PARIS

FROM THE THREE CITIES

By Emile Zola

Translated By Ernest A. Vizetelly

BOOK I. 

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

WITH the present work M. Zola completes the "Trilogy of the ThreeCities, " which he began with "Lourdes" and continued with "Rome"; andthus the adventures and experiences of Abbe Pierre Froment, the doubtingCatholic priest who failed to find faith at the miraculous grotto by theCave, and hope amidst the crumbling theocracy of the Vatican, are herebrought to what, from M. Zola's point of view, is their logicalconclusion. From the first pages of "Lourdes, " many readers will havedivined that Abbe Froment was bound to finish as he does, for, frankly, no other finish was possible from a writer of M. Zola's opinions. 

Taking the Trilogy as a whole, one will find that it is essentiallysymbolical. Abbe Froment is Man, and his struggles are the strugglesbetween Religion, as personified by the Roman Catholic Church, on the onehand, and Reason and Life on the other. In the Abbe's case the victoryultimately rests with the latter; and we may take it as being M. Zola'sopinion that the same will eventually be the case with the great bulk ofmankind. English writers are often accused of treating subjects from aninsular point of view, and certainly there may be good ground for such acharge. But they are not the only writers guilty of the practice. Thepurview of French authors is often quite as limited: they regard Frenchopinion as the only good opinion, and judge the rest of the world bytheir own standard. In the present case, if we leave the world andmankind generally on one side, and apply M. Zola's facts and theories toFrance alone, it will be found, I think, that he has made out aremarkably good case for himself. For it is certain that Catholicism, Imay say Christianity, is fast crumbling in France. There may be revivalsin certain limited circles, efforts of the greatest energy to prop up thetottering edifice by a "rallying" of believers to the democratic cause, and by a kindling of the most bitter anti-Semitic warfare; but all theserevivals and efforts, although they are extremely well-advertised andcreate no little stir, produce very little impression on the bulk of thepopulation. So far as France is concerned, the policy of Leo XIII. Seemsto have come too late. The French masses regard Catholicism orChristianity, whichever one pleases, as a religion of death, --a religionwhich, taking its stand on the text "There shall always be poor amongyou, " condemns them to toil and moil in poverty and distress their wholelife long, with no other consolation than the promise of happiness inheaven. And, on the other hand, they see the ministers of the Deity, "whose kingdom is not of this world, " supporting the wealthy andpowerful, and striving to secure wealth and power for themselves. Charityexists, of course, but the masses declare that it is no remedy; they donot ask for doles, they ask for Justice. It is largely by reason of allthis that Socialism and Anarchism have made such great strides in Franceof recent years. Robespierre, as will be remembered, once tried tosuppress Christianity altogether, and for a time certainly there was avirtually general cessation of religious observances in France. But nosuch Reign of Terror prevails there to-day. Men are perfectly free tobelieve if they are inclined to do so; and yet never were there fewerreligious marriages, fewer baptisms or smaller congregations in theFrench churches. I refer not merely to Paris and other large cities, butto the smaller towns, and even the little hamlets of many parts. Oldvillage priests, men practising what they teach and possessed of the mostloving, benevolent hearts, have told me with tears in their eyes of thegrowing infidelity of their parishioners. 

I have been studying this matter for some years, and write withoutprejudice, merely setting down what I believe to be the truth. Of coursewe are all aware that the most stupendous efforts are being made by theCatholic clergy and zealous believers to bring about a revival of thefaith, and certainly in some circles there has been a measure of success. But the reconversion of a nation is the most formidable of tasks; and, inmy own opinion, as in M. Zola's, France as a whole is lost to theChristian religion. On this proposition, combined with a second one, namely, that even as France as a nation will be the first to discardChristianity, so she will be the first to promulgate a new faith based onreason, science and the teachings of life, is founded the whole argumentof M. Zola's Trilogy. 

Having thus dealt with the Trilogy's religious aspects, I would now speakof "Paris, " its concluding volume. This is very different from "Lourdes"and "Rome. " Whilst recounting the struggles and fate of Abbe Froment andhis brother Guillaume, and entering largely into the problem of Capitaland Labour, which problem has done so much to turn the masses away fromChristianity, it contains many an interesting and valuable picture of theParisian world at the close of the nineteenth century. It is noguide-book to Paris; but it paints the city's social life, its rich andpoor, its scandals and crimes, its work and its pleasures. Among thehouseholds to which the reader is introduced are those of a banker, anaged Countess of the old _noblesse_, a cosmopolitan Princess, of a kindthat Paris knows only too well, a scientist, a manufacturer, a workingmechanician, a priest, an Anarchist, a petty clerk and an actress of aclass that so often dishonours the French stage. Science and art andlearning and religion, all have their representatives. Then, too, thepolitical world is well to the front. There are honest and unscrupulousMinisters of State, upright and venal deputies, enthusiastic and cautiouscandidates for power, together with social theoreticians of variousschools. And the _blase_, weak-minded man of fashion is here, as well asthe young "symbolist" of perverted, degraded mind. The women are of alltypes, from the most loathsome to the most lovable. Then, too, thejournalists are portrayed in such life-like fashion that I might giveeach of them his real name. And journalism, Parisian journalism, isflagellated, shown as it really is, --if just a few well-conducted organsbe excepted, --that is, venal and impudent, mendacious and even petty. 

The actual scenes depicted are quite as kaleidoscopic as are thecharacters in their variety. We enter the banker's gilded saloon and thehovel of the pauper, the busy factory, the priest's retired home and thelaboratory of the scientist. We wait in the lobbies of the Chamber ofDeputies, and afterwards witness "a great debate"; we penetrate into theprivate sanctum of a Minister of the Interior; we attend a fashionablewedding at the Madeleine and a first performance at the ComedieFrancaise; we dine at the Cafe Anglais and listen to a notorious vocalistin a low music hall at Montmartre; we pursue an Anarchist through theBois de Boulogne; we slip into the Assize Court and see that Anarchisttried there; we afterwards gaze upon his execution by the guillotine; weare also on the boulevards when the lamps are lighted for a long night ofrevelry, and we stroll along the quiet streets in the small hours of themorning, when crime and homeless want are prowling round. 

And ever the scene changes; the whole world of Paris passes before one. Yet the book, to my thinking, is far less descriptive than analytical. The souls of the principal characters are probed to their lowest depths. Many of the scenes, too, are intensely dramatic, admirably adapted forthe stage; as, for instance, Baroness Duvillard's interview with herdaughter in the chapter which I have called "The Rivals. " And side byside with baseness there is heroism, while beauty of the flesh finds itscounterpart in beauty of the mind. M. Zola has often been reproached forshowing us the vileness of human nature; and no doubt such vileness maybe found in "Paris, " but there are contrasting pictures. If some of M. Zola's characters horrify the reader, there are others that the lattercan but admire. Life is compounded of good and evil, and unfortunately itis usually the evil that makes the most noise and attracts the mostattention. Moreover, in M. Zola's case, it has always been his purpose toexpose the evils from which society suffers in the hope of directingattention to them and thereby hastening a remedy, and thus, in the courseof his works, he could not do otherwise than drag the whole frightfulmass of human villany and degradation into the full light of day. But ifthere are, again, black pages in "Paris, " others, bright and comforting, will be found near them. And the book ends in no pessimist strain. Whatever may be thought of the writer's views on religion, most readerswill, I imagine, agree with his opinion that, despite much socialinjustice, much crime, vice, cupidity and baseness, we are ever marchingon to better things. 

In the making of the coming, though still far-away, era of truth andjustice, Paris, he thinks, will play the leading part, for whatever thestains upon her, they are but surface-deep; her heart remains good andsound; she has genius and courage and energy and wit and fancy. She canbe generous, too, when she chooses, and more than once her ideas haveirradiated the world. Thus M. Zola hopes much from her, and who willgainsay him? Not I, who can apply to her the words which Byron addressedto the home of my own and M. Zola's forefathers:--

 "I loved her from my boyhood; she to me Was as a fairy city of the heart. "

Thus I can but hope that Paris, where I learnt the little I know, where Istruggled and found love and happiness, whose every woe and disaster andtriumph I have shared for over thirty years, may, however dark the cloudsthat still pass over her, some day fully justify M. Zola's confidence, and bring to pass his splendid dream of perfect truth and perfectjustice. 

E. A. V. 

MERTON, SURREY, ENGLAND, Feb. 5, 1898. 

I. THE PRIEST AND THE POOR

THAT morning, one towards the end of January, Abbe Pierre Froment, whohad a mass to say at the Sacred Heart at Montmartre, was on the height, in front of the basilica, already at eight o'clock. And before going inhe gazed for a moment upon the immensity of Paris spread out below him. 

After two months of bitter cold, ice and snow, the city was steeped in amournful, quivering thaw. From the far-spreading, leaden-hued heavens athick mist fell like a mourning shroud. All the eastern portion of thecity, the abodes of misery and toil, seemed submerged beneath ruddysteam, amid which the panting of workshops and factories could bedivined; while westwards, towards the districts of wealth and enjoyment, the fog broke and lightened, becoming but a fine and motionless veil ofvapour. The curved line of the horizon could scarcely be divined, theexpanse of houses, which nothing bounded, appeared like a chaos of stone, studded with stagnant pools, which filled the hollows with pale steam;whilst against them the summits of the edifices, the housetops of theloftier streets, showed black like soot. It was a Paris of mystery, shrouded by clouds, buried as it were beneath the ashes of some disaster, already half-sunken in the suffering and the shame of that which itsimmensity concealed. 

Thin and sombre in his flimsy cassock, Pierre was looking on when AbbeRose, who seemed to have sheltered himself behind a pillar of the porchon purpose to watch for him, came forward: "Ah! it's you at last, my dearchild, " said he, "I have something to ask you. "

He seemed embarrassed and anxious, and glanced round distrustfully tomake sure that nobody was near. Then, as if the solitude thereabouts didnot suffice to reassure him, he led Pierre some distance away, throughthe icy, biting wind, which he himself did not seem to feel. "This is thematter, " he resumed, "I have been told that a poor fellow, a formerhouse-painter, an old man of seventy, who naturally can work no more, isdying of hunger in a hovel in the Rue des Saules. So, my dear child, Ithought of you. I thought you would consent to take him these threefrancs from me, so that he may at least have some bread to eat for a fewdays. "

"But why don't you take him your alms yourself?"

At this Abbe Rose again grew anxious, and cast vague, frightened glancesabout him. "Oh, no, oh, no!" he said, "I can no longer do that after allthe worries that have befallen me. You know that I am watched, and shouldget another scolding if I were caught giving alms like this, scarcelyknowing to whom I give them. It is true that I had to sell something toget these three francs. But, my dear child, render me this service, Ipray you. "

Pierre, with heart oppressed, stood contemplating the old priest, whoselocks were quite white, whose full lips spoke of infinite kindliness, andwhose eyes shone clear and childlike in his round and smiling face. Andhe bitterly recalled the story of that lover of the poor, thesemi-disgrace into which he had fallen through the sublime candour of hischaritable goodness. His little ground-floor of the Rue de Charonne, which he had turned into a refuge where he offered shelter to all thewretchedness of the streets, had ended by giving cause for scandal. His_naivete_ and innocence had been abused; and abominable things had goneon under his roof without his knowledge. Vice had turned the asylum intoa meeting-place; and at last, one night, the police had descended upon itto arrest a young girl accused of infanticide. Greatly concerned by thisscandal, the diocesan authorities had forced Abbe Rose to close hisshelter, and had removed him from the church of Ste. Marguerite to thatof St. Pierre of Montmartre, where he now again acted as curate. Truth totell, it was not a disgrace but a removal to another spot. However, hehad been scolded and was watched, as he said; and he was much ashamed ofit, and very unhappy at being only able to give alms by stealth, muchlike some harebrained prodigal who blushes for his faults. 

Pierre took the three francs. "I promise to execute your commission, myfriend, oh! with all my heart, " he said. 

"You will go after your mass, won't you? His name is Laveuve, he lives inthe Rue des Saules in a house with a courtyard, just before reaching theRue Marcadet. You are sure to find it. And if you want to be very kindyou will tell me of your visit this evening at five o'clock, at theMadeleine, where I am going to hear Monseigneur Martha's address. He hasbeen so good to me! Won't you also come to hear him?"

Pierre made an evasive gesture. Monseigneur Martha, Bishop of Persepolisand all powerful at the archiepiscopal palace, since, like the genialpropagandist he was, he had been devoting himself to increasing thesubscriptions for the basilica of the Sacred Heart, had indeed supportedAbbe Rose; in fact, it was by his influence that the abbe had been keptin Paris, and placed once more at St. Pierre de Montmartre. 

"I don't know if I shall be able to hear the address, " said Pierre, "butin any case I will go there to meet you. "

The north wind was blowing, and the gloomy cold penetrated both of themon that deserted summit amidst the fog which changed the vast city into amisty ocean. However, some footsteps were heard, and Abbe Rose, againmistrustful, saw a man go by, a tall and sturdy man, who wore clogs andwas bareheaded, showing his thick and closely-cut white hair. "Is notthat your brother?" asked the old priest. 

Pierre had not stirred. "Yes, it is my brother Guillaume, " he quietlyresponded. "I have found him again since I have been coming occasionallyto the Sacred Heart. He owns a house close by, where he has been livingfor more than twenty years, I think. When we meet we shake hands, but Ihave never even been to his house. Oh! all is quite dead between us, wehave nothing more in common, we are parted by worlds. "

Abbe Rose's tender smile again appeared, and he waved his hand as if tosay that one must never despair of love. Guillaume Froment, a savant oflofty intelligence, a chemist who lived apart from others, like one whorebelled against the social system, was now a parishioner of the abbe's, and when the latter passed the house where Guillaume lived with his threesons--a house all alive with work--he must often have dreamt of leadinghim back to God. 

"But, my dear child, " he resumed, "I am keeping you here in this darkcold, and you are not warm. Go and say your mass. Till this evening, atthe Madeleine. " Then, in entreating fashion, after again making sure thatnone could hear them, he added, still with the air of a child at fault:"And not a word to anybody about my little commission--it would again besaid that I don't know how to conduct myself. "

Pierre watched the old priest as he went off towards the Rue Cartot, where he lived on a damp ground-floor, enlivened by a strip of garden. The veil of disaster, which was submerging Paris, now seemed to growthicker under the gusts of the icy north wind. And at last Pierre enteredthe basilica, his heart upset, overflowing with the bitterness stirred upby the recollection of Abbe Rose's story--that bankruptcy of charity, thefrightful irony of a holy man punished for bestowing alms, and hidinghimself that he might still continue to bestow them. Nothing could calmthe smart of the wound reopened in Pierre's heart--neither the warmpeacefulness into which he entered, nor the silent solemnity of thebroad, deep fabric, whose new stonework was quite bare, without a singlepainting or any kind of decoration; the nave being still half-barred bythe scaffoldings which blocked up the unfinished dome. At that early hourthe masses of entreaty had already been said at several altars, under thegrey light falling from the high and narrow windows, and the tapers ofentreaty were burning in the depths of the apse. So Pierre made haste togo to the sacristy, there to assume his vestments in order that he mightsay his mass in the chapel of St. Vincent de Paul. 

But the floodgates of memory had been opened, and he had no thought butfor his distress whilst, in mechanical fashion, he performed the ritesand made the customary gestures. Since his return from Rome three yearspreviously, he had been living in the very worst anguish that can fall onman. At the outset, in order to recover his lost faith, he had essayed afirst experiment: he had gone to Lourdes, there to seek the innocentbelief of the child who kneels and prays, the primitive faith of youngnations bending beneath the terror born of ignorance; but he had rebelledyet more than ever in presence of what he had witnessed at Lourdes: thatglorification of the absurd, that collapse of common sense; and wasconvinced that salvation, the peace of men and nations nowadays, couldnot lie in that puerile relinquishment of reason. And afterwards, againyielding to the need of loving whilst yet allowing reason, so hard tosatisfy, her share in his intellect, he had staked his final peace on asecond experiment, and had gone to Rome to see if Catholicism could therebe renewed, could revert to the spirit of primitive Christianity andbecome the religion of the democracy, the faith which the modern world, upheaving and in danger of death, was awaiting in order to calm down andlive. And he had found there naught but ruins, the rotted trunk of a treethat could never put forth another springtide; and he had heard therenaught but the supreme rending of the old social edifice, near to itsfall. Then it was, that, relapsing into boundless doubt, total negation, he had been recalled to Paris by Abbe Rose, in the name of their poor, and had returned thither that he might forget and immolate himself andbelieve in them--the poor--since they and their frightful sufferingsalone remained certain. And then it was too, that for three years he cameinto contact with that collapse, that very bankruptcy of goodness itself:charity a derision, charity useless and flouted. 

Those three years had been lived by Pierre amidst ever-growing torments, in which his whole being had ended by sinking. His faith was foreverdead; dead, too, even his hope of utilising the faith of the multitudesfor the general salvation. He denied everything, he anticipated nothingbut the final, inevitable catastrophe: revolt, massacre andconflagration, which would sweep away a guilty and condemned world. Unbelieving priest that he was, yet watching over the faith of others, honestly, chastely discharging his duties, full of haughty sadness at thethought that he had been unable to renounce his mind as he had renouncedhis flesh and his dream of being a saviour of the nations, he withalremained erect, full of fierce yet solitary grandeur. And thisdespairing, denying priest, who had dived to the bottom of nothingness, retained such a lofty and grave demeanour, perfumed by such purekindness, that in his parish of Neuilly he had acquired the reputation ofbeing a young saint, one beloved by Providence, whose prayers wroughtmiracles. He was but a personification of the rules of the Church; of thepriest he retained only the gestures; he was like an empty sepulchre inwhich not even the ashes of hope remained; yet grief-stricken weepingwomen worshipped him and kissed his cassock; and it was a tortured motherwhose infant was in danger of death, who had implored him to come and askthat infant's cure of Jesus, certain as she felt that Jesus would granther the boon in that sanctuary of Montmartre where blazed the prodigy ofHis heart, all burning with love. 

Clad in his vestments, Pierre had reached the chapel of St. Vincent dePaul. He there ascended the altar-step and began the mass; and when heturned round with hands spread out to bless the worshippers he showed hishollow cheeks, his gentle mouth contracted by bitterness, his loving eyesdarkened by suffering. He was no longer the young priest whosecountenance had glowed with tender fever on the road to Lourdes, whoseface had been illumined by apostolic fervour when he started for Rome. The two hereditary influences which were ever at strife within him--thatof his father to whom he owed his impregnable, towering brow, that of hismother who had given him his love-thirsting lips, were still waging war, the whole human battle of sentiment and reason, in that now ravaged faceof his, whither in moments of forgetfulness ascended all the chaos ofinternal suffering. The lips still confessed that unquenched thirst forlove, self-bestowal and life, which he well thought he could nevermorecontent, whilst the solid brow, the citadel which made him suffer, obstinately refused to capitulate, whatever might be the assaults oferror. But he stiffened himself, hid the horror of the void in which hestruggled, and showed himself superb, making each gesture, repeating eachword in sovereign fashion. And gazing at him through her tears, themother who was there among the few kneeling women, the mother who awaiteda supreme intercession from him, who thought him in communion with Jesusfor the salvation of her child, beheld him radiant with angelic beautylike some messenger of the divine grace. 

When, after the offertory, Pierre uncovered the chalice he felt contemptfor himself. The shock had been too great, and he thought of those thingsin spite of all. What puerility there had been in his two experiments atLourdes and Rome, the _naivete_ of a poor distracted being, consumed bydesire to love and believe. To have imagined that present-day sciencewould in his person accommodate itself to the faith of the year OneThousand, and in particular to have foolishly believed that he, pettypriest that he was, would be able to indoctrinate the Pope and prevail onhim to become a saint and change the face of the world! It all filled himwith shame; how people must have laughed at him! Then, too, his idea of aschism made him blush. He again beheld himself at Rome, dreaming ofwriting a book by which he would violently sever himself from Catholicismto preach the new religion of the democracies, the purified, human andliving Gospel. But what ridiculous folly! A schism? He had known in Parisan abbe of great heart and mind who had attempted to bring about thatfamous, predicted, awaited schism. Ah! the poor man, the sad, theludicrous labour in the midst of universal incredulity, the icyindifference of some, the mockery and the reviling of others! If Lutherwere to come to France in our days he would end, forgotten and dying ofhunger, on a Batignolles fifth-floor. A schism cannot succeed among apeople that no longer believes, that has ceased to take all interest inthe Church, and sets its hope elsewhere. And it was all Catholicism, infact all Christianity, that would be swept away, for, apart from certainmoral maxims, the Gospel no longer supplied a possible code for society. And this conviction increased Pierre's torment on the days when hiscassock weighed more heavily on his shoulders, when he ended by feelingcontempt for himself at thus celebrating the divine mystery of the mass, which for him had become but the formula of a dead religion. 

Having half filled the chalice with wine from the vase, Pierre washed hishands and again perceived the mother with her face of ardent entreaty. Then he thought it was for her that, with the charitable leanings of avow-bound man, he had remained a priest, a priest without belief, feedingthe belief of others with the bread of illusion. But this heroic conduct, the haughty spirit of duty in which he imprisoned himself, was notpractised by him without growing anguish. Did not elementary probityrequire that he should cast aside the cassock and return into the midstof men? At certain times the falsity of his position filled him withdisgust for his useless heroism; and he asked himself if it were notcowardly and dangerous to leave the masses in superstition. Certainly thetheory of a just and vigilant Providence, of a future paradise where allthese sufferings of the world would receive compensation, had long seemednecessary to the wretchedness of mankind; but what a trap lay in it, whata pretext for the tyrannical grinding down of nations; and how far morevirile it would be to undeceive the nations, however brutally, and givethem courage to live the real life, even if it were in tears. If theywere already turning aside from Christianity was not this because theyneeded a more human ideal, a religion of health and joy which should notbe a religion of death? On the day when the idea of charity shouldcrumble, Christianity would crumble also, for it was built upon the ideaof divine charity correcting the injustice of fate, and offering futurerewards to those who might suffer in this life. And it was crumbling; forthe poor no longer believed in it, but grew angry at the thought of thatdeceptive paradise, with the promise of which their patience had beenbeguiled so long, and demanded that their share of happiness should notalways be put off until the morrow of death. A cry for justice arose fromevery lip, for justice upon this earth, justice for those who hunger andthirst, whom alms are weary of relieving after eighteen hundred years ofGospel teaching, and who still and ever lack bread to eat. 

When Pierre, with his elbows on the altar, had emptied the chalice afterbreaking the sacred wafer, he felt himself sinking into yet greaterdistress. And so a third experiment was beginning for him, the supremebattle of justice against charity, in which his heart and his mind wouldstruggle together in that great Paris, so full of terrible, unknownthings. The need for the divine still battled within him againstdomineering intelligence. How among the masses would one ever be able tocontent the thirst for the mysterious? Leaving the _elite_ on one side, would science suffice to pacify desire, lull suffering, and satisfy thedream? And what would become of himself in the bankruptcy of that samecharity, which for three years had alone kept him erect by occupying hisevery hour, and giving him the illusion of self-devotion, of being usefulto others? It seemed, all at once, as if the ground sank beneath him, andhe heard nothing save the cry of the masses, silent so long, but nowdemanding justice, growling and threatening to take their share, whichwas withheld from them by force and ruse. Nothing more, it seemed, coulddelay the inevitable catastrophe, the fratricidal class warfare thatwould sweep away the olden world, which was condemned to disappearbeneath the mountain of its crimes. Every hour with frightful sadness heexpected the collapse, Paris steeped in blood, Paris in flames. And hishorror of all violence froze him; he knew not where to seek the newbelief which might dissipate the peril. Fully conscious, though he was, that the social and religious problems are but one, and are alone inquestion in the dreadful daily labour of Paris, he was too deeplytroubled himself, too far removed from ordinary things by his position asa priest, and too sorely rent by doubt and powerlessness to tell as yetwhere might be truth, and health, and life. Ah! to be healthy and tolive, to content at last both heart and reason in the peace, the certain, simply honest labour, which man has come to accomplish upon this earth!

The mass was finished, and Pierre descended from the altar, when theweeping mother, near whom he passed, caught hold of a corner of thechasuble with her trembling hands, and kissed it with wild fervour, asone may kiss some relic of a saint from whom one expects salvation. Shethanked him for the miracle which he must have accomplished, certain asshe felt that she would find her child cured. And he was deeply stirredby that love, that ardent faith of hers, in spite of the sudden and yetkeener distress which he felt at being in no wise the sovereign ministerthat she thought him, the minister able to obtain a respite from Death. But he dismissed her consoled and strengthened, and it was with an ardentprayer that he entreated the unknown but conscious Power to succour thepoor creature. Then, when he had divested himself in the sacristy, andfound himself again out of doors before the basilica, lashed by the keenwintry wind, a mortal shiver came upon him, and froze him, while throughthe mist he looked to see if a whirlwind of anger and justice had notswept Paris away: that catastrophe which must some day destroy it, leaving under the leaden heavens only the pestilential quagmire of itsruins. 

Pierre wished to fulfil Abbe Rose's commission immediately. He followedthe Rue des Norvins, on the crest of Montmartre; and, reaching the Ruedes Saules, descended by its steep slope, between mossy walls, to theother side of Paris. The three francs which he was holding in hiscassock's pocket, filled him at once with gentle emotion and covert angeragainst the futility of charity. But as he gradually descended by thesharp declivities and interminable storeys of steps, the mournful nooksof misery which he espied took possession of him, and infinite pity wrunghis heart. A whole new district was here being built alongside the broadthoroughfares opened since the great works of the Sacred Heart had begun. Lofty middle-class houses were already rising among ripped-up gardens andplots of vacant land, still edged with palings. And these houses withtheir substantial frontages, all new and white, lent a yet more sombreand leprous aspect to such of the old shaky buildings as remained, thelow pot-houses with blood-coloured walls, the _cites_ of workmen'sdwellings, those abodes of suffering with black, soiled buildings inwhich human cattle were piled. Under the low-hanging sky that day, thepavement, dented by heavily-laden carts, was covered with mud; the thawsoaked the walls with an icy dampness, whilst all the filth anddestitution brought terrible sadness to the heart. 

After going as far as the Rue Marcadet, Pierre retraced his steps; and inthe Rue des Saules, certain that he was not mistaken, he entered thecourtyard of a kind of barracks or hospital, encompassed by threeirregular buildings. This court was a quagmire, where filth must haveaccumulated during the two months of terrible frost; and now all wasmelting, and an abominable stench arose. The buildings were half falling, the gaping vestibules looked like cellar holes, strips of paper streakedthe cracked and filthy window-panes, and vile rags hung about like flagsof death. Inside a shanty which served as the door-keeper's abode Pierreonly saw an infirm man rolled up in a tattered strip of what had oncebeen a horse-cloth. 

"You have an old workman named Laveuve here, " said the priest. "Whichstaircase is it, which floor?"

The man did not answer, but opened his anxious eyes, like a scared idiot. The door-keeper, no doubt, was in the neighbourhood. For a moment thepriest waited; then seeing a little girl on the other side of thecourtyard, he risked himself, crossed the quagmire on tip-toe, and asked:"Do you know an old workman named Laveuve in the house, my child?"

The little girl, who only had a ragged gown of pink cotton stuff abouther meagre figure, stood there shivering, her hands covered withchilblains. She raised her delicate face, which looked pretty thoughnipped by the cold: "Laveuve, " said she, "no, don't know, don't know. "And with the unconscious gesture of a beggar child she put out one of herpoor, numbed and disfigured hands. Then, when the priest had given her alittle bit of silver, she began to prance through the mud like a joyfulgoat, singing the while in a shrill voice: "Don't know, don't know. "

Pierre decided to follow her. She vanished into one of the gapingvestibules, and, in her rear, he climbed a dark and fetid staircase, whose steps were half-broken and so slippery, on account of the vegetableparings strewn over them, that he had to avail himself of the greasy ropeby which the inmates hoisted themselves upwards. But every door wasclosed; he vainly knocked at several of them, and only elicited, at thelast, a stifled growl, as though some despairing animal were confinedwithin. Returning to the yard, he hesitated, then made his way to anotherstaircase, where he was deafened by piercing cries, as of a child who isbeing butchered. He climbed on hearing this noise and at last foundhimself in front of an open room where an infant, who had been leftalone, tied in his little chair, in order that he might not fall, washowling and howling without drawing breath. Then Pierre went down again, upset, frozen by the sight of so much destitution and abandonment. 

But a woman was coming in, carrying three potatoes in her apron, and onbeing questioned by him she gazed distrustfully at his cassock. "Laveuve, Laveuve? I can't say, " she replied. "If the door-keeper were there, shemight be able to tell you. There are five staircases, you see, and wedon't all know each other. Besides, there are so many changes. Still tryover there; at the far end. "

The staircase at the back of the yard was yet more abominable than theothers, its steps warped, its walls slimy, as if soaked with the sweat ofanguish. At each successive floor the drain-sinks exhaled a pestilentialstench, whilst from every lodging came moans, or a noise of quarrelling, or some frightful sign of misery. A door swung open, and a man appeareddragging a woman by the hair whilst three youngsters sobbed aloud. On thenext floor, Pierre caught a glimpse of a room where a young girl in herteens, racked by coughing, was hastily carrying an infant to and fro toquiet it, in despair that all the milk of her breast should be exhausted. Then, in an adjoining lodging, came the poignant spectacle of threebeings, half clad in shreds, apparently sexless and ageless, who, amidstthe dire bareness of their room, were gluttonously eating from the sameearthen pan some pottage which even dogs would have refused. They barelyraised their heads to growl, and did not answer Pierre's questions. 

He was about to go down again, when right atop of the stairs, at theentry of a passage, it occurred to him to make a last try by knocking atthe door. It was opened by a woman whose uncombed hair was alreadygetting grey, though she could not be more than forty; while her palelips, and dim eyes set in a yellow countenance, expressed utterlassitude, the shrinking, the constant dread of one whom wretchedness haspitilessly assailed. The sight of Pierre's cassock disturbed her, and shestammered anxiously: "Come in, come in, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

However, a man whom Pierre had not at first seen--a workman also of someforty years, tall, thin and bald, with scanty moustache and beard of awashed-out reddish hue--made an angry gesture--a threat as it were--toturn the priest out of doors. But he calmed himself, sat down near arickety table and pretended to turn his back. And as there was also achild present--a fair-haired girl, eleven or twelve years old, with along and gentle face and that intelligent and somewhat aged expressionwhich great misery imparts to children--he called her to him, and heldher between his knees, doubtless to keep her away from the man in thecassock. 

Pierre--whose heart was oppressed by his reception, and who realised theutter destitution of this family by the sight of the bare, fireless room, and the distressed mournfulness of its three inmates--decided all thesame to repeat his question: "Madame, do you know an old workman namedLaveuve in the house?"

The woman--who now trembled at having admitted him, since it seemed todisplease her man--timidly tried to arrange matters. "Laveuve, Laveuve?no, I don't. But Salvat, you hear? Do you know a Laveuve here?"

Salvat merely shrugged his shoulders; but the little girl could not keepher tongue still: "I say, mamma Theodore, it's p'raps the Philosopher. "

"A former house-painter, " continued Pierre, "an old man who is ill andpast work. "

Madame Theodore was at once enlightened. "In that case it's him, it'shim. We call him the Philosopher, a nickname folks have given him in theneighbourhood. But there's nothing to prevent his real name from beingLaveuve. "

With one of his fists raised towards the ceiling, Salvat seemed to beprotesting against the abomination of a world and a Providence thatallowed old toilers to die of hunger just like broken-down beasts. However, he did not speak, but relapsed into the savage, heavy silence, the bitter meditation in which he had been plunged when the priestarrived. He was a journeyman engineer, and gazed obstinately at the tablewhere lay his little leather tool-bag, bulging with something itcontained--something, perhaps, which he had to take back to a work-shop. He might have been thinking of a long, enforced spell of idleness, of avain search for any kind of work during the two previous months of thatterrible winter. Or perhaps it was the coming bloody reprisals of thestarvelings that occupied the fiery reverie which set his large, strange, vague blue eyes aglow. All at once he noticed that his daughter had takenup the tool-bag and was trying to open it to see what it might contain. At this he quivered and at last spoke, his voice kindly, yet bitter withsudden emotion, which made him turn pale. "Celine, you must leave thatalone. I forbade you to touch my tools, " said he; then taking the bag, hedeposited it with great precaution against the wall behind him. 

"And so, madame, " asked Pierre, "this man Laveuve lives on this floor?"

Madame Theodore directed a timid, questioning glance at Salvat. She wasnot in favour of hustling priests when they took the trouble to call, forat times there was a little money to be got from them. And when sherealised that Salvat, who had once more relapsed into his black reverie, left her free to act as she pleased, she at once tendered her services. "If Monsieur l'Abbe is agreeable, I will conduct him. It's just at theend of the passage. But one must know the way, for there are still somesteps to climb. "

Celine, finding a pastime in this visit, escaped from her father's kneesand likewise accompanied the priest. And Salvat remained alone in thatden of poverty and suffering, injustice and anger, without a fire, without bread, haunted by his burning dream, his eyes again fixed uponhis bag, as if there, among his tools, he possessed the wherewithal toheal the ailing world. 

It indeed proved necessary to climb a few more steps; and then, followingMadame Theodore and Celine, Pierre found himself in a kind of narrowgarret under the roof, a loft a few yards square, where one could notstand erect. There was no window, only a skylight, and as the snow stillcovered it one had to leave the door wide open in order that one mightsee. And the thaw was entering the place, the melting snow was fallingdrop by drop, and coming over the tiled floor. After long weeks ofintense cold, dark dampness rained quivering over all. And there, lackingeven a chair, even a plank, Laveuve lay in a corner on a little pile offilthy rags spread upon the bare tiles; he looked like some animal dyingon a dung-heap. 

"There!" said Celine in her sing-song voice, "there he is, that's thePhilosopher!"

Madame Theodore had bent down to ascertain if he still lived. "Yes, hebreathes; he's sleeping I think. Oh! if he only had something to eatevery day, he would be well enough. But what would you have? He hasnobody left him, and when one gets to seventy the best is to throwoneself into the river. In the house-painting line it often happens thata man has to give up working on ladders and scaffoldings at fifty. He atfirst found some work to do on the ground level. Then he was lucky enoughto get a job as night watchman. But that's over, he's been turned awayfrom everywhere, and, for two months now, he's been lying in this nookwaiting to die. The landlord hasn't dared to fling him into the street asyet, though not for want of any inclination that way. We others sometimesbring him a little wine and a crust, of course; but when one has nothingoneself, how can one give to others?"

Pierre, terrified, gazed at that frightful remnant of humanity, thatremnant into which fifty years of toil, misery and social injustice hadturned a man. And he ended by distinguishing Laveuve's white, worn, sunken, deformed head. Here, on a human face, appeared all the ruinfollowing upon hopeless labour. Laveuve's unkempt beard straggled overhis features, suggesting an old horse that is no longer cropped; histoothless jaws were quite askew, his eyes were vitreous, and his noseseemed to plunge into his mouth. But above all else one noticed hisresemblance to some beast of burden, deformed by hard toil, lamed, wornto death, and now only good for the knackers. 

"Ah! the poor fellow, " muttered the shuddering priest. "And he is left todie of hunger, all alone, without any succour? And not a hospital, not anasylum has given him shelter?"

"Well, " resumed Madame Theodore in her sad yet resigned voice, "thehospitals are built for the sick, and he isn't sick, he's simplyfinishing off, with his strength at an end. Besides he isn't always easyto deal with. People came again only lately to put him in an asylum, buthe won't be shut up. And he speaks coarsely to those who question him, not to mention that he has the reputation of liking drink and talkingbadly about the gentle-folks. But, thank Heaven, he will now soon bedelivered. "

Pierre had leant forward on seeing Laveuve's eyes open, and he spoke tohim tenderly, telling him that he had come from a friend with a littlemoney to enable him to buy what he might most pressingly require. Atfirst, on seeing Pierre's cassock, the old man had growled some coarsewords; but, despite his extreme feebleness, he still retained the pertchaffing spirit of the Parisian artisan: "Well, then, I'll willinglydrink a drop, " he said distinctly, "and have a bit of bread with it, ifthere's the needful; for I've lost taste of both for a couple of dayspast. "

Celine offered her services, and Madame Theodore sent her to fetch a loafand a quart of wine with Abbe Rose's money. And in the interval she toldPierre how Laveuve was at one moment to have entered the Asylum of theInvalids of Labour, a charitable enterprise whose lady patronesses werepresided over by Baroness Duvillard. However, the usual regulationinquiries had doubtless led to such an unfavourable report that mattershad gone no further. 

"Baroness Duvillard! but I know her, and will go to see her to-day!"exclaimed Pierre, whose heart was bleeding. "It is impossible for a manto be left in such circumstances any longer. "

Then, as Celine came back with the loaf and the wine, the three of themtried to make Laveuve more comfortable, raised him on his heap of rags, gave him to eat and to drink, and then left the remainder of the wine andthe loaf--a large four-pound loaf--near him, recommending him to waitawhile before he finished the bread, as otherwise he might stifle. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe ought to give me his address in case I should have anynews to send him, " said Madame Theodore when she again found herself ather door. 

Pierre had no card with him, and so all three went into the room. ButSalvat was no longer alone there. He stood talking in a low voice veryquickly, and almost mouth to mouth, with a young fellow of twenty. Thelatter, who was slim and dark, with a sprouting beard and hair cut inbrush fashion, had bright eyes, a straight nose and thin lips set in apale and slightly freckled face, betokening great intelligence. Withstern and stubborn brow, he stood shivering in his well-worn jacket. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe wants to leave me his address for the Philosopher'saffair, " gently explained Madame Theodore, annoyed to find another therewith Salvat. 

The two men had glanced at the priest and then looked at one another, each with terrible mien. And they suddenly ceased speaking in the bittercold which fell from the ceiling. Then, again with infinite precaution, Salvat went to take his tool-bag from alongside the wall. 

"So you are going down, you are again going to look for work?" askedMadame Theodore. 

He did not answer, but merely made an angry gesture, as if to say that hewould no longer have anything to do with work since work for so long atime had not cared to have anything to do with him. 

"All the same, " resumed the woman, "try to bring something back with you, for you know there's nothing. At what time will you be back?"

With another gesture he seemed to answer that he would come back when hecould, perhaps never. And tears rising, despite all his efforts, to hisvague, blue, glowing eyes he caught hold of his daughter Celine, kissedher violently, distractedly, and then went off, with his bag under hisarm, followed by his young companion. 

"Celine, " resumed Madame Theodore, "give Monsieur l'Abbe your pencil, and, see, monsieur, seat yourself here, it will be better for writing. "

Then, when Pierre had installed himself at the table, on the chairpreviously occupied by Salvat, she went on talking, seeking to excuse herman for his scanty politeness: "He hasn't a bad heart, but he's had somany worries in life that he has become a bit cracked. It's like thatyoung man whom you just saw here, Monsieur Victor Mathis. There's anotherfor you, who isn't happy, a young man who was well brought up, who has alot of learning, and whose mother, a widow, has only just got thewherewithal to buy bread. So one can understand it, can't one? It allupsets their heads, and they talk of blowing up everybody. For my partthose are not my notions, but I forgive them, oh! willingly enough. "

Perturbed, yet interested by all the mystery and vague horror which hecould divine around him, Pierre made no haste to write his address, butlingered listening, as if inviting confidence. 

"If you only knew, Monsieur l'Abbe, that poor Salvat was a forsakenchild, without father or mother, and had to scour the roads and try everytrade at first to get a living. Then afterwards he became a mechanician, and a very good workman, I assure you, very skilful and very painstaking. But he already had those ideas of his, and quarrelled with people, andtried to bring his mates over to his views; and so he was unable to stayanywhere. At last, when he was thirty, he was stupid enough to go toAmerica with an inventor, who traded on him to such a point that aftersix years of it he came back ill and penniless. I must tell you that hehad married my younger sister Leonie, and that she died before he went toAmerica, leaving him little Celine, who was then only a year old. I wasthen living with my husband, Theodore Labitte, a mason; and it's not tobrag that I say it, but however much I wore out my eyes with needleworkhe used to beat me till he left me half-dead on the floor. But he endedby deserting me and going off with a young woman of twenty, which, afterall, caused me more pleasure than grief. And naturally when Salvat cameback he sought me out and found me alone with his little Celine, whom hehad left in my charge when he went away, and who called me mamma. Andwe've all three been living together since then--"

She became somewhat embarrassed, and then, as if to show that she did notaltogether lack some respectable family connections, she went on to say:"For my part I've had no luck; but I've another sister, Hortense, who'smarried to a clerk, Monsieur Chretiennot, and lives in a pretty lodgingon the Boulevard Rochechouart. There were three of us born of my father'ssecond marriage, --Hortense, who's the youngest, Leonie, who's dead, andmyself, Pauline, the eldest. And of my father's first marriage I've stilla brother Eugene Toussaint, who is ten years older than me and is anengineer like Salvat, and has been working ever since the war in the sameestablishment, the Grandidier factory, only a hundred steps away in theRue Marcadet. The misfortune is that he had a stroke lately. As for me, my eyes are done for; I ruined them by working ten hours a day at fineneedlework. And now I can no longer even try to mend anything without myeyes filling with water till I can't see at all. I've tried to findcharwoman's work, but I can't get any; bad luck always follows us. And sowe are in need of everything; we've nothing but black misery, two orthree days sometimes going by without a bite, so that it's like thechance life of a dog that feeds on what it can find. And with these lasttwo months of bitter cold to freeze us, it's sometimes made us think thatone morning we should never wake up again. But what would you have? I'venever been happy, I was beaten to begin with, and now I'm done for, leftin a corner, living on, I really don't know why. "

Her voice had begun to tremble, her red eyes moistened, and Pierre couldrealise that she thus wept through life, a good enough woman but one whohad no will, and was already blotted out, so to say, from existence. 

"Oh! I don't complain of Salvat, " she went on. "He's a good fellow; heonly dreams of everybody's happiness, and he doesn't drink, and he workswhen he can. Only it's certain that he'd work more if he didn't busyhimself with politics. One can't discuss things with comrades, and go topublic meetings and be at the workshop at the same time. In that he's atfault, that's evident. But all the same he has good reason to complain, for one can't imagine such misfortunes as have pursued him. Everythinghas fallen on him, everything has beaten him down. Why, a saint evenwould have gone mad, so that one can understand that a poor beggar whohas never had any luck should get quite wild. For the last two months hehas only met one good heart, a learned gentleman who lives up yonder onthe height, Monsieur Guillaume Froment, who has given him a little work, just something to enable us to have some soup now and then. "

Much surprised by this mention of his brother, Pierre wished to askcertain questions; but a singular feeling of uneasiness, in which fearand discretion mingled, checked his tongue. He looked at Celine, whostood before him, listening in silence with her grave, delicate air; andMadame Theodore, seeing him smile at the child, indulged in a finalremark: "It's just the idea of that child, " said she, "that throws Salvatout of his wits. He adores her, and he'd kill everybody if he could, whenhe sees her go supperless to bed. She's such a good girl, she waslearning so nicely at the Communal School! But now she hasn't even ashift to go there in. "

Pierre, who had at last written his address, slipped a five-franc pieceinto the little girl's hand, and, desirous as he was of curtailing anythanks, he hastily said: "You will know now where to find me if you needme for Laveuve. But I'm going to busy myself about him this veryafternoon, and I really hope that he will be fetched away this evening. "

Madame Theodore did not listen, but poured forth all possible blessings;whilst Celine, thunderstruck at seeing five francs in her hand, murmured:"Oh! that poor papa, who has gone to hunt for money! Shall I run afterhim to tell him that we've got enough for to-day?"

Then the priest, who was already in the passage, heard the woman answer:"Oh! he's far away if he's still walking. He'll p'raps come back rightenough. "

However, as Pierre, with buzzing head and grief-stricken heart, hastilyescaped out of that frightful house of suffering, he perceived to hisastonishment Salvat and Victor Mathis standing erect in a corner of thefilthy courtyard, where the stench was so pestilential. They had comedownstairs, there to continue their interrupted colloquy. And again, theywere talking in very low tones, and very quickly, mouth to mouth, absorbed in the violent thoughts which made their eyes flare. But theyheard the priest's footsteps, recognised him, and suddenly becoming coldand calm, exchanged an energetic hand-shake without uttering anotherword. Victor went up towards Montmartre, whilst Salvat hesitated like aman who is consulting destiny. Then, as if trusting himself to sternchance, drawing up his thin figure, the figure of a weary, hungry toiler, he turned into the Rue Marcadet, and walked towards Paris, his tool-bagstill under his arm. 

For an instant Pierre felt a desire to run and call to him that hislittle girl wished him to go back again. But the same feeling ofuneasiness as before came over the priest--a commingling of discretionand fear, a covert conviction that nothing could stay destiny. And hehimself was no longer calm, no longer experienced the icy, despairingdistress of the early morning. On finding himself again in the street, amidst the quivering fog, he felt the fever, the glow of charity whichthe sight of such frightful wretchedness had ignited, once more withinhim. No, no! such suffering was too much; he wished to struggle still, tosave Laveuve and restore a little joy to all those poor folk. The newexperiment presented itself with that city of Paris which he had seenshrouded as with ashes, so mysterious and so perturbing beneath thethreat of inevitable justice. And he dreamed of a huge sun bringinghealth and fruitfulness, which would make of the huge city the fertilefield where would sprout the better world of to-morrow. 

II. WEALTH AND WORLDLINESS

THAT same morning, as was the case nearly every day, some intimates wereexpected to _dejeuner_ at the Duvillards', a few friends who more or lessinvited themselves. And on that chilly day, all thaw and fog, the regalmansion in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy near the Boulevard de la Madeleinebloomed with the rarest flowers, for flowers were the greatest passion ofthe Baroness, who transformed the lofty, sumptuous rooms, littered withmarvels, into warm and odoriferous conservatories, whither the gloomy, livid light of Paris penetrated caressingly with infinite softness. 

The great reception rooms were on the ground-floor looking on to thespacious courtyard, and preceded by a little winter garden, which servedas a vestibule where two footmen in liveries of dark green and gold wereinvariably on duty. A famous gallery of paintings, valued at millions offrancs, occupied the whole of the northern side of the house. And thegrand staircase, of a sumptuousness which also was famous, conducted tothe apartments usually occupied by the family, a large red drawing-room, a small blue and silver drawing-room, a study whose walls were hung withold stamped leather, and a dining-room in pale green with Englishfurniture, not to mention the various bedchambers and dressing-rooms. Built in the time of Louis XIV. The mansion retained an aspect of noblegrandeur, subordinated to the epicurean tastes of the triumphant_bourgeoisie_, which for a century now had reigned by virtue of theomnipotence of money. 

Noon had not yet struck, and Baron Duvillard, contrary to custom, foundhimself the first in the little blue and silver _salon_. He was a man ofsixty, tall and sturdy, with a large nose, full cheeks, broad, fleshylips, and wolfish teeth, which had remained very fine. He had, however, become bald at an early age, and dyed the little hair that was left him. Moreover, since his beard had turned white, he had kept his faceclean-shaven. His grey eyes bespoke his audacity, and in his laugh therewas a ring of conquest, while the whole of his face expressed the factthat this conquest was his own, that he wielded the sovereignty of anunscrupulous master, who used and abused the power stolen and retained byhis caste. 

He took a few steps, and then halted in front of a basket of wonderfulorchids near the window. On the mantel-piece and table tufts of violetssent forth their perfume, and in the warm, deep silence which seemed tofall from the hangings, the Baron sat down and stretched himself in oneof the large armchairs, upholstered in blue satin striped with silver. Hehad taken a newspaper from his pocket, and began to re-peruse an articleit contained, whilst all around him the entire mansion proclaimed hisimmense fortune, his sovereign power, the whole history of the centurywhich had made him the master. His grandfather, Jerome Duvillard, son ofa petty advocate of Poitou, had come to Paris as a notary's clerk in1788, when he was eighteen; and very keen, intelligent and hungry as hewas, he had gained the family's first three millions--at first intrafficking with the _emigres'_ estates when they were confiscated andsold as national property, and later, in contracting for supplies to theimperial army. His father, Gregoire Duvillard, born in 1805, and the realgreat man of the family--he who had first reigned in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy, after King Louis Philippe had granted him the title ofBaron--remained one of the recognized heroes of modern finance by reasonof the scandalous profits which he had made in every famous thievingspeculation of the July Monarchy and the Second Empire, such as mines, railroads, and the Suez Canal. And he, the present Baron, Henri by name, and born in 1836, had only seriously gone into business on BaronGregoire's death soon after the Franco-German War. However, he had doneso with such a rageful appetite, that in a quarter of a century he hadagain doubled the family fortune. He rotted and devoured, corrupted, swallowed everything that he touched; and he was also the tempterpersonified--the man who bought all consciences that were forsale--having fully understood the new times and its tendencies inpresence of the democracy, which in its turn had become hungry andimpatient. Inferior though he was both to his father and his grandfather, being a man of enjoyment, caring less for the work of conquest than thedivision of the spoil, he nevertheless remained a terrible fellow, asleek triumpher, whose operations were all certainties, who amassedmillions at each stroke, and treated with governments on a footing ofequality, able as he was to place, if not France, at least a ministry inhis pocket. In one century and three generations, royalty had becomeembodied in him: a royalty already threatened, already shaken by thetempest close ahead. And at times his figure grew and expanded till itbecame, as it were, an incarnation of the whole _bourgeoisie_--that_bourgeoisie_ which at the division of the spoils in 1789 appropriatedeverything, and has since fattened on everything at the expense of themasses, and refuses to restore anything whatever. 

The article which the Baron was re-perusing in a halfpenny newspaperinterested him. "La Voix du Peuple" was a noisy sheet which, under thepretence of defending outraged justice and morality, set a fresh scandalcirculating every morning in the hope of thereby increasing its sales. And that morning, in big type on its front page, this sub-title wasdisplayed: "The Affair of the African Railways. Five Millions spent inBribes: Two Ministers Bought, Thirty Deputies and Senators Compromised. "Then in an article of odious violence the paper's editor, the famousSagnier, announced that he possessed and intended to publish the list ofthe thirty-two members of Parliament, whose support Baron Duvillard hadpurchased at the time when the Chambers had voted the bill for theAfrican Railway Lines. Quite a romantic story was mingled with all this, the adventures of a certain Hunter, whom the Baron had employed as hisgo-between and who had now fled. The Baron, however, re-perused eachsentence and weighed each word of the article very calmly; and althoughhe was alone he shrugged his shoulders and spoke aloud with the tranquilassurance of a man whose responsibility is covered and who is, moreover, too powerful to be molested. 

"The idiot, " he said, "he knows even less than he pretends. "

Just then, however, a first guest arrived, a man of barely four andthirty, elegantly dressed, dark and good looking, with a delicatelyshaped nose, and curly hair and beard. As a rule, too, he had laughingeyes, and something giddy, flighty, bird-like in his demeanour; but thatmorning he seemed nervous, anxious even, and smiled in a scared way. 

"Ah! it's you, Duthil, " said the Baron, rising. "Have you read this?" Andhe showed the new comer the "Voix du Peuple, " which he was folding up toreplace it in his pocket. 

"Why yes, I've read it. It's amazing. How can Sagnier have got hold ofthe list of names? Has there been some traitor?"

The Baron looked at his companion quietly, amused by his secret anguish. Duthil, the son of a notary of Angouleme, almost poor and very honest, had been sent to Paris as deputy for that town whilst yet very young, thanks to the high reputation of his father; and he there led a life ofpleasure and idleness, even as he had formerly done when a student. However, his pleasant bachelor's quarters in the Rue de Suresnes, and hissuccess as a handsome man in the whirl of women among whom he lived, costhim no little money; and gaily enough, devoid as he was of any moralsense, he had already glided into all sorts of compromising and loweringactions, like a light-headed, superior man, a charming, thoughtlessfellow, who attached no importance whatever to such trifles. 

"Bah!" said the Baron at last. "Has Sagnier even got a list? I doubt it, for there was none; Hunter wasn't so foolish as to draw one up. And then, too, it was merely an ordinary affair; nothing more was done than isalways done in such matters of business. "

Duthil, who for the first time in his life had felt anxious, listenedlike one that needs to be reassured. "Quite so, eh?" he exclaimed. "That's what I thought. There isn't a cat to be whipped in the wholeaffair. "

He tried to laugh as usual, and no longer exactly knew how it was that hehad received some ten thousand francs in connection with the matter, whether it were in the shape of a vague loan, or else under some pretextof publicity, puffery, or advertising, for Hunter had acted with extremeadroitness so as to give no offence to the susceptibilities of even theleast virginal consciences. 

"No, there's not a cat to be whipped, " repeated Duvillard, who decidedlyseemed amused by the face which Duthil was pulling. "And besides, my dearfellow, it's well known that cats always fall on their feet. But have youseen Silviane?"

"I just left her. I found her in a great rage with you. She learnt thismorning that her affair of the Comedie is off. "

A rush of anger suddenly reddened the Baron's face. He, who could scoffso calmly at the threat of the African Railways scandal, lost his balanceand felt his blood boiling directly there was any question of Silviane, the last, imperious passion of his sixtieth year. "What! off?" said he. "But at the Ministry of Fine Arts they gave me almost a positive promiseonly the day before yesterday. "

He referred to a stubborn caprice of Silviane d'Aulnay, who, although shehad hitherto only reaped a success of beauty on the stage, obstinatelysought to enter the Comedie Francaise and make her _debut_ there in thepart of "Pauline" in Corneille's "Polyeucte, " which part she had beenstudying desperately for several months past. Her idea seemed an insaneone, and all Paris laughed at it; but the young woman, with superbassurance, kept herself well to the front, and imperiously demanded the_role_, feeling sure that she would conquer. 

"It was the minister who wouldn't have it, " explained Duthil. 

The Baron was choking. "The minister, the minister! Ah! well, I will soonhave that minister sent to the rightabout. "

However, he had to cease speaking, for at that moment Baroness Duvillardcame into the little drawing-room. At forty-six years of age she wasstill very beautiful. Very fair and tall, having hitherto put on butlittle superfluous fat, and retaining perfect arms and shoulders, withspeckless silky skin, it was only her face that was spoiling, colouringslightly with reddish blotches. And these blemishes were her torment, herhourly thought and worry. Her Jewish origin was revealed by her somewhatlong and strangely charming face, with blue and softly voluptuous eyes. As indolent as an Oriental slave, disliking to have to move, walk, oreven speak, she seemed intended for a harem life, especially as she wasfor ever tending her person. That day she was all in white, gowned in awhite silk toilette of delicious and lustrous simplicity. 

Duthil complimented her, and kissed her hand with an enraptured air. "Ah!madame, you set a little springtide in my heart. Paris is so black andmuddy this morning. "

However, a second guest entered the room, a tall and handsome man of fiveor six and thirty; and the Baron, still disturbed by his passion, profited by this opportunity to make his escape. He carried Duthil awayinto his study, saying, "Come here an instant, my dear fellow. I have afew more words to say to you about the affair in question. Monsieur deQuinsac will keep my wife company for a moment. "

The Baroness, as soon as she was alone with the new comer, who, likeDuthil, had most respectfully kissed her hand, gave him a long, silentlook, while her soft eyes filled with tears. Deep silence, tinged withsome slight embarrassment, had fallen, but she ended by saying in a verylow voice: "How happy I am, Gerard, to find myself alone with you for amoment. For a month past I have not had that happiness. "

The circumstances in which Henri Duvillard had married the youngerdaughter of Justus Steinberger, the great Jew banker, formed quite astory which was often recalled. The Steinbergers--after the fashion ofthe Rothschilds--were originally four brothers--Justus, residing inParis, and the three others at Berlin, Vienna, and London, a circumstancewhich gave their secret association most formidable power in thefinancial markets of Europe. Justus, however, was the least wealthy ofthe four, and in Baron Gregoire Duvillard he had a redoubtable adversaryagainst whom he was compelled to struggle each time that any large preywas in question. And it was after a terrible encounter between the pair, after the eager sharing of the spoils, that the crafty idea had come toJustus of giving his younger daughter Eve in marriage, by way of_douceur_, to the Baron's son, Henri. So far the latter had only beenknown as an amiable fellow, fond of horses and club life; and no doubtJustus's idea was that, at the death of the redoubtable Baron, who wasalready condemned by his physicians, he would be able to lay his hands onthe rival banking-house, particularly if he only had in front of him ason-in-law whom it was easy to conquer. As it happened, Henri had beenmastered by a violent passion for Eve's blond beauty, which was thendazzling. He wished to marry her, and his father, who knew him, consented, in reality greatly amused to think that Justus was making anexecrably bad stroke of business. The enterprise became indeed disastrousfor Justus when Henri succeeded his father and the man of prey appearedfrom beneath the man of pleasure and carved himself his own huge share inexploiting the unbridled appetites of the middle-class democracy, whichhad at last secured possession of power. Not only did Eve fail to devourHenri, who in his turn had become Baron Duvillard, the all-powerfulbanker, more and more master of the market; but it was the Baron whodevoured Eve, and this in less than four years' time. After she had bornehim a daughter and a son in turn, he suddenly drew away from her, neglected her, as if she were a mere toy that he no longer cared for. Shewas at first both surprised and distressed by the change, especially onlearning that he was resuming his bachelor's habits, and had set hisfickle if ardent affections elsewhere. Then, however, without any kind ofrecrimination, any display of anger, or even any particular effort toregain her ascendency over him, she, on her side, imitated his example. She could not live without love, and assuredly she had only been born tobe beautiful, to fascinate and reap adoration. To the lover whom shechose when she was five and twenty she remained faithful for more thanfifteen years, as faithful as she might have been to a husband; and whenhe died her grief was intense, it was like real widowhood. Six monthslater, however, having met Count Gerard de Quinsac she had again beenunable to resist her imperative need of adoration, and an intrigue hadfollowed. 

"Have you been ill, my dear Gerard?" she inquired, noticing the youngman's embarrassment. "Are you hiding some worry from me?"

She was ten years older than he was; and she clung desperately to thislast passion of hers, revolting at the thought of growing old, andresolved upon every effort to keep the young man beside her. 

"No, I am hiding nothing, I assure you, " replied the Count. "But mymother has had much need of me recently. "

She continued looking at him, however, with anxious passion, finding himso tall and aristocratic of mien, with his regular features and dark hairand moustaches which were always most carefully tended. He belonged toone of the oldest families of France, and resided on a ground-floor inthe Rue St. Dominique with his widowed mother, who had been ruined by heradventurously inclined husband, and had at most an income of some fifteenthousand francs* to live upon. Gerard for his part had never doneanything; contenting himself with his one year of obligatory militaryservice, he had renounced the profession of arms in the same way as hehad renounced that of diplomacy, the only one that offered him an openingof any dignity. He spent his days in that busy idleness common to allyoung men who lead "Paris life. " And his mother, haughtily severe thoughshe was, seemed to excuse this, as if in her opinion a man of his birthwas bound by way of protest to keep apart from official life under aRepublic. However, she no doubt had more intimate, more disturbingreasons for indulgence. She had nearly lost him when he was only seven, through an attack of brain fever. At eighteen he had complained of hisheart, and the doctors had recommended that he should be treated gentlyin all respects. She knew, therefore, what a lie lurked behind his prouddemeanour, within his lofty figure, that haughty _facade_ of his race. Hewas but dust, ever threatened with illness and collapse. In the depths ofhis seeming virility there was merely girlish _abandon_; and he wassimply a weak, good-natured fellow, liable to every stumble. It was onthe occasion of a visit which he had paid with his mother to the Asylumof the Invalids of Labour that he had first seen Eve, whom he continuedto meet; his mother, closing her eyes to this culpable connection in asphere of society which she treated with contempt, in the same way as shehad closed them to so many other acts of folly which she had forgivenbecause she regarded them as the mere lapses of an ailing child. Moreover, Eve had made a conquest of Madame de Quinsac, who was verypious, by an action which had recently amazed society. It had beensuddenly learnt that she had allowed Monseigneur Martha to convert her tothe Roman Catholic faith. This thing, which she had refused to do whensolicited by her lawful husband, she had now done in the hope of ensuringherself a lover's eternal affection. And all Paris was still stirred bythe magnificence exhibited at the Madeleine, on the occasion of thebaptism of this Jewess of five and forty, whose beauty and whose tearshad upset every heart. 

 * About 3000 dollars. 

Gerard, on his side, was still flattered by the deep and touchingtenderness shown to him; but weariness was coming, and he had alreadysought to break off the connection by avoiding any further assignations. He well understood Eve's glances and her tears, and though he was movedat sight of them he tried to excuse himself. "I assure you, " said he, "mymother has kept me so busy that I could not get away. " But she, without aword, still turned her tearful glance on him, and weak, like herself, indespair that he should have been left alone with her in this fashion, heyielded, unable to continue refusing. "Well, then, " said he, "thisafternoon at four o'clock if you are free. "

He had lowered his voice in speaking, but a slight rustle made him turnhis head and start like one in fault. It was the Baroness's daughterCamille entering the room. She had heard nothing; but by the smile whichthe others had exchanged, by the very quiver of the air, she understoodeverything; an assignation for that very day and at the very spot whichshe suspected. Some slight embarrassment followed, an exchange of anxiousand evil glances. 

Camille, at three and twenty, was a very dark young woman, short ofstature and somewhat deformed, with her left shoulder higher than theright. There seemed to be nothing of her father or mother in her. Hercase was one of those unforeseen accidents in family heredity which makepeople wonder whence they can arise. Her only pride lay in her beautifulblack eyes and superb black hair, which, short as she was, would, saidshe, have sufficed to clothe her. But her nose was long, her facedeviated to the left, and her chin was pointed. Her thin, witty, andmalicious lips bespoke all the rancour and perverse anger stored in theheart of this uncomely creature, whom the thought of her uncomelinessenraged. However, the one whom she most hated in the whole world was herown mother, that _amorosa_ who was so little fitted to be a mother, whohad never loved her, never paid attention to her, but had abandoned herto the care of servants from her very infancy. In this wise real hatredhad grown up between the two women, mute and frigid on the one side, andactive and passionate on the other. The daughter hated her mother becauseshe found her beautiful, because she had not been created in the sameimage: beautiful with the beauty with which her mother crushed her. Dayby day she suffered at being sought by none, at realising that theadoration of one and all still went to her mother. As she was amusing inher maliciousness, people listened to her and laughed; however, theglances of all the men--even and indeed especially the younger ones--soonreverted to her triumphant mother, who seemingly defied old age. In partfor this reason Camille, with ferocious determination, had decided thatshe would dispossess her mother of her last lover Gerard, and marry himherself, conscious that such a loss would doubtless kill the Baroness. Thanks to her promised dowry of five millions of francs, the young womandid not lack suitors; but, little flattered by their advances, she wasaccustomed to say, with her malicious laugh: "Oh! of course; why for fivemillions they would take a wife from a mad-house. " However, she, herself, had really begun to love Gerard, who, good-natured as he was, evincedmuch kindness towards this suffering young woman whom nature had treatedso harshly. It worried him to see her forsaken by everyone, and little bylittle he yielded to the grateful tenderness which she displayed towardshim, happy, handsome man that he was, at being regarded as a demi-god andhaving such a slave. Indeed, in his attempt to quit the mother there wascertainly a thought of allowing the daughter to marry him, which would bean agreeable ending to it all, though he did not as yet acknowledge this, ashamed as he felt and embarrassed by his illustrious name and all thecomplications and tears which he foresaw. 

The silence continued. Camille with her piercing glance, as sharp as anyknife, had told her mother that she knew the truth; and then with anotherand pain-fraught glance she had complained to Gerard. He, in order tore-establish equilibrium, could only think of a compliment: "Goodmorning, Camille. Ah! that havana-brown gown of yours looks nice! It'sastonishing how well rather sombre colours suit you. "

Camille glanced at her mother's white robe, and then at her own darkgown, which scarcely allowed her neck and wrists to be seen. "Yes, " shereplied laughing, "I only look passable when I don't dress as a younggirl. "

Eve, ill at ease, worried by the growth of a rivalry in which she did notas yet wish to believe, changed the conversation. "Isn't your brotherthere?" she asked. 

"Why yes, we came down together. "

Hyacinthe, who came in at that moment, shook hands with Gerard in a wearyway. He was twenty, and had inherited his mother's pale blond hair, andher long face full of Oriental languor; while from his father he hadderived his grey eyes and thick lips, expressive of unscrupulousappetites. A wretched scholar, regarding every profession with the samecontempt, he had decided to do nothing. Spoilt by his father, he tooksome little interest in poetry and music, and lived in an extraordinarycircle of artists, low women, madmen and bandits; boasting himself of allsorts of crimes and vices, professing the very worst philosophical andsocial ideas, invariably going to extremes, becoming in turn aCollectivist, an Individualist, an Anarchist, a Pessimist, a Symbolist, and what not besides; without, however, ceasing to be a Catholic, as thisconjunction of Catholicity with something else seemed to him the supreme_bon ton_. In reality he was simply empty and rather a fool. In fourgenerations the vigorous hungry blood of the Duvillards, after producingthree magnificent beasts of prey, had, as if exhausted by the contentmentof every passion, ended in this sorry emasculated creature, who wasincapable alike of great knavery or great debauchery. 

Camille, who was too intelligent not to realise her brother'snothingness, was fond of teasing him; and looking at him as he stoodthere, tightly buttoned in his long frock coat with pleated skirt--aresurrection of the romantic period, which he carried to exaggeration, she resumed: "Mamma has been asking for you, Hyacinthe. Come and show heryour gown. You are the one who would look nice dressed as a young girl. "

However, he eluded her without replying. He was covertly afraid of her, though they lived together in great intimacy, frankly exchangingconfidences respecting their perverse views of life. And he directed aglance of disdain at the wonderful basket of orchids which seemed to himpast the fashion, far too common nowadays. For his part he had left thelilies of life behind him, and reached the ranunculus, the flower ofblood. 

The two last guests who were expected now arrived almost together. Thefirst was the investigating magistrate Amadieu, a little man of five andforty, who was an intimate of the household and had been brought intonotoriety by a recent anarchist affair. Between a pair of fair, bushywhiskers he displayed a flat, regular judicial face, to which he tried toimpart an expression of keenness by wearing a single eyeglass behindwhich his glance sparkled. Very worldly, moreover, he belonged to the newjudicial school, being a distinguished psychologist and having written abook in reply to the abuses of criminalist physiology. And he was also aman of great, tenacious ambition, fond of notoriety and ever on thelookout for those resounding legal affairs which bring glory. Behind him, at last appeared General de Bozonnet, Gerard's uncle on the maternalside, a tall, lean old man with a nose like an eagle's beak. Chronicrheumatism had recently compelled him to retire from the service. Raisedto a colonelcy after the Franco-German War in reward for his gallantconduct at St. Privat, he had, in spite of his extremely monarchicalconnections, kept his sworn faith to Napoleon III. And he was excused inhis own sphere of society for this species of military Bonapartism, onaccount of the bitterness with which he accused the Republic of havingruined the army. Worthy fellow that he was, extremely fond of his sister, Madame de Quinsac, it seemed as though he acted in accordance with somesecret desire of hers in accepting the invitations of Baroness Duvillardby way of rendering Gerard's constant presence in her house more naturaland excusable. 

However, the Baron and Duthil now returned from the study, laughingloudly in an exaggerated way, doubtless to make the others believe thatthey were quite easy in mind. And one and all passed into the largedining-room where a big wood fire was burning, its gay flames shininglike a ray of springtide amid the fine mahogany furniture of English makeladen with silver and crystal. The room, of a soft mossy green, had anunassuming charm in the pale light, and the table which in the centredisplayed the richness of its covers and the immaculate whiteness of itslinen adorned with Venetian point, seemed to have flowered miraculouslywith a wealth of large tea roses, most admirable blooms for the season, and of delicious perfume. 

The Baroness seated the General on her right, and Amadieu on her left. The Baron on his right placed Duthil, and on his left Gerard. Then theyoung people installed themselves at either end, Camille between Gerardand the General, and Hyacinthe between Duthil and Amadieu. And forthwith, from the moment of starting on the scrambled eggs and truffles, conversation began, the usual conversation of Parisian _dejeuners_, whenevery event, great or little, of the morning or the day before is passedin review: the truths and the falsehoods current in every social sphere, the financial scandal, and the political adventure of the hour, the novelthat has just appeared, the play that has just been produced, the storieswhich should only be retailed in whispers, but which are repeated aloud. And beneath all the light wit which circulates, beneath all the laughter, which often has a false ring, each retains his or her particular worry, or distress of mind, at times so acute that it becomes perfect agony. 

With his quiet and wonted impudence, the Baron, bravely enough, was thefirst to speak of the article in the "Voix du Peuple. " "I say, have youread Sagnier's article this morning? It's a good one; he has _verve_ youknow, but what a dangerous lunatic he is!"

This set everybody at ease, for the article would certainly have weighedupon the _dejeuner_ had no one mentioned it. 

"It's the 'Panama' dodge over again!" cried Duthil. "But no, no, we'vehad quite enough of it!"

"Why, " resumed the Baron, "the affair of the African Railway Lines is asclear as spring water! All those whom Sagnier threatens may sleep inpeace. The truth is that it's a scheme to upset Barroux's ministry. Leaveto interpellate will certainly be asked for this afternoon. You'll seewhat a fine uproar there'll be in the Chamber. "

"That libellous, scandal-seeking press, " said Amadieu gravely, "is adissolving agent which will bring France to ruin. We ought to have lawsagainst it. "

The General made an angry gesture: "Laws, what's the use of them, sincenobody has the courage to enforce them. "

Silence fell. With a light, discreet step the house-steward presentedsome grilled mullet. So noiseless was the service amid the cheerfulperfumed warmth that not even the faintest clatter of crockery was heard. Without anyone knowing how it had come about, however, the conversationhad suddenly changed; and somebody inquired: "So the revival of the pieceis postponed?"

"Yes, " said Gerard, "I heard this morning that 'Polyeucte' wouldn't getits turn till April at the earliest. "

At this Camille, who had hitherto remained silent, watching the youngCount and seeking to win him back, turned her glittering eyes upon herfather and mother. It was a question of that revival in which Silvianewas so stubbornly determined to make her _debut_. However, the Baron andthe Baroness evinced perfect serenity, having long been acquainted withall that concerned each other. Moreover Eve was too much occupied withher own passion to think of anything else; and the Baron too busy withthe fresh application which he intended to make in tempestuous fashion atthe Ministry of Fine Arts, so as to wrest Silviane's engagement fromthose in office. He contented himself with saying: "How would you havethem revive pieces at the Comedie! They have no actresses left there. "

"Oh, by the way, " the Baroness on her side simply remarked, "yesterday, in that play at the Vaudeville, Delphine Vignot wore such an exquisitegown. She's the only one too who knows how to arrange her hair. "

Thereupon Duthil, in somewhat veiled language, began to relate a storyabout Delphine and a well-known senator. And then came another scandal, the sudden and almost suspicious death of a lady friend of theDuvillards'; whereupon the General, without any transition, broke in torelieve his bitter feelings by denouncing the idiotic manner in which thearmy was nowadays organised. Meantime the old Bordeaux glittered likeruby blood in the delicate crystal glasses. A truffled fillet of venisonhad just cast its somewhat sharp scent amidst the dying perfume of theroses, when some asparagus made its appearance, a _primeur_ which oncehad been so rare but which no longer caused any astonishment. 

"Nowadays we get it all through the winter, " said the Baron with agesture of disenchantment. 

"And so, " asked Gerard at the same moment, "the Princess de Harn's_matinee_ is for this afternoon?"

Camille quickly intervened. "Yes, this afternoon. Shall you go?"

"No, I don't think so, I shan't be able, " replied the young man inembarrassment. 

"Ah! that little Princess, she's really deranged you know, " exclaimedDuthil. "You are aware that she calls herself a widow? But the truth, itseems, is that her husband, a real Prince, connected with a royal houseand very handsome, is travelling about the world in the company of asinger. She with her vicious urchin-like face preferred to come and reignin Paris, in that mansion of the Avenue Hoche, which is certainly themost extraordinary Noah's ark imaginable, with its swarming ofcosmopolitan society indulging in every extravagance!"

"Be quiet, you malicious fellow, " the Baroness gently interrupted. "We, here, are very fond of Rosemonde, who is a charming woman. "

"Oh! certainly, " Camille again resumed. "She invited us; and we are goingto her place by-and-by, are we not, mamma?"

To avoid replying, the Baroness pretended that she did not hear, whilstDuthil, who seemed to be well-informed concerning the Princess, continuedto make merry over her intended _matinee_, at which she meant to producesome Spanish dancing girls, whose performance was so very indecorous thatall Paris, forewarned of the circumstance, would certainly swarm to herhouse. And he added: "You've heard that she has given up painting. Yes, she busies herself with chemistry. Her _salon_ is full of Anarchistsnow--and, by the way, it seemed to me that she had cast her eyes on you, my dear Hyacinthe. "

Hyacinthe had hitherto held his tongue, as if he took no interest inanything. "Oh! she bores me to death, " he now condescended to reply. "IfI'm going to her _matinee_ it's simply in the hope of meeting my friendyoung Lord George Eldrett, who wrote to me from London to give me anappointment at the Princess's. And I admit that hers is the only _salon_where I find somebody to talk to. "

"And so, " asked Amadieu in an ironical way, "you have now gone over toAnarchism?"

With his air of lofty elegance Hyacinthe imperturbably confessed hiscreed: "But it seems to me, monsieur, that in these times of universalbaseness and ignominy, no man of any distinction can be other than anAnarchist. "

A laugh ran round the table. Hyacinthe was very much spoilt, andconsidered very entertaining. His father in particular was immenselyamused by the notion that he of all men should have an Anarchist for ason. However, the General, in his rancorous moments, talked anarchicallyenough of blowing up a society which was so stupid as to let itself beled by half a dozen disreputable characters. And, indeed, theinvestigating magistrate, who was gradually making a specialty ofAnarchist affairs, proved the only one who opposed the young man, defending threatened civilisation and giving terrifying particularsconcerning what he called the army of devastation and massacre. Theothers, while partaking of some delicious duck's-liver _pate_, which thehouse-steward handed around, continued smiling. There was so much misery, said they; one must take everything into account: things would surely endby righting themselves. And the Baron himself declared, in a conciliatorymanner: "It's certain that one might do something, though nobody knowsexactly what. As for all sensible and moderate claims, oh! I agree tothem in advance. For instance, the lot of the working classes may beameliorated, charitable enterprises may be undertaken, such, forinstance, as our Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, which we have reasonto be proud of. But we must not be asked for impossibilities. "

With the dessert came a sudden spell of silence; it was as if, amidst therestless fluttering of the conversation, and the dizziness born of thecopious meal, each one's worry or distress was again wringing the heartand setting an expression of perturbation on the countenance. The nervousunconscientiousness of Duthil, threatened with denunciation, was seen torevive; so, too, the anxious anger of the Baron, who was meditating howhe might possibly manage to content Silviane. That woman was this sturdy, powerful man's taint, the secret sore which would perhaps end by eatinghim away and destroying him. But it was the frightful drama in which theBaroness, Camille and Gerard were concerned that flitted by most visiblyacross the faces of all three of them: that hateful rivalry of mother anddaughter, contending for the man they loved. And, meantime, thesilver-gilt blades of the dessert-knives were delicately peeling choicefruit. And there were bunches of golden grapes looking beautifully fresh, and a procession of sweetmeats, little cakes, an infinity of dainties, over which the most satiated appetites lingered complacently. 

Then, just as the finger-glasses were being served, a footman came andbent over the Baroness, who answered in an undertone, "Well, show himinto the _salon_, I will join him there. " And aloud to the others sheadded: "It's Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, who has called and asks mostparticularly to see me. He won't be in our way; I think that almost allof you know him. Oh! he's a genuine saint, and I have much sympathy forhim. "

For a few minutes longer they loitered round the table, and then at lastquitted the dining-room, which was full of the odours of viands, wines, fruits and roses; quite warm, too, with the heat thrown out by the biglogs of firewood, which were falling into embers amidst the somewhatjumbled brightness of all the crystal and silver, and the pale, delicatelight which fell upon the disorderly table. 

Pierre had remained standing in the centre of the little blue and silver_salon_. Seeing a tray on which the coffee and the liqueurs were inreadiness, he regretted that he had insisted upon being received. And hisembarrassment increased when the company came in rather noisily, withbright eyes and rosy cheeks. However, his charitable fervour had revivedso ardently within him that he overcame this embarrassment, and all thatremained to him of it was a slight feeling of discomfort at bringing thewhole frightful morning which he had just spent amid such scenes ofwretchedness, so much darkness and cold, so much filth and hunger, intothis bright, warm, perfumed affluence, where the useless and thesuperfluous overflowed around those folks who seemed so gay at havingmade a delightful meal. 

However, the Baroness at once came forward with Gerard, for it wasthrough the latter, whose mother he knew, that the priest had beenpresented to the Duvillards at the time of the famous conversion. And ashe apologised for having called at such an inconvenient hour, theBaroness responded: "But you are always welcome, Monsieur l'Abbe. Youwill allow me just to attend to my guests, won't you? I will be with youin an instant. "

She thereupon returned to the table on which the tray had been placed, inorder to serve the coffee and the liqueurs, with her daughter'sassistance. Gerard, however, remained with Pierre; and, it so chanced, began to speak to him of the Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, wherethey had met one another at the recent laying of the foundation-stone ofa new pavilion which was being erected, thanks to a handsome donation of100, 000 francs made by Baron Duvillard. So far, the enterprise onlycomprised four pavilions out of the fourteen which it was proposed toerect on the vast site given by the City of Paris on the peninsula ofGennevilliers*; and so the subscription fund remained open, and, indeed, no little noise was made over this charitable enterprise, which wasregarded as a complete and peremptory reply to the accusations of thoseevilly disposed persons who charged the satiated _bourgeoisie_ with doingnothing for the workers. But the truth was that a magnificent chapel, erected in the centre of the site, had absorbed two-thirds of the fundshitherto collected. Numerous lady patronesses, chosen from all the"worlds" of Paris--the Baroness Duvillard, the Countess de Quinsac, thePrincess Rosemonde de Harn, and a score of others--were entrusted withthe task of keeping the enterprise alive by dint of collections and fancybazaars. But success had been chiefly obtained, thanks to the happy ideaof ridding the ladies of all the weighty cares of organisation, bychoosing as managing director a certain Fonsegue, who, besides being adeputy and editor of the "Globe" newspaper, was a prodigious promoter ofall sorts of enterprises. And the "Globe" never paused in its propaganda, but answered the attacks of the revolutionaries by extolling theinexhaustible charity of the governing classes in such wise that, at thelast elections, the enterprise had served as a victorious electoralweapon. 

 * This so-called peninsula lies to the northwest of Paris, and is formed by the windings of the Seine. --Trans. 

However, Camille was walking about with a steaming cup of coffee in herhand: "Will you take some coffee, Monsieur l'Abbe?" she inquired. 

"No, thank you, mademoiselle. "

"A glass of Chartreuse then?"

"No, thank you. "

Then everybody being served, the Baroness came back and said amiably:"Come, Monsieur l'Abbe, what do you desire of me?"

Pierre began to speak almost in an undertone, his throat contracting andhis heart beating with emotion. "I have come, madame, to appeal to yourgreat kindness of heart. This morning, in a frightful house, in the Ruedes Saules, behind Montmartre, I beheld a sight which utterly upset me. You can have no idea what an abode of misery and suffering it was; itsinmates without fire or bread, the men reduced to idleness because thereis no work, the mothers having no more milk for their babes, the childrenbarely clad, coughing and shivering. And among all these horrors I sawthe worst, the most abominable of all, an old workman, laid on his backby age, dying of hunger, huddled on a heap of rags, in a nook which a dogwould not even accept as kennel. "

He tried to recount things as discreetly as possible, frightened by thevery words he spoke, the horrors he had to relate in that sphere ofsuperlative luxury and enjoyment, before those happy ones who possessedall the gifts of this world; for--to use a slang expression--he fullyrealised that he sang out of tune, and in most uncourteous fashion. Whata strange idea of his to have called at the hour when one has justfinished _dejeuner_, when the aroma of hot coffee flatters happydigestion. Nevertheless he went on, and even ended by raising his voice, yielding to the feeling of revolt which gradually stirred him, going tothe end of his terrible narrative, naming Laveuve, insisting on theunjust abandonment in which the old man was left, and asking for succourin the name of human compassion. And the whole company approached tolisten to him; he could see the Baron and the General, and Duthil andAmadieu, in front of him, sipping their coffee, in silence, without agesture. 

"Well, madame, " he concluded, "it seemed to me that one could not leavethat old man an hour longer in such a frightful position, and that thisvery evening you would have the extreme goodness to have him admittedinto the Asylum of the Invalids of Labour, which is, I think, the properand only place for him. "

Tears had moistened Eve's beautiful eyes. She was in consternation at sosad a story coming to her to spoil her afternoon when she was lookingforward to her assignation with Gerard. Weak and indolent as she was, lacking all initiative, too much occupied moreover with her own person, she had only accepted the presidency of the Committee on the conditionthat all administrative worries were to fall on Fonsegue. "Ah! Monsieurl'Abbe, " she murmured, "you rend my heart. But I can do nothing, nothingat all, I assure you. Moreover, I believe that we have already inquiredinto the affair of that man Laveuve. With us, you know, there must be themost serious guarantees with regard to every admission. A reporter ischosen who has to give us full information. Wasn't it you, MonsieurDuthil, who was charged with this man Laveuve's affair?"

The deputy was finishing a glass of Chartreuse. "Yes, it was I. That finefellow played you a comedy, Monsieur l'Abbe. He isn't at all ill, and ifyou left him any money you may be sure he went down to drink it as soonas you were gone. For he is always drunk; and, besides that, he has themost hateful disposition imaginable, crying out from morning till eveningagainst the _bourgeois_, and saying that if he had any strength left inhis arms he would undertake to blow up the whole show. And, moreover, hewon't go into the asylum; he says that it's a real prison where one'sguarded by Beguins who force one to hear mass, a dirty convent where thegates are shut at nine in the evening! And there are so many of them likethat, who rather than be succoured prefer their liberty, with cold andhunger and death. Well then, let the Laveuves die in the street, sincethey refuse to be with us, and be warm and eat in our asylums!"

The General and Amadieu nodded their heads approvingly. But Duvillardshowed himself more generous. "No, no, indeed! A man's a man after all, and should be succoured in spite of himself. "

Eve, however, in despair at the idea that she would be robbed of herafternoon, struggled and sought for reasons. "I assure you that my handsare altogether tied. Monsieur l'Abbe does not doubt my heart or my zeal. But how call I possibly assemble the Committee without a few days' delay?And I have particular reasons for coming to no decision, especially in anaffair which has already been inquired into and pronounced upon, withoutthe Committee's sanction. " Then, all at once she found a solution: "WhatI advise you to do, Monsieur l'Abbe, is to go at once to see MonsieurFonsegue, our managing director. He alone can act in an urgent case, forhe knows that the ladies have unlimited confidence in him and approveeverything he does. "

"You will find Fonsegue at the Chamber, " added Duthil smiling, "only thesitting will be a warm one, and I doubt whether you will be able to havea comfortable chat with him. "

Pierre, whose heart had contracted yet more painfully, insisted on thesubject no further; but at once made up his mind to see Fonsegue, and inany event obtain from him a promise that the wretched Laveuve should beadmitted to the Asylum that very evening. Then he lingered in the saloonfor a few minutes listening to Gerard, who obligingly pointed out to himhow he might best convince the deputy, which was by alleging how bad aneffect such a story could have, should it be brought to light by therevolutionary newspapers. However, the guests were beginning to taketheir leave. The General, as he went off, came to ask his nephew if heshould see him that afternoon at his mother's, Madame de Quinsac, whose"day" it was: a question which the young man answered with an evasivegesture when he noticed that both Eve and Camille were looking at him. Then came the turn of Amadieu, who hurried off saying that a seriousaffair required his presence at the Palace of Justice. And Duthil soonfollowed him in order to repair to the Chamber. 

"I'll see you between four and five at Silviane's, eh?" said the Baron ashe conducted him to the door. "Come and tell me what occurs at theChamber in consequence of that odious article of Sagnier's. I must at allevents know. For my part I shall go to the Ministry of Fine Arts, tosettle that affair of the Comedie; and besides I've some calls to make, some contractors to see, and a big launching and advertisement affair tosettle. "

"It's understood then, between four and five, at Silviane's, " said thedeputy, who went off again mastered by his vague uneasiness, his anxietyas to what turn that nasty affair of the African Railway Lines mighttake. 

And all of them had forgotten Laveuve, the miserable wretch who lay atdeath's door; and all of them were hastening away to their business ortheir passions, caught in the toils, sinking under the grindstone andwhisked away by that rush of all Paris, whose fever bore them along, throwing one against another in an ardent scramble, in which the solequestion was who should pass over the others and crush them. 

"And so, mamma, " said Camille, who continued to scrutinise her mother andGerard, "you are going to take us to the Princess's _matinee_?"

"By-and-by, yes. Only I shan't be able to stay there with you. I receiveda telegram from Salmon about my corsage this morning, and I mustabsolutely go to try it on at four o'clock. "

By the slight trembling of her mother's voice, the girl felt certain thatshe was telling a falsehood. "Oh!" said she, "I thought you were onlygoing to try it on to-morrow? In that case I suppose we are to go andcall for you at Salmon's with the carriage on leaving the _matinee_?"

"Oh! no my dear! One never knows when one will be free; and besides, if Ihave a moment, I shall call at the _modiste's_. "

Camille's secret rage brought almost a murderous glare to her dark eyes. The truth was evident. But however passionately she might desire to setsome obstacle across her mother's path, she could not, dared not, carrymatters any further. In vain had she attempted to implore Gerard with hereyes. He was standing to take his leave, and turned away his eyes. Pierre, who had become acquainted with many things since he hadfrequented the house, noticed how all three of them quivered, and divinedthereby the mute and terrible drama. 

At this moment, however, Hyacinthe, stretched in an armchair, andmunching an ether capsule, the only liqueur in which he indulged, raisedhis voice: "For my part, you know, I'm going to the Exposition du Lis. All Paris is swarming there. There's one painting in particular, 'TheRape of a Soul, ' which it's absolutely necessary for one to have seen. "

"Well, but I don't refuse to drive you there, " resumed the Baroness. "Before going to the Princess's we can look in at that exhibition. "

"That's it, that's it, " hastily exclaimed Camille, who, though sheharshly derided the symbolist painters as a rule, now doubtless desiredto delay her mother. Then, forcing herself to smile, she asked: "Won'tyou risk a look-in at the Exposition du Lis with us, Monsieur Gerard?"

"Well, no, " replied the Count, "I want to walk. I shall go with Monsieurl'Abbe Froment to the Chamber. "

Thereupon he took leave of mother and daughter, kissing the hand of eachin turn. It had just occurred to him that to while away his time he alsomight call for a moment at Silviane's, where, like the others, he had his_entrees_. On reaching the cold and solemn courtyard he said to thepriest, "Ah! it does one good to breathe a little cool air. They keeptheir rooms too hot, and all those flowers, too, give one the headache. "

Pierre for his part was going off with his brain in a whirl, his handsfeverish, his senses oppressed by all the luxury which he left behindhim, like the dream of some glowing, perfumed paradise where only theelect had their abode. At the same time his reviving thirst for charityhad become keener than ever, and without listening to the Count, who wasspeaking very affectionately of his mother, he reflected as to how hemight obtain Laveuve's admission to the Asylum from Fonsegue. However, when the door of the mansion had closed behind them and they had taken afew steps along the street, it occurred to Pierre that a momentpreviously a sudden vision had met his gaze. Had he not seen a workmancarrying a tool-bag, standing and waiting on the foot pavement across theroad, gazing at that monumental door, closed upon so much fabulouswealth--a workman in whom he fancied he had recognised Salvat, thathungry fellow who had gone off that morning in search of work? At thisthought Pierre hastily turned round. Such wretchedness in face of so muchaffluence and enjoyment made him feel anxious. But the workman, disturbedin his contemplation, and possibly fearing that he had been recognised, was going off with dragging step. And now, getting only a back view ofhim, Pierre hesitated, and ended by thinking that he must have beenmistaken. 

III. RANTERS AND RULERS

WHEN Abbe Froment was about to enter the Palais-Bourbon he rememberedthat he had no card, and he was making up his mind that he would simplyask for Fonsegue, though he was not known to him, when, on reaching thevestibule, he perceived Mege, the Collectivist deputy, with whom he hadbecome acquainted in his days of militant charity in the poverty-strickenCharonne district. 

"What, you here? You surely have not come to evangelise us?" said Mege. 

"No, I've come to see Monsieur Fonsegue on an urgent matter, about a poorfellow who cannot wait. "

"Fonsegue? I don't know if he has arrived. Wait a moment. " And stopping ashort, dark young fellow with a ferreting, mouse-like air, Mege said tohim: "Massot, here's Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, who wants to speak to yourgovernor at once. "

"The governor? But he isn't here. I left him at the office of the paper, where he'll be detained for another quarter of an hour. However, ifMonsieur l'Abbe likes to wait he will surely see him here. "

Thereupon Mege ushered Pierre into the large waiting-hall, the Salle desPas Perdus, which in other moments looked so vast and cold with itsbronze Minerva and Laocoon, and its bare walls on which the pale mournfulwinter light fell from the glass doors communicating with the garden. Just then, however, it was crowded, and warmed, as it were, by thefeverish agitation of the many groups of men that had gathered here andthere, and the constant coming and going of those who hastened throughthe throng. Most of these were deputies, but there were also numerousjournalists and inquisitive visitors. And a growing uproar prevailed:colloquies now in undertones, now in loud voices, exclamations and burstsof laughter, amidst a deal of passionate gesticulation, Mege's returninto the tumult seemed to fan it. He was tall, apostolically thin, andsomewhat neglectful of his person, looking already old and worn for hisage, which was but five and forty, though his eyes still glowed withyouth behind the glasses which never left his beak-like nose. And he hada warm but grating voice, and had always been known to cough, living onsolely because he was bitterly intent on doing so in order to realise thedream of social re-organisation which haunted him. The son of animpoverished medical man of a northern town, he had come to Paris whenvery young, living there during the Empire on petty newspaper and otherunknown work, and first making a reputation as an orator at the publicmeetings of the time. Then, after the war, having become the chief of theCollectivist party, thanks to his ardent faith and the extraordinaryactivity of his fighting nature, he had at last managed to enter theChamber, where, brimful of information, he fought for his ideas withfierce determination and obstinacy, like a _doctrinaire_ who has decidedin his own mind what the world ought to be, and who regulates in advance, and bit by bit, the whole dogma of Collectivism. However, since he hadtaken pay as a deputy, the outside Socialists had looked upon him as amere rhetorician, an aspiring dictator who only tried to cast society ina new mould for the purpose of subordinating it to his personal views andruling it. 

"You know what is going on?" he said to Pierre. "This is another niceaffair, is it not? But what would you have? We are in mud to our veryears. "

He had formerly conceived genuine sympathy for the priest, whom he hadfound so gentle with all who suffered, and so desirous of socialregeneration. And the priest himself had ended by taking an interest inthis authoritarian dreamer, who was resolved to make men happy in spiteeven of themselves. He knew that he was poor, and led a retired life withhis wife and four children, to whom he was devoted. 

"You can well understand that I am no ally of Sagnier's, " Mege resumed. "But as he chose to speak out this morning and threaten to publish thenames of all those who have taken bribes, we can't allow ourselves topass as accomplices any further. It has long been said that there wassome nasty jobbery in that suspicious affair of the African railways. Andthe worst is that two members of the present Cabinet are in question, forthree years ago, when the Chambers dealt with Duvillard's emission, Barroux was at the Home Department, and Monferrand at that of PublicWorks. Now that they have come back again, Monferrand at the HomeDepartment, and Barroux at that of Finance, with the Presidency of theCouncil, it isn't possible, is it, for us to do otherwise than compelthem to enlighten us, in their own interest even, about their formergoings-on? No, no, they can no longer keep silence, and I've announcedthat I intend to interpellate them this very day. "

It was the announcement of Mege's interpellation, following the terriblearticle of the "Voix du Peuple, " which thus set the lobbies in an uproar. And Pierre remained rather scared at this big political affair fallinginto the midst of his scheme to save a wretched pauper from hunger anddeath. Thus he listened without fully understanding the explanationswhich the Socialist deputy was passionately giving him, while all aroundthem the uproar increased, and bursts of laughter rang out, testifying tothe astonishment which the others felt at seeing Mege in conversationwith a priest. 

"How stupid they are!" said Mege disdainfully. "Do they think then that Ieat a cassock for _dejeuner_ every morning? But I beg your pardon, mydear Monsieur Froment. Come, take a place on that seat and wait forFonsegue. "

Then he himself plunged into all the turmoil, and Pierre realised thathis best course was to sit down and wait quietly. His surroundings beganto influence and interest him, and he gradually forgot Laveuve for thepassion of the Parliamentary crisis amidst which he found himself cast. The frightful Panama adventure was scarcely over; he had followed theprogress of that tragedy with the anguish of a man who every nightexpects to hear the tocsin sound the last hour of olden, agonisingsociety. And now a little Panama was beginning, a fresh cracking of thesocial edifice, an affair such as had been frequent in all parliaments inconnection with big financial questions, but one which acquired mortalgravity from the circumstances in which it came to the front. That storyof the African Railway Lines, that little patch of mud, stirred up andexhaling a perturbing odour, and suddenly fomenting all that emotion, fear, and anger in the Chamber, was after all but an opportunity forpolitical strife, a field on which the voracious appetites of the various"groups" would take exercise and sharpen; and, at bottom, the solequestion was that of overthrowing the ministry and replacing it byanother. Only, behind all that lust of power, that continuous onslaughtof ambition, what a distressful prey was stirring--the whole people withall its poverty and its sufferings!

Pierre noticed that Massot, "little Massot, " as he was generally called, had just seated himself on the bench beside him. With his lively eye andready ear listening to everything and noting it, gliding everywhere withhis ferret-like air, Massot was not there in the capacity of a galleryman, but had simply scented a stormy debate, and come to see if he couldnot pick up material for some occasional "copy. " And this priest lost inthe midst of the throng doubtless interested him. 

"Have a little patience, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he, with the amiablegaiety of a young gentleman who makes fun of everything. "The governorwill certainly come, for he knows well enough that they are going to heatthe oven here. You are not one of his constituents from La Correze, areyou?"

"No, no! I belong to Paris; I've come on account of a poor fellow whom Iwish to get admitted into the Asylum of the Invalids of Labour. "

"Oh! all right. Well, I'm a child of Paris, too. "

Then Massot laughed. And indeed he was a child of Paris, son of a chemistof the St. Denis district, and an ex-dunce of the Lycee Charlemagne, where he had not even finished his studies. He had failed entirely, andat eighteen years of age had found himself cast into journalism withbarely sufficient knowledge of orthography for that calling. And fortwelve years now, as he often said, he had been a rolling stone wanderingthrough all spheres of society, confessing some and guessing at others. He had seen everything, and become disgusted with everything, no longerbelieving in the existence of great men, or of truth, but livingpeacefully enough on universal malice and folly. He naturally had noliterary ambition, in fact he professed a deliberate contempt forliterature. Withal, he was not a fool, but wrote in accordance with nomatter what views in no matter what newspaper, having neither convictionnor belief, but quietly claiming the right to say whatever he pleased tothe public on condition that he either amused or impassioned it. 

"And so, " said he, "you know Mege, Monsieur l'Abbe? What a study incharacter, eh? A big child, a dreamer of dreams in the skin of a terriblesectarian! Oh! I have had a deal of intercourse with him, I know himthoroughly. You are no doubt aware that he lives on with the everlastingconviction that he will attain to power in six months' time, and thatbetween evening and morning he will have established that famousCollectivist community which is to succeed capitalist society, just asday follows night. And, by the way, as regards his interpellation to-day, he is convinced that in overthrowing the Barroux ministry he'll behastening his own turn. His system is to use up his adversaries. How manytimes haven't I heard him making his calculations: there's such a one tobe used up, then such a one, and then such a one, so that he himself mayat last reign. And it's always to come off in six months at the latest. The misfortune is, however, that others are always springing up, and sohis turn never comes at all. "

Little Massot openly made merry over it. Then, slightly lowering hisvoice, he asked: "And Sagnier, do you know him? No? Do you see thatred-haired man with the bull's neck--the one who looks like a butcher?That one yonder who is talking in a little group of frayed frock-coats. "

Pierre at last perceived the man in question. He had broad red ears, ahanging under-lip, a large nose, and big, projecting dull eyes. 

"I know that one thoroughly, as well, " continued Massot; "I was on the'Voix du Peuple' under him before I went on the 'Globe. ' The one thingthat nobody is exactly aware of is whence Sagnier first came. He longdragged out his life in the lower depths of journalism, doing nothing atall brilliant, but wild with ambition and appetite. Perhaps you rememberthe first hubbub he made, that rather dirty affair of a new Louis XVII. Which he tried to launch, and which made him the extraordinary Royalistthat he still is. Then it occurred to him to espouse the cause of themasses, and he made a display of vengeful Catholic socialism, attackingthe Republic and all the abominations of the times in the name of justiceand morality, under the pretext of curing them. He began with a series ofsketches of financiers, a mass of dirty, uncontrolled, unprovedtittle-tattle, which ought to have led him to the dock, but which met, asyou know, with such wonderful success when gathered together in a volume. And he goes on in the same style in the 'Voix du Peuple, ' which hehimself made a success at the time of the Panama affair by dint ofdenunciation and scandal, and which to-day is like a sewer-pipe pouringforth all the filth of the times. And whenever the stream slackens, why, he invents things just to satisfy his craving for that hubbub on whichboth his pride and his pocket subsist. "

Little Massot spoke without bitterness; indeed, he had even begun tolaugh again. Beneath his thoughtless ferocity he really felt some respectfor Sagnier. "Oh! he's a bandit, " he continued, "but a clever fellow allthe same. You can't imagine how full of vanity he is. Lately it occurredto him to get himself acclaimed by the populace, for he pretends to be akind of King of the Markets, you know. Perhaps he has ended by taking hisfine judge-like airs in earnest, and really believes that he is savingthe people and helping the cause of virtue. What astonishes me is hisfertility in the arts of denunciation and scandalmongering. Never amorning comes but he discovers some fresh horror, and delivers freshculprits over to the hatred of the masses. No! the stream of mud neverceases; there is an incessant, unexpected spurt of infamy, an increase ofmonstrous fancies each time that the disgusted public shows any sign ofweariness. And, do you know, there's genius in that, Monsieur l'Abbe; forhe is well aware that his circulation goes up as soon as he threatens tospeak out and publish a list of traitors and bribe-takers. His sales arecertain now for some days to come. "

Listening to Massot's gay, bantering voice, Pierre began to understandcertain things, the exact meaning of which had hitherto escaped him. Heended by questioning the young journalist, surprised as he was that somany deputies should be in the lobbies when the sitting was in progress. Oh! the sitting indeed. The gravest matters, some bill of nationalinterest, might be under discussion, yet every member fled from it at thesudden threat of an interpellation which might overturn the ministry. Andthe passion stirring there was the restrained anger, the growing anxietyof the present ministry's clients, who feared that they might have togive place to others; and it was also the sudden hope, the eager hungerof all who were waiting--the clients of the various possible ministriesof the morrow. 

Massot pointed to Barroux, the head of the Cabinet, who, though he wasout of his element in the Department of Finances, had taken it simplybecause his generally recognised integrity was calculated to reassurepublic opinion after the Panama crisis. Barroux was chatting in a cornerwith the Minister of Public Instruction, Senator Taboureau, an olduniversity man with a shrinking, mournful air, who was extremely honest, but totally ignorant of Paris, coming as he did from some far-awayprovincial faculty. Barroux for his part was of decorative aspect, tall, and with a handsome, clean-shaven face, which would have looked quitenoble had not his nose been rather too small. Although he was sixty, hestill had a profusion of curly snow-white hair completing the somewhattheatrical majesty of his appearance, which he was wont to turn toaccount when in the tribune. Coming of an old Parisian family, well-to-do, an advocate by profession, then a Republican journalist underthe Empire, he had reached office with Gambetta, showing himself at oncehonest and romantic, loud of speech, and somewhat stupid, but at the sametime very brave and very upright, and still clinging with ardent faith tothe principles of the great Revolution. However, his Jacobinism wasgetting out of fashion, he was becoming an "ancestor, " as it were, one ofthe last props of the middle-class Republic, and the new comers, theyoung politicians with long teeth, were beginning to smile at him. Moreover, beneath the ostentation of his demeanour, and the pomp of hiseloquence, there was a man of hesitating, sentimental nature, a goodfellow who shed tears when re-perusing the verses of Lamartine. 

However, Monferrand, the minister for the Home Department, passed by anddrew Barroux aside to whisper a few words in his ear. He, Monferrand, wasfifty, short and fat, with a smiling, fatherly air; nevertheless a lookof keen intelligence appeared at times on his round and somewhat commonface fringed by a beard which was still dark. In him one divined a man ofgovernment, with hands which were fitted for difficult tasks, and whichnever released a prey. Formerly mayor of the town of Tulle, he came fromLa Correze, where he owned a large estate. He was certainly a force inmotion, one whose constant rise was anxiously watched by keen observers. He spoke in a simple quiet way, but with extraordinary power ofconviction. Having apparently no ambition, affecting indeed the greatestdisinterestedness, he nevertheless harboured the most ferociousappetites. Sagnier had written that he was a thief and a murderer, havingstrangled two of his aunts in order to inherit their property. But evenif he were a murderer, he was certainly not a vulgar one. 

Then, too, came another personage of the drama which was about to beperformed--deputy Vignon, whose arrival agitated the various groups. Thetwo ministers looked at him, whilst he, at once surrounded by hisfriends, smiled at them from a distance. He was not yet thirty-six. Slim, and of average height, very fair, with a fine blond beard of which hetook great care, a Parisian by birth, having rapidly made his way in thegovernment service, at one time Prefect at Bordeaux, he now representedyouth and the future in the Chamber. He had realised that new men wereneeded in the direction of affairs in order to accomplish the moreurgent, indispensable reforms; and very ambitious and intelligent as hewas, knowing many things, he already had a programme, the application ofwhich he was quite capable of attempting, in part at any rate. However, he evinced no haste, but was full of prudence and shrewdness, convincedthat his day would dawn, strong in the fact that he was as yetcompromised in nothing, but had all space before him. At bottom he wasmerely a first-class administrator, clear and precise in speech, and hisprogramme only differed from Barroux's by the rejuvenation of itsformulas, although the advent of a Vignon ministry in place of a Barrouxministry appeared an event of importance. And it was of Vignon thatSagnier had written that he aimed at the Presidency of the Republic, evenshould he have to march through blood to reach the Elysee Palace. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" Massot was explaining, "it's quite possible that Sagnierisn't lying this time, and that he has really found a list of names insome pocket-book of Hunter's that has fallen into his hands. I myselfhave long known that Hunter was Duvillard's vote-recruiter in the affairof the African Railways. But to understand matters one must first realisewhat his mode of proceeding was, the skill and the kind of amiabledelicacy which he showed, which were far from the brutal corruption anddirty trafficking that people imagine. One must be such a man as Sagnierto picture a parliament as an open market, where every conscience is forsale and is impudently knocked down to the highest bidder. Oh! thingshappened in a very different way indeed; and they are explainable, and attimes even excusable. Thus the article is levelled in particular againstBarroux and Monferrand, who are designated in the clearest possiblemanner although they are not named. You are no doubt aware that at thetime of the vote Barroux was at the Home Department and Monferrand atthat of Public Works, and so now they are accused of having betrayedtheir trusts, the blackest of all social crimes. I don't know into whatpolitical combinations Barroux may have entered, but I am ready to swearthat he put nothing in his pocket, for he is the most honest of men. Asfor Monferrand, that's another matter; he's a man to carve himself hisshare, only I should be much surprised if he had put himself in a badposition. He's incapable of a blunder, particularly of a stupid blunder, like that of taking money and leaving a receipt for it lying about. "

Massot paused, and with a jerk of his head called Pierre's attention toDuthil, who, feverish, but nevertheless smiling, stood in a group whichhad just collected around the two ministers. "There! do you see thatyoung man yonder, that dark handsome fellow whose beard looks sotriumphant?"

"I know him, " said Pierre. 

"Oh! you know Duthil. Well, he's one who most certainly took money. Buthe's a mere bird. He came to us from Angouleme to lead the pleasantest oflives here, and he has no more conscience, no more scruples, than thepretty finches of his native part, who are ever love-making. Ah! forDuthil, Hunter's money was like manna due to him, and he never evenpaused to think that he was dirtying his fingers. You may be quite surehe feels astonished that people should attach the slightest importance tothe matter. "

Then Massot designated another deputy in the same group, a man of fiftyor thereabouts, of slovenly aspect and lachrymose mien, lanky, too, likea maypole, and somewhat bent by the weight of his head, which was longand suggestive of a horse's. His scanty, straight, yellowish hair, hisdrooping moustaches, in fact the whole of his distracted countenance, expressed everlasting distress. 

"And Chaigneux, do you know him?" continued Massot, referring to thedeputy in question. "No? Well, look at him and ask yourself if it isn'tquite as natural that he, too, should have taken money. He came fromArras. He was a solicitor there. When his division elected him he letpolitics intoxicate him, and sold his practice to make his fortune inParis, where he installed himself with his wife and his three daughters. And you can picture his bewilderment amidst those four women, terriblewomen ever busy with finery, receiving and paying visits, and runningafter marriageable men who flee away. It's ill-luck with a vengeance, thedaily defeat of a poor devil of mediocre attainments, who imagined thathis position as a deputy would facilitate money-making, and who isdrowning himself in it all. And so how can Chaigneux have done otherwisethan take money, he who is always hard up for a five-hundred-franc note!I admit that originally he wasn't a dishonest man. But he's become one, that's all. "

Massot was now fairly launched, and went on with his portraits, theseries which he had, at one moment, dreamt of writing under the title of"Deputies for Sale. " There were the simpletons who fell into the furnace, the men whom ambition goaded to exasperation, the low minds that yieldedto the temptation of an open drawer, the company-promoters who grewintoxicated and lost ground by dint of dealing with big figures. At thesame time, however, Massot admitted that these men were relatively few innumber, and that black sheep were to be found in every parliament of theworld. Then Sagnier's name cropped up again, and Massot remarked thatonly Sagnier could regard the French Chambers as mere dens of thieves. 

Pierre, meantime, felt most interested in the tempest which the threat ofa ministerial crisis was stirring up before him. Not only the men likeDuthil and Chaigneux, pale at feeling the ground tremble beneath them, and wondering whether they would not sleep at the Mazas prison thatnight, were gathered round Barroux and Monferrand; all the latters'clients were there, all who enjoyed influence or office through them, andwho would collapse and disappear should they happen to fall. And it wassomething to see the anxious glances and the pale dread amidst all thewhispered chatter, the bits of information and tittle-tattle which werecarried hither and thither. Then, in a neighbouring group formed roundVignon, who looked very calm and smiled, were the other clients, thosewho awaited the moment to climb to the assault of power, in order thatthey, in their turn, might at last possess influence or office. Eyesglittered with covetousness, hopeful delight could be read in them, pleasant surprise at the sudden opportunity now offered. Vignon avoidedreplying to the over-direct questions of his friends, and simplyannounced that he did not intend to intervene. Evidently enough his planwas to let Mege interpellate and overthrow the ministry, for he did notfear him, and in his own estimation would afterwards simply have to stoopto pick up the fallen portfolios. 

"Ah! Monferrand now, " little Massot was saying, "there's a rascal whotrims his sails! I knew him as an anti-clerical, a devourer of priests, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you will allow me so to express myself; however, Idon't say this to be agreeable to you, but I think I may tell you forcertain that he has become reconciled to religion. At least, I have beentold that Monseigneur Martha, who is a great converter, now seldom leaveshim. This is calculated to please one in these new times, when sciencehas become bankrupt, and religion blooms afresh with delicious mysticismon all sides, whether in art, literature, or society itself. "

Massot was jesting, according to his wont; but he spoke so amiably thatthe priest could not do otherwise than bow. However, a great stir had setin before them; it was announced that Mege was about to ascend thetribune, and thereupon all the deputies hastened into the assembly hall, leaving only the inquisitive visitors and a few journalists in the Salledes Pas Perdus. 

"It's astonishing that Fonsegue hasn't yet arrived, " resumed Massot;"he's interested in what's going on. However, he's so cunning, that whenhe doesn't behave as others do, one may be sure that he has his reasonsfor it. Do you know him?" And as Pierre gave a negative answer, Massotwent on: "Oh! he's a man of brains and real power--I speak with allfreedom, you know, for I don't possess the bump of veneration; and, asfor my editors, well, they're the very puppets that I know the best andpick to pieces with the most enjoyment. Fonsegue, also, is clearlydesignated in Sagnier's article. Moreover, he's one of Duvillard's usualclients. There can be no doubt that he took money, for he takes money ineverything. Only he always protects himself, and takes it for reasonswhich may be acknowledged--as payment or commission on account ofadvertising, and so forth. And if I left him just now, looking, as itseemed to me, rather disturbed, and if he delays his arrival here toestablish, as it were, a moral alibi, the truth must be that he hascommitted the first imprudent action in his life. "

Then Massot rattled on, telling all there was to tell about Fonsegue. He, too, came from the department of La Correze, and had quarrelled for lifewith Monferrand after some unknown underhand affairs. Formerly anadvocate at Tulle, his ambition had been to conquer Paris; and he hadreally conquered it, thanks to his big morning newspaper, "Le Globe, " ofwhich he was both founder and director. He now resided in a luxuriousmansion in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, and no enterprise was launchedbut he carved himself a princely share in it. He had a genius for"business, " and employed his newspaper as a weapon to enable him to reignover the market. But how very carefully he had behaved, what long andskilful patience he had shown, before attaining to the reputation of areally serious man, who guided authoritatively the most virtuous andrespected of the organs of the press! Though in reality he believedneither in God nor in Devil, he had made this newspaper the supporter oforder, property, and family ties; and though he had become a ConservativeRepublican, since it was to his interest to be such, he had remainedoutwardly religious, affecting a Spiritualism which reassured the_bourgeoisie_. And amidst all his accepted power, to which others bowed, he nevertheless had one hand deep in every available money-bag. 

"Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, " said Massot, "see to what journalism may lead aman. There you have Sagnier and Fonsegue: just compare them a bit. Inreality they are birds of the same feather: each has a quill and uses it. But how different the systems and the results. Sagnier's print is reallya sewer which rolls him along and carries him to the cesspool; while theother's paper is certainly an example of the best journalism one canhave, most carefully written, with a real literary flavour, a treat forreaders of delicate minds, and an honour to the man who directs it. Butat the bottom, good heavens! in both cases the farce is precisely thesame!"

Massot burst out laughing, well pleased with this final thrust. Then allat once: "Ah! here's Fonsegue at last!" said he. 

Quite at his ease, and still laughing, he forthwith introduced thepriest. "This is Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, my dear _patron_, who has beenwaiting more than twenty minutes for you--I'm just going to see what ishappening inside. You know that Mege is interpellating the government. "

The new comer started slightly: "An interpellation!" said he. "All right, all right, I'll go to it. "

Pierre was looking at him. He was about fifty years of age, short ofstature, thin and active, still looking young without a grey hair in hisblack beard. He had sparkling eyes, too, but his mouth, said to be aterrible one, was hidden by his moustaches. And withal he looked apleasant companion, full of wit to the tip of his little pointed nose, the nose of a sporting dog that is ever scenting game. "What can I do foryou, Monsieur l'Abbe?" he inquired. 

Then Pierre briefly presented his request, recounting his visit toLaveuve that morning, giving every heart-rending particular, and askingfor the poor wretch's immediate admittance to the Asylum. 

"Laveuve!" said the other, "but hasn't his affair been examined? Why, Duthil drew up a report on it, and things appeared to us of such a naturethat we could not vote for the man's admittance. "

But the priest insisted: "I assure you, monsieur, that your heart wouldhave burst with compassion had you been with me this morning. It isrevolting that an old man should be left in such frightful abandonmenteven for another hour. He must sleep at the Asylum to-night. "

Fonsegue began to protest. "To-night! But it's impossible, altogetherimpossible! There are all sorts of indispensable formalities to beobserved. And besides I alone cannot take such responsibility. I haven'tthe power. I am only the manager; all that I do is to execute the ordersof the committee of lady patronesses. "

"But it was precisely Baroness Duvillard who sent me to you, monsieur, telling me that you alone had the necessary authority to grant immediateadmittance in an exceptional case. "

"Oh! it was the Baroness who sent you? Ah! that is just like her, incapable of coming to any decision herself, and far too desirous of herown quietude to accept any responsibility. Why is it that she wants me tohave the worries? No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, I certainly won't go againstall our regulations; I won't give an order which would perhaps embroil mewith all those ladies. You don't know them, but they become positivelyterrible directly they attend our meetings. "

He was growing lively, defending himself with a jocular air, whilst insecret he was fully determined to do nothing. However, just then Duthilabruptly reappeared, darting along bareheaded, hastening from lobby tolobby to recruit absent members, particularly those who were interestedin the grave debate at that moment beginning. "What, Fonsegue!" he cried, "are you still here? Go, go to your seat at once, it's serious!" Andthereupon he disappeared. 

His colleague evinced no haste, however. It was as if the suspiciousaffair which was impassioning the Chamber had no concern for him. And hestill smiled, although a slight feverish quiver made him blink. "Excuseme, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he said at last. "You see that my friends have needof me. I repeat to you that I can do absolutely nothing for your_protege_. "

But Pierre would not accept this reply as a final one. "No, no, monsieur, " he rejoined, "go to your affairs, I will wait for you here. Don't come to a decision without full reflection. You are wanted, and Ifeel that your mind is not sufficiently at liberty for you to listen tome properly. By-and-by, when you come back and give me your fullattention, I am sure that you will grant me what I ask. "

And, although Fonsegue, as he went off, repeated that he could not alterhis decision, the priest stubbornly resolved to make him do so, and satdown on the bench again, prepared, if needful, to stay there till theevening. The Salle des Pas Perdus was now almost quite empty, and lookedyet more frigid and mournful with its Laocoon and its Minerva, its barecommonplace walls like those of a railway-station waiting-room, betweenwhich all the scramble of the century passed, though apparently withouteven warming the lofty ceiling. Never had paler and more callous lightentered by the large glazed doors, behind which one espied the littleslumberous garden with its meagre, wintry lawns. And not an echo of thetempest of the sitting near at hand reached the spot; from the wholeheavy pile there fell but death-like silence, and a covert quiver ofdistress that had come from far away, perhaps from the entire country. 

It was that which now haunted Pierre's reverie. The whole ancient, envenomed sore spread out before his mind's eye, with its poison andvirulence. Parliamentary rottenness had slowly increased till it hadbegun to attack society itself. Above all the low intrigues and the rushof personal ambition there certainly remained the loftier struggle of thecontending principles, with history on the march, clearing the past awayand seeking to bring more truth, justice, and happiness in the future. But in practice, if one only considered the horrid daily cuisine of thesphere, what an unbridling of egotistical appetite one beheld, what anabsorbing passion to strangle one's neighbour and triumph oneself alone!Among the various groups one found but an incessant battle for power andthe satisfactions that it gives. "Left, " "Right, " "Catholics, ""Republicans, " "Socialists, " the names given to the parties of twentydifferent shades, were simply labels classifying forms of the one burningthirst to rule and dominate. All questions could be reduced to a singleone, that of knowing whether this man, that man, or that other man shouldhold France in his grasp, to enjoy it, and distribute its favours amonghis creatures. And the worst was that the outcome of the greatparliamentary battles, the days and the weeks lost in setting this man inthe place of that man, and that other man in the place of this man, wassimply stagnation, for not one of the three men was better than hisfellows, and there were but vague points of difference between them; insuch wise that the new master bungled the very same work as the previousone had bungled, forgetful, perforce, of programmes and promises as soonas ever he began to reign. 

However, Pierre's thoughts invincibly reverted to Laveuve, whom he hadmomentarily forgotten, but who now seized hold of him again with a quiveras of anger and death. Ah! what could it matter to that poor old wretch, dying of hunger on his bed of rags, whether Mege should overthrowBarroux's ministry, and whether a Vignon ministry should ascend to poweror not! At that rate, a century, two centuries, would be needed beforethere would be bread in the garrets where groan the lamed sons of labour, the old, broken-down beasts of burden. And behind Laveuve there appearedthe whole army of misery, the whole multitude of the disinherited and thepoor, who agonised and asked for justice whilst the Chamber, sitting inall pomp, grew furiously impassioned over the question as to whom thenation should belong to, as to who should devour it. Mire was flowing onin a broad stream, the hideous, bleeding, devouring sore displayed itselfin all impudence, like some cancer which preys upon an organ and spreadsto the heart. And what disgust, what nausea must such a spectacleinspire; and what a longing for the vengeful knife that would bringhealth and joy!

Pierre could not have told for how long he had been plunged in thisreverie, when uproar again filled the hall. People were coming back, gesticulating and gathering in groups. And suddenly he heard littleMassot exclaim near him: "Well, if it isn't down it's not much betteroff. I wouldn't give four sous for its chance of surviving. "

He referred to the ministry, and began to recount the sitting to a fellowjournalist who had just arrived. Mege had spoken very eloquently, withextraordinary fury of indignation against the rotten _bourgeoisie_, whichrotted everything it touched; but, as usual, he had gone much too far, alarming the Chamber by his very violence. And so, when Barroux hadascended the tribune to ask for a month's adjournment of theinterpellation, he had merely had occasion to wax indignant, in allsincerity be it said, full of lofty anger that such infamous campaignsshould be carried on by a certain portion of the press. Were the shamefulPanama scandals about to be renewed? Were the national representativesgoing to let themselves be intimidated by fresh threats of denunciation?It was the Republic itself which its adversaries were seeking to submergebeneath a flood of abominations. No, no, the hour had come for one tocollect one's thoughts, and work in quietude without allowing those whohungered for scandal to disturb the public peace. And the Chamber, impressed by these words, fearing, too, lest the electorate should atlast grow utterly weary of the continuous overflow of filth, hadadjourned the interpellation to that day month. However, although Vignonhad not personally intervened in the debate, the whole of his group hadvoted against the ministry, with the result that the latter had merelysecured a majority of two votes--a mockery. 

"But in that case they will resign, " said somebody to Massot. 

"Yes, so it's rumoured. But Barroux is very tenacious. At all events ifthey show any obstinacy they will be down before a week is over, particularly as Sagnier, who is quite furious, declares that he willpublish the list of names to-morrow. "

Just then, indeed, Barroux and Monferrand were seen to pass, hasteningalong with thoughtful, busy mien, and followed by their anxious clients. It was said that the whole Cabinet was about to assemble to consider theposition and come to a decision. And then Vignon, in his turn, reappearedamidst a stream of friends. He, for his part, was radiant, with a joywhich he sought to conceal, calming his friends in his desire not to cryvictory too soon. However, the eyes of the band glittered, like those ofa pack of hounds when the moment draws near for the offal of the quarryto be distributed. And even Mege also looked triumphant. He had all butoverthrown the ministry. That made another one that was worn out, andby-and-by he would wear out Vignon's, and at last govern in his turn. 

"The devil!" muttered little Massot, "Chaigneux and Duthil look likewhipped dogs. And see, there's nobody who is worth the governor. Justlook at him, how superb he is, that Fonsegue! But good-by, I must now beoff!"

Then he shook hands with his brother journalist unwilling as he was toremain any longer, although the sitting still continued, some bill ofpublic importance again being debated before the rows of empty seats. 

Chaigneux, with his desolate mien, had gone to lean against the pedestalof the high figure of Minerva; and never before had he been more boweddown by his needy distress, the everlasting anguish of his ill-luck. Onthe other hand, Duthil, in spite of everything, was perorating in thecentre of a group with an affectation of scoffing unconcern; neverthelessnervous twitches made his nose pucker and distorted his mouth, while thewhole of his handsome face was becoming moist with fear. And even asMassot had said, there really was only Fonsegue who showed composure andbravery, ever the same with his restless little figure, and his eyesbeaming with wit, though at times they were just faintly clouded by ashadow of uneasiness. 

Pierre had risen to renew his request; but Fonsegue forestalled him, vivaciously exclaiming: "No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, I repeat that I cannottake on myself such an infraction of our rules. There was an inquiry, anda decision was arrived at. How would you have me over-rule it?"

"Monsieur, " said the priest, in a tone of deep grief, "it is a questionof an old man who is hungry and cold, and in danger of death if he be notsuccoured. "

With a despairing gesture, the director of "Le Globe" seemed to take thevery walls as witnesses of his powerlessness. No doubt he feared somenasty affair for his newspaper, in which he had abused the Invalids ofLabour enterprise as an electoral weapon. Perhaps, too, the secret terrorinto which the sitting of the Chamber had just thrown him was hardeninghis heart. "I can do nothing, " he repeated. "But naturally I don't askbetter than to have my hands forced by the ladies of the Committee. Youalready have the support of the Baroness Duvillard, secure that of someothers. "

Pierre, who was determined to fight on to the very end, saw in thissuggestion a supreme chance. "I know the Countess de Quinsac, " he said, "I can go to see her at once. "

"Quite so! an excellent idea, the Countess de Quinsac! Take a cab and goto see the Princess de Harn as well. She bestirs herself a great deal, and is becoming very influential. Secure the approval of these ladies, goback to the Baroness's at seven, get a letter from her to cover me, andthen call on me at the office of my paper. That done, your man shallsleep at the Asylum at nine o'clock!"

He evinced in speaking a kind of joyous good nature, as though he nolonger doubted of success now that he ran no risk of compromisinghimself. And great hope again came back to the priest: "Ah! thank you, monsieur, " he said; "it is a work of salvation that you will accomplish. "

"But you surely know that I ask nothing better. Ah! if we could only curemisery, prevent hunger and thirst by a mere word. However, make haste, you have not a minute to lose. "

They shook hands, and Pierre at once tried to get out of the throng. This, however, was no easy task, for the various groups had grown largeras all the anger and anguish, roused by the recent debate, ebbed backthere amid a confused tumult. It was as when a stone, cast into a pool, stirs the ooze below, and causes hidden, rotting things to rise once moreto the surface. And Pierre had to bring his elbows into play and force apassage athwart the throng, betwixt the shivering cowardice of some, theinsolent audacity of others, and the smirchings which sullied the greaternumber, given the contagion which inevitably prevailed. However, hecarried away a fresh hope, and it seemed to him that if he should save alife, make but one man happy that day, it would be like a firstinstalment of redemption, a sign that a little forgiveness would beextended to the many follies and errors of that egotistical andall-devouring political world. 

On reaching the vestibule a final incident detained him for a momentlonger. Some commotion prevailed there following upon a quarrel between aman and an usher, the latter of whom had prevented the former fromentering on finding that the admission ticket which he tendered was anold one, with its original date scratched out. The man, very rough at theoutset, had then refrained from insisting, as if indeed sudden timidityhad come upon him. And in this ill-dressed fellow Pierre was astonishedto recognise Salvat, the journeyman engineer, whom he had seen going offin search of work that same morning. This time it was certainly he, tall, thin and ravaged, with dreamy yet flaming eyes, which set his palestarveling's face aglow. He no longer carried his tool-bag; his raggedjacket was buttoned up and distended on the left side by something thathe carried in a pocket, doubtless some hunk of bread. And on beingrepulsed by the ushers, he walked away, taking the Concorde bridge, slowly, as if chancewise, like a man who knows not whither he is going. 

IV. SOCIAL SIDELIGHTS

IN her old faded drawing-room--a Louis Seize _salon_ with greywoodwork--the Countess de Quinsac sat near the chimney-piece in heraccustomed place. She was singularly like her son, with a long and nobleface, her chin somewhat stern, but her eyes still beautiful beneath herfine snowy hair, which was arranged in the antiquated style of her youth. And whatever her haughty coldness, she knew how to be amiable, withperfect, kindly graciousness. 

Slightly waving her hand after a long silence, she resumed, addressingherself to the Marquis de Morigny, who sat on the other side of thechimney, where for long years he had always taken the same armchair. "Ah!you are right, my friend, Providence has left us here forgotten, in amost abominable epoch. "

"Yes, we passed by the side of happiness and missed it, " the Marquisslowly replied, "and it was your fault, and doubtless mine as well. "

Smiling sadly, she stopped him with another wave of her hand. And thesilence fell once more; not a sound from the streets reached that gloomyground floor at the rear of the courtyard of an old mansion in the RueSt. Dominique, almost at the corner of the Rue de Bourgogne. 

The Marquis was an old man of seventy-five, nine years older than theCountess. Short and thin though he was, he none the less had adistinguished air, with his clean-shaven face, furrowed by deep, aristocratic wrinkles. He belonged to one of the most ancient families ofFrance, and remained one of the last hopeless Legitimists, of very pureand lofty views, zealously keeping his faith to the dead monarchy amidstthe downfall of everything. His fortune, still estimated at severalmillions of francs, remained, as it were, in a state of stagnation, through his refusal to invest it in any of the enterprises of thecentury. It was known that in all discretion he had loved the Countess, even when M. De Quinsac was alive, and had, moreover, offered marriageafter the latter's death, at the time when the widow had sought a refugeon that damp ground floor with merely an income of some 15, 000 francs, saved with great difficulty from the wreck of the family fortune. Butshe, who adored her son Gerard, then in his tenth year, and of delicatehealth, had sacrificed everything to the boy from a kind of maternalchasteness and a superstitious fear that she might lose him should sheset another affection and another duty in her life. And the Marquis, while bowing to her decision, had continued to worship her with his wholesoul, ever paying his court as on the first evening when he had seen her, still gallant and faithful after a quarter of a century had passed. Therehad never been anything between them, not even the exchange of a kiss. 

Seeing how sad she looked, he feared that he might have displeased her, and so he asked: "I should have liked to render you happy, but I didn'tknow how, and the fault can certainly only rest with me. Is Gerard givingyou any cause for anxiety?"

She shook her head, and then replied: "As long as things remain as theyare we cannot complain of them, my friend, since we accepted them. "

She referred to her son's culpable connection with Baroness Duvillard. She had ever shown much weakness with regard to that son whom she had hadso much trouble to rear, for she alone knew what exhaustion, what racialcollapse was hidden behind his proud bearing. She tolerated his idleness, the apathetic disgust which, man of pleasure that he was, had turned himfrom the profession of diplomacy as from that of arms. How many times hadshe not repaired his acts of folly and paid his petty debts, keepingsilent concerning them, and refusing all pecuniary help from the Marquis, who no longer dared offer his millions, so stubbornly intent she was onliving upon the remnants of her own fortune. And thus she had ended byclosing her eyes to her son's scandalous love intrigue, divining in somemeasure how things had happened, through self-abandonment and lack ofconscience--the man weak, unable to resume possession of himself, and thewoman holding and retaining him. The Marquis, however, strangely enough, had only forgiven the intrigue on the day when Eve had allowed herself tobe converted. 

"You know, my friend, how good-natured Gerard is, " the Countess resumed. "In that lie both his strength and weakness. How would you have me scoldhim when he weeps over it all with me? He will tire of that woman. "

M. De Morigny wagged his head. "She is still very beautiful, " said he. "And then there's the daughter. It would be graver still if he were tomarry her--"

"But the daughter's infirm?"

"Yes, and you know what would be said: A Quinsac marrying a monster forthe sake of her millions. "

This was their mutual terror. They knew everything that went on at theDuvillards, the affectionate friendship of the uncomely Camille and thehandsome Gerard, the seeming idyll beneath which lurked the most awful ofdramas. And they protested with all their indignation. "Oh! that, no, no, never!" the Countess declared. "My son in that family, no, I will neverconsent to it. "

Just at that moment General de Bozonnet entered. He was much attached tohis sister and came to keep her company on the days when she received, for the old circle had gradually dwindled down till now only a fewfaithful ones ventured into that grey gloomy _salon_, where one mighthave fancied oneself at thousands of leagues from present-day Paris. Andforthwith, in order to enliven the room, he related that he had been to_dejeuner_ at the Duvillards, and named the guests, Gerard among them. Heknew that he pleased his sister by going to the banker's house whence hebrought her news, a house, too, which he cleansed in some degree byconferring on it the great honour of his presence. And he himself in nowise felt bored there, for he had long been gained over to the centuryand showed himself of a very accommodating disposition in everything thatdid not pertain to military art. 

"That poor little Camille worships Gerard, " said he; "she was devouringhim with her eyes at table. "

But M. De Morigny gravely intervened: "There lies the danger, a marriagewould be absolutely monstrous from every point of view. "

The General seemed astonished: "Why, pray? She isn't beautiful, but it'snot only the beauties who marry! And there are her millions. However, ourdear child would only have to put them to a good use. True, there is alsothe mother; but, _mon Dieu_! such things are so common nowadays in Parissociety. "

This revolted the Marquis, who made a gesture of utter disgust. What wasthe use of discussion when all collapsed? How could one answer aBozonnet, the last surviving representative of such an illustriousfamily, when he reached such a point as to excuse the infamous moralsthat prevailed under the Republic; after denying his king, too, andserving the Empire, faithfully and passionately attaching himself to thefortunes and memory of Caesar? However, the Countess also becameindignant: "Oh! what are you saying, brother? I will never authorize sucha scandal, I swore so only just now. "

"Don't swear, sister, " exclaimed the General; "for my part I should liketo see our Gerard happy. That's all. And one must admit that he's notgood for much. I can understand that he didn't go into the Army, for thatprofession is done for. But I do not so well understand why he did notenter the diplomatic profession, or accept some other occupation. It isvery fine, no doubt, to run down the present times and declare that a manof our sphere cannot possibly do any clean work in them. But, as a matterof fact, it is only idle fellows who still say that. And Gerard has butone excuse, his lack of aptitude, will and strength. "

Tears had risen to the mother's eyes. She even trembled, well knowing howdeceitful were appearances: a mere chill might carry her son off, howevertall and strong he might look. And was he not indeed a symbol of thatold-time aristocracy, still so lofty and proud in appearance, though atbottom it is but dust?

"Well, " continued the General, "he's thirty-six now; he's constantlyhanging on your hands, and he must make an end of it all. "

However, the Countess silenced him and turned to the Marquis: "Let us putour confidence in God, my friend, " said she. "He cannot but come to myhelp, for I have never willingly offended Him. "

"Never!" replied the Marquis, who in that one word set an expression ofall his grief, all his affection and worship for that woman whom he hadadored for so many years. 

But another faithful friend came in and the conversation changed. M. DeLarombiere, Vice-President of the Appeal Court, was an old man ofseventy-five, thin, bald and clean shaven but for a pair of little whitewhiskers. And his grey eyes, compressed mouth and square and obstinatechin lent an expression of great austerity to his long face. The grief ofhis life was that, being afflicted with a somewhat childish lisp, he hadnever been able to make his full merits known when a public prosecutor, for he esteemed himself to be a great orator. And this secret worryrendered him morose. In him appeared an incarnation of that old royalistFrance which sulked and only served the Republic against its heart, thatold stern magistracy which closed itself to all evolution, to all newviews of things and beings. Of petty "gown" nobility, originally aLegitimist but now supporting Orleanism, he believed himself to be theone man of wisdom and logic in that _salon_, where he was very proud tomeet the Marquis. 

They talked of the last events; but with them political conversation wassoon exhausted, amounting as it did to a mere bitter condemnation of menand occurrences, for all three were of one mind as to the abominations ofthe Republican _regime_. They themselves, however, were only ruins, theremnants of the old parties now all but utterly powerless. The Marquisfor his part soared on high, yielding in nothing, ever faithful to thedead past; he was one of the last representatives of that lofty obstinate_noblesse_ which dies when it finds itself without an effort to escapeits fate. The judge, who at least had a pretender living, relied on amiracle, and demonstrated the necessity for one if France were not tosink into the depths of misfortune and completely disappear. And as forthe General, all that he regretted of the two Empires was their greatwars; he left the faint hope of a Bonapartist restoration on one side todeclare that by not contenting itself with the Imperial military system, and by substituting thereto obligatory service, the nation in arms, theRepublic had killed both warfare and the country. 

When the Countess's one man-servant came to ask her if she would consentto receive Abbe Froment she seemed somewhat surprised. "What can he wantof me? Show him in, " she said. 

She was very pious, and having met Pierre in connection with variouscharitable enterprises, she had been touched by his zeal as well as bythe saintly reputation which he owed to his Neuilly parishioners. 

He, absorbed by his fever, felt intimidated directly he crossed thethreshold. He could at first distinguish nothing, but fancied he wasentering some place of mourning, a shadowy spot where human forms seemedto melt away, and voices were never raised above a whisper. Then, onperceiving the persons present, he felt yet more out of his element, forthey seemed so sad, so far removed from the world whence he had justcome, and whither he was about to return. And when the Countess had madehim sit down beside her in front of the chimney-piece, it was in a lowvoice that he told her the lamentable story of Laveuve, and asked hersupport to secure the man's admittance to the Asylum for the Invalids ofLabour. 

"Ah! yes, " said she, "that enterprise which my son wished me to belongto. But, Monsieur l'Abbe, I have never once attended the Committeemeetings. So how could I intervene, having assuredly no influencewhatever?"

Again had the figures of Eve and Gerard arisen before her, for it was atthis asylum that the pair had first met. And influenced by her sorrowfulmaternal love she was already weakening, although it was regretfully thatshe had lent her name to one of those noisy charitable enterprises, whichpeople abused to further their selfish interests in a manner shecondemned. 

"But, madame, " Pierre insisted, "it is a question of a poor starving oldman. I implore you to be compassionate. "

Although the priest had spoken in a low voice the General drew near. "It's for your old revolutionary that you are running about, is it not, "said he. "Didn't you succeed with the manager, then? The fact is thatit's difficult to feel any pity for fellows who, if they were themasters, would, as they themselves say, sweep us all away. "

M. De Larombiere jerked his chin approvingly. For some time past he hadbeen haunted by the Anarchist peril. But Pierre, distressed andquivering, again began to plead his cause. He spoke of all the frightfulmisery, the homes where there was no food, the women and childrenshivering with cold, and the fathers scouring muddy, wintry Paris insearch of a bit of bread. All that he asked for was a line on a visitingcard, a kindly word from the Countess, which he would at once carry toBaroness Duvillard to prevail on her to set the regulations aside. Andhis words fell one by one, tremulous with stifled tears, in that mournful_salon_, like sounds from afar, dying away in a dead world where therewas no echo left. 

Madame de Quinsac turned towards M. De Morigny, but he seemed to take nointerest in it all. He was gazing fixedly at the fire, with the haughtyair of a stranger who was indifferent to the things and beings in whosemidst an error of time compelled him to live. But feeling that the glanceof the woman he worshipped was fixed upon him he raised his head; andthen their eyes met for a moment with an expression of infinitegentleness, the mournful gentleness of their heroic love. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" said she, "I know your merits, Monsieur l'Abbe, and I won'trefuse my help to one of your good works. "

Then she went off for a moment, and returned with a card on which she hadwritten that she supported with all her heart Monsieur l'Abbe Froment inthe steps he was taking. And he thanked her and went off delighted, as ifhe carried yet a fresh hope of salvation from that drawing-room where, ashe retired, gloom and silence once more seemed to fall on that old ladyand her last faithful friends gathered around the fire, last relics of aworld that was soon to disappear. 

Once outside, Pierre joyfully climbed into his cab again, after givingthe Princess de Harn's address in the Avenue Kleber. If he could alsoobtain her approval he would no longer doubt of success. However, therewas such a crush on the Concorde bridge, that the driver had to walk hishorse. And, on the foot-pavement, Pierre again saw Duthil, who, with acigar between his lips, was smiling at the crowd, with his amiablebird-like heedlessness, happy as he felt at finding the pavement dry andthe sky blue on leaving that worrying sitting of the Chamber. Seeing howgay and triumphant he looked, a sudden inspiration came to the priest, who said to himself that he ought to win over this young man, whosereport had had such a disastrous effect. As it happened, the cab havingbeen compelled to stop altogether, the deputy had just recognized him andwas smiling at him. 

"Where are you going, Monsieur Duthil?" Pierre asked. 

"Close by, in the Champs Elysees. "

"I'm going that way, and, as I should much like to speak to you for amoment, it would be very kind of you to take a seat beside me. I will setyou down wherever you like. "

"Willingly, Monsieur l'Abbe. It won't inconvenience you if I finish mycigar?"

"Oh! not at all. "

The cab found its way out of the crush, crossed the Place de la Concordeand began to ascend the Champs Elysees. And Pierre, reflecting that hehad very few minutes before him, at once attacked Duthil, quite ready forany effort to convince him. He remembered what a sortie the young deputyhad made against Laveuve at the Baron's; and thus he was astonished tohear him interrupt and say quite pleasantly, enlivened as he seemed bythe bright sun which was again beginning to shine: "Ah, yes! your olddrunkard! So you didn't settle his business with Fonsegue? And what is ityou want? To have him admitted to-day? Well, you know I don't oppose it?"

"But there's your report. "

"My report, oh, my report! But questions change according to the way onelooks at them. And if you are so anxious about your Laveuve I won'trefuse to help you. "

Pierre looked at him in astonishment, at bottom extremely well pleased. And there was no further necessity even for him to speak. 

"You didn't take the matter in hand properly, " continued Duthil, leaningforward with a confidential air. "It's the Baron who's the master athome, for reasons which you may divine, which you may very likely know. The Baroness does all that he asks without even discussing the point; andthis morning, --instead of starting on a lot of useless visits, you onlyhad to gain his support, particularly as he seemed to be very welldisposed. And she would then have given way immediately. " Duthil began tolaugh. "And so, " he continued, "do you know what I'll do? Well, I'll gainthe Baron over to your cause. Yes, I am this moment going to a housewhere he is, where one is certain to find him every day at this time. "Then he laughed more loudly. "And perhaps you are not ignorant of it, Monsieur l'Abbe. When he is there you may be certain he never gives arefusal. I promise you I'll make him swear that he will compel his wifeto grant your man admission this very evening. Only it will, perhaps, berather late. "

Then all at once, as if struck by a fresh idea, Duthil went on: "But whyshouldn't you come with me? You secure a line from the Baron, andthereupon, without losing a minute, you go in search of the Baroness. Ah!yes, the house embarrasses you a little, I understand it. Would you liketo see only the Baron there? You can wait for him in a little _salon_downstairs; I will bring him to you. "

This proposal made Duthil altogether merry, but Pierre, quite scared, hesitated at the idea of thus going to Silviane d'Aulnay's. It was hardlya place for him. However, to achieve his purpose, he would have descendedinto the very dwelling of the fiend, and had already done so sometimeswith Abbe Rose, when there was hope of assuaging wretchedness. So heturned to Duthil and consented to accompany him. 

Silviane d'Aulnay's little mansion, a very luxurious one, displaying, too, so to say, the luxury of a temple, refined but suggestive ofgallantry, stood in the Avenue d'Antin, near the Champs Elysees. Theinmate of this sanctuary, where the orfrays of old dalmaticas glitteredin the mauve reflections from the windows of stained-glass, had justcompleted her twenty-fifth year. Short and slim she was, of an adorable, dark beauty, and all Paris was acquainted with her delicious, virginalcountenance of a gentle oval, her delicate nose, her little mouth, hercandid cheeks and artless chin, above all which she wore her black hairin thick, heavy bands, which hid her low brow. Her notoriety was dueprecisely to her pretty air of astonishment, the infinite purity of herblue eyes, the whole expression of chaste innocence which she assumedwhen it so pleased her, an expression which contrasted powerfully withher true nature, shameless creature that she really was, of the mostmonstrous, confessed, and openly-displayed perversity; such as, in fact, often spring up from the rotting soil of great cities. Extraordinarythings were related about Silviane's tastes and fancies. Some said thatshe was a door-keeper's, others a doctor's, daughter. In any case she hadmanaged to acquire instruction and manners, for when occasion requiredshe lacked neither wit, nor style, nor deportment. She had been rollingthrough the theatres for ten years or so, applauded for her beauty'ssake, and she had even ended by obtaining some pretty little successes insuch parts as those of very pure young girls or loving and persecutedyoung women. Since there had been a question, though, of her entering theComedie Francaise to play the _role_ of Pauline in "Polyeucte, " somepeople had waxed indignant and others had roared with laughter, soridiculous did the idea appear, so outrageous for the majesty of classictragedy. She, however, quiet and stubborn, wished this thing to be, wasresolved that it should be, certain as she was that she would secure it, insolent like a creature to whom men had never yet been able to refuseanything. 

That day, at three o'clock, Gerard de Quinsac, not knowing how to killthe time pending the appointment he had given Eve in the Rue Matignon, had thought of calling at Silviane's, which was in the neighbourhood. Shewas an old caprice of his, and even nowadays he would sometimes linger atthe little mansion if its pretty mistress felt bored. But he had thistime found her in a fury; and, reclining in one of the deep armchairs ofthe _salon_ where "old gold" formed the predominant colour, he waslistening to her complaints. She, standing in a white gown, white indeedfrom head to foot like Eve herself at the _dejeuner_, was speakingpassionately, and fast convincing the young man, who, won over by so muchyouth and beauty, unconsciously compared her to his other flame, wearyalready of his coming assignation, and so mastered by supineness, bothmoral and physical, that he would have preferred to remain all day in thedepths of that armchair. 

"You hear me, Gerard!" she at last exclaimed, "I'll have nothing whateverto do with him, unless he brings me my nomination. "

Just then Baron Duvillard came in, and forthwith she changed to ice andreceived him like some sorely offended young queen who awaits anexplanation; whilst he, who foresaw the storm and brought moreoverdisastrous tidings, forced a smile, though very ill at ease. She was thestain, the blemish attaching to that man who was yet so sturdy and sopowerful amidst the general decline of his race. And she was also thebeginning of justice and punishment, taking all his piled-up gold fromhim by the handful, and by her cruelty avenging those who shivered andwho starved. And it was pitiful to see that feared and flattered man, beneath whom states and governments trembled, here turn pale withanxiety, bend low in all humility, and relapse into the senile, lispinginfancy of acute passion. 

"Ah! my dear friend, " said he, "if you only knew how I have been rushingabout. I had a lot of worrying business, some contractors to see, a bigadvertisement affair to settle, and I feared that I should never be ableto come and kiss your hand. "

He kissed it, but she let her arm fall, coldly, indifferently, contentingherself with looking at him, waiting for what he might have to say toher, and embarrassing him to such a point that he began to perspire andstammer, unable to express himself. "Of course, " he began, "I alsothought of you, and went to the Fine Arts Office, where I had received apositive promise. Oh! they are still very much in your favour at the FineArts Office! Only, just fancy, it's that idiot of a minister, thatTaboureau, * an old professor from the provinces who knows nothing aboutour Paris, that has expressly opposed your nomination, saying that aslong as he is in office you shall not appear at the Comedie. "

 * Taboureau is previously described as Minister of Public Instruction. It should be pointed out, however, that although under the present Republic the Ministries of Public Instruction and Fine Arts have occasionally been distinct departments, at other times they have been united, one minister, as in Taboureau's case, having charge of both. --Trans. 

Erect and rigid, she spoke but two words: "And then?"

"And then--well, my dear, what would you have me do? One can't after alloverthrow a ministry to enable you to play the part of Pauline. "

"Why not?"

He pretended to laugh, but his blood rushed to his face, and the whole ofhis sturdy figure quivered with anguish. "Come, my little Silviane, " saidhe, "don't be obstinate. You can be so nice when you choose. Give up theidea of that _debut_. You, yourself, would risk a great deal in it, forwhat would be your worries if you were to fail? You would weep all thetears in your body. And besides, you can ask me for so many other thingswhich I should be so happy to give you. Come now, at once, make a wishand I will gratify it immediately. "

In a frolicsome way he sought to take her hand again. But she drew backwith an air of much dignity. "No, you hear me, my dear fellow, I willhave nothing whatever to do with you--nothing, so long as I don't playPauline. "

He understood her fully, and he knew her well enough to realise howrigorously she would treat him. Only a kind of grunt came from hiscontracted throat, though he still tried to treat the matter in a jestingway. "Isn't she bad-tempered to-day!" he resumed at last, turning towardsGerard. "What have you done to her that I find her in such a state?"

But the young man, who kept very quiet for fear lest he himself might bebespattered in the course of the dispute, continued to stretch himselfout in a languid way and gave no answer. 

But Silviane's anger burst forth. "What has he done to me? He has pitiedme for being at the mercy of such a man as you--so egotistical, soinsensible to the insults heaped upon me. Ought you not to be the firstto bound with indignation? Ought you not to have exacted my admittance tothe Comedie as a reparation for the insult? For, after all, it is adefeat for you; if I'm considered unworthy, you are struck at the sametime as I am. And so I'm a drab, eh? Say at once that I'm a creature tobe driven away from all respectable houses. "

She went on in this style, coming at last to vile words, the abominablewords which, in moments of anger, always ended by returning to herinnocent-looking lips. The Baron, who well knew that a syllable from himwould only increase the foulness of the overflow, vainly turned animploring glance on the Count to solicit his intervention. Gerard, withhis keen desire for peace and quietness, often brought about areconciliation, but this time he did not stir, feeling too lazy andsleepy to interfere. And Silviane all at once came to a finish, repeatingher trenchant, severing words: "Well, manage as you can, secure my_debut_, or I'll have nothing more to do with you, nothing!"

"All right! all right!" Duvillard at last murmured, sneering, but indespair, "we'll arrange it all. "

However, at that moment a servant came in to say that M. Duthil wasdownstairs and wished to speak to the Baron in the smoking-room. Duvillard was astonished at this, for Duthil usually came up as thoughthe house were his own. Then he reflected that the deputy had doubtlessbrought him some serious news from the Chamber which he wished to impartto him confidentially at once. So he followed the servant, leaving Gerardand Silviane together. 

In the smoking-room, an apartment communicating with the hall by a widebay, the curtain of which was drawn up, Pierre stood with his companion, waiting and glancing curiously around him. What particularly struck himwas the almost religious solemnness of the entrance, the heavy hangings, the mystic gleams of the stained-glass, the old furniture steeped inchapel-like gloom amidst scattered perfumes of myrrh and incense. Duthil, who was still very gay, tapped a low divan with his cane and said: "Shehas a nicely-furnished house, eh? Oh! she knows how to look after herinterests. "

Then the Baron came in, still quite upset and anxious. And without evenperceiving the priest, desirous as he was of tidings, he began: "Well, what did they do? Is there some very bad news, then?"

"Mege interpellated and applied for a declaration of urgency so as tooverthrow Barroux. You can imagine what his speech was. "

"Yes, yes, against the _bourgeois_, against me, against you. It's alwaysthe same thing--And then?"

"Then--well, urgency wasn't voted, but, in spite of a very fine defence, Barroux only secured a majority of two votes. "

"Two votes, the devil! Then he's down, and we shall have a Vignonministry next week. "

"That's what everybody said in the lobbies. "

The Baron frowned, as if he were estimating what good or evil mightresult to the world from such a change. Then, with a gesture ofdispleasure, he said: "A Vignon ministry! The devil! that would hardly beany better. Those young democrats pretend to be virtuous, and a Vignonministry wouldn't admit Silviane to the Comedie. "

This, at first, was his only thought in presence of the crisis which madethe political world tremble. And so the deputy could not refrain fromreferring to his own anxiety. "Well, and we others, what is our positionin it all?"

This brought Duvillard back to the situation. With a fresh gesture, thistime a superbly proud one, he expressed his full and impudent confidence. "We others, why we remain as we are; we've never been in peril, Iimagine. Oh! I am quite at ease. Sagnier can publish his famous list ifit amuses him to do so. If we haven't long since bought Sagnier and hislist, it's because Barroux is a thoroughly honest man, and for my part Idon't care to throw money out of the window--I repeat to you that we fearnothing. "

Then, as he at last recognised Abbe Froment, who had remained in theshade, Duthil explained what service the priest desired of him. AndDuvillard, in his state of emotion, his heart still rent by Silviane'ssternness, must have felt a covert hope that a good action might bringhim luck; so he at once consented to intervene in favour of Laveuve'sadmission. Taking a card and a pencil from his pocket-book he drew nearto the window. "Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he said, "Ishall be very happy to participate in this good work. Here, this is whatI have written: 'My dear, please do what M. L'Abbe Froment solicits infavour of this unfortunate man, since our friend Fonsegue only awaits aword from you to take proper steps. '"

At this moment through the open bay Pierre caught sight of Gerard, whomSilviane, calm once more, and inquisitive no doubt to know why Duthil hadcalled, was escorting into the hall. And the sight of the young womanfilled him with astonishment, so simple and gentle did she seem to him, full of the immaculate candour of a virgin. Never had he dreamt of a lilyof more unobtrusive yet delicious bloom in the whole garden of innocence. 

"Now, " continued Duvillard, "if you wish to hand this card to my wife atonce, you must go to the Princess de Harn's, where there is a_matinee_--"

"I was going there, Monsieur le Baron. "

"Very good. You will certainly find my wife there; she is to take thechildren there. " Then he paused, for he too had just seen Gerard; and hecalled him: "I say, Gerard, my wife said that she was going to that_matinee_, didn't she? You feel sure--don't you?--that Monsieur l'Abbewill find her there?"

Although the young man was then going to the Rue Matignon, there to waitfor Eve, it was in the most natural manner possible that he replied: "IfMonsieur l'Abbe makes haste, I think he will find her there, for she wascertainly going there before trying on a corsage at Salmon's. "

Then he kissed Silviane's hand, and went off with the air of a handsome, indolent man, who knows no malice, and is even weary of pleasure. 

Pierre, feeling rather embarrassed, was obliged to let Duvillardintroduce him to the mistress of the house. He bowed in silence, whilstshe, likewise silent, returned his bow with modest reserve, the tactappropriate to the occasion, such as no _ingenue_, even at the Comedie, was then capable of. And while the Baron accompanied the priest to thedoor, she returned to the _salon_ with Duthil, who was scarcely screenedby the door-curtain before he passed his arm round her waist. 

When Pierre, who at last felt confident of success, found himself, stillin his cab, in front of the Princess de Harn's mansion in the AvenueKleber, he suddenly relapsed into great embarrassment. The avenue wascrowded with carriages brought thither by the musical _matinee_, and sucha throng of arriving guests pressed round the entrance, decorated with akind of tent with scallopings of red velvet, that he deemed the houseunapproachable. How could he manage to get in? And how in his cassockcould he reach the Princess, and ask for a minute's conversation withBaroness Duvillard? Amidst all his feverishness he had not thought ofthese difficulties. However, he was approaching the door on foot, askinghimself how he might glide unperceived through the throng, when the soundof a merry voice made him turn: "What, Monsieur l'Abbe! Is it possible!So now I find you here!"

It was little Massot who spoke. He went everywhere, witnessed ten sightsa day, --a parliamentary sitting, a funeral, a wedding, any festive ormourning scene, --when he wanted a good subject for an article. "What!Monsieur l'Abbe, " he resumed, "and so you have come to our amiablePrincess's to see the Mauritanians dance!"

He was jesting, for the so-called Mauritanians were simply six Spanishdancing-girls, who by the sensuality of their performance were thenmaking all Paris rush to the Folies-Bergere. For drawing-roomentertainments these girls reserved yet more indecorous dances--dances ofsuch a character indeed that they would certainly not have been allowedin a theatre. And the _beau monde_ rushed to see them at the houses ofthe bolder lady-entertainers, the eccentric and foreign ones like thePrincess, who in order to draw society recoiled from no "attraction. "

But when Pierre had explained to little Massot that he was still runningabout on the same business, the journalist obligingly offered to pilothim. He knew the house, obtained admittance by a back door, and broughtPierre along a passage into a corner of the hall, near the very entranceof the grand drawing-room. Lofty green plants decorated this hall, and inthe spot selected Pierre was virtually hidden. "Don't stir, my dearAbbe, " said Massot, "I will try to ferret out the Princess for you. Andyou shall know if Baroness Duvillard has already arrived. "

What surprised Pierre was that every window-shutter of the mansion wasclosed, every chink stopped up so that daylight might not enter, and thatevery room flared with electric lamps, an illumination of supernaturalintensity. The heat was already very great, the atmosphere heavy with aviolent perfume of flowers and _odore di femina_. And to Pierre, who feltboth blinded and stifled, it seemed as if he were entering one of thoseluxurious, unearthly Dens of the Flesh such as the pleasure-world ofParis conjures from dreamland. By rising on tiptoes, as the drawing-roomentrance was wide open, he could distinguish the backs of the women whowere already seated, rows of necks crowned with fair or dark hair. TheMauritanians were doubtless executing their first dance. He did not seethem, but he could divine the lascivious passion of the dance from thequiver of all those women's necks, which swayed as beneath a great gustof wind. Then laughter arose and a tempest of bravos, quite a tumult ofenjoyment. 

"I can't put my hand on the Princess; you must wait a little, " Massotreturned to say. "I met Janzen and he promised to bring her to me. Don'tyou know Janzen?"

Then, in part because his profession willed it, and in part forpleasure's sake, he began to gossip. The Princess was a good friend ofhis. He had described her first _soiree_ during the previous year, whenshe had made her _debut_ at that mansion on her arrival in Paris. He knewthe real truth about her so far as it could be known. Rich? yes, perhapsshe was, for she spent enormous sums. Married she must have been, and toa real prince, too; no doubt she was still married to him, in spite ofher story of widowhood. Indeed, it seemed certain that her husband, whowas as handsome as an archangel, was travelling about with a vocalist. Asfor having a bee in her bonnet that was beyond discussion, as clear asnoonday. Whilst showing much intelligence, she constantly and suddenlyshifted. Incapable of any prolonged effort, she went from one thing thathad awakened her curiosity to another, never attaching herself anywhere. After ardently busying herself with painting, she had lately becomeimpassioned for chemistry, and was now letting poetry master her. 

"And so you don't know Janzen, " continued Massot. "It was he who threwher into chemistry, into the study of explosives especially, for, as youmay imagine, the only interest in chemistry for her is its connectionwith Anarchism. She, I think, is really an Austrian, though one mustalways doubt anything she herself says. As for Janzen, he calls himself aRussian, but he's probably German. Oh! he's the most unobtrusive, enigmatical man in the world, without a home, perhaps without a name--aterrible fellow with an unknown past. I myself hold proofs which make methink that he took part in that frightful crime at Barcelona. At allevents, for nearly a year now I've been meeting him in Paris, where thepolice no doubt are watching him. And nothing can rid me of the idea thathe merely consented to become our lunatic Princess's lover in order tothrow the detectives off the scent. He affects to live in the midst of_fetes_, and he has introduced to the house some extraordinary people, Anarchists of all nationalities and all colours--for instance, oneRaphanel, that fat, jovial little man yonder, a Frenchman he is, and hiscompanions would do well to mistrust him. Then there's a Bergaz, aSpaniard, I think, an obscure jobber at the Bourse, whose sensual, blobber-lipped mouth is so disquieting. And there are others and others, adventurers and bandits from the four corners of the earth!... Ah! theforeign colonies of our Parisian pleasure-world! There are a few spotlessfine names, a few real great fortunes among them, but as for the rest, ah! what a herd!"

Rosemonde's own drawing-room was summed up in those words: resoundingtitles, real millionaires, then, down below, the most extravagant medleyof international imposture and turpitude. And Pierre thought of thatinternationalism, that cosmopolitanism, that flight of foreigners which, ever denser and denser, swooped down upon Paris. Most certainly it camethither to enjoy it, as to a city of adventure and delight, and it helpedto rot it a little more. Was it then a necessary thing, thatdecomposition of the great cities which have governed the world, thataffluxion of every passion, every desire, every gratification, thataccumulation of reeking soil from all parts of the world, there where, inbeauty and intelligence, blooms the flower of civilisation?

However, Janzen appeared, a tall, thin fellow of about thirty, very fairwith grey, pale, harsh eyes, and a pointed beard and flowing curly hairwhich elongated his livid, cloudy face. He spoke indifferent French in alow voice and without a gesture. And he declared that the Princess couldnot be found; he had looked for her everywhere. Possibly, if somebody haddispleased her, she had shut herself up in her room and gone to bed, leaving her guests to amuse themselves in all freedom in whatever waythey might choose. 

"Why, but here she is!" suddenly said Massot. 

Rosemonde was indeed there, in the vestibule, watching the door as if sheexpected somebody. Short, slight, and strange rather than pretty, withher delicate face, her sea-green eyes, her small quivering nose, herrather large and over-ruddy mouth, which was parted so that one could seeher superb teeth, she that day wore a sky-blue gown spangled with silver;and she had silver bracelets on her arms and a silver circlet in her palebrown hair, which rained down in curls and frizzy, straggling locks asthough waving in a perpetual breeze. 

"Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said to Pierre as soon asshe knew his business. "If they don't take your old man in at our asylum, send him to me, I'll take him, I will; I will sleep him somewhere here. "

Still, she remained disturbed, and continually glanced towards the door. And on the priest asking if Baroness Duvillard had yet arrived, "Why no!"she cried, "and I am much surprised at it. She is to bring her son anddaughter. Yesterday, Hyacinthe positively promised me that he wouldcome. "

There lay her new caprice. If her passion for chemistry was giving way toa budding taste for decadent, symbolical verse, it was because oneevening, whilst discussing Occultism with Hyacinthe, she had discoveredan extraordinary beauty in him: the astral beauty of Nero's wanderingsoul! At least, said she, the signs of it were certain. 

And all at once she quitted Pierre: "Ah, at last!" she cried, feelingrelieved and happy. Then she darted forward: Hyacinthe was coming in withhis sister Camille. 

On the very threshold, however, he had just met the friend on whoseaccount he was there, young Lord George Eldrett, a pale and languidstripling with the hair of a girl; and he scarcely condescended to noticethe tender greeting of Rosemonde, for he professed to regard woman as animpure and degrading creature. Distressed by such coldness, she followedthe two young men, returning in their rear into the reeking, blindingfurnace of the drawing-room. 

Massot, however, had been obliging enough to stop Camille and bring herto Pierre, who at the first words they exchanged relapsed into despair. "What, mademoiselle, has not madame your mother accompanied you here?"

The girl, clad according to her wont in a dark gown, this time ofpeacock-blue, was nervous, with wicked eyes and sibilant voice. And asshe ragefully drew up her little figure, her deformity, her left shoulderhigher than the right one, became more apparent than ever. "No, " sherejoined, "she was unable. She had something to try on at herdressmaker's. We stopped too long at the Exposition du Lis, and sherequested us to set her down at Salmon's door on our way here. "

It was Camille herself who had skilfully prolonged the visit to the artshow, still hoping to prevent her mother from meeting Gerard. And herrage arose from the ease with which her mother had got rid of her, thanksto that falsehood of having something to try on. 

"But, " ingenuously said Pierre, "if I went at once to this person Salmon, I might perhaps be able to send up my card. "

Camille gave a shrill laugh, so funny did the idea appear to her. Thenshe retorted: "Oh! who knows if you would still find her there? She hadanother pressing appointment, and is no doubt already keeping it!"

"Well, then, I will wait for her here. She will surely come to fetch you, will she not?"

"Fetch us? Oh no! since I tell you that she has other important affairsto attend to. The carriage will take us home alone, my brother and I. "

Increasing bitterness was infecting the girl's pain-fraught irony. Did henot understand her then, that priest who asked such naive questions whichwere like dagger-thrusts in her heart? Yet he must know, since everybodyknew the truth. 

"Ah! how worried I am, " Pierre resumed, so grieved indeed that tearsalmost came to his eyes. "It's still on account of that poor man aboutwhom I have been busying myself since this morning. I have a line fromyour father, and Monsieur Gerard told me--" But at this point he pausedin confusion, and amidst all his thoughtlessness of the world, absorbedas he was in the one passion of charity, he suddenly divined the truth. "Yes, " he added mechanically, "I just now saw your father again withMonsieur de Quinsac. "

"I know, I know, " replied Camille, with the suffering yet scoffing air ofa girl who is ignorant of nothing. "Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you have aline from papa for mamma, you must wait till mamma has finished herbusiness. You might come to the house about six o'clock, but I doubt ifyou'll find her there, as she may well be detained. "

While Camille thus spoke, her murderous eyes glistened, and each word sheuttered, simple as it seemed, became instinct with ferocity, as if itwere a knife, which she would have liked to plunge into her mother'sbreast. In all certainty she had never before hated her mother to such apoint as this in her envy of her beauty and her happiness in being loved. And the irony which poured from the girl's virgin lips, before thatsimple priest, was like a flood of mire with which she sought to submergeher rival. 

Just then, however, Rosemonde came back again, feverish and flurried asusual. And she led Camille away: "Ah, my dear, make haste. They areextraordinary, delightful, intoxicating!"

Janzen and little Massot also followed the Princess. All the men hastenedfrom the adjoining rooms, scrambled and plunged into the _salon_ at thenews that the Mauritanians had again begun to dance. That time it musthave been the frantic, lascivious gallop that Paris whispered about, forPierre saw the rows of necks and heads, now fair, now dark, wave andquiver as beneath a violent wind. With every window-shutter closed, theconflagration of the electric lamps turned the place into a perfectbrazier, reeking with human effluvia. And there came a spell of rapture, fresh laughter and bravos, all the delight of an overflowing orgy. 

When Pierre again found himself on the footwalk, he remained for a momentbewildered, blinking, astonished to be in broad daylight once more. Half-past four would soon strike, but he had nearly two hours to waitbefore calling at the house in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. What should hedo? He paid his driver; preferring to descend the Champs Elysees on foot, since he had some time to lose. A walk, moreover, might calm the feverwhich was burning his hands, in the passion of charity which ever sincethe morning had been mastering him more and more, in proportion as heencountered fresh and fresh obstacles. He now had but one pressingdesire, to complete his good work, since success henceforth seemedcertain. And he tried to restrain his steps and walk leisurely down themagnificent avenue, which had now been dried by the bright sun, and wasenlivened by a concourse of people, while overhead the sky was againblue, lightly blue, as in springtime. 

Nearly two hours to lose while, yonder, the wretched Laveuve lay withlife ebbing from him on his bed of rags, in his icy den. Sudden feelingsof revolt, of well-nigh irresistible impatience ascended from Pierre'sheart, making him quiver with desire to run off and at once find BaronessDuvillard so as to obtain from her the all-saving order. He felt surethat she was somewhere near, in one of those quiet neighbouring streets, and great was his perturbation, his grief-fraught anger at having to waitin this wise to save a human life until she should have attended to thoseaffairs of hers, of which her daughter spoke with such murderous glances!He seemed to hear a formidable cracking, the family life of the_bourgeoisie_ was collapsing: the father was at a hussy's house, themother with a lover, the son and daughter knew everything; the formergliding to idiotic perversity, the latter enraged and dreaming ofstealing her mother's lover to make a husband of him. And meantime thesplendid equipages descended the triumphal avenue, and the crowd with itsluxury flowed along the sidewalks, one and all joyous and superb, seemingly with no idea that somewhere at the far end there was a gapingabyss wherein everyone of them would fall and be annihilated!

When Pierre got as far as the Summer Circus he was much surprised atagain seeing Salvat, the journeyman engineer, on one of the avenue seats. He must have sunk down there, overcome by weariness and hunger, aftermany a vain search. However, his jacket was still distended by somethinghe carried in or under it, some bit of bread, no doubt, which he meant totake home with him. And leaning back, with his arms hanging listlessly, he was watching with dreamy eyes the play of some very little children, who, with the help of their wooden spades, were laboriously raisingmounds of sand, and then destroying them by dint of kicks. As he lookedat them his red eyelids moistened, and a very gentle smile appeared onhis poor discoloured lips. This time Pierre, penetrated by disquietude, wished to approach and question him. But Salvat distrustfully rose andwent off towards the Circus, where a concert was drawing to a close; andhe prowled around the entrance of that festive edifice in which twothousand happy people were heaped up together listening to music. 

V. FROM RELIGION TO ANARCHY

AS Pierre was reaching the Place de la Concorde he suddenly rememberedthe appointment which Abbe Rose had given him for five o'clock at theMadeleine, and which he was forgetting in the feverishness born of hisrepeated steps to save Laveuve. And at thought of it he hastened on, wellpleased at having this appointment to occupy and keep him patient. 

When he entered the church he was surprised to find it so dark. Therewere only a few candles burning, huge shadows were flooding the nave, andamidst the semi-obscurity a very loud, clear voice spoke on with aceaseless streaming of words. All that one could at first distinguish ofthe numerous congregation was a pale, vague mass of heads, motionlesswith extreme attention. In the pulpit stood Monseigneur Martha, finishinghis third address on the New Spirit. The two former ones had re-echoedfar and wide, and so what is called "all Paris" was there--women ofsociety, politicians, and writers, who were captivated by the speaker'sartistic oratory, his warm, skilful language, and his broad, easygestures, worthy of a great actor. 

Pierre did not wish to disturb the solemn attention, the quiveringsilence above which the prelate's voice alone rang out. Accordingly heresolved to wait before seeking Abbe Rose, and remained standing near apillar. A parting gleam of daylight fell obliquely on Monseigneur Martha, who looked tall and sturdy in his white surplice, and scarcely showed agrey hair, although he was more than fifty. He had handsome features:black, keen eyes, a commanding nose, a mouth and chin of the greatestfirmness of contour. What more particularly struck one, however, whatgained the heart of every listener, was the expression of extremeamiability and anxious sympathy which ever softened the imperioushaughtiness of the prelate's face. 

Pierre had formerly known him as Cure, or parish priest, of Ste. Clotilde. He was doubtless of Italian origin, but he had been born inParis, and had quitted the seminary of St. Sulpice with the best possiblerecord. Very intelligent and very ambitious, he had evinced an activitywhich even made his superiors anxious. Then, on being appointed Bishop ofPersepolis, he had disappeared, gone to Rome, where he had spent fiveyears engaged in work of which very little was known. However, since hisreturn he had been astonishing Paris by his brilliant propaganda, busyinghimself with the most varied affairs, and becoming much appreciated andvery powerful at the archiepiscopal residence. He devoted himself inparticular, and with wonderful results, to the task of increasing thesubscriptions for the completion of the basilica of the Sacred Heart. Herecoiled from nothing, neither from journeys, nor lectures, norcollections, nor applications to Government, nor even endeavours amongIsraelites and Freemasons. And at last, again enlarging his sphere ofaction, he had undertaken to reconcile Science with Catholicism, and tobring all Christian France to the Republic, on all sides expounding thepolicy of Pope Leo XIII. , in order that the Church might finally triumph. 

However, in spite of the advances of this influential and amiable man, Pierre scarcely liked him. He only felt grateful to him for one thing, the appointment of good Abbe Rose as curate at St. Pierre de Montmartre, which appointment he had secured for him no doubt in order to preventsuch a scandal as the punishment of an old priest for showing himself toocharitable. On thus finding and hearing the prelate speak in thatrenowned pulpit of the Madeleine, still and ever pursuing his work ofconquest, Pierre remembered how he had seen him at the Duvillards' duringthe previous spring, when, with his usual _maestria_, he had achieved hisgreatest triumph--the conversion of Eve to Catholicism. That church, too, had witnessed her baptism, a wonderfully pompous ceremony, a perfect galaoffered to the public which figures in all the great events of Parisianlife. Gerard had knelt down, moved to tears, whilst the Baron triumphedlike a good-natured husband who was happy to find religion establishingperfect harmony in his household. It was related among the spectatorsthat Eve's family, and particularly old Justus Steinberger, her father, was not in reality much displeased by the affair. The old man sneeringlyremarked, indeed, that he knew his daughter well enough to wish her tobelong to his worst enemy. In the banking business there is a class ofsecurity which one is pleased to see discounted by one's rivals. With thestubborn hope of triumph peculiar to his race, Justus, consoling himselffor the failure of his first scheme, doubtless considered that Eve wouldprove a powerful dissolving agent in the Christian family which she hadentered, and thus help to make all wealth and power fall into the handsof the Jews. 

However, Pierre's vision faded. Monseigneur Martha's voice was risingwith increase of volume, celebrating, amidst the quivering of thecongregation, the benefits that would accrue from the New Spirit, whichwas at last about to pacify France and restore her to her due rank andpower. Were there not certain signs of this resurrection on every hand?The New Spirit was the revival of the Ideal, the protest of the soulagainst degrading materialism, the triumph of spirituality over filthyliterature; and it was also Science accepted, but set in its properplace, reconciled with Faith, since it no longer pretended to encroach onthe latter's sacred domain; and it was further the Democracy welcomed infatherly fashion, the Republic legitimated, recognised in her turn asEldest Daughter of the Church. A breath of poetry passed by. The Churchopened her heart to all her children, there would henceforth be butconcord and delight if the masses, obedient to the New Spirit, would givethemselves to the Master of love as they had given themselves to theirkings, recognising that the Divinity was the one unique power, absolutesovereign of both body and soul. 

Pierre was now listening attentively, wondering where it was that he hadpreviously heard almost identical words. And suddenly he remembered; andcould fancy that he was again at Rome, listening to the last words ofMonsignor Nani, the Assessor of the Holy Office. Here, again, he foundthe dream of a democratic Pope, ceasing to support the compromisedmonarchies, and seeking to subdue the masses. Since Caesar was down, ornearly so, might not the Pope realise the ancient ambition of hisforerunners and become both emperor and pontiff, the sovereign, universaldivinity on earth? This, too, was the dream in which Pierre himself, withapostolic naivete, had indulged when writing his book, "New Rome": adream from which the sight of the real Rome had so roughly roused him. Atbottom it was merely a policy of hypocritical falsehood, the priestlypolicy which relies on time, and is ever tenacious, carrying on the workof conquest with extraordinary suppleness, resolved to profit byeverything. And what an evolution it was, the Church of Rome makingadvances to Science, to the Democracy, to the Republican _regimes_, convinced that it would be able to devour them if only it were allowedthe time! Ah! yes, the New Spirit was simply the Old Spirit ofDomination, incessantly reviving and hungering to conquer and possess theworld. 

Pierre thought that he recognised among the congregation certain deputieswhom he had seen at the Chamber. Wasn't that tall gentleman with the fairbeard, who listened so devoutly, one of Monferrand's creatures? It wassaid that Monferrand, once a devourer of priests, was now smilinglycoquetting with the clergy. Quite an underhand evolution was beginning inthe sacristies, orders from Rome flitted hither and thither; it was aquestion of accepting the new form of government, and absorbing it bydint of invasion. France was still the Eldest Daughter of the Church, theonly great nation which had sufficient health and strength to place thePope in possession of his temporal power once more. So France must bewon; it was well worth one's while to espouse her, even if she wereRepublican. In the eager struggle of ambition the bishop made use of theminister, who thought it to his interest to lean upon the bishop. Butwhich of the two would end by devouring the other? And to what a _role_had religion sunk: an electoral weapon, an element in a parliamentarymajority, a decisive, secret reason for obtaining or retaining aministerial portfolio! Of divine charity, the basis of religion, therewas no thought, and Pierre's heart filled with bitterness as heremembered the recent death of Cardinal Bergerot, the last of the greatsaints and pure minds of the French episcopacy, among which there nowseemed to be merely a set of intriguers and fools. 

However, the address was drawing to a close. In a glowing peroration, which evoked the basilica of the Sacred Heart dominating Paris with thesaving symbol of the Cross from the sacred Mount of the Martyrs, *Monseigneur Martha showed that great city of Paris Christian once moreand master of the world, thanks to the moral omnipotence conferred uponit by the divine breath of the New Spirit. Unable to applaud, thecongregation gave utterance to a murmur of approving rapture, delightedas it was with this miraculous finish which reassured both pocket andconscience. Then Monseigneur Martha quitted the pulpit with a noble step, whilst a loud noise of chairs broke upon the dark peacefulness of thechurch, where the few lighted candles glittered like the first stars inthe evening sky. A long stream of men, vague, whispering shadows, glidedaway. The women alone remained, praying on their knees. 

 * Montmartre. 

Pierre, still in the same spot, was rising on tip-toes, looking for AbbeRose, when a hand touched him. It was that of the old priest, who hadseen him from a distance. "I was yonder near the pulpit, " said he, "and Isaw you plainly, my dear child. Only I preferred to wait so as to disturbnobody. What a beautiful address dear Monseigneur delivered!"

He seemed, indeed, much moved. But there was deep sadness about hiskindly mouth and clear childlike eyes, whose smile as a rule illuminedhis good, round white face. "I was afraid you might go off without seeingme, " he resumed, "for I have something to tell you. You know that poorold man to whom I sent you this morning and in whom I asked you tointerest yourself? Well, on getting home I found a lady there, whosometimes brings me a little money for my poor. Then I thought to myselfthat the three francs I gave you were really too small a sum, and as thethought worried me like a kind of remorse, I couldn't resist the impulse, but went this afternoon to the Rue des Saules myself. "

He lowered his voice from a feeling of respect, in order not to disturbthe deep, sepulchral silence of the church. Covert shame, moreover, impeded his utterance, shame at having again relapsed into the sin ofblind, imprudent charity, as his superiors reproachfully said. And, quivering, he concluded in a very low voice indeed: "And so, my child, picture my grief. I had five francs more to give the poor old man, and Ifound him dead. "

Pierre suddenly shuddered. But he was unwilling to understand: "What, dead!" he cried. "That old man dead! Laveuve dead?"

"Yes, I found him dead--ah! amidst what frightful wretchedness, like anold animal that has laid itself down for the finish on a heap of rags inthe depths of a hole. No neighbours had assisted him in his last moments;he had simply turned himself towards the wall. And ah! how bare and coldand deserted it was! And what a pang for a poor creature to go off likethat without a word, a caress. Ah! my heart bounded within me and it isstill bleeding!"

Pierre in his utter amazement at first made but a gesture of revoltagainst imbecile social cruelty. Had the bread left near the unfortunatewretch, and devoured too eagerly, perhaps, after long days of abstinence, been the cause of his death? Or was not this rather the fatal_denouement_ of an ended life, worn away by labour and privation?However, what did the cause signify? Death had come and delivered thepoor man. "It isn't he that I pity, " Pierre muttered at last; "it iswe--we who witness all that, we who are guilty of these abominations. "

But good Abbe Rose was already becoming resigned, and would only think offorgiveness and hope. "No, no, my child, rebellion is evil. If we are allguilty we can only implore Providence to forget our faults. I had givenyou an appointment here hoping for good news; and it's I who come to tellyou of that frightful thing. Let us be penitent and pray. "

Then he knelt upon the flagstones near the pillar, in the rear of thepraying women, who looked black and vague in the gloom. And he inclinedhis white head, and for a long time remained in a posture of humility. 

But Pierre was unable to pray, so powerfully did revolt stir him. He didnot even bend his knees, but remained erect and quivering. His heartseemed to have been crushed; not a tear came to his ardent eyes. SoLaveuve had died yonder, stretched on his litter of rags, his handsclenched in his obstinate desire to cling to his life of torture, whilsthe, Pierre, again glowing with the flame of charity, consumed byapostolic zeal, was scouring Paris to find him for the evening a cleanbed on which he might be saved. Ah! the atrocious irony of it all! Hemust have been at the Duvillards' in the warm _salon_, all blue andsilver, whilst the old man was expiring; and it was for a wretched corpsethat he had then hastened to the Chamber of Deputies, to the Countess deQuinsac's, to that creature Silviane's, and to that creature Rosemonde's. And it was for that corpse, freed from life, escaped from misery as fromprison, that he had worried people, broken in upon their egotism, disturbed the peace of some, threatened the pleasures of others! What wasthe use of hastening from the parliamentary den to the cold _salon_ wherethe dust of the past was congealing; of going from the sphere ofmiddle-class debauchery to that of cosmopolitan extravagance, since onealways arrived too late, and saved people when they were already dead?How ridiculous to have allowed himself to be fired once more by thatblaze of charity, that final conflagration, only the ashes of which henow felt within him? This time he thought he was dead himself; he wasnaught but an empty sepulchre. 

And all the frightful void and chaos which he had felt that morning atthe basilica of the Sacred Heart after his mass became yet deeper, henceforth unfathomable. If charity were illusory and useless the Gospelcrumbled, the end of the Book was nigh. After centuries of stubbornefforts, Redemption through Christianity failed, and another means ofsalvation was needed by the world in presence of the exasperated thirstfor justice which came from the duped and wretched nations. They wouldhave no more of that deceptive paradise, the promise of which had so longserved to prop up social iniquity; they demanded that the question ofhappiness should be decided upon this earth. But how? By means of whatnew religion, what combination between the sentiment of the Divine andthe necessity for honouring life in its sovereignty and its fruitfulness?Therein lay the grievous, torturing problem, into the midst of whichPierre was sinking; he, a priest, severed by vows of chastity andsuperstition from the rest of mankind. 

He had ceased to believe in the efficacy of alms; it was not sufficientthat one should be charitable, henceforth one must be just. Givenjustice, indeed, horrid misery would disappear, and no such thing ascharity would be needed. Most certainly there was no lack ofcompassionate hearts in that grievous city of Paris; charitablefoundations sprouted forth there like green leaves at the first warmth ofspringtide. There were some for every age, every peril, every misfortune. Through the concern shown for mothers, children were succoured evenbefore they were born; then came the infant and orphan asylums lavishlyprovided for all sorts of classes; and, afterwards, man was followedthrough his life, help was tendered on all sides, particularly as he grewold, by a multiplicity of asylums, almshouses, and refuges. And therewere all the hands stretched out to the forsaken ones, the disinheritedones, even the criminals, all sorts of associations to protect the weak, societies for the prevention of crime, homes that offered hospitality tothose who repented. Whether as regards the propagation of good deeds, thesupport of the young, the saving of life, the bestowal of pecuniary help, or the promotion of guilds, pages and pages would have been needed merelyto particularise the extraordinary vegetation of charity that sproutedbetween the paving-stones of Paris with so fine a vigour, in whichgoodness of soul was mingled with social vanity. Still that could notmatter, since charity redeemed and purified all. But how terrible theproposition that this charity was a useless mockery! What! after so manycenturies of Christian charity not a sore had healed. Misery had onlygrown and spread, irritated even to rage. Incessantly aggravated, theevil was reaching the point when it would be impossible to tolerate itfor another day, since social injustice was neither arrested nor evendiminished thereby. And besides, if only one single old man died of coldand hunger, did not the social edifice, raised on the theory of charity, collapse? But one victim, and society was condemned, thought Pierre. 

He now felt such bitterness of heart that he could remain no longer inthat church where the shadows ever slowly fell, blurring the sanctuariesand the large pale images of Christ nailed upon the Cross. All was aboutto sink into darkness, and he could hear nothing beyond an expiringmurmur of prayers, a plaint from the women who were praying on theirknees, in the depths of the shrouding gloom. 

At the same time he hardly liked to go off without saying a word to AbbeRose, who in his entreaties born of simple faith left the happiness andpeace of mankind to the good pleasure of the Invisible. However, fearingthat he might disturb him, Pierre was making up his mind to retire, whenthe old priest of his own accord raised his head. "Ah, my child, " saidhe, "how difficult it is to be good in a reasonable manner. MonseigneurMartha has scolded me again, and but for the forgiveness of God I shouldfear for my salvation. "

For a moment Pierre paused under the porticus of the Madeleine, on thesummit of the great flight of steps which, rising above the railings, dominates the Place. Before him was the Rue Royale dipping down to theexpanse of the Place de la Concorde, where rose the obelisk and the pairof plashing fountains. And, farther yet, the paling colonnade of theChamber of Deputies bounded the horizon. It was a vista of sovereigngrandeur under that pale sky over which twilight was slowly stealing, andwhich seemed to broaden the thoroughfares, throw back the edifices, andlend them the quivering, soaring aspect of the palaces of dreamland. Noother capital in the world could boast a scene of such aerial pomp, suchgrandiose magnificence, at that hour of vagueness, when falling nightimparts to cities a dreamy semblance, the infinite of human immensity. 

Motionless and hesitating in presence of the opening expanse, Pierredistressfully pondered as to whither he should go now that all which hehad so passionately sought to achieve since the morning had suddenlycrumbled away. Was he still bound for the Duvillard mansion in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy? He no longer knew. Then the exasperating remembrance, with its cruel irony, returned to him. Since Laveuve was dead, of whatuse was it for him to kill time and perambulate the pavements pending thearrival of six o'clock? The idea that he had a home, and that the mostsimple course would be to return to it, did not even occur to him. Hefelt as if there were something of importance left for him to do, thoughhe could not possibly tell what it might be. It seemed to him to beeverywhere and yet very far away, to be so vague and so difficult ofaccomplishment that he would certainly never be in time or havesufficient power to do it. However, with heavy feet and tumultuous brainhe descended the steps and, yielding to some obstinate impulse, began towalk through the flower-market, a late winter market where the firstazaleas were opening with a little shiver. Some women were purchasingNice roses and violets; and Pierre looked at them as if he wereinterested in all that soft, delicate, perfumed luxury. But suddenly hefelt a horror of it and went off, starting along the Boulevards. 

He walked straight before him without knowing why or whither. The fallingdarkness surprised him as if it were an unexpected phenomenon. Raisinghis eyes to the sky he felt astonished at seeing its azure gently palebetween the slender black streaks of the chimney funnels. And the hugegolden letters by which names or trades were advertised on every balconyalso seemed to him singular in the last gleams of the daylight. Neverbefore had he paid attention to the motley tints seen on thehouse-fronts, the painted mirrors, the blinds, the coats of arms, theposters of violent hues, the magnificent shops, like drawing-rooms andboudoirs open to the full light. And then, both in the roadway and alongthe foot-pavements, between the blue, red or yellow columns and kiosks, what mighty traffic there was, what an extraordinary crowd! The vehiclesrolled along in a thundering stream: on all sides billows of cabs wereparted by the ponderous tacking of huge omnibuses, which suggested lofty, bright-hued battle-ships. And on either hand, and farther and farther, and even among the wheels, the flood of passengers rushed on incessantly, with the conquering haste of ants in a state of revolution. Whence cameall those people, and whither were all those vehicles going? Howstupefying and torturing it all was. 

Pierre was still walking straight ahead, mechanically, carried on by hisgloomy reverie. Night was coming, the first gas-burners were beinglighted; it was the dusk of Paris, the hour when real darkness has notyet come, when the electric lights flame in the dying day. Lamps shoneforth on all sides, the shop-fronts were being illumined. Soon, moreover, right along the Boulevards the vehicles would carry their vivid starrylights, like a milky way on the march betwixt the foot-pavements allglowing with lanterns and cordons and girandoles, a dazzling profusion ofradiance akin to sunlight. And the shouts of the drivers and the jostlingof the foot passengers re-echoed the parting haste of the Paris which isall business or passion, which is absorbed in the merciless struggle forlove and for money. The hard day was over, and now the Paris of Pleasurewas lighting up for its night of _fete_. The cafes, the wine shops, therestaurants, flared and displayed their bright metal bars, and theirlittle white tables behind their clear and lofty windows, whilst neartheir doors, by way of temptation, were oysters and choice fruits. Andthe Paris which was thus awaking with the first flashes of the gas wasalready full of the gaiety of enjoyment, already yielding to an unbridledappetite for whatsoever may be purchased. 

However, Pierre had a narrow escape from being knocked down. A flock ofnewspaper hawkers came out of a side street, and darted through the crowdshouting the titles of the evening journals. A fresh edition of the "Voixdu Peuple" gave rise, in particular, to a deafening clamour, which roseabove all the rumbling of wheels. At regular intervals hoarse voicesraised and repeated the cry: "Ask for the 'Voix du Peuple'--the newscandal of the African Railway Lines, the repulse of the ministry, thethirty-two bribe-takers of the Chamber and the Senate!" And theseannouncements, set in huge type, could be read on the copies of thepaper, which the hawkers flourished like banners. Accustomed as it was tosuch filth, saturated with infamy, the crowd continued on its way withoutpaying much attention. Still a few men paused and bought the paper, whilepainted women, who had come down to the Boulevards in search of a dinner, trailed their skirts and waited for some chance lover, glancinginterrogatively at the outside customers of the cafes. And meantime thedishonouring shout of the newspaper hawkers, that cry in which there wasboth smirch and buffet, seemed like the last knell of the day, ringingthe nation's funeral at the outset of the night of pleasure which wasbeginning. 

Then Pierre once more remembered his morning and that frightful house inthe Rue des Saules, where so much want and suffering were heaped up. Heagain saw the yard filthy like a quagmire, the evil-smelling staircases, the sordid, bare, icy rooms, the families fighting for messes which evenstray dogs would not have eaten; the mothers, with exhausted breasts, carrying screaming children to and fro; the old men who fell in cornerslike brute beasts, and died of hunger amidst filth. And then came hisother hours with the magnificence or the quietude or the gaiety of the_salons_ through which he had passed, the whole insolent display offinancial Paris, and political Paris, and society Paris. And at last hecame to the dusk, and to that Paris-Sodom and Paris-Gomorrah before him, which was lighting itself up for the night, for the abominations of thataccomplice night which, like fine dust, was little by little submergingthe expanse of roofs. And the hateful monstrosity of it all howled aloudunder the pale sky where the first pure, twinkling stars were gleaming. 

A great shudder came upon Pierre as he thought of all that mass ofiniquity and suffering, of all that went on below amid want and crime, and all that went on above amid wealth and vice. The _bourgeoisie_, wielding power, would relinquish naught of the sovereignty which it hadconquered, wholly stolen, while the people, the eternal dupe, silent solong, clenched its fists and growled, claiming its legitimate share. Andit was that frightful injustice which filled the growing gloom withanger. From what dark-breasted cloud would the thunderbolt fall? Foryears he had been waiting for that thunderbolt which low rumblesannounced on all points of the horizon. And if he had written a book fullof candour and hope, if he had gone in all innocence to Rome, it was toavert that thunderbolt and its frightful consequences. But all hope ofthe kind was dead within him; he felt that the thunderbolt wasinevitable, that nothing henceforth could stay the catastrophe. And neverbefore had he felt it to be so near, amidst the happy impudence of some, and the exasperated distress of others. And it was gathering, and itwould surely fall over that Paris, all lust and bravado, which, whenevening came, thus stirred up its furnace. 

Tired out and distracted, Pierre raised his eyes as he reached the Placede l'Opera. Where was he then? The heart of the great city seemed to beaton this spot, in that vast expanse where met so many thoroughfares, as iffrom every point the blood of distant districts flowed thither alongtriumphal avenues. Right away to the horizon stretched the great gaps ofthe Avenue de l'Opera, the Rue du Quatre-Septembre, and the Rue de laPaix, still showing clearly in a final glimpse of daylight, but alreadystarred with swarming sparks. The torrent of the Boulevard traffic pouredacross the Place, where clashed, too, all that from the neighbouringstreets, with a constant turning and eddying which made the spot the mostdangerous of whirlpools. In vain did the police seek to impose somelittle prudence, the stream of pedestrians still overflowed, wheelsbecame entangled and horses reared amidst all the uproar of the humantide, which was as loud, as incessant, as the tempest voice of an ocean. Then there was the detached mass of the opera-house, slowly steeped ingloom, and rising huge and mysterious like a symbol, its lyre-bearingfigure of Apollo, right aloft, showing a last reflection of daylightamidst the livid sky. And all the windows of the house-fronts began toshine, gaiety sprang from those thousands of lamps which coruscated oneby one, a universal longing for ease and free gratification of eachdesire spread with the increasing darkness; whilst, at long intervals, the large globes of the electric lights shone as brightly as the moons ofthe city's cloudless nights. 

But why was he, Pierre, there, he asked himself, irritated and wondering. Since Laveuve was dead he had but to go home, bury himself in his nook, and close up door and windows, like one who was henceforth useless, whohad neither belief nor hope, and awaited naught save annihilation. It wasa long journey from the Place de l'Opera to his little house at Neuilly. Still, however great his weariness, he would not take a cab, but retracedhis steps, turning towards the Madeleine again, and plunging into thescramble of the pavements, amidst the deafening uproar from the roadway, with a bitter desire to aggravate his wound and saturate himself withrevolt and anger. Was it not yonder at the corner of that street, at theend of that Boulevard, that he would find the expected abyss into whichthat rotten world, whose old society he could hear rending at each step, must soon assuredly topple?

However, when Pierre wished to cross the Rue Scribe a block in thetraffic made him halt. In front of a luxurious cafe two tall, shabbily-clad and very dirty fellows were alternately offering the "Voixdu Peuple" with its account of the scandals and the bribe-takers of theChamber and the Senate, in voices so suggestive of cracked brass thatpassers-by clustered around them. And here, in a hesitating, wanderingman, who after listening drew near to the large cafe and peered throughits windows, Pierre was once again amazed to recognise Salvat. This timethe meeting struck him forcibly, filled him with suspicion to such apoint that he also stopped and resolved to watch the journeyman engineer. He did not expect that one of such wretched aspect, with what seemed tobe a hunk of bread distending his old ragged jacket, would enter and seathimself at one of the cafe's little tables amidst the warm gaiety of thelamps. However, he waited for a moment, and then saw him wander away withslow and broken steps as if the cafe, which was nearly empty, did notsuit him. What could he have been seeking, whither had he been going, since the morning, ever on a wild, solitary chase through the Paris ofwealth and enjoyment while hunger dogged his steps? It was only withdifficulty that he now dragged himself along, his will and energy seemedto be exhausted. As if quite overcome, he drew near to a kiosk, and for amoment leant against it. Then, however, he drew himself up again, andwalked on further, still as it were in search of something. 

And now came an incident which brought Pierre's emotion to a climax. Atall sturdy man on turning out of the Rue Caumartin caught sight ofSalvat, and approached him. And just as the new comer without false pridewas shaking the workman's hand, Pierre recognised him as his brotherGuillaume. Yes, it was indeed he, with his thick bushy hair already whitelike snow, though he was but seven and forty. However, his heavymoustaches had remained quite dark without one silver thread, thuslending an expression of vigorous life to his full face with its loftytowering brow. It was from his father that he had inherited that brow ofimpregnable logic and reason, similar to that which Pierre himselfpossessed. But the lower part of the elder brother's countenance wasfuller than that of his junior; his nose was larger, his chin was square, and his mouth broad and firm of contour. A pale scar, the mark of an oldwound, streaked his left temple. And his physiognomy, though it might atfirst seem very grave, rough, and unexpansive, beamed with masculinekindliness whenever a smile revealed his teeth, which had remainedextremely white. 

While looking at his brother, Pierre remembered what Madame Theodore hadtold him that morning. Guillaume, touched by Salvat's dire want, hadarranged to give him a few days' employment. And this explained the airof interest with which he now seemed to be questioning him, while theengineer, whom the meeting disturbed, stamped about as if eager to resumehis mournful ramble. For a moment Guillaume appeared to notice theother's perturbation, by the embarrassed answers which he obtained fromhim. Still, they at last parted as if each were going his way. Then, however, almost immediately, Guillaume turned round again and watched theother, as with harassed stubborn mien he went off through the crowd. Andthe thoughts which had come to Guillaume must have been very serious andvery pressing, for he all at once began to retrace his steps and followthe workman from a distance, as if to ascertain for certain whatdirection he would take. 

Pierre had watched the scene with growing disquietude. His nervousapprehension of some great unknown calamity, the suspicions born of hisfrequent and inexplicable meetings with Salvat, his surprise at nowseeing his brother mingled with the affair, all helped to fill him with apressing desire to know, witness, and perhaps prevent. So he did nothesitate, but began to follow the others in a prudent way. 

Fresh perturbation came upon him when first Salvat and then Guillaumesuddenly turned into the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. What destiny was thusbringing him back to that street whither a little time previously he hadwished to return in feverish haste, and whence only the death of Laveuvehad kept him? And his consternation increased yet further when, afterlosing sight of Salvat for a moment, he saw him standing in front of theDuvillard mansion, on the same spot where he had fancied he recognisedhim that morning. As it happened the carriage entrance of the mansion waswide open. Some repairs had been made to the paving of the porch, andalthough the workmen had now gone off, the doorway remained gaping, fullof the falling night. The narrow street, running from the glitteringBoulevard, was steeped in bluish gloom, starred at long intervals by afew gas-lamps. Some women went by, compelling Salvat to step off thefoot-pavement. But he returned to it again, lighted the stump of a cigar, some remnant which he had found under a table outside a cafe, and thenresumed his watch, patient and motionless, in front of the mansion. 

Disturbed by his dim conjectures, Pierre gradually grew frightened, andasked himself if he ought not to approach that man. The chief thing thatdetained him was the presence of his brother, whom he had seen disappearinto a neighbouring doorway, whence he also was observing the engineer, ready to intervene. And so Pierre contented himself with not losing sightof Salvat, who was still waiting and watching, merely taking his eyesfrom the mansion in order to glance towards the Boulevard as though heexpected someone or something which would come from that direction. Andat last, indeed, the Duvillards' landau appeared, with coachman andfootman in livery of green and gold--a closed landau to which a pair oftall horses of superb build were harnessed in stylish fashion. 

Contrary to custom, however, the carriage, which at that hour usuallybrought the father and mother home, was only occupied that evening by theson and daughter, Hyacinthe and Camille. Returning from the Princess deHarn's _matinee_, they were chatting freely, with that calm immodesty bywhich they sought to astonish one another. Hyacinthe, influenced by hisperverted ideas, was attacking women, whilst Camille openly counselledhim to respond to the Princess's advances. However, she was visiblyirritated and feverish that evening, and, suddenly changing the subject, she began to speak of their mother and Gerard de Quinsac. 

"But what can it matter to you?" quietly retorted Hyacinthe; and, seeingthat she almost bounded from the seat at this remark, he continued: "Areyou still in love with him, then? Do you still want to marry him?"

"Yes, I do, and I will!" she cried with all the jealous rage of anuncomely girl, who suffered so acutely at seeing herself spurned whilsther yet beautiful mother stole from her the man she wanted. 

"You will, you will!" resumed Hyacinthe, well pleased to have anopportunity of teasing his sister, whom he somewhat feared. "But youwon't unless _he_ is willing--And he doesn't care for you. "

"He does!" retorted Camille in a fury. "He's kind and pleasant with me, and that's enough. "

Her brother felt afraid as he noticed the blackness of her glance, andthe clenching of her weak little hands, whose fingers bent like claws. And after a pause he asked: "And papa, what does he say about it?"

"Oh, papa! All that he cares about is the other one. "

Then Hyacinthe began to laugh. 

But the landau, with its tall horses trotting on sonorously, had turnedinto the street and was approaching the house, when a slim fair-hairedgirl of sixteen or seventeen, a modiste's errand girl with a largebandbox on her arm, hastily crossed the road in order to enter the archeddoorway before the carriage. She was bringing a bonnet for the Baroness, and had come all along the Boulevard musing, with her soft blue eyes, herpinky nose, and her mouth which ever laughed in the most adorable littleface that one could see. And it was at this same moment that Salvat, after another glance at the landau, sprang forward and entered thedoorway. An instant afterwards he reappeared, flung his lighted cigarstump into the gutter; and without undue haste went off, slinking intothe depths of the vague gloom of the street. 

And then what happened? Pierre, later on, remembered that a dray of theWestern Railway Company in coming up stopped and delayed the landau for amoment, whilst the young errand girl entered the doorway. And with aheart-pang beyond description he saw his brother Guillaume in his turnspring forward and rush into the mansion as though impelled to do so bysome revelation, some sudden certainty. He, Pierre, though he understoodnothing clearly, could divine the approach of some frightful horror. Butwhen he would have run, when he would have shouted, he found himself asif nailed to the pavement, and felt his throat clutched as by a hand oflead. Then suddenly came a thunderous roar, a formidable explosion, as ifthe earth was opening, and the lightning-struck mansion was beingannihilated. Every window-pane of the neighbouring houses was shivered, the glass raining down with the loud clatter of hail. For a moment ahellish flame fired the street, and the dust and the smoke were such thatthe few passers-by were blinded and howled with affright, aghast attoppling, as they thought, into that fiery furnace. 

And that dazzling flare brought Pierre enlightenment. He once more sawthe bomb distending the tool-bag, which lack of work had emptied andrendered useless. He once more saw it under the ragged jacket, aprotuberance caused, he had fancied, by some hunk of bread, picked up ina corner and treasured that it might be carried home to wife and child. After wandering and threatening all happy Paris, it was there that it hadflared, there that it had burst with a thunder-clap, there on thethreshold of the sovereign _bourgeoisie_ to whom all wealth belonged. He, however, at that moment thought only of his brother Guillaume, and flunghimself into that porch where a volcanic crater seemed to have opened. And at first he distinguished nothing, the acrid smoke streamed over all. Then he perceived the walls split, the upper floor rent open, the pavingbroken up, strewn with fragments. Outside, the landau which had been onthe point of entering, had escaped all injury; neither of the horses hadbeen touched, nor was there even a scratch on any panel of the vehicle. But the young girl, the pretty, slim, fair-haired errand girl, lay thereon her back, her stomach ripped open, whilst her delicate face remainedintact, her eyes clear, her smile full of astonishment, so swiftly andlightning-like had come the catastrophe. And near her, from the fallenbandbox, whose lid had merely come unfastened, had rolled the bonnet, avery fragile pink bonnet, which still looked charming in its floweryfreshness. 

By a prodigy Guillaume was alive and already on his legs again. His lefthand alone streamed with blood, a projectile seemed to have broken hiswrist. His moustaches moreover had been burnt, and the explosion bythrowing him to the ground had so shaken and bruised him that he shiveredfrom head to feet as with intense cold. Nevertheless, he recognised hisbrother without even feeling astonished to see him there, as indeed oftenhappens after great disasters, when the unexplained becomes providential. That brother, of whom he had so long lost sight, was there, naturallyenough, because it was necessary that he should be there. And Guillaume, amidst the wild quivers by which he was shaken, at once cried to him"Take me away! take me away! To your house at Neuilly, oh! take me away!"

Then, for sole explanation, and referring to Salvat, he stammered: "Isuspected that he had stolen a cartridge from me; only one, mostfortunately, for otherwise the whole district would have been blown topieces. Ah! the wretched fellow! I wasn't in time to set my foot upon thematch. "

With perfect lucidity of mind, such as danger sometimes imparts, Pierre, neither speaking nor losing a moment, remembered that the mansion had aback entrance fronting the Rue Vignon. He had just realised in whatserious peril his brother would be if he were found mixed up in thataffair. And with all speed, when he had led him into the gloom of the RueVignon, he tied his handkerchief round his wrist, which he bade him pressto his chest, under his coat, as that would conceal it. 

But Guillaume, still shivering and haunted by the horror he hadwitnessed, repeated: "Take me away--to your place at Neuilly--not to myhome. "

"Of course, of course, be easy. Come, wait here a second, I will stop acab. "

In his eagerness to procure a conveyance, Pierre had brought his brotherdown to the Boulevard again. But the terrible thunderclap of theexplosion had upset the whole neighbourhood, horses were still rearing, and people were running demented, hither and thither. And numerouspolicemen had hastened up, and a rushing crowd was already blocking thelower part of the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, which was now as black as a pit, every light in it having been extinguished; whilst on the Boulevard ahawker of the "Voix du Peuple" still stubbornly vociferated: "The newscandal of the African Railway Lines! The thirty-two bribe-takers of theChamber and the Senate! The approaching fall of the ministry!"

Pierre was at last managing to stop a cab when he heard a person who ranby say to another, "The ministry? Ah, well! that bomb will mend it rightenough!"

Then the brothers seated themselves in the cab, which carried them away. And now, over the whole of rumbling Paris black night had gathered, anunforgiving night, in which the stars foundered amidst the mist of crimeand anger that had risen from the house-roofs. The great cry of justiceswept by amidst the same terrifying flapping of wings which Sodom andGomorrah once heard bearing down upon them from all the black clouds ofthe horizon. 

BOOK II. 

I. REVOLUTIONISTS

IN that out-of-the-way street at Neuilly, along which nobody passed afterdusk, Pierre's little house was now steeped in deep slumber under theblack sky; each of its shutters closed, and not a ray of light stealingforth from within. And one could divine, too, the profound quietude ofthe little garden in the rear, a garden empty and lifeless, benumbed bythe winter cold. 

Pierre had several times feared that his brother would faint away in thecab in which they were journeying. Leaning back, and often sinking down, Guillaume spoke not a word. And terrible was the silence between them--asilence fraught with all the questions and answers which they felt itwould be useless and painful to exchange at such a time. However, thepriest was anxious about the wound, and wondered to what surgeon he mightapply, desirous as he was of admitting only a sure, staunch man into thesecret, for he had noticed with how keen a desire to disappear hisbrother had sought to hide himself. 

Until they reached the Arc de Triomphe the silence remained unbroken. Itwas only there that Guillaume seemed to emerge from the prostration ofhis reverie. "Mind, Pierre, " said he, "no doctor. We will attend to thistogether. "

Pierre was on the point of protesting, but he realised that it would beuseless to discuss the subject at such a moment, and so he merely wavedhis hand to signify that he should act in spite of the prohibition wereit necessary. In point of fact, his anxiety had increased, and, when thecab at last drew up before the house, it was with real relief that he sawhis brother alight without evincing any marked feebleness. He himselfquickly paid the driver, well-pleased, too, at finding that nobody, noteven a neighbour, was about. And having opened the door with his latchkey, he helped the injured man to ascend the steps. 

A little night lamp glimmered faintly in the vestibule. On hearing thedoor open, Pierre's servant, Sophie, had at once emerged from thekitchen. A short, thin, dark woman of sixty, she had formed part of thehousehold for more than thirty years, having served the mother beforeserving the son. She knew Guillaume, having seen him when he was a youngman, and doubtless she now recognised him, although well-nigh ten yearshad gone by since he had last crossed that threshold. Instead of evincingany surprise, she seemed to consider his extraordinary return quitenatural, and remained as silent and discreet as usual. She led, indeed, the life of a recluse, never speaking unless her work absolutely requiredit. And thus she now contented herself with saying: "Monsieur l'Abbe, Monsieur Bertheroy is in the study, and has been waiting there for aquarter of an hour. "

At this Guillaume intervened, as if the news revived him: "Does Bertheroystill come here, then? I'll see him willingly. His is one of the best, the broadest, minds of these days. He has still remained my master. "

A former friend of their father, --the illustrious chemist, MichelFroment, --Bertheroy had now, in his turn, become one of the loftiestglories of France, one to whom chemistry owed much of the extraordinaryprogress that has made it the mother-science, by which the very face ofthe earth is being changed. A member of the Institute, laden with officesand honours, he had retained much affection for Pierre, and occasionallyvisited him in this wise before dinner, by way of relaxation, he wouldsay. 

"You showed him into the study? All right, then, we will go there, " saidthe Abbe to the servant. "Light a lamp and take it into my room, and getmy bed ready so that my brother may go to bed at once. "

While Sophie, without a word or sign of surprise, was obeying theseinstructions, the brothers went into their father's former laboratory, ofwhich the priest had now made a spacious study. And it was with a cry ofjoyous astonishment that the _savant_ greeted them on seeing them enterthe room side by side, the one supporting the other. "What, together!" heexclaimed. "Ah! my dear children, you could not have caused me greaterpleasure! I who have so often deplored your painful misunderstanding. "

Bertheroy was a tall and lean septuagenarian, with angular features. Hisyellow skin clung like parchment to the projecting bones of his cheeksand jaw. Moreover, there was nothing imposing about him; he looked likesome old shop-keeping herbalist. At the same time he had a fine, broad, smooth brow, and his eyes still glittered brightly beneath his tangledhair. 

"What, have you injured yourself, Guillaume?" he continued, as soon as hesaw the bandaged hand. 

Pierre remained silent, so as to let his brother tell the story as hechose. Guillaume had realised that he must confess the truth, but insimple fashion, without detailing the circumstances. "Yes, in anexplosion, " he answered, "and I really think that I have my wristbroken. "

At this, Bertheroy, whose glance was fixed upon him, noticed that hismoustaches were burnt, and that there was an expression of bewilderedstupor, such as follows a catastrophe, in his eyes. Forthwith the_savant_ became grave and circumspect; and, without seeking to compelconfidence by any questions, he simply said: "Indeed! an explosion! Willyou let me see the injury? You know that before letting chemistry ensnareme I studied medicine, and am still somewhat of a surgeon. "

On hearing these words Pierre could not restrain a heart-cry: "Yes, yes, master! Look at the injury--I was very anxious, and to find you here isunhoped-for good fortune!"

The _savant_ glanced at him, and divined that the hidden circumstances ofthe accident must be serious. And then, as Guillaume, smiling, thoughpaling with weakness, consented to the suggestion, Bertheroy retortedthat before anything else he must be put to bed. The servant just thenreturned to say the bed was ready, and so they all went into theadjoining room, where the injured man was soon undressed and helpedbetween the sheets. 

"Light me, Pierre, " said Bertheroy, "take the lamp; and let Sophie giveme a basin full of water and some cloths. " Then, having gently washed thewound, he resumed: "The devil! The wrist isn't broken, but it's a nastyinjury. I am afraid there must be a lesion of the bone. Some nails passedthrough the flesh, did they not?"

Receiving no reply, he relapsed into silence. But his surprise wasincreasing, and he closely examined the hand, which the flame of theexplosion had scorched, and even sniffed the shirt cuff as if seeking tounderstand the affair better. He evidently recognised the effects of oneof those new explosives which he himself had studied, almost created. Inthe present case, however, he must have been puzzled, for there werecharacteristic signs and traces the significance of which escaped him. 

"And so, " he at last made up his mind to ask, carried away byprofessional curiosity, "and so it was a laboratory explosion which putyou in this nice condition? What devilish powder were you concoctingthen?"

Guillaume, ever since he had seen Bertheroy thus studying his injury, had, in spite of his sufferings, given marked signs of annoyance andagitation. And as if the real secret which he wished to keep layprecisely in the question now put to him, in that powder, the firstexperiment with which had thus injured him, he replied with an air ofrestrained ardour, and a straight frank glance: "Pray do not question me, master. I cannot answer you. You have, I know, sufficient nobility ofnature to nurse me and care for me without exacting a confession. "

"Oh! certainly, my friend, " exclaimed Bertheroy; "keep your secret. Yourdiscovery belongs to you if you have made one; and I know that you arecapable of putting it to the most generous use. Besides, you must beaware that I have too great a passion for truth to judge the actions ofothers, whatever their nature, without knowing every circumstance andmotive. "

So saying, he waved his hand as if to indicate how broadly tolerant andfree from error and superstition was that lofty sovereign mind of his, which in spite of all the orders that bedizened him, in spite of all theacademical titles that he bore as an official _savant_, made him a man ofthe boldest and most independent views, one whose only passion was truth, as he himself said. 

He lacked the necessary appliances to do more than dress the wound, aftermaking sure that no fragment of any projectile had remained in the flesh. Then he at last went off, promising to return at an early hour on themorrow; and, as the priest escorted him to the street door, he spoke somecomforting words: if the bone had not been deeply injured all would bewell. 

On returning to the bedside, Pierre found his brother still sitting upand seeking fresh energy in his desire to write home and tranquillise hisloved ones. So the priest, after providing pen and paper, again had totake up the lamp and light him. Guillaume fortunately retained full useof his right hand, and was thus able to pen a few lines to say that hewould not be home that night. He addressed the note to Madame Leroi, themother of his deceased mistress, who, since the latter's death, hadremained with him and had reared his three sons. Pierre was aware alsothat the household at Montmartre included a young woman of five or sixand twenty, the daughter of an old friend, to whom Guillaume had givenshelter on her father's death, and whom he was soon to marry, in spite ofthe great difference in their ages. For the priest, however, all thesewere vague, disturbing things, condemnable features of disorderly life, and he had invariably pretended to be ignorant of them. 

"So you wish this note to be taken to Montmartre at once?" he said to hisbrother. 

"Yes, at once. It is scarcely more than seven o'clock now, and it will bethere by eight. And you will choose a reliable man, won't you?"

"The best course will be for Sophie to take a cab. We need have no fearwith her. She won't chatter. Wait a moment, and I will settleeverything. "

Sophie, on being summoned, at once understood what was wanted of her, andpromised to say, in reply to any questions, that M. Guillaume had come tospend the night at his brother's, for reasons which she did not know. Andwithout indulging in any reflections herself, she left the house, sayingsimply: "Monsieur l'Abbe's dinner is ready; he will only have to take thebroth and the stew off the stove. "

However, when Pierre this time returned to the bedside to sit down there, he found that Guillaume had fallen back with his head resting on bothpillows. And he looked very weary and pale, and showed signs of fever. The lamp, standing on a corner of a side table, cast a soft light around, and so deep was the quietude that the big clock in the adjoiningdining-room could be heard ticking. For a moment the silence continuedaround the two brothers, who, after so many years of separation, were atlast re-united and alone together. Then the injured man brought his righthand to the edge of the sheet, and the priest grasped it, pressed ittenderly in his own. And the clasp was a long one, those two brotherlyhands remaining locked, one in the other. 

"My poor little Pierre, " Guillaume faintly murmured, "you must forgive mefor falling on you in this fashion. I've invaded the house and taken yourbed, and I'm preventing you from dining. "

"Don't talk, don't tire yourself any more, " interrupted Pierre. "Is notthis the right place for you when you are in trouble?"

A warmer pressure came from Guillaume's feverish hand, and tears gatheredin his eyes. "Thanks, my little Pierre. I've found you again, and you areas gentle and loving as you always were. Ah! you cannot know howdelightful it seems to me. "

Then the priest's eyes also were dimmed by tears. Amidst the deepquietude, the great sense of comfort which had followed their violentemotion, the brothers found an infinite charm in being together once morein the home of their childhood. * It was there that both their father andmother had died--the father tragically, struck down by an explosion inhis laboratory; the mother piously, like a very saint. It was there, too, in that same bed, that Guillaume had nursed Pierre, when, after theirmother's death, the latter had nearly died; and it was there now thatPierre in his turn was nursing Guillaume. All helped to bow them down andfill them with emotion: the strange circumstances of their meeting, thefrightful catastrophe which had caused them such a shock, themysteriousness of the things which remained unexplained between them. Andnow that after so long a separation they were tragically brought togetheragain, they both felt their memory awaking. The old house spoke to themof their childhood, of their parents dead and gone, of the far-away dayswhen they had loved and suffered there. Beneath the window lay thegarden, now icy cold, which once, under the sunbeams, had re-echoed withtheir play. On the left was the laboratory, the spacious room where theirfather had taught them to read. On the right, in the dining-room, theycould picture their mother cutting bread and butter for them, and lookingso gentle with her big, despairing eyes--those of a believer mated to aninfidel. And the feeling that they were now alone in that home, and thepale, sleepy gleam of the lamp, and the deep silence of the garden andthe house, and the very past itself, all filled them with the softest ofemotion blended with the keenest bitterness. 

 * See M. Zola's "Lourdes, " Day I. , Chapter II. 

They would have liked to talk and unbosom themselves. But what could theysay to one another? Although their hands remained so tightly clasped, didnot the most impassable of chasms separate them? In any case, theythought so. Guillaume was convinced that Pierre was a saint, a priest ofthe most robust faith, without a doubt, without aught in common withhimself, whether in the sphere of ideas or in that of practical life. Ahatchet-stroke had parted them, and each lived in a different world. Andin the same way Pierre pictured Guillaume as one who had lost caste, whose conduct was most suspicious, who had never even married the motherof his three children, but was on the point of marrying that girl who wasfar too young for him, and who had come nobody knew whence. In him, moreover, were blended the passionate ideas of a _savant_ and arevolutionist, ideas in which one found negation of everything, acceptance and possibly provocation of the worst forms of violence, witha glimpse of the vague monster of Anarchism underlying all. And so, onwhat basis could there be any understanding between them, since eachretained his prejudices against the other, and saw him on the oppositeside of the chasm, without possibility of any plank being thrown acrossit to enable them to unite? Thus, all alone in that room, their poorhearts bled with distracted brotherly love. 

Pierre knew that, on a previous occasion, Guillaume had narrowly escapedbeing compromised in an Anarchist affair. He asked him no questions, buthe could not help reflecting that he would not have hidden himself inthis fashion had he not feared arrest for complicity. Complicity withSalvat? Was he really an accomplice? Pierre shuddered, for the onlymaterials on which he could found a contrary opinion were, on one hand, the words that had escaped his brother after the crime, the cry he hadraised accusing Salvat of having stolen a cartridge from him; and, on theother hand, his heroic rush into the doorway of the Duvillard mansion inorder to extinguish the match. A great deal still remained obscure; butif a cartridge of that frightful explosive had been stolen from Guillaumethe fact must be that he manufactured such cartridges and had others athome. Of course, even if he were not an accomplice, the injury to hiswrist had made it needful for him to disappear. Given his bleeding hand, and the previous suspicions levelled against him, he would never haveconvinced anybody of his innocence. And yet, even allowing for thesesurmises, the affair remained wrapt in darkness: a crime on Guillaume'spart seemed a possibility, and to Pierre it was all dreadful to think of. 

Guillaume, by the trembling of his brother's moist, yielding hand, mustin some degree have realised the prostration of his poor mind, alreadyshattered by doubt and finished off by this calamity. Indeed, thesepulchre was empty now, the very ashes had been swept out of it. 

"My poor little Pierre, " the elder brother slowly said. "Forgive me if Ido not tell you anything. I cannot do so. And besides, what would be theuse of it? We should certainly not understand one another.... So letus keep from saying anything, and let us simply enjoy the delight ofbeing together and loving one another in spite of all. "

Pierre raised his eyes, and for a long time their glances lingered, onefixed on the other. "Ah!" stammered the priest, "how frightful it allis!"

Guillaume, however, had well understood the mute inquiry of Pierre'seyes. His own did not waver but replied boldly, beaming with purity andloftiness: "I can tell you nothing. Yet, all the same, let us love eachother, my little Pierre. "

And then Pierre for a moment felt that his brother was above all baseanxiety, above the guilty fear of the man who trembles for himself. Inlieu thereof he seemed to be carried away by the passion of some greatdesign, the noble thought of concealing some sovereign idea, some secretwhich it was imperative for him to save. But, alas! this was only thefleeting vision of a vague hope; for all vanished, and again came thedoubt, the suspicion, of a mind dealing with one that it knew nothing of. 

And all at once a souvenir, a frightful spectacle, arose before Pierre'seyes and distracted him: "Did you see, brother, " he stammered, "did yousee that fair-haired girl lying under the archway, ripped open, with asmile of astonishment on her face?"

Guillaume in his turn quivered, and in a low and dolorous voice replied:"Yes, I saw her! Ah, poor little thing! Ah! the atrocious necessities, the atrocious errors, of justice!"

Then, amidst the frightful shudder that seemed to sweep by, Pierre, withhis horror of all violence, succumbed, and let his face sink upon thecounterpane at the edge of the bed. And he sobbed distractedly: a suddenattack of weakness, overflowing in tears, cast him there exhausted, withno more strength than a child. It was as if all his sufferings since themorning, the deep grief with which universal injustice and woe inspiredhim, were bursting forth in that flood of tears which nothing now couldstay. And Guillaume, who, to calm his little brother, had set his handupon his head, in the same way as he had often caressingly stroked hishair in childhood's days, likewise felt upset and remained silent, unableto find a word of consolation, resigned, as he was, to the eruption whichin life is always possible, the cataclysm by which the slow evolution ofnature is always liable to be precipitated. But how hard a fate for thewretched ones whom the lava sweeps away in millions! And then his tearsalso began to flow amidst the profound silence. 

"Pierre, " he gently exclaimed at last, "you must have some dinner. Go, goand have some. And screen the lamp; leave me by myself, and let me closemy eyes. It will do me good. "

Pierre had to content him. Still, he left the dining-room door open; and, weak for want of food, though he had not hitherto noticed it, he atestanding, with his ears on the alert, listening lest his brother shouldcomplain or call him. And the silence seemed to have become yet morecomplete, the little house sank, as it were, into annihilation, instinctwith all the melancholy charm of the past. 

At about half-past eight, when Sophie returned from her errand toMontmartre, Guillaume heard her step, light though it was. And he at oncebecame restless and wanted to know what news she brought. It was Pierre, however, who enlightened him. "Don't be anxious. Sophie was received byan old lady who, after reading your note, merely answered, 'Very well. 'She did not even ask Sophie a question, but remained quite composedwithout sign of curiosity. "

Guillaume, realising that this fine serenity perplexed his brother, thereupon replied with similar calmness: "Oh! it was only necessary thatgrandmother should be warned. She knows well enough that if I don'treturn home it is because I can't. "

However, from that moment it was impossible for the injured man to rest. Although the lamp was hidden away in a corner, he constantly opened hiseyes, glanced round him, and seemed to listen, as if for sounds from thedirection of Paris. And it at last became necessary for the priest tosummon the servant and ask her if she had noticed anything strange on herway to or from Montmartre. She seemed surprised by the question, andanswered that she had noticed nothing. Besides, the cab had followed theouter boulevards, which were almost deserted. A slight fog had againbegun to fall, and the streets were steeped in icy dampness. 

By the time it was nine o'clock Pierre realised that his brother wouldnever be able to sleep if he were thus left without news. Amidst hisgrowing feverishness the injured man experienced keen anxiety, a hauntingdesire to know if Salvat were arrested and had spoken out. He did notconfess this; indeed he sought to convey the impression that he had nopersonal disquietude, which was doubtless true. But his great secret wasstifling him; he shuddered at the thought that his lofty scheme, all hislabour and all his hope, should be at the mercy of that unhappy man whomwant had filled with delusions and who had sought to set justice uponearth by the aid of a bomb. And in vain did the priest try to makeGuillaume understand that nothing certain could yet be known. Heperceived that his impatience increased every minute, and at lastresolved to make some effort to satisfy him. 

But where could he go, of whom could he inquire? Guillaume, while talkingand trying to guess with whom Salvat might have sought refuge, hadmentioned Janzen, the Princess de Harn's mysterious lover; and for amoment he had even thought of sending to this man for information. But hereflected that if Janzen had heard of the explosion he was not at all theindividual to wait for the police at home. 

Meantime Pierre repeated: "I will willingly go to buy the evening papersfor you--but there will certainly be nothing in them. Although I knowalmost everyone in Neuilly I can think of nobody who is likely to haveany information, unless perhaps it were Bache--"

"You know Bache, the municipal councillor?" interrupted Guillaume. 

"Yes, we have both had to busy ourselves with charitable work in theneighbourhood. "

"Well, Bache is an old friend of mine, and I know no safer man. Pray goto him and bring him back with you. "

A quarter of an hour later Pierre returned with Bache, who resided in aneighbouring street. And it was not only Bache whom he brought with him, for, much to his surprise, he had found Janzen at Bache's house. AsGuillaume had suspected, Janzen, while dining at the Princess de Harn's, had heard of the crime, and had consequently refrained from returning tohis little lodging in the Rue des Martyrs, where the police might wellhave set a trap for him. His connections were known, and he was awarethat he was watched and was liable at any moment to arrest or expulsionas a foreign Anarchist. And so he had thought it prudent to solicit a fewdays' hospitality of Bache, a very upright and obliging man, to whom heentrusted himself without fear. He would never have remained withRosemonde, that adorable lunatic who for a month past had been exhibitinghim as her lover, and whose useless and dangerous extravagance of conducthe fully realised. 

Guillaume was so delighted on seeing Bache and Janzen that he wished tosit up in bed again. But Pierre bade him remain quiet, rest his head onthe pillows, and speak as little as possible. Then, while Janzen stoodnear, erect and silent, Bache took a chair and sat down by the bedsidewith many expressions of friendly interest. He was a stout man of sixty, with a broad, full face, a large white beard and long white hair. Hislittle, gentle eyes had a dim, dreamy expression, while a pleasant, hopeful smile played round his thick lips. His father, a fervent St. Simonian, had brought him up in the doctrines of that belief. Whileretaining due respect for it, however, his personal inclinations towardsorderliness and religion had led him to espouse the ideas of Fourier, insuch wise that one found in him a succession and an abridgment, so tosay, of two doctrines. Moreover, when he was about thirty, he had busiedhimself with spiritualism. Possessed of a comfortable little fortune, hisonly adventure in life had been his connection with the Paris Commune of1871. How or why he had become a member of it he could now scarcely tell. Condemned to death by default, although he had sat among the Moderates, he had resided in Belgium until the amnesty; and since then Neuilly hadelected him as its representative on the Paris Municipal Council, less byway of glorifying in him a victim of reaction than as a reward for hisworthiness, for he was really esteemed by the whole district. 

Guillaume, with his desire for tidings, was obliged to confide in his twovisitors, tell them of the explosion and Salvat's flight, and how hehimself had been wounded while seeking to extinguish the match. Janzen, with curly beard and hair, and a thin, fair face such as painters oftenattribute to the Christ, listened coldly, as was his wont, and at lastsaid slowly in a gentle voice: "Ah! so it was Salvat! I thought it mightbe little Mathis--I'm surprised that it should be Salvat--for he hadn'tmade up his mind. " Then, as Guillaume anxiously inquired if he thoughtthat Salvat would speak out, he began to protest: "Oh! no; oh! no. "

However, he corrected himself with a gleam of disdain in his clear, harsheyes: "After all, there's no telling. Salvat is a man of sentiment. "

Then Bache, who was quite upset by the news of the explosion, tried tothink how his friend Guillaume, to whom he was much attached, might beextricated from any charge of complicity should he be denounced. AndGuillaume, at sight of Janzen's contemptuous coldness, must have sufferedkeenly, for the other evidently believed him to be trembling, tortured bythe one desire to save his own skin. But what could he say, how could hereveal the deep concern which rendered him so feverish without betrayingthe secret which he had hidden even from his brother?

However, at this moment Sophie came to tell her master that M. TheophileMorin had called with another gentleman. Much astonished by this visit atso late an hour, Pierre hastened into the next room to receive the newcomers. He had become acquainted with Morin since his return from Rome, and had helped him to introduce a translation of an excellent scientificmanual, prepared according to the official programmes, into the Italianschools. * A Franc-Comtois by birth, a compatriot of Proudhon, with whosepoor family he had been intimate at Besancon, Morin, himself the son of ajourneyman clockmaker, had grown up with Proudhonian ideas, full ofaffection for the poor and an instinctive hatred of property and wealth. Later on, having come to Paris as a school teacher, impassioned by study, he had given his whole mind to Auguste Comte. Beneath the ferventPositivist, however, one might yet find the old Proudhonian, the pauperwho rebelled and detested want. Moreover, it was scientific Positivismthat he clung to; in his hatred of all mysticism he would have naught todo with the fantastic religious leanings of Comte in his last years. Andin Morin's brave, consistent, somewhat mournful life, there had been butone page of romance: the sudden feverish impulse which had carried himoff to fight in Sicily by Garibaldi's side. Afterwards he had againbecome a petty professor in Paris, obscurely earning a dismal livelihood. 

 * See M. Zola's "Rome, " Chapters IV. And XVI. 

When Pierre returned to the bedroom he said to his brother in a tone ofemotion: "Morin has brought me Barthes, who fancies himself in danger andasks my hospitality. "

At this Guillaume forgot himself and became excited: "Nicholas Barthes, ahero with a soul worthy of antiquity. Oh! I know him; I admire and lovehim. You must set your door open wide for him. "

Bache and Janzen, however, had glanced at one another smiling. And thelatter, with his cold ironical air, slowly remarked: "Why does MonsieurBarthes hide himself? A great many people think he is dead; he is simplya ghost who no longer frightens anybody. "

Four and seventy years of age as he now was, Barthes had spent nearlyhalf a century in prison. He was the eternal prisoner, the hero ofliberty whom each successive Government had carried from citadel tofortress. Since his youth he had been marching on amidst his dream offraternity, fighting for an ideal Republic based on truth and justice, and each and every endeavour had led him to a dungeon; he had invariablyfinished his humanitarian reverie under bolts and bars. Carbonaro, Republican, evangelical sectarian, he had conspired at all times and inall places, incessantly struggling against the Power of the day, whateverit might be. And when the Republic at last had come, that Republic whichhad cost him so many years of gaol, it had, in its own turn, imprisonedhim, adding fresh years of gloom to those which already had lackedsunlight. And thus he remained the martyr of freedom: freedom which hestill desired in spite of everything; freedom, which, strive as he might, never came, never existed. 

"But you are mistaken, " replied Guillaume, wounded by Janzen's raillery. "There is again a thought of getting rid of Barthes, whose uncompromisingrectitude disturbs our politicians; and he does well to take hisprecautions!"

Nicholas Barthes came in, a tall, slim, withered old man, with a noselike an eagle's beak, and eyes that still burned in their deep sockets, under white and bushy brows. His mouth, toothless but still refined, waslost to sight between his moustaches and snowy beard; and his hair, crowning him whitely like an aureola, fell in curls over his shoulders. Behind him with all modesty came Theophile Morin, with grey whiskers, grey, brush-like hair, spectacles, and yellow, weary mien--that of an oldprofessor exhausted by years of teaching. Neither of them seemedastonished or awaited an explanation on finding that man in bed with aninjured wrist. And there were no introductions: those who were acquaintedmerely smiled at one another. 

Barthes, for his part, stooped and kissed Guillaume on both cheeks. "Ah!"said the latter, almost gaily, "it gives me courage to see you. "

However, the new comers had brought a little information. The boulevardswere in an agitated state, the news of the crime had spread from cafe tocafe, and everybody was anxious to see the late edition which one paperhad published giving a very incorrect account of the affair, full of themost extraordinary details. Briefly, nothing positive was as yet known. 

On seeing Guillaume turn pale Pierre compelled him to lie down again, andeven talked of taking the visitors into the next room. But the injuredman gently replied: "No, no, I promise you that I won't stir again, thatI won't open my mouth. But stay there and chat together. I assure youthat it will do me good to have you near me and hear you. "

Then, under the sleepy gleams of the lamp, the others began to talk inundertones. Old Barthes, who considered that bomb to be both idiotic andabominable, spoke of it with the stupefaction of one who, after fightinglike a hero through all the legendary struggles for liberty, foundhimself belated, out of his element, in a new era, which he could notunderstand. Did not the conquest of freedom suffice for everything? headded. Was there any other problem beyond that of founding the realRepublic? Then, referring to Mege and his speech in the Chamber thatafternoon, he bitterly arraigned Collectivism, which he declared to beone of the democratic forms of tyranny. Theophile Morin, for his part, also spoke against the Collectivist enrolling of the social forces, buthe professed yet greater hatred of the odious violence of the Anarchists;for it was only by evolution that he expected progress, and he feltsomewhat indifferent as to what political means might bring about thescientific society of to-morrow. And in like way Bache did not seemparticularly fond of the Anarchists, though he was touched by the idyllicdream, the humanitarian hope, whose germs lay beneath their passion fordestruction. And, like Barthes, he also flew into a passion with Mege, who since entering the Chamber had become, said he, a mere rhetoricianand theorist, dreaming of dictatorship. Meantime Janzen, still erect, hisface frigid and his lips curling ironically, listened to all three ofthem, and vented a few trenchant words to express his own Anarchistfaith; the uselessness of drawing distinctions, and the necessity ofdestroying everything in order that everything might be rebuilt on freshlines. 

Pierre, who had remained near the bed, also listened with passionateattention. Amidst the downfall of his own beliefs, the utter void whichhe felt within him, here were these four men, who represented thecardinal points of this century's ideas, debating the very same terribleproblem which brought him so much suffering, that of the new belief whichthe democracy of the coming century awaits. And, ah! since the days ofthe immediate ancestors, since the days of Voltaire and Diderot andRousseau how incessantly had billows of ideas followed and jostled oneanother, the older ones giving birth to new ones, and all breaking andbounding in a tempest in which it was becoming so difficult todistinguish anything clearly! Whence came the wind, and whither was theship of salvation going, for what port ought one to embark? Pierre hadalready thought that the balance-sheet of the century ought to be drawnup, and that, after accepting the legacies of Rousseau and the otherprecursors, he ought to study the ideas of St. Simon, Fourier and evenCabet; of Auguste Comte, Proudhon and Karl Marx as well, in order, at anyrate, to form some idea of the distance that had been travelled, and ofthe cross-ways which one had now reached. And was not this anopportunity, since chance had gathered those men together in his house, living exponents of the conflicting doctrines which he wished to examine?

On turning round, however, he perceived that Guillaume was now very paleand had closed his eyes. Had even he, with his faith in science, felt thedoubt which is born of contradictory theories, and the despair whichcomes when one sees the fight for truth resulting in growth of error?

"Are you in pain?" the priest anxiously inquired. 

"Yes, a little. But I will try to sleep. "

At this they all went off with silent handshakes. Nicholas Barthes aloneremained in the house and slept in a room on the first floor which Sophiehad got ready for him. Pierre, unwilling to quit his brother, dozed offupon a sofa. And the little house relapsed into its deep quietude, thesilence of solitude and winter, through which passed the melancholyquiver of the souvenirs of childhood. 

In the morning, as soon as it was seven o'clock, Pierre had to go for thenewspapers. Guillaume had passed a bad night and intense fever had setin. Nevertheless, his brother was obliged to read him the articles on theexplosion. There was an amazing medley of truths and inventions, ofprecise information lost amidst the most unexpected extravagance. Sagnier's paper, the "Voix du Peuple, " distinguished itself by itssub-titles in huge print and a whole page of particulars jumbled togetherchance-wise. It had at once decided to postpone the famous list of thethirty-two deputies and senators compromised in the African Railwaysaffair; and there was no end to the details it gave of the aspect of theentrance to the Duvillard mansion after the explosion the pavement brokenup, the upper floor rent open, the huge doors torn away from theirhinges. Then came the story of the Baron's son and daughter preserved asby a miracle, the landau escaping the slightest injury, while the bankerand his wife, it was alleged, owed their preservation to the circumstancethat they had lingered at the Madeleine after Monseigneur Martha'sremarkable address there. An entire column was given to the one victim, the poor, pretty, fair-haired errand girl, whose identity did not seem tobe clearly established, although a flock of reporters had rushed first tothe modiste employing her, in the Avenue de l'Opera, and next to theupper part of the Faubourg St. Denis, where it was thought hergrandmother resided. Then, in a gravely worded article in "Le Globe, "evidently inspired by Fonsegue, an appeal was made to the Chamber'spatriotism to avoid giving cause for any ministerial crisis in thepainful circumstances through which the country was passing. Thus theministry might last, and live in comparative quietude, for a few weekslonger. 

Guillaume, however, was struck by one point only: the culprit was notknown; Salvat, it appeared certain, was neither arrested nor evensuspected. It seemed, indeed, as if the police were starting on a falsescent--that of a well-dressed gentleman wearing gloves, whom a neighbourswore he had seen entering the mansion at the moment of the explosion. Thus Guillaume became a little calmer. But his brother read to him fromanother paper some particulars concerning the engine of destruction thathad been employed. It was a preserved-meat can, and the fragments of itshowed that it had been comparatively small. And Guillaume relapsed intoanxiety on learning that people were much astonished at the violentravages of such a sorry appliance, and that the presence of some newexplosive of incalculable power was already suspected. 

At eight o'clock Bertheroy put in an appearance. Although he wassixty-eight, he showed as much briskness and sprightliness as any youngsawbones calling in a friendly way to perform a little operation. He hadbrought an instrument case, some linen bands and some lint. However, hebecame angry on finding the injured man nervous, flushed and hot withfever. 

"Ah! I see that you haven't been reasonable, my dear child, " said he. "You must have talked too much, and have bestirred and excited yourself. "Then, having carefully probed the wound, he added, while dressing it:"The bone is injured, you know, and I won't answer for anything unlessyou behave better. Any complications would make amputation necessary. "

Pierre shuddered, but Guillaume shrugged his shoulders, as if to say thathe might just as well be amputated since all was crumbling around him. Bertheroy, who had sat down, lingering there for another moment, scrutinised both brothers with his keen eyes. He now knew of theexplosion, and must have thought it over. "My dear child, " he resumed inhis brusque way, "I certainly don't think that you committed thatabominable act of folly in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. But I fancy that youwere in the neighbourhood--no, no, don't answer me, don't defendyourself. I know nothing and desire to know nothing, not even the formulaof that devilish powder of which your shirt cuff bore traces, and whichhas wrought such terrible havoc. "

And then as the brothers remained surprised, turning cold with anxiety, in spite of his assurances, he added with a sweeping gesture: "Ah! myfriends, I regard such an action as even more useless than criminal! Ionly feel contempt for the vain agitation of politics, whether they berevolutionary or conservative. Does not science suffice? Why hasten thetimes when one single step of science brings humanity nearer to the goalof truth and justice than do a hundred years of politics and socialrevolt? Why, it is science alone which sweeps away dogmas, casts downgods, and creates light and happiness. And I, Member of the Institute asI am, decorated and possessed of means, I am the only trueRevolutionist. "

Then he began to laugh and Guillaume realised all the good-natured ironyof his laugh. While admiring him as a great _savant_, he had hithertosuffered at seeing him lead such a _bourgeois_ life, accepting whateverappointments and honours were offered him, a Republican under theRepublic, but quite ready to serve science under no matter what master. But now, from beneath this opportunist, this hieratical _savant_, thistoiler who accepted wealth and glory from all hands, there appeared aquiet yet terrible evolutionist, who certainly expected that his own workwould help to ravage and renew the world!

However, Bertheroy rose and took his leave: "I'll come back; behavesensibly, and love one another as well as you can. "

When the brothers again found themselves alone, Pierre seated atGuillaume's bedside, their hands once more sought each other and met in aburning clasp instinct with all their anguish. How much threateningmystery and distress there was both around and within them! The greywintry daylight came into the room, and they could see the black trees inthe garden, while the house remained full of quivering silence, save thatoverhead a faint sound of footsteps was audible. They were the steps ofNicholas Barthes, the heroic lover of freedom, who, rising at daybreak, had, like a caged lion, resumed his wonted promenade, the incessantcoming and going of one who had ever been a prisoner. And as the brothersceased listening to him their eyes fell on a newspaper which had remainedopen on the bed, a newspaper soiled by a sketch in outline whichpretended to portray the poor dead errand girl, lying, ripped open, beside the bandbox and the bonnet it had contained. It was so frightful, so atrociously hideous a scene, that two big tears again fell uponPierre's cheeks, whilst Guillaume's blurred, despairing eyes gazedwistfully far away, seeking for the Future. 

II. A HOME OF INDUSTRY

THE little house in which Guillaume had dwelt for so many years, a homeof quietude and hard work, stood in the pale light of winter up yonder atMontmartre, peacefully awaiting his return. He reflected, however, after_dejeuner_ that it might not be prudent for him to go back thither forsome three weeks, and so he thought of sending Pierre to explain theposition of affairs. "Listen, brother, " he said. "You must render me thisservice. Go and tell them the truth--that I am here, slightly injured, and do not wish them to come to see me, for fear lest somebody shouldfollow them and discover my retreat. After the note I wrote them lastevening they would end by getting anxious if I did not send them somenews. " Then, yielding to the one worry which, since the previous night, had disturbed his clear, frank glance, he added: "Just feel in theright-hand pocket of my waistcoat; you will find a little key there. Good! that's it. Now you must give it to Madame Leroi, my mother-in-law, and tell her that if any misfortune should happen to me, she is to dowhat is understood between us. That will suffice, she will understandyou. "

At the first moment Pierre had hesitated; but he saw how even the slighteffort of speaking exhausted his brother, so he silenced him, saying:"Don't talk, but put your mind at ease. I will go and reassure yourpeople, since you wish that this commission should be undertaken by me. "

Truth to tell, the errand was so distasteful to Pierre that he had atfirst thought of sending Sophie in his place. All his old prejudices werereviving; it was as if he were going to some ogre's den. How many timeshad he not heard his mother say "that creature!" in referring to thewoman with whom her elder son cohabited. Never had she been willing tokiss Guillaume's boys; the whole connection had shocked her, and she wasparticularly indignant that Madame Leroi, the woman's mother, should havejoined the household for the purpose of bringing up the little ones. Pierre retained so strong a recollection of all this that even nowadays, when he went to the basilica of the Sacred Heart and passed the littlehouse on his way, he glanced at it distrustfully, and kept as far from itas he could, as if it were some abode of vice and error. Undoubtedly, forten years now, the boys' mother had been dead, but did not anotherscandal-inspiring creature dwell there, that young orphan girl to whomhis brother had given shelter, and whom he was going to marry, although adifference of twenty years lay between them? To Pierre all this wascontrary to propriety, abnormal and revolting, and he pictured a homegiven over to social rebellion, where lack of principle led to every kindof disorder. 

However, he was leaving the room to start upon his journey, whenGuillaume called him back. "Tell Madame Leroi, " said he, "that if Ishould die you will let her know of it, so that she may immediately dowhat is necessary. "

"Yes, yes, " answered Pierre. "But calm yourself, and don't move about. I'll say everything. And in my absence Sophie will stop here with you incase you should need her. "

Having given full instructions to the servant, Pierre set out to take atramcar, intending to alight from it on the Boulevard de Rochechouart, and then climb the height on foot. And on the road, lulled by the glidingmotion of the heavy vehicle, he began to think of his brother's past lifeand connections, with which he was but vaguely, imperfectly, acquainted. It was only at a later date that details of everything came to hisknowledge. In 1850 a young professor named Leroi, who had come from Paristo the college of Montauban with the most ardent republican ideas, hadthere married Agathe Dagnan, the youngest of the five girls of an oldProtestant family from the Cevennes. Young Madame Leroi was _enceinte_when her husband, threatened with arrest for contributing some violentarticles to a local newspaper, immediately after the "Coup d'Etat, " foundhimself obliged to seek refuge at Geneva. It was there that the youngcouple's daughter, Marguerite, a very delicate child, was born in 1852. For seven years, that is until the Amnesty of 1859, the householdstruggled with poverty, the husband giving but a few ill-paid lessons, and the wife absorbed in the constant care which the child required. Then, after their return to Paris, their ill-luck became even greater. For a long time the ex-professor vainly sought regular employment; it wasdenied him on account of his opinions, and he had to run about givinglessons in private houses. When he was at last on the point of beingreceived back into the University a supreme blow, an attack of paralysis, fell upon him. He lost the use of both legs. And then came utter misery, every kind of sordid drudgery, the writing of articles for dictionaries, the copying of manuscripts, and even the addressing of newspaperwrappers, on the fruits of which the household barely contrived to live, in a little lodging in the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince. 

It was there that Marguerite grew up. Leroi, embittered by injustice andsuffering, predicted the advent of a Republic which would avenge thefollies of the Empire, and a reign of science which would sweep away thedeceptive and cruel divinity of religious dogmas. On the other hand, Agathe's religious faith had collapsed at Geneva, at sight of the narrowand imbecile practices of Calvinism, and all that she retained of it wasthe old Protestant leaven of rebellion. She had become at once the headand the arm of the house; she went for her husband's work, took it backwhen completed, and even did much of it herself, whilst, at the sametime, performing her house duties, and rearing and educating herdaughter. The latter, who attended no school, was indebted for all shelearnt to her father and mother, on whose part there was never anyquestion of religious instruction. Through contact with her husband, Madame Leroi had lost all belief, and her Protestant heredity incliningher to free inquiry and examination, she had arranged for herself a kindof peaceful atheism, based on paramount principles of human duty andjustice, which she applied courageously, irrespective of all socialconventionalities. The long iniquity of her husband's fate, theundeserved misfortunes which struck her through him and her daughter, ended by endowing her with wonderful fortitude and devotion, which madeher, whether as a judge, a manager, or a consoler, a woman ofincomparable energy and nobleness of character. 

It was in the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince that Guillaume became acquaintedwith the Leroi family, after the war of 1870. On the same floor as theirlittle lodging he occupied a large room, where he devoted himselfpassionately to his studies. At the outset there was only an occasionalbow, for Guillaume's neighbours were very proud and very grave, leadingtheir life of poverty in fierce silence and retirement. Then intercoursebegan with the rendering of little services, such as when the young manprocured the ex-professor a commission to write a few articles for a newencyclopaedia. But all at once came the catastrophe: Leroi died in hisarmchair one evening while his daughter was wheeling him from his tableto his bed. The two distracted women had not even the money to bury him. The whole secret of their bitter want flowed forth with their tears, andthey were obliged to accept the help of Guillaume, who, from that moment, became the necessary confidant and friend. And the thing which was boundto happen did happen, in the most simple and loving manner, permitted bythe mother herself, who, full of contempt for a social system whichallowed those of good hearts to die of hunger, refused to admit thenecessity of any social tie. Thus there was no question of a regularmarriage. One day Guillaume, who was twenty-three years old, foundhimself mated to Marguerite, who was twenty; both of them handsome, healthy, and strong, adoring one another, loving work, and full of hopein the future. 

From that moment a new life began. Since his father's death, Guillaume, who had broken off all intercourse with his mother, had been receiving anallowance of two hundred francs a month. This just represented dailybread; however, he was already doubling the amount by his work as achemist, --his analyses and researches, which tended to the employment ofcertain chemical products in industry. So he and Marguerite installedthemselves on the very summit of Montmartre, in a little house, at arental of eight hundred francs a year, the great convenience of the placebeing a strip of garden, where one might, later on, erect a woodenworkshop. In all tranquillity Madame Leroi took up her abode with theyoung people, helping them, and sparing them the necessity of keeping asecond servant. And at successive intervals of two years, her threegrandchildren were born, three sturdy boys: first Thomas, then Francois, and then Antoine. And in the same way as she had devoted herself to herhusband and daughter, and then to Guillaume, so did she now devoteherself to the three children. She became "Mere-Grand"--an emphatic andaffectionate way of expressing the term "grandmother"--for all who livedin the house, the older as well as the younger ones. She therepersonified sense, and wisdom, and courage; it was she who was ever onthe watch, who directed everything, who was consulted about everything, and whose opinion was always followed. Indeed, she reigned there like anall-powerful queen-mother. 

For fifteen years this life went on, a life of hard work and peacefulaffection, while the strictest economy was observed in contenting everyneed of the modest little household. Then Guillaume lost his mother, tookhis share of the family inheritance, and was able to satisfy his olddesire, which was to buy the house he lived in, and build a spaciousworkshop in the garden. He was even able to build it of bricks, and addan upper story to it. But the work was scarcely finished, and life seemedto be on the point of expanding and smiling on them all, when misfortunereturned, and typhoid fever, with brutal force, carried off Marguerite, after a week's illness. She was then five and thirty, and her eldest boy, Thomas, was fourteen. Thus Guillaume, distracted by his loss, foundhimself a widower at thirty-eight. The thought of introducing any unknownwoman into that retired home, where all hearts beat in tender unison, wasso unbearable to him that he determined to take no other mate. His workabsorbed him, and he would know how to quiet both his heart and hisflesh. Mere-Grand, fortunately, was still there, erect and courageous;the household retained its queen, and in her the children found amanageress and teacher, schooled in adversity and heroism. 

Two years passed; and then came an addition to the family. A young woman, Marie Couturier, the daughter of one of Guillaume's friends, suddenlyentered it. Couturier had been an inventor, a madman with some measure ofgenius, and had spent a fairly large fortune in attempting all sorts offantastic schemes. His wife, a very pious woman, had died of grief at itall; and although on the rare occasions when he saw his daughter, heshowed great fondness for her and loaded her with presents, he had firstplaced her in a boarding college, and afterwards left her in the chargeof a poor female relative. Remembering her only on his death-bed, he hadbegged Guillaume to give her an asylum, and find her a husband. The poorrelation, who dealt in ladies' and babies' linen, had just become abankrupt. So, at nineteen, the girl, Marie, found herself a pennilessoutcast, possessed of nothing save a good education, health and courage. Guillaume would never allow her to run about giving lessons. He took her, in quite a natural way, to help Mere-Grand, who was no longer so activeas formerly. And the latter approved the arrangement, well pleased at theadvent of youth and gaiety, which would somewhat brighten the household, whose life had been one of much gravity ever since Marguerite's death. Marie would simply be an elder sister; she was too old for the boys, whowere still at college, to be disturbed by her presence. And she wouldwork in that house where everybody worked. She would help the littlecommunity pending the time when she might meet and love some worthyfellow who would marry her. 

Five more years elapsed without Marie consenting to quit that happy home. The sterling education she had received was lodged in a vigorous brain, which contented itself with the acquirement of knowledge. Yet she hadremained very pure and healthy, even very _naive_, maidenly by reason ofher natural rectitude. And she was also very much a woman, beautifyingand amusing herself with a mere nothing, and ever showing gaiety andcontentment. Moreover, she was in no wise of a dreamy nature, but verypractical, always intent on some work or other, and only asking of lifesuch things as life could give, without anxiety as to what might liebeyond it. She lovingly remembered her pious mother, who had prepared herfor her first Communion in tears, imagining that she was opening heaven'sportals to her. But since she had been an orphan she had of her ownaccord ceased all practice of religion, her good sense revolting andscorning the need of any moral police regulations to make her do herduty. Indeed, she considered such regulations dangerous and destructiveof true health. Thus, like Mere-Grand, she had come to a sort of quietand almost unconscious atheism, not after the fashion of one who reasons, but simply like the brave, healthy girl she was, one who had long enduredpoverty without suffering from it, and believed in nothing save thenecessity of effort. She had been kept erect, indeed, by her convictionthat happiness was to be found in the normal joys of life, livedcourageously. And her happy equilibrium of mind had ever guided and savedher, in such wise that she willingly listened to her natural instinct, saying, with her pleasant laugh, that this was, after all, her bestadviser. She rejected two offers of marriage, and on the second occasion, as Guillaume pressed her to accept, she grew astonished, and inquired ifhe had had enough of her in the house. She found herself verycomfortable, and she rendered service there. So why should she leave andrun the risk of being less happy elsewhere, particularly as she was notin love with anybody?

Then, by degrees, the idea of a marriage between Marie and Guillaumepresented itself; and indeed what could have been more reasonable andadvantageous for all? If Guillaume had not mated again it was for hissons' sake, because he feared that by introducing a stranger to the househe might impair its quietude and gaiety. But now there was a woman amongthem who already showed herself maternal towards the boys, and whosebright youth had ended by disturbing his own heart. He was still in hisprime, and had always held that it was not good for man to live alone, although, personally, thanks to his ardour for work, he had hithertoescaped excessive suffering in his bereavement. However, there was thegreat difference of ages to be considered; and he would have bravelyremained in the background and have sought a younger husband for Marie, if his three big sons and Mere-Grand herself had not conspired to effecthis happiness by doing all they could to bring about a marriage whichwould strengthen every home tie and impart, as it were, a freshspringtide to the house. As for Marie, touched and grateful to Guillaumefor the manner in which he had treated her for five years past, sheimmediately consented with an impulse of sincere affection, in which, shefancied, she could detect love. And at all events, could she act in amore sensible, reasonable way, base her life on more certain prospects ofhappiness? So the marriage had been resolved upon; and about a monthpreviously it had been decided that it should take place during theensuing spring, towards the end of April. 

When Pierre, after alighting from the tramcar, began to climb theinterminable flights of steps leading to the Rue St. Eleuthere, a feelingof uneasiness again came over him at the thought that he was about toenter that suspicious ogre's den where everything would certainly woundand irritate him. Given the letter which Sophie had carried thither onthe previous night, announcing that the master would not return, howanxious and upset must all its inmates be! However, as Pierre ascendedthe final flight and nervously raised his head, the little house appearedto him right atop of the hill, looking very serene and quiet under thebright wintry sun, which had peered forth as if to bestow upon the modestdwelling an affectionate caress. 

There was a door in the old garden wall alongside the Rue St. Eleuthere, almost in front of the broad thoroughfare conducting to the basilica ofthe Sacred Heart; but to reach the house itself one had to skirt the walland climb to the Place du Tertre, where one found the facade and theentrance. Some children were playing on the Place, which, planted as itwas with a few scrubby trees, and edged with humble shops, --afruiterer's, a grocer's and a baker's, --looked like some square in asmall provincial town. In a corner, on the left, Guillaume's dwelling, which had been whitewashed during the previous spring, showed its brightfrontage and five lifeless windows, for all its life was on the other, the garden, side, which overlooked Paris and the far horizon. 

Pierre mustered his courage and, pulling a brass knob which glitteredlike gold, rang the bell. There came a gay, distant jingle; but for amoment nobody appeared, and he was about to ring again, when the door wasthrown wide open, revealing a passage which ran right through the house, beyond which appeared the ocean of Paris, the endless sea of house roofsbathed in sunlight. And against this spacious, airy background, stood ayoung woman of twenty-six, clad in a simple gown of black woolen stuff, half covered by a large blue apron. She had her sleeves rolled up aboveher elbows, and her arms and hands were still moist with water which shehad but imperfectly wiped away. 

A moment's surprise and embarrassment ensued. The young woman, who hadhastened to the door with laughing mien, became grave and covertlyhostile at sight of the visitor's cassock. The priest thereupon realisedthat he must give his name: "I am Abbe Pierre Froment. "

At this the young woman's smile of welcome came back to her. "Oh! I begyour pardon, monsieur--I ought to have recognised you, for I saw you wishGuillaume good day one morning as you passed. "

She said Guillaume; she, therefore, must be Marie. And Pierre looked ather in astonishment, finding her very different from what he hadimagined. She was only of average height, but she was vigorously, admirably built, broad of hip and broad of shoulder, with the small firmbosom of an amazon. By her erect and easy step, instinct with all theadorable grace of woman in her prime, one could divine that she wasstrong, muscular and healthy. A brunette, but very white of skin, she hada heavy helm of superb black hair, which she fastened in a negligent way, without any show of coquetry. And under her dark locks, her pure, intelligent brow, her delicate nose and gay eyes appeared full of intenselife; whilst the somewhat heavier character of her lower features, herfleshy lips and full chin, bespoke her quiet kindliness. She had surelycome on earth as a promise of every form of tenderness, every form ofdevotion. In a word, she was a true mate for man. 

However, with her heavy, straying hair and superb arms, so ingenuous intheir nudity, she only gave Pierre an impression of superfluous healthand extreme self-assurance. She displeased him and even made him feelsomewhat anxious, as if she were a creature different from all others. 

"It is my brother Guillaume who has sent me, " he said. 

At this her face again changed; she became grave and hastened to admithim to the passage. And when the door was closed she answered: "You havebrought us news of him, then! I must apologise for receiving you in thisfashion. The servants have just finished some washing, and I was makingsure if the work had been well done. Pray excuse me, and come in here fora moment; it is perhaps best that I should be the first to know thenews. "

So saying, she led him past the kitchen to a little room which served asscullery and wash-house. A tub full of soapy water stood there, and somedripping linen hung over some wooden bars. "And so, Guillaume?" sheasked. 

Pierre then told the truth in simple fashion: that his brother's wristhad been injured; that he himself had witnessed the accident, and thathis brother had then sought an asylum with him at Neuilly, where hewished to remain and get cured of his injury in peace and quietness, without even receiving a visit from his sons. While speaking in thisfashion, the priest watched the effect of his words on Marie's face:first fright and pity, and then an effort to calm herself and judgethings reasonably. 

"His letter quite froze me last night, " she ended by replying. "I feltsure that some misfortune had happened. But one must be brave and hideone's fear from others. His wrist injured, you say; it is not a seriousinjury, is it?"

"No; but it is necessary that every precaution should be taken with it. "

She looked him well in the face with her big frank eyes, which dived intohis own as if to reach the very depths of his being, though at the sametime she plainly sought to restrain the score of questions which rose toher lips. "And that is all: he was injured in an accident, " she resumed;"he didn't ask you to tell us anything further about it?"

"No, he simply desires that you will not be anxious. "

Thereupon she insisted no further, but showed herself obedient andrespectful of the decision which Guillaume had arrived at. It sufficedthat he should have sent a messenger to reassure the household--she didnot seek to learn any more. And even as she had returned to her work inspite of the secret anxiety in which the letter of the previous eveninghad left her, so now, with her air of quiet strength, she recovered anappearance of serenity, a quiet smile and clear brave glance. 

"Guillaume only gave me one other commission, " resumed Pierre, "that ofhanding a little key to Madame Leroi. "

"Very good, " Marie answered, "Mere-Grand is here; and, besides, thechildren must see you. I will take you to them. "

Once more quite tranquil, she examined Pierre without managing to concealher curiosity, which seemed of rather a kindly nature blended with anelement of vague pity. Her fresh white arms had remained bare. In allcandour she slowly drew down her sleeves; then took off the large blueapron, and showed herself with her rounded figure, at once robust andelegant, in her modest black gown. He meanwhile looked at her, and mostcertainly he did not find her to his liking. On seeing her so natural, healthy, and courageous, quite a feeling of revolt arose within him, though he knew not why. 

"Will you please follow me, Monsieur l'Abbe?" she said. "We must crossthe garden. "

On the ground-floor of the house, across the passage, and facing thekitchen and the scullery, there were two other rooms, a libraryoverlooking the Place du Tertre, and a dining-room whose windows openedinto the garden. The four rooms on the first floor served as bedchambersfor the father and the sons. As for the garden, originally but a smallone, it had now been reduced to a kind of gravelled yard by the erectionof the large workshop at one end of it. Of the former greenery, however, there still remained two huge plum-trees with old knotted trunks, as wellas a big clump of lilac-bushes, which every spring were covered withbloom. And in front of the latter Marie had arranged a broad flower-bed, in which she amused herself with growing a few roses, some wallflowersand some mignonette. 

With a wave of her hand as she went past, she called Pierre's attentionto the black plum-trees and the lilacs and roses, which showed but a fewgreenish spots, for winter still held the little nook in sleep. "TellGuillaume, " she said, "that he must make haste to get well and be backfor the first shoots. "

Then, as Pierre glanced at her, she all at once flushed purple. Much toher distress, sudden and involuntary blushes would in this wiseoccasionally come upon her, even at the most innocent remarks. She foundit ridiculous to feel such childish emotion when she had so brave aheart. But her pure maidenly blood had retained exquisite delicacy, suchnatural and instinctive modesty that she yielded to it perforce. Anddoubtless she had merely blushed because she feared that the priest mightthink she had referred to her marriage in speaking of the spring. 

"Please go in, Monsieur l'Abbe. The children are there, all three. " Andforthwith she ushered him into the workshop. 

It was a very spacious place, over sixteen feet high, with a brickflooring and bare walls painted an iron grey. A sheet of light, a streamof sunshine, spread to every corner through a huge window facing thesouth, where lay the immensity of Paris. The Venetian shutters often hadto be lowered in the summer to attenuate the great heat. From morn tillnight the whole family lived here, closely and affectionately united inwork. Each was installed as fancy listed, having a particular chosenplace. One half of the building was occupied by the father's chemicallaboratory, with its stove, experiment tables, shelves for apparatus, glass cases and cupboards for phials and jars. Near all this Thomas, theeldest son, had installed a little forge, an anvil, a vice bench, in facteverything necessary to a working mechanician, such as he had becomesince taking his bachelor's degree, from his desire to remain with hisfather and help him with certain researches and inventions. Then, at theother end, the younger brothers, Francois and Antoine, got on very welltogether on either side of a broad table which stood amidst a medley ofportfolios, nests of drawers and revolving book-stands. Francois, ladenwith academical laurels, first on the pass list for the Ecole Normale, had entered that college where young men are trained for universityprofessorships, and was there preparing for his Licentiate degree, whileAntoine, who on reaching the third class at the Lycee Condorcet had takena dislike to classical studies, now devoted himself to his calling as awood-engraver. And, in the full light under the window, Mere-Grand andMarie likewise had their particular table, where needlework, embroidery, all sorts of _chiffons_ and delicate things lay about near the somewhatrough jumble of retorts, tools and big books. 

Marie, however, on the very threshold called out in her calm voice, towhich she strove to impart a gay and cheering accent: "Children!children! here is Monsieur l'Abbe with news of father!"

Children, indeed! Yet what motherliness she already set in the word asshe applied it to those big fellows whose elder sister she had longconsidered herself to be! At three and twenty Thomas was quite acolossus, already bearded and extremely like his father. But although hehad a lofty brow and energetic features, he was somewhat slow both inmind and body. And he was also taciturn, almost unsociable, absorbed infilial devotion, delighted with the manual toil which made him a mereworkman at his master's orders. Francois, two years younger than Thomas, and nearly as tall, showed a more refined face, though he had the samelarge brow and firm mouth, a perfect blending of health and strength, inwhich the man of intellect, the scientific Normalian, could only bedetected by the brighter and more subtle sparkle of the eyes. Theyoungest of the brothers, Antoine, who for his eighteen years was almostas strong as his elders, and promised to become as tall, differed fromthem by his lighter hair and soft, blue, dreamy eyes, which he hadinherited from his mother. It had been difficult, however, to distinguishone from the other when all three were schoolboys at the Lycee Condorcet;and even nowadays people made mistakes unless they saw them side by side, so as to detect the points of difference which were becoming more markedas age progressed. 

On Pierre's arrival the brothers were so absorbed in their work that theydid not even hear the door open. And again, as in the case of Marie, thepriest was surprised by the discipline and firmness of mind, which amidstthe keenest anxiety gave the young fellows strength to take up theirdaily task. Thomas, who stood at his vice-bench in a blouse, wascarefully filing a little piece of copper with rough but skilful hands. Francois, leaning forward, was writing in a bold, firm fashion, whilst onthe other side of the table, Antoine, with a slender graver between hisfingers, finished a block for an illustrated newspaper. 

However, Marie's clear voice made them raise their heads: "Children, father has sent you some news!"

Then all three with the same impulse hurriedly quitted their work andcame forward. One could divine that directly there was any question oftheir father they were drawn together, blended one with the other, sothat but one and the same heart beat in their three broad chests. However, a door at the far end of the workroom opened at that moment, andMere-Grand, coming from the upper floor where she and Marie had theirbedrooms, made her appearance. She had just absented herself to fetch askein of wool; and she gazed fixedly at the priest, unable to understandthe reason of his presence. 

Marie had to explain matters. "Mere-Grand, " said she, "this is Monsieurl'Abbe Froment, Guillaume's brother; he has come from him. "

Pierre on his side was examining the old lady, astonished to find her soerect and full of life at seventy. Her former beauty had left a statelycharm on her rather long face; youthful fire still lingered in her browneyes; and very firm was the contour of her pale lips, which in partingshowed that she had retained all her teeth. A few white hairs alonesilvered her black tresses, which were arranged in old-time fashion. Hercheeks had but slightly withered, and her deep, symmetrical wrinkles gaveher countenance an expression of much nobility, a sovereign air as of aqueen-mother, which, tall and slight of stature as she was, andinvariably gowned in black woollen stuff, she always retained, no matterhow humble her occupation. 

"So Guillaume sent you, monsieur, " she said; "he is injured, is he not?"

Surprised by this proof of intuition, Pierre repeated his story. "Yes, his wrist is injured--but oh! it's not a case of immediate gravity. "

On the part of the three sons, he had divined a sudden quiver, an impulseof their whole beings to rush to the help and defence of their father. And for their sakes he sought words of comfort: "He is with me atNeuilly. And with due care it is certain that no serious complicationswill arise. He sent me to tell you to be in no wise uneasy about him. "

Mere-Grand for her part evinced no fears, but preserved great calmness, as if the priest's tidings contained nothing beyond what she had knownalready. If anything, she seemed rather relieved, freed from anxietywhich she had confided to none. "If he is with you, monsieur, " sheanswered, "he is evidently as comfortable as he can be, and shelteredfrom all risks. We were surprised, however, by his letter last night, asit did not explain why he was detained, and we should have ended byfeeling frightened. But now everything is satisfactory. "

Mere-Grand and the three sons, following Marie's example, asked noexplanations. On a table near at hand Pierre noticed several morningnewspapers lying open and displaying column after column of particularsabout the crime. The sons had certainly read these papers, and had fearedlest their father should be compromised in that frightful affair. How fardid their knowledge of the latter go? They must be ignorant of the partplayed by Salvat. It was surely impossible for them to piece together allthe unforeseen circumstances which had brought about their father'smeeting with the workman, and then the crime. Mere-Grand, no doubt, wasin certain respects better informed than the others. But they, the sonsand Marie, neither knew nor sought to know anything. And thus what awealth of respect and affection there was in their unshakable confidencein the father, in the tranquillity they displayed directly he sent themword that they were not to be anxious about him!

"Madame, " Pierre resumed, "Guillaume told me to give you this little key, and to remind you to do what he charged you to do, if any misfortuneshould befall him. "

She started, but so slightly that it was scarcely perceptible; and takingthe key she answered as if some ordinary wish on the part of a sickperson were alone in question. "Very well. Tell him that his wishes shallbe carried out. " Then she added, "But pray take a seat, monsieur. "

Pierre, indeed, had remained standing. However, he now felt it necessaryto accept a chair, desirous as he was of hiding the embarrassment whichhe still felt in this house, although he was _en famille_ there. Marie, who could not live without occupation for her fingers, had just returnedto some embroidery, some of the fine needlework which she stubbornlyexecuted for a large establishment dealing in baby-linen and bridal_trousseaux_; for she wished at any rate to earn her own pocket-money, she often said with a laugh. Mere-Grand, too, from habit, which shefollowed even when visitors were present, had once more started on herperpetual stocking-mending; while Francois and Antoine had again seatedthemselves at their table; and Thomas alone remained on his legs, leaningagainst his bench. All the charm of industrious intimacy pervaded thespacious, sun-lit room. 

"But we'll all go to see father to-morrow, " Thomas suddenly exclaimed. 

Before Pierre could answer Marie raised her head. "No, no, " said she, "hedoes not wish any of us to go to him; for if we should be watched andfollowed we should betray the secret of his retreat. Isn't that so, Monsieur l'Abbe?"

"It would indeed be prudent of you to deprive yourselves of the pleasureof embracing him until he himself can come back here. It will be a matterof some two or three weeks, " answered Pierre. 

Mere-Grand at once expressed approval of this. "No doubt, " said she. "Nothing could be more sensible. "

So the three sons did not insist, but bravely accepted the secret anxietyin which they must for a time live, renouncing the visit which would havecaused them so much delight, because their father bade them do so andbecause his safety depended perhaps on their obedience. 

However, Thomas resumed: "Then, Monsieur l'Abbe, will you please tell himthat as work will be interrupted here, I shall return to the factoryduring his absence. I shall be more at ease there for the researches onwhich we are engaged. "

"And please tell him from me, " put in Francois, "that he mustn't worryabout my examination. Things are going very well. I feel almost certainof success. "

Pierre promised that he would forget nothing. However, Marie raised herhead, smiling and glancing at Antoine, who had remained silent with afaraway look in his eyes. "And you, little one, " said she, "don't yousend him any message?"

Emerging from a dream, the young fellow also began to smile. "Yes, yes, amessage that you love him dearly, and that he's to make haste back foryou to make him happy. "

At this they all became merry, even Marie, who in lieu of embarrassmentshowed a tranquil gaiety born of confidence in the future. Between herand the young men there was naught but happy affection. And a grave smileappeared even on the pale lips of Mere-Grand, who likewise approved ofthe happiness which life seemed to be promising. 

Pierre wished to stay a few minutes longer. They all began to chat, andhis astonishment increased. He had gone from surprise to surprise in thishouse where he had expected to find that equivocal, disorderly life, thatrebellion against social laws, which destroy morality. But instead ofthis he had found loving serenity, and such strong discipline that lifethere partook of the gravity, almost the austerity, of convent life, tempered by youth and gaiety. The vast room was redolent of industry andquietude, warm with bright sunshine. However, what most particularlystruck him was the Spartan training, the bravery of mind and heart amongthose sons who allowed nothing to be seen of their personal feelings, anddid not presume to judge their father, but remained content with hismessage, ready to await events, stoical and silent, while carrying ontheir daily tasks. Nothing could be more simple, more dignified, morelofty. And there was also the smiling heroism of Mere-Grand and Marie, those two women who slept over that laboratory where terriblepreparations were manipulated, and where an explosion was alwayspossible. 

However, such courage, orderliness and dignity merely surprised Pierre, without touching him. He had no cause for complaint, he had received apolite greeting if not an affectionate one; but then he was as yet only astranger there, a priest. In spite of everything, however, he remainedhostile, feeling that he was in a sphere where none of his own tormentscould be shared or even divined. How did these folks manage to be so calmand happy amidst their religious unbelief, their sole faith in science, and in presence of that terrifying Paris which spread before them theboundless sea, the growling abomination of its injustice and its want? Asthis thought came to him he turned his head and gazed at the city throughthe huge window, whence it stretched away, ever present, ever living itsgiant life. And at that hour, under the oblique sun-rays of the winterafternoon, all Paris was speckled with luminous dust, as if someinvisible sower, hidden amidst the glory of the planet, were fastscattering seed which fell upon every side in a stream of gold. The wholefield was covered with it; for the endless chaos of house roofs andedifices seemed to be land in tilth, furrowed by some gigantic plough. And Pierre in his uneasiness, stirred, despite everything, by aninvincible need of hope, asked himself if this was not a good sowing, thefurrows of Paris strewn with light by the divine sun for the great futureharvest, that harvest of truth and justice of whose advent he haddespaired. 

At last he rose and took his leave, promising to return at once, if thereshould be any bad news. It was Marie who showed him to the front door. And there another of those childish blushes which worried her so muchsuddenly rose to her face, just as she, in her turn, also wished to sendher loving message to the injured man. However, with her gay, candid eyesfixed on those of the priest, she bravely spoke the words: "_Au revoir, Monsieur l'Abbe_. Tell Guillaume that I love him and await him. "

III. PENURY AND TOIL

THREE days went by, and every morning Guillaume, confined to his bed andconsumed by fever and impatience, experienced fresh anxiety directly thenewspapers arrived. Pierre had tried to keep them from him, but Guillaumethen worried himself the more, and so the priest had to read him columnby column all the extraordinary articles that were published respectingthe crime. 

Never before had so many rumours inundated the press. Even the "Globe, "usually so grave and circumspect, yielded to the general _furore_, andprinted whatever statements reached it. But the more unscrupulous paperswere the ones to read. The "Voix du Peuple" in particular made use of thepublic feverishness to increase its sales. Each morning it employed somefresh device, and printed some frightful story of a nature to drivepeople mad with terror. It related that not a day passed without BaronDuvillard receiving threatening letters of the coarsest description, announcing that his wife, his son and his daughter would all be killed, that he himself would be butchered in turn, and that do what he might hishouse would none the less be blown up. And as a measure of precaution thehouse was guarded day and night alike by a perfect army of plain-clothesofficers. Then another article contained an amazing piece of invention. Some anarchists, after carrying barrels of powder into a sewer near theMadeleine, were said to have undermined the whole district, planning aperfect volcano there, into which one half of Paris would sink. And atanother time it was alleged that the police were on the track of aterrible plot which embraced all Europe, from the depths of Russia to theshores of Spain. The signal for putting it into execution was to be givenin France, and there would be a three days' massacre, with grape shotsweeping everyone off the Boulevards, and the Seine running red, swollenby a torrent of blood. Thanks to these able and intelligent devices ofthe Press, terror now reigned in the city; frightened foreigners fledfrom the hotels _en masse_; and Paris had become a mere mad-house, wherethe most idiotic delusions at once found credit. 

It was not all this, however, that worried Guillaume. He was only anxiousabout Salvat and the various new "scents" which the newspaper reportersattempted to follow up. The engineer was not yet arrested, and, so farindeed, there had been no statement in print to indicate that the policewere on his track. At last, however, Pierre one morning read a paragraphwhich made the injured man turn pale. 

"Dear me! It seems that a tool has been found among the rubbish at theentrance of the Duvillard mansion. It is a bradawl, and its handle bearsthe name of Grandidier, which is that of a man who keeps some well-knownmetal works. He is to appear before the investigating magistrate to-day. "

Guillaume made a gesture of despair. "Ah!" said he, "they are on theright track at last. That tool must certainly have been dropped bySalvat. He worked at Grandidier's before he came to me for a few days. And from Grandidier they will learn all that they need to know in orderto follow the scent. "

Pierre then remembered that he had heard the Grandidier factory mentionedat Montmartre. Guillaume's eldest son, Thomas, had served hisapprenticeship there, and even worked there occasionally nowadays. 

"You told me, " resumed Guillaume, "that during my absence Thomas intendedto go back to the factory. It's in connection with a new motor which he'splanning, and has almost hit upon. If there should be a perquisitionthere, he may be questioned, and may refuse to answer, in order to guardhis secret. So he ought to be warned of this, warned at once!"

Without trying to extract any more precise statement from his brother, Pierre obligingly offered his services. "If you like, " said he, "I willgo to see Thomas this afternoon. Perhaps I may come across MonsieurGrandidier himself and learn how far the affair has gone, and what wassaid at the investigating magistrate's. "

With a moist glance and an affectionate grasp of the hand, Guillaume atonce thanked Pierre: "Yes, yes, brother, go there, it will be good andbrave of you. "

"Besides, " continued the priest, "I really wanted to go to Montmartreto-day. I haven't told you so, but something has been worrying me. IfSalvat has fled, he must have left the woman and the child all alone upyonder. On the morning of the day when the explosion took place I saw thepoor creatures in such a state of destitution, such misery, that I can'tthink of them without a heart-pang. Women and children so often die ofhunger when the man is no longer there. "

At this, Guillaume, who had kept Pierre's hand in his own, pressed itmore tightly, and in a trembling voice exclaimed: "Yes, yes, and thatwill be good and brave too. Go there, brother, go there. "

That house of the Rue des Saules, that horrible home of want and agony, had lingered in Pierre's memory. To him it was like an embodiment of thewhole filthy _cloaca_, in which the poor of Paris suffer unto death. Andon returning thither that afternoon, he found the same slimy mud aroundit; its yard littered with the same filth, its dark, damp stairwaysredolent of the same stench of neglect and poverty, as before. In wintertime, while the fine central districts of Paris are dried and cleansed, the far-away districts of the poor remain gloomy and miry, beneath theeverlasting tramp of the wretched ones who dwell in them. 

Remembering the staircase which conducted to Salvat's lodging, Pierrebegan to climb it amidst a loud screaming of little children, whosuddenly became quiet, letting the house sink into death-like silenceonce more. Then the thought of Laveuve, who had perished up there like astray dog, came back to Pierre. And he shuddered when, on the toplanding, he knocked at Salvat's door, and profound silence alone answeredhim. Not a breath was to be heard. 

However, he knocked again, and as nothing stirred he began to think thatnobody could be there. Perhaps Salvat had returned to fetch the woman andthe child, and perhaps they had followed him to some humble nook abroad. Still this would have astonished him; for the poor seldom quit theirhomes, but die where they have suffered. So he gave another gentle knock. 

And at last a faint sound, the light tread of little feet, was heardamidst the silence. Then a weak, childish voice ventured to inquire: "Whois there?"

"Monsieur l'Abbe. "

The silence fell again, nothing more stirred. There was evidentlyhesitation on the other side. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe who came the other day, " said Pierre again. 

This evidently put an end to all uncertainty, for the door was set ajarand little Celine admitted the priest. "I beg your pardon, Monsieurl'Abbe, " said she, "but Mamma Theodore has gone out, and she told me notto open the door to anyone. "

Pierre had, for a moment, imagined that Salvat himself was hiding there. But with a glance he took in the whole of the small bare room, where man, woman and child dwelt together. At the same time, Madame Theodoredoubtless feared a visit from the police. Had she seen Salvat since thecrime? Did she know where he was hiding? Had he come back there toembrace and tranquillise them both?

"And your papa, my dear, " said Pierre to Celine, "isn't he here either?"

"Oh! no, monsieur, he has gone away. "

"What, gone away?"

"Yes, he hasn't been home to sleep, and we don't know where he is. "

"Perhaps he's working. "

"Oh, no! he'd send us some money if he was. "

"Then he's gone on a journey, perhaps?"

"I don't know. "

"He wrote to Mamma Theodore, no doubt?"

"I don't know. "

Pierre asked no further questions. In fact, he felt somewhat ashamed ofhis attempt to extract information from this child of eleven, whom hethus found alone. It was quite possible that she knew nothing, thatSalvat, in a spirit of prudence, had even refrained from sending anytidings of himself. Indeed, there was an expression of truthfulness onthe child's fair, gentle and intelligent face, which was grave with thegravity that extreme misery imparts to the young. 

"I am sorry that Mamma Theodore isn't here, " said Pierre, "I wanted tospeak to her. "

"But perhaps you would like to wait for her, Monsieur l'Abbe. She hasgone to my Uncle Toussaint's in the Rue Marcadet; and she can't stop muchlonger, for she's been away more than an hour. "

Thereupon Celine cleared one of the chairs on which lay a handful ofscraps of wood, picked up on some waste ground. 

The bare and fireless room was assuredly also a breadless one. Pierrecould divine the absence of the bread-winner, the disappearance of theman who represents will and strength in the home, and on whom one stillrelies even when weeks have gone by without work. He goes out and scoursthe city, and often ends by bringing back the indispensable crust whichkeeps death at bay. But with his disappearance comes completeabandonment, the wife and child in danger, destitute of all prop andhelp. 

Pierre, who had sat down and was looking at that poor, little, blue-eyedgirl, to whose lips a smile returned in spite of everything, could notkeep from questioning her on another point. "So you don't go to school, my child?" said he. 

She faintly blushed and answered: "I've no shoes to go in. "

He glanced at her feet, and saw that she was wearing a pair of ragged oldlist-slippers, from which her little toes protruded, red with cold. 

"Besides, " she continued, "Mamma Theodore says that one doesn't go toschool when one's got nothing to eat. Mamma Theodore wanted to work butshe couldn't, because her eyes got burning hot and full of water. And sowe don't know what to do, for we've had nothing left since yesterday, andif Uncle Toussaint can't lend us twenty sous it'll be all over. "

She was still smiling in her unconscious way, but two big tears hadgathered in her eyes. And the sight of the child shut up in that bareroom, apart from all the happy ones of earth, so upset the priest that heagain felt his anger with want and misery awakening. Then, another tenminutes having elapsed, he became impatient, for he had to go to theGrandidier works before returning home. 

"I don't know why Mamma Theodore doesn't come back, " repeated Celine. "Perhaps she's chatting. " Then, an idea occurring to her she continued:"I'll take you to my Uncle Toussaint's, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you like. It's close by, just round the corner. "

"But you have no shoes, my child. "

"Oh! that don't matter, I walk all the same. "

Thereupon he rose from the chair and said simply: "Well, yes, that willbe better, take me there. And I'll buy you some shoes. "

Celine turned quite pink, and then made haste to follow him aftercarefully locking the door of the room like a good little housewife, though, truth to tell, there was nothing worth stealing in the place. 

In the meantime it had occurred to Madame Theodore that before calling onher brother Toussaint to try to borrow a franc from him, she might firstessay her luck with her younger sister, Hortense, who had married littleChretiennot, the clerk, and occupied a flat of four rooms on theBoulevard de Rochechouart. This was quite an affair, however, and thepoor woman only made the venture because Celine had been fasting sincethe previous day. 

Eugene Toussaint, the mechanician, a man of fifty, was her stepbrother, by the first marriage contracted by her father. A young dressmaker whomthe latter had subsequently wedded, had borne him three daughters, Pauline, Leonie and Hortense. And on his death, his son Eugene, whoalready had a wife and child of his own, had found himself for a shorttime with his stepmother and sisters on his hands. The stepmother, fortunately, was an active and intelligent woman, and knew how to get outof difficulties. She returned to her former workroom where her daughterPauline was already apprenticed, and she next placed Leonie there; sothat Hortense, the youngest girl, who was a spoilt child, prettier andmore delicate than her sisters, was alone left at school. And, lateron, --after Pauline had married Labitte the stonemason, and Leonie, Salvatthe journeyman-engineer, --Hortense, while serving as assistant at aconfectioner's in the Rue des Martyrs, there became acquainted withChretiennot, a clerk, who married her. Leonie had died young, only a fewweeks after her mother; Pauline, forsaken by her husband, lived with herbrother-in-law Salvat, and Hortense alone wore a light silk gown onSundays, resided in a new house, and ranked as a _bourgeoise_, at theprice, however, of interminable worries and great privation. 

Madame Theodore knew that her sister was generally short of money towardsthe month's end, and therefore felt rather ill at ease in thus venturingto apply for a loan. Chretiennot, moreover, embittered by his ownmediocrity, had of late years accused his wife of being the cause oftheir spoilt life, and had ceased all intercourse with her relatives. Toussaint, no doubt, was a decent workman; but that Madame Theodore wholived in misery with her brother-in-law, and that Salvat who wanderedfrom workshop to workshop like an incorrigible ranter whom no employerwould keep; those two, with their want and dirt and rebellion, had endedby incensing the vain little clerk, who was not only a great stickler forthe proprieties, but was soured by all the difficulties he encountered inhis own life. And thus he had forbidden Hortense to receive her sister. 

All the same, as Madame Theodore climbed the carpeted staircase of thehouse on the Boulevard Rochechouart, she experienced a certain feeling ofpride at the thought that she had a relation living in such luxury. TheChretiennot's rooms were on the third floor, and overlooked thecourtyard. Their _femme-de-menage_--a woman who goes out by the day orhour charring, cleaning and cooking--came back every afternoon about fouro'clock to see to the dinner, and that day she was already there. Sheadmitted the visitor, though she could not conceal her anxious surpriseat her boldness in calling in such slatternly garb. However, on the verythreshold of the little salon, Madame Theodore stopped short inwonderment herself, for her sister Hortense was sobbing and crouching onone of the armchairs, upholstered in blue repp, of which she was soproud. 

"What is the matter? What has happened to you?" asked Madame Theodore. 

Her sister, though scarcely two and thirty, was no longer "the beautifulHortense" of former days. She retained a doll-like appearance, with atall slim figure, pretty eyes and fine, fair hair. But she who had oncetaken so much care of herself, had now come down to dressing-gowns ofdoubtful cleanliness. Her eyelids, too, were reddening, and blotches wereappearing on her skin. She had begun to fade after giving birth to twodaughters, one of whom was now nine and the other seven years of age. Very proud and egotistical, she herself had begun to regret her marriage, for she had formerly considered herself a real beauty, worthy of thepalaces and equipages of some Prince Charming. And at this moment she wasplunged in such despair, that her sister's sudden appearance on the scenedid not even astonish her: "Ah! it's you, " she gasped. "Ah! if you onlyknew what a blow's fallen on me in the middle of all our worries!"

Madame Theodore at once thought of the children, Lucienne and Marcelle. "Are your daughters ill?" she asked. 

"No, no, our neighbour has taken them for a walk on the Boulevard. Butthe fact is, my dear, I'm _enceinte_, and when I told Chretiennot of itafter _dejeuner_, he flew into a most fearful passion, saying the mostdreadful, the most cruel things!"

Then she again sobbed. Gentle and indolent by nature, desirous of peaceand quietness before anything else, she was incapable of deceiving herhusband, as he well knew. But the trouble was that an addition to thefamily would upset the whole economy of the household. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" said Madame Theodore at last, "you brought up the others, and you'll bring up this one too. "

At this an explosion of anger dried the other's eyes; and she rose, exclaiming: "You are good, you are! One can see that our purse isn'tyours. How are we to bring up another child when we can scarcely makeboth ends meet as it is?"

And thereupon, forgetting the _bourgeois_ pride which usually promptedher to silence or falsehood, she freely explained their embarrassment, the horrid pecuniary worries which made their life a perpetual misery. Their rent amounted to 700 francs, * so that out of the 3000 francs**which the husband earned at his office, barely a couple of hundred wereleft them every month. And how were they to manage with that little sum, provide food and clothes, keep up their rank and so forth? There was theindispensable black coat for monsieur, the new dress which madame musthave at regular intervals, under penalty of losing caste, the new bootswhich the children required almost every month, in fact, all sorts ofthings that could not possibly be dispensed with. One might strike a dishor two out of the daily menu, and even go without wine; but evenings camewhen it was absolutely necessary to take a cab. And, apart from all this, one had to reckon with the wastefulness of the children, the disorder inwhich the discouraged wife left the house, and the despair of thehusband, who was convinced that he would never extricate himself from hisdifficulties, even should his salary some day be raised to as high afigure as 4000 francs. Briefly, one here found the unbearable penury ofthe petty clerk, with consequences as disastrous as the black want of theartisan: the mock facade and lying luxury; all the disorder and sufferingwhich lie behind intellectual pride at not earning one's living at abench or on a scaffolding. 

 * $140. 

 ** $600. 

"Well, well, " repeated Madame Theodore, "you can't kill the child. "

"No, of course not; but it's the end of everything, " answered Hortense, sinking into the armchair again. "What will become of us, _mon Dieu_!What will become of us!" Then she collapsed in her unbuttoned dressinggown, tears once more gushing from her red and swollen eyes. 

Much vexed that circumstances should be so unpropitious, Madame Theodorenevertheless ventured to ask for the loan of twenty sons; and thisbrought her sister's despair and confusion to a climax. "I really haven'ta centime in the house, " said she, "just now I borrowed ten sous for thechildren from the servant. I had to get ten francs from the Mont de Pieteon a little ring the other day. And it's always the same at the end ofthe month. However, Chretiennot will be paid to-day, and he's coming backearly with the money for dinner. So if I can I will send you somethingto-morrow. "

At this same moment the servant hastened in with a distracted air, beingwell aware that monsieur was in no wise partial to madame's relatives. "Oh madame, madame!" said she; "here's monsieur coming up the stairs. "

"Quick then, quick, go away!" cried Hortense, "I should only have anotherscene if he met you here. To-morrow, if I can, I promise you. "

To avoid Chretiennot who was coming in, Madame Theodore had to hideherself in the kitchen. As he passed, she just caught sight of him, welldressed as usual in a tight-fitting frock-coat. Short and lean, with athin face and long and carefully tended beard, he had the bearing of onewho is both vain and quarrelsome. Fourteen years of office life hadwithered him, and now the long evening hours which he spent at aneighbouring cafe were finishing him off. 

When Madame Theodore had quitted the house she turned with dragging stepstowards the Rue Marcadet where the Toussaints resided. Here, again, shehad no great expectations, for she well knew what ill-luck and worry hadfallen upon her brother's home. During the previous autumn Toussaint, though he was but fifty, had experienced an attack of paralysis which hadlaid him up for nearly five months. Prior to this mishap he had bornehimself bravely, working steadily, abstaining from drink, and bringing uphis three children in true fatherly fashion. One of them, a girl, was nowmarried to a carpenter, with whom she had gone to Le Havre, while of theothers, both boys--one a soldier, had been killed in Tonquin, and theother Charles, after serving his time in the army, had become a workingmechanician. Still, Toussaint's long illness had exhausted the littlemoney which he had in the Savings Bank, and now that he had been set onhis legs again, he had to begin life once more without a copper beforehim. 

Madame Theodore found her sister-in-law alone in the cleanly kept roomwhich she and her husband occupied. Madame Toussaint was a portly woman, whose corpulence increased in spite of everything, whether it were worryor fasting. She had a round puffy face with bright little eyes; and was avery worthy woman, whose only faults were an inclination for gossipingand a fondness for good cheer. Before Madame Theodore even opened hermouth she understood the object of her visit. "You've come on us at a badmoment, my dear, " she said, "we're stumped. Toussaint wasn't able to goback to the works till the day before yesterday, and he'll have to askfor an advance this evening. "

As she spoke, she looked at the other with no great sympathy, hurt as shefelt by her slovenly appearance. "And Salvat, " she added, "is he stilldoing nothing?"

Madame Theodore doubtless foresaw the question, for she quietly lied: "Heisn't in Paris, a friend has taken him off for some work over Belgiumway, and I'm waiting for him to send us something. "

Madame Toussaint still remained distrustful, however: "Ah!" she said, "it's just as well that he shouldn't be in Paris; for with all these bombaffairs we couldn't help thinking of him, and saying that he was quitemad enough to mix himself up in them. "

The other did not even blink. If she knew anything she kept it toherself. 

"But you, my dear, can't you find any work?" continued Madame Toussaint. 

"Well, what would you have me do with my poor eyes? It's no longerpossible for me to sew. "

"That's true. A seamstress gets done for. When Toussaint was laid up hereI myself wanted to go back to my old calling as a needlewoman. But there!I spoilt everything and did no good. Charring's about the only thing thatone can always do. Why don't you get some jobs of that kind?"

"I'm trying, but I can't find any. "

Little by little Madame Toussaint was softening at sight of the other'smiserable appearance. She made her sit down, and told her that she wouldgive her something if Toussaint should come home with money. Then, yielding to her partiality for gossiping, since there was somebody tolisten to her, she started telling stories. The one affair, however, onwhich she invariably harped was the sorry business of her son Charles andthe servant girl at a wine shop over the way. Before going into the armyCharles had been a most hard-working and affectionate son, invariablybringing his pay home to his mother. And certainly he still worked andshowed himself good-natured; but military service, while sharpening hiswits, had taken away some of his liking for ordinary manual toil. Itwasn't that he regretted army life, for he spoke of his barracks as aprison. Only his tools had seemed to him rather heavy when, on quittingthe service, he had been obliged to take them in hand once more. 

"And so, my dear, " continued Madame Toussaint, "it's all very well forCharles to be kind-hearted, he can do no more for us. I knew that hewasn't in a hurry to get married, as it costs money to keep a wife. Andhe was always very prudent, too, with girls. But what would you have?There was that moment of folly with that Eugenie over the road, a regularbaggage who's already gone off with another man, and left her babybehind. Charles has put it out to nurse, and pays for it every month. Anda lot of expense it is too, perfect ruination. Yes, indeed, everypossible misfortune has fallen on us. "

In this wise Madame Toussaint rattled on for a full half hour. Thenseeing that waiting and anxiety had made her sister-in-law turn quitepale, she suddenly stopped short. "You're losing patience, eh?" sheexclaimed. "The fact is, that Toussaint won't be back for some time. Shall we go to the works together? I'll easily find out if he's likely tobring any money home. "

They then decided to go down, but at the bottom of the stairs theylingered for another quarter of an hour chatting with a neighbour who hadlately lost a child. And just as they were at last leaving the house theyheard a call: "Mamma! mamma!"

It came from little Celine, whose face was beaming with delight. She waswearing a pair of new shoes and devouring a cake. "Mamma, " she resumed, "Monsieur l'Abbe who came the other day wants to see you. Just look! hebought me all this!"

On seeing the shoes and the cake, Madame Theodore understood matters. Andwhen Pierre, who was behind the child, accosted her she began to trembleand stammer thanks. Madame Toussaint on her side had quickly drawn near, not indeed to ask for anything herself, but because she was well pleasedat such a God-send for her sister-in-law, whose circumstances were worsethan her own. And when she saw the priest slip ten francs into MadameTheodore's hand she explained to him that she herself would willinglyhave lent something had she been able. Then she promptly started on thestories of Toussaint's attack and her son Charles's ill-luck. 

But Celine broke in: "I say, mamma, the factory where papa used to workis here in this street, isn't it? Monsieur l'Abbe has some businessthere. "*

 * Although the children of the French peasantry almost invariably address their parents as "father" and "mother, " those of the working classes of Paris, and some other large cities, usually employ the terms "papa" and "mamma. "--Trans. 

"The Grandidier factory, " resumed Madame Toussaint; "well, we were justgoing there, and we can show Monsieur l'Abbe the way. "

It was only a hundred steps off. Escorted by the two women and the child, Pierre slackened his steps and tried to extract some information aboutSalvat from Madame Theodore. But she at once became very prudent. She hadnot seen him again, she declared; he must have gone with a mate toBelgium, where there was a prospect of some work. From what she said, itappeared to the priest that Salvat had not dared to return to the Rue desSaules since his crime, in which all had collapsed, both his past life oftoil and hope, and his recent existence with its duties towards the womanand the child. 

"There's the factory, Monsieur l'Abbe, " suddenly said Madame Toussaint, "my sister-in-law won't have to wait now, since you've been kind enoughto help her. Thank you for her and for us. "

Madame Theodore and Celine likewise poured forth their thanks, standingbeside Madame Toussaint in the everlasting mud of that populous district, amidst the jostling of the passers-by. And lingering there as if to seePierre enter, they again chatted together and repeated that, after all, some priests were very kind. 

The Grandidier works covered an extensive plot of ground. Facing thestreet there was only a brick building with narrow windows and a greatarchway, through which one espied a long courtyard. But, in the rear, came a suite of habitations, workshops, and sheds, above whose neverending roofs arose the two lofty chimneys of the generators. From thevery threshold one detected the rumbling and quivering of machinery, allthe noise and bustle of work. Black water flowed by at one's feet, and upabove white vapour spurted from a slender pipe with a regular stridentpuff, as if it were the very breath of that huge, toiling hive. 

Bicycles were now the principal output of the works. When Grandidier hadtaken them on leaving the Dijon Arts and Trades School, they weredeclining under bad management, slowly building some little motiveengines by the aid of antiquated machinery. Foreseeing the future, however, he had induced his elder brother, one of the managers of the BonMarche, to finance him, on the promise that he would supply that greatemporium with excellent bicycles at 150 francs apiece. And now quite abig venture was in progress, for the Bon Marche was already bringing outthe new popular machine "La Lisette, " the "Bicycle for the Multitude, " asthe advertisements asserted. Nevertheless, Grandidier was still in allthe throes of a great struggle, for his new machinery had cast a heavyburden of debt on him. At the same time each month brought its effort, the perfecting or simplifying of some part of the manufacture, whichmeant a saving in the future. He was ever on the watch; and even now wasthinking of reverting to the construction of little motors, for hethought he could divine in the near future the triumph of the motor-car. 

On asking if M. Thomas Froment were there, Pierre was led by an oldworkman to a little shed, where he found the young fellow in the linenjacket of a mechanician, his hands black with filings. He was adjustingsome piece of mechanism, and nobody would have suspected him to be aformer pupil of the Lycee Condorcet, one of the three clever Froments whohad there rendered the name famous. But his only desire had been to actas his father's faithful servant, the arm that forges, the embodiment ofthe manual toil by which conceptions are realised. And, a giant of threeand twenty, ever attentive and courageous, he was likewise a man ofpatient, silent and sober nature. 

On catching sight of Pierre he quivered with anxiety and sprang forward. "Father is no worse?" he asked. 

"No, no. But he read in the papers that story of a bradawl found in theRue Godot-de-Mauroy, and it made him anxious, because the police may makea perquisition here. "

Thomas, his own anxiety allayed, began to smile. "Tell him he may sleepquietly, " he responded. "To begin with, I've unfortunately not yet hit onour little motor such as I want it to be. In fact, I haven't yet put ittogether. I'm keeping the pieces at our house, and nobody here knowsexactly what I come to do at the factory. So the police may search, itwill find nothing. Our secret runs no risk. "

Pierre promised to repeat these words to Guillaume, so as to dissipatehis fears. However, when he tried to sound Thomas, and ascertain theposition of affairs, what the factory people thought of the discovery ofthe bradawl, and whether there was as yet any suspicion of Salvat, heonce more found the young man taciturn, and elicited merely a "yes" or a"no" in answer to his inquiries. The police had not been there as yet?No. But the men must surely have mentioned Salvat? Yes, of course, onaccount of his Anarchist opinions. But what had Grandidier, the master, said, on returning from the investigating magistrate's? As for thatThomas knew nothing. He had not seen Grandidier that day. 

"But here he comes!" the young man added. "Ah! poor fellow, his wife, Ifancy, had another attack this morning. "

He alluded to a frightful story which Guillaume had already recounted toPierre. Grandidier, falling in love with a very beautiful girl, hadmarried her; but for five years now she had been insane: the result ofpuerperal fever and the death of an infant son. Her husband, with hisardent affection for her, had been unwilling to place her in an asylum, and had accordingly kept her with him in a little pavilion, whosewindows, overlooking the courtyard of the factory, always remainedclosed. She was never seen; and never did he speak of her to anybody. Itwas said that she was usually like a child, very gentle and very sad, andstill beautiful, with regal golden hair. At times, however, attacks offrantic madness came upon her, and he then had to struggle with her, andoften hold her for hours in his arms to prevent her from splitting herhead against the walls. Fearful shrieks would ring out for a time, andthen deathlike silence would fall once more. 

Grandidier came into the shed where Thomas was working. A handsome man offorty, with an energetic face, he had a dark and heavy moustache, brush-like hair and clear eyes. He was very partial to Thomas, and duringthe young fellow's apprenticeship there, had treated him like a son. Andhe now let him return thither whenever it pleased him, and placed hisappliances at his disposal. He knew that he was trying to devise a newmotor, a question in which he himself was extremely interested; still heevinced the greatest discretion, never questioning Thomas, but awaitingthe result of his endeavours. 

"This is my uncle, Abbe Froment, who looked in to wish me good day, " saidthe young man, introducing Pierre. 

An exchange of polite remarks ensued. Then Grandidier sought to cast offthe sadness which made people think him stern and harsh, and in abantering tone exclaimed: "I didn't tell you, Thomas, of my business withthe investigating magistrate. If I hadn't enjoyed a good reputation weshould have had all the spies of the Prefecture here. The magistratewanted me to explain the presence of that bradawl in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy, and I at once realised that, in his opinion, the culpritmust have worked here. For my part I immediately thought of Salvat. But Idon't denounce people. The magistrate has my hiring-book, and as forSalvat I simply answered that he worked here for nearly three months lastautumn, and then disappeared. They can look for him themselves! Ah! thatmagistrate! you can picture him a little fellow with fair hair andcat-like eyes, very careful of his appearance, a society man evidently, but quite frisky at being mixed up in this affair. "

"Isn't he Monsieur Amadieu?" asked Pierre. 

"Yes, that's his name. Ah! he's certainly delighted with the presentwhich those Anarchists have made him, with that crime of theirs. "

The priest listened in deep anxiety. As his brother had feared, the truescent, the first conducting wire, had now been found. And he looked atThomas to see if he also were disturbed. But the young man was eitherignorant of the ties which linked Salvat to his father, or else hepossessed great power of self-control, for he merely smiled atGrandidier's sketch of the magistrate. 

Then, as Grandidier went to look at the piece of mechanism which Thomaswas finishing, and they began to speak about it, Pierre drew near to anopen doorway which communicated with a long workshop where engine latheswere rumbling, and the beams of press-drills falling quickly andrhythmically. Leather gearing spun along with a continuous gliding, andthere was ceaseless bustle and activity amidst the odoriferous dampnessof all the steam. Scores of perspiring workmen, grimy with dust andfilings, were still toiling. Still this was the final effort of the day. And as three men approached a water-tap near Pierre to wash their hands, he listened to their talk, and became particularly interested in it whenhe heard one of them, a tall, ginger-haired fellow, call anotherToussaint, and the third Charles. 

Toussaint, a big, square-shouldered man with knotty arms, only showed hisfifty years on his round, scorched face, which besides being roughenedand wrinkled by labour, bristled with grey hairs, which nowadays he wascontent to shave off once a week. It was only his right arm that wasaffected by paralysis, and moved rather sluggishly. As for Charles, aliving portrait of his father, he was now in all the strength of his sixand twentieth year, with splendid muscles distending his white skin, anda full face barred by a heavy black moustache. The three men, like theiremployer, were speaking of the explosion at the Duvillard mansion, of thebradawl found there, and of Salvat, whom they all now suspected. 

"Why, only a brigand would do such a thing!" said Toussaint. "ThatAnarchism disgusts me. I'll have none of it. But all the same it's forthe _bourgeois_ to settle matters. If the others want to blow them up, it's their concern. It's they who brought it about. "

This indifference was undoubtedly the outcome of a life of want andsocial injustice; it was the indifference of an old toiler, who, weary ofstruggling and hoping for improvements, was now quite ready to toleratethe crumbling of a social system, which threatened him with hunger in hisimpotent old age. 

"Well, you know, " rejoined Charles, "I've heard the Anarchists talking, and they really say some very true and sensible things. And just takeyourself, father; you've been working for thirty years, and isn't itabominable that you should have had to pass through all that you did passthrough recently, liable to go off like some old horse that's slaughteredat the first sign of illness? And, of course, it makes me think ofmyself, and I can't help feeling that it won't be at all amusing to endlike that. And may the thunder of God kill me if I'm wrong, but one feelshalf inclined to join in their great flare-up if it's really to makeeverybody happy!"

He certainly lacked the flame of enthusiasm, and if he had come to theseviews it was solely from impatience to lead a less toilsome life, forobligatory military service had given him ideas of equality among allmen--a desire to struggle, raise himself and obtain his legitimate shareof life's enjoyments. It was, in fact, the inevitable step which carrieseach generation a little more forward. There was the father, who, deceived in his hope of a fraternal republic, had grown sceptical andcontemptuous; and there was the son advancing towards a new faith, andgradually yielding to ideas of violence, since political liberty hadfailed to keep its promises. 

Nevertheless, as the big, ginger-haired fellow grew angry, and shoutedthat if Salvat were guilty, he ought to be caught and guillotined atonce, without waiting for judges, Toussaint ended by endorsing hisopinion. "Yes, yes, he may have married one of my sisters, but I renouncehim.... And yet, you know, it would astonish me to find him guilty, for he isn't wicked at heart. I'm sure he wouldn't kill a fly. "

"But what would you have?" put in Charles. "When a man's driven toextremities he goes mad. "

They had now washed themselves; but Toussaint, on perceiving hisemployer, lingered there in order to ask him for an advance. As ithappened, Grandidier, after cordially shaking hands with Pierre, approached the old workman of his own accord, for he held him in esteem. And, after listening to him, he gave him a line for the cashier on acard. As a rule, he was altogether against the practice of advancingmoney, and his men disliked him, and said he was over rigid, though inpoint of fact he had a good heart. But he had his position as an employerto defend, and to him concessions meant ruin. With such keen competitionon all sides, with the capitalist system entailing a terrible andincessant struggle, how could one grant the demands of the workers, evenwhen they were legitimate?

Sudden compassion came upon Pierre when, after quitting Thomas, he sawGrandidier, who had finished his round, crossing the courtyard in thedirection of the closed pavilion, where all the grief of hisheart-tragedy awaited him. Here was that man waging the battle of life, defending his fortune with the risk that his business might melt awayamidst the furious warfare between capital and labour; and at the sametime, in lieu of evening repose, finding naught but anguish it hishearth: a mad wife, an adored wife, who had sunk back into infancy, andwas for ever dead to love! How incurable was his secret despair! Even onthe days when he triumphed in his workshops, disaster awaited him athome. And could any more unhappy man, any man more deserving of pity, befound even among the poor who died of hunger, among those gloomy workers, those vanquished sons of labour who hated and who envied him?

When Pierre found himself in the street again he was astonished to seeMadame Toussaint and Madame Theodore still there with little Celine. Withtheir feet in the mud, like bits of wreckage against which beat theceaseless flow of wayfarers, they had lingered there, still and everchatting, loquacious and doleful, lulling their wretchedness to restbeneath a deluge of tittle-tattle. And when Toussaint, followed by hisson, came out, delighted with the advance he had secured, he also foundthem on the same spot. Then he told Madame Theodore the story of thebradawl, and the idea which had occurred to him and all his mates thatSalvat might well be the culprit. She, however, though turning very pale, began to protest, concealing both what she knew and what she reallythought. 

"I tell you I haven't seen him for several days, " said she. "He mustcertainly be in Belgium. And as for a bomb, that's humbug. You sayyourself that he's very gentle and wouldn't harm a fly!"

A little later as Pierre journeyed back to Neuilly in a tramcar he fellinto a deep reverie. All the stir and bustle of that working-classdistrict, the buzzing of the factory, the overflowing activity of thathive of labour, seemed to have lingered within him. And for the firsttime, amidst his worries, he realised the necessity of work. Yes, it wasfatal, but it also gave health and strength. In effort which sustains andsaves, he at last found a solid basis on which all might be reared. Wasthis, then, the first gleam of a new faith? But ah! what mockery! Work anuncertainty, work hopeless, work always ending in injustice! And thenwant ever on the watch for the toiler, strangling him as soon as slacktimes came round, and casting him into the streets like a dead dogimmediately old age set in. 

On reaching Neuilly, Pierre found Bertheroy at Guillaume's bedside. Theold _savant_ had just dressed the injured wrist, and was not yet certainthat no complications would arise. "The fact is, " he said to Guillaume, "you don't keep quiet. I always find you in a state of feverish emotionwhich is the worst possible thing for you. You must calm yourself, mydear fellow, and not allow anything to worry you. "

A few minutes later, though, just as he was going away, he said with hispleasant smile: "Do you know that a newspaper writer came to interview meabout that explosion? Those reporters imagine that scientific men knoweverything! I told the one who called on me that it would be very kind of_him_ to enlighten _me_ as to what powder was employed. And, by the way, I am giving a lesson on explosives at my laboratory to-morrow. There willbe just a few persons present. You might come as well, Pierre, so as togive an account of it to Guillaume; it would interest him. "

At a glance from his brother, Pierre accepted the invitation. Then, Bertheroy having gone, he recounted all he had learnt during theafternoon, how Salvat was suspected, and how the investigating magistratehad been put on the right scent. And at this news, intense fever againcame over Guillaume, who, with his head buried in the pillow, and hiseyes closed, stammered as if in a kind of nightmare: "Ah! then, this isthe end! Salvat arrested, Salvat interrogated! Ah! that so much toil andso much hope should crumble!"

IV. CULTURE AND HOPE

ON the morrow, punctually at one o'clock, Pierre reached the Rue d'Ulm, where Bertheroy resided in a fairly large house, which the State hadplaced at his disposal, in order that he might install in it a laboratoryfor study and research. Thus the whole first floor had been transformedinto one spacious apartment, where, from time to time, the illustriouschemist was fond of receiving a limited number of pupils and admirers, before whom he made experiments, and explained his new discoveries andtheories. 

For these occasions a few chairs were set out before the long and massivetable, which was covered with jars and appliances. In the rear one sawthe furnace, while all around were glass cases, full of vials andspecimens. The persons present were, for the most part, fellow _savants_, with a few young men, and even a lady or two, and, of course, anoccasional journalist. The whole made up a kind of family gathering, thevisitors chatting with the master in all freedom. 

Directly Bertheroy perceived Pierre he came forward, pressed his hand andseated him on a chair beside Guillaume's son Francois, who had been oneof the first arrivals. The young man was completing his third year at theEcole Normale, close by, so he only had a few steps to take to call uponhis master Bertheroy, whom he regarded as one of the firmest minds of theage. Pierre was delighted to meet his nephew, for he had been greatlyimpressed in his favour on the occasion of his visit to Montmartre. Francois, on his side, greeted his uncle with all the cordialexpansiveness of youth. He was, moreover, well pleased to obtain somenews of his father. 

However, Bertheroy began. He spoke in a familiar and sober fashion, butfrequently employed some very happy expressions. At first he gave anaccount of his own extensive labours and investigations with regard toexplosive substances, and related with a laugh that he sometimesmanipulated powders which would have blown up the entire district. But, said he, in order to reassure his listeners, he was always extremelyprudent. At last he turned to the subject of that explosion in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy, which, for some days, had filled Paris with dismay. Theremnants of the bomb had been carefully examined by experts, and onefragment had been brought to him, in order that he might give his opinionon it. The bomb appeared to have been prepared in a very rudimentaryfashion; it had been charged with small pieces of iron, and fired bymeans of a match, such as a child might have devised. The extraordinarypart of the affair was the formidable power of the central cartridge, which, although it must have been a small one, had wrought as much havocas any thunderbolt. And the question was this: What incalculable power ofdestruction might one not arrive at if the charge were increased ten, twenty or a hundredfold. Embarrassment began, and divergencies of opinionclouded the issue directly one tried to specify what explosive had beenemployed. Of the three experts who had been consulted, one pronouncedhimself in favour of dynamite pure and simple; but the two others, although they did not agree together, believed in some combination ofexplosive matters. He, Bertheroy, had modestly declined to adjudicate, for the fragment submitted to him bore traces of so slight a character, that analysis became impossible. Thus he was unwilling to make anypositive pronouncement. But his opinion was that one found oneself inpresence of some unknown powder, some new explosive, whose power exceededanything that had hitherto been dreamt of. He could picture some unknown_savant_, or some ignorant but lucky inventor, discovering the formula ofthis explosive under mysterious conditions. And this brought him to thepoint he wished to reach, the question of all the explosives which are sofar unknown, and of the coming discoveries which he could foresee. In thecourse of his investigations he himself had found cause to suspect theexistence of several such explosives, though he had lacked time andopportunity to prosecute his studies in that direction. However, heindicated the field which should be explored, and the best way ofproceeding. In his opinion it was there that lay the future. And in abroad and eloquent peroration, he declared that explosives had hithertobeen degraded by being employed in idiotic schemes of vengeance anddestruction; whereas it was in them possibly that lay the liberatingforce which science was seeking, the lever which would change the face ofthe world, when they should have been so domesticated and subdued as tobe only the obedient servants of man. 

Throughout this familiar discourse Pierre could feel that Francois wasgrowing impassioned, quivering at thought of the vast horizon which themaster opened up. He himself had become extremely interested, for hecould not do otherwise than notice certain allusions, and connect what heheard with what he had guessed of Guillaume's anxiety regarding thatsecret which he feared to see at the mercy of an investigatingmagistrate. And so as he, Pierre, before going off with Francois, approached Bertheroy to wish him good day, he pointedly remarked:"Guillaume will be very sorry that he was unable to hear you unfold thoseadmirable ideas. "

The old _savant_ smiled. "Pooh!" said he; "just give him a summary ofwhat I said. He will understand. He knows more about the matter than Ido. "

In presence of the illustrious chemist, Francois preserved the silentgravity of a respectful pupil, but when he and Pierre had taken a fewsteps down the street in silence, he remarked: "What a pity it is that aman of such broad intelligence, free from all superstition, and anxiousfor the sole triumph of truth, should have allowed himself to beclassified, ticketed, bound round with titles and academical functions!How greatly our affection for him would increase if he took less Statepay, and freed himself from all the grand cordons which tie his hands. "

"What would you have!" rejoined Pierre, in a conciliatory spirit. "A manmust live! At the same time I believe that he does not regard himself astied by anything. "

Then, as they had reached the entrance of the Ecole Normale, the prieststopped, thinking that his companion was going back to the college. ButFrancois, raising his eyes and glancing at the old place, remarked: "No, no, to-day's Thursday, and I'm at liberty! Oh! we have a deal of liberty, perhaps too much. But for my own part I'm well pleased at it, for itoften enables me to go to Montmartre and work at my old little table. It's only there that I feel any real strength and clearness of mind. "

His preliminary examinations had entitled him to admission at either theEcole Polytechnique or the Ecole Normale, * and he had chosen the latter, entering its scientific section with No. 1 against his name. His fatherhad wished him to make sure of an avocation, that of professor, even ifcircumstances should allow him to remain independent and follow his ownbent on leaving the college. Francois, who was very precocious, was nowpreparing for his last examination there, and the only rest he took wasin walking to and from Montmartre, or in strolling through the Luxembourggardens. 

 * The purposes of the Ecole Normale have been referred to on p. 197. At the Ecole Polytechnique young men receive much of the preliminary training which they require to become either artillery officers, or military, naval or civil engineers. --Trans. 

From force of habit he now turned towards the latter, accompanied byPierre and chatting with him. One found the mildness of springtime therethat February afternoon; for pale sunshine streamed between the trees, which were still leafless. It was indeed one of those first fine dayswhich draw little green gems from the branches of the lilac bushes. 

The Ecole Normale was still the subject of conversation and Pierreremarked: "I must own that I hardly like the spirit that prevails there. Excellent work is done, no doubt, and the only way to form professors isto teach men the trade by cramming them with the necessary knowledge. Butthe worst is that although all the students are trained for the teachingprofession, many of them don't remain in it, but go out into the world, take to journalism, or make it their business to control the arts, literature and society. And those who do this are for the most partunbearable. After swearing by Voltaire they have gone back tospirituality and mysticism, the last drawing-room craze. Now that a firmfaith in science is regarded as brutish and inelegant, they fancy thatthey rid themselves of their caste by feigning amiable doubt, andignorance, and innocence. What they most fear is that they may carry ascent of the schools about with them, so they put on extremely Parisianairs, venture on somersaults and slang, and assume all the grace ofdancing bears in their eager desire to please. From that desire springthe sarcastic shafts which they aim at science, they who pretend thatthey know everything, but who go back to the belief of the humble, the_naive_ idealism of Biblical legends, just because they think the latterto be more distinguished. "

Francois began to laugh: "The portrait is perhaps a little overdrawn, "said he, "still there's truth in it, a great deal of truth. "

"I have known several of them, " continued Pierre, who was growinganimated. "And among them all I have noticed that a fear of being dupedleads them to reaction against the entire effort, the whole work of thecentury. Disgust with liberty, distrust of science, denial of the future, that is what they now profess. And they have such a horror of thecommonplace that they would rather believe in nothing or the incredible. It may of course be commonplace to say that two and two make four, yetit's true enough; and it is far less foolish for a man to say and repeatit than to believe, for instance, in the miracles of Lourdes. "

Francois glanced at the priest in astonishment. The other noticed it andstrove to restrain himself. Nevertheless, grief and anger carried himaway whenever he spoke of the educated young people of the time, such as, in his despair, he imagined them to be. In the same way as he had pitiedthe toilers dying of hunger in the districts of misery and want, so herehe overflowed with contempt for the young minds that lacked bravery inthe presence of knowledge, and harked back to the consolation ofdeceptive spirituality, the promise of an eternity of happiness in death, which last was longed for and exalted as the very sum of life. Was notthe cowardly thought of refusing to live for the sake of living so as todischarge one's simple duty in being and making one's effort, equivalentto absolute assassination of life? However, the _Ego_ was always themainspring; each one sought personal happiness. And Pierre was grieved tothink that those young people, instead of discarding the past andmarching on to the truths of the future, were relapsing into shadowymetaphysics through sheer weariness and idleness, due in part perhaps tothe excessive exertion of the century, which had been overladen withhuman toil. 

However, Francois had begun to smile again. "But you are mistaken, " saidhe; "we are not all like that at the Ecole Normale. You only seem to knowthe Normalians of the Section of Letters, and your opinions would surelychange if you knew those of the Section of Sciences. It is quite truethat the reaction against Positivism is making itself felt among ourliterary fellow-students, and that they, like others, are haunted by theidea of that famous bankruptcy of science. This is perhaps due to theirmasters, the neo-spiritualists and dogmatical rhetoricians into whosehands they have fallen. And it is still more due to fashion, the whim ofthe times which, as you have very well put it, regards scientific truthas bad taste, something graceless and altogether too brutal for light anddistinguished minds. Consequently, a young fellow of any shrewdness whodesires to please is perforce won over to the new spirit. "

"The new spirit!" interrupted Pierre, unable to restrain himself. "Oh!that is no mere innocent, passing fashion, it is a tactical device and aterrible one, an offensive return of the powers of darkness against thoseof light, of servitude against free thought, truth and justice. "

Then, as the young man again looked at him with growing astonishment, herelapsed into silence. The figure of Monseigneur Martha had risen beforehis eyes, and he fancied he could again hear the prelate at theMadeleine, striving to win Paris over to the policy of Rome, to thatspurious neo-Catholicism which, with the object of destroying democracyand science, accepted such portions of them as it could adapt to its ownviews. This was indeed the supreme struggle. Thence came all the poisonpoured forth to the young. Pierre knew what efforts were being made inreligious circles to help on this revival of mysticism, in the mad hopeof hastening the rout of science. Monseigneur Martha, who wasall-powerful at the Catholic University, said to his intimates, however, that three generations of devout and docile pupils would be needed beforethe Church would again be absolute sovereign of France. 

"Well, as for the Ecole Normale, " continued Francois, "I assure you thatyou are mistaken. There are a few narrow bigots there, no doubt. But evenin the Section of Letters the majority of the students are sceptics atbottom--sceptics of discreet and good-natured average views. Of coursethey are professors before everything else, though they are a trifleashamed of it; and, as professors, they judge things with no littlepedantic irony, devoured by a spirit of criticism, and quite incapable ofcreating anything themselves. I should certainly be astonished to see theman of genius whom we await come out of their ranks. To my thinking, indeed, it would be preferable that some barbarian genius, neither wellread nor endowed with critical faculty, or power of weighing and shadingthings, should come and open the next century with a hatchet stroke, sending up a fine flare of truth and reality.... But, as for mycomrades of the Scientific Section, I assure you that neo-Catholicism andMysticism and Occultism, and every other branch of the fashionablephantasmagoria trouble them very little indeed. They are not making areligion of science, they remain open to doubt on many points; but theyare mostly men of very clear and firm minds, whose passion is theacquirement of certainty, and who are ever absorbed in the investigationswhich continue throughout the whole vast field of human knowledge. Theyhaven't flinched, they have remained Positivists, or Evolutionists, orDeterminists, and have set their faith in observation and experiment tohelp on the final conquest of the world. "

Francois himself was growing excited, as he thus confessed his faithwhile strolling along the quiet sunlit garden paths. "The young indeed!"he resumed. "Do people know them? It makes us laugh when we see all sortsof apostles fighting for us, trying to attract us, and saying that we arewhite or black or grey, according to the hue which they require for thetriumph of their particular ideas! The young, the real ones, why, they'rein the schools, the laboratories and the libraries. It's they who workand who'll bring to-morrow to the world. It's not the young fellows ofdinner and supper clubs, manifestoes and all sorts of extravagances. Thelatter make a great deal of noise, no doubt; in fact, they alone areheard. But if you knew of the ceaseless efforts and passionate strivingof the others, those who remain silent, absorbed in their tasks. And Iknow many of them: they are with their century, they have rejected noneof its hopes, but are marching on to the coming century, resolved topursue the work of their forerunners, ever going towards more light andmore equity. And just speak to them of the bankruptcy of science. They'llshrug their shoulders at the mere idea, for they know well enough thatscience has never before inflamed so many hearts or achieved greaterconquests! It is only if the schools, laboratories and libraries wereclosed, and the social soil radically changed, that one would have causeto fear a fresh growth of error such as weak hearts and narrow minds holdso dear!"

At this point Francois's fine flow of eloquence was interrupted. A tallyoung fellow stopped to shake hands with him; and Pierre was surprised torecognise Baron Duvillard's son Hyacinthe, who bowed to him in verycorrect style. "What! you here in our old quarter, " exclaimed Francois. 

"My dear fellow, I'm going to Jonas's, over yonder, behind theObservatory. Don't you know Jonas? Ah! my dear fellow, he's a delightfulsculptor, who has succeeded in doing away with matter almost entirely. Hehas carved a figure of Woman, no bigger than the finger, and entirelysoul, free from all baseness of form, and yet complete. All Woman, indeed, in her essential symbolism! Ah! it's grand, it's overpowering. Aperfect scheme of aesthetics, a real religion!"

Francois smiled as he looked at Hyacinthe, buttoned up in his longpleated frock-coat, with his made-up face, and carefully cropped hair andbeard. "And yourself?" said he, "I thought you were working, and weregoing to publish a little poem, shortly?"

"Oh! the task of creating is so distasteful to me, my dear fellow! Asingle line often takes me weeks.... Still, yes, I have a little poemon hand, 'The End of Woman. ' And you see, I'm not so exclusive as somepeople pretend, since I admire Jonas, who still believes in Woman. Hisexcuse is sculpture, which, after all, is at best such a grossmaterialistic art. But in poetry, good heavens, how we've beenoverwhelmed with Woman, always Woman! It's surely time to drive her outof the temple, and cleanse it a little. Ah! if we were all pure and loftyenough to do without Woman, and renounce all those horrid sexualquestions, so that the last of the species might die childless, eh? Theworld would then at least finish in a clean and proper manner!"

Thereupon, Hyacinthe walked off with his languid air, well pleased withthe effect which he had produced on the others. 

"So you know him?" said Pierre to Francois. 

"He was my school-fellow at Condorcet, we were in the same classestogether. Such a funny fellow he was! A perfect dunce! And he was alwaysmaking a parade of Father Duvillard's millions, while pretending todisdain them, and act the revolutionist, for ever saying that he'd usehis cigarette to fire the cartridge which was to blow up the world! Hewas Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche, and Tolstoi, and Ibsen, rolled into one!And you can see what he has become with it all: a humbug with a diseasedmind!"

"It's a terrible symptom, " muttered Pierre, "when through _ennui_ orlassitude, or the contagion of destructive fury, the sons of the happyand privileged ones start doing the work of the demolishers. "

Francois had resumed his walk, going down towards the ornamental water, where some children were sailing their boats. "That fellow is simplygrotesque, " he replied; "but how would you have sane people give any heedto that mysticism, that awakening of spirituality which is alleged by thesame _doctrinaires_ who started the bankruptcy of science cry, when afterso brief an evolution it produces such insanity, both in art andliterature? A few years of influence have sufficed; and now Satanism, Occultism and other absurdities are flourishing; not to mention that, according to some accounts, the Cities of the Plains are reconciled withnew Rome. Isn't the tree judged by its fruits? And isn't it evident that, instead of a renascence, a far-spreading social movement bringing backthe past, we are simply witnessing a transitory reaction, which manythings explain? The old world would rather not die, and is struggling ina final convulsion, reviving for a last hour before it is swept away bythe overflowing river of human knowledge, whose waters ever increase. Andyonder, in the future, is the new world, which the real young ones willbring into existence, those who work, those who are not known, who arenot heard. And yet, just listen! Perhaps you will hear them, for we areamong them, in their 'quarter. ' This deep silence is that of the labourof all the young fellows who are leaning over their work-tables, and dayby day carrying forward the conquest of truth. "

So saying Francois waved his hand towards all the day-schools andcolleges and high schools beyond the Luxembourg garden, towards theFaculties of Law and Medicine, the Institute and its five Academies, theinnumerable libraries and museums which made up the broad domain ofintellectual labour. And Pierre, moved by it all, shaken in his theoriesof negation, thought that he could indeed hear a low but far-spreadingmurmur of the work of thousands of active minds, rising fromlaboratories, studies and class, reading and lecture rooms. It was notlike the jerky, breathless trepidation, the loud clamour of factorieswhere manual labour toils and chafes. But here, too, there were sighs ofweariness, efforts as killing, exertion as fruitful in its results. Wasit indeed true that the cultured young were still and ever in theirsilent forge, renouncing no hope, relinquishing no conquest, but in fullfreedom of mind forging the truth and justice of to-morrow with theinvincible hammers of observation and experiment?

Francois, however, had raised his eyes to the palace clock to ascertainthe time. "I'm going to Montmartre, " he said; "will you come part of theway with me?"

Pierre assented, particularly as the young man added that on his way hemeant to call for his brother Antoine at the Museum of the Louvre. Thatbright afternoon the Louvre picture galleries were steeped in warm anddignified quietude, which one particularly noticed on coming from thetumult and scramble of the streets. The majority of the few people onefound there were copyists working in deep silence, which only thewandering footsteps of an occasional tourist disturbed. Pierre andFrancois found Antoine at the end of the gallery assigned to thePrimitive masters. With scrupulous, almost devout care he was making adrawing of a figure by Mantegna. The Primitives did not impassion him byreason of any particular mysticism and ideality, such as fashion pretendsto find in them, but on the contrary, and justifiably enough, by reasonof the sincerity of their ingenuous realism, their respect and modesty inpresence of nature, and the minute fidelity with which they sought totranscribe it. He spent days of hard work in copying and studying them, in order to learn strictness and probity of drawing from them--all thatlofty distinction of style which they owe to their candour as honestartists. 

Pierre was struck by the pure glow which a sitting of good hard work hadset in Antoine's light blue eyes. It imparted warmth and evenfeverishness to his fair face, which was usually all dreaminess andgentleness. His lofty forehead now truly looked like a citadel armed forthe conquest of truth and beauty. He was only eighteen, and his story wassimply this: as he had grown disgusted with classical studies and beenmastered by a passion for drawing, his father had let him leave the LyceeCondorcet when he was in the third class there. Some little time had thenelapsed while he felt his way and the deep originality within him wasbeing evolved. He had tried etching on copper, but had soon come to woodengraving, and had attached himself to it in spite of the discredit intowhich it had fallen, lowered as it had been to the level of a mere trade. Was there not here an entire art to restore and enlarge? For his own parthe dreamt of engraving his own drawings, of being at once the brain whichconceives and the hand which executes, in such wise as to obtain neweffects of great intensity both as regards perception and touch. Tocomply with the wishes of his father, who desired each of his sons tohave a trade, he earned his bread like other engravers by working for theillustrated newspapers. But, in addition to this current work, he hadalready engraved several blocks instinct with wonderful power and life. They were simply copies of real things, scenes of everyday existence, butthey were accentuated, elevated so to say, by the essential line, with amaestria which on the part of so young a lad fairly astonished one. 

"Do you want to engrave that?" Francois asked him, as he placed his copyof Mantegna's figure in his portfolio. 

"Oh! no, that's merely a dip into innocence, a good lesson to teach oneto be modest and sincere. Life is very different nowadays. "

Then, while walking along the streets--for Pierre, who felt growingsympathy for the two young fellows, went with them in the direction ofMontmartre, forgetful of all else, --Antoine, who was beside him, spokeexpansively of his artistic dreams. 

"Colour is certainly a power, a sovereign source of charm, and one may, indeed, say that without colour nothing can be completely represented. Yet, singularly enough, it isn't indispensable to me. It seems to me thatI can picture life as intensely and definitely with mere black and white, and I even fancy that I shall be able to do so in a more essentialmanner, without any of the dupery which lies in colour. But what a taskit is! I should like to depict the Paris of to-day in a few scenes, a fewtypical figures, which would serve as testimony for all time. And Ishould like to do it with great fidelity and candour, for an artist onlylives by reason of his candour, his humility and steadfast belief inNature, which is ever beautiful. I've already done a few figures, I willshow them to you. But ah! if I only dared to tackle my blocks with thegraver, at the outset, without drawing my subject beforehand. For thatgenerally takes away one's fire. However, what I do with the pencil is amere sketch; for with the graver I may come upon a find, some unexpectedstrength or delicacy of effect. And so I'm draughtsman and engraver allin one, in such a way that my blocks can only be turned out by myself. Ifthe drawings on them were engraved by another, they would be quitelifeless.... Yes, life can spring from the fingers just as well asfrom the brain, when one really possesses creative power. "

They walked on, and when they found themselves just below Montmartre, andPierre spoke of taking a tramcar to return to Neuilly, Antoine, quitefeverish with artistic passion, asked him if he knew Jahan, the sculptor, who was working for the Sacred Heart. And on receiving a negative reply, he added: "Well, come and see him for a moment. He has a great futurebefore him. You'll see an angel of his which has been declined. "

Then, as Francois began to praise the angel in question, Pierre agreed toaccompany them. On the summit of the height, among all the sheds whichthe building of the basilica necessitated, Jahan had been able to set upa glazed workshop large enough for the huge angel ordered of him. Histhree visitors found him there in a blouse, watching a couple ofassistants, who were rough-hewing the block of stone whence the angel wasto emerge. Jahan was a sturdy man of thirty-six, with dark hair andbeard, a large, ruddy mouth and fine bright eyes. Born in Paris, he hadstudied at the Fine Art School, but his impetuous temperament hadconstantly landed him in trouble there. 

"Ah! yes, " said he, "you've come to see my angel, the one which theArchbishop wouldn't take. Well, there it is. "

The clay model of the figure, some three feet high, and already drying, looked superb in its soaring posture, with its large, outspread wingsexpanding as if with passionate desire for the infinite. The body, barelydraped, was that of a slim yet robust youth, whose face beamed with therapture of his heavenly flight. 

"They found him too human, " said Jahan. "And after all they were right. There's nothing so difficult to conceive as an angel. One even hesitatesas to the sex; and when faith is lacking one has to take the first modelone finds and copy it and spoil it. For my part, while I was modellingthat one, I tried to imagine a beautiful youth suddenly endowed withwings, and carried by the intoxication of his flight into all the joy ofthe sunshine. But it upset them, they wanted something more religious, they said; and so then I concocted that wretched thing over there. Afterall, one has to earn one's living, you know. "

So saying, he waved his hand towards another model, the one for which hisassistants were preparing the stone. And this model represented an angelof the correct type, with symmetrical wings like those of a goose, afigure of neither sex, and commonplace features, expressing the sillyecstasy that tradition requires. 

"What would you have?" continued Jahan. "Religious art has sunk to themost disgusting triteness. People no longer believe; churches are builtlike barracks, and decorated with saints and virgins fit to make oneweep. The fact is that genius is only the fruit of the social soil; and agreat artist can only send up a blaze of the faith of the time he livesin. For my part, I'm the grandson of a Beauceron peasant. My father cameto Paris to set himself up in business as a marble worker for tombstonesand so forth, just at the top of the Rue de la Roquette. It was there Igrew up. I began as a workman, and all my childhood was spent among themasses, in the streets, without ever a thought coming to me of settingfoot in a church. So few Parisians think of doing so nowadays. And sowhat's to become of art since there's no belief in the Divinity or evenin beauty? We're forced to go forward to the new faith, which is thefaith in life and work and fruitfulness, in all that labours andproduces. "

Then suddenly breaking off he exclaimed: "By the way, I've been doingsome more work to my figure of Fecundity, and I'm fairly well pleasedwith it. Just come with me and I'll show it you. "

Thereupon he insisted on taking them to his private studio, which wasnear by, just below Guillaume's little house. It was entered by way ofthe Rue du Calvaire, a street which is simply a succession of ladder-likeflights of steps. The door opened on to one of the little landings, andone found oneself in a spacious, well-lighted apartment littered withmodels and casts, fragments and figures, quite an overflow of sturdy, powerful talent. On a stool was the unfinished model of Fecundity swathedin wet cloths. These Jahan removed, and then she stood forth with herrounded figure, her broad hips and her wifely, maternal bosom, full ofthe milk which nourishes and redeems. 

"Well, what do you think of her?" asked Jahan. "Built as she is, I fancythat her children ought to be less puny than the pale, languid, aestheticfellows of nowadays!"

While Antoine and Francois were admiring the figure, Pierre, for hispart, took most interest in a young girl who had opened the door to them, and who had now wearily reseated herself at a little table to continue abook she was reading. This was Jahan's sister, Lise. A score of yearsyounger than himself, she was but sixteen, and had been living alone withhim since their father's death. Very slight and delicate looking, she hada most gentle face, with fine light hair which suggested pale gold-dust. She was almost a cripple, with legs so weak that she only walked withdifficulty, and her mind also was belated, still full of childish_naivete_. At first this had much saddened her brother, but with time hehad grown accustomed to her innocence and languor. Busy as he always was, ever in a transport, overflowing with new plans, he somewhat neglectedher by force of circumstances, letting her live beside him much as shelisted. 

Pierre had noticed, however, the sisterly impulsiveness with which shehad greeted Antoine. And the latter, after congratulating Jahan on hisstatue, came and sat down beside her, questioned her and wished to seethe book which she was reading. During the last six months the most pureand affectionate intercourse had sprung up between them. He, from hisfather's garden, up yonder on the Place du Tertre, could see her throughthe huge window of that studio where she led so innocent a life. Andnoticing that she was always alone, as if forsaken, he had begun to takean interest in her. Then had come acquaintance; and, delighted to findher so simple and so charming, he had conceived the design of rousing herto intelligence and life, by loving her, by becoming at once the mind andthe heart whose power fructifies. Weak plant that she was, in need ofdelicate care, sunshine and affection, he became for her all that herbrother had, through circumstances, failed to be. He had already taughther to read, a task in which every mistress had previously failed. Buthim she listened to and understood. And by slow degrees a glow ofhappiness came to the beautiful clear eyes set in her irregular face. Itwas love's miracle, the creation of woman beneath the breath of a younglover who gave himself entirely. No doubt she still remained verydelicate, with such poor health that one ever feared that she mightexpire in a faint sigh; and her legs, moreover, were still too weak toadmit of her walking any distance. But all the same, she was no longerthe little wilding, the little ailing flower of the previous spring. 

Jahan, who marvelled at the incipient miracle, drew near to the youngpeople. "Ah!" said he, "your pupil does you honour. She reads quitefluently, you know, and understands the fine books you send her. You readto me of an evening now, don't you, Lise?"

She raised her candid eyes, and gazed at Antoine with a smile of infinitegratitude. "Oh! whatever he'll teach me, " she said, "I'll learn it, anddo it. "

The others laughed gently. Then, as the visitors were going off, Francoispaused before a model which had cracked while drying. "Oh! that's aspoilt thing, " said the sculptor. "I wanted to model a figure of Charity. It was ordered of me by a philanthropic institution. But try as I might, I could only devise something so commonplace that I let the clay spoil. Still, I must think it over and endeavour to take the matter in handagain. "

When they were outside, it occurred to Pierre to go as far as thebasilica of the Sacred Heart in the hope of finding Abbe Rose there. Sothe three of them went round by way of the Rue Gabrielle and climbed thesteps of the Rue Chape. And just as they were reaching the summit wherethe basilica reared its forest of scaffoldings beneath the clear sky, they encountered Thomas, who, on leaving the factory, had gone to give anorder to a founder in the Rue Lamarck. 

He, who as a rule was so silent and discreet, now happened to be in anexpansive mood, which made him look quite radiant. "Ah! I'm so pleased, "he said, addressing Pierre; "I fancy that I've found what I want for ourlittle motor. Tell father that things are going on all right, and that hemust make haste to get well. "

At these words his brothers, Francois and Antoine, drew close to him witha common impulse. And they stood there all three, a valiant little group, their hearts uniting and beating with one and the same delight at theidea that their father would be gladdened, that the good news they weresending him would help him towards recovery. As for Pierre, who, now thathe knew them, was beginning to love them and judge them at their worth, he marvelled at the sight of these three young giants, each so strikinglylike the other, and drawn together so closely and so promptly, directlytheir filial affection took fire. 

"Tell him that we are waiting for him, and will come to him at the firstsign if we are wanted. "

Then each in turn shook the priest's hand vigorously. And while heremained watching them as they went off towards the little house, whosegarden he perceived over the wall of the Rue Saint Eleuthere, he fanciedhe could there detect a delicate silhouette, a white, sunlit face under ahelp of dark hair. It was doubtless the face of Marie, examining the budson her lilac bushes. At that evening hour, however, the diffuse light wasso golden that the vision seemed to fade in it as in a halo. And Pierre, feeling dazzled, turned his head, and on the other side saw naught butthe overwhelming, chalky mass of the basilica, whose hugeness shut outall view of the horizon. 

For a moment he remained motionless on that spot, so agitated byconflicting thoughts and feelings that he could read neither heart normind clearly. Then, as he turned towards the city, all Paris spreaditself out at his feet, a limpid, lightsome Paris, beneath the pink glowof that spring-like evening. The endless billows of house-roofs showedforth with wonderful distinctness, and one could have counted the chimneystacks and the little black streaks of the windows by the million. Theedifices rising into the calm atmosphere seemed like the anchored vesselsof some fleet arrested in its course, with lofty masting which glitteredat the sun's farewell. And never before had Pierre so distinctly observedthe divisions of that human ocean. Eastward and northward was the city ofmanual toil, with the rumbling and the smoke of its factories. Southward, beyond the river, was the city of study, of intellectual labour, so calm, so perfectly serene. And on all sides the passion of trade ascended fromthe central districts, where the crowds rolled and scrambled amidst aneverlasting uproar of wheels; while westward, the city of the happy andpowerful ones, those who fought for sovereignty and wealth, spread outits piles of palaces amidst the slowly reddening flare of the decliningplanet. 

And then, from the depths of his negation, the chaos into which his lossof faith had plunged him, Pierre felt a delicious freshness pass like thevague advent of a new faith. So vague it was that he could not haveexpressed even his hope of it in words. But already among the roughfactory workers, manual toil had appeared to him necessary andredemptive, in spite of all the misery and abominable injustice to whichit led. And now the young men of intellect of whom he had despaired, thatgeneration of the morrow which he had thought spoilt, relapsing intoancient error and rottenness, had appeared to him full of virile promise, resolved to prosecute the work of those who had gone before, and effect, by the aid of Science only, the conquest of absolute truth and absolutejustice. 

V. PROBLEMS

A FULL month had already gone by since Guillaume had taken refuge at hisbrother's little house at Neuilly. His wrist was now nearly healed. Hehad long ceased to keep his bed, and often strolled through the garden. In spite of his impatience to go back to Montmartre, join his loved onesand resume his work there, he was each morning prompted to defer hisreturn by the news he found in the newspapers. The situation was ever thesame. Salvat, whom the police now suspected, had been perceived oneevening near the central markets, and then again lost sight of. Everyday, however, his arrest was said to be imminent. And in that case whatwould happen? Would he speak out, and would fresh perquisitions be made?

For a whole week the press had been busy with the bradawl found under theentrance of the Duvillard mansion. Nearly every reporter in Paris hadcalled at the Grandidier factory and interviewed both workmen and master. Some had even started on personal investigations, in the hope ofcapturing the culprit themselves. There was no end of jesting about theincompetence of the police, and the hunt for Salvat was followed all themore passionately by the general public, as the papers overflowed withthe most ridiculous concoctions, predicting further explosions, anddeclaring even that all Paris would some morning be blown into the air. The "Voix du Peuple" set a fresh shudder circulating every day by itsannouncements of threatening letters, incendiary placards and mysterious, far-reaching plots. And never before had so base and foolish a spirit ofcontagion wafted insanity through a civilised city. 

Guillaume, for his part, no sooner awoke of a morning than he was allimpatience to see the newspapers, quivering at the idea that he would atlast read of Salvat's arrest. In his state of nervous expectancy, thewild campaign which the press had started, the idiotic and the ferociousthings which he found in one or another journal, almost drove him crazy. A number of "suspects" had already been arrested in a kind of chancerazzia, which had swept up the usual Anarchist herd, together with sundryhonest workmen and bandits, _illumines_ and lazy devils, in fact, a mostsingular, motley crew, which investigating magistrate Amadieu wasendeavouring to turn into a gigantic association of evil-doers. Onemorning, moreover, Guillaume found his own name mentioned in connectionwith a perquisition at the residence of a revolutionary journalist, whowas a friend of his. At this his heart bounded with revolt, but he wasforced to the conclusion that it would be prudent for him to remainpatient a little longer, in his peaceful retreat at Neuilly, since thepolice might at any moment break into his home at Montmartre, to arresthim should it find him there. 

Amidst all this anxiety the brothers led a most solitary and gentle life. Pierre himself now spent most of his time at home. The first days ofMarch had come, and precocious springtide imparted delightful charm andwarmth to the little garden. Guillaume, however, since quitting his bed, had more particularly installed himself in his father's old laboratory, now transformed into a spacious study. All the books and papers left bythe illustrious chemist were still there, and among the latter Guillaumefound a number of unfinished essays, the perusal of which greatly excitedhis interest, and often absorbed him from morning till night. It was thiswhich largely enabled him to bear his voluntary seclusion patiently. Seated on the other side of the big table, Pierre also mostly occupiedhimself with reading; but at times his eyes would quit his book andwander away into gloomy reverie, into all the chaos into which he stilland ever sank. For long hours the brothers would in this wise remain sideby side, without speaking a word. Yet they knew they were together; andoccasionally, when their eyes met, they would exchange a smile. Thestrong affection of former days was again springing up within them; theirchildhood, their home, their parents, all seemed to live once more in thequiet atmosphere they breathed. However, the bay window overlooked thegarden in the direction of Paris, and often, when they emerged from theirreading or their reverie, it was with a sudden feeling of anxiety, and inorder to lend ear to the distant rumbling, the increased clamour of thegreat city. 

On other occasions they paused as if in astonishment at hearing acontinuous footfall overhead. It was that of Nicholas Barthes, who stilllingered in the room above. He seldom came downstairs, and scarcely everventured into the garden, for fear, said he, that he might be perceivedand recognised from a distant house whose windows were concealed by aclump of trees. One might laugh at the old conspirator's haunting thoughtof the police. Nevertheless, the caged-lion restlessness, the ceaselesspromenade of that perpetual prisoner who had spent two thirds of his lifein the dungeons of France in his desire to secure the liberty of others, imparted to the silence of the little house a touching melancholy, thevery rhythm as it were of all the great good things which one hoped for, but which would never perhaps come. 

Very few visits drew the brothers from their solitude. Bertheroy cameless frequently now that Guillaume's wrist was healing. The mostassiduous caller was certainly Theophile Morin, whose discreet ring washeard every other day at the same hour. Though he did not share the ideasof Barthes he worshipped him as a martyr; and would always go upstairs tospend an hour with him. However, they must have exchanged few words, fornot a sound came from the room. Whenever Morin sat down for a moment inthe laboratory with the brothers, Pierre was struck by his seemingweariness, his ashen grey hair and beard and dismal countenance, all thelife of which appeared to have been effaced by long years spent in theteaching profession. Indeed, it was only when the priest mentioned Italythat he saw his companion's resigned eyes blaze up like live coals. Oneday when he spoke of the great patriot Orlando Prada, Morin's companionof victory in Garibaldi's days, he was amazed by the sudden flare ofenthusiasm which lighted up the other's lifeless features. However, thesewere but transient flashes: the old professor soon reappeared, and allthat one found in Morin was the friend of Proudhon and the subsequentdisciple of Auguste Comte. Of his Proudhonian principles he had retainedall a pauper's hatred of wealth, and a desire for a more equitablepartition of fortune. But the new times dismayed him, and neitherprinciple nor temperament allowed him to follow Revolutionism to itsutmost limits. Comte had imparted unshakable convictions to him in thesphere of intellectual questions, and he contented himself with the clearand decisive logic of Positivism, rejecting all metaphysical hypothesesas useless, persuaded as he was that the whole human question, whethersocial or religious, would be solved by science alone. This faith, firmas it had remained, was, however, coupled with secret bitterness, fornothing seemed to advance in a sensible manner towards its goal. Comtehimself had ended in the most cloudy mysticism; great _savants_ recoiledfrom truth in terror; and now barbarians were threatening the world withfresh night; all of which made Morin almost a reactionist in politics, already resigned to the advent of a dictator, who would set thingssomewhat in order, so that humanity might be able to complete itseducation. 

Other visitors who occasionally called to see Guillaume were Bache andJanzen, who invariably came together and at night-time. Every now andthen they would linger chatting with Guillaume in the spacious studyuntil two o'clock in the morning. Bache, who was fat and had a fatherlyair, with his little eyes gently beaming amidst all the snowy whitenessof his hair and beard, would talk on slowly, unctuously and interminably, as soon as he had begun to explain his views. He would address merely apolite bow to Saint-Simon, the initiator, the first to lay down the lawthat work was a necessity for one and all according to their capacities;but on coming to Fourier his voice softened and he confessed his wholereligion. To his thinking, Fourier had been the real messiah of moderntimes, the saviour of genius, who had sown the good seed of the futureworld, by regulating society such as it would certainly be organisedto-morrow. The law of harmony had been promulgated; human passions, liberated and utilised in healthy fashion, would become the requisitemachinery; and work, rendered pleasant and attractive, would prove thevery function of life. Nothing could discourage Bache; if merely oneparish began by transforming itself into a _phalansterium_, the wholedepartment would soon follow, then the adjacent departments, and finallyall France. Moreover, Bache even favoured the schemes of Cabet, whoseIcaria, said he, had in no wise been such a foolish idea. Further, herecalled a motion he had made, when member of the Commune in 1871, toapply Fourier's ideas to the French Republic; and he was apparentlyconvinced that the troops of Versailles had delayed the triumph ofCommunism for half a century. Whenever people nowadays talked oftable-turning he pretended to laugh, but at bottom he had remained animpenitent "spiritist. " Since he had been a municipal councillor he hadbeen travelling from one socialist sect to another, according as theirideas offered points of resemblance to his old faith. And he was fairlyconsumed by his need of faith, his perplexity as to the Divine, which hewas now occasionally inclined to find in the legs of some piece offurniture, after denying its presence in the churches. 

Janzen, for his part, was as taciturn as his friend Bache was garrulous. Such remarks as he made were brief, but they were as galling as lashes, as cutting as sabre-strokes. At the same time his ideas and theoriesremained somewhat obscure, partly by reason of this brevity of his, andpartly on account of the difficulty he experienced in expressing himselfin French. He was from over yonder, from some far-away land--Russia, Poland, Austria or Germany, nobody exactly knew; and it mattered little, for he certainly acknowledged no country, but wandered far and wide withhis dream of blood-shedding fraternity. Whenever, with his wontedfrigidity, he gave utterance to one of those terrible remarks of hiswhich, like a scythe in a meadow, cut away all before him, little lessthan the necessity of thus mowing down nations, in order to sow the earthafresh with a young and better community, became apparent. At eachproposition unfolded by Bache, such as labour rendered agreeable bypolice regulations, _phalansteria_ organised like barracks, religiontransformed into pantheist or spiritist deism, he gently shrugged hisshoulders. What could be the use of such childishness, such hypocriticalrepairing, when the house was falling and the only honest course was tothrow it to the ground, and build up the substantial edifice of to-morrowwith entirely new materials? On the subject of propaganda by deeds, bomb-throwing and so forth, he remained silent, though his gestures wereexpressive of infinite hope. He evidently approved that course. Thelegend which made him one of the perpetrators of the crime of Barcelonaset a gleam of horrible glory in his mysterious past. One day when Bache, while speaking to him of his friend Bergaz, the shadowy Bourse jobber whohad already been compromised in some piece of thieving, plainly declaredthat the aforesaid Bergaz was a bandit, Janzen contented himself withsmiling, and replying quietly that theft was merely forced restitution. Briefly, in this man of culture and refinement, in whose own mysteriouslife one might perhaps have found various crimes but not a single act ofbase improbity, one could divine an implacable, obstinate theoretician, who was resolved to set the world ablaze for the triumph of his ideas. 

On certain evenings when a visit from Theophile Morin coincided with onefrom Bache and Janzen, and they and Guillaume lingered chatting until farinto the night, Pierre would listen to them in despair from the shadowycorner where he remained motionless, never once joining in thediscussions. Distracted, by his own unbelief and thirst for truth, he hadat the outset taken a passionate interest in these debates, desirous ashe was of drawing up a balance-sheet of the century's ideas, so as toform some notion of the distance that had been travelled, and the profitsthat had accrued. But he recoiled from all this in fresh despair, onhearing the others argue, each from his own standpoint and withoutpossibility of concession and agreement. After the repulses he hadencountered at Lourdes and Rome, he well realised that in this freshexperiment which he was making with Paris, the whole brain of the centurywas in question, the new truths, the expected gospel which was to changethe face of the world. And, burning with inconsiderate zeal, he went fromone belief to another, which other he soon rejected in order to adopt athird. If he had first felt himself to be a Positivist with Morin, anEvolutionist and Determinist with Guillaume, he had afterwards beentouched by the fraternal dream of a new golden age which he had found inBache's humanitarian Communism. And indeed even Janzen had momentarilyshaken him by his fierce confidence in the theory of liberativeIndividualism. But afterwards he had found himself out of his depth; andeach and every theory had seemed to him but part of the chaoticcontradictions and incoherences of humanity on its march. It was all acontinuous piling up of dross, amidst which he lost himself. AlthoughFourier had sprung from Saint-Simon he denied him in part; and ifSaint-Simon's doctrine ended in a kind of mystical sensuality, theother's conducted to an unacceptable regimenting of society. Proudhon, for his part, demolished without rebuilding anything. Comte, who createdmethod and declared science to be the one and only sovereign, had noteven suspected the advent of the social crisis which now threatened tosweep all away, and had finished personally as a mere worshipper of love, overpowered by woman. Nevertheless, these two, Comte and Proudhon, entered the lists and fought against the others, Fourier and Saint-Simon;the combat between them or their disciples becoming so bitter and soblind that the truths common to them all were obscured and disfiguredbeyond recognition. Thence came the extraordinary muddle of the presenthour; Bache with Saint-Simon and Fourier, and Morin with Proudhon andComte, utterly failing to understand Mege, the Collectivist deputy, whomthey held up to execration, him and his State Collectivism, in the sameway, moreover, as they thundered against all the other present-timeSocialist sects, without realising that these also, whatever theirnature, had more or less sprung from the same masters as themselves. Andall this seemingly indicated that Janzen was right when he declared thatthe house was past repair, fast crumbling amidst rottenness and insanity, and that it ought to be levelled to the ground. 

One night, after the three visitors had gone, Pierre, who had remainedwith Guillaume, saw him grow very gloomy as he slowly walked to and fro. He, in his turn, had doubtless felt that all was crumbling. And thoughhis brother alone was there to hear him, he went on speaking. Heexpressed all his horror of the Collectivist State as imagined by Mege, aDictator-State re-establishing ancient servitude on yet closer lines. Theerror of all the Socialist sects was their arbitrary organisation ofLabour, which enslaved the individual for the profit of the community. And, forced to conciliate the two great currents, the rights of societyand the rights of the individual, Guillaume had ended by placing hiswhole faith in free Communism, an anarchical state in which he dreamt ofseeing the individual freed, moving and developing without restraint, forthe benefit both of himself and of all others. Was not this, said he, theone truly scientific theory, unities creating worlds, atoms producinglife by force of attraction, free and ardent love? All oppressiveminorities would disappear; and the faculties and energies of one and allwould by free play arrive at harmony amidst the equilibrium--whichchanged according to needs--of the active forces of advancing humanity. In this wise he pictured a nation, saved from State tutelage, without amaster, almost without laws, a happy nation, each citizen of which, completely developed by the exercise of liberty, would, of his free will, come to an understanding with his neighbours with regard to the thousandnecessities of life. And thence would spring society, free association, hundreds of associations which would regulate social life; though at thesame time they would remain variable, in fact often opposed and hostileto one another. For progress is but the fruit of conflict and struggle;the world has only been created by the battle of opposing forces. Andthat was all; there would be no more oppressors, no more rich, no morepoor; the domain of the earth with its natural treasures and itsimplements of labour would be restored to the people, its legitimateowners, who would know how to enjoy it with justice and logic, whennothing abnormal would impede their expansion. And then only would thelaw of love make its action felt; then would human solidarity, which, among mankind, is the living form of universal attraction, acquire allits power, bringing men closer and closer together, and uniting them inone sole family. A splendid dream it was--the noble and pure dream ofabsolute freedom--free man in free society. And thither a _savant's_superior mind was fated to come after passing on the road the manySocialist sects which one and all bore the stigma of tyranny. And, assuredly, as thus indulged, the Anarchist idea is the loftiest, theproudest, of all ideas. And how delightful to yield to the hope ofharmony in life--life which restored to the full exercise of its naturalpowers would of itself create happiness!

When Guillaume ceased speaking, he seemed to be emerging from a dream;and he glanced at Pierre with some dismay, for he feared that he mighthave said too much and have hurt his feelings. Pierre--moved though hewas, for a moment in fact almost won over--had just seen the terriblepractical objection, which destroyed all hope, arise before his mind'seye. Why had not harmony asserted itself in the first days of the world'sexistence, at the time when societies were formed? How was it thattyranny had triumphed, delivering nations over to oppressors? Andsupposing that the apparently insolvable problem of destroyingeverything, and beginning everything afresh, should ever be solved, whocould promise that mankind, obedient to the same laws, would not againfollow the same paths as formerly? After all, mankind, nowadays, issimply what life has made it; and nothing proves that life would againmake it other than it is. To begin afresh, ah, yes! but to attain anotherresult! But could that other result really come from man? Was it notrather man himself who should be changed? To start afresh from where onewas, to continue the evolution that had begun, undoubtedly meant slowtravel and dismal waiting. But how great would be the danger and even thedelay, if one went back without knowing by what road across the wholechaos of ruins one might regain all the lost time!

"Let us go to bed, " at last said Guillaume, smiling. "It's silly of me toweary you with all these things which don't concern you. "

Pierre, in his excitement, was about to reveal his own heart and mind, and the whole torturing battle within him. But a feeling of shame againrestrained him. His brother only knew him as a believing priest, faithfulto his faith. And so, without answering, he betook himself to his room. 

On the following evening, about ten o'clock, while Guillaume and Pierresat reading in the study, the old servant entered to announce M. Janzenand a friend. The friend was Salvat. 

"He wished to see you, " Janzen explained to Guillaume. "I met him, andwhen he heard of your injury and anxiety he implored me to bring himhere. And I've done so, though it was perhaps hardly prudent of me. "

Guillaume had risen, full of surprise and emotion at such a visit;Pierre, however, though equally upset by Salvat's appearance; did notstir from his chair, but kept his eyes upon the workman. 

"Monsieur Froment, " Salvat ended by saying, standing there in a timid, embarrassed way, "I was very sorry indeed when I heard of the worry I'dput you in; for I shall never forget that you were very kind to me wheneverybody else turned me away. "

As he spoke he balanced himself alternately on either leg, andtransferred his old felt hat from hand to hand. 

"And so I wanted to come and tell you myself that if I took a cartridgeof your powder one evening when you had your back turned, it's the onlything that I feel any remorse about in the whole business, since it maycompromise you. And I also want to take my oath before you that you'venothing to fear from me, that I'll let my head be cut off twenty times ifneed be, rather than utter your name. That's all that I had in my heart. "

He relapsed into silence and embarrassment, but his soft, dreamy eyes, the eyes of a faithful dog, remained fixed upon Guillaume with anexpression of respectful worship. And Pierre was still gazing at himathwart the hateful vision which his arrival had conjured up, that of thepoor, dead, errand girl, the fair pretty child lying ripped open underthe entrance of the Duvillard mansion! Was it possible that he was there, he, that madman, that murderer, and that his eyes were actually moist!

Guillaume, touched by Salvat's words, had drawn near and pressed hishand. "I am well aware, Salvat, " said he, "that you are not wicked atheart. But what a foolish and abominable thing you did!"

Salvat showed no sign of anger, but gently smiled. "Oh! if it had to bedone again, Monsieur Froment, I'd do it. It's my idea, you know. And, apart from you, all is well; I am content. "

He would not sit down, but for another moment continued talking withGuillaume, while Janzen, as if he washed his hands of the business, deeming this visit both useless and dangerous, sat down and turned overthe leaves of a picture book. And Guillaume made Salvat tell him what hehad done on the day of the crime; how like a stray dog he had wandered indistraction through Paris, carrying his bomb with him, originally in histool-bag and then under his jacket; how he had gone a first time to theDuvillard mansion and found its carriage entrance closed; then how he hadbetaken himself first to the Chamber of Deputies which the ushers hadprevented him from entering, and afterwards to the Circus, where thethought of making a great sacrifice of _bourgeois_ had occurred to himtoo late. And finally, how he had at last come back to the Duvillardmansion, as if drawn thither by the very power of destiny. His tool-bagwas lying in the depths of the Seine, he said; he had thrown it into thewater with sudden hatred of work, since it had even failed to give himbread. And he next told the story of his flight; the explosion shakingthe whole district behind him, while, with delight and astonishment, hefound himself some distance off, in quiet streets where nothing was asyet known. And for a month past he had been living in chance fashion, howor where he could hardly tell, but he had often slept in the open, andgone for a day without food. One evening little Victor Mathis had givenhim five francs. And other comrades had helped him, taken him in for anight and sent him off at the first sign of peril. A far-spreading, tacitcomplicity had hitherto saved him from the police. As for going abroad, well, he had, at one moment, thought of doing so; but a description ofhis person must have been circulated, the gendarmes must be waiting forhim at the frontiers, and so would not flight, instead of retarding, rather hasten his arrest? Paris, however, was an ocean; it was there thathe incurred the least risk of capture. Moreover, he no longer hadsufficient energy to flee. A fatalist as he was after his own fashion, hecould not find strength to quit the pavements of Paris, but there awaitedarrest, like a social waif carried chancewise through the multitude as ina dream. 

"And your daughter, little Celine?" Guillaume inquired. "Have youventured to go back to see her?"

Salvat waved his hand in a vague way. "No, but what would you have? She'swith Mamma Theodore. Women always find some help. And then I'm done for, I can do nothing for anybody. It's as if I were already dead. " However, in spite of these words, tears were rising to his eyes. "Ah! the poorlittle thing!" he added, "I kissed her with all my heart before I wentaway. If she and the woman hadn't been starving so long the idea of thatbusiness would perhaps never have come to me. "

Then, in all simplicity, he declared that he was ready to die. If he hadended by depositing his bomb at the entrance of Duvillard's house, it wasbecause he knew the banker well, and was aware that he was the wealthiestof those _bourgeois_ whose fathers at the time of the Revolution hadduped the people, by taking all power and wealth for themselves, --thepower and wealth which the sons were nowadays so obstinately bent inretaining that they would not even bestow the veriest crumbs on others. As for the Revolution, he understood it in his own fashion, like anilliterate fellow who had learnt the little he knew from newspapers andspeeches at public meetings. And he struck his chest with his fist as hespoke of his honesty, and was particularly desirous that none shoulddoubt his courage because he had fled. 

"I've never robbed anybody, " said he, "and if I don't go and hand myselfup to the police, it's because they may surely take the trouble to findand arrest me. I'm very well aware that my affair's clear enough asthey've found that bradawl and know me. All the same, it would be sillyof me to help them in their work. Still, they'd better make haste, forI've almost had enough of being tracked like a wild beast and no longerknowing how I live. "

Janzen, yielding to curiosity, had ceased turning over the leaves of thepicture book and was looking at Salvat. There was a smile of disdain inthe Anarchist leader's cold eyes; and in his usual broken French heremarked: "A man fights and defends himself, kills others and tries toavoid being killed himself. That's warfare. "

These words fell from his lips amidst deep silence. Salvat, however, didnot seem to have heard them, but stammered forth his faith in a longsentence laden with fulsome expressions, such as the sacrifice of hislife in order that want might cease, and the example of a great action, in the certainty that it would inspire other heroes to continue thestruggle. And with this certainly sincere faith and illuminism of histhere was blended a martyr's pride, delight at being one of the radiant, worshipped saints of the dawning Revolutionary Church. 

As he had come so he went off. When Janzen had led him away, it seemed asif the night which had brought him had carried him back into itsimpenetrable depths. And then only did Pierre rise from his chair. He wasstifling, and threw the large window of the room wide open. It was a verymild but moonless night, whose silence was only disturbed by thesubsiding clamour of Paris, which stretched away, invisible, on thehorizon. 

Guillaume, according to his habit, had begun to walk up and down. And atlast he spoke, again forgetting that his brother was a priest. "Ah! thepoor fellow! How well one can understand that deed of violence and hope!His whole past life of fruitless labour and ever-growing want explainsit. Then, too, there has been all the contagion of ideas; thefrequentation of public meetings where men intoxicate themselves withwords, and of secret meetings among comrades where faith acquiresfirmness and the mind soars wildly. Ah! I think I know that man wellindeed! He's a good workman, sober and courageous. Injustice has alwaysexasperated him. And little by little the desire for universal happinesshas cast him out of the realities of life which he has ended by holdingin horror. So how can he do otherwise than live in a dream--a dream ofredemption, which, from circumstances, has turned to fire and murder asits fitting instruments. As I looked at him standing there, I fancied Icould picture one of the first Christian slaves of ancient Rome. All theiniquity of olden pagan society, agonising beneath the rottenness born ofdebauchery and covetousness, was weighing on his shoulders, bearing himdown. He had come from the dark Catacombs where he had whispered words ofdeliverance and redemption with his wretched brethren. And a thirst formartyrdom consumed him, he spat in the face of Caesar, he insulted thegods, he fired the pagan temples, in order that the reign of Jesus mightcome and abolish servitude. And he was ready to die, to be torn to piecesby the wild beasts!"

Pierre did not immediately reply. He had already been struck, however, bythe fact that there were undoubted points of resemblance between thesecret propaganda and militant faith of the Anarchists, and certainpractices of the first Christians. Both sects abandon themselves to a newfaith in the hope that the humble may thereby at last reap justice. Paganism disappears through weariness of the flesh and the need of a morelofty and pure faith. That dream of a Christian paradise opening up afuture life with a system of compensations for the ills endured on earth, was the outcome of young hope dawning at its historic hour. But to-day, when eighteen centuries have exhausted that hope, when the longexperiment is over and the toiler finds himself duped and still and evera slave, he once more dreams of getting happiness upon this earth, particularly as each day Science tends more and more to show him that thehappiness of the spheres beyond is a lie. And in all this there is butthe eternal struggle of the poor and the rich, the eternal question ofbringing more justice and less suffering to the world. 

"But surely, " Pierre at last replied, "you can't be on the side of thosebandits, those murderers whose savage violence horrifies me. I let youtalk on yesterday, when you dreamt of a great and happy people, of idealanarchy in which each would be free amidst the freedom of all. But whatabomination, what disgust both for mind and heart, when one passes fromtheory to propaganda and practice! If yours is the brain that thinks, whose is the hateful hand that acts, that kills children, throws downdoors and empties drawers? Do you accept that responsibility? With youreducation, your culture, the whole social heredity behind you, does notyour entire being revolt at the idea of stealing and murdering?"

Guillaume halted before his brother, quivering. "Steal and murder! no!no! I will not. But one must say everything and fully understand thehistory of the evil hour through which we are passing. It is madnesssweeping by; and, to tell the truth, everything necessary to provoke ithas been done. At the very dawn of the Anarchist theory, at the veryfirst innocent actions of its partisans, there was such stern repression, the police so grossly ill-treating the poor devils that fell into itshands, that little by little came anger and rage leading to the mosthorrible reprisals. It is the Terror initiated by the _bourgeois_ thathas produced Anarchist savagery. And would you know whence Salvat and hiscrime have come? Why, from all our centuries of impudence and iniquity, from all that the nations have suffered, from all the sores which are nowdevouring us, the impatience for enjoyment, the contempt of the strongfor the weak, the whole monstrous spectacle which is presented by ourrotting society!"

Guillaume was again slowly walking to and fro; and as if he werereflecting aloud he continued: "Ah! to reach the point I have attained, through how much thought, through how many battles, have I not passed! Iwas merely a Positivist, a _savant_ devoted to observation andexperiment, accepting nothing apart from proven facts. Scientifically andsocially, I admitted that simple evolution had slowly brought humanityinto being. But both in the history of the globe and that of humansociety, I found it necessary to make allowance for the volcano, thesudden cataclysm, the sudden eruption, by which each geological phase, each historical period, has been marked. In this wise one ends byascertaining that no forward step has ever been taken, no progress everaccomplished in the world's history, without the help of horriblecatastrophes. Each advance has meant the sacrifice of millions andmillions of human lives. This of course revolts us, given our narrowideas of justice, and we regard nature as a most barbarous mother; but, if we cannot excuse the volcano, we ought to deal with it when it burstsforth, like _savants_ forewarned of its possibility.... And then, ah, then! well, perhaps I'm a dreamer like others, but I have my ownnotions. "

With a sweeping gesture he confessed what a social dreamer there waswithin him beside the methodical and scrupulous _savant_. His constantendeavour was to bring all back to science, and he was deeply grieved atfinding in nature no scientific sign of equality or even justice, such ashe craved for in the social sphere. His despair indeed came from thisinability to reconcile scientific logic with apostolic love, the dream ofuniversal happiness and brotherhood and the end of all iniquity. 

Pierre, however, who had remained near the open window, gazing into thenight towards Paris, whence ascended the last sounds of the evening ofpassionate pleasure, felt the whole flood of his own doubt and despairstifling him. It was all too much: that brother of his who had fallenupon him with his scientific and apostolic beliefs, those men who came todiscuss contemporary thought from every standpoint, and finally thatSalvat who had brought thither the exasperation of his mad deed. AndPierre, who had hitherto listened to them all without a word, without agesture, who had hidden his secrets from his brother, seeking refuge inhis supposed priestly views, suddenly felt such bitterness stirring hisheart that he could lie no longer. 

"Ah! brother, if you have your dream, I have my sore which has eaten intome and left me void! Your Anarchy, your dream of just happiness, forwhich Salvat works with bombs, why, it is the final burst of insanitywhich will sweep everything away! How is it that you can't realise it?The century is ending in ruins. I've been listening to you all for amonth past. Fourier destroyed Saint-Simon, Proudhon and Comte demolishedFourier, each in turn piling up incoherences and contradictions, leavingmere chaos behind them, which nobody dares to sort out. And since then, Socialist sects have been swarming and multiplying, the more sensible ofthem leading simply to dictatorship, while the others indulge in mostdangerous reveries. And after such a tempest of ideas there could indeedcome nothing but your Anarchy, which undertakes to bring the old world toa finish by reducing it to dust.... Ah! I expected it, I was waitingfor it--that final catastrophe, that fratricidal madness, the inevitableclass warfare in which our civilisation was destined to collapse!Everything announced it: the want and misery below, the egotism up above, all the cracking of the old human habitation, borne down by too great aweight of crime and grief. When I went to Lourdes it was to see if thedivinity of simple minds would work the awaited miracle, and restore thebelief of the early ages to the people, which rebelled through excess ofsuffering. And when I went to Rome it was in the _naive_ hope of therefinding the new religion required by our democracies, the only one thatcould pacify the world by bringing back the fraternity of the golden age. But how foolish of me all that was! Both here and there, I simply lightedon nothingness. There where I so ardently dreamt of finding the salvationof others, I only sank myself, going down apeak like a ship not a timberof which is ever found again. One tie still linked me to my fellow-men, that of charity, the dressing, relieving, and perhaps, in the long run, healing, of wounds and sores; but that last cable has now been severed. Charity, to my mind, appears futile and derisive by the side of justice, to whom all supremacy belongs, and whose advent has become a necessityand can be stayed by none. And so it is all over, I am mere ashes, anempty grave as it were. I no longer believe in anything, anything, anything whatever!"

Pierre had risen to his full height, with arms outstretched as if to letall the nothingness within his heart and mind fall from them. AndGuillaume, distracted by the sight of such a fierce denier, such adespairing Nihilist as was now revealed to him, drew near, quivering:"What are you saying, brother! I thought you so firm, so calm in yourbelief! A priest to be admired, a saint worshipped by the whole of thisparish! I was unwilling even to discuss your faith, and now it is you whodeny all, and believe in nothing whatever!"

Pierre again slowly stretched out his arms. "There is nothing, I tried tolearn all, and only found the atrocious grief born of the nothingnessthat overwhelms me. "

"Ah! how you must suffer, Pierre, my little brother! Can religion, then, be even more withering than science, since it has ravaged you like that, while I have yet remained an old madman, still full of fancies?"

Guillaume caught hold of Pierre's hands and pressed them, full ofterrified compassion in presence of all the grandeur and horror embodiedin that unbelieving priest who watched over the belief of others, andchastely, honestly discharged his duty amidst the haughty sadness born ofhis falsehood. And how heavily must that falsehood have weighed upon hisconscience for him to confess himself in that fashion, amidst an uttercollapse of his whole being! A month previously, in the unexpansivenessof his proud solitude, he would never have taken such a course. To speakout it was necessary that he should have been stirred by many things, hisreconciliation with his brother, the conversations he had heard of anevening, the terrible drama in which he was mingled, as well as hisreflections on labour struggling against want, and the vague hope withwhich the sight of intellectual youth had inspired him. And, indeed, amidthe very excess of his negation was there not already the faint dawn of anew faith?

This Guillaume must have understood, on seeing how he quivered withunsatisfied tenderness as he emerged from the fierce silence which he hadpreserved so long. He made him sit down near the window, and placedhimself beside him without releasing his hands. "But I won't have yousuffer, my little brother!" he said; "I won't leave you, I'll nurse you. For I know you much better than you know yourself. You would never havesuffered were it not for the battle between your heart and your mind, andyou will cease to suffer on the day when they make peace, and you lovewhat you understand. " And in a lower voice, with infinite affection, hewent on: "You see, it's our poor mother and our poor father continuingtheir painful struggle in you. You were too young at the time, youcouldn't know what went on. But I knew them both very wretched: he, wretched through her, who treated him as if he were one of the damned;and she, suffering through him, tortured by his irreligion. When he died, struck down by an explosion in this very room, she took it to be thepunishment of God. Yet, what an honest man he was, with a good, greatheart, what a worker, seeking for truth alone, and desirous of the loveand happiness of all! Since we have spent our evenings here, I have felthim coming back, reviving as it were both around and within us; and she, too, poor, saintly woman, is ever here, enveloping us with love, weeping, and yet stubbornly refusing to understand. It is they, perhaps, who havekept me here so long, and who at this very moment are present to placeyour hands in mine. "

And, indeed, it seemed to Pierre as if he could feel the breath ofvigilant affection which Guillaume evoked passing over them both. Therewas again a revival of all the past, all their youth, and nothing couldhave been more delightful. 

"You hear me, brother, " Guillaume resumed. "You must reconcile them, forit is only in you that they can be reconciled. You have his firm, loftybrow, and her mouth and eyes of unrealisable tenderness. So, try to bringthem to agreement, by some day contenting, as your reason shall allow, the everlasting thirst for love, and self-bestowal, and life, which forlack of satisfaction is killing you. Your frightful wretchedness has noother cause. Come back to life, love, bestow yourself, be a man!"

Pierre raised a dolorous cry: "No, no, the death born of doubt has sweptthrough me, withering and shattering everything, and nothing more canlive in that cold dust!"

"But, come, " resumed Guillaume, "you cannot have reached such absolutenegation. No man reaches it. Even in the most disabused of minds thereremains a nook of fancy and hope. To deny charity, devotion, theprodigies which love may work, ah! for my part I do not go so far asthat. And now that you have shown me your sore, why should I not tell youmy dream, the wild hope which keeps me alive! It is strange; but, are_savants_ to be the last childish dreamers, and is faith only to springup nowadays in chemical laboratories?"

Intense emotion was stirring Guillaume; there was battle waging in bothhis brain and his heart. And at last, yielding to the deep compassionwhich filled him, vanquished by his ardent affection for his unhappybrother, he spoke out. But he had drawn yet closer to Pierre, even passedone arm around him; and it was thus embracing him that he, in his turn, made his confession, lowering his voice as if he feared that someonemight overhear his secret. "Why should you not know it?" he said. "My ownsons are ignorant of it. But you are a man and my brother, and sincethere is nothing of the priest left in you, it is to the brother I willconfide it. This will make me love you the more, and perhaps it may doyou good. "

Then he told him of his invention, a new explosive, a powder of suchextraordinary force that its effects were incalculable. And he had foundemployment for this powder in an engine of warfare, a special cannon, hurling bombs which would assure the most overwhelming victory to thearmy using them. The enemy's forces would be destroyed in a few hours, and besieged cities would fall into dust at the slightest bombardment. Hehad long searched and doubted, calculated, recalculated and experimented;but everything was now ready: the precise formula of the powder, thedrawings for the cannon and the bombs, a whole packet of precious papersstored in a safe spot. And after months of anxious reflection he hadresolved to give his invention to France, so as to ensure her a certaintyof victory in her coming, inevitable war with Germany!

At the same time, he was not a man of narrow patriotism; on the contraryhe had a very broad, international conception of the future liberativecivilisation. Only he believed in the initiatory mission of France, andparticularly in that of Paris, which, even as it is to-day, was destinedto be the world's brain to-morrow, whence all science and justice wouldproceed. The great idea of liberty and equality had already soared fromit at the prodigious blast of the Revolution; and from its genius andvalour the final emancipation of man would also take its flight. Thus itwas necessary that Paris should be victorious in the struggle in orderthat the world might be saved. 

Pierre understood his brother, thanks to the lecture on explosives whichhe had heard at Bertheroy's. And the grandeur of this scheme, this dream, particularly struck him when he thought of the extraordinary future whichwould open for Paris amidst the effulgent blaze of the bombs. Moreover, he was struck by all the nobility of soul which had lain behind hisbrother's anxiety for a month past. If Guillaume had trembled it wassimply with fear that his invention might be divulged in consequence ofSalvat's crime. The slightest indiscretion might compromise everything;and that little stolen cartridge, whose effects had so astonished_savants_, might reveal his secret. He felt it necessary to act inmystery, choosing his own time, awaiting the proper hour, until when thesecret would slumber in its hiding-place, confided to the sole care ofMere-Grand, who had her orders and knew what she was to do should he, inany sudden accident, disappear. 

"And, now, " said Guillaume in conclusion, "you know my hopes and myanguish, and you can help me and even take my place if I am unable toreach the end of my task. Ah! to reach the end! Since I have been shut uphere, reflecting, consumed by anxiety and impatience, there have beenhours when I have ceased to see my way clearly! There is that Salvat, that wretched fellow for whose crime we are all of us responsible, andwho is now being hunted down like a wild beast! There is also thatinsensate and insatiable _bourgeoisie_, which will let itself be crushedby the fall of the shaky old house, rather than allow the least repair toit! And there is further that avaricious, that abominable Parisian press, so harsh towards the weak and little, so fond of insulting those who havenone to defend them, so eager to coin money out of public misfortune, andready to spread insanity on all sides, simply to increase its sales!Where, therefore, shall one find truth and justice, the hand endowed withlogic and health that ought to be armed with the thunderbolt? Would Paristhe conqueror, Paris the master of the nations, prove the justiciar, thesaviour that men await! Ah! the anguish of believing oneself to be themaster of the world's destinies, and to have to choose and decide. "

He had risen again quivering, full of anger and fear that humanwretchedness and baseness might prevent the realisation of his dream. Andamidst the heavy silence which fell in the room, the little housesuddenly resounded with a regular, continuous footfall. 

"Ah, yes! to save men and love them, and wish them all to be equal andfree, " murmured Pierre, bitterly. "But just listen! Barthes's footstepsare answering you, as if from the everlasting dungeon into which his loveof liberty has thrown him!"

However, Guillaume had already regained possession of himself, and comingback in a transport of his faith, he once more took Pierre in his loving, saving arms, like an elder brother who gives himself without restraint. "No, no, I'm wrong, I'm blaspheming, " he exclaimed; "I wish you to bewith me, full of hope and full of certainty. You must work, you mustlove, you must revive to life. Life alone can give you back peace andhealth. "

Tears returned to the eyes of Pierre, who was penetrated to the heart bythis ardent affection. "Ah! how I should like to believe you, " hefaltered, "and try to cure myself. True, I have already felt, as it were, a vague revival within me. And yet to live again, no, I cannot; thepriest that I am is dead--a lifeless, an empty tomb. "

He was shaken by so frightful a sob, that Guillaume could not restrainhis own tears. And clasped in one another's arms the brothers wept on, their hearts full of the softest emotion in that home of their youth, whither the dear shadows of their parents ever returned, hovering arounduntil they should be reconciled and restored to the peace of the earth. And all the darkness and mildness of the garden streamed in through theopen window, while yonder, on the horizon, Paris had fallen asleep in themysterious gloom, beneath a very peaceful sky which was studded withstars. 

BOOK III. 

I. THE RIVALS

ON the Wednesday preceding the mid-Lent Thursday, a great charity bazaarwas held at the Duvillard mansion, for the benefit of the Asylum of theInvalids of Labour. The ground-floor reception rooms, three spaciousLouis Seize _salons_, whose windows overlooked the bare and solemncourtyard, were given up to the swarm of purchasers, five thousandadmission cards having been distributed among all sections of Parisiansociety. And the opening of the bombarded mansion in this wise tothousands of visitors was regarded as quite an event, a realmanifestation, although some people whispered that the RueGodot-de-Mauroy and the adjacent streets were guarded by quite an army ofpolice agents. 

The idea of the bazaar had come from Duvillard himself, and at hisbidding his wife had resigned herself to all this worry for the benefitof the enterprise over which she presided with such distinguishednonchalance. On the previous day the "Globe" newspaper, inspired by itsdirector Fonsegue, who was also the general manager of the asylum, hadpublished a very fine article, announcing the bazaar, and pointing outhow noble, and touching, and generous was the initiative of the Baroness, who still gave her time, her money, and even her home to charity, inspite of the abominable crime which had almost reduced that home toashes. Was not this the magnanimous answer of the spheres above to thehateful passions of the spheres below? And was it not also a peremptoryanswer to those who accused the capitalists of doing nothing for thewage-earners, the disabled and broken-down sons of toil?

The drawing-room doors were to be opened at two o'clock, and would onlyclose at seven, so that there would be five full hours for the sales. Andat noon, when nothing was as yet ready downstairs, when workmen and womenwere still decorating the stalls, and sorting the goods amidst a finalscramble, there was, as usual, a little friendly _dejeuner_, to which afew guests had been invited, in the private rooms on the first floor. However, a scarcely expected incident had given a finishing touch to thegeneral excitement of the house: that very morning Sagnier had resumedhis campaign of denunciation in the matter of the African Railway Lines. In a virulent article in the "Voix du Peuple, " he had inquired if it werethe intention of the authorities to beguile the public much longer withthe story of that bomb and that Anarchist whom the police did not arrest. And this time, while undertaking to publish the names of the thirty-twocorrupt senators and deputies in a very early issue, he had boldly namedMinister Barroux as one who had pocketed a sum of 200, 000 francs. Megewould therefore certainly revive his interpellation, which might becomedangerous, now that Paris had been thrown into such a distracted state byterror of the Anarchists. At the same time it was said that Vignon andhis party had resolved to turn circumstances to account, with the objectof overthrowing the ministry. Thus a redoubtable crisis was inevitably athand. Fortunately, the Chamber did not meet that Wednesday; in fact, ithad adjourned until the Friday, with the view of making mid-Lent aholiday. And so forty-eight hours were left one to prepare for theonslaught. 

Eve, that morning, seemed more gentle and languid than ever, rather paletoo, with an expression of sorrowful anxiety in the depths of herbeautiful eyes. She set it all down to the very great fatigue which thepreparations for the bazaar had entailed on her. But the truth was thatGerard de Quinsac, after shunning any further assignation, had for fivedays past avoided her in an embarrassed way. Still she was convinced thatshe would see him that morning, and so she had again ventured to wear thewhite silk gown which made her look so much younger than she really was. At the same time, beautiful as she had remained, with her delicate skin, superb figure and noble and charming countenance, her six and forty yearswere asserting themselves in her blotchy complexion and the littlecreases which were appearing about her lips, eyelids and temples. 

Camille, for her part, though her position as daughter of the house madeit certain that she would attract much custom as a saleswoman, hadobstinately persisted in wearing one of her usual dresses, a dark"carmelite" gown, an old woman's frock, as she herself called it with acutting laugh. However, her long and wicked-looking face beamed with somesecret delight; such an expression of wit and intelligence wreathing herthin lips and shining in her big eyes that one lost sight of herdeformity and thought her almost pretty. 

Eve experienced a first deception in the little blue and silversitting-room, where, accompanied by her daughter, she awaited the arrivalof her guests. General de Bozonnet, whom Gerard was to have brought withhim, came in alone, explaining that Madame de Quinsac had felt ratherpoorly that morning, and that Gerard, like a good and dutiful son, hadwished to remain with her. Still he would come to the bazaar directlyafter _dejeuner_. While the Baroness listened to the General, striving tohide her disappointment and her fear that she would now be unable toobtain any explanation from Gerard that day, Camille looked at her witheager, devouring eyes. And a certain covert instinct of the misfortunethreatening her must at that moment have come to Eve, for in her turn sheglanced at her daughter and turned pale as if with anxiety. 

Then Princess Rosemonde de Harn swept in like a whirlwind. She also wasto be one of the saleswomen at the stall chosen by the Baroness, wholiked her for her very turbulence, the sudden gaiety which she generallybrought with her. Gowned in fire-hued satin (red shot with yellow), looking very eccentric with her curly hair and thin boyish figure, shelaughed and talked of an accident by which her carriage had almost beencut in halves. Then, as Baron Duvillard and Hyacinthe came in from theirrooms, late as usual, she took possession of the young man and scoldedhim, for on the previous evening she had vainly waited for him till teno'clock in the expectation that he would keep his promise to escort herto a tavern at Montmartre, where some horrible things were said to occur. Hyacinthe, looking very bored, quietly replied that he had been detainedat a seance given by some adepts in the New Magic, in the course of whichthe soul of St. Theresa had descended from heaven to recite a lovesonnet. 

However, Fonsegue was now coming in with his wife, a tall, thin, silentand generally insignificant woman, whom he seldom took about with him. Onthis occasion he had been obliged to bring her, as she was one of thelady-patronesses of the asylum, and he himself was coming to lunch withthe Duvillards in his capacity as general manager. To the superficialobserver he looked quite as gay as usual; but he blinked nervously, andhis first glance was a questioning one in the direction of Duvillard, asif he wished to know how the latter bore the fresh thrust directed at himby Sagnier. And when he saw the banker looking perfectly composed, assuperb, as rubicund as usual, and chatting in a bantering way withRosemonde, he also put on an easy air, like a gamester who had never lostbut had always known how to compel good luck, even in hours of treachery. And by way of showing his unconstraint of mind he at once addressed theBaroness on managerial matters: "Have you now succeeded in seeing M. L'Abbe Froment for the affair of that old man Laveuve, whom he so warmlyrecommended to us? All the formalities have been gone through, you know, and he can be brought to us at once, as we have had a bed vacant forthree days past. "

"Yes, I know, " replied Eve; "but I can't imagine what has become of AbbeFroment, for he hasn't given us a sign of life for a month past. However, I made up my mind to write to him yesterday, and beg him to come to thebazaar to-day. In this manner I shall be able to acquaint him with thegood news myself. "

"It was to leave you the pleasure of doing so, " said Fonsegue, "that Irefrained from sending him any official communication. He's a charmingpriest, is he not?"

"Oh! charming, we are very fond of him. "

However, Duvillard now intervened to say that they need not wait forDuthil, as he had received a telegram from him stating that he wasdetained by sudden business. At this Fonsegue's anxiety returned, and heonce more questioned the Baron with his eyes. Duvillard smiled, however, and reassured him in an undertone: "It's nothing serious. Merely acommission for me, about which he'll only be able to bring me an answerby-and-by. " Then, taking Fonsegue on one side, he added: "By the way, don't forget to insert the paragraph I told you of. "

"What paragraph? Oh! yes, the one about that _soiree_ at which Silvianerecited a piece of verse. Well, I wanted to speak to you about it. Itworries me a little, on account of the excessive praise it contains. "

Duvillard, but a moment before so full of serenity, with his lofty, conquering, disdainful mien, now suddenly became pale and agitated. "ButI absolutely want it to be inserted, my dear fellow! You would place mein the greatest embarrassment if it were not to appear, for I promisedSilviane that it should. "

As he spoke his lips trembled, and a scared look came into his eyes, plainly revealing his dismay. 

"All right, all right, " said Fonsegue, secretly amused, and well pleasedat this complicity. "As it's so serious the paragraph shall go in, Ipromise you. "

The whole company was now present, since neither Gerard nor Duthil was tobe expected. So they went into the dining-room amidst a final noise ofhammering in the sale-rooms below. The meal proved somewhat of ascramble, and was on three occasions disturbed by female attendants, whocame to explain difficulties and ask for orders. Doors were constantlyslamming, and the very walls seemed to shake with the unusual bustlewhich filled the house. And feverish as they all were in the dining-room, they talked in desultory, haphazard fashion on all sorts of subjects, passing from a ball given at the Ministry of the Interior on the previousnight, to the popular mid-Lent festival which would take place on themorrow, and ever reverting to the bazaar, the prices that had been givenfor the goods which would be on sale, the prices at which they might besold, and the probable figure of the full receipts, all this beinginterspersed with strange anecdotes, witticisms and bursts of laughter. On the General mentioning magistrate Amadieu, Eve declared that she nolonger dared to invite him to _dejeuner_, knowing how busy he was at thePalace of Justice. Still, she certainly hoped that he would come to thebazaar and contribute something. Then Fonsegue amused himself withteasing Princess Rosemonde about her fire-hued gown, in which, said he, she must already feel roasted by the flames of hell; a suggestion whichsecretly delighted her, as Satanism had now become her momentary passion. Meantime, Duvillard lavished the most gallant politeness on that silentcreature, Madame Fonsegue, while Hyacinthe, in order to astonish even thePrincess, explained in a few words how the New Magic could transform achaste young man into a real angel. And Camille, who seemed very happyand very excited, from time to time darted a hot glance at her mother, whose anxiety and sadness increased as she found the other more and moreaggressive, and apparently resolved upon open and merciless warfare. 

At last, just as the dessert was coming to an end, the Baroness heard herdaughter exclaim in a piercing, defiant voice: "Oh! don't talk to me ofthe old ladies who still seem to be playing with dolls, and paintthemselves, and dress as if they were about to be confirmed! All suchogresses ought to retire from the scene! I hold them in horror!"

At this, Eve nervously rose from her seat, and exclaimed apologetically:"You must forgive me for hurrying you like this. But I'm afraid that weshan't have time to drink our coffee in peace. "

The coffee was served in the little blue and silver sitting-room, wherebloomed some lovely yellow roses, testifying to the Baroness's keenpassion for flowers, which made the house an abode of perpetual spring. Duvillard and Fonsegue, however, carrying their cups of steaming coffeewith them, at once went into the former's private room to smoke a cigarthere and chat in freedom. As the door remained wide open, one couldhear their gruff voices more or less distinctly. Meantime, General deBozonnet, delighted to find in Madame Fonsegue a serious, submissiveperson, who listened without interrupting, began to tell her a very longstory of an officer's wife who had followed her husband throughevery battle of the war of 1870. Then Hyacinthe, who took nocoffee--contemptuously declaring it to be a beverage only fit fordoor-keepers--managed to rid himself of Rosemonde, who was sipping somekummel, in order to come and whisper to his sister: "I say, it was verystupid of you to taunt mamma in the way you did just now. I don't care arap about it myself. But it ends by being noticed, and, I warn youcandidly, it shows ill breeding. "

Camille gazed at him fixedly with her black eyes. "Pray don't _you_meddle with my affairs, " said she. 

At this he felt frightened, scented a storm, and decided to takeRosemonde into the adjoining red drawing-room in order to show her apicture which his father had just purchased. And the General, on beingcalled by him, likewise conducted Madame Fonsegue thither. 

The mother and daughter then suddenly found themselves alone and face toface. Eve was leaning on a pier-table, as if overcome; and indeed, theleast sorrow bore her down, so weak at heart she was, ever ready to weepin her naive and perfect egotism. Why was it that her daughter thus hatedher, and did her utmost to disturb that last happy spell of love in whichher heart lingered? She looked at Camille, grieved rather than irritated;and the unfortunate idea came to her of making a remark about her dressat the very moment when the girl was on the point of following the othersinto the larger drawing-room. 

"It's quite wrong of you, my dear, " said she, "to persist in dressinglike an old woman. It doesn't improve you a bit. "

As Eve spoke, her soft eyes, those of a courted and worshipped handsomewoman, clearly expressed the compassion she felt for that ugly, deformedgirl, whom she had never been able to regard as a daughter. Was itpossible that she, with her sovereign beauty, that beauty which sheherself had ever adored and nursed, making it her one care, her onereligion--was it possible that she had given birth to such a gracelesscreature, with a dark, goatish profile, one shoulder higher than theother, and a pair of endless arms such as hunchbacks often have? All hergrief and all her shame at having had such a child became apparent in thequivering of her voice. 

Camille, however, had stopped short, as if struck in the face with awhip. Then she came back to her mother and the horrible explanation beganwith these simple words spoken in an undertone: "You consider that Idress badly? Well, you ought to have paid some attention to me, have seenthat my gowns suited your taste, and have taught me your secret oflooking beautiful!"

Eve, with her dislike of all painful feeling, all quarrelling and bitterwords, was already regretting her attack. So she sought to make aretreat, particularly as time was flying and they would soon be expecteddownstairs: "Come, be quiet, and don't show your bad temper when allthose people can hear us. I have loved you--"

But with a quiet yet terrible laugh Camille interrupted her. "You'veloved me! Oh! my poor mamma, what a comical thing to say! Have you everloved _anybody_? You want others to love _you_, but that's anothermatter. As for your child, any child, do you even know how it ought to beloved? You have always neglected me, thrust me on one side, deeming me sougly, so unworthy of you! And besides, you have not had days and nightsenough to love yourself! Oh! don't deny it, my poor mamma; but even nowyou're looking at me as if I were some loathsome monster that's in yourway. "

From that moment the abominable scene was bound to continue to the end. With their teeth set, their faces close together, the two women went onspeaking in feverish whispers. 

"Be quiet, Camille, I tell you! I will not allow such language!"

"But I won't be quiet when you do all you can to wound me. If it's wrongof me to dress like an old woman, perhaps another is rather ridiculous indressing like a girl, like a bride. "

"Like a bride? I don't understand you. "

"Oh! yes, you do. However, I would have you know that everybody doesn'tfind me so ugly as you try to make them believe. "

"If you look amiss, it is because you don't dress properly; that is all Isaid. "

"I dress as I please, and no doubt I do so well enough, since I'm lovedas I am. "

"What, really! Does someone love you? Well, let him inform us of it andmarry you. "

"Yes--certainly, certainly! It will be a good riddance, won't it? Andyou'll have the pleasure of seeing me as a bride!"

Their voices were rising in spite of their efforts to restrain them. However, Camille paused and drew breath before hissing out the words:"Gerard is coming here to ask for my hand in a day or two. "

Eve, livid, with wildly staring eyes, did not seem to understand. "Gerard? why do you tell me that?"

"Why, because it's Gerard who loves me and who is going to marry me! Youdrive me to extremities; you're for ever repeating that I'm ugly; youtreat me like a monster whom nobody will ever care for. So I'm forced todefend myself and tell you the truth in order to prove to you thateverybody is not of your opinion. "

Silence fell; the frightful thing which had risen between them seemed tohave arrested the quarrel. But there was neither mother nor daughter leftthere. They were simply two suffering, defiant rivals. Eve in her turndrew a long breath and glanced anxiously towards the adjoining room toascertain if anyone were coming in or listening to them. And then in atone of resolution she made answer:

"You cannot marry Gerard. "

"Pray, why not?"

"Because I won't have it; because it's impossible. "

"That isn't a reason; give me a reason. "

"The reason is that the marriage is impossible that is all. "

"No, no, I'll tell you the reason since you force me to it. The reason isthat Gerard is your lover! But what does that matter, since I know it andam willing to take him all the same?"

And to this retort Camille's flaming eyes added the words: "And it isparticularly on that account that I want him. " All the long torture bornof her infirmities, all her rage at having always seen her motherbeautiful, courted and adored, was now stirring her and seeking vengeancein cruel triumph. At last then she was snatching from her rival the loverof whom she had so long been jealous!

"You wretched girl!" stammered Eve, wounded in the heart and almostsinking to the floor. "You don't know what you say or what you make mesuffer. "

However, she again had to pause, draw herself erect and smile; forRosemonde hastened in from the adjoining room with the news that she waswanted downstairs. The doors were about to be opened, and it wasnecessary she should be at her stall. Yes, Eve answered, she would bedown in another moment. Still, even as she spoke she leant more heavilyon the pier-table behind her in order that she might not fall. 

Hyacinthe had drawn near to his sister: "You know, " said he, "it's simplyidiotic to quarrel like that. You would do much better to comedownstairs. "

But Camille harshly dismissed him: "Just _you_ go off, and take theothers with you. It's quite as well that they shouldn't be about ourears. "

Hyacinthe glanced at his mother, like one who knew the truth andconsidered the whole affair ridiculous. And then, vexed at seeing her sodeficient in energy in dealing with that little pest, his sister, heshrugged his shoulders, and leaving them to their folly, conducted theothers away. One could hear Rosemonde laughing as she went off below, while the General began to tell Madame Fonsegue another story as theydescended the stairs together. However, at the moment when the mother anddaughter at last fancied themselves alone once more, other voices reachedtheir ears, those of Duvillard and Fonsegue, who were still near at hand. The Baron from his room might well overhear the dispute. 

Eve felt that she ought to have gone off. But she had lacked the strengthto do so; it had been a sheer impossibility for her after those wordswhich had smote her like a buffet amidst her distress at the thought oflosing her lover. 

"Gerard cannot marry you, " she said; "he does not love you. "

"He does. "

"You fancy it because he has good-naturedly shown some kindness to you, on seeing others pay you such little attention. But he does not loveyou. "

"He does. He loves me first because I'm not such a fool as many othersare, and particularly because I'm young. "

This was a fresh wound for the Baroness; one inflicted with mockingcruelty in which rang out all the daughter's triumphant delight at seeingher mother's beauty at last ripening and waning. "Ah! my poor mamma, youno longer know what it is to be young. If I'm not beautiful, at allevents I'm young; my eyes are clear and my lips are fresh. And my hair'sso long too, and I've so much of it that it would suffice to gown me if Ichose. You see, one's never ugly when one's young. Whereas, my poormamma, everything is ended when one gets old. It's all very well for awoman to have been beautiful, and to strive to keep so, but in realitythere's only ruin left, and shame and disgust. "

She spoke these words in such a sharp, ferocious voice that each of thementered her mother's heart like a knife. Tears rose to the eyes of thewretched woman, again stricken in her bleeding wound. Ah! it was true, she remained without weapons against youth. And all her anguish came fromthe consciousness that she was growing old, from the feeling that lovewas departing from her now, that like a fruit she had ripened and fallenfrom the tree. 

"But Gerard's mother will never let him marry you, " she said. 

"He will prevail on her; that's his concern. I've a dowry of twomillions, and two millions can settle many things. "

"Do you now want to libel him, and say that he's marrying you for yourmoney?"

"No, indeed! Gerard's a very nice and honest fellow. He loves me and he'smarrying me for myself. But, after all, he isn't rich; he still has noassured position, although he's thirty-six; and there may well be someadvantage in a wife who brings you wealth as well as happiness. For, youhear, mamma, it's happiness I'm bringing him, real happiness, love that'sshared and is certain of the future. "

Once again their faces drew close together. The hateful scene, interrupted by sounds around them, postponed, and then resumed, wasdragging on, becoming a perfect drama full of murderous violence, although they never shouted, but still spoke on in low and gaspingvoices. Neither gave way to the other, though at every moment they wereliable to some surprise; for not only were all the doors open, so thatthe servants might come in, but the Baron's voice still rang out gaily, close at hand. 

"He loves you, he loves you"--continued Eve. "That's what you say. But_he_ never told you so. "

"He has told me so twenty times; he repeats it every time that we arealone together!"

"Yes, just as one says it to a little girl by way of amusing her. But hehas never told you that he meant to marry you. "

"He told it me the last time he came. And it's settled. I'm simplywaiting for him to get his mother's consent and make his formal offer. "

"You lie, you lie, you wretched girl! You simply want to make me suffer, and you lie, you lie!"

Eve's grief at last burst forth in that cry of protest. She no longerknew that she was a mother, and was speaking to her daughter. The woman, the _amorosa_, alone remained in her, outraged and exasperated by arival. And with a sob she confessed the truth: "It is I he loves! Onlythe last time I spoke to him, he swore to me--you hear me?--he swore uponhis honour that he did not love you, and that he would never marry you!"

A faint, sharp laugh came from Camille. Then, with an air of derisivecompassion, she replied: "Ah! my poor mamma, you really make me sorry foryou! What a child you are! Yes, really, you are the child, not I. What!you who ought to have so much experience, you still allow yourself to beduped by a man's protests! That one really has no malice; and, indeed, that's why he swears whatever you want him to swear, just to please andquiet you, for at heart he's a bit of a coward. "

"You lie, you lie!"

"But just think matters over. If he no longer comes here, if he didn'tcome to _dejeuner_ this morning, it is simply because he's had enough ofyou. He has left you for good; just have the courage to realise it. Ofcourse he's still polite and amiable, because he's a well-bred man, anddoesn't know how to break off. The fact is that he takes pity on you. "

"You lie, you lie!"

"Well, question him then. Have a frank explanation with him. Ask him hisintentions in a friendly way. And then show some good nature yourself, and realise that if you care for him you ought to give him me at once inhis own interest. Give him back his liberty, and you will soon see thatI'm the one he loves. "

"You lie, you lie! You wretched child, you only want to torture and killme!"

Then, in her fury and distress, Eve remembered that she was the mother, and that it was for her to chastise that unworthy daughter. There was nostick near her, but from a basket of the yellow roses, whose powerfulscent intoxicated both of them, she plucked a handful of blooms, withlong and spiny stalks, and smote Camille across the face. A drop of bloodappeared on the girl's left temple, near her eyelid. 

But she sprang forward, flushed and maddened by this correction, with herhand raised and ready to strike back. "Take care, mother! I swear I'dbeat you like a gipsy! And now just put this into your head: I mean tomarry Gerard, and I will; and I'll take him from you, even if I have toraise a scandal, should you refuse to give him to me with good grace. "

Eve, after her one act of angry vigour, had sunk into an armchair, overcome, distracted. And all the horror of quarrels, which sprang fromher egotistical desire to be happy, caressed, flattered and adored, wasreturning to her. But Camille, still threatening, still unsatiated, showed her heart as it really was, her stern, black, unforgiving heart, intoxicated with cruelty. There came a moment of supreme silence, whileDuvillard's gay voice again rang out in the adjoining room. 

The mother was gently weeping, when Hyacinthe, coming upstairs at a run, swept into the little _salon_. He looked at the two women, and made agesture of indulgent contempt. "Ah! you're no doubt satisfied now! Butwhat did I tell you? It would have been much better for you to have comedownstairs at once! Everybody is asking for you. It's all idiotic. I'vecome to fetch you. "

Eve and Camille would not yet have followed him, perhaps, if Duvillardand Fonsegue had not at that moment come out of the former's room. Havingfinished their cigars they also spoke of going downstairs. And Eve had torise and smile and show dry eyes, while Camille, standing before alooking-glass, arranged her hair, and stanched the little drop of bloodthat had gathered on her temple. 

There was already quite a number of people below, in the three hugesaloons adorned with tapestry and plants. The stalls had been draped withred silk, which set a gay, bright glow around the goods. And no ordinarybazaar could have put forth such a show, for there was something ofeverything among the articles of a thousand different kinds, fromsketches by recognised masters, and the autographs of famous writers, down to socks and slippers and combs. The haphazard way in which thingswere laid out was in itself an attraction; and, in addition, there was abuffet, where the whitest of beautiful hands poured out champagne, andtwo lotteries, one for an organ and another for a pony-drawn villagecart, the tickets for which were sold by a bevy of charming girls, whohad scattered through the throng. As Duvillard had expected, however, thegreat success of the bazaar lay in the delightful little shiver which thebeautiful ladies experienced as they passed through the entrance wherethe bomb had exploded. The rougher repairing work was finished, the wallsand ceilings had been doctored, in part re-constructed. However, thepainters had not yet come, and here and there the whiter stone andplaster work showed like fresh scars left by all the terrible gashes. Itwas with mingled anxiety and rapture that pretty heads emerged from thecarriages which, arriving in a continuous stream, made the flagstones ofthe court re-echo. And in the three saloons, beside the stalls, there wasno end to the lively chatter: "Ah! my dear, did you see all those marks?How frightful, how frightful! The whole house was almost blown up. And tothink it might begin again while we are here! One really needs somecourage to come, but then, that asylum is such a deserving institution, and money is badly wanted to build a new wing. And besides, thosemonsters will see that we are not frightened, whatever they do. "

When the Baroness at last came down to her stall with Camille she foundthe saleswomen feverishly at work already under the direction of PrincessRosemonde, who on occasions of this kind evinced the greatest cunning andrapacity, robbing the customers in the most impudent fashion. "Ah! hereyou are, " she exclaimed. "Beware of a number of higglers who have come tosecure bargains. I know them! They watch for their opportunities, turneverything topsy-turvy and wait for us to lose our heads and forgetprices, so as to pay even less than they would in a real shop. But I'llget good prices from them, you shall see!"

At this, Eve, who for her own part was a most incapable saleswoman, hadto laugh with the others. And in a gentle voice she made a pretence ofaddressing certain recommendations to Camille, who listened with asmiling and most submissive air. In point of fact the wretched mother wassinking with emotion, particularly at the thought that she would have toremain there till seven o'clock, and suffer in secret before all thosepeople, without possibility of relief. And thus it was almost like arespite when she suddenly perceived Abbe Froment sitting and waiting forher on a settee, covered with red velvet, near her stall. Her legs werefailing her, so she took a place beside him. 

"You received my letter then, Monsieur l'Abbe. I am glad that you havecome, for I have some good news to give you, and wished to leave you thepleasure of imparting it to your _protege_, that man Laveuve, whom you sowarmly recommended to me. Every formality has now been fulfilled, and youcan bring him to the asylum to-morrow. "

Pierre gazed at her in stupefaction. "Laveuve? Why, he is dead!"

In her turn she became astonished. "What, dead! But you never informed meof it! If I told you of all the trouble that has been taken, of all thathad to be undone and done again, and the discussions and the papers andthe writing! Are you quite sure that he is dead?"

"Oh! yes, he is dead. He has been dead a month. "

"Dead a month! Well, we could not know; you yourself gave us no sign oflife. Ah! _mon Dieu_! what a worry that he should be dead. We shall nowbe obliged to undo everything again!"

"He is dead, madame. It is true that I ought to have informed you of it. But that doesn't alter the fact--he is dead. "

Dead! that word which kept on returning, the thought too, that for amonth past she had been busying herself for a corpse, quite froze her, brought her to the very depths of despair, like an omen of the cold deathinto which she herself must soon descend, in the shroud of her lastpassion. And, meantime, Pierre, despite himself, smiled bitterly at theatrocious irony of it all. Ah! that lame and halting Charity, whichproffers help when men are dead!

The priest still lingered on the settee when the Baroness rose. She hadseen magistrate Amadieu hurriedly enter like one who just wished to showhimself, purchase some trifle, and then return to the Palace of Justice. However, he was also perceived by little Massot, the "Globe" reporter, who was prowling round the stalls, and who at once bore down upon him, eager for information. And he hemmed him in and forthwith interviewed himrespecting the affair of that mechanician Salvat, who was accused ofhaving deposited the bomb at the entrance of the house. Was this simplyan invention of the police, as some newspapers pretended? Or was itreally correct? And if so, would Salvat soon be arrested? In self-defenceAmadieu answered correctly enough that the affair did not as yet concernhim, and would only come within his attributions, if Salvat should bearrested and the investigation placed in his hands. At the same time, however, the magistrate's pompous and affectedly shrewd manner suggestedthat he already knew everything to the smallest details, and that, had hechosen, he could have promised some great events for the morrow. A circleof ladies had gathered round him as he spoke, quite a number of prettywomen feverish with curiosity, who jostled one another in their eagernessto hear that brigand tale which sent a little shiver coursing under theirskins. However, Amadieu managed to slip off after paying Rosemonde twentyfrancs for a cigarette case, which was perhaps worth thirty sous. 

Massot, on recognising Pierre, came up to shake hands with him. "Don'tyou agree with me, Monsieur l'Abbe, that Salvat must be a long way off bynow if he's got good legs? Ah! the police will always make me laugh!"

However, Rosemonde brought Hyacinthe up to the journalist. "MonsieurMassot, " said she, "you who go everywhere, I want you to be judge. ThatChamber of Horrors at Montmartre, that tavern where Legras sings the'Flowers of the Streets'--"

"Oh! a delightful spot, madame, " interrupted Massot, "I wouldn't takeeven a gendarme there. "

"No, don't jest, Monsieur Massot, I'm talking seriously. Isn't it quiteallowable for a respectable woman to go there when she's accompanied by agentleman?" And, without allowing the journalist time to answer her, sheturned towards Hyacinthe: "There! you see that Monsieur Massot doesn'tsay no! You've got to take me there this evening, it's sworn, it'ssworn. "

Then she darted away to sell a packet of pins to an old lady, while theyoung man contented himself with remarking, in the voice of one who hasno illusions left: "She's quite idiotic with her Chamber of Horrors!"

Massot philosophically shrugged his shoulders. It was only natural that awoman should want to amuse herself. And when Hyacinthe had gone off, passing with perverse contempt beside the lovely girls who were sellinglottery tickets, the journalist ventured to murmur: "All the same, itwould do that youngster good if a woman were to take him in hand. "

Then, again addressing Pierre, he resumed: "Why, here comes Duthil! Whatdid Sagnier mean this morning by saying that Duthil would sleep at Mazasto-night?"

In a great hurry apparently, and all smiles, Duthil was cutting his waythrough the crowd in order to join Duvillard and Fonsegue, who stillstood talking near the Baroness's stall. And he waved his hand to them ina victorious way, to imply that he had succeeded in the delicate missionentrusted to him. This was nothing less than a bold manoeuvre to hastenSilviane's admission to the Comedie Francaise. The idea had occurred toher of making the Baron give a dinner at the Cafe Anglais in order thatshe might meet at it an influential critic, who, according to herstatements, would compel the authorities to throw the doors wide open forher as soon as he should know her. However, it did not seem easy tosecure the critic's presence, as he was noted for his sternness andgrumbling disposition. And, indeed, after a first repulse, Duthil had forthree days past been obliged to exert all his powers of diplomacy, andbring even the remotest influence into play. But he was radiant now, forhe had conquered. 

"It's for this evening, my dear Baron, at half-past seven, " he exclaimed. "Ah! dash it all, I've had more trouble than I should have had to securea concession vote!" Then he laughed with the pretty impudence of a man ofpleasure, whom political conscientiousness did not trouble. And, indeed, his allusion to the fresh denunciations of the "Voix du Peuple" hugelyamused him. 

"Don't jest, " muttered Fonsegue, who for his part wished to amuse himselfby frightening the young deputy. "Things are going very badly!"

Duthil turned pale, and a vision of the police and Mazas rose before hiseyes. In this wise sheer funk came over him from time to time. However, with his lack of all moral sense, he soon felt reassured and began tolaugh. "Bah!" he retorted gaily, winking towards Duvillard, "thegovernor's there to pilot the barque!"

The Baron, who was extremely pleased, had pressed his hands, thanked him, and called him an obliging fellow. And now turning towards Fonsegue, heexclaimed: "I say, you must make one of us this evening. Oh! it'snecessary. I want something imposing round Silviane. Duthil willrepresent the Chamber, you journalism, and I finance--" But he suddenlypaused on seeing Gerard, who, with a somewhat grave expression, wasleisurely picking his way through the sea of skirts. "Gerard, my friend, "said the Baron, after beckoning to him, "I want you to do me a service. "And forthwith he told him what was in question; how the influentialcritic had been prevailed upon to attend a dinner which would decideSilviane's future; and how it was the duty of all her friends to rallyround her. 

"But I can't, " the young man answered in embarrassment. "I have to dineat home with my mother, who was rather poorly this morning. "

"Oh! a sensible woman like your mother will readily understand that thereare matters of exceptional importance. Go home and excuse yourself. Tellher some story, tell her that a friend's happiness is in question. " Andas Gerard began to weaken, Duvillard added: "The fact is, that I reallywant you, my dear fellow; I must have a society man. Society, you know, is a great force in theatrical matters; and if Silviane has society withher, her triumph is certain. "

Gerard promised, and then chatted for a moment with his uncle, General deBozonnet, who was quite enlivened by that throng of women, among whom hehad been carried hither and thither like an old rudderless ship. Afteracknowledging the amiability with which Madame Fonsegue had listened tohis stories, by purchasing an autograph of Monseigneur Martha from herfor a hundred francs, he had quite lost himself amid the bevy of girlswho had passed him on, one to another. And now, on his return from them, he had his hands full of lottery tickets: "Ah! my fine fellow, " said he, "I don't advise you to venture among all those young persons. You wouldhave to part with your last copper. But, just look! there's MademoiselleCamille beckoning to you!"

Camille, indeed, from the moment she had perceived Gerard, had beensmiling at him and awaiting his approach. And when their glances met hewas obliged to go to her, although, at the same moment, he felt thatEve's despairing and entreating eyes were fixed upon him. The girl, whofully realised that her mother was watching her, at once made a markeddisplay of amiability, profiting by the license which charitable fervourauthorised, to slip a variety of little articles into the young man'spockets, and then place others in his hands, which she pressed within herown, showing the while all the sparkle of youth, indulging in fresh, merry laughter, which fairly tortured her rival. 

So extreme was Eve's suffering, that she wished to intervene and partthem. But it so chanced that Pierre barred her way, for he wished tosubmit an idea to her before leaving the bazaar. "Madame, " said he, "since that man Laveuve is dead, and you have taken so much trouble withregard to the bed which you now have vacant, will you be so good as tokeep it vacant until I have seen our venerable friend, Abbe Rose? I am tosee him this evening, and he knows so many cases of want, and would be soglad to relieve one of them, and bring you some poor _protege_ of his. "

"Yes, certainly, " stammered the Baroness, "I shall be very happy, --I willwait a little, as you desire, --of course, of course, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

She was trembling all over; she no longer knew what she was saying; and, unable to conquer her passion, she turned aside from the priest, unawareeven that he was still there, when Gerard, yielding to the dolorousentreaty of her eyes, at last managed to escape from Camille and joinher. 

"What a stranger you are becoming, my friend!" she said aloud, with aforced smile. "One never sees you now. "

"Why, I have been poorly, " he replied, in his amiable way. "Yes, I assureyou I have been ailing a little. "

He, ailing! She looked at him with maternal anxiety, quite upset. And, indeed, however proud and lofty his figure, his handsome regular face didseem to her paler than usual. It was as if the nobility of the facadehad, in some degree, ceased to hide the irreparable dilapidation within. And given his real good nature, it must be true that hesuffered--suffered by reason of his useless, wasted life, by reason ofall the money he cost his impoverished mother, and of the needs that wereat last driving him to marry that wealthy deformed girl, whom at first hehad simply pitied. And so weak did he seem to Eve, so like a piece ofwreckage tossed hither and thither by a tempest, that, at the risk ofbeing overheard by the throng, she let her heart flow forth in a low butardent, entreating murmur: "If you suffer, ah! what sufferings aremine!--Gerard, we must see one another, I will have it so. "

"No, I beg you, let us wait, " he stammered in embarrassment. 

"It must be, Gerard; Camille has told me your plans. You cannot refuse tosee me. I insist on it. "

He made yet another attempt to escape the cruel explanation. "But it'simpossible at the usual place, " he answered, quivering. "The address isknown. "

"Then to-morrow, at four o'clock, at that little restaurant in the Boiswhere we have met before. "

He had to promise, and they parted. Camille had just turned her head andwas looking at them. Moreover, quite a number of women had besieged thestall; and the Baroness began to attend to them with the air of a ripeand nonchalant goddess, while Gerard rejoined Duvillard, Fonsegue andDuthil, who were quite excited at the prospect of their dinner thatevening. 

Pierre had heard a part of the conversation between Gerard and theBaroness. He knew what skeletons the house concealed, what physiologicaland moral torture and wretchedness lay beneath all the dazzling wealthand power. There was here an envenomed, bleeding sore, ever spreading, acancer eating into father, mother, daughter and son, who one and all hadthrown social bonds aside. However, the priest made his way out of the_salons_, half stifling amidst the throng of lady-purchasers who weremaking quite a triumph of the bazaar. And yonder, in the depths of thegloom, he could picture Salvat still running and running on; while thecorpse of Laveuve seemed to him like a buffet of atrocious irony dealt tonoisy and delusive charity. 

II. SPIRIT AND FLESH

How delightful was the quietude of the little ground-floor overlooking astrip of garden in the Rue Cortot, where good Abbe Rose resided!Hereabouts there was not even a rumble of wheels, or an echo of thepanting breath of Paris, which one heard on the other side of the heightof Montmartre. The deep silence and sleepy peacefulness were suggestiveof some distant provincial town. 

Seven o'clock had struck, the dusk had gathered slowly, and Pierre was inthe humble dining-room, waiting for the _femme-de-menage_ to place thesoup upon the table. Abbe Rose, anxious at having seen so little of himfor a month past, had written, asking him to come to dinner, in orderthat they might have a quiet chat concerning their affairs. From time totime Pierre still gave his friend money for charitable purposes; in fact, ever since the days of the asylum in the Rue de Charonne, they had hadaccounts together, which they periodically liquidated. So that eveningafter dinner they were to talk of it all, and see if they could not doeven more than they had hitherto done. The good old priest was quiteradiant at the thought of the peaceful evening which he was about tospend in attending to the affairs of his beloved poor; for therein layhis only amusement, the sole pleasure to which he persistently andpassionately returned, in spite of all the worries that his inconsideratecharity had already so often brought him. 

Glad to be able to procure his friend this pleasure, Pierre, on his side, grew calmer, and found relief and momentary repose in sharing the other'ssimple repast and yielding to all the kindliness around him, far from hisusual worries. He remembered the vacant bed at the Asylum, which BaronessDuvillard had promised to keep in reserve until he should have asked AbbeRose if he knew of any case of destitution particularly worthy ofinterest; and so before sitting down to table he spoke of the matter. 

"Destitution worthy of interest!" replied Abbe Rose, "ah! my dear child, every case is worthy of interest. And when it's a question of old toilerswithout work the only trouble is that of selection, the anguish ofchoosing one and leaving so many others in distress. " Nevertheless, painful though his scruples were, he strove to think and come to somedecision. "I know the case which will suit you, " he said at last. "It'scertainly one of the greatest suffering and wretchedness; and, so humblea one, too--an old carpenter of seventy-five, who has been living onpublic charity during the eight or ten years that he has been unable tofind work. I don't know his name, everybody calls him 'the big Old'un. 'There are times when he does not come to my Saturday distributions forweeks together. We shall have to look for him at once. I think that hesleeps at the Night Refuge in the Rue d'Orsel when lack of room theredoesn't force him to spend the night crouching behind some palings. Shallwe go down the Rue d'Orsel this evening?"

Abbe Rose's eyes beamed brightly as he spoke, for this proposal of hissignified a great debauch, the tasting of forbidden fruit. He had beenreproached so often and so roughly with his visits to those who hadfallen to the deepest want and misery, that in spite of his overflowing, apostolic compassion, he now scarcely dared to go near them. However, hecontinued: "Is it agreed, my child? Only this once? Besides, it is ouronly means of finding the big Old'un. You won't have to stop with melater than eleven. And I should so like to show you all that! You willsee what terrible sufferings there are! And perhaps we may be fortunateenough to relieve some poor creature or other. "

Pierre smiled at the juvenile ardour displayed by this old man with snowyhair. "It's agreed, my dear Abbe, " he responded, "I shall be very pleasedto spend my whole evening with you, for I feel it will do me good tofollow you once more on one of those rambles which used to fill ourhearts with grief and joy. "

At this moment the servant brought in the soup; however, just as the twopriests were taking their seats a discreet ring was heard, and when AbbeRose learnt that the visitor was a neighbour, Madame Mathis, who had comefor an answer, he gave orders that she should be shown in. 

"This poor woman, " he explained to Pierre, "needed an advance of tenfrancs to get a mattress out of pawn; and I didn't have the money by meat the time. But I've since procured it. She lives in the house, youknow, in silent poverty, on so small an income that it hardly keeps herin bread. "

"But hasn't she a big son of twenty?" asked Pierre, suddenly rememberingthe young man he had seen at Salvat's. 

"Yes, yes. Her parents, I believe, were rich people in the provinces. I've been told that she married a music master, who gave her lessons, atNantes; and who ran away with her and brought her to Paris, where hedied. It was quite a doleful love-story. By selling the furniture andrealising every little thing she possessed, she scraped together anincome of about two thousand francs a year, with which she was able tosend her son to college and live decently herself. But a fresh blow fellon her: she lost the greater part of her little fortune, which wasinvested in doubtful securities. So now her income amounts at the utmostto eight hundred francs; two hundred of which she has to expend in rent. For all her other wants she has to be content with fifty francs a month. About eighteen months ago her son left her so as not to be a burden onher, and he is trying to earn his living somewhere, but without success, I believe. "

Madame Mathis, a short, dark woman, with a sad, gentle, retiring face, came in. Invariably clad in the same black gown, she showed all theanxious timidity of a poor creature whom the storms of life perpetuallyassailed. When Abbe Rose had handed her the ten francs discreetly wrappedin paper, she blushed and thanked him, promising to pay him back as soonas she received her month's money, for she was not a beggar and did notwish to encroach on the share of those who starved. 

"And your son, Victor, has he found any employment?" asked the oldpriest. 

She hesitated, ignorant as she was of what her son might be doing, fornow she did not see him for weeks together. And finally, she contentedherself with answering: "He has a good heart, he is very fond of me. Itis a great misfortune that we should have been ruined before he couldenter the Ecole Normale. It was impossible for him to prepare for theexamination. But at the Lycee he was such a diligent and intelligentpupil!"

"You lost your husband when your son was ten years old, did you not?"said Abbe Rose. 

At this she blushed again, thinking that her husband's story was known tothe two priests. "Yes, my poor husband never had any luck, " she said. "His difficulties embittered and excited his mind, and he died in prison. He was sent there through a disturbance at a public meeting, when he hadthe misfortune to wound a police officer. He had also fought at the timeof the Commune. And yet he was a very gentle man and extremely fond ofme. "

Tears had risen to her eyes; and Abbe Rose, much touched, dismissed her:"Well, let us hope that your son will give you satisfaction, and be ableto repay you for all you have done for him. "

With a gesture of infinite sorrow, Madame Mathis discreetly withdrew. Shewas quite ignorant of her son's doings, but fate had pursued her sorelentlessly that she ever trembled. 

"I don't think that the poor woman has much to expect from her son, " saidPierre, when she had gone. "I only saw him once, but the gleam in hiseyes was as harsh and trenchant as that of a knife. "

"Do you think so?" the old priest exclaimed, with his kindly _naivete_. "Well, he seemed to me very polite, perhaps a trifle eager to enjoy life;but then, all the young folks are impatient nowadays. Come, let us sitdown to table, for the soup will be cold. "

Almost at the same hour, on the other side of Paris, night had in likefashion slowly fallen in the drawing-room of the Countess de Quinsac, onthe dismal, silent ground-floor of an old mansion in the Rue St. Dominique. The Countess was there, alone with her faithful friend, theMarquis de Morigny, she on one side, and he on the other side of thechimney-piece, where the last embers of the wood fire were dying out. Theservant had not yet brought the lamp, and the Countess refrained fromringing, finding some relief from her anxiety in the falling darkness, which hid from view all the unconfessed thoughts that she was afraid ofshowing on her weary face. And it was only now, before that dim hearth, and in that black room, where never a sound of wheels disturbed thesilence of the slumberous past, that she dared to speak. 

"Yes, my friend, " she said, "I am not satisfied with Gerard's health. Youwill see him yourself, for he promised to come home early and dine withme. Oh! I'm well aware that he looks big and strong; but to know himproperly one must have nursed and watched him as I have done! Whattrouble I had to rear him! In reality he is at the mercy of any pettyailment. His slightest complaint becomes serious illness. And the life heleads does not conduce to good health. "

She paused and sighed, hesitating to carry her confession further. 

"He leads the life he can, " slowly responded the Marquis de Morigny, ofwhose delicate profile, and lofty yet loving bearing, little could beseen in the gloom. "As he was unable to endure military life, and as eventhe fatigues of diplomacy frighten you, what would you have him do? Hecan only live apart pending the final collapse, while this abominableRepublic is dragging France to the grave. "

"No doubt, my friend. And yet it is just that idle life which frightensme. He is losing in it all that was good and healthy in him. I don'trefer merely to the _liaisons_ which we have had to tolerate. The lastone, which I found so much difficulty in countenancing at the outset, socontrary did it seem to all my ideas and beliefs, has since seemed to meto exercise almost a good influence. Only he is now entering histhirty-sixth year, and can he continue living in this fashion withoutobject or duties? If he is ailing it is perhaps precisely because he doesnothing, holds no position, and serves no purpose. " Her voice againquavered. "And then, my friend, since you force me to tell youeverything, I must own that I am not in good health myself. I have hadseveral fainting fits of late, and have consulted a doctor. The truth is, that I may go off at any moment. "

With a quiver, Morigny leant forward in the still deepening gloom, andwished to take hold of her hands. "You! what, am I to lose you, my lastaffection!" he faltered, "I who have seen the old world I belong tocrumble away, I who only live in the hope that you at all events willstill be here to close my eyes!"

But she begged him not to increase her grief: "No, no, don't take myhands, don't kiss them! Remain there in the shade, where I can scarcelysee you.... We have loved one another so long without aught to causeshame or regret; and that will prove our strength--our divinestrength--till we reach the grave.... And if you were to touch me, ifI were to feel you too near me I could not finish, for I have not done soyet. "

As soon as he had relapsed into silence and immobility, she continued:"If I were to die to-morrow, Gerard would not even find here the littlefortune which he still fancies is in my hands. The dear child has oftencost me large sums of money without apparently being conscious of it. Iought to have been more severe, more prudent. But what would you have?Ruin is at hand. I have always been too weak a mother. And do you nowunderstand in what anguish I live? I ever have the thought that if I dieGerard will not even possess enough to live on, for he is incapable ofeffecting the miracle which I renew each day, in order to keep the houseup on a decent footing.... Ah! I know him, so supine, so sickly, inspite of his proud bearing, unable to do anything, even conduct himself. And so what will become of him; will he not fall into the most diredistress?"

Then her tears flowed freely, her heart opened and bled, for she foresawwhat must happen after her death: the collapse of her race and of a wholeworld in the person of that big child. And the Marquis, still motionlessbut distracted, feeling that he had no title to offer his own fortune, suddenly understood her, foresaw in what disgrace this fresh disasterwould culminate. 

"Ah! my poor friend!" he said at last in a voice trembling with revoltand grief. "So you have agreed to that marriage--yes, that abominablemarriage with that woman's daughter! Yet you swore it should never be!You would rather witness the collapse of everything, you said. And nowyou are consenting, I can feel it!"

She still wept on in that black, silent drawing-room before thechimney-piece where the fire had died out. Did not Gerard's marriage toCamille mean a happy ending for herself, a certainty of leaving her sonwealthy, loved, and seated at the banquet of life? However, a lastfeeling of rebellion arose within her. 

"No, no, " she exclaimed, "I don't consent, I swear to you that I don'tconsent as yet. I am fighting with my whole strength, waging an incessantbattle, the torture of which you cannot imagine. "

Then, in all sincerity, she foresaw the likelihood of defeat. "If Ishould some day give way, my friend, at all events believe that I feel, as fully as you do, how abominable such a marriage must be. It will bethe end of our race and our honour!"

This cry profoundly stirred the Marquis, and he was unable to add a word. Haughty and uncompromising Catholic and Royalist that he was, he, on hisside also, expected nothing but the supreme collapse. Yet howheartrending was the thought that this noble woman, so dearly and sopurely loved, would prove one of the most mournful victims of thecatastrophe! And in the shrouding gloom he found courage to kneel beforeher, take her hand, and kiss it. 

Just as the servant was at last bringing a lighted lamp Gerard made hisappearance. The past-century charm of the old Louis XVI. Drawing-room, with its pale woodwork, again became apparent in the soft light. In orderthat his mother might not be over-saddened by his failure to dine withher that evening the young man had put on an air of brisk gaiety; andwhen he had explained that some friends were waiting for him, she at oncereleased him from his promise, happy as she felt at seeing him so merry. 

"Go, go, my dear boy, " said she, "but mind you do not tire yourself toomuch.... I am going to keep Morigny; and the General and Larombiereare coming at nine o'clock. So be easy, I shall have someone with me tokeep me from fretting and feeling lonely. "

In this wise Gerard after sitting down for a moment and chatting with theMarquis was able to slip away, dress, and betake himself to the CafeAnglais. 

When he reached it women in fur cloaks were already climbing the stairs, fashionable and merry parties were filling the private rooms, theelectric lights shone brilliantly, and the walls were already vibratingwith the stir of pleasure and debauchery. In the room which BaronDuvillard had engaged the young man found an extraordinary display, themost superb flowers, and a profusion of plate and crystal as for a royalgala. The pomp with which the six covers were laid called forth a smile;while the bill of fare and the wine list promised marvels, all the rarestand most expensive things that could be selected. 

"It's stylish, isn't it?" exclaimed Silviane, who was already there withDuvillard, Fonsegue and Duthil. "I just wanted to make your influentialcritic open his eyes a little! When one treats a journalist to such adinner as this, he has got to be amiable, hasn't he?"

In her desire to conquer, it had occurred to the young woman to arrayherself in the most amazing fashion. Her gown of yellow satin, coveredwith old Alencon lace, was cut low at the neck; and she had put on allher diamonds, a necklace, a diadem, shoulder-knots, bracelets and rings. With her candid, girlish face, she looked like some Virgin in a missal, aQueen-Virgin, laden with the offerings of all Christendom. 

"Well, well, you look so pretty, " said Gerard, who sometimes jested withher, "that I think it will do all the same. "

"Ah!" she replied with equanimity. "You consider me a _bourgeoise_, Isee. Your opinion is that a simple little dinner and a modest gown wouldhave shown better taste. But ah! my dear fellow, you don't know the wayto get round men!"

Duvillard signified his approval, for he was delighted to be able to showher in all her glory, adorned like an idol. Fonsegue, for his part, talked of diamonds, saying that they were now doubtful investments, asthe day when they would become articles of current manufacture was fastapproaching, thanks to the electrical furnace and other inventions. Meantime Duthil, with an air of ecstasy and the dainty gestures of alady's maid, hovered around the young woman, either smoothing arebellious bow or arranging some fold of her lace. 

"But I say, " resumed Silviane, "your critic seems to be an ill-bred man, for he's keeping us waiting. "

Indeed, the critic arrived a quarter of an hour late, and whileapologising, he expressed his regret that he should be obliged to leaveat half-past nine, for he was absolutely compelled to put in anappearance at a little theatre in the Rue Pigalle. He was a big fellow offifty with broad shoulders and a full, bearded face. His mostdisagreeable characteristic was the narrow dogmatic pedantry which he hadacquired at the Ecole Normale, and had never since been able to shakeoff. All his herculean efforts to be sceptical and frivolous, and thetwenty years he had spent in Paris mingling with every section ofsociety, had failed to rid him of it. _Magister_ he was, and _magister_he remained, even in his most strenuous flights of imagination andaudacity. From the moment of his arrival he tried to show himselfenraptured with Silviane. Naturally enough, he already knew her by sight, and had even criticised her on one occasion in five or six contemptuouslines. However, the sight of her there, in full beauty, clad like aqueen, and presented by four influential protectors, filled him withemotion; and he was struck with the idea that nothing would be moreParisian and less pedantic than to assert she had some talent and giveher his support. 

They had seated themselves at table, and the repast proved a magnificentone, the service ever prompt and assiduous, an attendant being allottedto each diner. While the flowers scattered their perfumes through theroom, and the plate and crystal glittered on the snowy cloth, anabundance of delicious and unexpected dishes were handed round--asturgeon from Russia, prohibited game, truffles as big as eggs, andhothouse vegetables and fruit as full of flavour as if they had beennaturally matured. It was money flung out of window, simply for thepleasure of wasting more than other people, and eating what they couldnot procure. The influential critic, though he displayed the ease of aman accustomed to every sort of festivity, really felt astonished at itall, and became servile, promising his support, and pledging himself farmore than he really wished to. Moreover, he showed himself very gay, found some witty remarks to repeat, and even some rather ribald jests. But when the champagne appeared after the roast and the grand burgundies, his over-excitement brought him back perforce to his real nature. Theconversation had now turned on Corneille's "Polyeucte" and the part of"Pauline, " in which Silviane wished to make her _debut_ at the ComedieFrancaise. This extraordinary caprice, which had quite revolted theinfluential critic a week previously, now seemed to him simply a boldenterprise in which the young woman might even prove victorious if sheconsented to listen to his advice. And, once started, he delivered quitea lecture on the past, asserting that no actress had ever yet understoodit properly, for at the outset Pauline was simply a well-meaning littlecreature of the middle classes, and the beauty of her conversion at thefinish arose from the working of a miracle, a stroke of heavenly gracewhich endowed her with something divine. This was not the opinion ofSilviane, who from the first lines regarded Pauline as the ideal heroineof some symbolical legend. However, as the critic talked on and on, shehad to feign approval; and he was delighted at finding her so beautifuland docile beneath his ferule. At last, as ten o'clock was striking, herose and tore out of the hot and reeking room in order to do his work. 

"Ah! my dears, " cried Silviane, "he's a nice bore is that critic ofyours! What a fool he is with his idea of Pauline being a little_bourgeoise_! I would have given him a fine dressing if it weren't forthe fact that I have some need of him. Ah! no, it's too idiotic! Pour meout a glass of champagne. I want something to set me right after allthat!"

The _fete_ then took quite an intimate turn between the four men whoremained and that bare-armed, bare-breasted girl, covered with diamonds;while from the neighbouring passages and rooms came bursts of laughterand sounds of kissing, all the stir and mirth of the debauchery nowfilling the house. And beneath the windows torrents of vehicles andpedestrians streamed along the Boulevards where reigned the wild fever ofpleasure and harlotry. 

"No, don't open it, or I shall catch cold!" resumed Silviane, addressingFonsegue as he stepped towards the window. "Are you so very warm, then?I'm just comfortable.... But, Duvillard, my good fellow, please ordersome more champagne. It's wonderful what a thirst your critic has givenme!"

Amidst the blinding glare of the lamps and the perfume of the flowers andwines, one almost stifled in the room. And Silviane was seized with anirresistible desire for a spree, a desire to tipple and amuse herself insome vulgar fashion, as in her bygone days. A few glasses of champagnebrought her to full pitch, and she showed the boldest and giddiestgaiety. The others, who had never before seen her so lively, began ontheir own side to feel amused. As Fonsegue was obliged to go to hisoffice she embraced him "like a daughter, " as she expressed it. However, on remaining alone with the others she indulged in great freedom ofspeech, which became more and more marked as her intoxication increased. And to the class of men with whom she consorted her great attraction, asshe was well aware, lay in the circumstance that with her virginalcountenance and her air of ideal purity was coupled the most monstrousperversity ever displayed by any shameless woman. Despite her innocentblue eyes and lily-like candour, she would give rein, particularly whenshe was drunk, to the most diabolical of fancies. 

Duvillard let her drink on, but she guessed his thoughts, like sheguessed those of the others, and simply smiled while concoctingimpossible stories and descanting fantastically in the language of thegutter. And seeing her there in her dazzling gown fit for a queenlyvirgin, and hearing her pour forth the vilest words, they thought hermost wonderfully droll. However, when she had drunk as much champagne asshe cared for and was half crazy, a novel idea suddenly occurred to her. 

"I say, my children, " she exclaimed, "we are surely not going to stophere. It's so precious slow! You shall take me to the Chamber ofHorrors--eh? just to finish the evening. I want to hear Legras sing 'LaChemise, ' that song which all Paris is running to hear him sing. "

But Duvillard indignantly rebelled: "Oh! no, " said he; "most certainlynot. It's a vile song and I'll never take you to such an abominableplace. "

But she did not appear to hear him. She had already staggered to her feetand was arranging her hair before a looking-glass. "I used to live atMontmartre, " she said, "and it'll amuse me to go back there. And, besides, I want to know if this Legras is a Legras that I knew, oh! everso long ago! Come, up you get, and let us be off!"

"But, my dear girl, " pleaded Duvillard, "we can't take you into that dendressed as you are! Just fancy your entering that place in a low-neckedgown and covered with diamonds! Why everyone would jeer at us! Come, Gerard, just tell her to be a little reasonable. "

Gerard, equally offended by the idea of such a freak, was quite willingto intervene. But she closed his mouth with her gloved hand and repeatedwith the gay obstinacy of intoxication: "Pooh, it will be all the moreamusing if they do jeer at us! Come, let us be off, let us be off, quick!"

Thereupon Duthil, who had been listening with a smile and the air of aman of pleasure whom nothing astonishes or displeases, gallantly took herpart. "But, my dear Baron, everybody goes to the Chamber of Horrors, "said he. "Why, I myself have taken the noblest ladies there, andprecisely to hear that song of Legras, which is no worse than anythingelse. "

"Ah! you hear what Duthil says!" cried Silviane. "He's a deputy, he is, and he wouldn't go there if he thought it would compromise hishonorability!"

Then, as Duvillard still struggled on in despair at the idea ofexhibiting himself with her in such a scandalous place, she became allthe merrier: "Well, my dear fellow, please yourself. I don't need you. You and Gerard can go home if you like. But I'm going to Montmartre withDuthil. You'll take charge of me, won't you, Duthil, eh?"

Still, the Baron was in no wise disposed to let the evening finish inthat fashion. The mere idea of it gave him a shock, and he had to resignhimself to the girl's stubborn caprice. The only consolation he couldthink of was to secure Gerard's presence, for the young man, with somelingering sense of decorum, still obstinately refused to make one of theparty. So the Baron took his hands and detained him, repeating in urgenttones that he begged him to come as an essential mark of friendship. Andat last the wife's lover and daughter's suitor had to give way to the manwho was the former's husband and the latter's father. 

Silviane was immensely amused by it all, and, indiscreetly thee-ing andthou-ing Gerard, suggested that he at least owed the Baron some littlecompliance with his wishes. 

Duvillard pretended not to hear her. He was listening to Duthil, who toldhim that there was a sort of box in a corner of the Chamber of Horrors, in which one could in some measure conceal oneself. And then, asSilviane's carriage--a large closed landau, whose coachman, a sturdy, handsome fellow, sat waiting impassively on his box--was down below, theystarted off. 

The Chamber of Horrors was installed in premises on the Boulevard deRochechouart, formerly occupied by a cafe whose proprietor had becomebankrupt. * It was a suffocating place, narrow, irregular, with all sortsof twists, turns, and secluded nooks, and a low and smoky ceiling. Andnothing could have been more rudimentary than its decorations. The wallshad simply been placarded with posters of violent hues, some of thecrudest character, showing the barest of female figures. Behind a pianoat one end there was a little platform reached by a curtained doorway. For the rest, one simply found a number of bare wooden forms setalongside the veriest pot-house tables, on which the glasses containingvarious beverages left round and sticky marks. There was no luxury, noartistic feature, no cleanliness even. Globeless gas burners flaredfreely, heating a dense mist compounded of tobacco smoke and humanbreath. Perspiring, apoplectical faces could be perceived through thisveil, and an acrid odour increased the intoxication of the assembly, which excited itself with louder and louder shouts at each fresh song. Ithad been sufficient for an enterprising fellow to set up these boards, bring out Legras, accompanied by two or three girls, make him sing hisfrantic and abominable songs, and in two or three evenings overwhelmingsuccess had come, all Paris being enticed and flocking to the place, which for ten years or so had failed to pay as a mere cafe, where by wayof amusement petty cits had been simply allowed their daily games atdominoes. 

 * Those who know Paris will identify the site selected by M. Zola as that where 'Colonel' Lisbonne of the Commune installed his den the 'Bagne' some years ago. Nevertheless, such places as the 'Chamber of Horrors' now abound in the neighbourhood of Montmartre, and it must be admitted that whilst they are frequented by certain classes of Frenchmen they owe much of their success in a pecuniary sense to the patronage of foreigners. Among the latter, Englishmen are particularly conspicuous. --Trans. 

And the change had been caused by the passion for filth, the irresistibleattraction exercised by all that brought opprobrium and disgust. TheParis of enjoyment, the _bourgeoisie_ which held all wealth and power, which would relinquish naught of either, though it was surfeited andgradually wearying of both, simply hastened to the place in order thatobscenity and insult might be flung in its face. Hypnotised, as it were, while staggering to its fall, it felt a need of being spat upon. And whata frightful symptom there lay in it all: those condemned ones rushingupon dirt of their own accord, voluntarily hastening their owndecomposition by that unquenchable thirst for the vile, which attractedmen, reputed to be grave and upright, and lovely women of the mostperfect grace and luxury, to all the beastliness of that low den!

At one of the tables nearest the stage sat little Princess Rosemonde deHarn, with wild eyes and quivering nostrils, delighted as she felt at nowbeing able to satisfy her curiosity regarding the depths of Paris life. Young Hyacinthe had resigned himself to the task of bringing her, and, correctly buttoned up in his long frock-coat, he was indulgent enough torefrain from any marked expression of boredom. At a neighbouring tablethey had found a shadowy Spaniard of their acquaintance, a so-calledBourse jobber, Bergaz, who had been introduced to the Princess by Janzen, and usually attended her entertainments. They virtually knew nothingabout him, not even if he really earned at the Bourse all the money whichhe sometimes spent so lavishly, and which enabled him to dress withaffected elegance. His slim, lofty figure was not without a certain airof distinction, but his red lips spoke of strong passions and his brighteyes were those of a beast of prey. That evening he had two young fellowswith him, one Rossi, a short, swarthy Italian, who had come to Paris as apainter's model, and had soon glided into the lazy life of certaindisreputable callings, and the other, Sanfaute, a born Parisianblackguard, a pale, beardless, vicious and impudent stripling of LaChapelle, whose long curly hair fell down upon either side of his bonycheeks. 

"Oh! pray now!" feverishly said Rosemonde to Bergaz; "as you seem to knowall these horrid people, just show me some of the celebrities. Aren'tthere some thieves and murderers among them?"

He laughed shrilly, and in a bantering way replied: "But you know thesepeople well enough, madame. That pretty, pink, delicate-looking womanover yonder is an American lady, the wife of a consul, whom, I believe, you receive at your house. That other on the right, that tall brunettewho shows such queenly dignity, is a Countess, whose carriage passesyours every day in the Bois. And the thin one yonder, whose eyes glitterlike those of a she-wolf, is the particular friend of a high official, who is well known for his reputation of austerity. "

But she stopped him, in vexation: "I know, I know. But the others, thoseof the lower classes, those whom one comes to see. "

Then she went on asking questions, and seeking for terrifying andmysterious countenances. At last, two men seated in a corner ended byattracting her attention; one of them a very young fellow with a pale, pinched face, and the other an ageless individual who, besides beingbuttoned up to his neck in an old coat, had pulled his cap so low overhis eyes, that one saw little of his face beyond the beard which fringedit. Before these two stood a couple of mugs of beer, which they drankslowly and in silence. 

"You are making a great mistake, my dear, " said Hyacinthe with a franklaugh, "if you are looking for brigands in disguise. That poor fellowwith the pale face, who surely doesn't have food to eat every day, was myschoolfellow at Condorcet!"

Bergaz expressed his amazement. "What! you knew Mathis at Condorcet!After all, though, you're right, he received a college education. Ah! andso you knew him. A very remarkable young man he is, though want isthrottling him. But, I say, the other one, his companion, you don't knowhim?"

Hyacinthe, after looking at the man with the cap-hidden face, was alreadyshaking his head, when Bergaz suddenly gave him a nudge as a signal tokeep quiet, and by way of explanation he muttered: "Hush! Here'sRaphanel. I've been distrusting him for some time past. Whenever heappears anywhere, the police is not far off. "

Raphanel was another of the vague, mysterious Anarchists whom Janzen hadpresented to the Princess by way of satisfying her momentary passion forrevolutionism. This one, though he was a fat, gay, little man, with adoll-like face and childish nose, which almost disappeared between hispuffy cheeks, had the reputation of being a thorough desperado; and atpublic meetings he certainly shouted for fire and murder with all hislungs. Still, although he had already been compromised in variousaffairs, he had invariably managed to save his own bacon, whilst hiscompanions were kept under lock and key; and this they were now beginningto think somewhat singular. 

He at once shook hands with the Princess in a jovial way, took a seatnear her without being invited, and forthwith denounced the dirty_bourgeoisie_ which came to wallow in places of ill fame. Rosemonde wasdelighted, and encouraged him, but others near by began to get angry, andBergaz examined him with his piercing eyes, like a man of energy whoacts, and lets others talk. Now and then, too, he exchanged quick glancesof intelligence with his silent lieutenants, Sanfaute and Rossi, whoplainly belonged to him, both body and soul. They were the ones who foundtheir profit in Anarchy, practising it to its logical conclusions, whether in crime or in vice. 

Meantime, pending the arrival of Legras with his "Flowers of thePavement, " two female vocalists had followed one another on the stage, the first fat and the second thin, one chirruping some silly love songswith an under-current of dirt, and the other shouting the coarsest ofrefrains, in a most violent, fighting voice. She had just finished amidsta storm of bravos, when the assembly, stirred to merriment and eager fora laugh, suddenly exploded once more. Silviane was entering the littlebox at one end of the hall. When she appeared erect in the full light, with bare arms and shoulders, looking like a planet in her gown of yellowsatin and her blazing diamonds, there arose a formidable uproar, shouts, jeers, hisses, laughing and growling, mingled with ferocious applause. And the scandal increased, and the vilest expressions flew about as soonas Duvillard, Gerard and Duthil also showed themselves, looking veryserious and dignified with their white ties and spreading shirt fronts. 

"We told you so!" muttered Duvillard, who was much annoyed with theaffair, while Gerard tried to conceal himself in a dim corner. 

She, however, smiling and enchanted, faced the public, accepting thestorm with the candid bearing of a foolish virgin, much as one inhalesthe vivifying air of the open when it bears down upon one in a squall. And, indeed, she herself had sprung from the sphere before her, itsatmosphere was her native air. 

"Well, what of it?" she said replying to the Baron who wanted her to sitdown. "They are merry. It's very nice. Oh! I'm really amusing myself!"

"Why, yes, it's very nice, " declared Duthil, who in like fashion sethimself at his ease. "Silviane is right, people naturally like a laughnow and then!"

Amidst the uproar, which did not cease, little Princess Rosemonde roseenthusiastically to get a better view. "Why, it's your father who's withthat woman Silviane, " she said to Hyacinthe. "Just look at them! Well, hecertainly has plenty of bounce to show himself here with her!"

Hyacinthe, however, refused to look. It didn't interest him, his fatherwas an idiot, only a child would lose his head over a girl in thatfashion. And with his contempt for woman the young man became positivelyinsulting. 

"You try my nerves, my dear fellow, " said Rosemonde as she sat down. "Youare the child with your silly ideas about us. And as for your father, hedoes quite right to love that girl. I find her very pretty indeed, quiteadorable!"

Then all at once the uproar ceased, those who had risen resumed theirseats, and the only sound was that of the feverish throb which coursedthrough the assembly. Legras had just appeared on the platform. He was apale sturdy fellow with a round and carefully shaven face, stern eyes, and the powerful jaws of a man who compels the adoration of women byterrorising them. He was not deficient in talent, he sang true, and hisringing voice was one of extraordinary penetration and pathetic power. And his _repertoire_, his "Flowers of the Pavement, " completed theexplanation of his success; for all the foulness and suffering of thelower spheres, the whole abominable sore of the social hell created bythe rich, shrieked aloud in these songs in words of filth and fire andblood. 

A prelude was played on the piano, and Legras standing there in hisvelvet jacket sang "La Chemise, " the horrible song which brought allParis to hear him. All the lust and vice that crowd the streets of thegreat city appeared with their filth and their poison; and amid thepicture of Woman stripped, degraded, ill-treated, dragged through themire and cast into a cesspool, there rang out the crime of the_bourgeoisie_. But the scorching insult of it all was less in the wordsthemselves than in the manner in which Legras cast them in the faces ofthe rich, the happy, the beautiful ladies who came to listen to him. Under the low ceiling, amidst the smoke from the pipes, in the blindingglare of the gas, he sent his lines flying through the assembly likeexpectorations, projected by a whirlwind of furious contempt. And when hehad finished there came delirium; the beautiful ladies did not even thinkof wiping away the many affronts they had received, but applaudedfrantically. The whole assembly stamped and shouted, and wallowed, distracted, in its ignominy. 

"Bravo! bravo!" the little Princess repeated in her shrill voice. "It'sastonishing, astonishing, prodigious!"

And Silviane, whose intoxication seemed to have increased since she hadbeen there, in the depths of that fiery furnace, made herselfparticularly conspicuous by the manner in which she clapped her hands andshouted: "It's he, it's my Legras! I really must kiss him, he's pleasedme so much!"

Duvillard, now fairly exasperated, wished to take her off by force. Butshe clung to the hand-rest of the box, and shouted yet more loudly, though without any show of temper. It became necessary to parley withher. Yes, she was willing to go off and let them drive her home; but, first of all, she must embrace Legras, who was an old friend of hers. "Goand wait for me in the carriage!" she said, "I will be with you in amoment. "

Just as the assembly was at last becoming calmer, Rosemonde perceivedthat the box was emptying; and her own curiosity being satisfied, shethought of prevailing on Hyacinthe to see her home. He, who had listenedto Legras in a languid way without even applauding, was now talking ofNorway with Bergaz, who pretended that he had travelled in the North. Oh!the fiords! oh! the ice-bound lakes! oh! the pure lily-white, chastecoldness of the eternal winter! It was only amid such surroundings, saidHyacinthe, that he could understand woman and love, like a kiss of thevery snow itself. 

"Shall we go off there to-morrow?" exclaimed the Princess with hervivacious effrontery. "I'll shut up my house and slip the key under thedoor. "

Then she added that she was jesting, of course. But Bergaz knew her to bequite capable of such a freak; and at the idea that she might shut up herlittle mansion and perhaps leave it unprotected he exchanged a quickglance with Sanfaute and Rossi, who still smiled in silence. Ah! what anopportunity for a fine stroke! What an opportunity to get back some ofthe wealth of the community appropriated by the blackguard _bourgeoisie_!

Meantime Raphanel, after applauding Legras, was looking all round theplace with his little grey, sharp eyes. And at last young Mathis and hiscompanion, the ill-clad individual, of whose face only a scrap of beardcould be seen, attracted his attention. They had neither laughed norapplauded; they seemed to be simply a couple of tired fellows who wereresting, and in whose opinion one is best hidden in the midst of a crowd. 

All at once, though, Raphanel turned towards Bergaz: "That's surelylittle Mathis over yonder. But who's that with him?"

Bergaz made an evasive gesture; he did not know. Still, he no longer tookhis eyes from Raphanel. And he saw the other feign indifference at whatfollowed, and finish his beer and take his leave, with the jesting remarkthat he had an appointment with a lady at a neighbouring omnibus office. No sooner had he gone than Bergaz rose, sprang over some of the forms andjostled people in order to reach little Mathis, into whose ear hewhispered a few words. And the young man at once left his table, takinghis companion and pushing him outside through an occasional exit. It wasall so rapidly accomplished that none of the general public paidattention to the flight. 

"What is it?" said the Princess to Bergaz, when he had quietly resumedhis seat between Rossi and Sanfaute. 

"Oh! nothing, I merely wished to shake hands with Mathis as he was goingoff. "

Thereupon Rosemonde announced that she meant to do the same. Nevertheless, she lingered a moment longer and again spoke of Norway onperceiving that nothing could impassion Hyacinthe except the idea of theeternal snow, the intense, purifying cold of the polar regions. In hispoem on the "End of Woman, " a composition of some thirty lines, which hehoped he should never finish, he thought of introducing a forest offrozen pines by way of final scene. Now the Princess had risen and wasgaily reverting to her jest, declaring that she meant to take him home todrink a cup of tea and arrange their trip to the Pole, when aninvoluntary exclamation fell from Bergaz, who, while listening, had kepthis eyes on the doorway. 

"Mondesir! I was sure of it!"

There had appeared at the entrance a short, sinewy, broad-backed littleman, about whose round face, bumpy forehead, and snub nose there wasconsiderable military roughness. One might have thought him anon-commissioned officer in civilian attire. He gazed over the wholeroom, and seemed at once dismayed and disappointed. 

Bergaz, however, wishing to account for his exclamation, resumed in aneasy way: "Ah! I said there was a smell of the police about the place!You see that fellow--he's a detective, a very clever one, named Mondesir, who had some trouble when he was in the army. Just look at him, sniffinglike a dog that has lost scent! Well, well, my brave fellow, if you'vebeen told of any game you may look and look for it, the bird's flownalready!"

Once outside, when Rosemonde had prevailed on Hyacinthe to see her home, they hastened to get into the brougham, which was waiting for them, fornear at hand they perceived Silviane's landau, with the majestic coachmanmotionless on his box, while Duvillard, Gerard, and Duthil still stoodwaiting on the curbstone. They had been there for nearly twenty minutesalready, in the semi-darkness of that outer boulevard, where all thevices of the poor districts of Paris were on the prowl. They had beenjostled by drunkards; and shadowy women brushed against them as they wentby whispering beneath the oaths and blows of bullies. And there werecouples seeking the darkness under the trees, and lingering on thebenches there; while all around were low taverns and dirty lodging-housesand places of ill-fame. All the human degradation which till break of dayswarms in the black mud of this part of Paris, enveloped the three men, giving them the horrors, and yet neither the Baron nor Gerard nor Duthilwas willing to go off. Each hoped that he would tire out the others, andtake Silviane home when she should at last appear. 

But after a time the Baron grew impatient, and said to the coachman:"Jules, go and see why madame doesn't come. "

"But the horses, Monsieur le Baron?"

"Oh! they will be all right, we are here. "

A fine drizzle had begun to fall; and the wait went on again as if itwould never finish. But an unexpected meeting gave them momentaryoccupation. A shadowy form, something which seemed to be a thin, black-skirted woman, brushed against them. And all of a sudden they weresurprised to find it was a priest. 

"What, is it you, Monsieur l'Abbe Froment?" exclaimed Gerard. "At thistime of night? And in this part of Paris?"

Thereupon Pierre, without venturing either to express his ownastonishment at finding them there themselves, or to ask them what theywere doing, explained that he had been belated through accompanying AbbeRose on a visit to a night refuge. Ah! to think of all the frightful wantwhich at last drifted to those pestilential dormitories where the stenchhad almost made him faint! To think of all the weariness and despairwhich there sank into the slumber of utter prostration, like that ofbeasts falling to the ground to sleep off the abominations of life! Noname could be given to the promiscuity; poverty and suffering were therein heaps, children and men, young and old, beggars in sordid rags, besidethe shameful poor in threadbare frock-coats, all the waifs and strays ofthe daily shipwrecks of Paris life, all the laziness and vice, andill-luck and injustice which the torrent rolls on, and throws off likescum. Some slept on, quite annihilated, with the faces of corpses. Others, lying on their backs with mouths agape, snored loudly as if stillventing the plaint of their sorry life. And others tossed restlessly, still struggling in their slumber against fatigue and cold and hunger, which pursued them like nightmares of monstrous shape. And from all thosehuman beings, stretched there like wounded after a battle, from all thatambulance of life reeking with a stench of rottenness and death, thereascended a nausea born of revolt, the vengeance-prompting thought of allthe happy chambers where, at that same hour, the wealthy loved or restedin fine linen and costly lace. *

 * Even the oldest Paris night refuges, which are the outcome of private philanthropy--L'Oeuvre de l'Hospitalite de Nuit-- have only been in existence some fourteen or fifteen years. Before that time, and from the period of the great Revolution forward, there was absolutely no place, either refuge, asylum, or workhouse, in the whole of that great city of wealth and pleasure, where the houseless poor could crave a night's shelter. The various royalist, imperialist and republican governments and municipalities of modern France have often been described as 'paternal, ' but no governments and municipalities in the whole civilised world have done less for the very poor. The official Poor Relief Board--L'Assistance Publique--has for fifty years been a by-word, a mockery and a sham, in spite of its large revenue. And this neglect of the very poor has been an important factor in every French revolution. Each of these--even that of 1870--had its purely economic side, though many superficial historians are content to ascribe economic causes to the one Revolution of 1789, and to pass them by in all other instances. --Trans. 

In vain had Pierre and Abbe Rose passed all the poor wretches in reviewwhile seeking the big Old'un, the former carpenter, so as to rescue himfrom the cesspool of misery, and send him to the Asylum on the verymorrow. He had presented himself at the refuge that evening, but therewas no room left, for, horrible to say, even the shelter of that hellcould only be granted to early comers. And so he must now be leaningagainst a wall, or lying behind some palings. This had greatly distressedpoor Abbe Rose and Pierre, but it was impossible for them to search everydark, suspicious corner; and so the former had returned to the RueCortot, while the latter was seeking a cab to convey him back to Neuilly. 

The fine drizzling rain was still falling and becoming almost icy, whenSilviane's coachman, Jules, at last reappeared and interrupted thepriest, who was telling the Baron and the others how his visit to therefuge still made him shudder. 

"Well, Jules--and madame?" asked Duvillard, quite anxious at seeing thecoachman return alone. 

Impassive and respectful, with no other sign of irony than a slightinvoluntary twist of the lips, Jules answered: "Madame sends word thatshe is not going home; and she places her carriage at the gentlemen'sdisposal if they will allow me to drive them home. "

This was the last straw, and the Baron flew into a passion. To haveallowed her to drag him to that vile den, to have waited there hopefullyso long, and to be treated in this fashion for the sake of a Legras! No, no, he, the Baron, had had enough of it, and she should pay dearly forher abominable conduct! Then he stopped a passing cab and pushed Gerardinside it saying, "You can set me down at my door. "

"But she's left us the carriage!" shouted Duthil, who was alreadyconsoled, and inwardly laughed at the termination of it all. "Come here, there's plenty of room for three. No? you prefer the cab? Well, just asyou like, you know. "

For his part he gaily climbed into the landau and drove off lounging onthe cushions, while the Baron, in the jolting old cab, vented his ragewithout a word of interruption from Gerard, whose face was hidden by thedarkness. To think of it! that she, whom he had overwhelmed with gifts, who had already cost him two millions of francs, should in this fashioninsult him, the master who could dispose both of fortunes and of men!Well, she had chosen to do it, and he was delivered! Then Duvillard drewa long breath like a man released from the galleys. 

For a moment Pierre watched the two vehicles go off; and then took hisown way under the trees, so as to shelter himself from the rain until avacant cab should pass. Full of distress and battling thoughts he hadbegun to feel icy cold. The whole monstrous night of Paris, all thedebauchery and woe that sobbed around him made him shiver. Phantom-likewomen who, when young, had led lives of infamy in wealth, and who now, old and faded, led lives of infamy in poverty, were still and everwandering past him in search of bread, when suddenly a shadowy formgrazed him, and a voice murmured in his ear: "Warn your brother, thepolice are on Salvat's track, he may be arrested at any moment. "

The shadowy figure was already going its way, and as a gas ray fell uponit, Pierre thought that he recognised the pale, pinched face of VictorMathis. And at the same time, yonder in Abbe Rose's peaceful dining-room, he fancied he could again see the gentle face of Madame Mathis, so sadand so resigned, living on solely by the force of the last trembling hopewhich she had unhappily set in her son. 

III. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT

ALREADY at eight o'clock on that holiday-making mid-Lent Thursday, whenall the offices of the Home Department were empty, Monferrand, theMinister, sat alone in his private room. A single usher guarded his door, and in the first ante-chamber there were only a couple of messengers. 

The Minister had experienced, on awaking, the most unpleasant ofemotions. The "Voix du Peuple, " which on the previous day had revived theAfrican Railway scandal, by accusing Barroux of having pocketed 20, 000francs, had that morning published its long-promised list of thebribe-taking senators and deputies. And at the head of this listMonferrand had found his own name set down against a sum of 80, 000francs, while Fonsegue was credited with 50, 000. Then a fifth of thelatter amount was said to have been Duthil's share, and Chaigneux hadcontented himself with the beggarly sum of 3, 000 francs--the lowest pricepaid for any one vote, the cost of each of the others ranging from 5 to20, 000. 

It must be said that there was no anger in Monferrand's emotion. Only hehad never thought that Sagnier would carry his passion for uproar andscandal so far as to publish this list--a page which was said to havebeen torn from a memorandum book belonging to Duvillard's agent, Hunter, and which was covered with incomprehensible hieroglyphics that ought tohave been discussed and explained, if, indeed, the real truth was to bearrived at. Personally, Monferrand felt quite at ease, for he had writtennothing, signed nothing, and knew that one could always extricate oneselffrom a mess by showing some audacity, and never confessing. Nevertheless, what a commotion it would all cause in the parliamentary duck-pond. He atonce realised the inevitable consequences, the ministry overthrown andswept away by this fresh whirlwind of denunciation and tittle-tattle. Mege would renew his interpellation on the morrow, and Vignon and hisfriends would at once lay siege to the posts they coveted. And he, Monferrand, could picture himself driven out of that ministerial sanctumwhere, for eight months past, he had been taking his ease, not with anyfoolish vainglory, but with the pleasure of feeling that he was in hisproper place as a born ruler, who believed he could tame and lead themultitude. 

Having thrown the newspapers aside with a disdainful gesture, he rose andstretched himself, growling the while like a plagued lion. And then hebegan to walk up and down the spacious room, which showed all the fadedofficial luxury of mahogany furniture and green damask hangings. Steppingto and fro, with his hands behind his back, he no longer wore his usualfatherly, good-natured air. He appeared as he really was, a bornwrestler, short, but broad shouldered, with sensual mouth, fleshy noseand stern eyes, that all proclaimed him to be unscrupulous, of iron willand fit for the greatest tasks. Still, in this case, in what directionlay his best course? Must he let himself be dragged down with Barroux?Perhaps his personal position was not absolutely compromised? And yet howcould he part company from the others, swim ashore, and save himselfwhile they were being drowned? It was a grave problem, and with hisfrantic desire to retain power, he made desperate endeavours to devisesome suitable manoeuvre. 

But he could think of nothing, and began to swear at the virtuous fits ofthat silly Republic, which, in his opinion, rendered all governmentimpossible. To think of such foolish fiddle-faddle stopping a man of hisacumen and strength! How on earth can one govern men if one is denied theuse of money, that sovereign means of sway? And he laughed bitterly; forthe idea of an idyllic country where all great enterprises would becarried out in an absolutely honest manner seemed to him the height ofabsurdity. 

At last, however, unable as he was to come to a determination, itoccurred to him to confer with Baron Duvillard, whom he had long known, and whom he regretted not having seen sooner so as to urge him topurchase Sagnier's silence. At first he thought of sending the Baron abrief note by a messenger; but he disliked committing anything to paper, for the veriest scrap of writing may prove dangerous; so he preferred toemploy the telephone which had been installed for his private use nearhis writing-table. 

"It is Baron Duvillard who is speaking to me?... Quite so. It's I, theMinister, Monsieur Monferrand. I shall be much obliged if you will cometo see me at once.... Quite so, quite so, I will wait for you. "

Then again he walked to and fro and meditated. That fellow Duvillard wasas clever a man as himself, and might be able to give him an idea. And hewas still laboriously trying to devise some scheme, when the usherentered saying that Monsieur Gascogne, the Chief of the Detective Police, particularly wished to speak to him. Monferrand's first thought was thatthe Prefecture of Police desired to know his views respecting the stepswhich ought to be taken to ensure public order that day; for two mid-Lentprocessions--one of the Washerwomen and the other of the Students--wereto march through Paris, whose streets would certainly be crowded. 

"Show Monsieur Gascogne in, " he said. 

A tall, slim, dark man, looking like an artisan in his Sunday best, thenstepped into the ministerial sanctum. Fully acquainted with theunder-currents of Paris life, this Chief of the Detective Force had acold dispassionate nature and a clear and methodical mind. Professionalism slightly spoilt him, however: he would have possessedmore intelligence if he had not credited himself with so much. 

He began by apologising for his superior the Prefect, who would certainlyhave called in person had he not been suffering from indisposition. However, it was perhaps best that he, Gascogne, should acquaint Monsieurle Ministre with the grave affair which brought him, for he knew everydetail of it. Then he revealed what the grave affair was. 

"I believe, Monsieur le Ministre, that we at last hold the perpetrator ofthe crime in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. "

At this, Monferrand, who had been listening impatiently, became quiteimpassioned. The fruitless searches of the police, the attacks and thejeers of the newspapers, were a source of daily worry to him. "Ah!--Well, so much the better for you Monsieur Gascogne, " he replied with brutalfrankness. "You would have ended by losing your post. The man isarrested?"

"Not yet, Monsieur le Ministre; but he cannot escape, and it is merely anaffair of a few hours. "

Then the Chief of the Detective Force told the whole story: how DetectiveMondesir, on being warned by a secret agent that the Anarchist Salvat wasin a tavern at Montmartre, had reached it just as the bird had flown;then how chance had again set him in presence of Salvat at a hundredpaces or so from the tavern, the rascal having foolishly loitered thereto watch the establishment; and afterwards how Salvat had been stealthilyshadowed in the hope that they might catch him in his hiding-place withhis accomplices. And, in this wise, he had been tracked to thePorte-Maillot, where, realising, no doubt, that he was pursued, he hadsuddenly bolted into the Bois de Boulogne. It was there that he had beenhiding since two o'clock in the morning in the drizzle which had notceased to fall. They had waited for daylight in order to organise a_battue_ and hunt him down like some animal, whose weariness mustnecessarily ensure capture. And so, from one moment to another, he wouldbe caught. 

"I know the great interest you take in the arrest, Monsieur le Ministre, "added Gascogne, "and it occurred to me to ask your orders. DetectiveMondesir is over there, directing the hunt. He regrets that he did notapprehend the man on the Boulevard de Rochechouart; but, all the same, the idea of following him was a capital one, and one can only reproachMondesir with having forgotten the Bois de Boulogne in his calculations. "

Salvat arrested! That fellow Salvat whose name had filled the newspapersfor three weeks past. This was a most fortunate stroke which would betalked of far and wide! In the depths of Monferrand's fixed eyes onecould divine a world of thoughts and a sudden determination to turn thisincident which chance had brought him to his own personal advantage. Inhis own mind a link was already forming between this arrest and thatAfrican Railways interpellation which was likely to overthrow theministry on the morrow. The first outlines of a scheme already rosebefore him. Was it not his good star that had sent him what he had beenseeking--a means of fishing himself out of the troubled waters of theapproaching crisis?

"But tell me, Monsieur Gascogne, " said he, "are you quite sure that thisman Salvat committed the crime?"

"Oh! perfectly sure, Monsieur le Ministre. He'll confess everything inthe cab before he reaches the Prefecture. "

Monferrand again walked to and fro with a pensive air, and ideas came tohim as he spoke on in a slow, meditative fashion. "My orders! well, myorders, they are, first, that you must act with the very greatestprudence. Yes, don't gather a mob of promenaders together. Try to arrangethings so that the arrest may pass unperceived--and if you secure aconfession keep it to yourself, don't communicate it to the newspapers. Yes, I particularly recommend that point to you, don't take thenewspapers into your confidence at all--and finally, come and tell meeverything, and observe secrecy, absolute secrecy, with everybody else. "

Gascogne bowed and would have withdrawn, but Monferrand detained him tosay that not a day passed without his friend Monsieur Lehmann, the PublicProsecutor, receiving letters from Anarchists who threatened to blow himup with his family; in such wise that, although he was by no means acoward, he wished his house to be guarded by plain-clothes officers. Asimilar watch was already kept upon the house where investigatingmagistrate Amadieu resided. And if the latter's life was precious, thatof Public Prosecutor Lehmann was equally so, for he was one of thosepolitical magistrates, one of those shrewd talented Israelites, who maketheir way in very honest fashion by invariably taking the part of theGovernment in office. 

Then Gascogne in his turn remarked: "There is also the Barthes affair, Monsieur le Ministre--we are still waiting. Are we to arrest Barthes atthat little house at Neuilly?"

One of those chances which sometimes come to the help of detectives andmake people think the latter to be men of genius had revealed to him thecircumstance that Barthes had found a refuge with Abbe Pierre Froment. Ever since the Anarchist terror had thrown Paris into dismay a warranthad been out against the old man, not for any precise offence, but simplybecause he was a suspicious character and might, therefore, have had someintercourse with the Revolutionists. However, it had been repugnant toGascogne to arrest him at the house of a priest whom the whole districtvenerated as a saint; and the Minister, whom he had consulted on thepoint, had warmly approved of his reserve, since a member of the clergywas in question, and had undertaken to settle the affair himself. 

"No, Monsieur Gascogne, " he now replied, "don't move in the matter. Youknow what my feelings are, that we ought to have the priests with us andnot against us--I have had a letter written to Abbe Froment in order thathe may call here this morning, as I shall have no other visitors. I willspeak to him myself, and you may take it that the affair no longerconcerns you. "

Then he was about to dismiss him when the usher came back saying that thePresident of the Council was in the ante-room. *

 * The title of President of the Council is given to the French prime minister. --Trans. 

"Barroux!--Ah! dash it, then, Monsieur Gascogne, you had better go outthis way. It is as well that nobody should meet you, as I wish you tokeep silent respecting Salvat's arrest. It's fully understood, is it not?I alone am to know everything; and you will communicate with me heredirect, by the telephone, if any serious incident should arise. "

The Chief of the Detective Police had scarcely gone off, by way of anadjoining _salon_, when the usher reopened the door communicating withthe ante-room: "Monsieur le President du Conseil. "

With a nicely adjusted show of deference and cordiality, Monferrandstepped forward, his hands outstretched: "Ah! my dear President, why didyou put yourself out to come here? I would have called on you if I hadknown that you wished to see me. "

But with an impatient gesture Barroux brushed aside all question ofetiquette. "No, no! I was taking my usual stroll in the Champs Elysees, and the worries of the situation impressed me so keenly that I preferredto come here at once. You yourself must realise that we can't put up withwhat is taking place. And pending to-morrow morning's council, when weshall have to arrange a plan of defence, I felt that there was goodreason for us to talk things over. "

He took an armchair, and Monferrand on his side rolled another forward soas to seat himself with his back to the light. Whilst Barroux, the elderof the pair by ten years, blanched and solemn, with a handsome face, snowy whiskers, clean-shaven chin and upper-lip, retained all the dignityof power, the bearing of a Conventionnel of romantic views, who sought tomagnify the simple loyalty of a rather foolish but good-hearted_bourgeois_ nature into something great; the other, beneath his heavycommon countenance and feigned frankness and simplicity, concealedunknown depths, the unfathomable soul of a shrewd enjoyer and despot whowas alike pitiless and unscrupulous in attaining his ends. 

For a moment Barroux drew breath, for in reality he was greatly moved, his blood rising to his head, and his heart beating with indignation andanger at the thought of all the vulgar insults which the "Voix du Peuple"had poured upon him again that morning. "Come, my dear colleague, " saidhe, "one must stop that scandalous campaign. Moreover, you can realisewhat awaits us at the Chamber to-morrow. Now that the famous list hasbeen published we shall have every malcontent up in arms. Vignon isbestirring himself already--"

"Ah! you have news of Vignon?" exclaimed Monferrand, becoming veryattentive. 

"Well, as I passed his door just now, I saw a string of cabs waitingthere. All his creatures have been on the move since yesterday, and atleast twenty persons have told me that the band is already dividing thespoils. For, as you must know, the fierce and ingenuous Mege is againgoing to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for others. Briefly, we aredead, and the others claim that they are going to bury us in mud beforethey fight over our leavings. " With his arm outstretched Barroux made atheatrical gesture, and his voice resounded as if he were in the tribune. Nevertheless, his emotion was real, tears even were coming to his eyes. "To think that I who have given my whole life to the Republic, I whofounded it, who saved it, should be covered with insults in this fashion, and obliged to defend myself against abominable charges! To say that Iabused my trust! That I sold myself and took 200, 000 francs from that manHunter, simply to slip them into my pocket! Well, certainly there _was_ aquestion of 200, 000 francs between us. But how and under whatcircumstances? They were doubtless the same as in your case, with regardto the 80, 000 francs that he is said to have handed you--"

But Monferrand interrupted his colleague in a clear trenchant voice: "Henever handed me a centime. "

The other looked at him in astonishment, but could only see his big, rough head, whose features were steeped in shadow: "Ah! But I thought youhad business relations with him, and knew him particularly well. "

"No, I simply knew Hunter as everyone knew him. I was not even aware thathe was Baron Duvillard's agent in the African Railways matter; and therewas never any question of that affair between us. "

This was so improbable, so contrary to everything Barroux knew of thebusiness, that for a moment he felt quite scared. Then he waved his handas if to say that others might as well look after their own affairs, andreverted to himself. "Oh! as for me, " he said, "Hunter called on me morethan ten times, and made me quite sick with his talk of the AfricanRailways. It was at the time when the Chamber was asked to authorise theissue of lottery stock. * And, by the way, my dear fellow, I was then hereat the Home Department, while you had just taken that of Public Works. Ican remember sitting at that very writing-table, while Hunter was in thesame armchair that I now occupy. That day he wanted to consult me aboutthe employment of the large sum which Duvillard's house proposed to spendin advertising; and on seeing what big amounts were set down against theRoyalist journals, I became quite angry, for I realised with perfectaccuracy that this money would simply be used to wage war against theRepublic. And so, yielding to Hunter's entreaties, I also drew up a listallotting 200, 000 francs among the friendly Republican newspapers, whichwere paid through me, I admit it. And that's the whole story. "**

 * This kind of stock is common enough in France. A part of it is extinguished annually at a public "drawing, " when all such shares or bonds that are drawn become entitled to redemption at "par, " a percentage of them also securing prizes of various amounts. City of Paris Bonds issued on this system are very popular among French people with small savings; but, on the other hand, many ventures, whose lottery stock has been authorised by the Legislature, have come to grief and ruined investors. --Trans. 

 ** All who are acquainted with recent French history will be aware that Barroux' narrative is simply a passage from the life of the late M. Floquet, slightly modified to suit the requirements of M. Zola's story. --Trans. 

Then he sprang to his feet and struck his chest, whilst his voice againrose: "Well, I've had more than enough of all that calumny and falsehood!And I shall simply tell the Chamber my story to-morrow. It will be myonly defence. An honest man does not fear the truth!"

But Monferrand, in his turn, had sprung up with a cry which was acomplete confession of his principles: "It's ridiculous, one neverconfesses; you surely won't do such a thing!"

"I shall, " retorted Barroux with superb obstinacy. "And we shall see ifthe Chamber won't absolve me by acclamation. "

"No, you will fall beneath an explosion of hisses, and drag all of usdown with you. "

"What does it matter? We shall fall with dignity, like honest men!"

Monferrand made a gesture of furious anger, and then suddenly becamecalm. Amidst all the anxious confusion in which he had been strugglingsince daybreak, a gleam now dawned upon him. The vague ideas suggested bySalvat's approaching arrest took shape, and expanded into an audaciousscheme. Why should he prevent the fall of that big ninny Barroux? Theonly thing of importance was that he, Monferrand, should not fall withhim, or at any rate that he should rise again. So he protested nofurther, but merely mumbled a few words, in which his rebellious feelingseemingly died out. And at last, putting on his good-natured air oncemore, he said: "Well, after all you are perhaps right. One must be brave. Besides, you are our head, my dear President, and we will follow you. "

They had now again sat down face to face, and their conversationcontinued till they came to a cordial agreement respecting the coursewhich the Government should adopt in view of the inevitableinterpellation on the morrow. 

Meantime, Baron Duvillard was on his way to the ministry. He had scarcelyslept that night. When on the return from Montmartre Gerard had set himdown at his door in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, he had at once gone to bed, like a man who is determined to compel sleep, so that he may forget hisworries and recover self-control. But slumber would not come; for hoursand hours he vainly sought it. The manner in which he had been insultedby that creature Silviane was so monstrous! To think that she, whom hehad enriched, whose every desire he had contented, should have cast suchmud at him, the master, who flattered himself that he held Paris and theRepublic in his hands, since he bought up and controlled consciences justas others might make corners in wool or leather for the purposes ofBourse speculation. And the dim consciousness that Silviane was theavenging sore, the cancer preying on him who preyed on others, completedhis exasperation. In vain did he try to drive away his haunting thoughts, remember his business affairs, his appointments for the morrow, hismillions which were working in every quarter of the world, the financialomnipotence which placed the fate of nations in his grasp. Ever, and inspite of all, Silviane rose up before him, splashing him with mud. Indespair he tried to fix his mind on a great enterprise which he had beenplanning for months past, a Trans-Saharan railway, a colossal venturewhich would set millions of money at work, and revolutionise the trade ofthe world. And yet Silviane appeared once more, and smacked him on bothcheeks with her dainty little hand, which she had dipped in the gutter. It was only towards daybreak that he at last dozed off, while vowing in afury that he would never see her again, that he would spurn her, andorder her away, even should she come and drag herself at his feet. 

However, when he awoke at seven, still tired and aching, his firstthought was for her, and he almost yielded to a fit of weakness. The ideacame to him to ascertain if she had returned home, and if so make hispeace. But he jumped out of bed, and after his ablutions he recovered allhis bravery. She was a wretch, and he this time thought himself for evercured of his passion. To tell the truth, he forgot it as soon as heopened the morning newspapers. The publication of the list ofbribe-takers in the "Voix du Peuple" quite upset him, for he had hithertothought it unlikely that Sagnier held any such list. However, he judgedthe document at a glance, at once separating the few truths it containedfrom a mass of foolishness and falsehood. And this time also he did notconsider himself personally in danger. There was only one thing that hereally feared: the arrest of his intermediary, Hunter, whose trial mighthave drawn him into the affair. As matters stood, and as he did not ceaseto repeat with a calm and smiling air, he had merely done what everybanking-house does when it issues stock, that is, pay the press foradvertisements and puffery, employ brokers, and reward servicesdiscreetly rendered to the enterprise. It was all a business matter, andfor him that expression summed up everything. Moreover, he played thegame of life bravely, and spoke with indignant contempt of a banker who, distracted and driven to extremities by blackmailing, had imagined thathe would bring a recent scandal to an end by killing himself: a pitifultragedy, from all the mire and blood of which the scandal had sproutedafresh with the most luxuriant and indestructible vegetation. No, no!suicide was not the course to follow: a man ought to remain erect, andstruggle on to his very last copper, and the very end of his energy. 

At about nine o'clock a ringing brought Duvillard to the telephoneinstalled in his private room. And then his folly took possession of himonce more: it must be Silviane who wished to speak to him. She oftenamused herself by thus disturbing him amidst his greatest cares. No doubtshe had just returned home, realising that she had carried things too faron the previous evening and desiring to be forgiven. However, when hefound that the call was from Monferrand, who wished him to go to theministry, he shivered slightly, like a man saved from the abyss besidewhich he is travelling. And forthwith he called for his hat and stick, desirous as he was of walking and reflecting in the open air. And againhe became absorbed in the intricacies of the scandalous business whichwas about to stir all Paris and the legislature. Kill himself! ah, no, that would be foolish and cowardly. A gust of terror might be sweepingpast; nevertheless, for his part he felt quite firm, superior to events, and resolved to defend himself without relinquishing aught of his power. 

As soon as he entered the ante-rooms of the ministry he realised that thegust of terror was becoming a tempest. The publication of the terriblelist in the "Voix du Peuple" had chilled the guilty ones to the heart;and, pale and distracted, feeling the ground give way beneath them, theyhad come to take counsel of Monferrand, who, they hoped, might save them. The first whom Duvillard perceived was Duthil, looking extremelyfeverish, biting his moustaches, and constantly making grimaces in hisefforts to force a smile. The banker scolded him for coming, saying thatit was a great mistake to have done so, particularly with such a scaredface. The deputy, however, his spirits already cheered by these roughwords, began to defend himself, declaring that he had not even readSagnier's article, and had simply come to recommend a lady friend to theMinister. Thereupon the Baron undertook this business for him and senthim away with the wish that he might spend a merry mid-Lent. However, theone who most roused Duvillard's pity was Chaigneux, whose figure swayedabout as if bent by the weight of his long equine head, and who looked soshabby and untidy that one might have taken him for an old pauper. Onrecognising the banker he darted forward, and bowed to him withobsequious eagerness. 

"Ah! Monsieur le Baron, " said he, "how wicked some men must be! They arekilling me, I shall die of it all; and what will become of my wife, whatwill become of my three daughters, who have none but me to help them?"

The whole of his woeful story lay in that lament. A victim of politics, he had been foolish enough to quit Arras and his business there as asolicitor, in order to seek triumph in Paris with his wife and daughters, whose menial he had then become--a menial dismayed by the constantrebuffs and failures which his mediocrity brought upon him. An honestdeputy! ah, good heavens! yes, he would have liked to be one; but was henot perpetually "hard-up, " ever in search of a hundred-franc note, andthus, perforce, a deputy for sale? And withal he led such a pitiablelife, so badgered by the women folk about him, that to satisfy theirdemands he would have picked up money no matter where or how. 

"Just fancy, Monsieur le Baron, I have at last found a husband for myeldest girl. It is the first bit of luck that I have ever had; there willonly be three women left on my hands if it comes off. But you can imaginewhat a disastrous impression such an article as that of this morning mustcreate in the young man's family. So I have come to see the Minister tobeg him to give my future son-in-law a prefectoral secretaryship. I havealready promised him the post, and if I can secure it things may yet bearranged. "

He looked so terribly shabby and spoke in such a doleful voice that itoccurred to Duvillard to do one of those good actions on which heventured at times when they were likely to prove remunerativeinvestments. It is, indeed, an excellent plan to give a crust of bread tosome poor devil whom one can turn, if necessary, into a valet or anaccomplice. So the banker dismissed Chaigneux, undertaking to do hisbusiness for him in the same way as he had undertaken to do Duthil's. Andhe added that he would be pleased to see him on the morrow, and have achat with him, as he might be able to help him in the matter of hisdaughter's marriage. 

At this Chaigneux, scenting a loan, collapsed into the most lavishthanks. "Ah! Monsieur le Baron, my life will not be long enough to enableme to repay such a debt of gratitude. "

As Duvillard turned round he was surprised to see Abbe Froment waiting ina corner of the ante-room. Surely that one could not belong to the batchof _suspects_, although by the manner in which he was pretending to reada newspaper it seemed as if he were trying to hide some keen anxiety. Atlast the Baron stepped forward, shook hands, and spoke to him cordially. And Pierre thereupon related that he had received a letter requesting himto call on the Minister that day. Why, he could not tell; in fact, he wasgreatly surprised, he said, putting on a smile in order to conceal hisdisquietude. He had been waiting a long time already, and hoped that hewould not be forgotten on that bench. 

Just then the usher appeared, and hastened up to the banker. "TheMinister, " said he, "was at that moment engaged with the President of theCouncil; but he had orders to admit the Baron as soon as the Presidentwithdrew. " Almost immediately afterwards Barroux came out, and asDuvillard was about to enter he recognised and detained him. And he spokeof the denunciations very bitterly, like one indignant with all theslander. Would not he, Duvillard, should occasion require it, testifythat he, Barroux, had never taken a centime for himself? Then, forgettingthat he was speaking to a banker, and that he was Minister of Finances, he proceeded to express all his disgust of money. Ah! what poisonous, murky, and defiling waters were those in which money-making went on!However, he repeated that he would chastise his insulters, and that astatement of the truth would suffice for the purpose. 

Duvillard listened and looked at him. And all at once the thought ofSilviane came back, and took possession of the Baron, without any attempton his part to drive it away. He reflected that if Barroux had chosen togive him a helping hand when he had asked for it, Silviane would now havebeen at the Comedie Francaise, in which case the deplorable affair of theprevious night would not have occurred; for he was beginning to regardhimself as guilty in the matter; if he had only contented Silviane's whimshe would never have dismissed him in so vile a fashion. 

"You know, I owe you a grudge, " he said, interrupting Barroux. 

The other looked at him in astonishment. "And why, pray?" he asked. 

"Why, because you never helped me in the matter of that friend of minewho wishes to make her _debut_ in 'Polyeucte. '"

Barroux smiled, and with amiable condescension replied: "Ah! yes, Silviane d'Aulnay! But, my dear sir, it was Taboureau who put spokes inthe wheel. The Fine Arts are his department, and the question wasentirely one for him. And I could do nothing; for that very worthy andhonest gentleman, who came to us from a provincial faculty, was full ofscruples. For my own part I'm an old Parisian, I can understand anything, and I should have been delighted to please you. "

At this fresh resistance offered to his passion Duvillard once morebecame excited, eager to obtain that which was denied him. "Taboureau, Taboureau!" said he, "he's a nice deadweight for you to load yourselfwith! Honest! isn't everybody honest? Come, my dear Minister, there'sstill time, get Silviane admitted, it will bring you good luck forto-morrow. "

This time Barroux burst into a frank laugh: "No, no, I can't castTaboureau adrift at this moment--people would make too much sport ofit--a ministry wrecked or saved by a Silviane question!"

Then he offered his hand before going off. The Baron pressed it, and fora moment retained it in his own, whilst saying very gravely and with asomewhat pale face: "You do wrong to laugh, my dear Minister. Governmentshave fallen or set themselves erect again through smaller matters thanthat. And should you fall to-morrow I trust that you will never haveoccasion to regret it. "

Wounded to the heart by the other's jesting air, exasperated by the ideathat there was something he could not achieve, Duvillard watched Barrouxas he withdrew. Most certainly the Baron did not desire a reconciliationwith Silviane, but he vowed that he would overturn everything ifnecessary in order to send her a signed engagement for the Comedie, andthis simply by way of vengeance, as a slap, so to say, --yes, a slap whichwould make her tingle! That moment spent with Barroux had been a decisiveone. 

However, whilst still following Barroux with his eyes, Duvillard wassurprised to see Fonsegue arrive and manoeuvre in such a way as to escapethe Prime Minister's notice. He succeeded in doing so, and then enteredthe ante-room with an appearance of dismay about the whole of his littlefigure, which was, as a rule, so sprightly. It was the gust of terror, still blowing, that had brought him thither. 

"Didn't you see your friend Barroux?" the Baron asked him, somewhatpuzzled. 

"Barroux? No!"

This quiet lie was equivalent to a confession of everything. Fonsegue wasso intimate with Barroux that he thee'd and thou'd him, and for ten yearshad been supporting him in his newspaper, having precisely the sameviews, the same political religion. But with a smash-up threatening, hedoubtless realised, thanks to his wonderfully keen scent, that he mustchange his friendships if he did not wish to remain under the ruinshimself. If he had, for long years, shown so much prudence and diplomaticvirtue in order to firmly establish the most dignified and respected ofParisian newspapers, it was not for the purpose of letting that newspaperbe compromised by some foolish blunder on the part of an honest man. 

"I thought you were on bad terms with Monferrand, " resumed Duvillard. "What have you come here for?"

"Oh! my dear Baron, the director of a leading newspaper is never on badterms with anybody. He's at the country's service. "

In spite of his emotion, Duvillard could not help smiling. "You areright, " he responded. "Besides, Monferrand is really an able man, whomone can support without fear. "

At this Fonsegue began to wonder whether his anguish of mind was visible. He, who usually played the game of life so well, with his own hand underthorough control, had been terrified by the article in the "Voix duPeuple. " For the first time in his career he had perpetrated a blunder, and felt that he was at the mercy of some denunciation, for withunpardonable imprudence he had written a very brief but compromisingnote. He was not anxious concerning the 50, 000 francs which Barroux hadhanded him out of the 200, 000 destined for the Republican press. But hetrembled lest another affair should be discovered, that of a sum of moneywhich he had received as a present. It was only on feeling the Baron'skeen glance upon him that he was able to recover some self-possession. How silly it was to lose the knack of lying and to confess things simplyby one's demeanour!

But the usher drew near and repeated that the Minister was now waitingfor the Baron; and Fonsegue went to sit down beside Abbe Froment, whom healso was astonished to find there. Pierre repeated that he had received aletter, but had no notion what the Minister might wish to say to him. Andthe quiver of his hands again revealed how feverishly impatient he was toknow what it might be. However, he could only wait, since Monferrand wasstill busy discussing such grave affairs. 

On seeing Duvillard enter, the Minister had stepped forward, offering hishand. However much the blast of terror might shake others, he hadretained his calmness and good-natured smile. "What an affair, eh, mydear Baron!" he exclaimed. 

"It's idiotic!" plainly declared the other, with a shrug of hisshoulders. Then he sat down in the armchair vacated by Barroux, while theMinister installed himself in front of him. These two were made tounderstand one another, and they indulged in the same despairing gesturesand furious complaints, declaring that government, like business, wouldno longer be possible if men were required to show such virtue as theydid not possess. At all times, and under every _regime_, when a decisionof the Chambers had been required in connection with some greatenterprise, had not the natural and legitimate tactics been for one to dowhat might be needful to secure that decision? It was absolutelynecessary that one should obtain influential and sympathetic support, ina word, make sure of votes. Well, everything had to be paid for, men likeother things, some with fine words, others with favours or money, presents made in a more or less disguised manner. And even admittingthat, in the present cases, one had gone rather far in the purchasing, that some of the bartering had been conducted in an imprudent way, was itwise to make such an uproar over it? Would not a strong government havebegun by stifling the scandal, from motives of patriotism, a mere senseof cleanliness even?

"Why, of course! You are right, a thousand times right!" exclaimedMonferrand. "Ah! if I were the master you would see what a finefirst-class funeral I would give it all!" Then, as Duvillard looked athim fixedly, struck by these last words, he added with his expressivesmile: "Unfortunately I'm not the master, and it was to talk to you ofthe situation that I ventured to disturb you. Barroux, who was here justnow, seemed to me in a regrettable frame of mind. "

"Yes, I saw him, he has such singular ideas at times--" Then, breakingoff, the Baron added: "Do you know that Fonsegue is in the ante-room? Ashe wishes to make his peace with you, why not send for him? He won't bein the way, in fact, he's a man of good counsel, and the support of hisnewspaper often suffices to give one the victory. "

"What, is Fonsegue there!" cried Monferrand. "Why, I don't ask betterthan to shake hands with him. There were some old affairs between us thatdon't concern anybody! But, good heavens! if you only knew what littlespite I harbour!"

When the usher had admitted Fonsegue the reconciliation took place in thesimplest fashion. They had been great friends at college in their nativeCorreze, but had not spoken together for ten years past in consequence ofsome abominable affair the particulars of which were not exactly known. However, it becomes necessary to clear away all corpses when one wishesto have the arena free for a fresh battle. 

"It's very good of you to come back the first, " said Monferrand. "So it'sall over, you no longer bear me any grudge?"

"No, indeed!" replied Fonsegue. "Why should people devour one anotherwhen it would be to their interest to come to an understanding?"

Then, without further explanations, they passed to the great affair, andthe conference began. And when Monferrand had announced Barroux'determination to confess and explain his conduct, the others loudlyprotested. That meant certain downfall, they would prevent him, he surelywould not be guilty of such folly. Forthwith they discussed everyimaginable plan by which the Ministry might be saved, for that mustcertainly be Monferrand's sole desire. He himself with all eagernesspretended to seek some means of extricating his colleagues and himselffrom the mess in which they were. However, a faint smile, still playedaround his lips, and at last as if vanquished he sought no further. "There's no help for it, " said he, "the ministry's down. "

The others exchanged glances, full of anxiety at the thought of anotherCabinet dealing with the African Railways affair. A Vignon Cabinet woulddoubtless plume itself on behaving honestly. 

"Well, then, what shall we do?"

But just then the telephone rang, and Monferrand rose to respond to thesummons: "Allow me. "

He listened for a moment and then spoke into the tube, nothing that hesaid giving the others any inkling of the information which had reachedhim. This had come from the Chief of the Detective Police, and was to theeffect that Salvat's whereabouts in the Bois de Boulogne had beendiscovered, and that he would be hunted down with all speed. "Very good!And don't forget my orders, " replied Monferrand. 

Now that Salvat's arrest was certain, the Minister determined to followthe plan which had gradually taken shape in his mind; and returning tothe middle of the room he slowly walked to and fro, while saying with hiswonted familiarity: "But what would you have, my friends? It would benecessary for me to be the master. Ah! if I were the master! A Commissionof Inquiry, yes! that's the proper form for a first-class funeral to takein a big affair like this, so full of nasty things. For my part, I shouldconfess nothing, and I should have a Commission appointed. And then youwould see the storm subside. "

Duvillard and Fonsegue began to laugh. The latter, however, thanks to hisintimate knowledge of Monferrand, almost guessed the truth. "Justlisten!" said he; "even if the ministry falls it doesn't necessarilyfollow that you must be on the ground with it. Besides, a ministry can bemended when there are good pieces of it left. "

Somewhat anxious at finding his thoughts guessed, Monferrand protested:"No, no, my dear fellow, I don't play that game. We are jointlyresponsible, we've got to keep together, dash it all!"

"Keep together! Pooh! Not when simpletons purposely drown themselves!And, besides, if we others have need of you, we have a right to save youin spite of yourself! Isn't that so, my dear Baron?"

Then, as Monferrand sat down, no longer protesting but waiting, Duvillard, who was again thinking of his passion, full of anger at therecollection of Barroux' refusal, rose in his turn, and exclaimed: "Why, certainly! If the ministry's condemned let it fall! What good can you getout of a ministry which includes such a man as Taboureau! There you havean old, worn-out professor without any prestige, who comes to Paris fromGrenoble, and has never set foot in a theatre in his life! Yet thecontrol of the theatres is handed over to him, and naturally he's everdoing the most stupid things!"

Monferrand, who was well informed on the Silviane question, remainedgrave, and for a moment amused himself by trying to excite the Baron. "Taboureau, " said he, "is a somewhat dull and old-fashioned Universityman, but at the department of Public Instruction he's in his properelement. "

"Oh! don't talk like that, my dear fellow! You are more intelligent thanthat, you are not going to defend Taboureau as Barroux did. It's quitetrue that I should very much like to see Silviane at the Comedie. She's avery good girl at heart, and she has an amazing lot of talent. Would youstand in her way if you were in Taboureau's place?"

"I? Good heavens, no! A pretty girl on the stage, why, it would pleaseeverybody, I'm sure. Only it would be necessary to have a man of the sameviews as were at the department of Instruction and Fine Arts. "

His sly smile had returned to his face. The securing of that girl's_debut_ was certainly not a high price to pay for all the influence ofDuvillard's millions. Monferrand therefore turned towards Fonsegue as ifto consult him. The other, who fully understood the importance of theaffair, was meditating in all seriousness: "A senator is the proper manfor Public Instruction, " said he. "But I can think of none, none at all, such as would be wanted. A man of broad mind, a real Parisian, and yetone whose presence at the head of the University wouldn't cause too muchastonishment--there's perhaps Dauvergne--"

"Dauvergne! Who's he?" exclaimed Monferrand in surprise. "Ah! yes, Dauvergne the senator for Dijon--but he's altogether ignorant ofUniversity matters, he hasn't the slightest qualification. "

"Well, as for that, " resumed Fonsegue, "I'm trying to think. Dauvergne iscertainly a good-looking fellow, tall and fair and decorative. Besides, he's immensely rich, has a most charming young wife--which does no harm, on the contrary--and he gives real _fetes_ at his place on the BoulevardSt. Germain. "

It was only with hesitation that Fonsegue himself had ventured to suggestDauvergne. But by degrees his selection appeared to him a real "find. ""Wait a bit! I recollect now that in his young days Dauvergne wrote acomedy, a one act comedy in verse, and had it performed at Dijon. AndDijon's a literary town, you know, so that piece of his sets a littleperfume of 'Belles-Lettres' around him. And then, too, he left Dijontwenty years ago, and is a most determined Parisian, frequenting everysphere of society. Dauvergne will do whatever one desires. He's the manfor us, I tell you. "

Duvillard thereupon declared that he knew him, and considered him a verydecent fellow. Besides, he or another, it mattered nothing!

"Dauvergne, Dauvergne, " repeated Monferrand. "_Mon Dieu_, yes! After all, why not? He'll perhaps make a very good minister. Let us say Dauvergne. "Then suddenly bursting into a hearty laugh: "And so we are reconstructingthe Cabinet in order that that charming young woman may join the Comedie!The Silviane cabinet--well, and what about the other departments?"

He jested, well knowing that gaiety often hastens difficult solutions. And, indeed, they merrily continued settling what should be done if theministry were defeated on the morrow. Although they had not plainly saidso the plan was to let Barroux sink, even help him to do so, and thenfish Monferrand out of the troubled waters. The latter engaged himselfwith the two others, because he had need of them, the Baron on account ofhis financial sovereignty, and the director of "Le Globe" on account ofthe press campaign which he could carry on in his favour. And in the sameway the others, quite apart from the Silviane business, had need ofMonferrand, the strong-handed man of government, who undertook to burythe African Railways scandal by bringing about a Commission of Inquiry, all the strings of which would be pulled by himself. There was soon aperfect understanding between the three men, for nothing draws peoplemore closely together than common interest, fear and need. Accordingly, when Duvillard spoke of Duthil's business, the young lady whom he wishedto recommend, the Minister declared that it was settled. A very nicefellow was Duthil, they needed a good many like him. And it was alsoagreed that Chaigneux' future son-in-law should have his secretaryship. Poor Chaigneux! He was so devoted, always ready to undertake anycommission, and his four women folk led him such a hard life!

"Well, then, it's understood. " And Monferrand, Duvillard and Fonseguevigorously shook hands. 

However, when the first accompanied the others to the door, he noticed aprelate, in a cassock of fine material, edged with violet, speaking to apriest in the ante-room. Thereupon he, the Minister, hastened forward, looking much distressed. "Ah! you were waiting, Monseigneur Martha! Comein, come in quick!"

But with perfect urbanity the Bishop refused. "No, no, Monsieur l'AbbeFroment was here before me. Pray receive him first. "

Monferrand had to give way; he admitted the priest, and speedily dealtwith him. He who usually employed the most diplomatic reserve when he wasin presence of a member of the clergy plumply unfolded the Barthesbusiness. Pierre had experienced the keenest anguish during the two hoursthat he had been waiting there, for he could only explain the letter hehad received by a surmise that the police had discovered his brother'spresence in his house. And so when he heard the Minister simply speak ofBarthes, and declare that the government would rather see him go intoexile than be obliged to imprison him once more, he remained for a momentquite disconcerted. As the police had been able to discover the oldconspirator in the little house at Neuilly, how was it that they seemedaltogether ignorant of Guillaume's presence there? It was, however, theusual gap in the genius of great detectives. 

"Pray what do you desire of me, Monsieur le Ministre?" said Pierre atlast; "I don't quite understand. "

"Why, Monsieur l'Abbe, I leave all this to your sense of prudence. Ifthat man were still at your house in forty-eight hours from now, weshould be obliged to arrest him there, which would be a source of griefto us, for we are aware that your residence is the abode of every virtue. So advise him to leave France. If he does that we shall not trouble him. "

Then Monferrand hastily brought Pierre back to the ante-room; and, smiling and bending low, he said: "Monseigneur, I am entirely at yourdisposal. Come in, come in, I beg you. "

The prelate, who was gaily chatting with Duvillard and Fonsegue, shookhands with them, and then with Pierre. In his desire to win all hearts, he that morning displayed the most perfect graciousness. His bright, black eyes were all smiles, the whole of his handsome face wore acaressing expression, and he entered the ministerial sanctum leisurelyand gracefully, with an easy air of conquest. 

And now only Monferrand and Monseigneur Martha were left, talking on andon in the deserted building. Some people had thought that the prelatewished to become a deputy. But he played a far more useful and lofty partin governing behind the scenes, in acting as the directing mind of theVatican's policy in France. Was not France still the Eldest Daughter ofthe Church, the only great nation which might some day restoreomnipotence to the Papacy? For that reason he had accepted the Republic, preached the duty of "rallying" to it, and inspired the new Catholicgroup in the Chamber. And Monferrand, on his side, struck by the progressof the New Spirit, that reaction of mysticism which flattered itself thatit would bury science, showed the prelate much amiability, like astrong-handed man who, to ensure his own victory, utilised every forcethat was offered him. 

IV. THE MAN HUNT

ON the afternoon of that same day such a keen desire for space and theopen air came upon Guillaume, that Pierre consented to accompany him on along walk in the Bois de Boulogne. The priest, upon returning from hisinterview with Monferrand, had informed his brother that the governmentonce more wished to get rid of Nicholas Barthes. However, they were soperplexed as to how they should impart these tidings to the old man, thatthey resolved to postpone the matter until the evening. During their walkthey might devise some means of breaking the news in a gentle way. As forthe walk, this seemed to offer no danger; to all appearance Guillaume wasin no wise threatened, so why should he continue hiding? Thus thebrothers sallied forth and entered the Bois by the Sablons gate, whichwas the nearest to them. 

The last days of March had now come, and the trees were beginning to showsome greenery, so soft and light, however, that one might have thought itwas pale moss or delicate lace hanging between the stems and boughs. Although the sky remained of an ashen grey, the rain, after fallingthroughout the night and morning, had ceased; and exquisite freshnesspervaded that wood now awakening to life once more, with its foliagedripping in the mild and peaceful atmosphere. The mid-Lent rejoicings hadapparently attracted the populace to the centre of Paris, for in theavenues one found only the fashionable folks of select days, the peopleof society who come thither when the multitude stops away. There werecarriages and gentlemen on horseback; beautiful aristocratic ladies whohad alighted from their broughams or landaus; and wet-nurses withstreaming ribbons, who carried infants wearing the most costly lace. Ofthe middle-classes, however, one found only a few matrons living in theneighbourhood, who sat here and there on the benches busy with embroideryor watching their children play. 

Pierre and Guillaume followed the Allee de Longchamp as far as the roadgoing from Madrid to the lakes. Then they took their way under the trees, alongside the little Longchamp rivulet. They wished to reach the lakes, pass round them, and return home by way of the Maillot gate. But socharming and peaceful was the deserted plantation through which theypassed, that they yielded to a desire to sit down and taste the delightof resting amidst all the budding springtide around them. A fallen treeserved them as a bench, and it was possible for them to fancy themselvesfar away from Paris, in the depths of some real forest. It was, too, of areal forest that Guillaume began to think on thus emerging from his long, voluntary imprisonment. Ah! for the space; and for the health-bringingair which courses between that forest's branches, that forest of theworld which by right should be man's inalienable domain! However, thename of Barthes, the perpetual prisoner, came back to Guillaume's lips, and he sighed mournfully. The thought that there should be even a singleman whose liberty was thus ever assailed, sufficed to poison the pureatmosphere he breathed. 

"What will you say to Barthes?" he asked his brother. "The poor fellowmust necessarily be warned. Exile is at any rate preferable toimprisonment. "

Pierre sadly waved his hand. "Yes, of course, I must warn him. But what apainful task it is!"

Guillaume made no rejoinder, for at that very moment, in that remote, deserted nook, where they could fancy themselves at the world's end, amost extraordinary spectacle was presented to their view. Something orrather someone leapt out of a thicket and bounded past them. It wasassuredly a man, but one who was so unrecognisable, so miry, so woefuland so frightful, that he might have been taken for an animal, a boarthat hounds had tracked and forced from his retreat. On seeing therivulet, he hesitated for a moment, and then followed its course. But, all at once, as a sound of footsteps and panting breath drew nearer, hesprang into the water, which reached his thighs, bounded on to thefurther bank, and vanished from sight behind a clump of pines. A momentafterwards some keepers and policemen rushed by, skirting the rivulet, and in their turn disappearing. It was a man hunt that had gone past, afierce, secret hunt with no display of scarlet or blast of horns athwartthe soft, sprouting foliage. 

"Some rascal or other, " muttered Pierre. "Ah! the wretched fellow!"

Guillaume made a gesture of discouragement. "Gendarmes and prison!" saidhe. "They still constitute society's only schooling system!"

Meantime the man was still running on, farther and farther away. 

When, on the previous night, Salvat had suddenly escaped from thedetectives by bounding into the Bois de Boulogne, it had occurred to himto slip round to the Dauphine gate and there descend into the deep ditch*of the city ramparts. He remembered days of enforced idleness which hehad spent there, in nooks where, for his own part, he had never met aliving soul. Nowhere, indeed, could one find more secret places ofretreat, hedged round by thicker bushes, or concealed from view byloftier herbage. Some corners of the ditch, at certain angles of themassive bastions, are favourite dens or nests for thieves and lovers. Salvat, as he made his way through the thickest of the brambles, nettlesand ivy, was lucky enough to find a cavity full of dry leaves, in whichhe buried himself to the chin. The rain had already drenched him, andafter slipping down the muddy slope, he had frequently been obliged togrope his way upon all fours. So those dry leaves proved a boon such ashe had not dared to hope for. They dried him somewhat, serving as ablanket in which he coiled himself after his wild race through the dankdarkness. The rain still fell, but he now only felt it on his head, and, weary as he was, he gradually sank into deep slumber beneath thecontinuous drizzle. When he opened his eyes again, the dawn was breaking, and it was probably about six o'clock. During his sleep the rain hadended by soaking the leaves, so that he was now immersed in a kind ofchilly bath. Still he remained in it, feeling that he was there shelteredfrom the police, who must now surely be searching for him. None of thosebloodhounds would guess his presence in that hole, for his body was quiteburied, and briers almost completely hid his head. So he did not stir, but watched the rise of the dawn. 

 * This ditch or dry moat is about 30 feet deep and 50 feet wide. The counterscarp by which one may descend into it has an angle of 45 degrees. --Trans. 

When at eight o'clock some policemen and keepers came by, searching theditch, they did not perceive him. As he had anticipated, the hunt hadbegun at the first glimmer of light. For a time his heart beat violently;however, nobody else passed, nothing whatever stirred the grass. The onlysounds that reached him were faint ones from the Bois de Boulogne, thering of a bicyclist's bell, the thud of a horse's hoofs, the rumble ofcarriage wheels. And time went by, nine o'clock came, and then teno'clock. Since the rain had ceased falling, Salvat had not suffered somuch from the cold, for he was wearing a thick overcoat which littleMathis had given him. But, on the other hand, hunger was coming back;there was a burning sensation in his stomach, and leaden hoops seemed tobe pressing against his ribs. He had eaten nothing for two days; he hadbeen starving already on the previous evening, when he had accepted aglass of beer at that tavern at Montmartre. Nevertheless, his plan was toremain in the ditch until nightfall, and then slip away in the directionof the village of Boulogne, where he knew of a means of egress from thewood. He was not caught yet, he repeated, he might still manage toescape. Then he tried to get to sleep again, but failed, so painful hadhis sufferings become. By the time it was eleven, everything swam beforehis eyes. He once nearly fainted, and thought that he was going to die. Then rage gradually mastered him, and, all at once, he sprang out of hisleafy hiding-place, desperately hungering for food, unable to remainthere any longer, and determined to find something to eat, even should itcost him his liberty and life. It was then noon. 

On leaving the ditch he found the spreading lawns of the chateau of LaMuette before him. He crossed them at a run, like a madman, instinctivelygoing towards Boulogne, with the one idea that his only means of escapelay in that direction. It seemed miraculous that nobody paid attention tohis helter-skelter flight. However, when he had reached the cover of sometrees he became conscious of his imprudence, and almost regretted thesudden madness which had borne him along, eager for escape. Tremblingnervously, he bent low among some furze bushes, and waited for a fewminutes to ascertain if the police were behind him. Then with watchfuleye and ready ear, wonderful instinct and scent of danger, he slowly wenthis way again. He hoped to pass between the upper lake and the Auteuilrace-course; but there were few trees in that part, and they formed abroad avenue. He therefore had to exert all his skill in order to avoidobservation, availing himself of the slenderest stems, the smallestbushes, as screens, and only venturing onward after a lengthy inspectionof his surroundings. Before long the sight of a guard in the distancerevived his fears and detained him, stretched on the ground behind somebrambles, for a full quarter of an hour. Then the approach first of acab, whose driver had lost his way, and afterwards of a strollingpedestrian, in turn sufficed to stop him. He breathed once more, however, when, after passing the Mortemart hillock, he was able to enter thethickets lying between the two roads which lead to Boulogne and St. Cloud. The coppices thereabouts were dense, and he merely had to followthem, screened from view, in order to reach the outlet he knew of, whichwas now near at hand. So he was surely saved. 

But all at once, at a distance of some five and thirty yards, he saw akeeper, erect and motionless, barring his way. He turned slightly to theleft and there perceived another keeper, who also seemed to be awaitinghim. And there were more and more of them; at every fifty paces or sostood a fresh one, the whole forming a _cordon_, the meshes as it were ofa huge net. The worst was that he must have been perceived, for a lightcry, like the clear call of an owl, rang out, and was repeated fartherand farther off. The hunters were at last on the right scent, prudencehad become superfluous, and it was only by flight that the quarry mightnow hope to escape. Salvat understood this so well that he suddenly beganto run, leaping over all obstacles and darting between the trees, careless whether he were seen or heard. A few bounds carried him acrossthe Avenue de St. Cloud into the plantations stretching to the Allee dela Reine Marguerite. There the undergrowth was very dense; in the wholeBois there are no more closely set thickets. In summer they become onevast entanglement of verdure, amidst which, had it been the leafy season, Salvat might well have managed to secrete himself. For a moment he didfind himself alone, and thereupon he halted to listen. He could neithersee nor hear the keepers now. Had they lost his track, then? Profoundquietude reigned under the fresh young foliage. But the light, owlish cryarose once more, branches cracked, and he resumed his wild flight, hurrying straight before him. Unluckily he found the Allee de la ReineMarguerite guarded by policemen, so that he could not cross over, but hadto skirt it without quitting the thickets. And now his back was turnedtowards Boulogne; he was retracing his steps towards Paris. However, alast idea came to his bewildered mind: it was to run on in this wise asfar as the shady spots around Madrid, and then, by stealing from copse tocopse, attempt to reach the Seine. To proceed thither across the bareexpanse of the race-course and training ground was not for a moment to bethought of. 

So Salvat still ran on and on. But on reaching the Allee de Longchamp hefound it guarded like the other roads, and therefore had to relinquishhis plan of escaping by way of Madrid and the river-bank. While he wasperforce making a bend alongside the Pre Catelan, he became aware thatthe keepers, led by detectives, were drawing yet nearer to him, confininghis movements to a smaller and smaller area. And his race soon acquiredall the frenzy of despair. Haggard and breathless he leapt mounds, rushedpast multitudinous obstacles. He forced a passage through brambles, brokedown palings, thrice caught his feet in wire work which he had not seen, and fell among nettles, yet picked himself up went on again, spurred bythe stinging of his hands and face. It was then Guillaume and Pierre sawhim pass, unrecognisable and frightful, taking to the muddy water of therivulet like a stag which seeks to set a last obstacle between itself andthe hounds. There came to him a wild idea of getting to the lake, andswimming, unperceived, to the island in the centre of it. That, he madlythought, would be a safe retreat, where he might burrow and hide himselfwithout possibility of discovery. And so he still ran on. But once againthe sight of some guards made him retrace his steps, and he was compelledto go back and back in the direction of Paris, chased, forced towards thevery fortifications whence he had started that morning. It was now nearlythree in the afternoon. For more than two hours and a half he had beenrunning. 

At last he saw a soft, sandy ride for horsemen before him. He crossed it, splashing through the mire left by the rain, and reached a littlepathway, a delightful lovers' lane, as shady in summer as any arbour. Forsome time he was able to follow it, concealed from observation, and withhis hopes reviving. But it led him to one of those broad, straightavenues where carriages and bicycles, the whole afternoon pageant ofsociety, swept past under the mild and cloudy sky. So he returned to thethickets, fell once more upon the keepers, lost all notion of thedirection he took, and even all power of thought, becoming a mere thingcarried along and thrown hither and thither by the chances of the pursuitwhich pressed more and more closely upon him. Star-like crosswaysfollowed one upon other, and at last he came to a broad lawn, where thefull light dazzled him. And there he suddenly felt the hot, pantingbreath of his pursuers close in the rear. Eager, hungry breath it was, like that of hounds seeking to devour him. Shouts rang out, one handalmost caught hold of him, there was a rush of heavy feet, a scramble toseize him. But with a supreme effort he leapt upon a bank, crawled to itssummit, rose again, and once more found himself alone, still running onamid the fresh and quiet greenery. 

Nevertheless, this was the end. He almost fell flat upon the ground. Hisaching feet could no longer carry him; blood was oozing from his ears, and froth had come to his mouth. His heart beat with such violence thatit seemed likely to break his ribs. Water and perspiration streamed fromhim, he was miry and haggard and tortured by hunger, conquered, in fact, more by hunger than by fatigue. And through the mist which seemed to havegathered before his wild eyes, he suddenly saw an open doorway, thedoorway of a coach-house in the rear of a kind of chalet, sequesteredamong trees. Excepting a big white cat, which took to flight, there wasnot a living creature in the place. Salvat plunged into it and rolledover on a heap of straw, among some empty casks. He was scarcely hiddenthere when he heard the chase sweep by, the detectives and the keeperslosing scent, passing the chalet and rushing in the direction of theParis ramparts. The noise of their heavy boots died away, and deepsilence fell, while the hunted man, who had carried both hands to hisheart to stay its beating, sank into the most complete prostration, withbig tears trickling from his closed eyes. 

Whilst all this was going on, Pierre and Guillaume, after a brief rest, had resumed their walk, reaching the lake and proceeding towards thecrossway of the Cascades, in order to return to Neuilly by the roadbeyond the water. However, a shower fell, compelling them to take shelterunder the big leafless branches of a chestnut-tree. Then, as the raincame down more heavily and they could perceive a kind of chalet, a littlecafe-restaurant amid a clump of trees, they hastened thither for betterprotection. In a side road, which they passed on their way, they saw acab standing, its driver waiting there in philosophical fashion under thefalling shower. Pierre, moreover, noticed a young man stepping outbriskly in front of them, a young man resembling Gerard de Quinsac, who, whilst walking in the Bois, had no doubt been overtaken by the rain, andlike themselves was seeking shelter in the chalet. However, on enteringthe latter's public room, the priest saw no sign of the gentleman, andconcluded that he must have been mistaken. This public room, which had akind of glazed verandah overlooking the Bois, contained a few chairs andtables, the latter with marble tops. On the first floor there were fouror five private rooms reached by a narrow passage. Though the doors wereopen the place had as yet scarcely emerged from its winter's rest. Therewas nobody about, and on all sides one found the dampness common toestablishments which, from lack of custom, are compelled to close fromNovember until March. In the rear were some stables, a coach-house, andvarious mossy, picturesque outbuildings, which painters and gardenerswould now soon embellish for the gay pleasure parties which the fineweather would bring. 

"I really think that they haven't opened for the season yet, " saidGuillaume as he entered the silent house. 

"At all events they will let us stay here till the rain stops, " answeredPierre, seating himself at one of the little tables. 

However, a waiter suddenly made his appearance seemingly in a greathurry. He had come down from the first floor, and eagerly rummaged acupboard for a few dry biscuits, which he laid upon a plate. At last hecondescended to serve the brothers two glasses of Chartreuse. 

In one of the private rooms upstairs Baroness Duvillard, who had drivento the chalet in a cab, had been awaiting her lover Gerard for nearlyhalf an hour. It was there that, during the charity bazaar, they hadgiven each other an appointment. For them the chalet had preciousmemories: two years previously, on discovering that secluded nest, whichwas so deserted in the early, hesitating days of chilly spring, they hadmet there under circumstances which they could not forget. And theBaroness, in choosing the house for the supreme assignation of theirdying passion, had certainly not been influenced merely by a fear thatshe might be spied upon elsewhere. She had, indeed, thought of the firstkisses that had been showered on her there, and would fain have revivedthem even if they should now prove the last that Gerard would bestow onher. 

But she would also have liked to see some sunlight playing over theyouthful foliage. The ashen sky and threatening rain saddened her. Andwhen she entered the private room she did not recognise it, so cold anddim it seemed with its faded furniture. Winter had tarried there, withall the dampness and mouldy smell peculiar to rooms which have longremained closed. Then, too, some of the wall paper which had come awayfrom the plaster hung down in shreds, dead flies were scattered over theparquetry flooring; and in order to open the shutters the waiter had toengage in a perfect fight with their fastenings. However, when he hadlighted a little gas-stove, which at once flamed up and diffused somewarmth, the room became more cosy. 

Eve had seated herself on a chair, without raising the thick veil whichhid her face. Gowned, gloved, and bonneted in black, as if she werealready in mourning for her last passion, she showed naught of her ownperson save her superb fair hair, which glittered like a helm of tawnygold. She had ordered tea for two, and when the waiter brought it with alittle plateful of dry biscuits, left, no doubt, from the previousseason, he found her in the same place, still veiled and motionless, absorbed, it seemed, in a gloomy reverie. If she had reached the cafehalf an hour before the appointed time it was because she desired someleisure and opportunity to overcome her despair and compose herself. Sheresolved that of all things she would not weep, that she would remaindignified and speak calmly, like one who, whatever rights she mightpossess, preferred to appeal to reason only. And she was well pleasedwith the courage that she found within her. Whilst thinking of what sheshould say to dissuade Gerard from a marriage which to her mind wouldprove both a calamity and a blunder, she fancied herself very calm, indeed almost resigned to whatsoever might happen. 

But all at once she started and began to tremble. Gerard was entering theroom. 

"What! are you here the first, my dear?" he exclaimed. "I thought that Imyself was ten minutes before the time! And you've ordered some tea andare waiting for me!"

He forced a smile as he spoke, striving to display the same delight atseeing her as he had shown in the early golden days of their passion. Butat heart he was much embarrassed, and he shuddered at the thought of theawful scene which he could foresee. 

She had at last risen and raised her veil. And looking at him shestammered: "Yes, I found myself at liberty earlier than I expected.... I feared some impediment might arise... And so I came. "

Then, seeing how handsome and how affectionate he still looked, she couldnot restrain her passion. All her skilful arguments, all her fineresolutions, were swept away. Her flesh irresistibly impelled her towardshim; she loved him, she would keep him, she would never surrender him toanother. And she wildly flung her arms around his neck. 

"Oh! Gerard, Gerard! I suffer too cruelly; I cannot, I cannot bear it!Tell me at once that you will not marry her, that you will never marryher!"

Her voice died away in a sob, tears started from her eyes. Ah! thosetears which she had sworn she would never shed! They gushed forth withoutcessation, they streamed from her lovely eyes like a flood of thebitterest grief. 

"My daughter, O God! What! you would marry my daughter! She, here, onyour neck where I am now! No, no, such torture is past endurance, it mustnot be, I will not have it!"

He shivered as he heard that cry of frantic jealousy raised by a motherwho now was but a woman, maddened by the thought of her rival's youth, those five and twenty summers which she herself had left far behind. Forhis part, on his way to the assignation, he had come to what he thoughtthe most sensible decision, resolving to break off the intercourse afterthe fashion of a well-bred man, with all sorts of fine consolatoryspeeches. But sternness was not in his nature. He was weak andsoft-hearted, and had never been able to withstand a woman's tears. Nevertheless, he endeavoured to calm her, and in order to rid himself ofher embrace, he made her sit down upon the sofa. And there, beside her, he replied: "Come, be reasonable, my dear. We came here to have afriendly chat, did we not? I assure you that you are greatly exaggeratingmatters. "

But she was determined to obtain a more positive answer from him. "No, no!" she retorted, "I am suffering too dreadfully, I must know the truthat once. Swear to me that you will never, never marry her!"

He again endeavoured to avoid replying as she wished him to do. "Come, come, " he said, "you will do yourself harm by giving way to such grief asthis; you know that I love you dearly. "

"Then swear to me that you will never, never marry her. "

"But I tell you that I love you, that you are the only one I love. "

Then she again threw her arms around him, and kissed him passionatelyupon the eyes. "Is it true?" she asked in a transport. "You love me, youlove no one else? Oh! tell me so again, and kiss me, and promise me thatyou will never belong to her. "

Weak as he was he could not resist her ardent caresses and pressingentreaties. There came a moment of supreme cowardice and passion; herarms were around him and he forgot all but her, again and again repeatingthat he loved none other, and would never, never marry her daughter. Atlast he even sank so low as to pretend that he simply regarded that poor, infirm creature with pity. His words of compassionate disdain for herrival were like nectar to Eve, for they filled her with the blissful ideathat it was she herself who would ever remain beautiful in his eyes andwhom he would ever love.... 

At last silence fell between them, like an inevitable reaction after sucha tempest of despair and passion. It disturbed Gerard. "Won't you drinksome tea?" he asked. "It is almost cold already. "

She was not listening, however. To her the reaction had come in adifferent form; and as though the inevitable explanation were only nowcommencing, she began to speak in a sad and weary voice. "My dear Gerard, you really cannot marry my daughter. In the first place it would be sowrong, and then there is the question of your name, your position. Forgive my frankness, but the fact is that everybody would say that youhad sold yourself--such a marriage would be a scandal for both yourfamily and mine. "

As she spoke she took hold of his hands, like a mother seeking to preventher big son from committing some terrible blunder. And he listened toher, with bowed head and averted eyes. She now evinced no anger, nojealous rage; all such feelings seemed to have departed with the raptureof her passion. 

"Just think of what people would say, " she continued. "I don't deceivemyself, I am fully aware that there is an abyss between your circle ofsociety and ours. It is all very well for us to be rich, but money simplyenlarges the gap. And it was all very fine for me to be converted, mydaughter is none the less 'the daughter of the Jewess, ' as folks so oftensay. Ah! my Gerard, I am so proud of you, that it would rend my heart tosee you lowered, degraded almost, by a marriage for money with a girl whois deformed, who is unworthy of you and whom you could never love. "

He raised his eyes and looked at her entreatingly, anxious as he was tobe spared such painful talk. "But haven't I sworn to you, that you arethe only one I love?" he said. "Haven't I sworn that I would never marryher! It's all over. Don't let us torture ourselves any longer. "

Their glances met and lingered on one another, instinct with all themisery which they dared not express in words. Eve's face had suddenlyaged; her eyelids were red and swollen, and blotches marbled herquivering cheeks, down which her tears again began to trickle. "My poor, poor Gerard, " said she, "how heavily I weigh on you. Oh! do not deny it!I feel that I am an intolerable burden on your shoulders, an impedimentin your life, and that I shall bring irreparable disaster on you by myobstinacy in wishing you to be mine alone. "

He tried to speak, but she silenced him. "No, no, all is over between us. I am growing ugly, all is ended. And besides, I shut off the future fromyou. I can be of no help to you, whereas you bestow all on me. And yetthe time has come for you to assure yourself a position. At your age youcan't continue living without any certainty of the morrow, without a homeand hearth of your own; and it would be cowardly and cruel of me to setmyself up as an obstacle, and prevent you from ending your life happily, as I should do if I clung to you and dragged you down with me. "

Gazing at him through her tears she continued speaking in this fashion. Like his mother she was well aware that he was weak and even sickly; andshe therefore dreamt of arranging a quiet life for him, a life oftranquil happiness free from all fear of want. She loved him so fondly;and possessed so much genuine kindness of heart that perhaps it might bepossible for her to rise even to renunciation and sacrifice. Moreover, the very egotism born of her beauty suggested that it might be well forher to think of retirement and not allow the autumn of her life to bespoilt by torturing dramas. All this she said to him, treating him like achild whose happiness she wished to ensure even at the price of her own;and he, his eyes again lowered, listened without further protest, pleasedindeed to let her arrange a happy life for him. 

Examining the situation from every aspect, she at last began torecapitulate the points in favour of that abominable marriage, thethought of which had so intensely distressed her. "It is certain, " shesaid, "that Camille would bring you all that I should like you to have. With her, I need hardly say it, would come plenty, affluence. And as forthe rest, well, I do not wish to excuse myself or you, but I could nametwenty households in which there have been worse things. Besides, I waswrong when I said that money opened a gap between people. On thecontrary, it draws them nearer together, it secures forgiveness for everyfault; so nobody would dare to blame you, there would only be jealousones around you, dazzled by your good fortune. "

Gerard rose, apparently rebelling once more. "Surely, " said he, "_you_don't insist on my marrying your daughter?"

"Ah! no indeed! But I am sensible, and I tell you what I ought to tellyou. You must think it all over. "

"I have done so already. It is you that I have loved, and that I lovestill. What you say is impossible. "

She smiled divinely, rose, and again embraced him. "How good and kind youare, my Gerard. Ah! if you only knew how I love you, how I shall alwayslove you, whatever happens. "

Then she again began to weep, and even he shed tears. Their good faithwas absolute; tender of heart as they were, they sought to delay thepainful wrenching and tried to hope for further happiness. But they wereconscious that the marriage was virtually an accomplished fact. Onlytears and words were left them, while life and destiny were marching on. And if their emotion was so acute it was probably because they felt thatthis was the last time they would meet as lovers. Still they strove toretain the illusion that they were not exchanging their last farewell, that their lips would some day meet again in a kiss of rapture. 

Eve removed her arms from the young man's neck, and they both gazed roundthe room, at the sofa, the table, the four chairs, and the little hissinggas-stove. The moist, hot atmosphere was becoming quite oppressive. 

"And so, " said Gerard, "you won't drink a cup of tea?"

"No, it's so horrid here, " she answered, while arranging her hair infront of the looking-glass. 

At that parting moment the mournfulness of this place, where she hadhoped to find such delightful memories, filled her with distress, whichwas turning to positive anguish, when she suddenly heard an uproar ofgruff voices and heavy feet. People were hastening along the passage andknocking at the doors. And, on darting to the window, she perceived anumber of policemen surrounding the chalet. At this the wildest ideasassailed her. Had her daughter employed somebody to follow her? Did herhusband wish to divorce her so as to marry Silviane? The scandal would beawful, and all her plans must crumble! She waited in dismay, white like aghost; while Gerard, also paling and quivering, begged her to be calm. Atlast, when loud blows were dealt upon the door and a Commissary of Policeenjoined them to open it, they were obliged to do so. Ah! what a moment, and what dismay and shame!

Meantime, for more than an hour, Pierre and Guillaume had been waitingfor the rain to cease. Seated in a corner of the glazed verandah theytalked in undertones of Barthes' painful affair, and ultimately decidedto ask Theophile Morin to dine with them on the following evening, andinform his old friend that he must again go into exile. 

"That is the best course, " repeated Guillaume. "Morin is very fond of himand will know how to break the news. I have no doubt too that he will gowith him as far as the frontier. "

Pierre sadly looked at the falling rain. "Ah! what a choice, " said he, "to be ever driven to a foreign land under penalty of being thrust intoprison. Poor fellow! how awful it is to have never known a moment ofhappiness and gaiety in one's life, to have devoted one's whole existenceto the idea of liberty, and to see it scoffed at and expire withoneself!"

Then the priest paused, for he saw several policemen and keepers approachthe cafe and prowl round it. Having lost scent of the man they werehunting, they had retraced their steps with the conviction no doubt thathe had sought refuge in the chalet. And in order that he might not againescape them, they now took every precaution, exerted all their skill insurrounding the place before venturing on a minute search. Covert fearcame upon Pierre and Guillaume when they noticed these proceedings. Itseemed to them that it must all be connected with the chase which theyhad caught a glimpse of some time previously. Still, as they happened tobe in the chalet they might be called upon to give their names andaddresses. At this thought they glanced at one another, and almost madeup their minds to go off under the rain. But they realised that anythinglike flight might only compromise them the more. So they waited; and allat once there came a diversion, for two fresh customers entered theestablishment. 

A victoria with its hood and apron raised had just drawn up outside thedoor. The first to alight from it was a young, well-dressed man with abored expression of face. He was followed by a young woman who waslaughing merrily, as if much amused by the persistence of the downpour. By way of jesting, indeed, she expressed her regret that she had not cometo the Bois on her bicycle, whereupon her companion retorted that todrive about in a deluge appeared to him the height of idiocy. 

"But we were bound to go somewhere, my dear fellow, " she gaily answered. "Why didn't you take me to see the maskers?"

"The maskers, indeed! No, no, my dear. I prefer the Bois, and even thebottom of the lake, to them. "

Then, as the couple entered the chalet, Pierre saw that the young womanwho made merry over the rain was little Princess Rosemonde, while hercompanion, who regarded the mid-Lent festivities as horrible, andbicycling as an utterly unaesthetic amusement, was handsome HyacintheDuvillard. On the previous evening, while they were taking a cup of teatogether on their return from the Chamber of Horrors, the young man hadresponded to the Princess's blandishments by declaring that the only formof attachment he believed in was a mystic union of intellects and souls. And as such a union could only be fittingly arrived at amidst the cold, chaste snow, they had decided that they would start for Christiania onthe following Monday. Their chief regret was that by the time theyreached the fiords the worst part of the northern winter would be over. 

They sat down in the cafe and ordered some kummel, but there was none, said the waiter, so they had to content themselves with common anisette. Then Hyacinthe, who had been a schoolfellow of Guillaume's sons, recognised both him and Pierre; and leaning towards Rosemonde told her ina whisper who the elder brother was. 

Thereupon, with sudden enthusiasm, she sprang to her feet: "GuillaumeFroment, indeed! the great chemist!" And stepping forward with armoutstretched, she continued: "Ah! monsieur, you must excuse me, but Ireally must shake hands with you. I have so much admiration for you! Youhave done such wonderful work in connection with explosives!" Then, noticing the chemist's astonishment, she again burst into a laugh: "I amthe Princess de Harn, your brother Abbe Froment knows me, and I ought tohave asked him to introduce me. However, we have mutual friends, you andI; for instance, Monsieur Janzen, a very distinguished man, as you areaware. He was to have taken me to see you, for I am a modest disciple ofyours. Yes, I have given some attention to chemistry, oh! from pure zealfor truth and in the hope of helping good causes, not otherwise. So youwill let me call on you--won't you?--directly I come back fromChristiania, where I am going with my young friend here, just to acquiresome experience of unknown emotions. "

In this way she rattled on, never allowing the others an opportunity tosay a word. And she mingled one thing with another; her cosmopolitantastes, which had thrown her into Anarchism and the society of shadyadventurers; her new passion for mysticism and symbolism; her belief thatthe ideal must triumph over base materialism; her taste for aestheticverse; and her dream of some unimagined rapture when Hyacinthe shouldkiss her with his frigid lips in a realm of eternal snow. 

All at once, however, she stopped short and again began to laugh. "Dearme!" she exclaimed. "What are those policemen looking for here? Have theycome to arrest us? How amusing it would be!"

Police Commissary Dupot and detective Mondesir had just made up theirminds to search the cafe, as their men had hitherto failed to find Salvatin any of the outbuildings. They were convinced that he was here. Dupot, a thin, bald, short-sighted, spectacled little man, wore his usualexpression of boredom and weariness; but in reality he was very wideawake and extremely courageous. He himself carried no weapons; but, as heanticipated a most violent resistance, such as might be expected from atrapped wolf, he advised Mondesir to have his revolver ready. Fromconsiderations of hierarchical respect, however, the detective, who withhis snub nose and massive figure had much the appearance of a bull-dog, was obliged to let his superior enter first. 

From behind his spectacles the Commissary of Police quickly scrutinizedthe four customers whom he found in the cafe: the lady, the priest, andthe two other men. And passing them in a disdainful way, he at once madefor the stairs, intending to inspect the upper floor. Thereupon thewaiter, frightened by the sudden intrusion of the police, lost his headand stammered: "But there's a lady and gentleman upstairs in one of theprivate rooms. "

Dupot quietly pushed him aside. "A lady and gentleman, that's not what weare looking for.... Come, make haste, open all the doors, you mustn'tleave a cupboard closed. "

Then climbing to the upper floor, he and Mondesir explored in turn everyapartment and corner till they at last reached the room where Eve andGerard were together. Here the waiter was unable to admit them, as thedoor was bolted inside. "Open the door!" he called through the keyhole, "it isn't you that they want!"

At last the bolt was drawn back, and Dupot, without even venturing tosmile, allowed the trembling lady and gentleman to go downstairs, whileMondesir, entering the room, looked under every article of furniture, andeven peeped into a little cupboard in order that no neglect might beimputed to him. 

Meantime, in the public room which they had to cross after descending thestairs, Eve and Gerard experienced fresh emotion; for people whom theyknew were there, brought together by an extraordinary freak of chance. Although Eve's face was hidden by a thick veil, her eyes met her son'sglance and she felt sure that he recognised her. What a fatality! He hadso long a tongue and told his sister everything! Then, as the Count, indespair at such a scandal, hurried off with the Baroness to conduct herthrough the pouring rain to her cab, they both distinctly heard littlePrincess Rosemonde exclaim: "Why, that was Count de Quinsac! Who was thelady, do you know?" And as Hyacinthe, greatly put out, returned noanswer, she insisted, saying: "Come, you must surely know her. Who wasshe, eh?"

"Oh! nobody. Some woman or other, " he ended by replying. 

Pierre, who had understood the truth, turned his eyes away to hide hisembarrassment. But all at once the scene changed. At the very moment whenCommissary Dupot and detective Mondesir came downstairs again, aftervainly exploring the upper floor, a loud shout was raised outside, followed by a noise of running and scrambling. Then Gascogne, the Chiefof the Detective Force, who had remained in the rear of the chalet, continuing the search through the outbuildings, made his appearance, pushing before him a bundle of rags and mud, which two policemen held oneither side. And this bundle was the man, the hunted man, who had justbeen discovered in the coach-house, inside a staved cask, covered withhay. 

Ah! what a whoop of victory there was after that run of two hours'duration, that frantic chase which had left them all breathless andfootsore! It had been the most exciting, the most savage of all sports--aman hunt! They had caught the man at last, and they pushed him, theydragged him, they belaboured him with blows. And he, the man, what asorry prey he looked! A wreck, wan and dirty from having spent the nightin a hole full of leaves, still soaked to his waist from having rushedthrough a stream, drenched too by the rain, bespattered with mire, hiscoat and trousers in tatters, his cap a mere shred, his legs and handsbleeding from his terrible rush through thickets bristling with bramblesand nettles. There no longer seemed anything human about his face; hishair stuck to his moist temples, his bloodshot eyes protruded from theirsockets; fright, rage, and suffering were all blended on his wasted, contracted face. Still it was he, the man, the quarry, and they gave himanother push, and he sank on one of the tables of the little cafe, stillheld and shaken, however, by the rough hands of the policemen. 

Then Guillaume shuddered as if thunderstruck, and caught hold of Pierre'shand. At this the priest, who was looking on, suddenly understood thetruth and also quivered. Salvat! the man was Salvat! It was Salvat whomthey had seen rushing through the wood like a wild boar forced by thehounds. And it was Salvat who was there, now conquered and simply afilthy bundle. Then once more there came to Pierre, amidst his anguish, avision of the errand girl lying yonder at the entrance of the Duvillardmansion, the pretty fair-haired girl whom the bomb had ripped and killed!

Dupot and Mondesir made haste to participate in Gascogne's triumph. Totell the truth, however, the man had offered no resistance; it was like alamb that he had let the police lay hold of him. And since he had been inthe cafe, still roughly handled, he had simply cast a weary and mournfulglance around him. 

At last he spoke, and the first words uttered by his hoarse, gaspingvoice were these: "I am hungry. "

He was sinking with hunger and weariness. This was the third day that hehad eaten nothing. 

"Give him some bread, " said Commissary Dupot to the waiter. "He can eatit while a cab is being fetched. "

A policeman went off to find a vehicle. The rain had suddenly ceasedfalling, the clear ring of a bicyclist's bell was heard in the distance, some carriages drove by, and under the pale sunrays life again came backto the Bois. 

Meantime, Salvat had fallen gluttonously upon the hunk of bread which hadbeen given him, and whilst he was devouring it with rapturous animalsatisfaction, he perceived the four customers seated around. He seemedirritated by the sight of Hyacinthe and Rosemonde, whose faces expressedthe mingled anxiety and delight they felt at thus witnessing the arrestof some bandit or other. But all at once his mournful, bloodshot eyeswavered, for to his intense surprise he had recognised Pierre andGuillaume. When he again looked at the latter it was with the submissiveaffection of a grateful dog, and as if he were once more promising thathe would divulge nothing, whatever might happen. 

At last he again spoke, as if addressing himself like a man of courage, both to Guillaume, from whom he had averted his eyes, and to others also, his comrades who were not there: "It was silly of me to run, " said he. "Idon't know why I did so. It's best that it should be all ended. I'mready. "

V. THE GAME OF POLITICS

ON reading the newspapers on the following morning Pierre and Guillaumewere greatly surprised at not finding in them the sensational accounts ofSalvat's arrest which they had expected. All they could discover was abrief paragraph in a column of general news, setting forth that somepolicemen on duty in the Bois de Boulogne had there arrested anAnarchist, who was believed to have played a part in certain recentoccurrences. On the other hand, the papers gave a deal of space to thequestions raised by Sagnier's fresh denunciations. There were innumerablearticles on the African Railways scandal, and the great debate whichmight be expected at the Chamber of Deputies, should Mege, the Socialistmember, really renew his interpellation, as he had announced hisintention of doing. 

As Guillaume's wrist was now fast healing, and nothing seemed to threatenhim, he had already, on the previous evening, decided that he wouldreturn to Montmartre. The police had passed him by without apparentlysuspecting any responsibility on his part; and he was convinced thatSalvat would keep silent. Pierre, however, begged him to wait a littlelonger, at any rate until the prisoner should have been interrogated bythe investigating magistrate, by which time they would be able to judgethe situation more clearly. Pierre, moreover, during his long stay at theHome Department on the previous morning, had caught a glimpse of certainthings and overheard certain words which made him suspect some dimconnection between Salvat's crime and the parliamentary crisis; and hetherefore desired a settlement of the latter before Guillaume returned tohis wonted life. 

"Just listen, " he said to his brother. "I am going to Morin's to ask himto come and dine here this evening, for it is absolutely necessary thatBarthes should be warned of the fresh blow which is falling on him. Andthen I think I shall go to the Chamber, as I want to know what takesplace there. After that, since you desire it, I will let you go back toyour own home. "

It was not more than half-past one when Pierre reached thePalais-Bourbon. It had occurred to him that Fonsegue would be able tosecure him admittance to the meeting-hall, but in the vestibule he metGeneral de Bozonnet, who happened to possess a couple of tickets. Afriend of his, who was to have accompanied him, had, at the last moment, been unable to come. So widespread was the curiosity concerning thedebate now near at hand, and so general were the predictions that itwould prove a most exciting one, that the demand for tickets had beenextremely keen during the last twenty-four hours. In fact Pierre wouldnever have been able to obtain admittance if the General had notgood-naturedly offered to take him in. As a matter of fact the oldwarrior was well pleased to have somebody to chat with. He explained thathe had simply come there to kill time, just as he might have killed it ata concert or a charity bazaar. However, like the ex-Legitimist andBonapartist that he was, he had really come for the pleasure of feastinghis eyes on the shameful spectacle of parliamentary ignominy. 

When the General and Pierre had climbed the stairs, they were able tosecure two front seats in one of the public galleries. Little Massot, whowas already there, and who knew them both, placed one of them on hisright and the other on his left. "I couldn't find a decent seat left inthe press gallery, " said he, "but I managed to get this place, from whichI shall be able to see things properly. It will certainly be a bigsitting. Just look at the number of people there are on every side!"

The narrow and badly arranged galleries were packed to overflowing. Therewere men of every age and a great many women too in the confused, serriedmass of spectators, amidst which one only distinguished a multiplicity ofpale white faces. The real scene, however, was down below in themeeting-hall, which was as yet empty, and with its rows of seats disposedin semi-circular fashion looked like the auditorium of a theatre. Underthe cold light which fell from the glazed roofing appeared the solemn, shiny tribune, whence members address the Chamber, whilst behind it, on ahigher level, and running right along the rear wall, was what is calledthe Bureau, with its various tables and seats, including the presidentialarmchair. The Bureau, like the tribune, was still unoccupied. The onlypersons one saw there were a couple of attendants who were laying out newpens and filling inkstands. 

"The women, " said Massot with a laugh, after another glance at thegalleries, "come here just as they might come to a menagerie, that is, inthe secret hope of seeing wild beasts devour one another. But, by theway, did you read the article in the 'Voix du Peuple' this morning? Whata wonderful fellow that Sagnier is. When nobody else can find any filthleft, he manages to discover some. He apparently thinks it necessary toadd something new every day, in order to send his sales up. And of courseit all disturbs the public, and it's thanks to him that so many peoplehave come here in the hope of witnessing some horrid scene. "

Then he laughed again, as he asked Pierre if he had read an unsignedarticle in the "Globe, " which in very dignified but perfidious languagehad called upon Barroux to give the full and frank explanations which thecountry had a right to demand in that matter of the African Railways. This paper had hitherto vigorously supported the President of theCouncil, but in the article in question the coldness which precedes arupture was very apparent. Pierre replied that the article had muchsurprised him, for he had imagined that Fonsegue and Barroux were linkedtogether by identity of views and long-standing personal friendship. 

Massot was still laughing. "Quite so, " said he. "And you may be sure thatthe governor's heart bled when he wrote that article. It has been muchnoticed, and it will do the government a deal of harm. But the governor, you see, knows better than anybody else what line he ought to follow tosave both his own position and the paper's. "

Then he related what extraordinary confusion and emotion reigned amongthe deputies in the lobbies through which he had strolled before comingupstairs to secure a seat. After an adjournment of a couple of days theChamber found itself confronted by this terrible scandal, which was likeone of those conflagrations which, at the moment when they are supposedto be dying out, suddenly flare up again and devour everything. Thevarious figures given in Sagnier's list, the two hundred thousand francspaid to Barroux, the eighty thousand handed to Monferrand, the fiftythousand allotted to Fonsegue, the ten thousand pocketed by Duthil, andthe three thousand secured by Chaigneux, with all the other amountsdistributed among So-and-so and So-and-so, formed the general subject ofconversation. And at the same time some most extraordinary stories werecurrent; there was no end of tittle-tattle in which fact and falsehoodwere so inextricably mingled that everybody was at sea as to the realtruth. Whilst many deputies turned pale and trembled as beneath a blastof terror, others passed by purple with excitement, bursting withdelight, laughing with exultation at the thought of coming victory. For, in point of fact, beneath all the assumed indignation, all the calls forparliamentary cleanliness and morality, there simply lay a question ofpersons--the question of ascertaining whether the government would beoverthrown, and in that event of whom the new administration wouldconsist. Barroux no doubt appeared to be in a bad way; but with things insuch a muddle one was bound to allow a margin for the unexpected. Fromwhat was generally said it seemed certain that Mege would be extremelyviolent. Barroux would answer him, and the Minister's friends declaredthat he was determined to speak out in the most decisive manner. As forMonferrand he would probably address the Chamber after his colleague, butVignon's intentions were somewhat doubtful, as, in spite of his delight, he made a pretence of remaining in the back, ground. He had been seengoing from one to another of his partisans, advising them to keep calm, in order that they might retain the cold, keen _coup d'oeil_ which inwarfare generally decides the victory. Briefly, such was the plotting andintriguing that never had any witch's cauldron brimful of drugs andnameless abominations been set to boil on a more hellish fire than thatof this parliamentary cook-shop. 

"Heaven only knows what they will end by serving us, " said little Massotby way of conclusion. 

General de Bozonnet for his part anticipated nothing but disaster. IfFrance had only possessed an army, said he, one might have swept awaythat handful of bribe-taking parliamentarians who preyed upon the countryand rotted it. But there was no army left, there was merely an armednation, a very different thing. And thereupon, like a man of a past agewhom the present times distracted, he started on what had been hisfavourite subject of complaint ever since he had been retired from theservice. 

"Here's an idea for an article if you want one, " he said to Massot. "Although France may have a million soldiers she hasn't got an army. I'llgive you some notes of mine, and you will be able to tell people thetruth. "

Warfare, he continued, ought to be purely and simply a caste occupation, with commanders designated by divine right, leading mercenaries orvolunteers into action. By democratising warfare people had simply killedit; a circumstance which he deeply regretted, like a born soldier whoregarded fighting as the only really noble occupation that life offered. For, as soon as it became every man's duty to fight, none was willing todo so; and thus compulsory military service--what was called "the nationin arms"--would, at a more or less distant date, certainly bring aboutthe end of warfare. If France had not engaged in a European war since1870 this was precisely due to the fact that everybody in France wasready to fight. But rulers hesitated to throw a whole nation againstanother nation, for the loss both in life and treasure would betremendous. And so the thought that all Europe was transformed into avast camp filled the General with anger and disgust. He sighed for theold times when men fought for the pleasure of the thing, just as theyhunted; whereas nowadays people were convinced that they wouldexterminate one another at the very first engagement. 

"But surely it wouldn't be an evil if war should disappear, " Pierregently remarked. 

This somewhat angered the General. "Well, you'll have pretty nations ifpeople no longer fight, " he answered, and then trying to show a practicalspirit, he added: "Never has the art of war cost more money than sincewar itself has become an impossibility. The present-day defensive peaceis purely and simply ruining every country in Europe. One may be spareddefeat, but utter bankruptcy is certainly at the end of it all. And inany case the profession of arms is done for. All faith in it is dyingout, and it will soon be forsaken, just as men have begun to forsake thepriesthood. "

Thereupon he made a gesture of mingled grief and anger, almost cursingthat parliament, that Republican legislature before him, as if heconsidered it responsible for the future extinction of warfare. Butlittle Massot was wagging his head dubiously, for he regarded the subjectas rather too serious a one for him to write upon. And, all at once, inorder to turn the conversation into another channel, he exclaimed: "Ah!there's Monseigneur Martha in the diplomatic gallery beside the SpanishAmbassador. It's denied, you know, that he intends to come forward as acandidate in Morbihan. He's far too shrewd to wish to be a deputy. Healready pulls the strings which set most of the Catholic deputies whohave 'rallied' to the Republican Government in motion. "

Pierre himself had just noticed Monseigneur Martha's smiling face. And, somehow or other, however modest might be the prelate's demeanour, itseemed to him that he really played an important part in what was goingon. He could hardly take his eyes from him. It was as if he expected thathe would suddenly order men hither and thither, and direct the wholemarch of events. 

"Ah!" said Massot again. "Here comes Mege. It won't be long now beforethe sitting begins. "

The hall, down below, was gradually filling. Deputies entered anddescended the narrow passages between the benches. Most of them remainedstanding and chatting in a more or less excited way; but some seatedthemselves and raised their grey, weary faces to the glazed roof. It wasa cloudy afternoon, and rain was doubtless threatening, for the lightbecame quite livid. If the hall was pompous it was also dismal with itsheavy columns, its cold allegorical statues, and its stretches of baremarble and woodwork. The only brightness was that of the red velvet ofthe benches and the gallery hand-rests. 

Every deputy of any consequence who entered was named by Massot to hiscompanions. Mege, on being stopped by another member of the littleSocialist group, began to fume and gesticulate. Then Vignon, detachinghimself from a group of friends and putting on an air of smilingcomposure, descended the steps towards his seat. The occupants of thegalleries, however, gave most attention to the accused members, thosewhose names figured in Sagnier's list. And these were interestingstudies. Some showed themselves quite sprightly, as if they were entirelyat their ease; but others had assumed a most grave and indignantdemeanour. Chaigneux staggered and hesitated as if beneath the weight ofsome frightful act of injustice; whereas Duthil looked perfectly serenesave for an occasional twitch of his lips. The most admired, however, wasFonsegue, who showed so candid a face, so open a glance, that hiscolleagues as well as the spectators might well have declared himinnocent. Nobody indeed could have looked more like an honest man. 

"Ah! there's none like the governor, " muttered Massot with enthusiasm. "But be attentive, for here come the ministers. One mustn't miss Barroux'meeting with Fonsegue, after this morning's article. "

Chance willed it that as Barroux came along with his head erect, his facepale, and his whole demeanour aggressive, he was obliged to pass Fonseguein order to reach the ministerial bench. In doing so he did not speak tohim, but he gazed at him fixedly like one who is conscious of defection, of a cowardly stab in the back on the part of a traitor. Fonsegue seemedquite at ease, and went on shaking hands with one and another of hiscolleagues as if he were altogether unconscious of Barroux' glance. Nordid he even appear to see Monferrand, who walked by in the rear of thePrime Minister, wearing a placid good-natured air, as if he knew nothingof what was impending, but was simply coming to some ordinary humdrumsitting. However, when he reached his seat, he raised his eyes and smiledat Monseigneur Martha, who gently nodded to him. Then well pleased tothink that things were going as he wished them to go, he began to rub hishands, as he often did by way of expressing his satisfaction. 

"Who is that grey-haired, mournful-looking gentleman on the ministerialbench?" Pierre inquired of Massot. 

"Why, that's Taboureau, the Minister of Public Instruction, the excellentgentleman who is said to have no prestige. One's always hearing of him, and one never recognises him; he looks like an old, badly worn coin. Justlike Barroux he can't feel very well pleased with the governor thisafternoon, for to-day's 'Globe' contained an article pointing out histhorough incapacity in everything concerning the fine arts. It was anarticle in measured language, but all the more effective for that veryreason. It would surprise me if Taboureau should recover from it. "

Just then a low roll of drums announced the arrival of the President andother officials of the Chamber. A door opened, and a little processionpassed by amidst an uproar of exclamations and hasty footsteps. Then, standing at his table, the President rang his bell and declared thesitting open. But few members remained silent, however, whilst one of thesecretaries, a dark, lanky young man with a harsh voice, read the minutesof the previous sitting. When they had been adopted, various letters ofapology for non-attendance were read, and a short, unimportant bill waspassed without discussion. And then came the big affair, Mege'sinterpellation, and at once the whole Chamber was in a flutter, while themost passionate curiosity reigned in the galleries above. On theGovernment consenting to the interpellation, the Chamber decided that thedebate should take place at once. And thereupon complete silence fell, save that now and again a brief quiver sped by, in which one could detectthe various feelings, passions and appetites swaying the assembly. 

Mege began to speak with assumed moderation, carefully setting forth thevarious points at issue. Tall and thin, gnarled and twisted like avine-stock, he rested his hands on the tribune as if to support his bentfigure, and his speech was often interrupted by the little dry coughwhich came from the tuberculosis that was burning him. But his eyessparkled with passion behind his glasses, and little by little his voicerose in piercing accents and he drew his lank figure erect and began togesticulate vehemently. He reminded the Chamber that some two monthspreviously, at the time of the first denunciations published by the "Voixdu Peuple, " he had asked leave to interpellate the Government respectingthat deplorable affair of the African Railways; and he remarked, trulyenough, that if the Chamber had not yielded to certain considerationswhich he did not wish to discuss, and had not adjourned his proposedinquiries, full light would long since have been thrown on the wholeaffair, in such wise that there would have been no revival, no increaseof the scandal, and no possible pretext for that abominable campaign ofdenunciation which tortured and disgusted the country. However, it had atlast been understood that silence could be maintained no longer. It wasnecessary that the two ministers who were so loudly accused of havingabused their trusts, should prove their innocence, throw full light uponall they had done; apart from which the Chamber itself could not possiblyremain beneath the charge of wholesale venality. 

Then he recounted the whole history of the affair, beginning with thegrant of a concession for the African Lines to Baron Duvillard; and nextpassing to the proposals for the issue of lottery stock, which proposals, it was now said, had only been sanctioned by the Chamber after the mostshameful bargaining and buying of votes. At this point Mege becameextremely violent. Speaking of that mysterious individual Hunter, BaronDuvillard's recruiter and go-between, he declared that the police hadallowed him to flee from France, much preferring to spend its time inshadowing Socialist deputies. Then, hammering the tribune with his fist, he summoned Barroux to give a categorical denial to the charges broughtagainst him, and to make it absolutely clear that he had never received asingle copper of the two hundred thousand francs specified in Hunter'slist. Forthwith certain members shouted to Mege that he ought to read thewhole list; but when he wished to do so others vociferated that it wasabominable, that such a mendacious and slanderous document ought not tobe accorded a place in the proceedings of the French legislature. Megewent on still in frantic fashion, figuratively casting Sagnier into thegutter, and protesting that there was nothing in common between himselfand such a base insulter. But at the same time he demanded that justiceand punishment should be meted out equally to one and all, and that ifindeed there were any bribe-takers among his colleagues, they should besent that very night to the prison of Mazas. 

Meantime the President, erect at his table, rang and rang his bellwithout managing to quell the uproar. He was like a pilot who finds thetempest too strong for him. Among all the men with purple faces andbarking mouths who were gathered in front of him, the ushers alonemaintained imperturbable gravity. At intervals between the bursts ofshouting, Mege's voice could still be heard. By some sudden transition hehad come to the question of a Collectivist organisation of society suchas he dreamt of, and he contrasted it with the criminal capitalistsociety of the present day, which alone, said he, could produce suchscandals. And yielding more and more to his apostolic fervour, declaringthat there could be no salvation apart from Collectivism, he shouted thatthe day of triumph would soon dawn. He awaited it with a smile ofconfidence. In his opinion, indeed, he merely had to overthrow thatministry and perhaps another one, and then he himself would at last takethe reins of power in hand, like a reformer who would know how to pacifythe nation. As outside Socialists often declared, it was evident that theblood of a dictator flowed in that sectarian's veins. His feverish, stubborn rhetoric ended by exhausting his interrupters, who werecompelled to listen to him. When he at last decided to leave the tribune, loud applause arose from a few benches on the left. 

"Do you know, " said Massot to the General, "I met Mege taking a walk withhis three little children in the Jardin des Plantes the other day. Helooked after them as carefully as an old nurse. I believe he's a veryworthy fellow at heart, and lives in a very modest way. "

But a quiver had now sped through the assembly. Barroux had quitted hisseat to ascend the tribune. He there drew himself erect, throwing hishead back after his usual fashion. There was a haughty, majestic, slightly sorrowful expression on his handsome face, which would have beenperfect had his nose only been a little larger. He began to express hissorrow and indignation in fine flowery language, which he punctuated withtheatrical gestures. His eloquence was that of a tribune of the romanticschool, and as one listened to him one could divine that in spite of allhis pomposity he was really a worthy, tender-hearted and somewhat foolishman. That afternoon he was stirred by genuine emotion; his heart bled atthe thought of his disastrous destiny, he felt that a whole world wascrumbling with himself. Ah! what a cry of despair he stifled, the cry ofthe man who is buffeted and thrown aside by the course of events on thevery day when he thinks that his civic devotion entitles him to triumph!To have given himself and all he possessed to the cause of the Republic, even in the dark days of the Second Empire; to have fought and struggledand suffered persecution for that Republic's sake; to have establishedthat Republic amidst the battle of parties, after all the horrors ofnational and civil war; and then, when the Republic at last triumphed andbecame a living fact, secure from all attacks and intrigues, to suddenlyfeel like a survival of some other age, to hear new comers speak a newlanguage, preach a new ideal, and behold the collapse of all he hadloved, all he had reverenced, all that had given him strength to fightand conquer! The mighty artisans of the early hours were no more; it hadbeen meet that Gambetta should die. How bitter it all was for the lastlingering old ones to find themselves among the men of the new, intelligent and shrewd generation, who gently smiled at them, deemingtheir romanticism quite out of fashion! All crumbled since the ideal ofliberty collapsed, since liberty was no longer the one desideratum, thevery basis of the Republic whose existence had been so dearly purchasedafter so long an effort!

Erect and dignified Barroux made his confession. The Republic to him waslike the sacred ark of life; the very worst deeds became saintly if theywere employed to save her from peril. And in all simplicity he, told hisstory, how he had found the great bulk of Baron Duvillard's money goingto the opposition newspapers as pretended payment for puffery andadvertising, whilst on the other hand the Republican organs received butbeggarly, trumpery amounts. He had been Minister of the Interior at thetime, and had therefore had charge of the press; so what would have beensaid of him if he had not endeavoured to reestablish some equilibrium inthis distribution of funds in order that the adversaries of theinstitutions of the country might not acquire a great increase ofstrength by appropriating all the sinews of war? Hands had been stretchedout towards him on all sides, a score of newspapers, the most faithful, the most meritorious, had claimed their legitimate share. And he hadensured them that share by distributing among them the two hundredthousand francs set down in the list against his name. Not a centime ofthe money had gone into his own pocket, he would allow nobody to impugnhis personal honesty, on that point his word must suffice. At that momentBarroux was really grand. All his emphatic pomposity disappeared; heshowed himself, as he really was--an honest man, quivering, his heartbared, his conscience bleeding, in his bitter distress at having beenamong those who had laboured and at now being denied reward. 

For, truth to tell, his words fell amidst icy silence. In his childishsimplicity he had anticipated an outburst of enthusiasm; a RepublicanChamber could but acclaim him for having saved the Republic; and now thefrigidity of one and all quite froze him. He suddenly felt that he wasall alone, done for, touched by the hand of death. Nevertheless, hecontinued speaking amidst that terrible silence with the courage of onewho is committing suicide, and who, from his love of noble and eloquentattitudes, is determined to die standing. He ended with a finalimpressive gesture. However, as he came down from the tribune, thegeneral coldness seemed to increase, not a single member applauded. Withsupreme clumsiness he had alluded to the secret scheming of Rome and theclergy, whose one object, in his opinion, was to recover the predominantposition they had lost and restore monarchy in France at a more or lessdistant date. 

"How silly of him! Ought a man ever to confess?" muttered Massot. "He'sdone for, and the ministry too!"

Then, amidst the general frigidity, Monferrand boldly ascended thetribune stairs. The prevailing uneasiness was compounded of all thesecret fear which sincerity always causes, of all the distress of thebribe-taking deputies who felt that they were rolling into an abyss, andalso of the embarrassment which the others felt at thought of the more orless justifiable compromises of politics. Something like relief, therefore, came when Monferrand started with the most emphatic denials, protesting in the name of his outraged honour, and dealing blow afterblow on the tribune with one hand, while with the other he smote hischest. Short and thick-set, with his face thrust forward, hiding hisshrewdness beneath an expression of indignant frankness, he was for amoment really superb. He denied everything. He was not only ignorant ofwhat was meant by that sum of eighty thousand francs set down against hisname, but he defied the whole world to prove that he had even touched asingle copper of that money. He boiled over with indignation to such apoint that he did not simply deny bribe-taking on his own part, he deniedit on behalf of the whole assembly, of all present and past Frenchlegislatures, as if, indeed, bribe-taking on the part of a representativeof the people was altogether too monstrous an idea, a crime thatsurpassed possibility to such an extent that the mere notion of it wasabsurd. And thereupon applause rang out; the Chamber, delivered from itsfears, thrilled by his words, acclaimed him. 

From the little Socialist group, however, some jeers arose, and voicessummoned Monferrand to explain himself on the subject of the AfricanRailways, reminding him that he had been at the head of the Public WorksDepartment at the time of the vote, and requiring of him that he shouldstate what he now meant to do, as Minister of the Interior, in order toreassure the country. He juggled with this question, declaring that ifthere were any guilty parties they would be punished, for he did notrequire anybody to remind him of his duty. And then, all at once, withincomparable maestria, he had recourse to the diversion which he had beenpreparing since the previous day. His duty, said he, was a thing which henever forgot; he discharged it like a faithful soldier of the nation hourby hour, and with as much vigilance as prudence. He had been accused ofemploying the police on he knew not what base spying work in such wise asto allow the man Hunter to escape. Well, as for that much-slanderedpolice force, he would tell the Chamber on what work he had reallyemployed it the day before, and how zealously it had laboured for thecause of law and order. In the Bois de Boulogne, on the previousafternoon, it had arrested that terrible scoundrel, the perpetrator ofthe crime in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, that Anarchist mechanician Salvat, who for six weeks past had so cunningly contrived to elude capture. Thescoundrel had made a full confession during the evening, and the lawwould now take its course with all despatch. Public morality was at lastavenged, Paris might now emerge in safety from its long spell of terror, Anarchism would be struck down, annihilated. And that was what he, Monferrand, had done as a Minister for the honour and safety of hiscountry, whilst villains were vainly seeking to dishonour him byinscribing his name on a list of infamy, the outcome of the very basestpolitical intrigues. 

The Chamber listened agape and quivering. This story of Salvat's arrest, which none of the morning papers had reported; the present whichMonferrand seemed to be making them of that terrible Anarchist whom manyhad already begun to regard as a myth; the whole _mise-en-scene_ of theMinister's speech transported the deputies as if they were suddenlywitnessing the finish of a long-interrupted drama. Stirred and flattered, they prolonged their applause, while Monferrand went on celebrating hisact of energy, how he had saved society, how crime should be punished, and how he himself would ever prove that he had a strong arm and couldanswer for public order. He even won favour with the Conservatives andClericals on the Right by separating himself from Barroux, addressing afew words of sympathy to those Catholics who had "rallied" to theRepublic, and appealing for concord among men of different beliefs inorder that they might fight the common enemy, that fierce, wild socialismwhich talked of overthrowing everything!

By the time Monferrand came down from the tribune, the trick was played, he had virtually saved himself. Both the Right and Left of the Chamber*applauded, drowning the protests of the few Socialists whosevociferations only added to the triumphal tumult. Members eagerlystretched out their hands to the Minister, who for a moment remainedstanding there and smiling. But there was some anxiety in that smile ofhis; his success was beginning to frighten him. Had he spoken too well, and saved the entire Cabinet instead of merely saving himself? That wouldmean the ruin of his plan. The Chamber ought not to vote under the effectof that speech which had thrilled it so powerfully. Thus Monferrand, though he still continued to smile, spent a few anxious moments inwaiting to see if anybody would rise to answer him. 

 * Ever since the days of the Bourbon Restoration it has been the practice in the French Chambers for the more conservative members to seat themselves on the President's right, and for the Radical ones to place themselves on his left. The central seats of the semicircle in which the members' seats are arranged in tiers are usually occupied by men of moderate views. Generally speaking, such terms as Right Centre and Left Centre are applied to groups of Moderates inclining in the first place to Conservatism and in the latter to Radicalism. All this is of course known to readers acquainted with French institutions, but I give the explanation because others, after perusing French news in some daily paper, have often asked me what was meant by "a deputy of the Right, " and so forth. --Trans. 

His success had been as great among the occupants of the galleries asamong the deputies themselves. Several ladies had been seen applauding, and Monseigneur Martha had given unmistakable signs of the liveliestsatisfaction. "Ah, General!" said Massot to Bozonnet in a sneering way. "Those are our fighting men of the present time. And he's a bold andstrong one, is Monferrand. Of course it is all what people style 'savingone's bacon, ' but none the less it's very clever work. "

Just then, however, Monferrand to his great satisfaction had seen Vignonrise from his seat in response to the urging of his friends. Andthereupon all anxiety vanished from the Minister's smile, which becameone of malicious placidity. 

The very atmosphere of the Chamber seemed to change with Vignon in thetribune. He was slim, with a fair and carefully tended beard, blue eyesand all the suppleness of youth. He spoke, moreover, like a practicalman, in simple, straightforward language, which made the emptiness of theother's declamatory style painfully conspicuous. His term of officialservice as a prefect in the provinces had endowed him with keen insight;and it was in an easy way that he propounded and unravelled the mostintricate questions. Active and courageous, confident in his own star, too young and too shrewd to have compromised himself in anything so far, he was steadily marching towards the future. He had already drawn up arather more advanced political programme than that of Barroux andMonferrand, so that when opportunity offered there might be good reasonsfor him to take their place. Moreover, he was quite capable of carryingout his programme by attempting some of the long-promised reforms forwhich the country was waiting. He had guessed that honesty, when it hadprudence and shrewdness as its allies, must some day secure an innings. In a clear voice, and in a very quiet, deliberate way, he now said whatit was right to say on the subject under discussion, the things thatcommon sense dictated and that the Chamber itself secretly desired shouldbe said. He was certainly the first to rejoice over an arrest which wouldreassure the country; but he failed to understand what connection therecould be between that arrest and the sad business that had been broughtbefore the Chamber. The two affairs were quite distinct and different, and he begged his colleagues not to vote in the state of excitement inwhich he saw them. Full light must be thrown on the African Railwaysquestion, and this, one could not expect from the two incriminatedministers. However, he was opposed to any suggestion of a committee ofinquiry. In his opinion the guilty parties, if such there were, ought tobe brought immediately before a court of law. And, like Barroux, he woundup with a discreet allusion to the growing influence of the clergy, declaring that he was against all unworthy compromises, and was equallyopposed to any state dictatorship and any revival of the ancienttheocratic spirit. 

Although there was but little applause when Vignon returned to his seat, it was evident that the Chamber was again master of its emotions. And thesituation seemed so clear, and the overthrow of the ministry so certain, that Mege, who had meant to reply to the others, wisely abstained fromdoing so. Meantime people noticed the placid demeanour of Monferrand, whohad listened to Vignon with the utmost complacency, as if he wererendering homage to an adversary's talent; whereas Barroux, ever sincethe cold silence which had greeted his speech, had remained motionless inhis seat, bowed down and pale as a corpse. 

"Well, it's all over, " resumed Massot, amidst the hubbub which arose asthe deputies prepared to vote; "the ministry's done for. Little Vignonwill go a long way, you know. People say that he dreams of the Elysee. Atall events everything points to him as our next prime minister. "

Then, as the journalist rose, intending to go off, the General detainedhim: "Wait a moment, Monsieur Massot, " said he. "How disgusting all thatparliamentary cooking is! You ought to point it out in an article, andshow people how the country is gradually being weakened and rotted to themarrow by all such useless and degrading discussions. Why, a great battleresulting in the loss of 50, 000 men would exhaust us less than ten yearsof this abominable parliamentary system. You must call on me somemorning. I will show you a scheme of military reform, in which I pointout the necessity of returning to the limited professional armies whichwe used to have, for this present-day national army, as folks call it, which is a semi-civilian affair and at best a mere herd of men, is like adead weight on us, and is bound to pull us down!"

Pierre, for his part, had not spoken a word since the beginning of thedebate. He had listened to everything, at first influenced by the thoughtof his brother's interests, and afterwards mastered by the feverishnesswhich gradually took possession of everybody present. He had becomeconvinced that there was nothing more for Guillaume to fear; but howcuriously did one event fit into another, and how loudly had Salvat'sarrest re-echoed in the Chamber! Looking down into the seething hallbelow him, he had detected all the clash of rival passions and interests. After watching the great struggle between Barroux, Monferrand and Vignon, he had gazed upon the childish delight of that terrible Socialist Mege, who was so pleased at having been able to stir up the depths of thosetroubled waters, in which he always unwittingly angled for the benefit ofothers. Then, too, Pierre had become interested in Fonsegue, who, knowingwhat had been arranged between Monferrand, Duvillard and himself, evincedperfect calmness and strove to reassure Duthil and Chaigneux, who, ontheir side, were quite dismayed by the ministry's impending fall. Yet, Pierre's eyes always came back to Monseigneur Martha. He had watched hisserene smiling face throughout the sitting, striving to detect hisimpressions of the various incidents that had occurred, as if in hisopinion that dramatic parliamentary comedy had only been played as a steptowards the more or less distant triumph for which the prelate laboured. And now, while awaiting the result of the vote, as Pierre turned towardsMassot and the General, he found that they were talking of nothing butrecruiting and tactics and the necessity of a bath of blood for the wholeof Europe. Ah! poor mankind, ever fighting and ever devouring one anotherin parliaments as well as on battle-fields, when, thought Pierre, wouldit decide to disarm once and for all, and live at peace according to thelaws of justice and reason!

Then he again looked down into the hall, where the greatest confusion wasprevailing among the deputies with regard to the coming vote. There wasquite a rainfall of suggested "resolutions, " from a very violent oneproposed by Mege, to another, which was merely severe, emanating fromVignon. The ministry, however, would only accept the "Order of the daypure and simple, " a mere decision, that is, to pass to the next business, as if Mege's interpellation had been unworthy of attention. And presentlythe Government was defeated, Vignon's resolution being adopted by amajority of twenty-five. Some portion of the Left had evidently joinedhands with the Right and the Socialist group. A prolonged hubbub followedthis result. 

"Well, so we are to have a Vignon Cabinet, " said Massot, as he went offwith Pierre and the General. "All the same, though, Monferrand has savedhimself, and if I were in Vignon's place I should distrust him. "

That evening there was a very touching farewell scene at the little houseat Neuilly. When Pierre returned thither from the Chamber, saddened butreassured with regard to the future, Guillaume at once made up his mindto go home on the morrow. And as Nicholas Barthes was compelled to leave, the little dwelling seemed on the point of relapsing into dreary quietudeonce more. 

Theophile Morin, whom Pierre had informed of the painful alternative inwhich Barthes was placed, duly came to dinner; but he did not have timeto speak to the old man before they all sat down to table at seveno'clock. As usual Barthes had spent his day in marching, like a cagedlion, up and down the room in which he had accepted shelter after thefashion of a big fearless child, who never worried with regard either tohis present circumstances or the troubles which the future might have instore for him. His life had ever been one of unlimited hope, whichreality had ever shattered. Although all that he had loved, all that hehad hoped to secure by fifty years of imprisonment or exile, --liberty, equality and a real brotherly republic, --had hitherto failed to come, such as he had dreamt of them, he nevertheless retained the candid faithof his youth, and was ever confident in the near future. He would smileindulgently when new comers, men of violent ideas, derided him and calledhim a poor old fellow. For his part, he could make neither head nor tailof the many new sects. He simply felt indignant with their lack of humanfeeling, and stubbornly adhered to his own idea of basing the world'sregeneration on the simple proposition that men were naturally good andought to be free and brotherly. 

That evening at dinner, feeling that he was with friends who cared forhim, Barthes proved extremely gay, and showed all his ingenuousness intalking of his ideal, which would soon be realised, said he, in spite ofeverything. He could tell a story well whenever he cared to chat, and onthat occasion he related some delightful anecdotes about the prisonsthrough which he had passed. He knew all the dungeons, Ste. Pelagie andMont St. Michel, Belle-Ile-en-Mer and Clairvaux, to say nothing oftemporary gaols and the evil-smelling hulks on board which politicalprisoners are often confined. And he still laughed at certainrecollections, and related how in the direst circumstances he had alwaysbeen able to seek refuge in his conscience. The others listened to himquite charmed by his conversation, but full of anguish at the thoughtthat this perpetual prisoner or exile must again rise and take his staffto sally forth, driven from his native land once more. 

Pierre did not speak out until they were partaking of dessert. Then herelated how the Minister had written to him, and how in a brief interviewhe had stated that Barthes must cross the frontier within forty-eighthours if he did not wish to be arrested. Thereupon the old man gravelyrose, with his white fleece, his eagle beak and his bright eyes stillsparkling with the fire of youth. And he wished to go off at once. "What!" said he, "you have known all this since yesterday, and have stillkept me here at the risk of my compromising you even more than I had donealready! You must forgive me, I did not think of the worry I might causeyou, I thought that everything would be satisfactorily arranged. I mustthank you both--yourself and Guillaume--for the few days of quietude thatyou have procured to an old vagabond and madman like myself. "

Then, as they tried to prevail on him to remain until the followingmorning, he would not listen to them. There would be a train for Brusselsabout midnight, and he had ample time to take it. He refused to let Morinaccompany him. No, no, said he, Morin was not a rich man, and moreover hehad work to attend to. Why should he take him away from his duties, whenit was so easy, so simple, for him to go off alone? He was going backinto exile as into misery and grief which he had long known, like someWandering Jew of Liberty, ever driven onward through the world. 

When he took leave of the others at ten o'clock, in the little sleepystreet just outside the house, tears suddenly dimmed his eyes. "Ah! I'mno longer a young man, " he said; "it's all over this time. I shall nevercome back again. My bones will rest in some corner over yonder. " And yet, after he had affectionately embraced Pierre and Guillaume, he drewhimself up like one who remained unconquered, and he raised a supreme cryof hope. "But after all, who knows? Triumph may perhaps come to-morrow. The future belongs to those who prepare it and wait for it!"

Then he walked away, and long after he had disappeared his firm, sonorousfootsteps could be heard re-echoing in the quiet night. 

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!

BOOK V. 

I. THE GUILLOTINE

FOR some reason of his own Guillaume was bent upon witnessing theexecution of Salvat. Pierre tried to dissuade him from doing so; andfinding his efforts vain, became somewhat anxious. He accordinglyresolved to spend the night at Montmartre, accompany his brother andwatch over him. In former times, when engaged with Abbe Rose incharitable work in the Charonne district, he had learnt that theguillotine could be seen from the house where Mege, the Socialist deputy, resided at the corner of the Rue Merlin. He therefore offered himself asa guide. As the execution was to take place as soon as it should legallybe daybreak, that is, about half-past four o'clock, the brothers did notgo to bed but sat up in the workroom, feeling somewhat drowsy, andexchanging few words. Then as soon as two o'clock struck, they startedoff. 

The night was beautifully serene and clear. The full moon, shining like asilver lamp in the cloudless, far-stretching heavens, threw a calm, dreamy light over the vague immensity of Paris, which was like somespell-bound city of sleep, so overcome by fatigue that not a murmur arosefrom it. It was as if beneath the soft radiance which spread over itsroofs, its panting labour and its cries of suffering were lulled torepose until the dawn. Yet, in a far, out of the way district, dark workwas even now progressing, a knife was being raised on high in order thata man might be killed. 

Pierre and Guillaume paused in the Rue St. Eleuthere, and gazed at thevaporous, tremulous city spread out below then. And as they turned theyperceived the basilica of the Sacred Heart, still domeless but alreadylooking huge indeed in the moonbeams, whose clear white light accentuatedits outlines and brought them into sharp relief against a mass ofshadows. Under the pale nocturnal sky, the edifice showed like a colossalmonster, symbolical of provocation and sovereign dominion. Never beforehad Guillaume found it so huge, never had it appeared to him to dominateParis, even in the latter's hours of slumber, with such stubborn andoverwhelming might. 

This wounded him so keenly in the state of mind in which he foundhimself, that he could not help exclaiming: "Ah! they chose a good sitefor it, and how stupid it was to let them do so! I know of nothing morenonsensical; Paris crowned and dominated by that temple of idolatry! Howimpudent it is, what a buffet for the cause of reason after so manycenturies of science, labour, and battle! And to think of it being rearedover Paris, the one city in the world which ought never to have beensoiled in this fashion! One can understand it at Lourdes and Rome; butnot in Paris, in the very field of intelligence which has been so deeplyploughed, and whence the future is sprouting. It is a declaration of war, an insolent proclamation that they hope to conquer Paris also!"

Guillaume usually evinced all the tolerance of a _savant_, for whomreligions are simply social phenomena. He even willingly admitted thegrandeur or grace of certain Catholic legends. But Marie Alacoque'sfamous vision, which has given rise to the cult of the Sacred Heart, filled him with irritation and something like physical disgust. Hesuffered at the mere idea of Christ's open, bleeding breast, and thegigantic heart which the saint asserted she had seen beating in thedepths of the wound--the huge heart in which Jesus placed the woman'slittle heart to restore it to her inflated and glowing with love. Whatbase and loathsome materialism there was in all this! What a display ofviscera, muscles and blood suggestive of a butcher's shop! And Guillaumewas particularly disgusted with the engraving which depicted this horror, and which he found everywhere, crudely coloured with red and yellow andblue, like some badly executed anatomical plate. 

Pierre on his side was also looking at the basilica as, white withmoonlight, it rose out of the darkness like a gigantic fortress raised tocrush and conquer the city slumbering beneath it. It had already broughthim suffering during the last days when he had said mass in it and wasstruggling with his torments. "They call it the national votiveoffering, " he now exclaimed. "But the nation's longing is for health andstrength and restoration to its old position by work. That is a thing theChurch does not understand. It argues that if France was stricken withdefeat, it was because she deserved punishment. She was guilty, and soto-day she ought to repent. Repent of what? Of the Revolution, of acentury of free examination and science, of the emancipation of her mind, of her initiatory and liberative labour in all parts of the world? Thatindeed is her real transgression; and it is as a punishment for all ourlabour, search for truth, increase of knowledge and march towards justicethat they have reared that huge pile which Paris will see from all herstreets, and will never be able to see without feeling derided andinsulted in her labour and glory. "

With a wave of his hand he pointed to the city, slumbering in themoonlight as beneath a sheet of silver, and then set off again with hisbrother, down the slopes, towards the black and deserted streets. 

They did not meet a living soul until they reached the outer boulevard. Here, however, no matter what the hour may be, life continues withscarcely a pause. No sooner are the wine shops, music and dancing hallsclosed, than vice and want, cast into the street, there resume theirnocturnal existence. Thus the brothers came upon all the homeless ones:low prostitutes seeking a pallet, vagabonds stretched on the benchesunder the trees, rogues who prowled hither and thither on the lookout fora good stroke. Encouraged by their accomplice--night, all the mire andwoe of Paris had returned to the surface. The empty roadway now belongedto the breadless, homeless starvelings, those for whom there was no placein the sunlight, the vague, swarming, despairing herd which is onlyespied at night-time. Ah! what spectres of destitution, what apparitionsof grief and fright there were! What a sob of agony passed by in Paristhat morning, when as soon as the dawn should rise, a man--a pauper, asufferer like the others--was to be guillotined!

As Guillaume and Pierre were about to descend the Rue des Martyrs, theformer perceived an old man lying on a bench with his bare feetprotruding from his gaping, filthy shoes. Guillaume pointed to him insilence. Then, a few steps farther on, Pierre in his turn pointed to aragged girl, crouching, asleep with open month, in the corner of adoorway. There was no need for the brothers to express in words all thecompassion and anger which stirred their hearts. At long intervalspolicemen, walking slowly two by two, shook the poor wretches andcompelled them to rise and walk on and on. Occasionally, if they foundthem suspicious or refractory, they marched them off to thepolice-station. And then rancour and the contagion of imprisonment oftentransformed a mere vagabond into a thief or a murderer. 

In the Rue des Martyrs and the Rue du Faubourg-Montmartre, the brothersfound night-birds of another kind, women who slunk past them, close tothe house-fronts, and men and hussies who belaboured one another withblows. Then, upon the grand boulevards, on the thresholds of lofty blackhouses, only one row of whose windows flared in the night, pale-facedindividuals, who had just come down from their clubs, stood lightingcigars before going home. A lady with a ball wrap over her evening gownwent by accompanied by a servant. A few cabs, moreover, still jogged upand down the roadway, while others, which had been waiting for hours, stood on their ranks in rows, with drivers and horses alike asleep. Andas one boulevard after another was reached, the Boulevard Poissonniere, the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, the Boulevard St. Denis, and so forth, asfar as the Place de la Republique, there came fresh want and misery, moreforsaken and hungry ones, more and more of the human "waste" that is castinto the streets and the darkness. And on the other hand, an army ofstreet-sweepers was now appearing to remove all the filth of the pastfour and twenty hours, in order that Paris, spruce already at sunrise, might not blush for having thrown up such a mass of dirt andloathsomeness in the course of a single day. 

It was, however, more particularly after following the BoulevardVoltaire, and drawing near to the districts of La Roquette and Charonne, that the brothers felt they were returning to a sphere of labour wherethere was often lack of food, and where life was but so much pain. Pierrefound himself at home here. In former days, accompanied by good AbbeRose, visiting despairing ones, distributing alms, picking up childrenwho had sunk to the gutter, he had a hundred times perambulated every oneof those long, densely populated streets. And thus a frightful visionarose before his mind's eye; he recalled all the tragedies he hadwitnessed, all the shrieks he had heard, all the tears and bloodshed hehad seen, all the fathers, mothers and children huddled together anddying of want, dirt and abandonment: that social hell in which he hadended by losing his last hopes, fleeing from it with a sob in theconviction that charity was a mere amusement for the rich, and absolutelyfutile as a remedy. It was this conviction which now returned to him ashe again cast eyes upon that want and grief stricken district whichseemed fated to everlasting destitution. That poor old man whom Abbe Rosehad revived one night in yonder hovel, had he not since died ofstarvation? That little girl whom he had one morning brought in his armsto the refuge after her parents' death, was it not she whom he had justmet, grown but fallen to the streets, and shrieking beneath the fist of abully? Ah! how great was the number of the wretched! Their name waslegion! There were those whom one could not save, those who were hourlyborn to a life of woe and want, even as one may be born infirm, andthose, too, who from every side sank in the sea of human injustice, thatocean which has ever been the same for centuries past, and which thoughone may strive to drain it, still and for ever spreads. How heavy was thesilence, how dense the darkness in those working-class streets wheresleep seems to be the comrade of death! Yet hunger prowls, and misfortunesobs; vague spectral forms slink by, and then are lost to view in thedepths of the night. 

As Pierre and Guillaume went along they became mixed with dark groups ofpeople, a whole flock of inquisitive folk, a promiscuous, passionatetramp, tramp towards the guillotine. It came from all Paris, urged on bybrutish fever, a hankering for death and blood. In spite, however, of thedull noise which came from this dim crowd, the mean streets that werepassed remained quite dark, not a light appeared at any of their windows;nor could one hear the breathing of the weary toilers stretched on theirwretched pallets from which they would not rise before the morningtwilight. 

On seeing the jostling crowd which was already assembled on the PlaceVoltaire, Pierre understood that it would be impossible for him and hisbrother to ascend the Rue de la Roquette. Barriers, moreover, mustcertainly have been thrown across that street. In order therefore toreach the corner of the Rue Merlin, it occurred to him to take the Rue dela Folie Regnault, which winds round in the rear of the prison, fartheron. 

Here indeed they found solitude and darkness again. 

The huge, massive prison with its great bare walls on which a moonrayfell, looked like some pile of cold stones, dead for centuries past. Atthe end of the street they once more fell in with the crowd, a dimrestless mass of beings, whose pale faces alone could be distinguished. The brothers had great difficulty in reaching the house in which Megeresided at the corner of the Rue Merlin. All the shutters of thefourth-floor flat occupied by the Socialist deputy were closed, thoughevery other window was wide open and crowded with surging sightseers. Moreover, the wine shop down below and the first-floor room connectedwith it flared with gas, and were already crowded with noisy customers, waiting for the performance to begin. 

"I hardly like to go and knock at Mege's door, " said Pierre. 

"No, no, you must not do so!" replied Guillaume. 

"Let us go into the wine shop. We may perhaps be able to see somethingfrom the balcony. "

The first-floor room was provided with a very large balcony, which womenand gentlemen were already filling. The brothers nevertheless managed toreach it, and for a few minutes remained there, peering into the darknessbefore them. The sloping street grew broader between the two prisons, the"great" and the "little" Roquette, in such wise as to form a sort ofsquare, which was shaded by four clumps of plane-trees, rising from thefootways. The low buildings and scrubby trees, all poor and ugly ofaspect, seemed almost to lie on a level with the ground, under a vast skyin which stars were appearing, as the moon gradually declined. And thesquare was quite empty save that on one spot yonder there seemed to besome little stir. Two rows of guards prevented the crowd from advancing, and even threw it back into the neighbouring streets. On the one hand, the only lofty houses were far away, at the point where the Rue St. Maurintersects the Rue de la Roquette; while, on the other, they stood at thecorners of the Rue Merlin and the Rue de la Folie Regnault, so that itwas almost impossible to distinguish anything of the execution even fromthe best placed windows. As for the inquisitive folk on the pavement theyonly saw the backs of the guards. Still this did not prevent a crush. Thehuman tide flowed on from all sides with increasing clamour. 

Guided by the remarks of some women who, leaning forward on the balcony, had been watching the square for a long time already, the brothers wereat last able to perceive something. It was now half-past three, and theguillotine was nearly ready. The little stir which one vaguely espiedyonder under the trees, was that of the headsman's assistants fixing theknife in position. A lantern slowly came and went, and five or sixshadows danced over the ground. But nothing else could be distinguished, the square was like a large black pit, around which ever broke the wavesof the noisy crowd which one could not see. And beyond the square onecould only identify the flaring wine shops, which showed forth likelighthouses in the night. All the surrounding district of poverty andtoil was still asleep, not a gleam as yet came from workrooms or yards, not a puff of smoke from the lofty factory chimneys. 

"We shall see nothing, " Guillaume remarked. 

But Pierre silenced him, for he has just discovered that an elegantlyattired gentleman leaning over the balcony near him was none other thanthe amiable deputy Duthil. He had at first fancied that a woman muffledin wraps who stood close beside the deputy was the little Princess deHarn, whom he had very likely brought to see the execution since he hadtaken her to see the trial. On closer inspection, however, he had foundthat this woman was Silviane, the perverse creature with the virginalface. Truth to tell, she made no concealment of her presence, but talkedon in an extremely loud voice, as if intoxicated; and the brothers soonlearnt how it was that she happened to be there. Duvillard, Duthil, andother friends had been supping with her at one o'clock in the morning, when on learning that Salvat was about to be guillotined, the fancy ofseeing the execution had suddenly come upon her. Duvillard, after vainlyentreating her to do nothing of the kind, had gone off in a fury, for hefelt that it would be most unseemly on his part to attend the executionof a man who had endeavoured to blow up his house. And thereupon Silvianehad turned to Duthil, whom her caprice greatly worried, for he held allsuch loathsome spectacles in horror, and had already refused to act asescort to the Princess. However, he was so infatuated with Silviane'sbeauty, and she made him so many promises, that he had at last consentedto take her. 

"He can't understand people caring for amusement, " she said, speaking ofthe Baron. "And yet this is really a thing to see.... But no matter, you'll find him at my feet again to-morrow. "

Duthil smiled and responded: "I suppose that peace has been signed andratified now that you have secured your engagement at the Comedie. "

"Peace? No!" she protested. "No, no. There will be no peace between usuntil I have made my _debut_. After that, we'll see. "

They both laughed; and then Duthil, by way of paying his court, told herhow good-naturedly Dauvergne, the new Minister of Public Instruction andFine Arts, had adjusted the difficulties which had hitherto kept thedoors of the Comedie closed upon her. A really charming man wasDauvergne, the embodiment of graciousness, the very flower of theMonferrand ministry. His was the velvet hand in that administration whoseleader had a hand of iron. 

"He told me, my beauty, " said Duthil, "that a pretty girl was in placeeverywhere. " And then as Silviane, as if flattered, pressed closelybeside him, the deputy added: "So that wonderful revival of 'Polyeucte, 'in which you are going to have such a triumph, is to take place on theday after to-morrow. We shall all go to applaud you, remember. "

"Yes, on the evening of the day after to-morrow, " said Silviane, "thevery same day when the wedding of the Baron's daughter will take place. There'll be plenty of emotion that day!"

"Ah! yes, of course!" retorted Duthil, "there'll be the wedding of ourfriend Gerard with Mademoiselle Camille to begin with. We shall have acrush at the Madeleine in the morning and another at the Comedie in theevening. You are quite right, too; there will be several hearts throbbingin the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. "

Thereupon they again became merry, and jested about the Duvillardfamily--father, mother, lover and daughter--with the greatest possibleferocity and crudity of language. Then, all at once Silviane exclaimed:"Do you know, I'm feeling awfully bored here, my little Duthil. I can'tdistinguish anything, and I should like to be quite near so as to see itall plainly. You must take me over yonder, close to that machine oftheirs. "

This request threw Duthil into consternation, particularly as at thatsame moment Silviane perceived Massot outside the wine shop, and begancalling and beckoning to him imperiously. A brief conversation thenensued between the young woman and the journalist: "I say, Massot!" shecalled, "hasn't a deputy the right to pass the guards and take a ladywherever he likes?"

"Not at all!" exclaimed Duthil. "Massot knows very well that a deputyought to be the very first to bow to the laws. "

This exclamation warned Massot that Duthil did not wish to leave thebalcony. "You ought to have secured a card of invitation, madame, " saidhe, in reply to Silviane. "They would then have found you room at one ofthe windows of La Petite Roquette. Women are not allowed elsewhere.... But you mustn't complain, you have a very good place up there. "

"But I can see nothing at all, my dear Massot. "

"Well, you will in any case see more than Princess de Harn will. Just nowI came upon her carriage in the Rue du Chemin Vert. The police would notallow it to come any nearer. "

This news made Silviane merry again, whilst Duthil shuddered at the ideaof the danger he incurred, for Rosemonde would assuredly treat him to aterrible scene should she see him with another woman. Then, an ideaoccurring to him, he ordered a bottle of champagne and some little cakesfor his "beautiful friend, " as he called Silviane. She had beencomplaining of thirst, and was delighted with the opportunity ofperfecting her intoxication. When a waiter had managed to place a littletable near her, on the balcony itself, she found things very pleasant, and indeed considered it quite brave to tipple and sup afresh, whilewaiting for that man to be guillotined close by. 

It was impossible for Pierre and Guillaume to remain up there any longer. All that they heard, all that they beheld filled them with disgust. Theboredom of waiting had turned all the inquisitive folks of the balconyand the adjoining room into customers. The waiter could hardly manage toserve the many glasses of beer, bottles of expensive wine, biscuits, andplates of cold meat which were ordered of him. And yet the spectatorshere were all _bourgeois_, rich gentlemen, people of society! On theother hand, time has to be killed somehow when it hangs heavily on one'shands; and thus there were bursts of laughter and paltry and horriblejests, quite a feverish uproar arising amidst the clouds of smoke fromthe men's cigars. When Pierre and Guillaume passed through the wine shopon the ground-floor they there found a similar crush and similar tumult, aggravated by the disorderly behaviour of the big fellows in blouses whowere drinking draught wine at the pewter bar which shone like silver. There were people, too, at all the little tables, besides an incessantcoming and going of folks who entered the place for a "wet, " by way ofcalming their impatience. And what folks they were! All the scum, all thevagabonds who had been dragging themselves about since daybreak on thelookout for whatever chance might offer them, provided it were not work!

On the pavement outside, Pierre and Guillaume felt yet a greaterheart-pang. In the throng which the guards kept back, one simply found somuch mire stirred up from the very depths of Paris life: prostitutes andcriminals, the murderers of to-morrow, who came to see how a man ought todie. Loathsome, bareheaded harlots mingled with bands of prowlers or ranthrough the crowd, howling obscene refrains. Bandits stood in groupschatting and quarrelling about the more or less glorious manner in whichcertain famous _guillotines_ had died. Among these was one with respectto whom they all agreed, and of whom they spoke as of a great captain, ahero whose marvellous courage was deserving of immortality. Then, as onepassed along, one caught snatches of horrible phrases, particulars aboutthe instrument of death, ignoble boasts, and filthy jests reeking withblood. And over and above all else there was bestial fever, a lust fordeath which made this multitude delirious, an eagerness to see life flowforth fresh and ruddy beneath the knife, so that as it coursed over thesoil they might dip their feet in it. As this execution was not anordinary one, however, there were yet spectators of another kind; silentmen with glowing eyes who came and went all alone, and who were plainlythrilled by their faith, intoxicated with the contagious madness whichincites one to vengeance or martyrdom. 

Guillaume was just thinking of Victor Mathis, when he fancied that he sawhim standing in the front row of sightseers whom the guards held incheck. It was indeed he, with his thin, beardless, pale, drawn face. Short as he was, he had to raise himself on tiptoes in order to seeanything. Near him was a big, red-haired girl who gesticulated; but forhis part he never stirred or spoke. He was waiting motionless, gazingyonder with the round, ardent, fixed eyes of a night-bird, seeking topenetrate the darkness. At last a guard pushed him back in a somewhatbrutal way; but he soon returned to his previous position, ever patientthough full of hatred against the executioners, wishing indeed to see allhe could in order to increase his hate. 

Then Massot approached the brothers. This time, on seeing Pierre withouthis cassock, he did not even make a sign of astonishment, but gailyremarked: "So you felt curious to see this affair, Monsieur Froment?"

"Yes, I came with my brother, " Pierre replied. "But I very much fear thatwe shan't see much. "

"You certainly won't if you stay here, " rejoined Massot. And thereupon inhis usual good-natured way--glad, moreover, to show what power awell-known journalist could wield--he inquired: "Would you like me topass you through? The inspector here happens to be a friend of mine. "

Then, without waiting for an answer, he stopped the inspector and hastilywhispered to him that he had brought a couple of colleagues, who wantedto report the proceedings. At first the inspector hesitated, and seemedinclined to refuse Massot's request; but after a moment, influenced bythe covert fear which the police always has of the press, he made a wearygesture of consent. 

"Come, quick, then, " said Massot, turning to the brothers, and takingthem along with him. 

A moment later, to the intense surprise of Pierre and Guillaume, theguards opened their ranks to let them pass. They then found themselves inthe large open space which was kept clear. And on thus emerging from thetumultuous throng they were quite impressed by the death-like silence andsolitude which reigned under the little plane-trees. The night was nowpaling. A faint gleam of dawn was already falling from the sky. 

After leading his companions slantwise across the square, Massot stoppedthem near the prison and resumed: "I'm going inside; I want to see theprisoner roused and got ready. In the meantime, walk about here; nobodywill say anything to you. Besides, I'll come back to you in a moment. "

A hundred people or so, journalists and other privileged spectators, werescattered about the dark square. Movable wooden barriers--such as are setup at the doors of theatres when there is a press of people waiting foradmission--had been placed on either side of the pavement running fromthe prison gate to the guillotine; and some sightseers were alreadyleaning over these barriers, in order to secure a close view of thecondemned man as he passed by. Others were walking slowly to and fro, andconversing in undertones. The brothers, for their part, approached theguillotine. 

It stood there under the branches of the trees, amidst the delicategreenery of the fresh leaves of spring. A neighbouring gas-lamp, whoselight was turning yellow in the rising dawn, cast vague gleams upon it. The work of fixing it in position--work performed as quietly as could be, so that the only sound was the occasional thud of a mallet--had just beenfinished; and the headsman's "valets" or assistants, in frock-coats andtall silk hats, were waiting and strolling about in a patient way. Butthe instrument itself, how base and shameful it looked, squatting on theground like some filthy beast, disgusted with the work it had toaccomplish! What! those few beams lying on the ground, and those othersbarely nine feet high which rose from it, keeping the knife in position, constituted the machine which avenged Society, the instrument which gavea warning to evil-doers! Where was the big scaffold painted a bright redand reached by a stairway of ten steps, the scaffold which raised highbloody arms over the eager multitude, so that everybody might behold thepunishment of the law in all its horror! The beast had now been felled tothe ground, where it simply looked ignoble, crafty and cowardly. If onthe one hand there was no majesty in the manner in which human justicecondemned a man to death at its assizes: on the other, there was merelyhorrid butchery with the help of the most barbarous and repulsive ofmechanical contrivances, on the terrible day when that man was executed. 

As Pierre and Guillaume gazed at the guillotine, a feeling of nausea cameover them. Daylight was now slowly breaking, and the surroundings wereappearing to view: first the square itself with its two low, greyprisons, facing one another; then the distant houses, the taverns, themarble workers' establishments, and the shops selling flowers andwreaths, which are numerous hereabouts, as the cemetery of Pere-Lachaiseis so near. Before long one could plainly distinguish the black lines ofthe spectators standing around in a circle, the heads leaning forwardfrom windows and balconies, and the people who had climbed to the veryhouse roofs. The prison of La Petite Roquette over the way had beenturned into a kind of tribune for guests; and mounted Gardes de Pariswent slowly to and fro across the intervening expanse. Then, as the skybrightened, labour awoke throughout the district beyond the crowd, adistrict of broad, endless streets lined with factories, work-shops andwork-yards. Engines began to snort, machinery and appliances were gotready to start once more on their usual tasks, and smoke already curledaway from the forest of lofty brick chimneys which, on all sides, sprangout of the gloom. 

It then seemed to Guillaume that the guillotine was really in its rightplace in that district of want and toil. It stood in its own realm, likea _terminus_ and a threat. Did not ignorance, poverty and woe lead to it?And each time that it was set up amidst those toilsome streets, was itnot charged to overawe the disinherited ones, the starvelings, who, exasperated by everlasting injustice, were always ready for revolt? Itwas not seen in the districts where wealth and enjoyment reigned. Itwould there have seemed purposeless, degrading and truly monstrous. Andit was a tragical and terrible coincidence that the bomb-thrower, drivenmad by want, should be guillotined there, in the very centre of want'sdominion. 

But daylight had come at last, for it was nearly half-past four. Thedistant noisy crowd could feel that the expected moment was drawing nigh. A shudder suddenly sped through the atmosphere. 

"He's coming, " exclaimed little Massot, as he came back to Pierre andGuillaume. "Ah! that Salvat is a brave fellow after all. "

Then he related how the prisoner had been awakened; how the governor ofthe prison, magistrate Amadieu, the chaplain, and a few other persons hadentered the cell where Salvat lay fast asleep; and then how the condemnedman had understood the truth immediately upon opening his eyes. He hadrisen, looking pale but quite composed. And he had dressed himselfwithout assistance, and had declined the nip of brandy and the cigaretteproffered by the good-hearted chaplain, in the same way as with a gentlebut stubborn gesture he had brushed the crucifix aside. Then had come the"toilette" for death. With all rapidity and without a word beingexchanged, Salvat's hands had been tied behind his back, his legs hadbeen loosely secured with a cord, and the neckband of his shirt had beencut away. He had smiled when the others exhorted him to be brave. He onlyfeared some nervous weakness, and had but one desire, to die like a hero, to remain the martyr of the ardent faith in truth and justice for whichhe was about to perish. 

"They are now drawing up the death certificate in the register, "continued Massot in his chattering way. "Come along, come along to thebarriers if you wish a good view.... I turned paler, you know, andtrembled far more than he did. I don't care a rap for anything as a rule;but, all the same, an execution isn't a pleasant business.... Youcan't imagine how many attempts were made to save Salvat's life. Evensome of the papers asked that he might be reprieved. But nothingsucceeded, the execution was regarded as inevitable, it seems, even bythose who consider it a blunder. Still, they had such a touchingopportunity to reprieve him, when his daughter, little Celine, wrote thatfine letter to the President of the Republic, which I was the first topublish in the 'Globe. ' Ah! that letter, it cost me a lot of runningabout!"

Pierre, who was already quite upset by this long wait for the horriblescene, felt moved to tears by Massot's reference to Celine. He couldagain see the child standing beside Madame Theodore in that bare, coldroom whither her father would never more return. It was thence that hehad set out on a day of desperation with his stomach empty and his brainon fire, and it was here that he would end, between yonder beams, beneathyonder knife. 

Massot, however, was still giving particulars. The doctors, said he, werefurious because they feared that the body would not be delivered to themimmediately after the execution. To this Guillaume did not listen. Hestood there with his elbows resting on the wooden barrier and his eyesfixed on the prison gate, which still remained shut. His hands werequivering, and there was an expression of anguish on his face as if itwere he himself who was about to be executed. The headsman had again justleft the prison. He was a little, insignificant-looking man, and seemedannoyed, anxious to have done with it all. Then, among a group offrock-coated gentlemen, some of the spectators pointed out Gascogne, theChief of the Detective Police, who wore a cold, official air, andAmadieu, the investigating magistrate, who smiled and looked very spruce, early though the hour was. He had come partly because it was his duty, and partly because he wished to show himself now that the curtain wasabout to fall on a wonderful tragedy of which he considered himself theauthor. Guillaume glanced at him, and then as a growing uproar rose fromthe distant crowd, he looked up for an instant, and again beheld the twogrey prisons, the plane-trees with their fresh young leaves, and thehouses swarming with people beneath the pale blue sky, in which thetriumphant sun was about to appear. 

"Look out, here he comes!"

Who had spoken? A slight noise, that of the opening gate, made everyheart throb. Necks were outstretched, eyes gazed fixedly, there waslaboured breathing on all sides. Salvat stood on the threshold of theprison. The chaplain, stepping backwards, had come out in advance of him, in order to conceal the guillotine from his sight, but he had stoppedshort, for he wished to see that instrument of death, make acquaintancewith it, as it were, before he walked towards it. And as he stood there, his long, aged sunken face, on which life's hardships had left theirmark, seemed transformed by the wondrous brilliancy of his flaring, dreamy eyes. Enthusiasm bore him up--he was going to his death in all thesplendour of his dream. When the executioner's assistants drew near tosupport him he once more refused their help, and again set himself inmotion, advancing with short steps, but as quickly and as straightly asthe rope hampering his legs permitted. 

All at once Guillaume felt that Salvat's eyes were fixed upon him. Drawing nearer and nearer the condemned man had perceived and recognisedhis friend; and as he passed by, at a distance of no more than six orseven feet, he smiled faintly and darted such a deep penetrating glanceat Guillaume, that ever afterwards the latter felt its smart. But whatlast thought, what supreme legacy had Salvat left him to meditate upon, perhaps to put into execution? It was all so poignant that Pierre fearedsome involuntary call on his brother's part; and so he laid his hand uponhis arm to quiet him. 

"Long live Anarchy!"

It was Salvat who had raised this cry. But in the deep silence his husky, altered voice seemed to break. The few who were near at hand had turnedvery pale; the distant crowd seemed bereft of life. The horse of one ofthe Gardes de Paris was alone heard snorting in the centre of the spacewhich had been kept clear. 

Then came a loathsome scramble, a scene of nameless brutality andignominy. The headsman's helps rushed upon Salvat as he came up slowlywith brow erect. Two of them seized him by the head, but finding littlehair there, could only lower it by tugging at his neck. Next two othersgrasped him by the legs and flung him violently upon a plank which tiltedover and rolled forward. Then, by dint of pushing and tugging, the headwas got into the "lunette, " the upper part of which fell in such wisethat the neck was fixed as in a ship's port-hole--and all this wasaccomplished amidst such confusion and with such savagery that one mighthave thought that head some cumbrous thing which it was necessary to getrid of with the greatest speed. But the knife fell with a dull, heavy, forcible thud, and two long jets of blood spurted from the severedarteries, while the dead man's feet moved convulsively. Nothing elsecould be seen. The executioner rubbed his hands in a mechanical way, andan assistant took the severed blood-streaming head from the little basketinto which it had fallen and placed it in the large basket into which thebody had already been turned. 

Ah! that dull, that heavy thud of the knife! It seemed to Guillaume thathe had heard it echoing far away all over that district of want and toil, even in the squalid rooms where thousands of workmen were at that momentrising to perform their day's hard task! And there the echo of that thudacquired formidable significance; it spoke of man's exasperation withinjustice, of zeal for martyrdom, and of the dolorous hope that the bloodthen spilt might hasten the victory of the disinherited. 

Pierre, for his part, at the sight of that loathsome butchery, the abjectcutthroat work of that killing machine, had suddenly felt his chillingshudder become more violent; for before him arose a vision of anothercorpse, that of the fair, pretty child ripped open by a bomb andstretched yonder, at the entrance of the Duvillard mansion. Bloodstreamed from her delicate flesh, just as it had streamed from thatdecapitated neck. It was blood paying for blood; it was like payment formankind's debt of wretchedness, for which payment is everlastingly beingmade, without man ever being able to free himself from suffering. 

Above the square and the crowd all was still silent in the clear sky. Howlong had the abomination lasted? An eternity, perhaps, compressed intotwo or three minutes. And now came an awakening: the spectators emergedfrom their nightmare with quivering hands, livid faces, and eyesexpressive of compassion, disgust and fear. 

"That makes another one. I've now seen four executions, " said Massot, whofelt ill at ease. "After all, I prefer to report weddings. Let us go off, I have all I want for my article. "

Guillaume and Pierre followed him mechanically across the square, andagain reached the corner of the Rue Merlin. And here they saw littleVictor Mathis, with flaming eyes and white face, still standing insilence on the spot where they had left him. He could have seen nothingdistinctly; but the thud of the knife was still echoing in his brain. Apoliceman at last gave him a push, and told him to move on. At this helooked the policeman in the face, stirred by sudden rage and ready tostrangle him. Then, however, he quietly walked away, ascending the Rue dela Roquette, atop of which the lofty foliage of Pere-Lachaise could beseen, beneath the rising sun. 

The brothers meantime fell upon a scene of explanations, which they heardwithout wishing to do so. Now that the sight was over, the Princess deHarn arrived, and she was the more furious as at the door of the wineshop she could see her new friend Duthil accompanying a woman. 

"I say!" she exclaimed, "you are nice, you are, to have left me in thelurch like this! It was impossible for my carriage to get near, so I'vehad to come on foot through all those horrid people who have beenjostling and insulting me. "

Thereupon Duthil, with all promptitude, introduced Silviane to her, adding, in an aside, that he had taken a friend's place as the actress'sescort. And then Rosemonde, who greatly wished to know Silviane, calmeddown as if by enchantment, and put on her most engaging ways. "It wouldhave delighted me, madame, " said she, "to have seen this sight in thecompany of an _artiste_ of your merit, one whom I admire so much, thoughI have never before had an opportunity of telling her so. "

"Well, dear me, madame, " replied Silviane, "you haven't lost much byarriving late. We were on that balcony there, and all that I could seewere a few men pushing another one about.... It really isn't worth thetrouble of coming. "

"Well, now that we have become acquainted, madame, " said the Princess, "Ireally hope that you will allow me to be your friend. "

"Certainly, madame, my friend; and I shall be flattered and delighted tobe yours. "

Standing there, hand in hand, they smiled at one another. Silviane wasvery drunk, but her virginal expression had returned to her face; whilstRosemonde seemed feverish with vicious curiosity. Duthil, whom the sceneamused, now had but one thought, that of seeing Silviane home; so callingto Massot, who was approaching, he asked him where he should find acab-rank. Rosemonde, however, at once offered her carriage, which waswaiting in an adjacent street. 

She would set the actress down at her door, said she, and the deputy athis; and such was her persistence in the matter that Duthil, greatlyvexed, was obliged to accept her offer. 

"Well, then, till to-morrow at the Madeleine, " said Massot, again quitesprightly, as he shook hands with the Princess. 

"Yes, till to-morrow, at the Madeleine and the Comedie. "

"Ah! yes, of course!" he repeated, taking Silviane's hand, which hekissed. "The Madeleine in the morning and the Comedie in the evening.... We shall all be there to applaud you. "

"Yes, I expect you to do so, " said Silviane. "Till to-morrow, then!"

"Till to-morrow!"

The crowd was now wearily dispersing, to all appearance disappointed andill at ease. A few enthusiasts alone lingered in order to witness thedeparture of the van in which Salvat's corpse would soon be removed;while bands of prowlers and harlots, looking very wan in the daylight, whistled or called to one another with some last filthy expression beforereturning to their dens. The headsman's assistants were hastily takingdown the guillotine, and the square would soon be quite clear. 

Pierre for his part wished to lead his brother away. Since the fall ofthe knife, Guillaume had remained as if stunned, without once opening hislips. In vain had Pierre tried to rouse him by pointing to the shuttersof Mege's flat, which still remained closed, whereas every other windowof the lofty house was wide open. Although the Socialist deputy hated theAnarchists, those shutters were doubtless closed as a protest againstcapital punishment. Whilst the multitude had been rushing to thatfrightful spectacle, Mege, still in bed, with his face turned to thewall, had probably been dreaming of how he would some day compel mankindto be happy beneath the rigid laws of Collectivism. Affectionate fatheras he was, the recent death of one of his children had quite upset hisprivate life. His cough, too, had become a very bad one; but he ardentlywished to live, for as soon as that new Monferrand ministry should havefallen beneath the interpellation which he already contemplated, his ownturn would surely come: he would take the reins of power in hand, abolishthe guillotine and decree justice and perfect felicity. 

"Do you see, Guillaume?" Pierre gently repeated. "Mege hasn't opened hiswindows. He's a good fellow, after all; although our friends Bache andMorin dislike him. " Then, as his brother still refrained from answering, Pierre added, "Come, let us go, we must get back home. "

They both turned into the Rue de la Folie Regnault, and reached the outerBoulevards by way of the Rue du Chemin Vert. All the toilers of thedistrict were now at work. In the long streets edged with low buildings, work-shops and factories, one heard engines snorting and machineryrumbling, while up above, the smoke from the lofty chimneys was assuminga rosy hue in the sunrise. Afterwards, when the brothers reached theBoulevard de Menilmontant and the Boulevard de Belleville, which theyfollowed in turn at a leisurely pace, they witnessed the great rush ofthe working classes into central Paris. The stream poured forth fromevery side; from all the wretched streets of the faubourgs there was anendless exodus of toilers, who, having risen at dawn, were now hurrying, in the sharp morning air, to their daily labour. Some wore short jacketsand others blouses; some were in velveteen trousers, others in linenoveralls. Their thick shoes made their tramp a heavy one; their hanginghands were often deformed by work. And they seemed half asleep, not asmile was to be seen on any of those wan, weary faces turned yondertowards the everlasting task--the task which was begun afresh each day, and which--'twas their only chance--they hoped to be able to take up forever and ever. There was no end to that drove of toilers, that army ofvarious callings, that human flesh fated to manual labour, upon whichParis preys in order that she may live in luxury and enjoyment. 

Then the procession continued across the Boulevard de la Villette, theBoulevard de la Chapelle, and the Boulevard de Rochechouart, where onereached the height of Montmartre. More and more workmen were ever comingdown from their bare cold rooms and plunging into the huge city, whence, tired out, they would that evening merely bring back the bread ofrancour. And now, too, came a stream of work-girls, some of them inbright skirts, some glancing at the passers-by; girls whose wages were sopaltry, so insufficient, that now and again pretty ones among them nevermore turned their faces homewards, whilst the ugly ones wasted away, condemned to mere bread and water. A little later, moreover, came the_employes_, the clerks, the counter-jumpers, the whole world offrock-coated penury--"gentlemen" who devoured a roll as they hastenedonward, worried the while by the dread of being unable to pay their rent, or by the problem of providing food for wife and children until the endof the month should come. * And now the sun was fast ascending on thehorizon, the whole army of ants was out and about, and the toilsome dayhad begun with its ceaseless display of courage, energy and suffering. 

 * In Paris nearly all clerks and shop-assistants receive monthly salaries, while most workmen are paid once a fortnight. --Trans. 

Never before had it been so plainly manifest to Pierre that work was anecessity, that it healed and saved. On the occasion of his visit to theGrandidier works, and later still, when he himself had felt the need ofoccupation, there had cone to him the thought that work was really theworld's law. And after that hateful night, after that spilling of blood, after the slaughter of that toiler maddened by his dreams, there wasconsolation and hope in seeing the sun rise once more, and everlastinglabour take up its wonted task. However hard it might prove, howeverunjustly it might be lotted out, was it not work which would some daybring both justice and happiness to the world?

All at once, as the brothers were climbing the steep hillside towardsGuillaume's house, they perceived before and above them the basilica ofthe Sacred Heart rising majestically and triumphantly to the sky. Thiswas no sublunar apparition, no dreamy vision of Domination standing faceto face with nocturnal Paris. The sun now clothed the edifice withsplendour, it looked golden and proud and victorious, flaring withimmortal glory. 

Then Guillaume, still silent, still feeling Salvat's last glance uponhim, seemed to come to some sudden and final decision. He looked at thebasilica with glowing eyes, and pronounced sentence upon it. 

II. IN VANITY FAIR

THE wedding was to take place at noon, and for half an hour alreadyguests had been pouring into the magnificently decorated church, whichwas leafy with evergreens and balmy with the scent of flowers. The highaltar in the rear glowed with countless candles, and through the greatdoorway, which was wide open, one could see the peristyle decked withshrubs, the steps covered with a broad carpet, and the inquisitive crowdassembled on the square and even along the Rue Royale, under the brightsun. 

After finding three more chairs for some ladies who had arrived ratherlate, Duthil remarked to Massot, who was jotting down names in hisnote-book: "Well, if any more come, they will have to remain standing. "

"Who were those three?" the journalist inquired. 

"The Duchess de Boisemont and her two daughters. "

"Indeed! All the titled people of France, as well as all the financiersand politicians, are here! It's something more even than a swell Parisianwedding. "

As a matter of fact all the spheres of "society" were gathered togetherthere, and some at first seemed rather embarrassed at finding themselvesbeside others. Whilst Duvillard's name attracted all the princes offinance and politicians in power, Madame de Quinsac and her son weresupported by the highest of the French aristocracy. The mere names of thewitnesses sufficed to indicate what an extraordinary medley there was. OnGerard's side these witnesses were his uncle, General de Bozonnet, andthe Marquis de Morigny; whilst on Camille's they were the great bankerLouvard, and Monferrand, the President of the Council and Minister ofFinances. The quiet bravado which the latter displayed in thus supportingthe bride after being compromised in her father's financial intriguesimparted a piquant touch of impudence to his triumph. And publiccuriosity was further stimulated by the circumstance that the nuptialblessing was to be given by Monseigneur Martha, Bishop of Persepolis, thePope's political agent in France, and the apostle of the endeavours towin the Republic over to the Church by pretending to "rally" to it. 

"But, I was mistaken, " now resumed Massot with a sneer. "I said a reallyParisian wedding, did I not? But in point of fact this wedding is asymbol. It's the apotheosis of the _bourgeoisie_, my dear fellow--the oldnobility sacrificing one of its sons on the altar of the golden calf inorder that the Divinity and the gendarmes, being the masters of Franceonce more, may rid us of those scoundrelly Socialists!"

Then, again correcting himself, he added: "But I was forgetting. Thereare no more Socialists. Their head was cut off the other morning. "

Duthil found this very funny. Then in a confidential way he remarked:"You know that the marriage wasn't settled without a good deal ofdifficulty.... Have you read Sagnier's ignoble article this morning?"

"Yes, yes; but I knew it all before, everybody knew it. "

Then in an undertone, understanding one another's slightest allusion, they went on chatting. It was only amidst a flood of tears and after adespairing struggle that Baroness Duvillard had consented to let herlover marry her daughter. And in doing so she had yielded to the soledesire of seeing Gerard rich and happy. She still regarded Camille withall the hatred of a defeated rival. Then, an equally painful contest hadtaken place at Madame de Quinsac's. The Countess had only overcome herrevolt and consented to the marriage in order to save her son from thedangers which had threatened him since childhood; and the Marquis deMorigny had been so affected by her maternal abnegation, that in spite ofall his anger he had resignedly agreed to be a witness, thus making asupreme sacrifice, that of his conscience, to the woman whom he had everloved. And it was this frightful story that Sagnier--using transparentnicknames--had related in the "Voix du Peuple" that morning. He had evencontrived to make it more horrid than it really was; for, as usual, hewas badly informed, and he was naturally inclined to falsehood andinvention, as by sending an ever thicker and more poisonous torrent fromhis sewer, he might, day by day, increase his paper's sales. SinceMonferrand's victory had compelled him to leave the African Railwaysscandal on one side, he had fallen back on scandals in private life, stripping whole families bare and pelting them with mud. 

All at once Duthil and Massot were approached by Chaigneux, who, with hisshabby frock coat badly buttoned, wore both a melancholy and busy air. "Well, Monsieur Massot, " said he, "what about your article on Silviane?Is it settled? Will it go in?"

As Chaigneux was always for sale, always ready to serve as a valet, ithad occurred to Duvillard to make use of him to ensure Silviane's successat the Comedie. He had handed this sorry deputy over to the young woman, who entrusted him with all manner of dirty work, and sent him scouringParis in search of applauders and advertisements. His eldest daughter wasnot yet married, and never had his four women folk weighed more heavilyon his hands. His life had become a perfect hell; they had ended bybeating him, if he did not bring a thousand-franc note home on the firstday of every month. 

"My article!" Massot replied; "no, it surely won't go in, my dear deputy. Fonsegue says that it's written in too laudatory a style for the 'Globe. 'He asked me if I were having a joke with the paper. "

Chaigneux became livid. The article in question was one written inadvance, from the society point of view, on the success which Silvianewould achieve in "Polyeucte, " that evening, at the Comedie. Thejournalist, in the hope of pleasing her, had even shown her his "copy";and she, quite delighted, now relied upon finding the article in print inthe most sober and solemn organ of the Parisian press. 

"Good heavens! what will become of us?" murmured the wretched Chaigneux. "It's absolutely necessary that the article should go in. "

"Well, I'm quite agreeable. But speak to the governor yourself. He'sstanding yonder between Vignon and Dauvergne, the Minister of PublicInstruction. "

"Yes, I certainly will speak to him--but not here. By-and-by in thesacristy, during the procession. And I must also try to speak toDauvergne, for our Silviane particularly wants him to be in theministerial box this evening. Monferrand will be there; he promisedDuvillard so. "

Massot began to laugh, repeating the expression which had circulatedthrough Paris directly after the actress's engagement: "The Silvianeministry.... Well, Dauvergne certainly owes that much to hisgodmother!" said he. 

Just then the little Princess de Harn, coming up like a gust of wind, broke in upon the three men. "I've no seat, you know!" she cried. 

Duthil fancied that it was a question of finding her a well-placed chairin the church. "You mustn't count on me, " he answered. "I've just had noend of trouble in stowing the Duchess de Boisemont away with her twodaughters. "

"Oh, but I'm talking of this evening's performance. Come, my dear Duthil, you really must find me a little corner in somebody's box. I shall die, Iknow I shall, if I can't applaud our delicious, our incomparable friend!"

Ever since setting Silviane down at her door on the previous day, Rosemonde had been overflowing with admiration for her. 

"Oh! you won't find a single remaining seat, madame, " declared Chaigneux, putting on an air of importance. "We have distributed everything. I havejust been offered three hundred francs for a stall. "

"That's true, there has been a fight even for the bracket seats, howeverbadly they might be placed, " Duthil resumed. "I am very sorry, but youmust not count on me.... Duvillard is the only person who might takeyou in his box. He told me that he would reserve me a seat there. And sofar, I think, there are only three of us, including his son.... AskHyacinthe by-and-by to procure you an invitation. "

Rosemonde, whom Hyacinthe had so greatly bored that she had given him hisdismissal, felt the irony of Duthil's suggestion. Nevertheless, sheexclaimed with an air of delight: "Ah, yes! Hyacinthe can't refuse methat. Thanks for your information, my dear Duthil. You are very nice, youare; for you settle things gaily even when they are rather sad.... Anddon't forget, mind, that you have promised to teach me politics. Ah!politics, my dear fellow, I feel that nothing will ever impassion me aspolitics do!"

Then she left them, hustled several people, and in spite of the crushended by installing herself in the front row. 

"Ah! what a crank she is!" muttered Massot with an air of amusement. 

Then, as Chaigneux darted towards magistrate Amadieu to ask him in themost obsequious way if he had received his ticket, the journalist said toDuthil in a whisper: "By the way, my dear friend, is it true thatDuvillard is going to launch his famous scheme for a Trans-Saharanrailway? It would be a gigantic enterprise, a question of hundreds andhundreds of millions this time.... At the 'Globe' office yesterdayevening, Fonsegue shrugged his shoulders and said it was madness, andwould never come off!"

Duthil winked, and in a jesting way replied: "It's as good as done, mydear boy. Fonsegue will be kissing the governor's feet before anotherforty-eight hours are over. "

Then he gaily gave the other to understand that golden manna wouldpresently be raining down on the press and all faithful friends andwilling helpers. Birds shake their feathers when the storm is over, andhe, Duthil, was as spruce and lively, as joyous at the prospect of thepresents he now expected, as if there had never been any African Railwaysscandal to upset him and make him turn pale with fright. 

"The deuce!" muttered Massot, who had become serious. "So this affairhere is more than a triumph: it's the promise of yet another harvest. Well, I'm no longer surprised at the crush of people. "

At this moment the organs suddenly burst into a glorious hymn ofgreeting. The marriage procession was entering the church. A loud clamourhad gone up from the crowd, which spread over the roadway of the RueRoyale and impeded the traffic there, while the _cortege_ pompouslyascended the steps in the bright sunshine. And it was now entering theedifice and advancing beneath the lofty, re-echoing vaults towards thehigh altar which flared with candles, whilst on either hand crowded thecongregation, the men on the right and the women on the left. They hadall risen and stood there smiling, with necks outstretched and eyesglowing with curiosity. 

First, in the rear of the magnificent beadle, came Camille, leaning onthe arm of her father, Baron Duvillard, who wore a proud expressionbefitting a day of victory. Veiled with superb _point d'Alencon_ fallingfrom her diadem of orange blossom, gowned in pleated silk muslin over anunderskirt of white satin, the bride looked so extremely happy, soradiant at having conquered, that she seemed almost pretty. Moreover, sheheld herself so upright that one could scarcely detect that her leftshoulder was higher than her right. 

Next came Gerard, giving his arm to his mother, the Countess deQuinsac, --he looking very handsome and courtly, as was proper, and shedisplaying impassive dignity in her gown of peacock-blue silk embroideredwith gold and steel beads. But it was particularly Eve whom people wishedto see, and every neck was craned forward when she appeared on the arm ofGeneral Bozonnet, the bridegroom's first witness and nearest malerelative. She was gowned in "old rose" taffetas trimmed with Valenciennesof priceless value, and never had she looked younger, more deliciouslyfair. Yet her eyes betrayed her emotion, though she strove to smile; andher languid grace bespoke her widowhood, her compassionate surrender ofthe man she loved. Monferrand, the Marquis de Morigny, and bankerLouvard, the three other witnesses, followed the Baroness and GeneralBozonnet, each giving his arm to some lady of the family. A considerablesensation was caused by the appearance of Monferrand, who seemed onfirst-rate terms with himself, and jested familiarly with the lady heaccompanied, a little brunette with a giddy air. Another who was noticedin the solemn, interminable procession was the bride's eccentric brotherHyacinthe, whose dress coat was of a cut never previously seen, with itstails broadly and symmetrically pleated. 

When the affianced pair had taken their places before the prayer-stoolsawaiting them, and the members of both families and the witnesses hadinstalled themselves in the rear in large armchairs, all gilding and redvelvet, the ceremony was performed with extraordinary pomp. The cure ofthe Madeleine officiated in person; and vocalists from the Grand Operareinforced the choir, which chanted the high mass to the accompaniment ofthe organs, whence came a continuous hymn of glory. All possible luxuryand magnificence were displayed, as if to turn this wedding into somepublic festivity, a great victory, an event marking the apogee of aclass. Even the impudent bravado attaching to the loathsome private dramawhich lay behind it all, and which was known to everybody, added a touchof abominable grandeur to the ceremony. But the truculent spirit ofsuperiority and domination which characterised the proceedings becamemost manifest when Monseigneur Martha appeared in surplice and stole topronounce the blessing. Tall of stature, fresh of face, and faintlysmiling, he had his wonted air of amiable sovereignty, and it was withaugust unction that he pronounced the sacramental words, like somepontiff well pleased at reconciling the two great empires whose heirs heunited. His address to the newly married couple was awaited withcuriosity. It proved really marvellous, he himself triumphed in it. Wasit not in that same church that he had baptised the bride's mother, thatblond Eve, who was still so beautiful, that Jewess whom he himself hadconverted to the Catholic faith amidst the tears of emotion shed by allParis society? Was it not there also that he had delivered his threefamous addresses on the New Spirit, whence dated, to his thinking, therout of science, the awakening of Christian spirituality, and that policyof rallying to the Republic which was to lead to its conquest?

So it was assuredly allowable for him to indulge in some delicateallusions, by way of congratulating himself on his work, now that he wasmarrying a poor scion of the old aristocracy to the five millions of that_bourgeoise_ heiress, in whose person triumphed the class which had wonthe victory in 1789, and was now master of the land. The fourth estate, the duped, robbed people, alone had no place in those festivities. But byuniting the affianced pair before him in the bonds of wedlock, Monseigneur Martha sealed the new alliance, gave effect to the Pope's ownpolicy, that stealthy effort of Jesuitical Opportunism which would takedemocracy, power and wealth to wife, in order to subdue and control them. When the prelate reached his peroration he turned towards Monferrand, whosat there smiling; and it was he, the Minister, whom he seemed to beaddressing while he expressed the hope that the newly married pair wouldever lead a truly Christian life of humility and obedience in all fear ofGod, of whose iron hand he spoke as if it were that of some gendarmecharged with maintaining the peace of the world. Everybody was aware thatthere was some diplomatic understanding between the Bishop and theMinister, some secret pact or other whereby both satisfied their passionfor authority, their craving to insinuate themselves into everything andreign supreme; and thus when the spectators saw Monferrand smiling in hissomewhat sly, jovial way, they also exchanged smiles. 

"Ah!" muttered Massot, who had remained near Duthil, "how amused oldJustus Steinberger would be, if he were here to see his granddaughtermarrying the last of the Quinsacs!"

"But these marriages are quite the thing, quite the fashion, my dearfellow, " the deputy replied. "The Jews and the Christians, the_bourgeois_ and the nobles, do quite right to come to an understanding, so as to found a new aristocracy. An aristocracy is needed, you know, forotherwise we should be swept away by the masses. "

None the less Massot continued sneering at the idea of what a grimaceJustus Steinberger would have made if he had heard Monseigneur Martha. Itwas rumoured in Paris that although the old Jew banker had ceased allintercourse with his daughter Eve since her conversion, he took a keeninterest in everything she was reported to do or say, as if he were morethan ever convinced that she would prove an avenging and dissolving agentamong those Christians, whose destruction was asserted to be the dream ofhis race. If he had failed in his hope of overcoming Duvillard by givingher to him as a wife, he doubtless now consoled himself with thinking ofthe extraordinary fortune to which his blood had attained, by minglingwith that of the harsh, old-time masters of his race, to whose corruptionit gave a finishing touch. Therein perhaps lay that final Jewish conquestof the world of which people sometimes talked. 

A last triumphal strain from the organ brought the ceremony to an end;whereupon the two families and the witnesses passed into the sacristy, where the acts were signed. And forthwith the great congratulatoryprocession commenced. 

The bride and bridegroom at last stood side by side in the lofty butrather dim room, panelled with oak. How radiant with delight was Camilleat the thought that it was all over, that she had triumphed and marriedthat handsome man of high lineage, after wresting him with so muchdifficulty from one and all, her mother especially! She seemed to havegrown taller. Deformed, swarthy, and ugly though she was, she drewherself up exultingly, whilst scores and scores of women, friends oracquaintances, scrambled and rushed upon her, pressing her hands orkissing her, and addressing her in words of ecstasy. Gerard, who roseboth head and shoulders above his bride, and looked all the nobler andstronger beside one of such puny figure, shook hands and smiled like somePrince Charming, who good-naturedly allowed himself to be loved. Meanwhile, the relatives of the newly wedded pair, though they were drawnup in one line, formed two distinct groups past which the crowd pushedand surged with arms outstretched. Duvillard received the congratulationsoffered him as if he were some king well pleased with his people; whilstEve, with a supreme effort, put on an enchanting mien, and answered oneand all with scarcely a sign of the sobs which she was forcing back. Then, on the other side of the bridal pair, Madame de Quinsac stoodbetween General de Bozonnet and the Marquis de Morigny. Very dignified, in fact almost haughty, she acknowledged most of the salutationsaddressed to her with a mere nod, giving her little withered hand only tothose people with whom she was well acquainted. A sea of strangecountenances encompassed her, and now and again when some particularlymurky wave rolled by, a wave of men whose faces bespoke all the crimes ofmoney-mongering, she and the Marquis exchanged glances of deep sadness. This tide continued sweeping by for nearly half an hour; and such was thenumber of those who wanted to shake hands with the bridal pair and theirrelatives, that the latter soon felt their arms ache. 

Meantime, some folks lingered in the sacristy; little groups collected, and gay chatter rang out. Monferrand was immediately surrounded. Massotpointed out to Duthil how eagerly Public Prosecutor Lehmann rushed uponthe Minister to pay him court. They were immediately joined byinvestigating magistrate Amadieu. And even M. De Larombiere, the judge, approached Monferrand, although he hated the Republic, and was anintimate friend of the Quinsacs. But then obedience and obsequiousnesswere necessary on the part of the magistracy, for it was dependent onthose in power, who alone could give advancement, and appoint even asthey dismissed. As for Lehmann, it was alleged that he had renderedassistance to Monferrand by spiriting away certain documents connectedwith the African Railways affair, whilst with regard to the smiling andextremely Parisian Amadieu, was it not to him that the government wasindebted for Salvat's head?

"You know, " muttered Massot, "they've all come to be thanked forguillotining that man yesterday. Monferrand owes that wretched fellow afine taper; for in the first place his bomb prolonged the life of theBarroux ministry, and later on it made Monferrand prime minister, as astrong-handed man was particularly needed to strangle Anarchism. What acontest, eh? Monferrand on one side and Salvat on the other. It was allbound to end in a head being cut off; one was wanted.... Ah! justlisten, they are talking of it. "

This was true. As the three functionaries of the law drew near to paytheir respects to the all-powerful Minister, they were questioned by ladyfriends whose curiosity had been roused by what they had read in thenewspapers. Thereupon Amadieu, whom duty had taken to the execution, andwho was proud of his own importance, and determined to destroy what hecalled "the legend of Salvat's heroic death, " declared that the scoundrelhad shown no true courage at all. His pride alone had kept him on hisfeet. Fright had so shaken and choked him that he had virtually been deadbefore the fall of the knife. 

"Ah! that's true!" cried Duthil. "I was there myself. "

Massot, however, pulled him by the arm, quite indignant at such anassertion, although as a rule he cared a rap for nothing. "You couldn'tsee anything, my dear fellow, " said he; "Salvat died very bravely. It'sreally stupid to continue throwing mud at that poor devil even when he'sdead. "

However, the idea that Salvat had died like a coward was too pleasing aone to be rejected. It was, so to say, a last sacrifice deposited atMonferrand's feet with the object of propitiating him. He still smiled inhis peaceful way, like a good-natured man who is stern only whennecessity requires it. And he showed great amiability towards the threejudicial functionaries, and thanked them for the bravery with which theyhad accomplished their painful duty to the very end. On the previous day, after the execution, he had obtained a formidable majority in the Chamberon a somewhat delicate matter of policy. Order reigned, said he, and allwas for the very best in France. Then, on seeing Vignon--who like a coolgamester had made a point of attending the wedding in order to showpeople that he was superior to fortune--the Minister detained him, andmade much of him, partly as a matter of tactics, for in spite ofeverything he could not help fearing that the future might belong to thatyoung fellow, who showed himself so intelligent and cautious. When amutual friend informed them that Barroux' health was now so bad that thedoctors had given him up as lost, they both began to express theircompassion. Poor Barroux! He had never recovered from that vote of theChamber which had overthrown him. He had been sinking from day to day, stricken to the heart by his country's ingratitude, dying of thatabominable charge of money-mongering and thieving; he who was so uprightand so loyal, who had devoted his whole life to the Republic! But then, as Monferrand repeated, one should never confess. The public can'tunderstand such a thing. 

At this moment Duvillard, in some degree relinquishing his paternalduties, came to join the others, and the Minister then had to share thehonours of triumph with him. For was not this banker the master? Was henot money personified--money, which is the only stable, everlastingforce, far above all ephemeral tenure of power, such as attaches to thoseministerial portfolios which pass so rapidly from hand to hand?Monferrand reigned, but he would pass away, and a like fate would someday fall on Vignon, who had already had a warning that one could notgovern unless the millions of the financial world were on one's side. Sowas not the only real triumpher himself, the Baron--he who laid out fivemillions of francs on buying a scion of the aristocracy for his daughter, he who was the personification of the sovereign _bourgeoisie_, whocontrolled public fortune, and was determined to part with nothing, evenwere he attacked with bombs? All these festivities really centred inhimself, he alone sat down to the banquet, leaving merely the crumbs fromhis table to the lowly, those wretched toilers who had been so cleverlyduped at the time of the Revolution. 

That African Railways affair was already but so much ancient history, buried, spirited away by a parliamentary commission. All who had beencompromised in it, the Duthils, the Chaigneux, the Fonsegues and others, could now laugh merrily. They had been delivered from their nightmare byMonferrand's strong fist, and raised by Duvillard's triumph. EvenSagnier's ignoble article and miry revelations in the "Voix du Peuple"were of no real account, and could be treated with a shrug of theshoulders, for the public had been so saturated with denunciation andslander that it was now utterly weary of all noisy scandal. The onlything which aroused interest was the rumour that Duvillard's big affairof the Trans-Saharan Railway was soon to be launched, that millions ofmoney would be handled, and that some of them would rain down uponfaithful friends. 

Whilst Duvillard was conversing in a friendly way with Monferrand andDauvergne, the Minister of Public Instruction, who had joined them, Massot encountered Fonsegue, his editor, and said to him in an undertone:"Duthil has just assured me that the Trans-Saharan business is ready, andthat they mean to chance it with the Chamber. They declare that they arecertain of success. "

Fonsegue, however, was sceptical on the point. "It's impossible, " saidhe; "they won't dare to begin again so soon. "

Although he spoke in this fashion, the news had made him grave. He hadlately had such a terrible fright through his imprudence in the AfricanRailways affair, that he had vowed he would take every precaution infuture. Still, this did not mean that he would refuse to participate inmatters of business. The best course was to wait and study them, and thensecure a share in all that seemed profitable. In the present instance hefelt somewhat worried. However, whilst he stood there watching the grouparound Duvillard and the two ministers, he suddenly perceived Chaigneux, who, flitting hither and thither, was still beating up applauders forthat evening's performance. He sang Silviane's praises in every key, predicted a most tremendous success, and did his very best to stimulatecuriosity. At last he approached Dauvergne, and with his long figure bentdouble exclaimed: "My dear Minister, I have a particular request to maketo you on the part of a very charming person, whose victory will not becomplete this evening if you do not condescend to favour her with yourvote. "

Dauvergne, a tall, fair, good-looking man, whose blue eyes smiled behindhis glasses, listened to Chaigneux with an affable air. He was proving agreat success at the Ministry of Public Instruction, although he knewnothing of University matters. However, like a real Parisian of Dijon, aspeople called him, he was possessed of some tact and skill, gaveentertainments at which his young and charming wife outshone all others, and passed as being quite an enlightened friend of writers and artists. Silviane's engagement at the Comedie, which so far was his most notableachievement, and which would have shaken the position of any otherminister, had by a curious chance rendered him popular. It was regardedas something original and amusing. 

On understanding that Chaigneux simply wished to make sure of hispresence at the Comedie that evening, he became yet more affable. "Why, certainly, I shall be there, my dear deputy, " he replied. "When one hassuch a charming god-daughter one mustn't forsake her in a moment ofdanger. "

At this Monferrand, who had been lending ear, turned round. "And tellher, " said he, "that I shall be there, too. She may therefore rely onhaving two more friends in the house. "

Thereupon Duvillard, quite enraptured, his eyes glistening with emotionand gratitude, bowed to the two ministers as if they had granted him somenever-to-be-forgotten favour. 

When Chaigneux, on his side also, had returned thanks with a low bow, hehappened to perceive Fonsegue, and forthwith he darted towards him andled him aside. "Ah! my dear colleague, " he declared, "it is absolutelynecessary that this matter should be settled. I regard it as of supremeimportance. "

"What are you speaking of?" inquired Fonsegue, much surprised. 

"Why, of Massot's article, which you won't insert. "

Thereupon, the director of the "Globe" plumply declared that he could notinsert the article. He talked of his paper's dignity and gravity; anddeclared that the lavishing of such fulsome praise upon a hussy--yes, amere hussy, in a journal whose exemplary morality and austerity had costhim so much labour, would seem monstrous and degrading. Personally, hedid not care a fig about it if Silviane chose to make an exhibition ofherself, well, he would be there to see; but the "Globe" was sacred. 

Disconcerted and almost tearful, Chaigneux nevertheless renewed hisattempt. "Come, my dear colleague, " said he, "pray make a little effortfor my sake. If the article isn't inserted, Duvillard will think that itis my fault. And you know that I really need his help. My eldestdaughter's marriage has again been postponed, and I hardly know where toturn. " Then perceiving that his own misfortunes in no wise touchedFonsegue, he added: "And do it for your own sake, my dear colleague, yourown sake. For when all is said Duvillard knows what is in the article, and it is precisely because it is so favourable a one that he wishes tosee it in the 'Globe. ' Think it over; if the article isn't published, hewill certainly turn his back on you. "

For a moment Fonsegue remained silent. Was he thinking of the colossalTrans-Saharan enterprise? Was he reflecting that it would be hard toquarrel at such a moment and miss his own share in the comingdistribution of millions among faithful friends? Perhaps so; however, theidea that it would be more prudent to await developments gained the daywith him. "No, no, " he said, "I can't, it's a matter of conscience. "

In the mean time congratulations were still being tendered to the newlywedded couple. It seemed as if all Paris were passing through thesacristy; there were ever the same smiles and the same hand shakes. Gerard, Camille and their relatives, however weary they might feel, wereforced to retain an air of delight while they stood there against thewall, pent up by the crowd. The heat was now becoming unbearable, and acloud of dust arose as when some big flock goes by. 

All at once little Princess de Harn, who had hitherto lingered nobodyknew where, sprang out of the throng, flung her arms around Camille, kissed even Eve, and then kept Gerard's hand in her own while paying himextraordinary compliments. Then, on perceiving Hyacinthe, she tookpossession of him and carried him off into a corner. "I say, " sheexclaimed, "I have a favour to ask you. "

The young man was wonderfully silent that day. His sister's weddingseemed to him a contemptible ceremony, the most vulgar that one couldimagine. So here, thought he, was another pair accepting the horridsexual law by which the absurdity of the world was perpetuated! For hispart, he had decided that he would witness the proceedings in rigidsilence, with a haughty air of disapproval. When Rosemonde spoke to him, he looked at her rather nervously, for he was glad that she had forsakenhim for Duthil, and feared some fresh caprice on her part. At last, opening his mouth for the first time that day, he replied: "Oh, as afriend, you know, I will grant you whatever favour you like. "

Forthwith the Princess explained that she would surely die if she did notwitness the _debut_ of her dear friend Silviane, of whom she had becomesuch a passionate admirer. So she begged the young man to prevail on hisfather to give her a seat in his box, as she knew that one was leftthere. 

Hyacinthe smiled. "Oh, willingly, my dear, " said he; "I'll warn papa, there will be a seat for you. "

Then, as the procession of guests at last drew to an end and the vestrybegan to empty, the bridal pair and their relatives were able to go offthrough the chattering throng, which still lingered about to bow to themand scrutinise them once more. 

Gerard and Camille were to leave for an estate which Duvillard possessedin Normandy, directly after lunch. This repast, served at the princelymansion of the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, provided an opportunity for freshdisplay. The dining-room on the first floor had been transformed into abuffet, where reigned the greatest abundance and the most wonderfulsumptuousness. Quite a reception too was held in the drawing-rooms, thelarge red _salon_, the little blue and silver _salon_ and all the others, whose doors stood wide open. Although it had been arranged that onlyfamily friends should be invited, there were quite three hundred peoplepresent. The ministers had excused themselves, alleging that the weightycares of public business required their presence elsewhere. But themagistrates, the deputies and the leading journalists who had attendedthe wedding were again assembled together. And in that throng of hungryfolks, longing for some of the spoils of Duvillard's new venture, thepeople who felt most out of their element were Madame de Quinsac's fewguests, whom General de Bozonnet and the Marquis de Morigny had seated ona sofa in the large red _salon_, which they did not quit. 

Eve, who for her part felt quite overcome, both her moral and physicalstrength being exhausted, had seated herself in the little blue andsilver drawing-room, which, with her passion for flowers, she hadtransformed into an arbour of roses. She would have fallen had sheremained standing, the very floor had seemed to sink beneath her feet. Nevertheless, whenever a guest approached her she managed to force asmile, and appear beautiful and charming. Unlooked-for help at last cameto her in the person of Monseigneur Martha, who had graciously honouredthe lunch with his presence. He took an armchair near her, and began totalk to her in his amiable, caressing way. He was doubtless well aware ofthe frightful anguish which wrung the poor woman's heart, for he showedhimself quite fatherly, eager to comfort her. She, however, talked onlike some inconsolable widow bent on renouncing the world for God, whoalone could bring her peace. Then, as the conversation turned on theAsylum for the Invalids of Labour, she declared that she was resolved totake her presidency very seriously, and, in fact, would exclusivelydevote herself to it, in the future. 

"And as we are speaking of this, Monseigneur, " said she, "I would evenask you to give me some advice.... I shall need somebody to help me, and I thought of securing the services of a priest whom I much admire, Monsieur l'Abbe Pierre Froment. "

At this the Bishop became grave and embarrassed; but Princess Rosemonde, who was passing by with Duthil, had overheard the Baroness, and drawingnear with her wonted impetuosity, she exclaimed: "Abbe Pierre Froment!Oh! I forgot to tell you, my dear, that I met him going about in jacketand trousers! And I've been told too that he cycles in the Bois with somecreature or other. Isn't it true, Duthil, that we met him?"

The deputy bowed and smiled, whilst Eve clasped her hands in amazement. "Is it possible! A priest who was all charitable fervour, who had thefaith and passion of an apostle!"

Thereupon Monseigneur intervened: "Yes, yes, great sorrows occasionallyfall upon the Church. I heard of the madness of the unhappy man you speakof. I even thought it my duty to write to him, but he left my letterunanswered. I should so much have liked to stifle such a scandal! Butthere are abominable forces which we cannot always overcome; and so a dayor two ago the archbishop was obliged to put him under interdict.... You must choose somebody else, madame. "

It was quite a disaster. Eve gazed at Rosemonde and Duthil, withoutdaring to ask them for particulars, but wondering what creature couldhave been so audacious as to turn a priest from the path of duty. Shemust assuredly be some shameless demented woman! And it seemed to Eve asif this crime gave a finishing touch to her own misfortune. With a waveof the arm, which took in all the luxury around her, the roses steepingher in perfume, and the crush of guests around the buffet, she murmured:"Ah! decidedly there's nothing but corruption left; one can no longerrely on anybody!"

Whilst this was going on, Camille happened to be alone in her own roomgetting ready to leave the house with Gerard. And all at once her brotherHyacinthe joined her there. "Ah! it's you, youngster!" she exclaimed. "Well, make haste if you want to kiss me, for I'm off now, thankgoodness!"

He kissed her as she suggested, and then in a doctoral way replied: "Ithought you had more self-command. The delight you have been showing allthis morning quite disgusts me. "

A quiet glance of contempt was her only answer. However, he continued:"You know very well that she'll take your Gerard from you again, directlyyou come back to Paris. "

At this Camille's cheeks turned white and her eyes flared. She steppedtowards her brother with clenched fists: "She! you say that she will takehim from me!"

The "she" they referred to was their own mother. 

"Listen, my boy! I'll kill her first!" continued Camille. "Ah, no! sheneedn't hope for that. I shall know how to keep the man that belongs tome.... And as for you, keep your spite to yourself, for I know you, remember; you are a mere child and a fool!"

He recoiled as if a viper were rearing its sharp, slender black headbefore him; and having always feared her, he thought it best to beat aretreat. 

While the last guests were rushing upon the buffet and finishing thepillage there, the bridal pair took their leave, before driving off tothe railway station. General de Bozonnet had joined a group in order tovent his usual complaints about compulsory military service, and theMarquis de Morigny was obliged to fetch him at the moment when theCountess de Quinsac was kissing her son and daughter-in-law. The old ladytrembled with so much emotion that the Marquis respectfully ventured tosustain her. Meantime, Hyacinthe had started in search of his father, andat last found him near a window with the tottering Chaigneux, whom he wasviolently upbraiding, for Fonsegue's conscientious scruples had put himin a fury. Indeed, if Massot's article should not be inserted in the"Globe, " Silviane might lay all the blame upon him, the Baron, and wreakfurther punishment upon him. However, upon being summoned by his son hehad to don his triumphal air once more, kiss his daughter on theforehead, shake hands with his son-in-law, jest and wish them both apleasant journey. Then Eve, near whom Monseigneur Martha had remained, smiling, in her turn had to say farewell. In this she evinced touchingbravery; her determination to remain beautiful and charming until thevery end lent her sufficient strength to show herself both gay andmotherly. 

She took hold of the slightly quivering hand which Gerard proffered withsome embarrassment, and ventured to retain it for a moment in her own, ina good-hearted, affectionate way, instinct with all the heroism ofrenunciation. "Good by, Gerard, " she said, "keep in good health, behappy. " Then turning to Camille she kissed her on both cheeks, whileMonseigneur Martha sat looking at them with an air of indulgent sympathy. They wished each other "Au revoir, " but their voices trembled, and theireyes in meeting gleamed like swords; in the same way as beneath thekisses they had exchanged they had felt each other's teeth. Ah! how itenraged Camille to see her mother still so beautiful and fascinating inspite of age and grief! And for Eve how great the torture of beholdingher daughter's youth, that youth which had overcome her, and was for everwresting love from within her reach! No forgiveness was possible betweenthem; they would still hate one another even in the family tomb, wheresome day they would sleep side by side. 

All the same, that evening Baroness Duvillard excused herself fromattending the performance of "Polyeucte" at the Comedie Francaise. Shefelt very tired and wished to go to bed early, said she. As a matter offact she wept on her pillow all night long. Thus the Baron's stage-box onthe first balcony tier contained only himself, Hyacinthe, Duthil, andlittle Princess de Harn. 

At nine o'clock there was a full house, one of the brilliant chatteringhouses peculiar to great dramatic solemnities. All the society people whohad marched through the sacristy of the Madeleine that morning were nowassembled at the theatre, again feverish with curiosity, and on thelookout for the unexpected. One recognised the same faces and the sanesmiles; the women acknowledged one another's presence with little signsof intelligence, the men understood each other at a word, a gesture. Oneand all had kept the appointment, the ladies with bared shoulders, thegentlemen with flowers in their button-holes. Fonsegue occupied the"Globe's" box, with two friendly families. Little Massot had hiscustomary seat in the stalls. Amadieu, who was a faithful patron of theComedie, was also to be seen there, as well as General de Bozonnet andPublic Prosecutor Lehmann. The man who was most looked at, however, onaccount of his scandalous article that morning, was Sagnier, the terribleSagnier, looking bloated and apoplectical. Then there was Chaigneux, whohad kept merely a modest bracket-seat for himself, and who scoured thepassages, and climbed to every tier, for the last time preachingenthusiasm. Finally, the two ministers Monferrand and Dauvergne appearedin the box facing Duvillard's; whereupon many knowing smiles wereexchanged, for everybody was aware that these personages had come to helpon the success of the _debutante_. 

On the latter point there had still been unfavourable rumours only theprevious day. Sagnier had declared that the _debut_ of such a notoriousharlot as Silviane at the Comedie Francaise, in such a part too as thatof "Pauline, " which was one of so much moral loftiness, could only beregarded as an impudent insult to public decency. The whole press, moreover, had long been up in arms against the young woman'sextraordinary caprice. But then the affair had been talked of for sixmonths past, so that Paris had grown used to the idea of seeing Silvianeat the Comedie. And now it flocked thither with the one idea of beingentertained. Before the curtain rose one could tell by the veryatmosphere of the house that the audience was a jovial, good-humouredone, bent on enjoying itself, and ready to applaud should it find itselfat all pleased. 

The performance really proved extraordinary. When Silviane, chastelyrobed, made her appearance in the first act, the house was quiteastonished by her virginal face, her innocent-looking mouth, and her eyesbeaming with immaculate candour. Then, although the manner in which shehad understood her part at first amazed people, it ended by charmingthem. From the moment of confiding in "Stratonice, " from the moment ofrelating her dream, she turned "Pauline" into a soaring mysticalcreature, some saint, as it were, such as one sees in stained-glasswindows, carried along by a Wagnerian Brunhilda riding the clouds. It wasa thoroughly ridiculous conception of the part, contrary to reason andtruth alike. Still, it only seemed to interest people the more, partly onaccount of mysticism being the fashion, and partly on account of thecontrast between Silviane's assumed candour and real depravity. Hersuccess increased from act to act, and some slight hissing which wasattributed to Sagnier only helped to make the victory more complete. Monferrand and Dauvergne, as the newspapers afterwards related, gave thesignal for applause; and the whole house joined in it, partly fromamusement and partly perhaps in a spirit of irony. 

During the interval between the fourth and fifth acts there was quite aprocession of visitors to Duvillard's box, where the greatest excitementprevailed. Duthil, however, after absenting himself for a moment, cameback to say: "You remember our influential critic, the one whom I broughtto dinner at the Cafe Anglais? Well, he's repeating to everybody that'Pauline' is merely a little _bourgeoise_, and is not transformed by theheavenly grace until the very finish of the piece. To turn her into aholy virgin from the outset simply kills the part, says he. "

"Pooh!" repeated Duvillard, "let him argue if he likes, it will be allthe more advertisement.... The important point is to get Massot'sarticle inserted in the 'Globe' to-morrow morning. "

On this point, unfortunately, the news was by no means good. Chaigneux, who had gone in search of Fonsegue, declared that the latter stillhesitated in the matter in spite of Silviane's success, which he declaredto be ridiculous. Thereupon, the Baron became quite angry. "Go and tellFonsegue, " he exclaimed, "that I insist on it, and that I shall rememberwhat he does. "

Meantime Princess Rosemonde was becoming quite delirious with enthusiasm. "My dear Hyacinthe, " she pleaded, "please take me to Silviane'sdressing-room; I can't wait, I really must go and kiss her. "

"But we'll all go!" cried Duvillard, who heard her entreaty. 

The passages were crowded, and there were people even on the stage. Moreover, when the party reached the door of Silviane's dressing-room, they found it shut. When the Baron knocked at it, a dresser replied thatmadame begged the gentlemen to wait a moment. 

"Oh! a woman may surely go in, " replied Rosemonde, hastily slippingthrough the doorway. "And you may come, Hyacinthe, " she added; "there canbe no objection to you. "

Silviane was very hot, and a dresser was wiping her perspiring shoulderswhen Rosemonde darted forward and kissed her. Then they chatted togetheramidst the heat and glare from the gas and the intoxicating perfumes ofall the flowers which were heaped up in the little room. Finally, Hyacinthe heard them promise to see one another after the performance, Silviane even inviting Rosemonde to drink a cup of tea with her at herhouse. At this the young man smiled complacently, and said to theactress: "Your carriage is waiting for you at the corner of the RueMontpensier, is it not? Well, I'll take the Princess to it. That will bethe simpler plan, you can both go off together!"

"Oh! how good of you, " cried Rosemonde; "it's agreed. "

Just then the door was opened, and the men, being admitted, began to pourforth their congratulations. However, they had to regain their seats inall haste so as to witness the fifth act. This proved quite a triumph, the whole house bursting into applause when Silviane spoke the famousline, "I see, I know, I believe, I am undeceived, " with the rapturousenthusiasm of a holy martyr ascending to heaven. Nothing could have beenmore soul-like, it was said. And so when the performers were calledbefore the curtain, Paris bestowed an ovation on that virgin of thestage, who, as Sagnier put it, knew so well how to act depravity at home. 

Accompanied by Duthil, Duvillard at once went behind the scenes in orderto fetch Silviane, while Hyacinthe escorted Rosemonde to the broughamwaiting at the corner of the Rue Montpensier. Having helped her into it, the young man stood by, waiting. And he seemed to grow quite merry whenhis father came up with Silviane, and was stopped by her, just as, in histurn, he wished to get into the carriage. 

"There's no room for you, my dear fellow, " said she. "I've a friend withme. "

Rosemonde's little smiling face then peered forth from the depths of thebrougham. And the Baron remained there open-mouthed while the vehicleswiftly carried the two women away!

"Well, what would you have, my dear fellow?" said Hyacinthe, by way ofexplanation to Duthil, who also seemed somewhat amazed by what hadhappened. "Rosemonde was worrying my life out, and so I got rid of her bypacking her off with Silviane. "

Duvillard was still standing on the pavement and still looking dazed whenChaigneux, who was going home quite tired out, recognised him, and cameup to say that Fonsegue had thought the matter over, and that Massot'sarticle would be duly inserted. In the passages, too, there had been adeal of talk about the famous Trans-Saharan project. 

Then Hyacinthe led his father away, trying to comfort him like a sensiblefriend, who regarded woman as a base and impure creature. "Let's go hometo bed, " said he. "As that article is to appear, you can take it to herto-morrow. She will see you, sure enough. "

Thereupon they lighted cigars, and now and again exchanging a few words, took their way up the Avenue de l'Opera, which at that hour was desertedand dismal. Meantime, above the slumbering houses of Paris the breezewafted a prolonged sigh, the plaint, as it were, of an expiring world. 

III. THE GOAL OF LABOUR

EVER since the execution of Salvat, Guillaume had become extremelytaciturn. He seemed worried and absent-minded. He would work for hours atthe manufacture of that dangerous powder of which he alone knew theformula, and the preparation of which was such a delicate matter that hewould allow none to assist him. Then, at other times he would go off, andreturn tired out by some long solitary ramble. He remained very gentle athome, and strove to smile there. But whenever anybody spoke to him hestarted as if suddenly called back from dreamland. 

Pierre imagined his brother had relied too much upon his powers ofrenunciation, and found the loss of Marie unbearable. Was it not somethought of her that haunted him now that the date fixed for the marriagedrew nearer and nearer? One evening, therefore, Pierre ventured to speakout, again offering to leave the house and disappear. 

But at the first words he uttered Guillaume stopped him, andaffectionately replied: "Marie? Oh! I love her, I love her too well toregret what I have done. No, no! you only bring me happiness, I deriveall my strength and courage from you now that I know you are both happy.... And I assure you that you are mistaken, there is nothing at all thematter with me; my work absorbs me, perhaps, but that is all. "

That same evening he managed to cast his gloom aside, and displayeddelightful gaiety. During dinner he inquired if the upholsterer wouldsoon call to arrange the two little rooms which Marie was to occupy withher husband over the workroom. The young woman, who since her marriagewith Pierre had been decided had remained waiting with smiling patience, thereupon told Guillaume what it was she desired--first some hangings ofred cotton stuff, then some polished pine furniture which would enableher to imagine she was in the country, and finally a carpet on the floor, because a carpet seemed to her the height of luxury. She laughed as shespoke, and Guillaume laughed with her in a gay and fatherly way. His goodspirits brought much relief to Pierre, who concluded that he must havebeen mistaken in his surmises. 

On the very morrow, however, Guillaume relapsed into a dreamy state. Andso disquietude again came upon Pierre, particularly when he noticed thatMere-Grand also seemed to be unusually grave and silent. Not daring toaddress her, he tried to extract some information from his nephews, butneither Thomas nor Francois nor Antoine knew anything. Each of themquietly devoted his time to his work, respecting and worshipping hisfather, but never questioning him about his plans or enterprises. Whatever he might choose to do could only be right and good; and they, his sons, were ready to do the same and help him at the very first call, without pausing to inquire into his purpose. It was plain, however, thathe kept them apart from anything at all perilous, that he retained allresponsibility for himself, and that Mere-Grand alone was his_confidante_, the one whom he consulted and to whom he perhaps listened. Pierre therefore renounced his hope of learning anything from the sons, and directed his attention to the old lady, whose rigid gravity worriedhim the more as she and Guillaume frequently had private chats in theroom she occupied upstairs. They shut themselves up there all alone, andremained together for hours without the faintest sound coming from theseemingly lifeless chamber. 

One day, however, Pierre caught sight of Guillaume as he came out of it, carrying a little valise which appeared to be very heavy. And Pierrethereupon remembered both his brother's powder, one pound weight of whichwould have sufficed to destroy a cathedral, and the destructive enginewhich he had purposed bestowing upon France in order that she might bevictorious over all other nations, and become the one great initiatoryand liberative power. Pierre remembered too that the only person besideshimself who knew his brother's secret was Mere-Grand, who, at the timewhen Guillaume was fearing some perquisition on the part of the police, had long slept upon the cartridges of the terrible explosive. But now whywas Guillaume removing all the powder which he had been preparing forsome time past? As this question occurred to Pierre, a sudden suspicion, a vague dread, came upon him, and gave him strength to ask his brother:"Have you reason to fear anything, since you won't keep things here? Ifthey embarrass you, they can all be deposited at my house, nobody willmake a search there. "

Guillaume, whom these words astonished, gazed at Pierre fixedly, and thenreplied: "Yes, I have learnt that the arrests and perquisitions havebegun afresh since that poor devil was guillotined; for they are interror at the thought that some despairing fellow may avenge him. Moreover, it is hardly prudent to keep destructive agents of such greatpower here. I prefer to deposit them in a safe place. But not atNeuilly--oh! no indeed! they are not a present for you, brother. "Guillaume spoke with outward calmness; and if he had started withsurprise at the first moment, it had been scarcely perceptible. 

"So everything is ready?" Pierre resumed. "You will soon be handing yourengine of destruction over to the Minister of War, I presume?"

A gleam of hesitation appeared in the depths of Guillaume's eyes, and hewas for a moment about to tell a falsehood. However, he ended by replying"No, I have renounced that intention. I have another idea. "

He spoke these last words with so much energy and decision that Pierredid not dare to question him further, to ask him, for instance, what thatother idea might be. From that moment, however, he quivered with anxiousexpectancy. From hour to hour Mere-Grand's lofty silence and Guillaume'srapt, energetic face seemed to tell him that some huge and terrifyingscheme had come into being, and was growing and threatening the whole ofParis. 

One afternoon, just as Thomas was about to repair to the Grandidierworks, some one came to Guillaume's with the news that old Toussaint, theworkman, had been stricken with a fresh attack of paralysis. Thomasthereupon decided that he would call upon the poor fellow on his way, forhe held him in esteem and wished to ascertain if he could render him anyhelp. Pierre expressed a desire to accompany his nephew, and they startedoff together about four o'clock. 

On entering the one room which the Toussaints occupied, the room wherethey ate and slept, the visitors found the mechanician seated on a lowchair near the table. He looked half dead, as if struck by lightning. Itwas a case of hemiplegia, which had paralysed the whole of his rightside, his right leg and right arm, and had also spread to his face insuch wise that he could no longer speak. The only sound he could raisewas an incomprehensible guttural grunt. His mouth was drawn to the right, and his once round, good-natured-looking face, with tanned skin andbright eyes, had been twisted into a frightful mask of anguish. At fiftyyears of age, the unhappy man was utterly done for. His unkempt beard wasas white as that of an octogenarian, and his knotty limbs, preyed upon bytoil, were henceforth dead. Only his eyes remained alive, and theytravelled around the room, going from one to another. By his side, eagerto do what she could for him, was his wife, who remained stout even whenshe had little to eat, and still showed herself active and clear-headed, however great her misfortunes. 

"It's a friendly visit, Toussaint, " said she. "It's Monsieur Thomas whohas come to see you with Monsieur l'Abbe. " Then quietly correctingherself she added: "With Monsieur Pierre, his uncle. You see that you arenot yet forsaken. "

Toussaint wished to speak, but his fruitless efforts only brought two bigtears to his eyes. Then he gazed at his visitors with an expression ofindescribable woe, his jaws trembling convulsively. 

"Don't put yourself out, " repeated his wife. "The doctor told you that itwould do you no good. "

At the moment of entering the room, Pierre had already noticed twopersons who had risen from their chairs and drawn somewhat on one side. And now to his great surprise he recognised that they were MadameTheodore and Celine, who were both decently clad, and looked as if theyled a life of comfort. On hearing of Toussaint's misfortune they had cometo see him, like good-hearted creatures, who, on their own side, hadexperienced the most cruel suffering. Pierre, on noticing that they nowseemed to be beyond dire want, remembered what he had heard of thewonderful sympathy lavished on the child after her father's execution, the many presents and donations offered her, and the generous proposalsthat had been made to adopt her. These last had ended in her beingadopted by a former friend of Salvat, who had sent her to school again, pending the time when she might be apprenticed to some trade, while, onthe other hand, Madame Theodore had been placed as a nurse in aconvalescent home. In such wise both had been saved. 

When Pierre drew near to little Celine in order to kiss her, MadameTheodore told her to thank Monsieur l'Abbe--for so she still respectfullycalled him--for all that he had previously done for her. "It was you whobrought us happiness, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said she. "And that's a thing onecan never forget. I'm always telling Celine to remember you in herprayers. "

"And so, my child, you are now going to school again, " said Pierre. 

"Oh yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, and I'm well pleased at it. Besides, we nolonger lack anything. " Then, however, sudden emotion came over the girl, and she stammered with a sob: "Ah! if poor papa could only see us!"

Madame Theodore, meanwhile, had begun to take leave of Madame Toussaint. "Well, good by, we must go, " said she. "What has happened to you is verysad, and we wanted to tell you how much it grieved us. The worry is thatwhen misfortune falls on one, courage isn't enough to set things right.... Celine, come and kiss your uncle.... My poor brother, I hopeyou'll get back the use of your legs as soon as possible. "

They kissed the paralysed man on the cheeks, and then went off. Toussainthad looked at them with his keen and still intelligent eyes, as if helonged to participate in the life and activity into which they werereturning. And a jealous thought came to his wife, who usually was soplacid and good-natured. "Ah! my poor old man!" said she, after proppinghim up with a pillow, "those two are luckier than we are. Everythingsucceeds with them since that madman, Salvat, had his head cut off. They're provided for. They've plenty of bread on the shelf. "

Then, turning towards Pierre and Thomas, she continued: "We others aredone for, you know, we're down in the mud, with no hope of getting out ofit. But what would you have? My poor husband hasn't been guillotined, he's done nothing but work his whole life long; and now, you see, that'sthe end of him, he's like some old animal, no longer good for anything. "

Having made her visitors sit down she next answered their compassionatequestions. The doctor had called twice already, and had promised torestore the unhappy man's power of speech, and perhaps enable him tocrawl round the room with the help of a stick. But as for ever being ableto resume real work that must not be expected. And so what was the use ofliving on? Toussaint's eyes plainly declared that he would much ratherdie at once. When a workman can no longer work and no longer provide forhis wife he is ripe for the grave. 

"Savings indeed!" Madame Toussaint resumed. "There are folks who ask ifwe have any savings.... Well, we had nearly a thousand francs in theSavings Bank when Toussaint had his first attack. And some people don'tknow what a lot of prudence one needs to put by such a sum; for, afterall, we're not savages, we have to allow ourselves a little enjoyment nowand then, a good dish and a good bottle of wine.... Well, what withfive months of enforced idleness, and the medicines, and the underdonemeat that was ordered, we got to the end of our thousand francs; and nowthat it's all begun again we're not likely to taste any more bottled wineor roast mutton. "

Fond of good cheer as she had always been, this cry, far more than thetears she was forcing back, revealed how much the future terrified her. She was there erect and brave in spite of everything; but what a downfallif she were no longer able to keep her room tidy, stew a piece of veal onSundays, and gossip with the neighbours while awaiting her husband'sreturn from work! Why, they might just as well be thrown into the gutterand carried off in the scavenger's cart. 

However, Thomas intervened: "Isn't there an Asylum for the Invalids ofLabour, and couldn't your husband get admitted to it?" he asked. "Itseems to me that is just the place for him. "

"Oh dear, no, " the woman answered. "People spoke to me of that placebefore, and I got particulars of it. They don't take sick people there. When you call they tell you that there are hospitals for those who areill. "

With a wave of his hand Pierre confirmed her statement: it was useless toapply in that direction. He could again see himself scouring Paris, hurrying from the Lady President, Baroness Duvillard, to Fonsegue, theGeneral Manager, and only securing a bed for Laveuve when the unhappy manwas dead. 

However, at that moment an infant was heard wailing, and to the amazementof both visitors Madame Toussaint entered the little closet where her sonCharles had so long slept, and came out of it carrying a child, wholooked scarcely twenty months old. "Well, yes, " she explained, "this isCharles's boy. He was sleeping there in his father's old bed, and now youhear him, he's woke up.... You see, only last Wednesday, the daybefore Toussaint had his stroke, I went to fetch the little one at thenurse's at St. Denis, because she had threatened to cast him adrift sinceCharles had got into bad habits, and no longer paid her. I said to myselfat the time that work was looking up, and that my husband and I wouldalways be able to provide for a little mouth like that.... But justafterwards everything collapsed! At the same time, as the child's herenow I can't go and leave him in the street. "

While speaking in this fashion she walked to and fro, rocking the baby inher arms. And naturally enough she reverted to Charles's folly with thegirl, who had run away, leaving that infant behind her. Things might nothave been so very bad if Charles had still worked as steadily as he haddone before he went soldiering. In those days he had never lost an hour, and had always brought all his pay home! But he had come back from thearmy with much less taste for work. He argued, and had ideas of his own. He certainly hadn't yet come to bomb-throwing like that madman Salvat, but he spent half his time with Socialists and Anarchists, who put hisbrain in a muddle. It was a real pity to see such a strong, good-heartedyoung fellow turning out badly like that. But it was said in theneighbourhood that many another was inclined the same way; that the bestand most intelligent of the younger men felt tired of want andunremunerative labour, and would end by knocking everything to piecesrather than go on toiling with no certainty of food in their old age. 

"Ah! yes, " continued Madame Toussaint, "the sons are not like the fatherswere. These fine fellows won't be as patient as my poor husband has been, letting hard work wear him away till he's become the sorry thing you seethere.... Do you know what Charles said the other evening when hefound his father on that chair, crippled like that, and unable to speak?Why, he shouted to him that he'd been a stupid jackass all his life, working himself to death for those _bourgeois_, who now wouldn't bringhim so much as a glass of water. Then, as he none the less has a goodheart, he began to cry his eyes out. "

The baby was no longer wailing, still the good woman continued walking toand fro, rocking it in her arms and pressing it to her affectionateheart. Her son Charles could do no more for them, she said; perhaps hemight be able to give them a five-franc piece now and again, but eventhat wasn't certain. It was of no use for her to go back to her oldcalling as a seamstress, she had lost all practice of it. And it wouldeven be difficult for her to earn anything as charwoman, for she had thatinfant on her hands as well as her infirm husband--a big child, whom shewould have to wash and feed. And so what would become of the three ofthem? She couldn't tell; but it made her shudder, however brave andmotherly she tried to be. 

For their part, Pierre and Thomas quivered with compassion, particularlywhen they saw big tears coursing down the cheeks of the wretched, stricken Toussaint, as he sat quite motionless in that little and stillcleanly home of toil and want. The poor man had listened to his wife, andhe looked at her and at the infant now sleeping in her arms. Voiceless, unable to cry his woe aloud, he experienced the most awful anguish. Whatdupery his long life of labour had been! how frightfully unjust it wasthat all his efforts should end in such sufferings! how exasperating itwas to feel himself powerless, and to see those whom he loved and whowere as innocent as himself suffer and die by reason of his own sufferingand death! Ah! poor old man, cripple that he was, ending like some beastof burden that has foundered by the roadside--that goal of labour! And itwas all so revolting and so monstrous that he tried to put it into words, and his desperate grief ended in a frightful, raucous grunt. 

"Be quiet, don't do yourself harm!" concluded Madame Toussaint. "Thingsare like that, and there's no mending them. "

Then she went to put the child to bed again, and on her return, just asThomas and Pierre were about to speak to her of Toussaint's employer, M. Grandidier, a fresh visitor arrived. Thereupon the others decided towait. 

The new comer was Madame Chretiennot, Toussaint's other sister, eighteenyears younger than himself. Her husband, the little clerk, had compelledher to break off almost all intercourse with her relatives, as he feltashamed of them; nevertheless, having heard of her brother's misfortune, she had very properly come to condole with him. She wore a gown of cheapflimsy silk, and a hat trimmed with red poppies, which she had freshenedup three times already; but in spite of this display her appearancebespoke penury, and she did her best to hide her feet on account of theshabbiness of her boots. Moreover, she was no longer the beautifulHortense. Since a recent miscarriage, all trace of her good looks haddisappeared. 

The lamentable appearance of her brother and the bareness of that home ofsuffering chilled her directly she crossed the threshold. And as soon asshe had kissed Toussaint, and said how sorry she was to find him in sucha condition, she began to lament her own fate, and recount her troubles, for fear lest she should be asked for any help. 

"Ah! my dear, " she said to her sister-in-law, "you are certainly much tobe pitied! But if you only knew! We all have our troubles. Thus in mycase, obliged as I am to dress fairly well on account of my husband'sposition, I have more trouble than you can imagine in making both endsmeet. One can't go far on a salary of three thousand francs a year, whenone has to pay seven hundred francs' rent out of it. You will perhaps saythat we might lodge ourselves in a more modest way; but we can't, mydear, I must have a _salon_ on account of the visits I receive. So justcount!... Then there are my two girls. I've had to send them toschool; Lucienne has begun to learn the piano and Marcelle has some tastefor drawing.... By the way, I would have brought them with me, but Ifeared it would upset them too much. You will excuse me, won't you?"

Then she spoke of all the worries which she had had with her husband onaccount of Salvat's ignominious death. Chretiennot, vain, quarrelsomelittle fellow that he was, felt exasperated at now having a _guillotine_in his wife's family. And he had lately begun to treat the unfortunatewoman most harshly, charging her with having brought about all theirtroubles, and even rendering her responsible for his own mediocrity, embittered as he was more and more each day by a confined life of officework. On some evenings they had downright quarrels; she stood up forherself, and related that when she was at the confectionery shop in theRue des Martyrs she could have married a doctor had she only chosen, forthe doctor found her quite pretty enough. Now, however, she was becomingplainer and plainer, and her husband felt that he was condemned toeverlasting penury; so that their life was becoming more and more dismaland quarrelsome, and as unbearable--despite the pride of being"gentleman" and "lady"--as was the destitution of the working classes. 

"All the same, my dear, " at last said Madame Toussaint, weary of hersister-in-law's endless narrative of worries, "you have had one piece ofluck. You won't have the trouble of bringing up a third child, now. "

"That's true, " replied Hortense, with a sigh of relief. "How we shouldhave managed, I don't know.... Still, I was very ill, and I'm far frombeing in good health now. The doctor says that I don't eat enough, andthat I ought to have good food. "

Then she rose for the purpose of giving her brother another kiss andtaking her departure; for she feared a scene on her husband's part shouldhe happen to come home and find her absent. Once on her feet, however, she lingered there a moment longer, saying that she also had just seenher sister, Madame Theodore, and little Celine, both of them comfortablyclad and looking happy. And with a touch of jealousy she added: "Well, myhusband contents himself with slaving away at his office every day. He'llnever do anything to get his head cut off; and it's quite certain thatnobody will think of leaving an income to Marcelle and Lucienne.... Well, good by, my dear, you must be brave, one must always hope thatthings will turn out for the best. "

When she had gone off, Pierre and Thomas inquired if M. Grandidier hadheard of Toussaint's misfortune and agreed to do anything for him. MadameToussaint answered that he had so far made only a vague promise; and onlearning this they resolved to speak to him as warmly as they could onbehalf of the old mechanician, who had spent as many as five and twentyyears at the works. The misfortune was that a scheme for establishing afriendly society, and even a pension fund, which had been launched beforethe crisis from which the works were now recovering, had collapsedthrough a number of obstacles and complications. Had things turned outotherwise, Thomas might have had a pittance assured him, even though hewas unable to work. But under the circumstances the only hope for thepoor stricken fellow lay in his employer's compassion, if not his senseof justice. 

As the baby again began to cry, Madame Toussaint went to fetch it, andshe was once more carrying it to and fro, when Thomas pressed herhusband's sound hand between both his own. "We will come back, " said theyoung man; "we won't forsake you, Toussaint. You know very well thatpeople like you, for you've always been a good and steady workman. Sorely on us, we will do all we can. "

Then they left him tearful and overpowered, in that dismal room, while, up and down beside him, his wife rocked the squealing infant--that otherluckless creature, who was now so heavy on the old folks' hands, and likethem was fated to die of want and unjust toil. 

Toil, manual toil, panting at every effort, this was what Pierre andThomas once more found at the works. From the slender pipes above theroofs spurted rhythmical puffs of steam, which seemed like the verybreath of all that labour. And in the work-shops one found a continuousrumbling, a whole army of men in motion, forging, filing, and piercing, amidst the spinning of leather gearing and the trembling of machinery. The day was ending with a final feverish effort to complete some task orother before the bell should ring for departure. 

On inquiring for the master Thomas learnt that he had not been seen since_dejeuner_, which was such an unusual occurrence that the young man atonce feared some terrible scene in the silent pavilion, whose shutterswere ever closed upon Grandidier's unhappy wife--that mad but beautifulcreature, whom he loved so passionately that he had never been willing topart from her. The pavilion could be seen from the little glazedwork-shop which Thomas usually occupied, and as he and Pierre stoodwaiting there, it looked very peaceful and pleasant amidst the biglilac-bushes planted round about it. Surely, they thought, it ought tohave been brightened by the gay gown of a young woman and the laughter ofplayful children. But all at once a loud, piercing shriek reached theirears, followed by howls and moans, like those of an animal that is beingbeaten or possibly slaughtered. Ah! those howls ringing out amidst allthe stir of the toiling works, punctuated it seemed by the rhythmicalpuffing of the steam, accompanied too by the dull rumbling of themachinery! The receipts of the business had been doubling and doublingsince the last stock-taking; there was increase of prosperity everymonth, the bad times were over, far behind. Grandidier was realising alarge fortune with his famous bicycle for the million, the "Lisette"; andthe approaching vogue of motor-cars also promised huge gains, should heagain start making little motor-engines, as he meant to do, as soon asThomas's long-projected motor should be perfected. But what was wealthwhen in that dismal pavilion, whose shutters were ever closed, thosefrightful shrieks continued, proclaiming some terrible drama, which allthe stir and bustle of the prosperous works were unable to stifle?

Pierre and Thomas looked at one another, pale and quivering. And all atonce, as the cries ceased and the pavilion sank into death-like silenceonce more, the latter said in an undertone: "She is usually very gentle, she will sometimes spend whole days sitting on a carpet like a littlechild. He is fond of her when she is like that; he lays her down andpicks her up, caresses her and makes her laugh as if she were a baby. Ah!how dreadfully sad it is! When an attack comes upon her she gets frantic, tries to bite herself, and kill herself by throwing herself against thewalls. And then he has to struggle with her, for no one else is allowedto touch her. He tries to restrain her, and holds her in his arms to calmher.... But how terrible it was just now! Did you hear? I do not thinkshe has ever had such a frightful attack before. "

For a quarter of an hour longer profound silence prevailed. ThenGrandidier came out of the pavilion, bareheaded and still ghastly pale. Passing the little glazed work-shop on his way, he perceived Thomas andPierre there, and at once came in. But he was obliged to lean against abench like a man who is dazed, haunted by a nightmare. His good-natured, energetic face retained an expression of acute anguish; and his left earwas scratched and bleeding. However, he at once wished to talk, overcomehis feelings, and return to his life of activity. "I am very pleased tosee you, my dear Thomas, " said he, "I have been thinking over what youtold me about our little motor. We must go into the matter again. "

Seeing how distracted he was, it occurred to the young man that somesudden diversion, such as the story of another's misfortunes, mightperhaps draw him from his haunting thoughts. "Of course I am at yourdisposal, " he replied; "but before talking of that matter I should liketo tell you that we have just seen Toussaint, that poor old fellow whohas been stricken with paralysis. His awful fate has quite distressed us. He is in the greatest destitution, forsaken as it were by the roadside, after all his years of labour. "

Thomas dwelt upon the quarter of a century which the old workman hadspent at the factory, and suggested that it would be only just to takesome account of his long efforts, the years of his life which he haddevoted to the establishment. And he asked that he might be assisted inthe name both of equity and compassion. 

"Ah! monsieur, " Pierre in his turn ventured to say. "I should like totake you for an instant into that bare room, and show you that poor, aged, worn-out, stricken man, who no longer has even the power of speechleft him to tell people his sufferings. There can be no greaterwretchedness than to die in this fashion, despairing of all kindlinessand justice. "

Grandidier had listened to them in silence. But big tears hadirresistibly filled his eyes, and when he spoke it was in a very low andtremulous voice: "The greatest wretchedness, who can tell what it is? Whocan speak of it if he has not known the wretchedness of others? Yes, yes, it's sad undoubtedly that poor Toussaint should be reduced to that stateat his age, not knowing even if he will have food to eat on the morrow. But I know sorrows that are just as crushing, abominations which poisonone's life in a still greater degree.... Ah! yes, food indeed! Tothink that happiness will reign in the world when everybody has food toeat! What an idiotic hope!"

The whole grievous tragedy of his life was in the shudder which had comeover him. To be the employer, the master, the man who is making money, who disposes of capital and is envied by his workmen, to own anestablishment to which prosperity has returned, whose machinery coinsgold, apparently leaving one no other trouble than that of pocketingone's profits; and yet at the same time to be the most wretched of men, to know no day exempt from anguish, to find each evening at one's hearthno other reward or prop than the most atrocious torture of the heart!Everything, even success, has to be paid for. And thus that triumpher, that money-maker, whose pile was growing larger at each successiveinventory, was sobbing with bitter grief. 

However, he showed himself kindly disposed towards Toussaint, andpromised to assist him. As for a pension that was an idea which he couldnot entertain, as it was the negation of the wage-system such as itexisted. He energetically defended his rights as an employer, repeatingthat the strain of competition would compel him to avail himself of themso long as the present system should endure. His part in it was to dogood business in an honest way. However, he regretted that his men hadnever carried out the scheme of establishing a relief fund, and he saidthat he would do his best to induce them to take it in hand again. 

Some colour had now come back to his checks; for on returning to theinterests of his life of battle he felt his energy restored. He againreverted to the question of the little motor, and spoke of it for sometime with Thomas, while Pierre waited, feeling quite upset. Ah! hethought, how universal was the thirst for happiness! Then, in spite ofthe many technical terms that were used he caught a little of what theothers were saying. Small steam motors had been made at the works informer times; but they had not proved successes. In point of fact a newpropelling force was needed. Electricity, though everyone foresaw itsfuture triumph, was so far out of the question on account of the weightof the apparatus which its employment necessitated. So only petroleumremained, and the inconvenience attaching to its use was so great thatvictory and fortune would certainly rest with the manufacturer who shouldbe able to replace it by some other hitherto unknown agent. In thediscovery and adaptation of the latter lay the whole problem. 

"Yes, I am eager about it now, " at last exclaimed Grandidier in ananimated way. "I allowed you to prosecute your experiments withouttroubling you with any inquisitive questions. But a solution is becomingimperative. "

Thomas smiled: "Well, you must remain patient just a little longer, " saidhe; "I believe that I am on the right road. "

Then Grandidier shook hands with him and Pierre, and went off to make hisusual round through his busy, bustling works, whilst near at hand, awaiting his return, stood the closed pavilion, where every evening hewas fated to relapse into endless, incurable anguish. 

The daylight was already waning when Pierre and Thomas, afterre-ascending the height of Montmartre, walked towards the large work-shopwhich Jahan, the sculptor, had set up among the many sheds whose erectionhad been necessitated by the building of the Sacred Heart. There was herea stretch of ground littered with materials, an extraordinary chaos ofbuilding stone, beams and machinery; and pending the time when an army ofnavvies would come to set the whole place in order, one could see gapingtrenches, rough flights of descending steps and fences, imperfectlyclosing doorways which conducted to the substructures of the basilica. 

Halting in front of Jahan's work-shop, Thomas pointed to one of thesedoorways by which one could reach the foundation works. "Have you neverhad an idea of visiting the foundations?" he inquired of Pierre. "There'squite a city down there on which millions of money have been spent. Theycould only find firm soil at the very base of the height, and they had toexcavate more than eighty shafts, fill them with concrete, and then reartheir church on all those subterranean columns.... Yes, that is so. Ofcourse the columns cannot be seen, but it is they who hold that insultingedifice aloft, right over Paris!"

Having drawn near to the fence, Pierre was looking at an open doorwaybeyond it, a sort of dark landing whence steps descended as if into thebowels of the earth. And he thought of those invisible columns ofconcrete, and of all the stubborn energy and desire for domination whichhad set and kept the edifice erect. 

Thomas was at last obliged to call him. "Let us make haste, " said he, "the twilight will soon be here. We shan't be able to see much. "

They had arranged to meet Antoine at Jahan's, as the sculptor wished toshow them a new model he had prepared. When they entered the work-shopthey found the two assistants still working at the colossal angel whichhad been ordered for the basilica. Standing on a scaffolding they wererough-hewing its symmetrical wings, whilst Jahan, seated on a low chair, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hands soiled with clay, was contemplating a figure some three feet high on which he had just beenworking. 

"Ah! it's you, " he exclaimed. "Antoine has been waiting more than half anhour for you. He's gone outside with Lise to see the sun set over Paris, I think. But they will soon be back. "

Then he relapsed into silence, with his eyes fixed on his work. 

This was a bare, erect, lofty female figure, of such august majesty, sosimple were its lines, that it suggested something gigantic. The figure'sabundant, outspread hair suggested rays around its face, which beamedwith sovereign beauty like the sun. And its only gesture was one of offerand of greeting; its arms were thrown slightly forward, and its handswere open for the grasp of all mankind. 

Still lingering in his dream Jahan began to speak slowly: "You rememberthat I wanted a pendant for my figure of Fecundity. I had modelled aCharity, but it pleased me so little and seemed so commonplace that I letthe clay dry and spoil.... And then the idea of a figure of Justicecame to me. But not a gowned figure with the sword and the scales! Thatwasn't the Justice that inspired me. What haunted my mind was the otherJustice, the one that the lowly and the sufferers await, the one whoalone can some day set a little order and happiness among us. And Ipictured her like that, quite bare, quite simple, and very lofty. She isthe sun as it were, a sun all beauty, harmony and strength; for justiceis only to be found in the sun which shines in the heavens for one andall, and bestows on poor and rich alike its magnificence and light andwarmth, which are the source of all life. And so my figure, you see, hasher hands outstretched as if she were offering herself to all mankind, greeting it and granting it the gift of eternal life in eternal beauty. Ah! to be beautiful and strong and just, one's whole dream lies in that. "

Jahan relighted his pipe and burst into a merry laugh. "Well, I think thegood woman carries herself upright.... What do you fellows say?"

His visitors highly praised his work. Pierre for his part was muchaffected at finding in this artistic conception the very idea that he hadso long been revolving in his mind--the idea of an era of Justice risingfrom the ruins of the world, which Charity after centuries of trial hadfailed to save. 

Then the sculptor gaily explained that he had prepared his model thereinstead of at home, in order to console himself a little for his bigdummy of an angel, the prescribed triteness of which disgusted him. Somefresh objections had been raised with respect to the folds of the robe, which gave some prominence to the thighs, and in the end he had beencompelled to modify all of the drapery. 

"Oh! it's just as they like!" he cried; "it's no work of mine, you know;it's simply an order which I'm executing just as a mason builds a wall. There's no religious art left, it has been killed by stupidity anddisbelief. Ah! if social or human art could only revive, how glorious tobe one of the first to bear the tidings!"

Then he paused. Where could the youngsters, Antoine and Lise, have gotto, he wondered. He threw the door wide open, and, a little distanceaway, among the materials littering the waste ground, one could seeAntoine's tall figure and Lise's short slender form standing out againstthe immensity of Paris, which was all golden amidst the sun's farewell. The young man's strong arm supported Lise, who with this help walkedbeside him without feeling any fatigue. Slender and graceful, like a girlblossoming into womanhood, she raised her eyes to his with a smile ofinfinite gratitude, which proclaimed that she belonged to him forevermore. 

"Ah! they are coming back, " said Jahan. "The miracle is now complete, youknow. I'm delighted at it. I did not know what to do with her; I had evenrenounced all attempts to teach her to read; I left her for days togetherin a corner, infirm and tongue-tied like a lack-wit.... But yourbrother came and took her in hand somehow or other. She listened to himand understood him, and began to read and write with him, and growintelligent and gay. Then, as her limbs still gained no suppleness, andshe remained infirm, ailing and puny, he began by carrying her here, andthen helped her to walk in such wise that she can now do so by herself. In a few weeks' time she has positively grown and become quite charming. Yes, I assure you, it is second birth, real creation. Just look at them!"

Antoine and Lise were still slowly approaching. The evening breeze whichrose from the great city, where all was yet heat and sunshine, broughtthem a bath of life. If the young man had chosen that spot, with itssplendid horizon, open to the full air which wafted all the germs oflife, it was doubtless because he felt that nowhere else could he instilmore vitality, more soul, more strength into her. And love had beencreated by love. He had found her asleep, benumbed, without power ofmotion or intellect, and he had awakened her, kindled life in her, lovedher, that he might be loved by her in return. She was his work, she waspart of himself. 

"So you no longer feel tired, little one?" said Jahan. 

She smiled divinely. "Oh! no, it's so pleasant, so beautiful, to walkstraight on like this.... All I desire is to go on for ever and everwith Antoine. "

The others laughed, and Jahan exclaimed in his good-natured way: "Let ushope that he won't take you so far. You've reached your destination now, and I shan't be the one to prevent you from being happy. "

Antoine was already standing before the figure of Justice, to which thefalling twilight seemed to impart a quiver of life. "Oh! how divinelysimple, how divinely beautiful!" said he. 

For his own part he had lately finished a new wood engraving, whichdepicted Lise holding a book in her hand, an engraving instinct withtruth and emotion, showing her awakened to intelligence and love. Andthis time he had achieved his desire, making no preliminary drawing, buttackling the block with his graver, straight away, in presence of hismodel. And infinite hopefulness had come upon him, he was dreaming ofgreat original works in which the whole period that he belonged to wouldlive anew and for ever. 

Thomas now wished to return home. So they shook hands with Jahan, who, ashis day's work was over, put on his coat to take his sister back to theRue du Calvaire. 

"Till to-morrow, Lise, " said Antoine, inclining his head to kiss her. 

She raised herself on tip-toes, and offered him her eyes, which he hadopened to life. "Till to-morrow, Antoine, " said she. 

Outside, the twilight was falling. Pierre was the first to cross thethreshold, and as he did so, he saw so extraordinary a sight that for aninstant he felt stupefied. But it was certain enough: he could plainlydistinguish his brother Guillaume emerging from the gaping doorway whichconducted to the foundations of the basilica. And he saw him hastilyclimb over the palings, and then pretend to be there by pure chance, asthough he had come up from the Rue Lamarck. When he accosted his twosons, as if he were delighted to meet them, and began to say that he hadjust come from Paris, Pierre asked himself if he had been dreaming. However, an anxious glance which his brother cast at him convinced himthat he had been right. And then he not only felt ill at ease in presenceof that man whom he had never previously known to lie, but it seemed tohim that he was at last on the track of all he had feared, the formidablemystery that he had for some time past felt brewing around him in thelittle peaceful house. 

When Guillaume, his sons and his brother reached home and entered thelarge workroom overlooking Paris, it was so dark that they fancied nobodywas there. 

"What! nobody in?" said Guillaume. 

But in a somewhat low, quiet voice Francois answered out of the gloom:"Why, yes, I'm here. "

He had remained at his table, where he had worked the whole afternoon, and as he could no longer read, he now sat in a dreamy mood with his headresting on his hands, his eyes wandering over Paris, where night wasgradually falling. As his examination was now near at hand, he was livingin a state of severe mental strain. 

"What, you are still working there!" said his father. "Why didn't you askfor a lamp?"

"No, I wasn't working, I was looking at Paris, " Francois slowly answered. "It's singular how the night falls over it by degrees. The last districtthat remained visible was the Montague Ste. Genevieve, the plateau of thePantheon, where all our knowledge and science have grown up. A sun-raystill gilds the schools and libraries and laboratories, when thelow-lying districts of trade are already steeped in darkness. I won't saythat the planet has a particular partiality for us at the Ecole Normale, but it's certain that its beams still linger on our roofs, when they areto be seen nowhere else. "

He began to laugh at his jest. Still one could see how ardent was hisfaith in mental effort, how entirely he gave himself to mental labour, which, in his opinion, could alone bring truth, establish justice andcreate happiness. 

Then came a short spell of silence. Paris sank more and more deeply intothe night, growing black and mysterious, till all at once sparks of lightbegan to appear. 

"The lamps are being lighted, " resumed Francois; "work is being resumed onall sides. "

Then Guillaume, who likewise had been dreaming, immersed in his fixedidea, exclaimed: "Work, yes, no doubt! But for work to give a fullharvest it must be fertilised by will. There is something which issuperior to work. "

Thomas and Antoine had drawn near. And Francois, as much for them as forhimself, inquired: "What is that, father?"

"Action. "

For a moment the three young men remained silent, impressed by thesolemnity of the hour, quivering too beneath the great waves of darknesswhich rose from the vague ocean of the city. Then a young voice remarked, though whose it was one could not tell: "Action is but work. "

And Pierre, who lacked the respectful quietude, the silent faith, of hisnephews, now felt his nervousness increasing. That huge and terrifyingmystery of which he was dimly conscious rose before him, while a greatquiver sped by in the darkness, over that black city where the lamps werenow being lighted for a whole passionate night of work. 

IV. THE CRISIS

A GREAT ceremony was to take place that day at the basilica of the SacredHeart. Ten thousand pilgrims were to be present there, at a solemnconsecration of the Holy Sacrament; and pending the arrival of fouro'clock, the hour fixed for the service, Montmartre would be invaded bypeople. Its slopes would be black with swarming devotees, the shops wherereligious emblems and pictures were sold would be besieged, the cafes andtaverns would be crowded to overflowing. It would all be like some hugefair, and meantime the big bell of the basilica, "La Savoyarde, " would beringing peal on peal over the holiday-making multitude. 

When Pierre entered the workroom in the morning he perceived Guillaumeand Mere-Grand alone there; and a remark which he heard the former makecaused him to stop short and listen from behind a tall-revolvingbookstand. Mere-Grand sat sewing in her usual place near the big window, while Guillaume stood before her, speaking in a low voice. 

"Mother, " said he, "everything is ready, it is for to-day. "

She let her work fall, and raised her eyes, looking very pale. "Ah!" shesaid, "so you have made up your mind. "

"Yes, irrevocably. At four o'clock I shall be yonder, and it will all beover. "

"'Tis well--you are the master. "

Silence fell, terrible silence. Guillaume's voice seemed to come from faraway, from somewhere beyond the world. It was evident that his resolutionwas unshakable, that his tragic dream, his fixed idea of martyrdom, wholly absorbed him. Mere-Grand looked at him with her pale eyes, like anheroic woman who had grown old in relieving the sufferings of others, andhad ever shown all the abnegation and devotion of an intrepid heart, which nothing but the idea of duty could influence. She knew Guillaume'sterrible scheme, and had helped him to regulate the pettiest details ofit; but if on the one hand, after all the iniquity she had seen andendured, she admitted that fierce and exemplary punishment might seemnecessary, and that even the idea of purifying the world by the fire of avolcano might be entertained, on the other hand, she believed toostrongly in the necessity of living one's life bravely to the very end, to be able, under any circumstances, to regard death as either good orprofitable. 

"My son, " she gently resumed, "I witnessed the growth of your scheme, andit neither surprised nor angered me. I accepted it as one acceptslightning, the very fire of the skies, something of sovereign purity andpower. And I have helped you through it all, and have taken upon myselfto act as the mouthpiece of your conscience.... But let me tell youonce more, one ought never to desert the cause of life. "

"It is useless to speak, mother, " Guillaume replied: "I have resolved togive my life and cannot take it back.... Are you now unwilling tocarry out my desires, remain here, and act as we have decided, when allis over?"

She did not answer this inquiry, but in her turn, speaking slowly andgravely, put a question to him: "So it is useless for me to speak to youof the children, myself and the house?" said she. "You have thought itall over, you are quite determined?" And as he simply answered "Yes, " sheadded: "'Tis well, you are the master.... I will be the one who is toremain behind and act. And you may be without fear, your bequest is ingood hands. All that we have decided together shall be done. "

Once more they became silent. Then she again inquired: "At four o'clock, you say, at the moment of that consecration?"

"Yes, at four o'clock. "

She was still looking at him with her pale eyes, and there seemed to besomething superhuman in her simplicity and grandeur as she sat there inher thin black gown. Her glance, in which the greatest bravery and thedeepest sadness mingled, filled Guillaume with acute emotion. His handsbegan to tremble, and he asked: "Will you let me kiss you, mother?"

"Oh! right willingly, my son, " she responded. "Your path of duty may notbe mine, but you see I respect your views and love you. "

They kissed one another, and when Pierre, whom the scene had chilled tohis heart, presented himself as if he were just arriving, Mere-Grand hadquietly taken up her needlework once more, while Guillaume was going toand fro, setting one of his laboratory shelves in order with all hiswonted activity. 

At noon when lunch was ready, they found it necessary to wait for Thomas, who had not yet come home. His brothers Francois and Antoine complainedin a jesting way, saying that they were dying of hunger, while for herpart Marie, who had made a _creme_, and was very proud of it, declaredthat they would eat it all, and that those who came late would have to gowithout tasting it. When Thomas eventually put in an appearance he wasgreeted with jeers. 

"But it wasn't my fault, " said he; "I stupidly came up the hill by way ofthe Rue de la Barre, and you can have no notion what a crowd I fell upon. Quite ten thousand pilgrims must have camped there last night. I am toldthat as many as possible were huddled together in the St. Joseph Refuge. The others no doubt had to sleep in the open air. And now they are busyeating, here, there and everywhere, all over the patches of waste groundand even on the pavements. One can scarcely set one foot before the otherwithout risk of treading on somebody. "

The meal proved a very gay one, though Pierre found the gaiety forced andexcessive. Yet the young people could surely know nothing of thefrightful, invisible thing which to Pierre ever seemed to be hoveringaround in the bright sunlight of that splendid June day. Was it that thedim presentiment which comes to loving hearts when mourning threatensthem, swept by during the short intervals of silence that followed thejoyous outbursts? Although Guillaume looked somewhat pale, and spoke withunusual caressing softness, he retained his customary bright smile. But, on the other hand, never had Mere-Grand been more silent or more grave. 

Marie's _creme_ proved a great success, and the others congratulated heron it so fulsomely that they made her blush. Then, all at once, heavysilence fell once more, a deathly chill seemed to sweep by, making everyface turn pale--even while they were still cleaning their plates withtheir little spoons. 

"Ah! that bell, " exclaimed Francois; "it is really intolerable. I canfeel my head splitting. "

He referred to "La Savoyarde, " the big bell of the basilica, which hadnow begun to toll, sending forth deep sonorous volumes of sound, whichever and ever winged their flight over the immensity of Paris. In theworkroom they were all listening to the clang. 

"Will it keep on like that till four o'clock?" asked Marie. 

"Oh! at four o'clock, " replied Thomas, "at the moment of the consecrationyou will hear something much louder than that. The great peals of joy, the song of triumph will then ring out. "

Guillaume was still smiling. "Yes, yes, " said he, "those who don't wantto be deafened for life had better keep their windows closed. The worstis, that Paris has to hear it whether it will or no, and even as far awayas the Pantheon, so I'm told. "

Meantime Mere-Grand remained silent and impassive. Antoine for his partexpressed his disgust with the horrible religious pictures for which thepilgrims fought--pictures which in some respects suggested those on thelids of sweetmeat boxes, although they depicted the Christ with Hisbreast ripped open and displaying His bleeding heart. There could be nomore repulsive materialism, no grosser or baser art, said Antoine. Thenthey rose from table, talking at the top of their voices so as to makethemselves heard above the incessant din which came from the big bell. 

Immediately afterwards they all set to work again. Mere-Grand took hereverlasting needlework in hand once more, while Marie, sitting near her, continued some embroidery. The young men also attended to theirrespective tasks, and now and again raised their heads and exchanged afew words. Guillaume, for his part, likewise seemed very busy; Pierrealone coming and going in a state of anguish, beholding them all as in anightmare, and attributing some terrible meaning to the most innocentremarks. During _dejeuner_, in order to explain the frightful discomfortinto which he was thrown by the gaiety of the meal, he had been obligedto say that he felt poorly. And now he was looking and listening andwaiting with ever-growing anxiety. 

Shortly before three o'clock, Guillaume glanced at his watch and thenquietly took up his hat. "Well, " said he, "I'm going out. "

His sons, Mere-Grand and Marie raised their heads. 

"I'm going out, " he repeated, "_au revoir_. "

Still he did not go off. Pierre could divine that he was struggling, stiffening himself against the frightful tempest which was raging withinhim, striving to prevent either shudder or pallor from betraying hisawful secret. Ah! he must have suffered keenly; he dared not give hissons a last kiss, for fear lest he might rouse some suspicion in theirminds, which would impel them to oppose him and prevent his death! Atlast with supreme heroism he managed to overcome himself. 

"_Au revoir_, boys. "

"_Au revoir_, father. Will you be home early?"

"Yes, yes.... Don't worry about me, do plenty of work. "

Mere-Grand, still majestically silent, kept her eyes fixed upon him. Herhe had ventured to kiss, and their glances met and mingled, instinct withall that he had decided and that she had promised: their common dream oftruth and justice. 

"I say, Guillaume, " exclaimed Marie gaily, "will you undertake acommission for me if you are going down by way of the Rue des Martyrs?"

"Why, certainly, " he replied. 

"Well, then, please look in at my dressmaker's, and tell her that Ishan't go to try my gown on till to-morrow morning. "

It was a question of her wedding dress, a gown of light grey silk, thestylishness of which she considered very amusing. Whenever she spoke ofit, both she and the others began to laugh. 

"It's understood, my dear, " said Guillaume, likewise making merry overit. "We know it's Cinderella's court robe, eh? The fairy brocade and lacethat are to make you very beautiful and for ever happy. "

However, the laughter ceased, and in the sudden silence which fell, itagain seemed as if death were passing by with a great flapping of wingsand an icy gust which chilled the hearts of everyone remaining there. 

"It's understood; so now I'm really off, " resumed Guillaume. "_Aurevoir_, children. "

Then he sallied forth, without even turning round, and for a moment theycould hear the firm tread of his feet over the garden gravel. 

Pierre having invented a pretext was able to follow him a couple ofminutes afterwards. As a matter of fact there was no need for him to dogGuillaume's heels, for he knew where his brother was going. He wasthoroughly convinced that he would find him at that doorway, conductingto the foundations of the basilica, whence he had seen him emerge twodays before. And so he wasted no time in looking for him among the crowdof pilgrims going to the church. His only thought was to hurry on andreach Jahan's workshop. And in accordance with his expectation, just ashe arrived there, he perceived Guillaume slipping between the brokenpalings. The crush and the confusion prevailing among the concourse ofbelievers favored Pierre as it had his brother, in such wise that he wasable to follow the latter and enter the doorway without being noticed. Once there he had to pause and draw breath for a moment, so greatly didthe beating of his heart oppress him. 

A precipitous flight of steps, where all was steeped in darkness, descended from the narrow entry. It was with infinite precaution thatPierre ventured into the gloom, which ever grew denser and denser. Helowered his feet gently so as to make no noise, and feeling the wallswith his hands, turned round and round as he went lower and lower into akind of well. However, the descent was not a very long one. As soon as hefound beaten ground beneath his feet he paused, no longer daring to stirfor fear of betraying his presence. The darkness was like ink, and therewas not a sound, a breath; the silence was complete. 

How should he find his way? he wondered. Which direction ought he totake? He was still hesitating when some twenty paces away he suddenly sawa bright spark, the gleam of a lucifer. Guillaume was lighting a candle. Pierre recognised his broad shoulders, and from that moment he simply hadto follow the flickering light along a walled and vaulted subterraneangallery. It seemed to be interminable and to run in a northerlydirection, towards the nave of the basilica. 

All at once the little light at last stopped, while Pierre, anxious tosee what would happen, continued to advance, treading as softly as hecould and remaining in the gloom. He found that Guillaume had stood hiscandle upon the ground in the middle of a kind of low rotunda under thecrypt, and that he had knelt down and moved aside a long flagstone whichseemed to cover a cavity. They were here among the foundations of thebasilica; and one of the columns or piles of concrete poured into shaftsin order to support the building could be seen. The gap, which the stoneslab removed by Guillaume had covered, was by the very side of thepillar; it was either some natural surface flaw, or a deep fissure causedby some subsidence or settling of the soil. The heads of other pillarscould be descried around, and these the cleft seemed to be reaching, forlittle slits branched out in all directions. Then, on seeing his brotherleaning forward, like one who is for the last time examining a mine hehas laid before applying a match to the fuse, Pierre suddenly understoodthe whole terrifying business. Considerable quantities of the newexplosive had been brought to that spot. Guillaume had made the journey ascore of times at carefully selected hours, and all his powder had beenpoured into the gap beside the pillar, spreading to the slightest riftsbelow, saturating the soil at a great depth, and in this wise forming anatural mine of incalculable force. And now the powder was flush with theflagstone which Guillaume has just moved aside. It was only necessary tothrow a match there, and everything would be blown into the air!

For a moment an acute chill of horror rooted Pierre to the spot. He couldneither have taken a step nor raised a cry. He pictured the swarmingthrong above him, the ten thousand pilgrims crowding the lofty naves ofthe basilica to witness the solemn consecration of the Host. Peal uponpeal flew from "La Savoyarde, " incense smoked, and ten thousand voicesraised a hymn of magnificence and praise. And all at once came thunderand earthquake, and a volcano opening and belching forth fire and smoke, and swallowing up the whole church and its multitude of worshippers. Breaking the concrete piles and rending the unsound soil, the explosion, which was certain to be one of extraordinary violence, would doubtlesssplit the edifice atwain, and hurl one-half down the slopes descendingtowards Paris, whilst the other on the side of the apse would crumble andcollapse upon the spot where it stood. And how fearful would be theavalanche; a broken forest of scaffoldings, a hail of stonework, rushingand bounding through the dust and smoke on to the roofs below; whilst theviolence of the shock would threaten the whole of Montmartre, which, itseemed likely, must stagger and sink in one huge mass of ruins!

However, Guillaume had again risen. The candle standing on the ground, its flame shooting up, erect and slender, threw his huge shadow all overthe subterranean vault. Amidst the dense blackness the light looked likesome dismal stationary star. Guillaume drew near to it in order to seewhat time it was by his watch. It proved to be five minutes past three. So he had nearly another hour to wait. He was in no hurry, he wished tocarry out his design punctually, at the precise moment he had selected;and he therefore sat down on a block of stone, and remained there withoutmoving, quiet and patient. The candle now cast its light upon his paleface, upon his towering brow crowned with white hair, upon the whole ofhis energetic countenance, which still looked handsome and young, thanksto his bright eyes and dark moustaches. And not a muscle of his facestirred; he simply gazed into the void. What thoughts could be passingthrough his mind at that supreme moment? Who could tell? There was not aquiver; heavy night, the deep eternal silence of the earth reigned allaround. 

Then Pierre, having quieted his palpitating heart, drew near. At thesound of his footsteps Guillaume rose menacingly, but he immediatelyrecognised his brother, and did not seem astonished to see him. 

"Ah! it's you, " he said, "you followed me.... I felt that youpossessed my secret. And it grieves me that you should have abused yourknowledge to join me here. You might have spared me this last sorrow. "

Pierre clasped his trembling hands, and at once tried to entreat him. "Brother, brother, " he began. 

"No, don't speak yet, " said Guillaume, "if you absolutely wish it I willlisten to you by-and-by. We have nearly an hour before us, so we canchat. But I want you to understand the futility of all you may thinkneedful to tell me. My resolution is unshakable; I was a long time comingto it, and in carrying it out I shall simply be acting in accordance withmy reason and my conscience. "

Then he quietly related that having decided upon a great deed he had longhesitated as to which edifice he should destroy. The opera-house hadmomentarily tempted him, but he had reflected that there would be nogreat significance in the whirlwind of anger and justice destroying alittle set of enjoyers. In fact, such a deed might savour of jealousy andcovetousness. Next he had thought of the Bourse, where he might strike ablow at money, the great agent of corruption, and the capitalist societyin whose clutches the wage-earners groaned. Only, here again the blowwould fall upon a restricted circle. Then an idea of destroying thePalace of Justice, particularly the assize court, had occurred to him. Itwas a very tempting thought--to wreak justice upon human justice, tosweep away the witnesses, the culprit, the public prosecutor who chargesthe latter, the counsel who defends him, the judges who sentence him, andthe lounging public which comes to the spot as to the unfolding of somesensational serial. And then too what fierce irony there would be in thesummary superior justice of the volcano swallowing up everythingindiscriminately without pausing to enter into details. However, the planover which he had most lingered was that of blowing up the Arc deTriomphe. This he regarded as an odious monument which perpetuatedwarfare, hatred among nations, and the false, dearly purchased, sanguineous glory of conquerors. That colossus raised to the memory of somuch frightful slaughter which had uselessly put an end to so many humanlives, ought, he considered, to be slaughtered in its turn. Could he sohave arranged things that the earth should swallow it up, he might haveachieved the glory of causing no other death than his own, of dyingalone, struck down, crushed to pieces beneath that giant of stone. What atomb, and what a memory might he thus have left to the world!

"But there was no means of approaching it, " he continued, "no basement, no cellar, so I had to give up the idea.... And then, although I'mperfectly willing to die alone, I thought what a loftier and moreterrible lesson there would be in the unjust death of an innocentmultitude, of thousands of unknown people, of all those that might happento be passing. In the same way as human society by dint of injustice, want and harsh regulations causes so many innocent victims, so mustpunishment fall as the lightning falls, indiscriminately killing anddestroying whatever it may encounter in its course. When a man sets hisfoot on an ant-hill, he gives no heed to all the lives which he stampsout. "

Pierre, whom this theory rendered quite indignant, raised a cry ofprotest: "Oh! brother, brother, is it you who are saying such things?"

Yet, Guillaume did not pause: "If I have ended by choosing this basilicaof the Sacred Heart, " he continued, "it is because I found it near athand and easy to destroy. But it is also because it haunts andexasperates me, because I have long since condemned it.... As I haveoften said to you, one cannot imagine anything more preposterous thanParis, our great Paris, crowned and dominated by this temple raised tothe glorification of the absurd. Is it not outrageous that common senseshould receive such a smack after so many centuries of science, that Romeshould claim the right of triumphing in this insolent fashion, on ourloftiest height in the full sunlight? The priests want Paris to repentand do penitence for its liberative work of truth and justice. But itsonly right course is to sweep away all that hampers and insults it in itsmarch towards deliverance. And so may the temple fall with its deity offalsehood and servitude! And may its ruins crush its worshippers, so thatlike one of the old geological revolutions of the world, the catastrophemay resound through the very entrails of mankind, and renew and changeit!"

"Brother, brother!" again cried Pierre, quite beside himself, "is it youwho are talking? What! you, a great scientist, a man of great heart, youhave come to this! What madness is stirring you that you should think andsay such abominable things? On the evening when we confessed our secretsone to the other, you told me of your proud and lofty dream of idealAnarchy. There would be free harmony in life, which left to its naturalforces would of itself create happiness. But you still rebelled againstthe idea of theft and murder. You would not accept them as right ornecessary; you merely explained and excused them. What has happened thenthat you, all brain and thought, should now have become the hateful handthat acts?"

"Salvat has been guillotined, " said Guillaume simply, "and I read hiswill and testament in his last glance. I am merely an executor.... Andwhat has happened, you ask? Why, all that has made me suffer for fourmonths past, the whole social evil which surrounds us, and which must bebrought to an end. "

Silence fell. The brothers looked at one another in the darkness. AndPierre now understood things. He saw that Guillaume was changed, that theterrible gust of revolutionary contagion sweeping over Paris hadtransformed him. It had all come from the duality of his nature, thepresence of contradictory elements within him. On one side one found ascientist whose whole creed lay in observation and experiment, who, indealing with nature, evinced the most cautious logic; while on the otherside was a social dreamer, haunted by ideas of fraternity, equality andjustice, and eager for universal happiness. Thence had first come thetheoretical anarchist that he had been, one in whom science and chimeraswere mingled, who dreamt of human society returning to the harmonious lawof the spheres, each man free, in a free association, regulated by lovealone. Neither Theophile Morin with the doctrines of Proudhon and Comte, nor Bache with those of St. Simon and Fourier, had been able to satisfyhis desire for the absolute. All those systems had seemed to himimperfect and chaotic, destructive of one another, and tending to thesame wretchedness of life. Janzen alone had occasionally satisfied himwith some of his curt phrases which shot over the horizon, like arrowsconquering the whole earth for the human family. And then in Guillaume'sbig heart, which the idea of want, the unjust sufferings of the lowly andthe poor exasperated, Salvat's tragic adventure had suddenly found place, fomenting supreme rebellion. For long weeks he had lived on withtrembling hands, with growing anguish clutching at his throat. First hadcome that bomb and the explosion which still made him quiver, then thevile cupidity of the newspapers howling for the poor wretch's head, thenthe search for him and the hunt through the Bois de Boulogne, till hefell into the hands of the police, covered with mud and dying ofstarvation. And afterwards there had been the assize court, the judges, the gendarmes, the witnesses, the whole of France arrayed against one manand bent on making him pay for the universal crime. And finally, therehad come the guillotine, the monstrous, the filthy beast consummatingirreparable injustice in human justice's name. One sole idea now remainedto Guillaume, that idea of justice which maddened him, leaving naught inhis mind save the thought of the just, avenging flare by which he wouldrepair the evil and ensure that which was right for all time forward. Salvat had looked at him, and contagion had done its work; he glowed witha desire for death, a desire to give his own blood and set the blood ofothers flowing, in order that mankind, amidst its fright and horror, should decree the return of the golden age. 

Pierre understood the stubborn blindness of such insanity; and he feltutterly upset by the fear that he should be unable to overcome it. "Youare mad, brother!" he exclaimed, "they have driven you mad! It is a gustof violence passing; they were treated in a wrong way and toorelentlessly at the outset, and now that they are avenging one another, it may be that blood will never cease to flow.... But, listen, brother, throw off that nightmare. You can't be a Salvat who murders or aBergaz who steals! Remember the pillage of the Princess's house andremember the fair-haired, pretty child whom we saw lying yonder, rippedopen.... You do not, you cannot belong to that set, brother--"

With a wave of his hand, Guillaume brushed these vain reasons aside. Ofwhat consequence were a few lives, his own included? No change had evertaken place in the world without millions and millions of existencesbeing stamped out. 

"But you had a great scheme in hand, " cried Pierre, hoping to save him byreviving his sense of duty. "It isn't allowable for you to go off likethis. "

Then he fervently strove to awaken his brother's scientific pride. Hespoke to him of his secret, of that great engine of warfare, which coulddestroy armies and reduce cities to dust, and which he had intended tooffer to France, so that on emerging victorious from the approaching war, she might afterwards become the deliverer of the world. And it was thisgrand scheme that he had abandoned, preferring to employ his explosive inkilling innocent people and overthrowing a church, which would be builtafresh, whatever the cost, and become a sanctuary of martyrs!

Guillaume smiled. "I have not relinquished my scheme, " said he, "I havesimply modified it. Did I not tell you of my doubts, my anxiousperplexity? Ah! to believe that one holds the destiny of the world inone's grasp, and to tremble and hesitate and wonder if the intelligenceand wisdom, that are needful for things to take the one wise course, willbe forthcoming! At sight of all the stains upon our great Paris, all theerrors and transgressions which we lately witnessed, I shuddered. I askedmyself if Paris were sufficiently calm and pure for one to entrust herwith omnipotence. How terrible would be the disaster if such an inventionas mine should fall into the hands of a demented nation, possibly adictator, some man of conquest, who would simply employ it to terrorizeother nations and reduce them to slavery.... Ah! no, I do not wish toperpetuate warfare, I wish to kill it. "

Then in a clear firm voice he explained his new plan, in which Pierre wassurprised to find some of the ideas which General de Bozonnet had one daylaid before him in a very different spirit. Warfare was on the road toextinction, threatened by its very excesses. In the old days ofmercenaries, and afterwards with conscripts, the percentage of soldiersdesignated by chance, war had been a profession and a passion. Butnowadays, when everybody is called upon to fight, none care to do so. Bythe logical force of things, the system of the whole nation in arms meansthe coming end of armies. How much longer will the nations remain on afooting of deadly peace, bowed down by ever increasing "estimates, "spending millions and millions on holding one another in respect? Ah! howgreat the deliverance, what a cry of relief would go up on the day whensome formidable engine, capable of destroying armies and sweeping citiesaway, should render war an impossibility and constrain every people todisarm! Warfare would be dead, killed in her own turn, she who has killedso many. This was Guillaume's dream, and he grew quite enthusiastic, sostrong was his conviction that he would presently bring it to pass. 

"Everything is settled, " said he; "if I am about to die and disappear, itis in order that my idea may triumph.... You have lately seen me spendwhole afternoons alone with Mere-Grand. Well, we were completing theclassification of the documents and making our final arrangements. Shehas my orders, and will execute them even at the risk of her life, fornone has a braver, loftier soul.... As soon as I am dead, buriedbeneath these stones, as soon as she has heard the explosion shake Parisand proclaim the advent of the new era, she will forward a set of all thedocuments I have confided to her--the formula of my explosive, thedrawings of the bomb and gun--to each of the great powers of the world. In this wise I shall bestow on all the nations the terrible gift ofdestruction and omnipotence which, at first, I wished to bestow on Francealone; and I do this in order that the nations, being one and all armedwith the thunderbolt, may at once disarm, for fear of being annihilated, when seeking to annihilate others. "

Pierre listened to him, gaping, amazed at this extraordinary idea, inwhich childishness was blended with genius. "Well, " said he, "if you giveyour secret to all the nations, why should you blow up this church, anddie yourself?"

"Why! In order that I may be believed!" cried Guillaume withextraordinary force of utterance. Then he added, "The edifice must lie onthe ground, and I must be under it. If the experiment is not made, ifuniversal horror does not attest and proclaim the amazing destructivepower of my explosive, people will consider me a mere schemer, avisionary!... A lot of dead, a lot of blood, that is what is needed inorder that blood may for ever cease to flow!" Then, with a broad sweep ofhis arm, he again declared that his action was necessary. "Besides, " hesaid, "Salvat left me the legacy of carrying out this deed of justice. IfI have given it greater scope and significance, utilising it as a meansof hastening the end of war, this is because I happen to be a man ofintellect. It would have been better possibly if my mind had been asimple one, and if I had merely acted like some volcano which changes thesoil, leaving life the task of renewing humanity. "

Much of the candle had now burnt away, and Guillaume at last rose fromthe block of stone. He had again consulted his watch, and found that hehad ten minutes left him. The little current of air created by hisgestures made the light flicker, while all around him the darkness seemedto grow denser. And near at hand ever lay the threatening open mine whicha spark might at any moment fire. 

"It is nearly time, " said Guillaume. "Come, brother, kiss me and go away. You know how much I love you, what ardent affection for you has beenawakened in my old heart. So love me in like fashion, and find loveenough to let me die as I want to die, in carrying out my duty. Kiss me, kiss me, and go away without turning your head. "

His deep affection for Pierre made his voice tremble, but he struggledon, forced back his tears, and ended by conquering himself. It was as ifhe were no longer of the world, no longer one of mankind. 

"No, brother, you have not convinced me, " said Pierre, who on his sidedid not seek to hide his tears, "and it is precisely because I love youas you love me, with my whole being, my whole soul, that I cannot goaway. It is impossible! You cannot be the madman, the murderer you wouldtry to be. "

"Why not? Am I not free. I have rid my life of all responsibilities, allties.... I have brought up my sons, they have no further need of me. But one heart-link remained--Marie, and I have given her to you. "

At this a disturbing argument occurred to Pierre, and he passionatelyavailed himself of it. "So you want to die because you have given meMarie, " said he. "You still love her, confess it!"

"No!" cried Guillaume, "I no longer love her, I swear it. I gave her toyou. I love her no more. "

"So you fancied; but you can see now that you still love her, for hereyou are, quite upset; whereas none of the terrifying things of which wespoke just now could even move you.... Yes, if you wish to die it isbecause you have lost Marie!"

Guillaume quivered, shaken by what his brother said, and in low, brokenwords he tried to question himself. "No, no, that any love pain shouldhave urged me to this terrible deed would be unworthy--unworthy of mygreat design. No, no, I decided on it in the free exercise of my reason, and I am accomplishing it from no personal motive, but in the name ofjustice and for the benefit of humanity, in order that war and want maycease. "

Then, in sudden anguish, he went on: "Ah! it is cruel of you, brother, cruel of you to poison my delight at dying. I have created all thehappiness I could, I was going off well pleased at leaving you all happy, and now you poison my death. No, no! question it how I may, my heart doesnot ache; if I love Marie, it is simply in the same way as I love you. "

Nevertheless, he remained perturbed, as if fearing lest he might be lyingto himself; and by degrees gloomy anger came over him: "Listen, that isenough, Pierre, " he exclaimed, "time is flying.... For the last time, go away! I order you to do so; I will have it!"

"I will not obey you, Guillaume.... I will stay, and as all myreasoning cannot save you from your insanity, fire your mine, and I willdie with you. "

"You? Die? But you have no right to do so, you are not free!"

"Free, or not, I swear that I will die with you. And if it merely be aquestion of flinging this candle into that hole, tell me so, and I willtake it and fling it there myself. "

He made a gesture at which his brother thought that he was about to carryout his threat. So he caught him by the arm, crying: "Why should you die?It would be absurd. That others should die may be necessary, but you, no!Of what use could be this additional monstrosity? You are endeavouring tosoften me, you are torturing my heart!" Then all at once, imagining thatPierre's offer had concealed another design, Guillaume thundered in afury: "You don't want to take the candle in order to throw it there. Whatyou want to do is to blow it out! And you think I shan't be ablethen--ah! you bad brother!"

In his turn Pierre exclaimed: "Oh! certainly, I'll use every means toprevent you from accomplishing such a frightful and foolish deed!"

"You'll prevent me!"

"Yes, I'll cling to you, I'll fasten my arms to your shoulders, I'll holdyour hands if necessary. "

"Ah! you'll prevent me, you bad brother! You think you'll prevent me!"

Choking and trembling with rage, Guillaume had already caught hold ofPierre, pressing his ribs with his powerful muscular arms. They wereclosely linked together, their eyes fixed upon one another, and theirbreath mingling in that kind of subterranean dungeon, where their bigdancing shadows looked like ghosts. They seemed to be vanishing into thenight, the candle now showed merely like a little yellow tear in themidst of the darkness; and at that moment, in those far depths, a quiversped through the silence of the earth which weighed so heavily upon them. Distant but sonorous peals rang out, as if death itself were somewhereringing its invisible bell. 

"You hear, " stammered Guillaume, "it's their bell up there. The time hascome. I have vowed to act, and you want to prevent me!"

"Yes, I'll prevent you as long as I'm here alive. "

"As long as you are alive, you'll prevent me!"

Guillaume could hear "La Savoyarde" pealing joyfully up yonder; he couldsee the triumphant basilica, overflowing with its ten thousand pilgrims, and blazing with the splendour of the Host amidst the smoke of incense;and blind frenzy came over him at finding himself unable to act, atfinding an obstacle suddenly barring the road to his fixed idea. 

"As long as you are alive, as long as you are alive!" he repeated, besidehimself. "Well, then, die, you wretched brother!"

A fratricidal gleam had darted from his blurred eyes. He hastily stooped, picked up a large brick forgotten there, and raised it with both hands asif it were a club. 

"Ah! I'm willing, " cried Pierre. "Kill me, then; kill your own brotherbefore you kill the others!"

The brick was already descending, but Guillaume's arms must havedeviated, for the weapon only grazed one of Pierre's shoulders. Nevertheless, he sank upon his knees in the gloom. When Guillaume saw himthere he fancied he had dealt him a mortal blow. What was it that hadhappened between them, what had he done? For a moment he remainedstanding, haggard, his mouth open, his eyes dilating with terror. Helooked at his hands, fancying that blood was streaming from them. Then hepressed them to his brow, which seemed to be bursting with pain, as ifhis fixed idea had been torn from him, leaving his skull open. And hehimself suddenly sank upon the ground with a great sob. 

"Oh! brother, little brother, what have I done?" he called. "I am amonster!"

But Pierre had passionately caught him in his arms again. "It is nothing, nothing, brother, I assure you, " he replied. "Ah! you are weeping now. How pleased I am! You are saved, I can feel it, since you are weeping. And what a good thing it is that you flew into such a passion, for youranger with me has dispelled your evil dream of violence. "

"I am horrified with myself, " gasped Guillaume, "to think that I wantedto kill you! Yes, I'm a brute beast that would kill his brother! And theothers, too, all the others up yonder.... Oh! I'm cold, I feel socold. "

His teeth were chattering, and he shivered. It was as if he had awakened, half stupefied, from some evil dream. And in the new light which hisfratricidal deed cast upon things, the scheme which had haunted him andgoaded him to madness appeared like some act of criminal folly, projectedby another. 

"To kill you!" he repeated almost in a whisper. "I shall never forgivemyself. My life is ended, I shall never find courage enough to live. "

But Pierre clasped him yet more tightly. "What do you say?" he answered. "Will there not rather be a fresh and stronger tie of affection betweenus? Ah! yes, brother, let me save you as you saved me, and we shall beyet more closely united! Don't you remember that evening at Neuilly, whenyou consoled me and held me to your heart as I am holding you to mine? Ihad confessed my torments to you, and you told me that I must live andlove!... And you did far more afterwards: you plucked your own lovefrom your breast and gave it to me. You wished to ensure my happiness atthe price of your own! And how delightful it is that, in my turn, I nowhave an opportunity to console you, save you, and bring you back tolife!"

"No, no, the bloodstain is there and it is ineffaceable. I can hope nomore!"

"Yes, yes, you can. Hope in life as you bade me do! Hope in love and hopein labour!"

Still weeping and clasping one another, the brothers continued speakingin low voices. The expiring candle suddenly went out unknown to them, andin the inky night and deep silence their tears of redeeming affectionflowed freely. On the one hand, there was joy at being able to repay adebt of brotherliness, and on the other, acute emotion at having been ledby a fanatical love of justice and mankind to the very verge of crime. And there were yet other things in the depths of those tears whichcleansed and purified them; there were protests against suffering inevery form, and ardent wishes that the world might some day be relievedof all its dreadful woe. 

At last, after pushing the flagstone over the cavity near the pillar, Pierre groped his way out of the vault, leading Guillaume like a child. 

Meantime Mere-Grand, still seated near the window of the workroom, hadimpassively continued sewing. Now and again, pending the arrival of fouro'clock, she had looked up at the timepiece hanging on the wall on herleft hand, or else had glanced out of the window towards the unfinishedpile of the basilica, which a gigantic framework of scaffoldingsencompassed. Slowly and steadily plying her needle, the old lady remainedvery pale and silent, but full of heroic serenity. On the other hand, Marie, who sat near her, embroidering, shifted her position a score oftimes, broke her thread, and grew impatient, feeling strangely nervous, aprey to unaccountable anxiety, which oppressed her heart. For their part, the three young men could not keep in place at all; it was as if somecontagious fever disturbed them. Each had gone to his work: Thomas wasfiling something at his bench; Francois and Antoine were on either sideof their table, the first trying to solve a mathematical problem, and theother copying a bunch of poppies in a vase before him. It was in vain, however, that they strove to be attentive. They quivered at the slightestsound, raised their heads, and darted questioning glances at one another. What could be the matter? What could possess them? What did they fear?Now and again one or the other would rise, stretch himself, and then, resume his place. However, they did not speak; it was as if they darednot say anything, and thus the heavy silence grew more and more terrible. 

When it was a few minutes to four o'clock Mere-Grand felt weary, or elsedesired to collect her thoughts. After another glance at the timepiece, she let her needlework fall on her lap and turned towards the basilica. It seemed to her that she had only enough strength left to wait; and sheremained with her eyes fixed on the huge walls and the forest ofscaffolding which rose over yonder with such triumphant pride under theblue sky. Then all at once, however brave and firm she might be, shecould not restrain a start, for "La Savoyarde" had raised a joyful clang. The consecration of the Host was now at hand, the ten thousand pilgrimsfilled the church, four o'clock was about to strike. And thereupon anirresistible impulse forced the old lady to her feet; she drew herselfup, quivering, her hands clasped, her eyes ever turned yonder, waiting inmute dread. 

"What is the matter?" cried Thomas, who noticed her. "Why are youtrembling, Mere-Grand?"

Francois and Antoine raised their heads, and in turn sprang forward. 

"Are you ill? Why are you turning so pale, you who are so courageous?"

But she did not answer. Ah! might the force of the explosion rend theearth asunder, reach the house and sweep it into the flaming crater ofthe volcano! Might she and the three young men, might they all die withthe father, this was her one ardent wish in order that grief might bespared them. And she remained waiting and waiting, quivering despiteherself, but with her brave, clear eyes ever gazing yonder. 

"Mere-Grand, Mere-Grand!" cried Marie in dismay; "you frighten us byrefusing to answer us, by looking over there as if some misfortune werecoming up at a gallop!"

Then, prompted by the same anguish, the same cry suddenly came fromThomas, Francois and Antoine: "Father is in peril--father is going todie!"

What did they know? Nothing precise, certainly. Thomas no doubt had beenastonished to see what a large quantity of the explosive his father hadrecently prepared, and both Francois and Antoine were aware of the ideasof revolt which he harboured in his mind. But, full of filial deference, they never sought to know anything beyond what he might choose to confideto them. They never questioned him; they bowed to whatever he might do. And yet now a foreboding came to them, a conviction that their father wasgoing to die, that some most frightful catastrophe was impending. It musthave been that which had already sent such a quiver through theatmosphere ever since the morning, making them shiver with fever, feelill at ease, and unable to work. 

"Father is going to die, father is going to die!"

The three big fellows had drawn close together, distracted by one and thesame anguish, and furiously longing to know what the danger was, in orderthat they might rush upon it and die with their father if they could notsave him. And amidst Mere-Grand's stubborn silence death once moreflitted through the room: there came a cold gust such as they had alreadyfelt brushing past them during _dejeuner_. 

At last four o'clock began to strike, and Mere-Grand raised her whitehands with a gesture of supreme entreaty. It was then that she at lastspoke: "Father is going to die. Nothing but the duty of living can savehim. "

At this the three young men again wished to rush yonder, whither theyknew not; but they felt that they must throw down all obstacles andconquer. Their powerlessness rent their hearts, they were both so franticand so woeful that their grandmother strove to calm them. "Father's ownwish was to die, " said she, "and he is resolved to die alone. "

They shuddered as they heard her, and then, on their side, strove to beheroic. But the minutes crept by, and it seemed as if the cold gust hadslowly passed away. Sometimes, at the twilight hour, a night-bird willcome in by the window like some messenger of misfortune, flit round thedarkened room, and then fly off again, carrying its sadness with it. Andit was much like that; the gust passed, the basilica remained standing, the earth did not open to swallow it. Little by little the atrociousanguish which wrung their hearts gave place to hope. And when at lastGuillaume appeared, followed by Pierre, a great cry of resurrection camefrom one and all: "Father!"

Their kisses, their tears, deprived him of his little remaining strength. He was obliged to sit down. He had glanced round him as if he werereturning to life perforce. Mere-Grand, who understood what bitterfeelings must have followed the subjugation of his will, approached himsmiling, and took hold of both his hands as if to tell him that she waswell pleased at seeing him again, and at finding that he accepted histask and was unwilling to desert the cause of life. For his part hesuffered dreadfully, the shock had been so great. The others spared himany narrative of their feelings; and he, himself, related nothing. With agesture, a loving word, he simply indicated that it was Pierre who hadsaved him. 

Thereupon, in a corner of the room, Marie flung her arms round the youngman's neck. "Ah! my good Pierre, I have never yet kissed you, " said she;"I want it to be for something serious the first time.... I love you, my good Pierre, I love you with all my heart. "

Later that same evening, after night had fallen, Guillaume and Pierreremained for a moment alone in the big workroom. The young men had goneout, and Mere-Grand and Marie were upstairs sorting some house linen, while Madame Mathis, who had brought some work back, sat patiently in adim corner waiting for another bundle of things which might requiremending. The brothers, steeped in the soft melancholy of the twilighthour, and chatting in low tones, had quite forgotten her. 

But all at once the arrival of a visitor upset them. It was Janzen withthe fair, Christ-like face. He called very seldom nowadays; and one neverknew from what gloomy spot he had come or into what darkness he wouldreturn when he took his departure. He disappeared, indeed, for monthstogether, and was then suddenly to be seen like some momentary passer-bywhose past and present life were alike unknown. 

"I am leaving to-night, " he said in a voice sharp like a knife. 

"Are you going back to your home in Russia?" asked Guillaume. 

A faint, disdainful smile appeared on the Anarchist's lips. "Home!" saidhe, "I am at home everywhere. To begin with, I am not a Russian, and thenI recognise no other country than the world. "

With a sweeping gesture he gave them to understand what manner of man hewas, one who had no fatherland of his own, but carried his gory dream offraternity hither and thither regardless of frontiers. From some words hespoke the brothers fancied he was returning to Spain, where somefellow-Anarchists awaited him. There was a deal of work to be done there, it appeared. He had quietly seated himself, chatting on in his cold way, when all at once he serenely added: "By the by, a bomb had just beenthrown into the Cafe de l'Univers on the Boulevard. Three _bourgeois_were killed. "

Pierre and Guillaume shuddered, and asked for particulars. ThereuponJanzen related that he had happened to be there, had heard the explosion, and seen the windows of the cafe shivered to atoms. Three customers werelying on the floor blown to pieces. Two of them were gentlemen, who hadentered the place by chance and whose names were not known, while thethird was a regular customer, a petty cit of the neighbourhood, who cameevery day to play a game at dominoes. And the whole place was wrecked;the marble tables were broken, the chandeliers twisted out of shape, themirrors studded with projectiles. And how great the terror and theindignation, and how frantic the rush of the crowd! The perpetrator ofthe deed had been arrested immediately--in fact, just as he was turningthe corner of the Rue Caumartin. 

"I thought I would come and tell you of it, " concluded Janzen; "it iswell you should know it. "

Then as Pierre, shuddering and already suspecting the truth, asked him ifhe knew who the man was that had been arrested, he slowly replied: "Theworry is that you happen to know him--it was little Victor Mathis. "

Pierre tried to silence Janzen too late. He had suddenly remembered thatVictor's mother had been sitting in a dark corner behind them a shorttime previously. Was she still there? Then he again pictured Victor, slight and almost beardless, with a straight, stubborn brow, grey eyesglittering with intelligence, a pointed nose and thin lips expressive ofstern will and unforgiving hatred. He was no simple and lowly one fromthe ranks of the disinherited. He was an educated scion of the_bourgeoisie_, and but for circumstances would have entered the EcoleNormale. There was no excuse for his abominable deed, there was nopolitical passion, no humanitarian insanity, in it. He was the destroyerpure and simple, the theoretician of destruction, the cold energetic manof intellect who gave his cultivated mind to arguing the cause of murder, in his desire to make murder an instrument of the social evolution. True, he was also a poet, a visionary, but the most frightful of allvisionaries: a monster whose nature could only be explained by mad pride, and who craved for the most awful immortality, dreaming that the comingdawn would rise from the arms of the guillotine. Only one thing couldsurpass him: the scythe of death which blindly mows the world. 

For a few seconds, amidst the growing darkness, cold horror reigned inthe workroom. "Ah!" muttered Guillaume, "he had the daring to do it, hehad. "

Pierre, however, lovingly pressed his arm. And he felt that he was asdistracted, as upset, as himself. Perhaps this last abomination had beenneeded to ravage and cure him. 

Janzen no doubt had been an accomplice in the deed. He was relating thatVictor's purpose had been to avenge Salvat, when all at once a great sighof pain was heard in the darkness, followed by a heavy thud upon thefloor. It was Madame Mathis falling like a bundle, overwhelmed by thenews which chance had brought her. At that moment it so happened thatMere-Grand came down with a lamp, which lighted up the room, andthereupon they hurried to the help of the wretched woman, who lay thereas pale as a corpse in her flimsy black gown. 

And this again brought Pierre an indescribable heart-pang. Ah! the poor, sad, suffering creature! He remembered her at Abbe Rose's, so discreet, so shamefaced, in her poverty, scarce able to live upon the slenderresources which persistent misfortunes had left her. Hers had indeed beena cruel lot: first, a home with wealthy parents in the provinces, a lovestory and elopement with the man of her choice; next, ill-luck steadilypursuing her, all sorts of home troubles, and at last her husband'sdeath. Then, in the retirement of her widowhood, after losing the bestpart of the little income which had enabled her to bring up her son, naught but this son had been left to her. He had been her Victor, hersole affection, the only one in whom she had faith. She had ever strivento believe that he was very busy, absorbed in work, and on the eve ofattaining to some superb position worthy of his merits. And now, all atonce, she had learnt that this fondly loved son was simply the mostodious of assassins, that he had flung a bomb into a cafe, and had therekilled three men. 

When Madame Mathis had recovered her senses, thanks to the carefultending of Mere-Grand, she sobbed on without cessation, raising such acontinuous doleful wail, that Pierre's hand again sought Guillaume's, andgrasped it, whilst their hearts, distracted but healed, mingled lovinglyone with the other. 

V. LIFE'S WORK AND PROMISE

FIFTEEN months later, one fine golden day in September, Bache andTheophile Morin were taking _dejeuner_ at Guillaume's, in the bigworkroom overlooking the immensity of Paris. 

Near the table was a cradle with its little curtains drawn. Behind themslept Jean, a fine boy four months old, the son of Pierre and Marie. Thelatter, simply in order to protect the child's social rights, had beenmarried civilly at the town-hall of Montmartre. Then, by way of pleasingGuillaume, who wished to keep them with him, and thus enlarge the familycircle, they had continued living in the little lodging over thework-shop, leaving the sleepy house at Neuilly in the charge of Sophie, Pierre's old servant. And life had been flowing on happily for thefourteen months or so that they had now belonged to one another. 

There was simply peace, affection and work around the young couple. Francois, who had left the Ecole Normale provided with every degree, every diploma, was now about to start for a college in the west ofFrance, so as to serve his term of probation as a professor, intending toresign his post afterwards and devote himself, if he pleased, to sciencepure and simple. Then Antoine had lately achieved great success with aseries of engravings he had executed--some views and scenes of Parislife; and it was settled that he was to marry Lise Jahan in the ensuingspring, when she would have completed her seventeenth year. Of the threesons, however, Thomas was the most triumphant, for he had at last devisedand constructed his little motor, thanks to a happy idea of his father's. One morning, after the downfall of all his huge chimerical schemes, Guillaume, remembering the terrible explosive which he had discovered andhitherto failed to utilise, had suddenly thought of employing it as amotive force, in the place of petroleum, in the motor which his eldestson had so long been trying to construct for the Grandidier works. So hehad set to work with Thomas, devising a new mechanism, encounteringendless difficulties, and labouring for a whole year before reachingsuccess. But now the father and son had accomplished their task; themarvel was created, and stood there riveted to an oak stand, and ready towork as soon as its final toilet should have been performed. 

Amidst all the changes which had occurred, Mere-Grand, in spite of hergreat age, continued exercising her active, silent sway over thehousehold, which was now again so gay and peaceful. Though she seldomseemed to leave her chair in front of her work-table, she was reallyhere, there and everywhere. Since the birth of Jean, she had talked ofrearing the child in the same way as she had formerly reared Thomas, Francois and Antoine. She was indeed full of the bravery of devotion, andseemed to think that she was not at all likely to die so long as shemight have others to guide, love and save. Marie marvelled at it all. Sheherself, though she was always gay and in good health, felt tired attimes now that she was suckling her infant. Little Jean indeed had twovigilant mothers near his cradle; whilst his father, Pierre, who hadbecome Thomas's assistant, pulled the bellows, roughened out pieces ofmetal, and generally completed his apprenticeship as a workingmechanician. 

On the particular day when Bache and Theophile Morin came to Montmartre, the _dejeuner_ proved even gayer than usual, thanks perhaps to theirpresence. The meal was over, the table had been cleared, and the coffeewas being served, when a little boy, the son of a doorkeeper in the RueCortot, came to ask for Monsieur Pierre Froment. When they inquired hisbusiness, he answered in a hesitating way that Monsieur l'Abbe Rose wasvery ill, indeed dying, and that he had sent him to fetch Monsieur PierreFroment at once. 

Pierre followed the lad, feeling much affected; and on reaching the RueCortot he there found Abbe Rose in a little damp ground-floor roomoverlooking a strip of garden. The old priest was in bed, dying as theboy had said, but he still retained the use of his faculties, and couldspeak in his wonted slow and gentle voice. A Sister of Charity waswatching beside him, and she seemed so surprised and anxious at thearrival of a visitor whom she did not know, that Pierre understood shewas there to guard the dying man and prevent him from having intercoursewith others. The old priest must have employed some stratagem in order tosend the doorkeeper's boy to fetch him. However, when Abbe Rose in hisgrave and kindly way begged the Sister to leave them alone for a moment, she dared not refuse this supreme request, but immediately left the room. 

"Ah! my dear child, " said the old man, "how much I wanted to speak toyou! Sit down there, close to the bed, so that you may be able to hearme, for this is the end; I shall no longer be here to-night. And I havesuch a great service to ask of you. "

Quite upset at finding his friend so wasted, with his face white like asheet, and scarce a sign of life save the sparkle of his innocent, lovingeyes, Pierre responded: "But I would have come sooner if I had known youwere in need of me! Why did you not send for me before? Are people beingkept away from you?"

A faint smile of shame and confession appeared on the old priest'sembarrassed face. "Well, my dear child, " said he, "you must know that Ihave again done some foolish things. Yes, I gave money to some peoplewho, it seems, were not deserving of it. In fact, there was quite ascandal; they scolded me at the Archbishop's palace, and accused me ofcompromising the interests of religion. And when they heard that I wasill, they put that good Sister beside me, because they said that I shoulddie on the floor, and give the very sheets off my bed if I were notprevented. "

He paused to draw breath, and then continued: "So you understand, thatgood Sister--oh! she is a very saintly woman--is here to nurse me andprevent me from still doing foolish things. To overcome her vigilance Ihad to use a little deceit, for which God, I trust, will forgive me. Asit happens, it's precisely my poor who are in question; it was to speakto you about them that I so particularly wished to see you. "

Tears had come to Pierre's eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do, " heanswered; "I am yours, both heart and soul. "

"Yes, yes, I know it, my dear child. It was for that reason that Ithought of you--you alone. In spite of all that has happened, you are theonly one in whom I have any confidence, who can understand me, and giveme a promise which will enable me to die in peace. "

This was the only allusion he would venture to make to the cruel rupturewhich had occurred after the young man had thrown off his cassock andrebelled against the Church. He had since heard of Pierre's marriage, andwas aware that he had for ever severed all religious ties. But at thatsupreme moment nothing of this seemed of any account to the old priest. His knowledge of Pierre's loving heart sufficed him, for all that he nowdesired was simply the help of that heart which he had seen glowing withsuch passionate charity. 

"Well, " he resumed, again finding sufficient strength to smile, "it is avery simple matter. I want to make you my heir. Oh! it isn't a finelegacy I am leaving you; it is the legacy of my poor, for I have nothingelse to bestow on you; I shall leave nothing behind me but my poor. "

Of these unhappy creatures, three in particular quite upset his heart. Herecoiled from the prospect of leaving them without chance of succour, without even the crumbs which he had hitherto distributed among them, andwhich had enabled them to live. One was the big Old'un, the agedcarpenter whom he and Pierre had vainly sought one night with the objectof sending him to the Asylum for the Invalids of Labour. He had been sentthere a little later, but he had fled three days afterwards, unwilling ashe was to submit to the regulations. Wild and violent, he had the mostdetestable disposition. Nevertheless, he could not be left to starve. Hecame to Abbe Rose's every Saturday, it seemed, and received a franc, which sufficed him for the whole week. Then, too, there was a bedriddenold woman in a hovel in the Rue du Mont-Cenis. The baker, who everymorning took her the bread she needed, must be paid. And in particularthere was a poor young woman residing on the Place du Tertre, one who wasunmarried but a mother. She was dying of consumption, unable to work, andtortured by the idea that when she should have gone, her daughter mustsink to the pavement like herself. And in this instance the legacy wastwofold: there was the mother to relieve until her death, which was nearat hand, and then the daughter to provide for until she could be placedin some good household. 

"You must forgive me, my dear child, for leaving you all these worries, "added Abbe Rose. "I tried to get the good Sister, who is nursing me, totake an interest in these poor people, but when I spoke to her of the bigOld'un, she was so alarmed that she made the sign of the cross. And it'sthe same with my worthy friend Abbe Tavernier. I know nobody of moreupright mind. Still I shouldn't be at ease with him, he has ideas of hisown.... And so, my dear child, there is only you whom I can rely upon, and you must accept my legacy if you wish me to depart in peace. "

Pierre was weeping. "Ah! certainly, with my whole soul, " he answered. "Ishall regard your desires as sacred. "

"Good! I knew you would accept.... So it is agreed: a franc for thebig Old'un every Saturday, the bread for the bedridden woman, some helpfor the poor young mother, and then a home for her little girl. Ah! ifyou only knew what a weight it is off my heart! The end may come now, itwill be welcome to me. "

His kind white face had brightened as if with supreme joy. HoldingPierre's hand within his own he detained him beside the bed, exchanging afarewell full of serene affection. And his voice weakening, he expressedhis whole mind in faint, impressive accents: "Yes, I shall be pleased togo off. I could do no more, I could do no more! Though I gave and gave, Ifelt that it was ever necessary to give more and more. And how sad tofind charity powerless, to give without hope of ever being able to stampout want and suffering! I rebelled against that idea of yours, as youwill remember. I told you that we should always love one another in ourpoor, and that was true, since you are here, so good and affectionate tome and those whom I am leaving behind. But, all the same, I can do nomore, I can do no more; and I would rather go off, since the woes ofothers rise higher and higher around me, and I have ended by doing themost foolish things, scandalising the faithful and making my superiorsindignant with me, without even saving one single poor person from theever-growing torrent of want. Farewell, my dear child. My poor old heartgoes off aching, my old hands are weary and conquered. "

Pierre embraced him with his whole soul, and then departed. His eyes werefull of tears and indescribable emotion wrung his heart. Never had heheard a more woeful cry than that confession of the impotence of charity, on the part of that old candid child, whose heart was all simplicity andsublime benevolence. Ah! what a disaster, that human kindness should befutile, that the world should always display so much distress andsuffering in spite of all the compassionate tears that had been shed, inspite of all the alms that had fallen from millions and millions of handsfor centuries and centuries! No wonder that it should bring desire fordeath, no wonder that a Christian should feel pleased at escaping fromthe abominations of this earth!

When Pierre again reached the workroom he found that the table had longsince been cleared, and that Bache and Morin were chatting withGuillaume, whilst the latter's sons had returned to their customaryoccupations. Marie, also, had resumed her usual place at the work-tablein front of Mere-Grand; but from time to time she rose and went to lookat Jean, so as to make sure that he was sleeping peacefully, with hislittle clenched fists pressed to his heart. And when Pierre, who kept hisemotion to himself, had likewise leant over the cradle beside the youngwoman, whose hair he discreetly kissed, he went to put on an apron inorder that he might assist Thomas, who was now, for the last time, regulating his motor. 

Then, as Pierre stood there awaiting an opportunity to help, the roomvanished from before his eyes; he ceased to see or hear the persons whowere there. The scent of Marie's hair alone lingered on his lips amidstthe acute emotion into which he had been thrown by his visit to AbbeRose. A recollection had come to him, that of the bitterly cold morningwhen the old priest had stopped him outside the basilica of the SacredHeart, and had timidly asked him to take some alms to that old manLaveuve, who soon afterwards had died of want, like a dog by the wayside. How sad a morning it had been; what battle and torture had Pierre notfelt within him, and what a resurrection had come afterwards! He had thatday said one of his last masses, and he recalled with a shudder hisabominable anguish, his despairing doubts at the thought of nothingness. Two experiments which he had previously made had failed most miserably. First had come one at Lourdes, where the glorification of the absurd hadsimply filled him with pity for any such attempt to revert to theprimitive faith of young nations, who bend beneath the terror born ofignorance; and, secondly, there had been an experiment at Rome, which hehad found incapable of any renewal, and which he had seen staggering toits death amidst its ruins, a mere great shadow, which would soon be ofno account, fast sinking, as it was, to the dust of dead religions. And, in his own mind, Charity itself had become bankrupt; he no longerbelieved that alms could cure the sufferings of mankind, he awaitednaught but a frightful catastrophe, fire and massacre, which would sweepaway the guilty, condemned world. His cassock, too, stifled him, a liealone kept it on his shoulders, the idea, unbelieving priest though hewas, that he could honestly and chastely watch over the belief of others. The problem of a new religion, a new hope, such as was needful to ensurethe peace of the coming democracies tortured him, but between thecertainties of science and the need of the Divine, which seemed toconsume humanity, he could find no solution. If Christianity crumbledwith the principle of Charity, there could remain nothing else butJustice, that cry which came from every breast, that battle of Justiceagainst Charity in which his heart must contend in that great city ofParis. It was there that began his third and decisive experiment, theexperiment which was to make truth as plain to him as the sun itself, andgive him back health and strength and delight in life. 

At this point of his reverie Pierre was roused by Thomas, who asked himto fetch a tool. As he did so he heard Bache remarking: "The ministryresigned this morning. Vignon has had enough of it, he wants to reservehis remaining strength. "

"Well, he has lasted more than a twelvemonth, " replied Morin. "That'salready an achievement. "

After the crime of Victor Mathis, who had been tried and executed withinthree weeks, Monferrand had suddenly fallen from power. What was the useof having a strong-handed man at the head of the Government if bombsstill continued to terrify the country? Moreover, he had displeased theChamber by his voracious appetite, which had prevented him from allowingothers more than an infinitesimal share of all the good things. And thistime he had been succeeded by Vignon, although the latter's programme ofreforms had long made people tremble. He, Vignon, was honest certainly, but of all these reforms he had only been able to carry out a fewinsignificant ones, for he had found himself hampered by a thousandobstacles. And thus he had resigned himself to ruling the country asothers had done; and people had discovered that after all there were butfaint shades of difference between him and Monferrand. 

"You know that Monferrand is being spoken of again?" said Guillaume. 

"Yes, and he has some chance of success. His creatures are bestirringthemselves tremendously, " replied Bache, adding, in a bitter, jestingway, that Mege, the Collectivist leader, played the part of a dupe inoverthrowing ministry after ministry. He simply gratified the ambition ofeach coterie in turn, without any possible chance of attaining to powerhimself. 

Thereupon Guillaume pronounced judgment. "Oh! well, let them devour oneanother, " said he. "Eager as they all are to reign and dispose of powerand wealth, they only fight over questions of persons. And nothing theydo can prevent the evolution from continuing. Ideas expand, and eventsoccur, and, over and above everything else, mankind is marching on. "

Pierre was greatly struck by these words, and he again recalled the past. His dolorous Parisian experiment had begun, and he was once more roamingthrough the city. Paris seemed to him to be a huge vat, in which a worldfermented, something of the best and something of the worst, a frightfulmixture such as sorceresses might have used; precious powders mingledwith filth, from all of which was to come the philter of love and eternalyouth. And in that vat Pierre first marked the scum of the politicalworld: Monferrand who strangled Barroux, who purchased the support ofhungry ones such as Fonsegue, Duthil and Chaigneux, who made use of thosewho attained to mediocrity, such as Taboureau and Dauvergne; and whoemployed even the sectarian passions of Mege and the intelligent ambitionof Vignon as his weapons. Next came money the poisoner, with that affairof the African Railways, which had rotted the Parliament and turnedDuvillard, the triumphant _bourgeois_, into a public perverter, the verycancer as it were of the financial world. Then as a just consequence ofall this there was Duvillard's own home infected by himself, thatfrightful drama of Eve contending with her daughter Camille for thepossession of Gerard, then Camille stealing him from her mother, andHyacinthe, the son, passing his crazy mistress Rosemonde on to thatnotorious harlot Silviane, with whom his father publicly exhibitedhimself. Then there was the old expiring aristocracy, with the pale, sadfaces of Madame de Quinsac and the Marquis de Morigny; the old militaryspirit whose funeral was conducted by General de Bozonnet; the magistracywhich slavishly served the powers of the day, Amadieu thrusting himselfinto notoriety by means of sensational cases, Lehmann, the publicprosecutor, preparing his speeches in the private room of the Ministerwhose policy he defended; and, finally, the mendacious and cupid Presswhich lived upon scandal, the everlasting flood of denunciation and filthwhich poured from Sagnier, and the gay impudence shown by theunscrupulous and conscienceless Massot, who attacked all and defendedall, by profession and to order! And in the same way as insects, ondiscovering one of their own kind dying, will often finish it off andfatten upon it, so the whole swarm of appetites, interests and passionshad fallen upon a wretched madman, that unhappy Salvat, whose idioticcrime had brought them all scrambling together, gluttonously eager toderive some benefit from that starveling's emaciated carcass. And allboiled in the huge vat of Paris; the desires, the deeds of violence, thestrivings of one and another man's will, the whole nameless medley of thebitterest ferments, whence, in all purity, the wine of the future wouldat last flow. 

Then Pierre became conscious of the prodigious work which went on in thedepths of the vat, beneath all the impurity and waste. As his brother hadjust said, what mattered the stains, the egotism and greed ofpoliticians, if humanity were still on the march, ever slowly andstubbornly stepping forward! What mattered, too, that corrupt andemasculate _bourgeoisie_, nowadays as moribund as the aristocracy, whoseplace it took, if behind it there ever came the inexhaustible reserve ofmen who surged up from the masses of the country-sides and the towns!What mattered the debauchery, the perversion arising from excess ofwealth and power, the luxuriousness and dissoluteness of life, since itseemed a proven fact that the capitals that had been queens of the worldhad never reigned without extreme civilisation, a cult of beauty and ofpleasure! And what mattered even the venality, the transgressions and thefolly of the press, if at the same time it remained an admirableinstrument for the diffusion of knowledge, the open conscience, so tosay, of the nation, a river which, though there might be horrors on itssurface, none the less flowed on, carrying all nations to the brotherlyocean of the future centuries! The human lees ended by sinking to thebottom of the vat, and it was not possible to expect that what was rightwould triumph visibly every day; for it was often necessary that yearsshould elapse before the realisation of some hope could emerge from thefermentation. Eternal matter is ever being cast afresh into the crucibleand ever coming from it improved. And if in the depths of pestilentialworkshops and factories the slavery of ancient times subsists in thewage-earning system, if such men as Toussaint still die of want on theirpallets like broken-down beasts of burden, it is nevertheless a fact thatonce already, on a memorable day of tempest, Liberty sprang forth fromthe vat to wing her flight throughout the world. And why in her turnshould not Justice spring from it, proceeding from those troubledelements, freeing herself from all dross, flowing forth with dazzlinglimpidity and regenerating the nations?

However, the voices of Bache and Morin, rising in the course of theirchat with Guillaume, once more drew Pierre from his reverie. They werenow speaking of Janzen, who after being compromised in a fresh outrage atBarcelona had fled from Spain. Bache fancied that he had recognised himin the street only the previous day. To think that a man with so clear amind and such keen energy should waste his natural gifts in such ahateful cause!

"When I remember, " said Morin slowly, "that Barthes lives in exile in ashabby little room at Brussels, ever quivering with the hope that thereign of liberty is at hand--he who has never had a drop of blood on hishands and who has spent two-thirds of his life in prison in order thatthe nations may be freed!"

Bache gently shrugged his shoulders: "Liberty, liberty, of course, " saidhe; "only it is worth nothing if it is not organised. "

Thereupon their everlasting discussion began afresh, with Saint-Simon andFourier on one side and Proudhon and Auguste Comte on the other. Bachegave a long account of the last commemoration which had taken place inhonour of Fourier's memory, how faithful disciples had brought wreathsand made speeches, forming quite a meeting of apostles, who allstubbornly clung to their faith, as confident in the future as if theywere the messengers of some new gospel. Afterwards Morin emptied hispockets, which were always full of Positivist tracts and pamphlets, manifestos, answers and so forth, in which Comte's doctrines wereextolled as furnishing the only possible basis for the new, awaitedreligion. Pierre, who listened, thereupon remembered the disputes in hislittle house at Neuilly when he himself, searching for certainty, hadendeavoured to draw up the century's balance-sheet. He had lost hisdepth, in the end, amidst the contradictions and incoherency of thevarious precursors. Although Fourier had sprung from Saint-Simon, hedenied him in part, and if Saint-Simon's doctrine ended in a kind ofmystical sensuality, the other's conducted to an inacceptable regimentingof society. Proudhon, for his part, demolished without rebuildinganything. Comte, who created method and declared science to be the oneand only sovereign, had not even suspected the advent of the socialcrisis which now threatened to sweep all away, and had finishedpersonally as a mere worshipper of love, overpowered by woman. Nevertheless, these two, Comte and Proudhon, entered the lists and foughtagainst the others, Fourier and Saint-Simon; the combat between them ortheir disciples becoming so bitter and so blind that the truths common tothem all at first seemed obscured and disfigured beyond recognition. Now, however, that evolution had slowly transformed Pierre, those commontruths seemed to him as irrefutable, as clear as the sunlight itself. Amidst the chaos of conflicting assertions which was to be found in thegospels of those social messiahs, there were certain similar phrases andprinciples which recurred again and again, the defence of the poor, theidea of a new and just division of the riches of the world in accordancewith individual labour and merit, and particularly the search for a newlaw of labour which would enable this fresh distribution to be madeequitably. Since all the precursory men of genius agreed so closely uponthose points, must they not be the very foundations of to-morrow's newreligion, the necessary faith which this century must bequeath to thecoming century, in order that the latter may make of it a human religionof peace, solidarity and love?

Then, all at once, there came a leap in Pierre's thoughts. He fanciedhimself at the Madeleine once more, listening to the address on the NewSpirit delivered by Monseigneur Martha, who had predicted that Paris, nowreconverted to Christianity, would, thanks to the Sacred Heart, becomethe ruler of the world. But no, but no! If Paris reigned, it was becauseit was able to exercise its intelligence freely. To set the cross and themystic and repulsive symbolism of a bleeding heart above it was simply somuch falsehood. Although they might rear edifices of pride and dominationas if to crush Paris with their very weight, although they might try tostop science in the name of a dead ideal and in the hope of setting theirclutches upon the coming century, these attempts would be of no avail. Science will end by sweeping away all remnants of their ancientsovereignty, their basilica will crumble beneath the breeze of Truthwithout any necessity of raising a finger against it. The trial has beenmade, the Gospel as a social code has fallen to pieces, and human wisdomcan only retain account of its moral maxims. Ancient Catholicism is onall sides crumbling into dust, Catholic Rome is a mere field of ruinsfrom which the nations turn aside, anxious as they are for a religionthat shall not be a religion of death. In olden times the overburdenedslave, glowing with a new hope and seeking to escape from his gaol, dreamt of a heaven where in return for his earthly misery he would berewarded with eternal enjoyment. But now that science has destroyed thatfalse idea of a heaven, and shown what dupery lies in reliance on themorrow of death, the slave, the workman, weary of dying for happiness'sake, demands that justice and happiness shall find place upon thisearth. Therein lies the new hope--Justice, after eighteen hundred yearsof impotent Charity. Ah! in a thousand years from now, when Catholicismwill be naught but a very ancient superstition of the past, how amazedmen will be to think that their ancestors were able to endure thatreligion of torture and nihility! How astonished they will feel onfinding that God was regarded as an executioner, that manhood wasthreatened, maimed and chastised, that nature was accounted an enemy, that life was looked upon as something accursed, and that death alone waspronounced sweet and liberating! For well-nigh two thousand years theonward march of mankind has been hampered by the odious idea of tearingall that is human away from man: his desires, his passions, his freeintelligence, his will and right of action, his whole strength. And howglorious will be the awakening when such virginity as is now honoured bythe Church is held in derision, when fruitfulness is again recognised asa virtue, amidst the hosanna of all the freed forces of nature--man'sdesires which will be honoured, his passions which will be utilised, hislabour which will be exalted, whilst life is loved and ever and evercreates love afresh!

A new religion! a new religion! Pierre remembered the cry which hadescaped him at Lourdes, and which he had repeated at Rome in presence ofthe collapse of old Catholicism. But he no longer displayed the samefeverish eagerness as then--a puerile, sickly desire that a new Divinityshould at once reveal himself, an ideal come into being, complete in allrespects, with dogmas and form of worship. The Divine certainly seemed tobe as necessary to man as were bread and water; he had ever fallen backupon it, hungering for the mysterious, seemingly having no other means ofconsolation than that of annihilating himself in the unknown. But who cansay that science will not some day quench the thirst for what lies beyondus? If the domain of science embraces the acquired truths, it alsoembraces, and will ever do so, the truths that remain to be acquired. Andin front of it will there not ever remain a margin for the thirst ofknowledge, for the hypotheses which are but so much ideality? Besides, isnot the yearning for the divine simply a desire to behold the Divinity?And if science should more and more content the yearning to know all andbe able to do all, will not that yearning be quieted and end by minglingwith the love of acquired truth? A religion grafted on science is theindicated, certain, inevitable finish of man's long march towardsknowledge. He will come to it at last as to a natural haven, as to peacein the midst of certainty, after passing every form of ignorance andterror on his road. And is there not already some indication of such areligion? Has not the idea of the duality of God and the Universe beenbrushed aside, and is not the principle of unity, _monisme_, becomingmore and more evident--unity leading to solidarity, and the sole law oflife proceeding by evolution from the first point of the ether thatcondensed to create the world? But if precursors, scientists andphilosophers--Darwin, Fourier and all the others--have sown the seed ofto-morrow's religion by casting the good word to the passing breeze, howmany centuries will doubtless be required to raise the crop! Peoplealways forget that before Catholicism grew up and reigned in thesunlight, it spent four centuries in germinating and sprouting from thesoil. Well, then, grant some centuries to this religion of science ofwhose sprouting there are signs upon all sides, and by-and-by theadmirable ideas of some Fourier will be seen expanding and forming a newgospel, with desire serving as the lever to raise the world, workaccepted by one and all, honoured and regulated as the very mechanism ofnatural and social life, and the passions of man excited, contented andutilised for human happiness! The universal cry of Justice, which riseslouder and louder, in a growing clamour from the once silent multitude, the people that have so long been duped and preyed upon, is but a cry forthis happiness towards which human beings are tending, the happiness thatembodies the complete satisfaction of man's needs, and the principle oflife loved for its own sake, in the midst of peace and the expansion ofevery force and every joy. The time will come when this Kingdom of Godwill be set upon the earth; so why not close that other deceptiveparadise, even if the weak-minded must momentarily suffer from thedestruction of their illusions; for it is necessary to operate even withcruelty on the blind if they are to be extricated from their misery, fromtheir long and frightful night of ignorance!

All at once a feeling of deep joy came over Pierre. A child's faint cry, the wakening cry of his son Jean had drawn him from his reverie. And hehad suddenly remembered that he himself was now saved, freed fromfalsehood and fright, restored to good and healthy nature. How hequivered as he recalled that he had once fancied himself lost, blottedout of life, and that a prodigy of love had extricated him from hisnothingness, still strong and sound, since that dear child of his wasthere, sturdy and smiling. Life had brought forth life; and truth hadburst forth, as dazzling as the sun. He had made his third experimentwith Paris, and this had been conclusive; it had been no wretchedmiscarriage with increase of darkness and grief, like his otherexperiments at Lourdes and Rome. In the first place, the law of labourhad been revealed to him, and he had imposed upon himself a task, ashumble a one as it was, that manual calling which he was learning so latein life, but which was, nevertheless, a form of labour, and one in whichhe would never fail, one too that would lend him the serenity which comesfrom the accomplishment of duty, for life itself was but labour: it wasonly by effort that the world existed. And then, moreover, he had loved;and salvation had come to him from woman and from his child. Ah! what along and circuitous journey he had made to reach this finish at once sonatural and so simple! How he had suffered, how much error and anger hehad known before doing what all men ought to do! That eager, glowing lovewhich had contended against his reason, which had bled at sight of thearrant absurdities of the miraculous grotto of Lourdes, which had bledagain too in presence of the haughty decline of the Vatican, had at lastfound contentment now that he was husband and father, now that he hadconfidence in work and believed in the just laws of life. And thence hadcome the indisputable truth, the one solution--happiness in certainty. 

Whilst Pierre was thus plunged in thought, Bache and Morin had alreadygone off with their customary handshakes and promises to come and chatagain some evening. And as Jean was now crying more loudly, Marie tookhim in her arms and unhooked her dress-body to give him her breast. 

"Oh! the darling, it's his time, you know, and he doesn't forget it!" shesaid. "Just look, Pierre, I believe he has got bigger since yesterday. "

She laughed; and Pierre, likewise laughing, drew near to kiss the child. And afterwards he kissed his wife, mastered as he was by emotion at thesight of that pink, gluttonous little creature imbibing life from thatlovely breast so full of milk. 

"Why! he'll eat you, " he gaily said to Marie. "How he's pulling!"

"Oh! he does bite me a little, " she replied; "but I like that the better, it shows that he profits by it. "

Then Mere-Grand, she who as a rule was so serious and silent, began totalk with a smile lighting up her face: "I weighed him this morning, "said she, "he weighs nearly a quarter of a pound more than he did thelast time. And if you had only seen how good he was, the darling! He willbe a very intelligent and well-behaved little gentleman, such as I like. When he's five years old, I shall teach him his alphabet, and when he'sfifteen, if he likes, I'll tell him how to be a man.... Don't youagree with me, Thomas? And you, Antoine, and you, too, Francois?"

Raising their heads, the three sons gaily nodded their approval, gratefulas they felt for the lessons in heroism which she had given them, andapparently finding no reason why she might not live another twenty yearsin order to give similar lessons to Jean. 

Pierre still remained in front of Marie, basking in all the rapture oflove, when he felt Guillaume lay his hands upon his shoulders frombehind. And on turning round he saw that his brother was also radiant, like one who felt well pleased at seeing them so happy. "Ah! brother, "said Guillaume softly, "do you remember my telling you that you sufferedsolely from the battle between your mind and your heart, and that youwould find quietude again when you loved what you could understand? Itwas necessary that our father and mother, whose painful quarrel hadcontinued beyond the grave, should be reconciled in you. And now it'sdone, they sleep in peace within you, since you yourself are pacified. "

These words filled Pierre with emotion. Joy beamed upon his face, whichwas now so open and energetic. He still had the towering brow, thatimpregnable fortress of reason, which he had derived from his father, andhe still had the gentle chin and affectionate eyes and mouth which hismother had given him, but all was now blended together, instinct withhappy harmony and serene strength. Those two experiments of his which hadmiscarried, were like crises of his maternal heredity, the tearfultenderness which had come to him from his mother, and which for lack ofsatisfaction had made him desperate; and his third experiment had onlyended in happiness because he had contented his ardent thirst for love inaccordance with sovereign reason, that paternal heredity which pleaded soloudly within him. Reason remained the queen. And if his sufferings hadthus always come from the warfare which his reason had waged against hisheart, it was because he was man personified, ever struggling between hisintelligence and his passions. And how peaceful all seemed, now that hehad reconciled and satisfied them both, now that he felt healthy, perfectand strong, like some lofty oak, which grows in all freedom, and whosebranches spread far away over the forest. 

"You have done good work in that respect, " Guillaume affectionatelycontinued, "for yourself and for all of us, and even for our dear parentswhose shades, pacified and reconciled, now abide so peacefully in thelittle home of our childhood. I often think of our dear house at Neuilly, which old Sophie is taking care of for us; and although, out of egotism, a desire to set happiness around me, I wished to keep you here, your Jeanmust some day go and live there, so as to bring it fresh youth. "

Pierre had taken hold of his brother's hands, and looking into his eyeshe asked: "And you--are you happy?"

"Yes, very happy, happier than I have ever been; happy at loving you as Ido, and happy at being loved by you as no one else will ever love me. "

Their hearts mingled in ardent brotherly affection, the most perfect andheroic affection that can blend men together. And they embraced oneanother whilst, with her babe on her breast, Marie, so gay, healthful andloyal, looked at them and smiled, with big tears gathering in her eyes. 

Thomas, however, having finished his motor's last toilet, had just set itin motion. It was a prodigy of lightness and strength, of no weightwhatever in comparison with the power it displayed. And it worked withperfect smoothness, without noise or smell. The whole family was gatheredround it in delight, when there came a timely visit, one from the learnedand friendly Bertheroy, whom indeed Guillaume had asked to call, in orderthat he might see the motor working. 

The great chemist at once expressed his admiration; and when he hadexamined the mechanism and understood how the explosive was employed asmotive power--an idea which he had long recommended, --he tenderedenthusiastic congratulations to Guillaume and Thomas. "You have created alittle marvel, " said he, "one which may have far-reaching effects bothsocially and humanly. Yes, yes, pending the invention of the electricalmotor which we have not yet arrived at, here is an ideal one, a system ofmechanical traction for all sorts of vehicles. Even aerial navigation maynow become a possibility, and the problem of force at home is finallysolved. And what a grand step! What sudden progress! Distance againdiminished, all roads thrown open, and men able to fraternise! This is agreat boon, a splendid gift, my good friends, that you are bestowing onthe world. "

Then he began to jest about the new explosive, whose prodigious power hehad divined, and which he now found put to such a beneficent purpose. "And to think, Guillaume, " he said, "that I fancied you acted with somuch mysteriousness and hid the formula of your powder from me becauseyou had an idea of blowing up Paris!"

At this Guillaume became grave and somewhat pale. And he confessed thetruth. "Well, I did for a moment think of it. "

However, Bertheroy went on laughing, as if he regarded this answer asmere repartee, though truth to tell he had felt a slight chill sweepthrough his hair. "Well, my friend, " he said, "you have done far betterin offering the world this marvel, which by the way must have been both adifficult and dangerous matter. So here is a powder which was intended toexterminate people, and which in lieu thereof will now increase theircomfort and welfare. In the long run things always end well, as I'm quitetired of saying. "

On beholding such lofty and tolerant good nature, Guillaume felt moved. Bertheroy's words were true. What had been intended for purposes ofdestruction served the cause of progress; the subjugated, domesticatedvolcano became labour, peace and civilisation. Guillaume had evenrelinquished all idea of his engine of battle and victory; he had foundsufficient satisfaction in this last invention of his, which wouldrelieve men of some measure of weariness, and help to reduce their labourto just so much effort as there must always be. In this he detected somelittle advance towards Justice; at all events it was all that he himselfcould contribute to the cause. And when on turning towards the window hecaught sight of the basilica of the Sacred Heart, he could not explainwhat insanity had at one moment cone over him, and set him dreaming ofidiotic and useless destruction. Some miasmal gust must have swept by, something born of want that scattered germs of anger and vengeance. Buthow blind it was to think that destruction and murder could ever beargood fruit, ever sow the soil with plenty and happiness! Violence cannotlast, and all it does is to rouse man's feeling of solidarity even amongthose on whose behalf one kills. The people, the great multitude, rebelagainst the isolated individual who seeks to wreak justice. No one mancan take upon himself the part of the volcano; this is the wholeterrestrial crust, the whole multitude which internal fire impels to riseand throw up either an Alpine chain or a better and freer society. Andwhatever heroism there may be in their madness, however great andcontagious may be their thirst for martyrdom, murderers are neveranything but murderers, whose deeds simply sow the seeds of horror. Andif on the one hand Victor Mathis had avenged Salvat, he had also slainhim, so universal had been the cry of reprobation roused by the secondcrime, which was yet more monstrous and more useless than the first. 

Guillaume, laughing in his turn, replied to Bertheroy in words whichshowed how completely he was cured: "You are right, " he said, "all endswell since all contributes to truth and justice. Unfortunately, thousandsof years are sometimes needed for any progress to be accomplished.... However, for my part, I am simply going to put my new explosive on themarket, so that those who secure the necessary authorisation maymanufacture it and grow rich. Henceforth it belongs to one and all.... And I've renounced all idea of revolutionising the world. "

But Bertheroy protested. This great official scientist, this member ofthe Institute laden with offices and honours, pointed to the littlemotor, and replied with all the vigour of his seventy years: "But that isrevolution, the true, the only revolution. It is with things like thatand not with stupid bombs that one revolutionises the world! It is not bydestroying, but by creating, that you have just done the work of arevolutionist. And how many times already have I not told you thatscience alone is the world's revolutionary force, the only force which, far above all paltry political incidents, the vain agitation of despots, priests, sectarians and ambitious people of all kinds, works for thebenefit of those who will come after us, and prepares the triumph oftruth, justice and peace.... Ah, my dear child, if you wish tooverturn the world by striving to set a little more happiness in it, youhave only to remain in your laboratory here, for human happiness canspring only from the furnace of the scientist. "

He spoke perhaps in a somewhat jesting way, but one could feel that hewas convinced of it all, that he held everything excepting science inutter contempt. He had not even shown any surprise when Pierre had casthis cassock aside; and on finding him there with his wife and child hehad not scrupled to show him as much affection as in the past. 

Meantime, however, the motor was travelling hither and thither, making nomore noise than a bluebottle buzzing in the sunshine. The whole happyfamily was gathered about it, still laughing with delight at such avictorious achievement. And all at once little Jean, Monsieur Jean, having finished sucking, turned round, displaying his milk-smeared lips, and perceived the machine, the pretty plaything which walked about byitself. At sight of it, his eyes sparkled, dimples appeared on his plumpcheeks, and, stretching out his quivering chubby hands, he raised a crowof delight. 

Marie, who was quietly fastening her dress, smiled at his glee andbrought him nearer, in order that he might have a better view of the toy. "Ah! my darling, it's pretty, isn't it? It moves and it turns, and it'sstrong; it's quite alive, you see. "

The others, standing around, were much amused by the amazed, enrapturedexpression of the child, who would have liked to touch the machine, perhaps in the hope of understanding it. 

"Yes, " resumed Bertheroy, "it's alive and it's powerful like the sun, like that great sun shining yonder over Paris, and ripening men andthings. And Paris too is a motor, a boiler in which the future isboiling, while we scientists keep the eternal flame burning underneath. Guillaume, my good fellow, you are one of the stokers, one of theartisans of the future, with that little marvel of yours, which willstill further extend the influence of our great Paris over the wholeworld. "

These words impressed Pierre, and he again thought of a gigantic vatstretching yonder from one horizon to the other, a vat in which thecoming century would emerge from an extraordinary mixture of theexcellent and the vile. But now, over and above all passions, ambitions, stains and waste, he was conscious of the colossal expenditure of labourwhich marked the life of Paris, of the heroic manual efforts inwork-shops and factories, and the splendid striving of the young men ofintellect whom he knew to be hard at work, studying in silence, relinquishing none of the conquests of their elders, but glowing withdesire to enlarge their domain. And in all this Paris was exalted, together with the future that was being prepared within it, and whichwould wing its flight over the world bright like the dawn of day. IfRome, now so near its death, had ruled the ancient world, it was Paristhat reigned with sovereign sway over the modern era, and had for thetime become the great centre of the nations as they were carried on fromcivilisation to civilisation, in a sunward course from east to west. Paris was the world's brain. Its past so full of grandeur had prepared itfor the part of initiator, civiliser and liberator. Only yesterday it hadcast the cry of Liberty among the nations, and to-morrow it would bringthem the religion of Science, the new faith awaited by the democracies. And Paris was also gaiety, kindness and gentleness, passion for knowledgeand generosity without limit. Among the workmen of its faubourgs and thepeasants of its country-sides there were endless reserves of men on whomthe future might freely draw. And the century ended with Paris, and thenew century would begin and spread with it. All the clamour of itsprodigious labour, all the light that came from it as from a beaconoverlooking the earth, all the thunder and tempest and triumphantbrightness that sprang from its entrails, were pregnant with that finalsplendour, of which human happiness would be compounded. 

Marie raised a light cry of admiration as she pointed towards the city. "Look! just look!" she exclaimed; "Paris is all golden, covered with aharvest of gold!"

They all re-echoed her admiration, for the effect was really one ofextraordinary magnificence. The declining sun was once more veiling theimmensity of Paris with golden dust. But this was no longer the city ofthe sower, a chaos of roofs and edifices suggesting brown land turned upby some huge plough, whilst the sun-rays streamed over it like goldenseed, falling upon every side. Nor was it the city whose divisions hadone day seemed so plain to Pierre: eastward, the districts of toil, mistywith the grey smoke of factories; southward, the districts of study, serene and quiet; westward, the districts of wealth, bright and open; andin the centre the districts of trade, with dark and busy streets. It nowseemed as if one and the same crop had sprung up on every side, impartingharmony to everything, and making the entire expanse one sole, boundlessfield, rich with the same fruitfulness. There was corn, corn everywhere, an infinity of corn, whose golden wave rolled from one end of the horizonto the other. Yes, the declining sun steeped all Paris in equalsplendour, and it was truly the crop, the harvest, after the sowing!

"Look! just look, " repeated Marie, "there is not a nook without itssheaf; the humblest roofs are fruitful, and every blade is full-earedwherever one may look. It is as if there were now but one and the samesoil, reconciled and fraternal. Ah! Jean, my little Jean, look! see howbeautiful it is!"

Pierre, who was quivering, had drawn close beside her. And Mere-Grand andBertheroy smiled upon that promise of a future which they would not see, whilst beside Guillaume, whom the sight filled with emotion, were histhree big sons, the three young giants, looking quite grave, they whoever laboured and were ever hopeful. Then Marie, with a fine gesture ofenthusiasm, stretched out her arms and raised her child aloft, as ifoffering it in gift to the huge city. 

"See, Jean! see, little one, " she cried, "it's you who'll reap it all, who'll store the whole crop in the barn!"

And Paris flared--Paris, which the divine sun had sown with light, andwhere in glory waved the great future harvest of Truth and of Justice. 

THE END