Doctor Pascal | Page 9

come to church with us."
Seeing her about to yield, Mme. Rougon cried out that it was necessary
to act, and Martine herself added the weight of all her real authority.
They both approached the young girl, and began to instruct her,
lowering their voices as if they were engaged in a conspiracy, whence
was to result a miraculous benefit, a divine joy with which the whole
house would be perfumed. What a triumph if they reconciled the doctor
with God! and what sweetness, afterward, to live altogether in the
celestial communion of the same faith!
"Well, then, what must I do?" asked Clotilde, vanquished, won over.
But at this moment the doctor's pestle was heard in the silence, with its
continued rhythm. And the victorious Felicite, who was about to speak,
turned her head uneasily, and looked for a moment at the door of the
adjoining chamber. Then, in an undertone, she said:
"Do you know where the key of the press is?"
Clotilde answered only with an artless gesture, that expressed all her
repugnance to betray her master in this way.
"What a child you are! I swear to you that I will take nothing; I will not
even disturb anything. Only as we are alone and as Pascal never
reappears before dinner, we might assure ourselves of what there is in
there, might we not? Oh! nothing but a glance, on my word of honor."
The young girl stood motionless, unwilling, still, to give her consent.
"And then, it may be that I am mistaken; no doubt there are none of
those bad things there that I have told you of."
This was decisive; she ran to take the key from the drawer, and she
herself opened wide the press.
"There, grandmother, the papers are up there."
Martine had gone, without a word, to station herself at the door of the

doctor's chamber, her ear on the alert, listening to the pestle, while
Felicite, as if riveted to the spot by emotion, regarded the papers. At
last, there they were, those terrible documents, the nightmare that had
poisoned her life! She saw them, she was going to touch them, to carry
them away! And she reached up, straining her little legs, in the
eagerness of her desire.
"It is too high, my kitten," she said. "Help me; give them to me!"
"Oh! not that, grandmother! Take a chair!"
Felicite took a chair, and mounted slowly upon it. But she was still too
short. By an extraordinary effort she raised herself, lengthening her
stature until she was able to touch the envelopes of strong blue paper
with the tips of her fingers; and her fingers traveled over them,
contracting nervously, scratching like claws. Suddenly there was a
crash--it was a geological specimen, a fragment of marble that had been
on a lower shelf, and that she had just thrown down.
Instantly the pestle stopped, and Martine said in a stifled voice:
"Take care; here he comes!"
But Felicite, grown desperate, did not hear, did not let go her hold
when Pascal entered hastily. He had supposed that some accident had
happened, that some one had fallen, and he stood stupefied at what he
saw--his mother on the chair, her arm still in the air, while Martine had
withdrawn to one side, and Clotilde, very pale, stood waiting, without
turning her head. When he comprehended the scene, he himself became
as white as a sheet. A terrible anger arose within him.
Old Mme. Rougon, however, troubled herself in no wise. When she
saw that the opportunity was lost, she descended from the chair,
without making any illusion whatever to the task at which he had
surprised her.
"Oh, it is you! I do not wish to disturb you. I came to embrace Clotilde.
But here I have been talking for nearly two hours, and I must run away
at once. They will be expecting me at home; they won't know what has
become of me at this hour. Good-by until Sunday."
She went away quite at her ease, after smiling at her son, who stood
before her silent and respectful. It was an attitude that he had long since
adopted, to avoid an explanation which he felt must be cruel, and which
he had always feared. He knew her, he was willing to pardon her
everything, in his broad tolerance as a scientist, who made allowance

for heredity, environment, and circumstances. And, then, was she not
his mother? That ought to have sufficed, for, in spite of the frightful
blows which his researches inflicted upon the family, he preserved a
great affection for those belonging to him.
When his mother was no longer there, his anger burst forth, and fell
upon Clotilde. He had turned his eyes away from Martine, and