Doctor Pascal | Page 4

is another thing, why do you not
wish to see?"
And Martine came to her assistance, in her own style.
"Indeed, it is true, monsieur, that you, who are a saint, as I say
everywhere, should accompany us to church. Assuredly, God will save
you. But at the bare idea that you should not go straight to paradise, I
tremble all over."
He paused, for he had before him, in open revolt, those two whom he
had been accustomed to see submissive at his feet, with the tenderness
of women won over by his gaiety and his goodness. Already he opened
his mouth, and was going to answer roughly, when the uselessness of
the discussion became apparent to him.
"There! Let us have peace. I would do better to go and work. And
above all, let no one interrupt me!"
With hasty steps he gained his chamber, where he had installed a sort

of laboratory, and shut himself up in it. The prohibition to enter it was
formal. It was here that he gave himself up to special preparations, of
which he spoke to no one. Almost immediately the slow and regular
sound of a pestle grinding in a mortar was heard.
"Come," said Clotilde, smiling, "there he is, at his devil's cookery, as
grandmother says."
And she tranquilly resumed her copying of the hollyhocks. She
completed the drawing with mathematical precision, she found the
exact tone of the violet petals, striped with yellow, even to the most
delicate discoloration of the shades.
"Ah!" murmured Martine, after a moment, again seated on the ground,
and occupied in mending the chair, "what a misfortune for a good man
like that to lose his soul wilfully. For there is no denying it; I have
known him now for thirty years, and in all that time he has never so
much as spoken an unkind word to any one. A real heart of gold, who
would take the bit from his own mouth. And handsome, too, and
always well, and always gay, a real blessing! It is a murder that he does
not wish to make his peace with the good God. We will force him to do
it, mademoiselle, will we not?"
Clotilde, surprised at hearing her speak so long at one time on the
subject, gave her word with a grave air.
"Certainly, Martine, it is a promise. We will force him."
Silence reigned again, broken a moment afterward by the ringing of the
bell attached to the street door below. It had been attached to the door
so that they might have notice when any one entered the house, too vast
for the three persons who inhabited it. The servant appeared surprised,
and grumbled a few words under her breath. Who could have come in
such heat as this? She rose, opened the door, and went and leaned over
the balustrade; then she returned, saying:
"It is Mme. Felicite."
Old Mme. Rougon entered briskly. In spite of her eighty years, she had
mounted the stairs with the activity of a young girl; she was still the
brown, lean, shrill grasshopper of old. Dressed elegantly now in black
silk, she might still be taken, seen from behind, thanks to the
slenderness of her figure, for some coquette, or some ambitious woman
following her favorite pursuit. Seen in front, her eyes still lighted up
her withered visage with their fires, and she smiled with an engaging

smile when she so desired.
"What! is it you, grandmother?" cried Clotilde, going to meet her.
"Why, this sun is enough to bake one."
Felicite, kissing her on the forehead, laughed, saying:
"Oh, the sun is my friend!"
Then, moving with short, quick steps, she crossed the room, and turned
the fastening of one of the shutters.
"Open the shutters a little! It is too gloomy to live in the dark in this
way. At my house I let the sun come in."
Through the opening a jet of hot light, a flood of dancing sparks
entered. And under the sky, of the violet blue of a conflagration, the
parched plain could be seen, stretching away in the distance, as if
asleep or dead in the overpowering, furnace-like heat, while to the right,
above the pink roofs, rose the belfry of St. Saturnin, a gilded tower with
arises that, in the blinding light, looked like whitened bones.
"Yes," continued Felicite, "I think of going shortly to the Tulettes, and I
wished to know if Charles were here, to take him with me. He is not
here--I see that--I will take him another day."
But while she gave this pretext for her visit, her ferret-like eyes were
making the tour of the apartment. Besides, she did not insist, speaking
immediately afterward of her son Pascal, on hearing the rhythmical