work which he had once done at his house. It was, thanks tothis silence, that he, Guillaume, had not been worried or even summonedas a witness. Then, in his emotion, he reverted to his invention, thatformidable engine which would ensure omnipotence to France, as the greatinitiatory and liberative power of the world. The results of theresearches which had occupied him for ten years past were now out ofdanger and in all readiness, so that if occasion required they might atonce be delivered to the French government. And, apart from certainscruples which came to him at the thought of the unworthiness of Frenchfinancial and political society; he was simply delaying any further stepsin the matter until his marriage with Marie, in order that he mightassociate her with the gift of universal peace which he imagined he wasabout to bestow upon the world. 

It was through Bertheroy and with great difficulty that Guillaume hadmanaged to secure two seats in court for Salvat's trial. When he andPierre presented themselves for admission at eleven o'clock, they fanciedthat they would never be able to enter. The large gates of the Palace ofJustice were kept closed, several passages were fenced off, and terrorseemed to reign in the deserted building, as if indeed the judges fearedsome sudden invasion of bomb-laden Anarchists. Each door and barrier, too, was guarded by soldiers, with whom the brothers had to parley. Whenthey at last entered the Assize Court they found it already crowded withpeople, who were apparently quite willing to suffocate there for an hourbefore the arrival of the judges, and to remain motionless for some sevenor eight hours afterwards, since it was reported that the authoritieswished to get the case over in a single sitting. In the small spaceallotted to the standing public there was a serried mass of sightseerswho had come up from the streets, a few companions and friends of Salvathaving managed to slip in among them. In the other compartment, wherewitnesses are generally huddled together on oak benches, were thosespectators who had been allowed admittance by favour, and these were sonumerous and so closely packed that here and there they almost sat uponone another's knees. Then, in the well of the court and behind the bench, were rows of chairs set out as for some theatrical performance, andoccupied by privileged members of society, politicians, leadingjournalists, and ladies. And meantime a number of gowned advocates soughtrefuge wherever chance offered, crowding into every vacant spot, everyavailable corner. 

Pierre had never before visited the Assize Court, and its appearancesurprised him. He had expected much pomp and majesty, whereas this templeof human justice seemed to him small and dismal and of doubtfulcleanliness. The bench was so low that he could scarcely see thearmchairs of the presiding judge and his two assessors. Then he wasstruck by the profusion of old oak panels, balustrades and benches, whichhelped to darken the apartment, whose wall hangings were of olive green, while a further display of oak panelling appeared on the ceiling above. From the seven narrow and high-set windows with scanty little whitecurtains there fell a pale light which sharply divided the court. On onehand one saw the dock and the defending counsel's seat steeped in frigidlight, while, on the other, was the little, isolated jury box in theshade. This contrast seemed symbolical of justice, impersonal anduncertain, face to face with the accused, whom the light stripped bare, probed as it were to his very soul. Then, through a kind of grey mistabove the bench, in the depths of the stern and gloomy scene, one couldvaguely distinguish the heavy painting of "Christ Crucified. " A whitebust of the Republic alone showed forth clearly against the dark wallabove the dock where Salvat would presently appear. The only remainingseats that Guillaume and Pierre could find were on the last bench of thewitnesses' compartment, against the partition which separated the latterfrom the space allotted to the standing public. Just as Guillaume wasseating himself, he saw among the latter little Victor Mathis, who stoodthere with his elbows leaning on the partition, while his chin rested onhis crossed hands. The young man's eyes were glowing in his pale facewith thin, compressed lips. Although they recognised one another, Victordid not move, and Guillaume on his side understood that it was not safeto exchange greetings in such a place. From that moment, however, heremained conscious that Victor was there, just above him, never stirring, but waiting silently, fiercely and with flaming eyes, for what was goingto happen. 

Pierre, meantime, had recognised that most amiable deputy Duthil, andlittle Princess Rosemonde, seated just in front of him. Amidst the hubbubof the throng which chatted and laughed to while away the time, theirvoices were the gayest to be heard, and plainly showed how delighted theywere to find themselves at a spectacle to which so many desiredadmittance. Duthil was explaining all the arrangements to Rosemonde, telling her to whom or to what purpose each bench and wooden box wasallotted: there was the jury-box, the prisoner's dock, the seats assignedto counsel for the defence, the public prosecutor, and the clerk of thecourt, without forgetting the table on which material evidence wasdeposited and the bar to which witnesses were summoned. There was nobodyas yet in any of these places; one merely saw an attendant giving a lastlook round, and advocates passing rapidly. One might indeed have thoughtoneself in a theatre, the stage of which remained deserted, while thespectators crowded the auditorium waiting for the play to begin. To fillup the interval the little Princess ended by looking about her forpersons of her acquaintance among the close-pressed crowd of sight-seerswhose eager faces were already reddening. 

"Oh! isn't that Monsieur Fonsegue over there behind the bench, near thatstout lady in yellow?" she exclaimed. "Our friend General de Bozonnet ison the other side, I see. But isn't Baron Duvillard here?"

"Oh! no, " replied Duthil; "he could hardly come; it would look as if hewere here to ask for vengeance. " Then, in his turn questioning Rosemonde, the deputy went on: "Do you happen to have quarrelled with your handsomefriend Hyacinthe? Is that the reason why you've given me the pleasure ofacting as your escort to-day?"

With a slight shrug of her shoulders, the Princess replied that poetswere beginning to bore her. A fresh caprice, indeed, was drawing her intopolitics. For a week past she had found amusement in the surroundings ofthe ministerial crisis, into which the young deputy for Angouleme hadinitiated her. "They are all a little bit crazy at the Duvillards', mydear fellow, " said she. "It's decided, you know, that Gerard is to marryCamille. The Baroness has resigned herself to it, and I've heard from amost reliable quarter that Madame de Quinsac, the young man's mother, hasgiven her consent. "

At this Duthil became quite merry. He also seemed to be well informed onthe subject. "Yes, yes, I know, " said he. "The wedding is to take placeshortly, at the Madeleine. It will be a magnificent affair, no doubt. Andafter all, what would you have? There couldn't be a better finish to theaffair. The Baroness is really kindness personified, and I said all alongthat she would sacrifice herself in order to ensure the happiness of herdaughter and Gerard. In point of fact that marriage will settleeverything, put everything in proper order again. "

"And what does the Baron say?" asked Rosemonde. 

"The Baron? Why, he's delighted, " replied Duthil in a bantering way. "Youread no doubt this morning that Dauvergne is given the department ofPublic Instruction in the new Ministry. This means that Silviane'sengagement at the Comedic is a certainty. Dauvergne was chosen simply onthat account. "

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by little Massot, who, after a dispute with one of the ushers some distance away, had perceiveda vacant place by the side of the Princess. He thereupon made her aquestioning sign, and she beckoned to him to approach. 

"Ah!" said he, as he installed himself beside her, "I have not got herewithout trouble. One's crushed to death on the press bench, and I've anarticle to write. You are the kindest of women, Princess, to make alittle room for your faithful admirer, myself. " Then, after shaking handswith Duthil, he continued without any transition: "And so there's a newministry at last, Monsieur le Depute. You have all taken your time aboutit, but it's really a very fine ministry, which everybody regards withsurprise and admiration. "

The decrees appointing the new ministers had appeared in the "JournalOfficiel" that very morning. After a long deadlock, after Vignon had forthe second time seen his plans fail through ever-recurring obstacles, Monferrand, as a last resource, had suddenly been summoned to the Elysee, and in four-and-twenty hours he had found the colleagues he wanted andsecured the acceptance of his list, in such wise that he now triumphantlyre-ascended to power after falling from it with Barroux in such wretchedfashion. He had also chosen a new post for himself, relinquishing thedepartment of the Interior for that of Finances, with the Presidency ofthe Council, which had long been his secret ambition. His stealthylabour, the masterly fashion in which he had saved himself while otherssank, now appeared in its full beauty. First had come Salvat's arrest, and the use he had made of it, then the wonderful subterranean campaignwhich he had carried on against Vignon, the thousand obstacles which hehad twice set across his path, and finally the sudden /denouement/ withthat list he held in readiness, that formation of a ministry in a singleday as soon as his services were solicited. 

"It is fine work, I must compliment you on it, " added little Massot byway of a jest. 

"But I've had nothing to do with it, " Duthil modestly replied. 

"Nothing to do with it! Oh! yes you have, my dear sir, everybody saysso. "

The deputy felt flattered and smiled, while the other rattled on with hisinsinuations, which were put in such a humorous way that nothing he saidcould be resented. He talked of Monferrand's followers who had sopowerfully helped him on to victory. How heartily had Fonsegue finishedoff his old friend Barroux in the "Globe"! Every morning for a month pastthe paper had published an article belabouring Barroux, annihilatingVignon, and preparing the public for the return of a saviour of societywho was not named. Then, too, Duvillard's millions had waged a secretwarfare, all the Baron's numerous creatures had fought like an army forthe good cause. Duthil himself had played the pipe and beaten the drum, while Chaigneux resigned himself to the baser duties which others wouldnot undertake. And so the triumphant Monferrand would certainly begin bystifling that scandalous and embarrassing affair of the African Railways, and appointing a Committee of Inquiry to bury it. 

By this time Duthil had assumed an important air. "Well, my dear fellow, "said he, "at serious moments when society is in peril, certainstrong-handed men, real men of government, become absolutely necessary. Monferrand had no need of our friendship, his presence in office wasimperiously required by the situation. His hand is the only one that cansave us!"

"I know, " replied Massot scoffingly. "I've even been told that ifeverything was settled straight off so that the decrees might bepublished this morning, it was in order to instil confidence into thejudges and jurymen here, in such wise that knowing Monferrand's fist tobe behind them they would have the courage to pronounce sentence of deaththis evening. "

"Well, public safety requires a sentence of death, and those who have toensure that safety must not be left ignorant of the fact that thegovernment is with them, and will know how to protect them, if need be. "

At this moment a merry laugh from the Princess broke in upon theconversation. "Oh! just look over there!" said she; "isn't that Silvianewho has just sat down beside Monsieur Fonsegue?"

"The Silviane ministry!" muttered Massot in a jesting way. "Well, therewill be no boredom at Dauvergne's if he ingratiates himself withactresses. "

Guillaume and Pierre heard this chatter, however little they cared tolisten to it. Such a deluge of society tittle-tattle and politicalindiscretion brought the former a keen heart-pang. So Salvat wassentenced to death even before he had appeared in court. He was to payfor the transgressions of one and all, his crime was simply a favourableopportunity for the triumph of a band of ambitious people bent on powerand enjoyment! Ah! what terrible social rottenness there was in it all;money corrupting one and another, families sinking to filth, politicsturned into a mere treacherous struggle between individuals, and powerbecoming the prey of the crafty and the impudent! Must not everythingsurely crumble? Was not this solemn assize of human justice a derisiveparody, since all that one found there was an assembly of happy andprivileged people defending the shaky edifice which sheltered them, andmaking use of all the forces they yet retained, to crush a fly--thatunhappy devil of uncertain sanity who had been led to that court by hisviolent and cloudy dream of another, superior and avenging justice?

Such were Guillaume's thoughts, when all at once everybody around himstarted. Noon was now striking, and the jurymen trooped into court instraggling fashion and took their seats in their box. Among them one sawfat fellows clad in their Sunday best and with the faces of simpletons, and thin fellows who had bright eyes and sly expressions. Some of themwere bearded and some were bald. However, they all remained ratherindistinct, as their side of the court was steeped in shade. After themcame the judges, headed by M. De Larombiere, one of the Vice-Presidentsof the Appeal Court, who in assuming the perilous honour of conductingthe trial had sought to increase the majesty of his long, slender, whiteface, which looked the more austere as both his assessors, one dark andthe other fair, had highly coloured countenances. The public prosecutor'sseat was already occupied by one of the most skilful of theadvocates-general, M. Lehmann, a broad-shouldered Alsatian Israelite, with cunning eyes, whose presence showed that the case was deemedexceptionally important. At last, amidst the heavy tread of gendarmes, Salvat was brought in, at once rousing such ardent curiosity that all thespectators rose to look at him. He still wore the cap and loose overcoatprocured for him by Victor Mathis, and everybody was surprised to see hisemaciated, sorrowful, gentle face, crowned by scanty reddish hair, whichwas turning grey. His soft, glowing, dreamy blue eyes glanced around, andhe smiled at someone whom he recognised, probably Victor, but perhapsGuillaume. After that he remained quite motionless. 

The presiding judge waited for silence to fall, and then came theformalities which attend the opening of a court of law, followed by theperusal of the lengthy indictment, which a subordinate official read in ashrill voice. The scene had now changed, and the spectators listenedwearily and somewhat impatiently, as, for weeks past, the newspapers hadrelated all that the indictment set forth. At present not a corner of thecourt remained unoccupied, there was scarcely space enough for thewitnesses to stand in front of the bench. The closely packed throng wasone of divers hues, the light gowns of ladies alternating with the blackgowns of advocates, while the red robes of the judges disappeared fromview, the bench being so low that the presiding judge's long facescarcely rose above the sea of heads. Many of those present becameinterested in the jurors, and strove to scrutinise their shadowycountenances. Others, who did not take their eyes off the prisoner, marvelled at his apparent weariness and indifference, which were so greatthat he scarcely answered the whispered questions of his counsel, a youngadvocate with a wide-awake look, who was nervously awaiting theopportunity to achieve fame. Most curiosity, however, centred in thetable set apart for the material evidence. Here were to be seen all sortsof fragments, some of the woodwork torn away from the carriage-door ofthe Duvillard mansion, some plaster that had fallen from the ceiling, apaving-stone which the violence of the explosion had split in halves, andother blackened remnants. The more moving sights, however, were themilliner's bonnet-box, which had remained uninjured, and a glass jar inwhich something white and vague was preserved in spirits of wine. Thiswas one of the poor errand girl's little hands, which had been severed atthe wrist. The authorities had been unable to place her poor ripped bodyon the table, and so they had brought that hand!

At last Salvat rose, and the presiding judge began to interrogate him. The contrast in the aspect of the court then acquired tragic force: inthe shrouding shade upon one hand were the jurors, their minds alreadymade up beneath the pressure of public terror, while in the full, vividlight on the other side was the prisoner, alone and woeful, charged withall the crimes of his race. Four gendarmes watched over him. He wasaddressed by M. De Larombiere in a tone of contempt and disgust. Thejudge was not deficient in rectitude; he was indeed one of the lastrepresentatives of the old, scrupulous, upright French magistracy; but heunderstood nothing of the new times, and he treated prisoners with theseverity of a Biblical Jehovah. Moreover, the infirmity which was theworry of his life, the childish lisp which, in his opinion, had aloneprevented him from shining as a public prosecutor, made him ferociouslyill-tempered, incapable of any intelligent indulgence. There were smiles, which he divined, as soon as he raised his sharp, shrill little voice, toask his first questions. That droll voice of his took away whatevermajesty might have remained attached to these proceedings, in which aman's life was being fought for in a hall full of inquisitive, stiflingand perspiring folks, who fanned themselves and jested. Salvat answeredthe judge's earlier questions with his wonted weariness and politeness. While the judge did everything to vilify him, harshly reproaching himwith his wretched childhood and youth, magnifying every stain and everytransgression in his career, referring to the promiscuity of his lifebetween Madame Theodore and little Celine as something bestial, he, theprisoner, quietly said yes or no, like a man who has nothing to hide andaccepts the full responsibility of his actions. He had already made acomplete confession of his crime, and he calmly repeated it withoutchanging a word. He explained that if he had deposited his bomb at theentrance of the Duvillard mansion it was to give his deed its truesignificance, that of summoning the wealthy, the money-mongers who had soscandalously enriched themselves by dint of theft and falsehood, torestore that part of the common wealth which they had appropriated, tothe poor, the working classes, their children and their wives, whoperished of starvation. It was only at this moment that he grew excited;all the misery that he had endured or witnessed rose to his clouded, semi-educated brain, in which claims and theories and exasperated ideasof absolute justice and universal happiness had gathered confusedly. Andfrom that moment he appeared such as he really was, a sentimentalist, adreamer transported by suffering, proud and stubborn, and bent onchanging the world in accordance with his sectarian logic. 

"But you fled!" cried the judge in a voice such as would have befitted agrasshopper. "You must not say that you gave your life to your cause andwere ready for martyrdom!"

Salvat's most poignant regret was that he had yielded in the Bois deBoulogne to the dismay and rage which come upon a tracked and hunted manand impel him to do all he can to escape capture. And on being thustaunted by the judge he became quite angry. "I don't fear death, you'llsee that, " he replied. "If all had the same courage as I have, yourrotten society would be swept away to-morrow, and happiness would at lastdawn. "

Then the interrogatory dealt at great length with the composition andmanufacture of the bomb. The judge, rightly enough, pointed out that thiswas the only obscure point of the affair. "And so, " he remarked, "youpersist in saying that dynamite was the explosive you employed? Well, youwill presently hear the experts, who, it is true, differ on certainpoints, but are all of opinion that you employed some other explosive, though they cannot say precisely what it was. Why not speak out on thepoint, as you glory in saying everything?"

Salvat, however, had suddenly calmed down, giving only cautiousmonosyllabic replies. "Well, seek for whatever you like if you don'tbelieve me, " he now answered. "I made my bomb by myself, and undercircumstances which I've already related a score of times. You surelydon't expect me to reveal names and compromise comrades?"

From this declaration he would not depart. It was only towards the end ofthe interrogatory that irresistible emotion overcame him on the judgeagain referring to the unhappy victim of his crime, the little errandgirl, so pretty and fair and gentle, whom ferocious destiny had broughtto the spot to meet such an awful death. "It was one of your own classwhom you struck, " said M. De Larombiere; "your victim was a work girl, apoor child who, with the few pence she earned, helped to support her agedgrandmother. "

Salvat's voice became very husky as he answered: "That's really the onlything I regret. . . . My bomb certainly wasn't meant for her; and may allthe workers, all the starvelings, remember that she gave her blood as I'mgoing to give mine!"

In this wise the interrogatory ended amidst profound agitation. Pierrehad felt Guillaume shuddering beside him, whilst the prisoner quietly andobstinately refused to say a word respecting the explosive that had beenemployed, preferring as he did to assume full responsibility for the deedwhich was about to cost him his life. Moreover, Guillaume, on turninground, in compliance with an irresistible impulse, had perceived VictorMathis still motionless behind him: his elbows ever leaning on the railof the partition, and his chin still resting on his hands, whilst helistened with silent, concentrated passion. His face had become yet palerthan before, and his eyes glowed as with an avenging fire, whose flameswould never more be extinguished. 

The interrogatory of the prisoner was followed by a brief commotion incourt. 

"That Salvat looks quite nice, he has such soft eyes, " declared thePrincess, whom the proceedings greatly amused. "Oh! don't speak ill ofhim, my dear deputy. You know that I have Anarchist ideas myself. "

"I speak no ill of him, " gaily replied Duthil. "Nor has our friendAmadieu any right to speak ill of him. For you know that this affair hasset Amadieu on a pinnacle. He was never before talked about to such anextent as he is now; and he delights in being talked about, you know! Hehas become quite a social celebrity, the most illustrious of ourinvestigating magistrates, and will soon be able to do or become whateverhe pleases. "

Then Massot, with his sarcastic impudence, summed up the situation. "WhenAnarchism flourishes, everything flourishes, eh? That bomb has helped onthe affairs of a good many fine fellows that I know. Do you think that mygovernor Fonsegue, who's so attentive to Silviane yonder, complains ofit? And doesn't Sagnier, who's spreading himself out behind the presidingjudge, and whose proper place would be between the fourgendarmes--doesn't he owe a debt to Salvat for all the abominableadvertisements he has been able to give his paper by using the wretchedfellow's back as a big drum? And I need not mention the politicians orthe financiers or all those who fish in troubled waters. "

"But I say, " interrupted Duthil, "it seems to me that you yourself madegood use of the affair. Your interview with the little girl Celinebrought you in a pot of money. "

Massot, as it happened, had been struck with the idea of ferreting outMadame Theodore and the child, and of relating his visit to them in the"Globe, " with an abundance of curious and touching particulars. Thearticle had met with prodigious success, Celine's pretty answersrespecting her imprisoned father having such an effect on ladies withsensitive hearts that they had driven to Montmartre in their carriages inorder to see the two poor creatures. Thus alms had come to them from allsides; and strangely enough the very people who demanded the father'shead were the most eager to sympathise with the child. 

"Well, I don't complain of my little profits, " said the journalist inanswer to Duthil. "We all earn what we can, you know. "

At this moment Rosemonde, while glancing round her, recognised Guillaumeand Pierre, but she was so amazed to see the latter in ordinary civiliangarb that she did not dare to speak to him. Leaning forward sheacquainted Duthil and Massot with her surprise, and they both turnedround to look. From motives of discretion, however, they pretended thatthey did not recognise the Froments. 

The heat in court was now becoming quite unbearable, and one lady hadalready fainted. At last the presiding judge again raised his lispingvoice, and managed to restore silence. Salvat, who had remained standing, now held a few sheets of paper, and with some difficulty he made thejudge understand that he desired to complete his interrogatory by readinga declaration, which he had drawn up in prison, and in which he explainedhis reasons for his crime. For a moment M. De Larombiere hesitated, allsurprise and indignation at such a request; but he was aware that hecould not legally impose silence on the prisoner, and so he signified hisconsent with a gesture of mingled irritation and disdain. ThereuponSalvat began his perusal much after the fashion of a schoolboy, hemmingand hawing here and there, occasionally becoming confused, and thenbringing out certain words with wonderful emphasis, which evidentlypleased him. This declaration of his was the usual cry of suffering andrevolt already raised by so many disinherited ones. It referred to allthe frightful want of the lower spheres; the toiler unable to find alivelihood in his toil; a whole class, the most numerous and worthy ofthe classes, dying of starvation; whilst, on the other hand, were theprivileged ones, gorged with wealth, and wallowing in satiety, yetrefusing to part with even the crumbs from their tables, determined asthey were to restore nothing whatever of the wealth which they hadstolen. And so it became necessary to take everything away from them, torouse them from their egotism by terrible warnings, and to proclaim tothem even with the crash of bombs that the day of justice had come. Theunhappy man spoke that word "justice" in a ringing voice which seemed tofill the whole court. But the emotion of those who heard him reached itshighest pitch when, after declaring that he laid down his life for thecause, and expected nothing but a verdict of death from the jury, headded, as if prophetically, that his blood would assuredly give birth toother martyrs. They might send him to the scaffold, said he, but he knewthat his example would bear fruit. After him would come another avenger, and yet another, and others still, until the old and rotten social systemshould have crumbled away so as to make room for the society of justiceand happiness of which he was one of the apostles. 

The presiding judge, in his impatience and agitation, twice endeavouredto interrupt Salvat. But the other read on and on with the imperturbableconscientiousness of one who fears that he may not give proper utteranceto his most important words. He must have been thinking of that perusalever since he had been in prison. It was the decisive act of his suicide, the act by which he proclaimed that he gave his life for the glory ofdying in the cause of mankind. And when he had finished he sat downbetween the gendarmes with glowing eyes and flushed cheeks, as if heinwardly experienced some deep joy. 

To destroy the effect which the declaration had produced--a comminglingof fear and compassion--the judge at once wished to proceed with thehearing of the witnesses. Of these there was an interminable procession;though little interest attached to their evidence, for none of them hadany revelations to make. Most attention perhaps was paid to the measuredstatements of Grandidier, who had been obliged to dismiss Salvat from hisemploy on account of the Anarchist propaganda he had carried on. Then theprisoner's brother-in-law, Toussaint, the mechanician, also seemed a veryworthy fellow if one might judge him by the manner in which he strove toput things favourably for Salvat, without in any way departing from thetruth. After Toussaint's evidence considerable time was taken up by thediscussions between the experts, who disagreed in public as much as theyhad disagreed in their reports. Although they were all of opinion thatdynamite could not have been the explosive employed in the bomb, theyindulged in the most extraordinary and contradictory suppositions as tothis explosive's real nature. Eventually a written opinion given by theillustrious /savant/ Bertheroy was read; and this, after clearly settingforth the known facts, concluded that one found oneself in presence of anew explosive of prodigious power, the formula of which he himself wasunable to specify. 

Then detective Mondesir and commissary Dupot came in turn to relate thevarious phases of the man hunt in the Bois de Boulogne. In Mondesircentred all the gaiety of the proceedings, thanks to the guardroomsallies with which he enlivened his narrative. And in like way thegreatest grief, a perfect shudder of revolt and compassion, was roused bythe errand girl's grandmother, a poor, bent, withered old woman, whom theprosecution had cruelly constrained to attend the court, and who wept andlooked quite dismayed, unable as she was to understand what was wanted ofher. When she had withdrawn, the only remaining witnesses were those forthe defence, a procession of foremen and comrades, who all declared thatthey had known Salvat as a very worthy fellow, an intelligent and zealousworkman, who did not drink, but was extremely fond of his daughter, andincapable of an act of dishonesty or cruelty. 

It was already four o'clock when the evidence of the witnesses came to anend. The atmosphere in court was now quite stifling, feverish fatigueflushed every face, and a kind of ruddy dust obscured the waning lightwhich fell from the windows. Women were fanning themselves and men weremopping their foreheads. However, the passion roused by the scene stillbrought a glow of cruel delight to every eye. And no one stirred. 

"Ah!" sighed Rosemonde all at once, "to think that I hoped to drink a cupof tea at a friend's at five o'clock. I shall die of thirst andstarvation here. "

"We shall certainly be kept till seven, " replied Massot. "I can't offerto go and fetch you a roll, for I shouldn't be readmitted. "

Then Duthil, who had not ceased shrugging his shoulders while Salvat readhis declaration, exclaimed: "What childish things he said, didn't he? Andto think that the fool is going to die for all that! Rich and poor, indeed! Why, there will always be rich and poor. And it's equally certainthat when a man is poor his one great desire is to become rich. If thatfellow is in the dock to-day it's simply because he failed to makemoney. "

While the others were thus conversing, Pierre for his part was feelingextremely anxious about his brother, who sat beside him in silence, paleand utterly upset. Pierre sought his hand and covertly pressed it. Thenin a low voice he inquired: "Do you feel ill? Shall we go away?"

Guillaume answered him by discreetly and affectionately returning hishandshake. He was all right, he would remain till the end, however muchhe might be stirred by exasperation. 

It was now Monsieur Lehmann, the public prosecutor, who rose to addressthe court. He had a large, stern mouth, and was squarely built, with astubborn Jewish face. Nevertheless he was known to be a man of dexterous, supple nature, one who had a foot in every political camp, and invariablycontrived to be on good terms with the powers that were. This explainedhis rapid rise in life, and the constant favour he enjoyed. In the veryfirst words he spoke he alluded to the new ministry gazetted thatmorning, referring pointedly to the strong-handed man who had undertakenthe task of reassuring peaceable citizens and making evil-doers tremble. Then he fell upon the wretched Salvat with extraordinary vehemence, recounting the whole of his life, and exhibiting him as a banditexpressly born for the perpetration of crime, a monster who was bound toend by committing some abominable and cowardly outrage. Next heflagellated Anarchism and its partisans. The Anarchists were a mere herdof vagabonds and thieves, said he. That had been shown by the recentrobbery at the Princess de Harn's house. The ignoble gang that had beenarrested for that affair had given the apostles of the Anarchist doctrineas their references! And that was what the application of Anarchisttheories resulted in--burglary and filth, pending a favourable hour forwholesale pillage and murder! For nearly a couple of hours the publicprosecutor continued in this fashion, throwing truth and logic to thewinds, and exclusively striving to alarm his hearers. He made allpossible use of the terror which had reigned in Paris, and figurativelybrandished the corpse of the poor little victim, the pretty errand girl, as if it were a blood-red flag, before pointing to the pale hand, preserved in spirits of wine, with a gesture of compassionate horrorwhich sent a shudder through his audience. And he ended, as he had begun, by inspiriting the jurors, and telling them that they might fearlessly dotheir duty now that those at the head of the State were firmly resolvedto give no heed to threats. 

Then the young advocate entrusted with the defence in his turn spoke. Andhe really said what there was to say with great clearness and precision. He was of a different school from that of the public prosecutor: hiseloquence was very simple and smooth, his only passion seemed to be zealfor truth. Moreover, it was sufficient for him to show Salvat's career inits proper light, to depict him pursued by social fatalities since hischildhood, and to explain the final action of his career by all that hehad suffered and all that had sprung up in his dreamy brain. Was not hiscrime the crime of one and all? Who was there that did not feel, if onlyin a small degree, responsible for that bomb which a penniless, starvingworkman had deposited on the threshold of a wealthy man's abode--awealthy man whose name bespoke the injustice of the social system: somuch enjoyment on the one hand and so much privation on the other! If oneof us happened to lose his head, and felt impelled to hasten the adventof happiness by violence in such troublous times, when so many burningproblems claimed solution, ought he to be deprived of his life in thename of justice, when none could swear that they had not in some measurecontributed to his madness? Following up this question, Salvat's counseldwelt at length on the period that witnessed the crime, a period of somany scandals and collapses, when the old world was giving birth to a newone amidst the most terrible struggles and pangs. And he concluded bybegging the jury to show themselves humane, to resist all passion andterror, and to pacify the rival classes by a wise verdict, instead ofprolonging social warfare by giving the starvelings yet another martyr toavenge. 

It was past six o'clock when M. De Larombiere began to sum up in apartial and flowery fashion, in which one detected how grieved and angryhe was at having such a shrill little voice. Then the judges and thejurors withdrew, and the prisoner was led away, leaving the spectatorswaiting amidst an uproar of feverish impatience. Some more ladies hadfainted, and it had even been necessary to carry out a gentleman who hadbeen overcome by the cruel heat. However, the others stubbornly remainedthere, not one of them quitting his place. 

"Ah! it won't take long now, " said Massot. "The jurors brought theirverdict all ready in their pockets. I was looking at them while thatlittle advocate was telling them such sensible things. They all looked asif they were comfortably asleep in the gloom. "

Then Duthil turned to the Princess and asked her, "Are you still hungry?"

"Oh! I'm starving, " she replied. "I shall never be able to wait till Iget home. You will have to take me to eat a biscuit somewhere. . . . Allthe same, however, it's very exciting to see a man's life staked on a yesor a no. "

Meantime Pierre, finding Guillaume still more feverish and grieved, hadonce again taken hold of his hand. Neither of them spoke, so great wasthe distress that they experienced for many reasons which they themselvescould not have precisely defined. It seemed to them, however, that allhuman misery--inclusive of their own, the affections, the hopes, thegriefs which brought them suffering--was sobbing and quivering in thatbuzzing hall. Twilight had gradually fallen there, but as the end was nowso near it had doubtless been thought unnecessary to light thechandeliers. And thus large vague shadows, dimming and shrouding theserried throng, now hovered about in the last gleams of the day. Theladies in light gowns yonder, behind the bench, looked like pale phantomswith all-devouring eyes, whilst the numerous groups of black-robedadvocates formed large sombre patches which gradually spread everywhere. The greyish painting of the Christ had already vanished, and on the wallsone only saw the glaring white bust of the Republic, which resembled somefrigid death's head starting forth from the darkness. 

"Ah!" Massot once more exclaimed, "I knew that it wouldn't take long!"

Indeed, the jurors were returning after less than a quarter of an hour'sabsence. Then the judges likewise came back and took their seats. Increased emotion stirred the throng, a great gust seemed to sweepthrough the court, a gust of anxiety, which made every head sway. Somepeople had risen to their feet, and others gave vent to involuntaryexclamations. The foreman of the jury, a gentleman with a broad red face, had to wait a moment before speaking. At last in a sharp but somewhatsputtering voice he declared: "On my honour and my conscience, before Godand before man, the verdict of the jury is: on the question of Murder, yes, by a majority of votes. "*

 * English readers may be reminded that in France the verdict of a majority of the jury suffices for conviction or acquittal. If the jury is evenly divided the prisoner is acquitted. --Trans. 

The night had almost completely fallen when Salvat was once more broughtin. In front of the jurors, who faded away in the gloom, he stood forth, erect, with a last ray from the windows lighting up his face. The judgesthemselves almost disappeared from view, their red robes seemed to haveturned black. And how phantom-like looked the prisoner's emaciated faceas he stood there listening, with dreamy eyes, while the clerk of thecourt read the verdict to him. 

When silence fell and no mention was made of extenuating circumstances, he understood everything. His face, which had retained a childishexpression, suddenly brightened. "That means death. Thank you, gentlemen, " he said. 

Then he turned towards the public, and amidst the growing darknesssearched for the friendly faces which he knew were there; and this timeGuillaume became fully conscious that he had recognised him, and wasagain expressing affectionate and grateful thanks for the crust he hadreceived from him on a day of want. He must have also bidden farewell toVictor Mathis, for as Guillaume glanced at the young man, who had notmoved, he saw that his eyes were staring wildly, and that a terribleexpression rested on his lips. 

As for the rest of the proceedings, the last questions addressed to thejury and the counsel, the deliberations of the judges and the delivery ofsentence--these were all lost amidst the buzzing and surging of thecrowd. A little compassion was unconsciously manifested; and some stuporwas mingled with the satisfaction that greeted the sentence of death. 

No sooner had Salvat been condemned, however, than he drew himself up tohis full height, and as the guards led him away he shouted in astentorian voice: "Long live Anarchy!"

Nobody seemed angered by the cry. The crowd went off quietly, as ifweariness had lulled all its passions. The proceedings had really lastedtoo long and fatigued one too much. It was quite pleasant to inhale thefresh air on emerging from such a nightmare. 

In the large waiting hall, Pierre and Guillaume passed Duthil and thePrincess, whom General de Bozonnet had stopped while chatting withFonsegue. All four of them were talking in very loud voices, complainingof the heat and their hunger, and agreeing that the affair had not been aparticularly interesting one. Yet, all was well that ended well. AsFonsegue remarked, the condemnation of Salvat to death was a politicaland social necessity. 

When Pierre and Guillaume reached the Pont Neuf, the latter for a momentrested his elbows on the parapet of the bridge. His brother, standingbeside him, also gazed at the grey waters of the Seine, which here andthere were fired by the reflections of the gas lamps. A fresh breezeascended from the river; it was the delightful hour when night stealsgently over resting Paris. Then, as the brothers stood there breathingthat atmosphere which usually brings relief and comfort, Pierre on hisside again became conscious of his heart-wound, and remembered hispromise to return to Montmartre, a promise that he must keep in spite ofthe torture there awaiting him; whilst Guillaume on the other handexperienced a revival of the suspicion and disquietude that had come tohim on seeing Marie so feverish, changed as it were by some new feeling, of which she herself was ignorant. Were further sufferings, struggles, and obstacles to happiness yet in store for those brothers who loved oneanother so dearly? At all events their hearts bled once more with all thesorrow into which they had been cast by the scene they had justwitnessed: that assize of justice at which a wretched man had beencondemned to pay with his head for the crimes of one and all. 

Then, as they turned along the quay, Guillaume recognised young Victorgoing off alone in the gloom, just in front of them. The chemist stoppedhim and spoke to him of his mother. But the young man did not hear; histhin lips parted, and in a voice as trenchant as a knife-thrust heexclaimed: "Ah! so it's blood they want. Well, they may cut off his head, but he will be avenged!"

V

SACRIFICE

THE days which followed Salvat's trial seemed gloomy ones up yonder inGuillaume's workroom, which was usually so bright and gay. Sadness andsilence filled the place. The three young men were no longer there. Thomas betook himself to the Grandidier works early every morning inorder to perfect his little motor; Francois was so busy preparing for hisexamination that he scarcely left the Ecole Normale; while Antoine wasdoing some work at Jahan's, where he delighted to linger and watch hislittle friend Lise awakening to life. Thus Guillaume's sole companion wasMere-Grand, who sat near the window busy with her needlework; for Mariewas ever going about the house, and only stayed in the workroom for anylength of time when Pierre happened to be there. 

Guillaume's gloom was generally attributed to the feelings of anger andrevolt into which the condemnation of Salvat had thrown him. He had flowninto a passion on his return from the Palace of Justice, declaring thatthe execution of the unhappy man would simply be social murder, deliberate provocation of class warfare. And the others had bowed onhearing that pain-fraught violent cry, without attempting to discuss thepoint. Guillaume's sons respectfully left him to the thoughts which kepthim silent for hours, with his face pale and a dreamy expression in hiseyes. His chemical furnace remained unlighted, and his only occupationfrom morn till night was to examine the plans and documents connectedwith his invention, that new explosive and that terrible engine of war, which he had so long dreamt of presenting to France in order that shemight impose the reign of truth and justice upon all the nations. However, during the long hours which he spent before the papers scatteredover his table, often without seeing them, for his eyes wandered faraway, a multitude of vague thoughts came to him--doubts respecting thewisdom of his project, and fears lest his desire to pacify the nationsshould simply throw them into an endless war of extermination. Althoughhe really believed that great city of Paris to be the world's brain, entrusted with the task of preparing the future, he could not disguisefrom himself that with all its folly and shame and injustice it stillpresented a shocking spectacle. Was it really ripe enough for the work ofhuman salvation which he thought of entrusting to it? Then, on trying tore-peruse his notes and verify his formulas, he only recovered his formerenergetic determination on thinking of his marriage, whereupon the ideacame to him that it was now too late for him to upset his life bychanging such long-settled plans. 

His marriage! Was it not the thought of this which haunted Guillaume anddisturbed him far more powerfully than his scientific work or hishumanitarian passion? Beneath all the worries that he acknowledged, therewas another which he did not confess even to himself, and which filledhim with anguish. He repeated day by day that he would reveal hisinvention to the Minister of War as soon as he should be married toMarie, whom he wished to associate with his glory. Married to Marie! Eachtime he thought of it, burning fever and secret disquietude came overhim. If he now remained so silent and had lost his quiet cheerfulness, itwas because he had felt new life, as it were, emanating from her. She wascertainly no longer the same woman as formerly; she was becoming more andmore changed and distant. He had watched her and Pierre when the latterhappened to be there, which was now but seldom. He, too, appearedembarrassed, and different from what he had been. On the days when hecame, however, Marie seemed transformed; it was as if new life animatedthe house. Certainly the intercourse between her and Pierre was quiteinnocent, sisterly on the one hand, brotherly on the other. They simplyseemed to be a pair of good friends. And yet a radiance, a vibration, emanated from them, something more subtle even than a sun-ray or aperfume. After the lapse of a few days Guillaume found himself unable todoubt the truth any longer. And his heart bled, he was utterly upset byit. He had not found them in fault in any way, but he was convinced thatthese two children, as he so paternally called them, really adored oneanother. 

One lovely morning when he happened to be alone with Mere-Grand, face toface with sunlit Paris, he fell into a yet more dolorous reverie thanusual. He seemed to be gazing fixedly at the old lady, as, seated in herusual place, she continued sewing with an air of queenly serenity. Perhaps, however, he did not see her. For her part she occasionallyraised her eyes and glanced at him, as if expecting a confession whichdid not come. At last, finding such silence unbearable, she made up hermind to address him: "What has been the matter with you, Guillaume, forsome time past? Why don't you tell me what you have to tell me?"

He descended from the clouds, as it were, and answered in astonishment:"What I have to tell you?"

"Yes, I know it as well as you do, and I thought you would speak to me ofit, since it pleases you to do nothing here without consulting me. "

At this he turned very pale and shuddered. So he had not been mistaken inthe matter, even Mere-Grand knew all about it. To talk of it, however, was to give shape to his suspicions, to transform what, hitherto, mightmerely have been a fancy on his part into something real and definite. 

"It was inevitable, my dear son, " said Mere-Grand. "I foresaw it from theoutset. And if I did not warn you of it, it was because I believed insome deep design on your part. Since I have seen you suffering, however, I have realised that I was mistaken. " Then, as he still looked at herquivering and distracted, she continued: "Yes, I fancied that you mighthave wished it, that in bringing your brother here you wished to know ifMarie loved you otherwise than as a father. There was good reason fortesting her--for instance, the great difference between your ages, foryour life is drawing to a close, whilst hers is only beginning. And Ineed not mention the question of your work, the mission which I havealways dreamt of for you. "

Thereupon, with his hands raised in prayerful fashion, Guillaume drewnear to the old lady and exclaimed: "Oh! speak out clearly, tell me whatyou think. I don't understand, my poor heart is so lacerated; and yet Ishould so much like to know everything, so as to be able to act and takea decision. To think that you whom I love, you whom I venerate as much asif you were my real mother, you whose profound good sense I know so wellthat I have always followed your advice--to think that you should haveforeseen this frightful thing and have allowed it to happen at the riskof its killing me! . . . Why have you done so, tell me, why?"

Mere-Grand was not fond of talking. Absolute mistress of the house as shewas, managing everything, accountable to nobody for her actions, shenever gave expression to all that she thought or all that she desired. Indeed, there was no occasion for it, as Guillaume, like the children, relied upon her completely, with full confidence in her wisdom. And hersomewhat enigmatical ways even helped to raise her in their estimation. 

"What is the use of words, when things themselves speak?" she now gentlyanswered, while still plying her needle. "It is quite true that Iapproved of the plan of a marriage between you and Marie, for I saw thatit was necessary that she should be married if she was to stay here. Andthen, too, there were many other reasons which I needn't speak of. However, Pierre's arrival here has changed everything, and placed thingsin their natural order. Is not that preferable?"

He still lacked the courage to understand her. "Preferable! When I'm inagony? When my life is wrecked?"

Thereupon she rose and came to him, tall and rigid in her thin blackgown, and with an expression of austerity and energy on her pale face. "My son, " she said, "you know that I love you, and that I wish you to bevery noble and lofty. Only the other morning, you had an attack offright, the house narrowly escaped being blown up. Then, for some daysnow you have been sitting over those documents and plans in anabsent-minded, distracted state, like a man who feels weak, and doubts, and no longer knows his way. Believe me, you are following a dangerouspath; it is better that Pierre should marry Marie, both for their sakesand for your own. "

"For my sake? No, no! What will become of me!"

"You will calm yourself and reflect, my son. You have such serious dutiesbefore you. You are on the eve of making your invention known. It seemsto me that something has bedimmed your sight, and that you will perhapsact wrongly in this respect, through failing to take due account of theproblem before you. Perhaps there is something better to be done. . . . At all events, suffer if it be necessary, but remain faithful to yourideal. " 

Then, quitting him with a maternal smile, she sought to soften hersomewhat stern words by adding: "You have compelled me to speakunnecessarily, for I am quite at ease; with your superior mind, whateverbe in question, you can but do the one right thing that none other woulddo. "

On finding himself alone Guillaume fell into feverish uncertainty. Whatwas the meaning of Mere-Grand's enigmatical words? He knew that she wason the side of whatever might be good, natural, and necessary. But sheseemed to be urging him to some lofty heroism; and indeed what she hadsaid threw a ray of light upon the unrest which had come to him inconnection with his old plan of going to confide his secret to someMinister of War or other, whatever one might happen to be in office atthe time. Growing hesitation and repugnance stirred him as he fancied hecould again hear her saying that perhaps there might be some bettercourse, that would require search and reflection. But all at once avision of Marie rose before him, and his heart was rent by the thoughtthat he was asked to renounce her. To lose her, to give her to another!No, no, that was beyond his strength. He would never have the frightfulcourage that was needed to pass by the last promised raptures of lovewith disdain!

For a couple of days Guillaume struggled on. He seemed to be again livingthe six years which the young woman had already spent beside him in thathappy little house. She had been at first like an adopted daughter there;and later on, when the idea of their marriage had sprung up, he hadviewed it with quiet delight in the hope that it would ensure thehappiness of all around him. If he had previously abstained from marryingagain it was from the fear of placing a strange mother over his children;and if he yielded to the charm of loving yet once more, and no longerleading a solitary life, it was because he had found at his very hearthone of such sensible views, who, in the flower of youth, was willing tobecome his wife despite the difference in their ages. Then months hadgone by, and serious occurrences had compelled them to postpone thewedding, though without undue suffering on his part. Indeed, thecertainty that she was waiting for him had sufficed him, for his life ofhard work had rendered him patient. Now, however, all at once, at thethreat of losing her, his hitherto tranquil heart ached and bled. Hewould never have thought the tie so close a one. But he was now almostfifty, and it was as if love and woman were being wrenched away from him, the last woman that he could love and desire, one too who was the moredesirable, as she was the incarnation of youth from which he must ever besevered, should he indeed lose her. Passionate desire, mingled with rage, flared up within him at the thought that someone should have come to takeher from him. 

One night, alone in his room, he suffered perfect martyrdom. In orderthat he might not rouse the house he buried his face in his pillow so asto stifle his sobs. After all, it was a simple matter; Marie had givenhim her promise, and he would compel her to keep it. She would be his, and his alone, and none would be able to steal her from him. Then, however, there rose before him a vision of his brother, thelong-forgotten one, whom, from feelings of affection, he had compelled tojoin his family. But his sufferings were now so acute that he would havedriven that brother away had he been before him. He was enraged, maddened, by the thought of him. His brother--his little brother! So alltheir love was over; hatred and violence were about to poison theirlives. For hours Guillaume continued complaining deliriously, and seekinghow he might so rid himself of Pierre that what had happened should beblotted out. Now and again, when he recovered self-control, he marvelledat the tempest within him; for was he not a /savant/ guided by loftyreason, a toiler to whom long experience had brought serenity? But thetruth was that this tempest had not sprung up in his mind, it was ragingin the child-like soul that he had retained, the nook of affection anddreaminess which remained within him side by side with his principles ofpitiless logic and his belief in proven phenomena only. His very geniuscame from the duality of his nature: behind the chemist was a socialdreamer, hungering for justice and capable of the greatest love. And nowpassion was transporting him, and he was weeping for the loss of Marie ashe would have wept over the downfall of that dream of his, thedestruction of war /by/ war, that scheme for the salvation of mankind atwhich he had been working for ten years past. 

At last, amidst his weariness, a sudden resolution calmed him. He beganto feel ashamed of despairing in this wise when he had no certain groundsto go upon. He must know everything, he would question the young woman;she was loyal enough to answer him frankly. Was not this a solutionworthy of them both? An explanation in all sincerity, after which theywould be able to take a decision. Then he fell asleep; and, tired thoughhe felt when he rose in the morning, he was calmer. It was as if somesecret work had gone on in his heart during his few hours of repose afterthat terrible storm. 

As it happened Marie was very gay that morning. On the previous day shehad gone with Pierre and Antoine on a cycling excursion over frightfulroads in the direction of Montmorency, whence they had returned in astate of mingled anger and delight. When Guillaume stopped her in thelittle garden, he found her humming a song while returning bare-armedfrom the scullery, where some washing was going on. 

"Do you want to speak to me?" she asked. 

"Yes, my dear child, it's necessary for us to talk of some seriousmatters. "

She at once understood that their marriage was in question, and becamegrave. She had formerly consented to that marriage because she regardedit as the only sensible course she could take, and this with fullknowledge of the duties which she would assume. No doubt her husbandwould be some twenty years older than herself, but this circumstance wasone of somewhat frequent occurrence, and as a rule such marriages turnedout well, rather than otherwise. Moreover, she was in love with nobody, and was free to consent. And she had consented with an impulse ofgratitude and affection which seemed so sweet that she thought it thesweetness of love itself. Everybody around her, too, appeared so pleasedat the prospect of this marriage, which would draw the family yet moreclosely together. And, on her side, she had been as it were intoxicatedby the idea of making others happy. 

"What is the matter?" she now asked Guillaume in a somewhat anxiousvoice. "No bad news, I hope?"

"No, no, " he answered. "I've simply something to say to you. "

Then he led her under the plum-trees to the only green nook left in thegarden. An old worm-eaten bench still stood there against thelilac-bushes. And in front of them Paris spread out its sea of roofs, looking light and fresh in the morning sunlight. 

They both sat down. But at the moment of speaking and questioning Marie, Guillaume experienced sudden embarrassment, while his heart beatviolently at seeing her beside him, so young and adorable with her barearms. 

"Our wedding-day is drawing near, " he ended by saying. And then as sheturned somewhat pale, perhaps unconsciously, he himself suddenly feltcold. Had not her lips twitched as if with pain? Had not a shadow passedover her fresh, clear eyes?

"Oh! we still have some time before us, " she replied. 

Then, slowly and very affectionately, he resumed: "No doubt; still it isnecessary to attend to the formalities. And it is as well, perhaps, thatI should speak of those worries to-day, so that I may not have to botheryou about them again. "

Then he gently went on telling her all that would have to be done, keeping his eyes on her whilst he spoke, watching for such signs ofemotion as the thought of her promise's early fulfilment might bring toher face. She sat there in silence, with her hands on her lap, and herfeatures quite still, thus giving no certain sign of any regret ortrouble. Still she seemed rather dejected, compliant, as it were, but inno wise joyous. 

"You say nothing, my dear Marie, " Guillaume at last exclaimed. "Doesanything of all this displease you?"

"Displease me? Oh, no!"

"You must speak out frankly, if it does, you know. We will wait a littlelonger if you have any personal reasons for wishing to postpone the dateagain. "

"But I've no reasons, my friend. What reasons could I have? I leave youquite free to settle everything as you yourself may desire. "

Silence fell. While answering, she had looked him frankly in the face;but a little quiver stirred her lips, and gloom, for which she could notaccount, seemed to rise and darken her face, usually as bright and gay asspring water. In former times would she not have laughed and sung at themere announcement of that coming wedding?

Then Guillaume, with an effort which made his voice tremble, dared tospeak out: "You must forgive me for asking you a question, my dear Marie. There is still time for you to cancel your promise. Are you quite certainthat you love me?"

At this she looked at him in genuine stupefaction, utterly failing tounderstand what he could be aiming at. And--as she seemed to be deferringher reply, he added: "Consult your heart. Is it really your old friend oris it another that you love?"

"I? I, Guillaume? Why do you say that to me? What can I have done to giveyou occasion to say such a thing!"

All her frank nature revolted as she spoke, and her beautiful eyes, glowing with sincerity, gazed fixedly on his. 

"I love Pierre! I do, I? . . . Well, yes, I love him, as I love you all;I love him because he has become one of us, because he shares our lifeand our joys! I'm happy when he's here, certainly; and I should like himto be always here. I'm always pleased to see him and hear him and go outwith him. I was very much grieved recently when he seemed to be relapsinginto his gloomy ideas. But all that is natural, is it not? And I thinkthat I have only done what you desired I should do, and I cannotunderstand how my affection for Pierre can in any way exercise aninfluence respecting our marriage. "

These words, in her estimation, ought to have convinced Guillaume thatshe was not in love with his brother; but in lieu thereof they broughthim painful enlightenment by the very ardour with which she denied thelove imputed to her. 

"But you unfortunate girl!" he cried. "You are betraying yourself withoutknowing it. . . . It is quite certain you do not love me, you love mybrother!"

He had caught hold of her wrists and was pressing them with despairingaffection as if to compel her to read her heart. And she continuedstruggling. A most loving and tragic contest went on between them, heseeking to convince her by the evidence of facts, and she resisting him, stubbornly refusing to open her eyes. In vain did he recount what hadhappened since the first day, explaining the feelings which had followedone upon another in her heart and mind: first covert hostility, nextcuriosity regarding that extraordinary young priest, and then sympathyand affection when she had found him so wretched and had gradually curedhim of his sufferings. They were both young and mother Nature had donethe rest. However, at each fresh proof and certainty which he put beforeher, Marie only experienced growing emotion, trembling at last from headto foot, but still unwilling to question herself. 

"No, no, " said she, "I do not love him. If I loved him I should know itand would acknowledge it to you; for you are well aware that I cannottell an untruth. "

Guillaume, however, had the cruelty to insist on the point, like someheroic surgeon cutting into his own flesh even more than into that ofothers, in order that the truth might appear and everyone be saved. "Marie, " said he, "it is not I whom you love. All that you feel for me isrespect and gratitude and daughterly affection. Remember what yourfeelings were at the time when our marriage was decided upon. You werethen in love with nobody, and you accepted the offer like a sensiblegirl, feeling certain that I should render you happy, and that the unionwas a right and satisfactory one. . . . But since then my brother hascome here; love has sprung up in your heart in quite a natural way; andit is Pierre, Pierre alone, whom you love as a lover and a husband shouldbe loved. "

Exhausted though she was, utterly distracted, too, by the light which, despite herself, was dawning within her, Marie still stubbornly anddesperately protested. 

"But why do you struggle like this against the truth, my child?" saidGuillaume; "I do not reproach you. It was I who chose that this shouldhappen, like the old madman I am. What was bound to come has come, anddoubtless it is for the best. I only wanted to learn the truth from youin order that I might take a decision and act uprightly. "

These words vanquished her, and her tears gushed forth. It seemed asthough something had been rent asunder within her; and she felt quiteovercome, as if by the weight of a new truth of which she had hithertobeen ignorant. "Ah! it was cruel of you, " she said, "to do me suchviolence so as to make me read my heart. I swear to you again that I didnot know I loved Pierre in the way you say. But you have opened my heart, and roused what was quietly slumbering in it. . . . And it is true, I dolove Pierre, I love him now as you have said. And so here we are, allthree of us supremely wretched through your doing!"

She sobbed, and with a sudden feeling of modesty freed her wrists fromhis grasp. He noticed, however, that no blush rose to her face. Truth totell, her virginal loyalty was not in question; she had no cause toreproach herself with any betrayal; it was he alone, perforce, who hadawakened her to love. For a moment they looked at one another throughtheir tears: she so strong and healthy, her bosom heaving at eachheart-beat, and her white arms--arms that could both charm andsustain--bare almost to her shoulders; and he still vigorous, with histhick fleece of white hair and his black moustaches, which gave hiscountenance such an expression of energetic youth. But it was all over, the irreparable had swept by, and utterly changed their lives. 

"Marie, " he nobly said, "you do not love me, I give you back yourpromise. "

But with equal nobility she refused to take it back. "Never will I doso, " she replied. "I gave it to you frankly, freely and joyfully, and myaffection and admiration for you have never changed. "

Nevertheless, with more firmness in his hitherto broken voice, Guillaumeretorted: "You love Pierre, and it is Pierre whom you ought to marry. "

"No, " she again insisted, "I belong to you. A tie which years havetightened cannot be undone in an hour. Once again, if I love Pierre Iswear to you that I was ignorant of it this morning. And let us leave thematter as it is; do not torture me any more, it would be too cruel ofyou. "

Then, quivering like a woman who suddenly perceives that she is bare, ina stranger's presence, she hastily pulled down her sleeves, and even drewthem over her hands as if to leave naught of her person visible. Andafterwards she rose and walked away without adding a single word. 

Guillaume remained alone on the bench in that leafy corner, in front ofParis, to which the light morning sunshine lent the aspect of somequivering, soaring city of dreamland. A great weight oppressed him, andit seemed to him as if he would never be able to rise from the seat. Thatwhich brought him most suffering was Marie's assurance that she had tillthat morning been ignorant of the fact that she was in love with Pierre. She had been ignorant of it, and it was he, Guillaume, who had brought itto her knowledge, compelled her to confess it! He had now firmly plantedit in her heart, and perhaps increased it by revealing it to her. Ah! howcruel the thought--to be the artisan of one's own torment! Of one thinghe was now quite certain: there would be no more love in his life. At theidea of this, his poor, loving heart sank and bled. And yet amidst thedisaster, amidst his grief at realising that he was an old man, and thatrenunciation was imperative, he experienced a bitter joy at havingbrought the truth to light. This was very harsh consolation, fit only forone of heroic soul, yet he found lofty satisfaction in it, and from thatmoment the thought of sacrifice imposed itself upon him withextraordinary force. He must marry his children; there lay the path ofduty, the only wise and just course, the only certain means of ensuringthe happiness of the household. And when his revolting heart yet leaptand shrieked with anguish, he carried his vigorous hands to his chest inorder to still it. 

On the morrow came the supreme explanation between Guillaume and Pierre, not in the little garden, however, but in the spacious workroom. And hereagain one beheld the vast panorama of Paris, a nation as it were at work, a huge vat in which the wine of the future was fermenting. Guillaume hadarranged things so that he might be alone with his brother; and no soonerhad the latter entered than he attacked him, going straight to the pointwithout any of the precautions which he had previously taken with Marie. 

"Haven't you something to say to me, Pierre?" he inquired. "Why won't youconfide in me?"

The other immediately understood him, and began to tremble, unable tofind a word, but confessing everything by the distracted, entreatingexpression of his face. 

"You love Marie, " continued Guillaume, "why did you not loyally come andtell me of your love?"

At this Pierre recovered self-possession and defended himself vehemently:"I love Marie, it's true, and I felt that I could not conceal it, thatyou yourself would notice it at last. But there was no occasion for me totell you of it, for I was sure of myself, and would have fled rather thanhave allowed a single word to cross my lips. I suffered in silence andalone, and you cannot know how great my torture was! It is even cruel onyour part to speak to me of it; for now I am absolutely compelled toleave you. . . . I have already, on several occasions, thought of doingso. If I have come back here, it was doubtless through weakness, but alsoon account of my affection for you all. And what mattered my presencehere? Marie ran no risk. She does not love me. "

"She does love you!" Guillaume answered. "I questioned her yesterday, andshe had to confess that she loved you. "

At this Pierre, utterly distracted, caught Guillaume by the shoulders andgazed into his eyes. "Oh! brother, brother! what is this you say? Why saya thing which would mean terrible misfortune for us all? Even if it weretrue, my grief would far exceed my joy, for I will not have you suffer. Marie belongs to you. To me she is as sacred as a sister. And if there beonly my madness to part you, it will pass by, I shall know how to conquerit. "

"Marie loves you, " repeated Guillaume in his gentle, obstinate way. "Idon't reproach you with anything. I well know that you have struggled, and have never betrayed yourself to her either by word or glance. Yesterday she herself was still ignorant that she loved you, and I had toopen her eyes. . . . What would you have? I simply state a fact: sheloves you. "

This time Pierre, still quivering, made a gesture of mingled rapture andterror, as if some divine and long-desired blessing were falling upon himfrom heaven and crushing him beneath its weight. 

"Well, then, " he said, after a brief pause, "it is all over. . . . Let uskiss one another for the last time, and then I'll go. "

"Go? Why? You must stay with us. Nothing could be more simple: you loveMarie and she loves you. I give her to you. "

A loud cry came from Pierre, who wildly raised his hands again with agesture of fright and rapture. "You give me Marie?" he replied. "You, whoadore her, who have been waiting for her for months? No, no, it wouldovercome me, it would terrify me, as if you gave me your very heart aftertearing it from your breast. No, no! I will not accept your sacrifice!"

"But as it is only gratitude and affection that Marie feels for me, " saidGuillaume, "as it is you whom she really loves, am I to take a meanadvantage of the engagements which she entered into unconsciously, andforce her to a marriage when I know that she would never be wholly mine?Besides, I have made a mistake, it isn't I who give her to you, she hasalready given herself, and I do not consider that I have any right toprevent her from doing so. "

"No, no! I will never accept, I will never bring such grief upon you. . . Kiss me, brother, and let me go. "

Thereupon Guillaume caught hold of Pierre and compelled him to sit downby his side on an old sofa near the window. And he began to scold himalmost angrily while still retaining a smile, in which suffering andkindliness were blended. "Come, " said he, "we are surely not going tofight over it. You won't force me to tie you up so as to keep you here? Iknow what I'm about. I thought it all over before I spoke to you. Nodoubt, I can't tell you that it gladdens me. I thought at first that Iwas going to die; I should have liked to hide myself in the very depthsof the earth. And then, well, it was necessary to be reasonable, and Iunderstood that things had arranged themselves for the best, in theirnatural order. "

Pierre, unable to resist any further, had begun to weep with both handsraised to his face. 

"Don't grieve, brother, either for yourself or for me, " said Guillaume. "Do you remember the happy days we lately spent together at Neuilly afterwe had found one another again? All our old affection revived within us, and we remained for hours, hand in hand, recalling the past and lovingone another. And what a terrible confession you made to me one night, theconfession of your loss of faith, your torture, the void in which youwere rolling! When I heard of it my one great wish was to cure you. Iadvised you to work, love, and believe in life, convinced as I was thatlife alone could restore you to peace and health. . . . And for thatreason I afterwards brought you here. You fought against it, and it was Iwho forced you to come. I was so happy when I found that you again tookan interest in life, and had once more become a man and a worker! I wouldhave given some of my blood if necessary to complete your cure. . . . Well, it's done now, I have given you all I had, since Marie herself hasbecome necessary to you, and she alone can save you. "

Then as Pierre again attempted to protest, he resumed: "Don't deny it. Itis so true indeed, that if she does not complete the work I have begun, all my efforts will have been vain, you will fall back into your miseryand negation, into all the torments of a spoilt life. She is necessary toyou, I say. And do you think that I no longer know how to love you? Wouldyou have me refuse you the very breath of life that will truly make you aman, after all my fervent wishes for your return to life? I have enoughaffection for you both to consent to your loving one another. . . . Besides, I repeat it, nature knows what she does. Instinct is a sureguide, it always tends to what is useful and trite. I should have been asorry husband, and it is best that I should keep to my work as an old/savant/; whereas you are young and represent the future, all fruitfuland happy life. "

Pierre shuddered as he heard this, for his old fears returned to him. Hadnot the priesthood for ever cut him off from life, had not his long yearsof chaste celibacy robbed him of his manhood? "Fruitful and happy life!"he muttered, "ah! if you only knew how distressed I feel at the idea thatI do not perhaps deserve the gift you so lovingly offer me! You are worthmore than I am; you would have given her a larger heart, a firmer brain, and perhaps, too, you are really a younger man than myself. . . . Thereis still time, brother, keep her, if with you she is likely to be happierand more truly and completely loved. For my part I am full of doubts. Herhappiness is the only thing of consequence. Let her belong to the one whowill love her best!"

Indescribable emotion had now come over both men. As Guillaume heard hisbrother's broken words, the cry of a love that trembled at the thought ofpossible weakness, he did for a moment waver. With a dreadful heart-panghe stammered despairingly: "Ah! Marie, whom I love so much! Marie, whom Iwould have rendered so happy!"

At this Pierre could not restrain himself; he rose and cried: "Ah! yousee that you love her still and cannot renounce her. . . . So let me go!let me go!"

But Guillaume had already caught him around the body, clasping him withan intensity of brotherly love which was increased by the renunciation hewas resolved upon: "Stay!" said he. "It wasn't I that spoke, it was theother man that was in me, he who is about to die, who is already dead! Bythe memory of our mother and our father I swear to you that the sacrificeis consummated, and that if you two refuse to accept happiness from meyou will but make me suffer. "

For a moment the weeping men remained in one another's arms. They hadoften embraced before, but never had their hearts met and mingled as theydid now. It was a delightful moment, which seemed an eternity. All thegrief and misery of the world had disappeared from before them; thereremained naught save their glowing love, whence sprang an eternity oflove even as light comes from the sun. And that moment was compensationfor all their past and future tears, whilst yonder, on the horizon beforethem, Paris still spread and rumbled, ever preparing the unknown future. 

Just then Marie herself came in. And the rest proved very simple. Guillaume freed himself from his brother's clasp, led him forward andcompelled him and Marie to take each other by the hand. At first she madeyet another gesture of refusal in her stubborn resolve that she would nottake her promise back. But what could she say face to face with those twotearful men, whom she had found in one another's arms, mingling togetherin such close brotherliness? Did not those tears and that embrace sweepaway all ordinary reasons, all such arguments as she held in reserve?Even the embarrassment of the situation disappeared, it seemed as if shehad already had a long explanation with Pierre, and that he and she wereof one mind to accept that gift of love which Guillaume offered them withso much heroism. A gust of the sublime passed through the room, andnothing could have appeared more natural to them than this extraordinaryscene. Nevertheless, Marie remained silent, she dared not give heranswer, but looked at them both with her big soft eyes, which, like theirown, were full of tears. 

And it was Guillaume who, with sudden inspiration, ran to the littlestaircase conducting to the rooms overhead, and called: "Mere-Grand!Mere-Grand! Come down at once, you are wanted. "

Then, as soon as she was there, looking slim and pale in her black gown, and showing the wise air of a queen-mother whom all obeyed, he said:"Tell these two children that they can do nothing better than marry oneanother. Tell them that we have talked it over, you and I, and that it isyour desire, your will that they should do so. "

She quietly nodded her assent, and then said: "That is true, it will beby far the most sensible course. "

Thereupon Marie flung herself into her arms, consenting, yielding to thesuperior forces, the powers of life, that had thus changed the course ofher existence. Guillaume immediately desired that the date of the weddingshould be fixed, and accommodation provided for the young couple in therooms overhead. And as Pierre glanced at him with some remaining anxietyand spoke of travelling, for he feared that his wound was not yet healed, and that their presence might bring him suffering, Guillaume responded:"No, no, I mean to keep you. If I'm marrying you, it is to have you bothhere. Don't worry about me. I have so much work to do, I shall work. "

In the evening when Thomas and Francois came home and learnt the news, they did not seem particularly surprised by it. They had doubtless feltthat things would end like this. And they bowed to the /denouement/, notventuring to say a word, since it was their father himself who announcedthe decision which had been taken, with his usual air of composure. Asfor Antoine, who on his own side quivered with love for Lise, he gazedwith doubting, anxious eyes at his father, who had thus had the courageto pluck out his heart. Could he really survive such a sacrifice, must itnot kill him? Then Antoine kissed his father passionately, and the elderbrothers in their turn embraced him with all their hearts. Guillaumesmiled and his eyes became moist. After his victory over his horribletorments nothing could have been sweeter to him than the embraces of histhree big sons. 

There was, however, further emotion in store for him that evening. Justas the daylight was departing, and he was sitting at his large table nearthe window, again checking and classifying the documents and plansconnected with his invention, he was surprised to see his old master andfriend Bertheroy enter the workroom. The illustrious chemist called onhim in this fashion at long intervals, and Guillaume felt the honour thusconferred on him by this old man to whom eminence and fame had brought somany titles, offices and decorations. Moreover, Bertheroy, with hisposition as an official /savant/ and member of the Institute, showed somecourage in thus venturing to call on one whom so-called respectable folksregarded with contumely. And on this occasion, Guillaume at onceunderstood that it was some feeling of curiosity that had brought him. And so he was greatly embarrassed, for he hardly dared to remove thepapers and plans which were lying on the table. 

"Oh, don't be frightened, " gaily exclaimed Bertheroy, who, despite hiscareless and abrupt ways, was really very shrewd. "I haven't come to pryinto your secrets. . . . Leave your papers there, I promise you that Iwon't read anything. "

Then, in all frankness, he turned the conversation on the subject ofexplosives, which he was still studying, he said, with passionateinterest. He had made some new discoveries which he did not conceal. Incidentally, too, he spoke of the opinion he had given in Salvat'saffair. His dream was to discover some explosive of great power, whichone might attempt to domesticate and reduce to complete obedience. Andwith a smile he pointedly concluded: "I don't know where that madmanfound the formula of his powder. But if you should ever discover it, remember that the future perhaps lies in the employment of explosives asmotive power. "

Then, all at once, he added: "By the way, that fellow Salvat will beexecuted on the day after to-morrow. A friend of mine at the Ministry ofJustice has just told me so. "

Guillaume had hitherto listened to him with an air of mingled distrustand amusement. But this announcement of Salvat's execution stirred him toanger and revolt, though for some days past he had known it to beinevitable, in spite of the sympathy which the condemned man was nowrousing in many quarters. 

"It will be a murder!" he cried vehemently. 

Bertheroy waved his hand: "What would you have?" he answered: "there's asocial system and it defends itself when it is attacked. Besides, thoseAnarchists are really too foolish in imagining that they will transformthe world with their squibs and crackers! In my opinion, you know, science is the only revolutionist. Science will not only bring us truthbut justice also, if indeed justice ever be possible on this earth. Andthat is why I lead so calm a life and am so tolerant. "

Once again Bertheroy appeared to Guillaume as a revolutionist, one whowas convinced that he helped on the ruin of the ancient abominablesociety of today, with its dogmas and laws, even whilst he was working inthe depths of his laboratory. He was, however, too desirous of repose, and had too great a contempt for futilities to mingle with the events ofthe day, and he preferred to live in quietude, liberally paid andrewarded, and at peace with the government whatever it might be, whilstat the same time foreseeing and preparing for the formidable parturitionof the future. 

He waved his hand towards Paris, over which a sun of victory was setting, and then again spoke: "Do you hear the rumble? It is we who are thestokers, we who are ever flinging fresh fuel under the boiler. Sciencedoes not pause in her work for a single hour, and she is the artisan ofParis, which--let us hope it--will be the artisan of the future. All therest is of no account. "

But Guillaume was no longer listening to him. He was thinking of Salvatand the terrible engine of war he had invented, that engine which beforelong would shatter cities. And a new idea was dawning and growing in hismind. He had just freed himself of his last tie, he had created all thehappiness he could create around him. Ah! to recover his courage, to bemaster of himself once more, and, at any rate, derive from the sacrificeof his heart the lofty delight of being free, of being able to lay downeven his life, should he some day deem it necessary!