llombre, the old college professor, now
retired, and living in his little house without any other company than
that of a gardener who was deaf and dumb and older than himself, was the
only person who had the power to exasperate him.

"A fellow who has been afraid of life; think of that! afraid of life!
Yes, a hard and avaricious egotist! If he banished woman from his
existence, it was only through fear of having to pay for her shoes.
And he has known only the children of others, who have made him
suffer--hence his hatred of the child--that flesh made to be flogged.
The fear of life, the fear of burdens and of duties, of annoyances and
of catastrophes! The fear of life, which makes us through dread of its
sufferings refuse its joys. Ah! I tell you, this cowardliness enrages
me; I cannot forgive it. We must live--live a complete life--live
all our life. Better even suffering, suffering only, than such
renunciation--the death of all there is in us that is living and human!"

M. Bellombre had risen, and was walking along one of the walks with
slow, tranquil steps. Then, Clotilde, who had been watching him in
silence, at last said:

"There is, however, the joy of renunciation. To renounce, not to live;
to keep one's self for the spiritual, has not this always been the great
happiness of the saints?"

"If they had not lived," cried Pascal, "they could not now be saints.
Let suffering come, and I will bless it, for it is perhaps the only
great happiness!"

But he felt that she rebelled against this; that he was going to lose
her again. At the bottom of our anxiety about the beyond is the secret
fear and hatred of life. So that he hastily assumed again his pleasant
smile, so affectionate and conciliating.

"No, no! Enough for to-day; let us dispute no more; let us love each
other dearly. And see! Martine is calling us, let us go in to dinner."

III.

For a month this unpleasant state of affairs continued, every day
growing worse, and Clotilde suffered especially at seeing that Pascal
now locked up everything. He had no longer the same tranquil confidence
in her as before, and this wounded her so deeply that, if she had at
any time found the press open, she would have thrown the papers into
the fire as her grandmother Felicite had urged her to do. And the
disagreements began again, so that they often remained without speaking
to each other for two days together.

One morning, after one of these misunderstandings