to shun emotions and responsibilities, so that he might last as long as
possible. Acute pains in the limbs, rheumatic he thought them, had been
alarming him for some time past; he saw himself in fancy already an
invalid tied down to an easy-chair; and his father's sudden return to
France, the fresh activity which Saccard was putting forth, completed
his disquietude. He knew well this devourer of millions; he trembled at
finding him again bustling about him with his good-humored, malicious
laugh. He felt that he was being watched, and he had the conviction that
he would be cut up and devoured if he should be for a single day at his
mercy, rendered helpless by the pains which were invading his limbs. And
so great a fear of solitude had taken possession of him that he had now
yielded to the idea of seeing his son again. If he found the boy gentle,
intelligent, and healthy, why should he not take him to live with him?
He would thus have a companion, an heir, who would protect him against
the machinations of his father. Gradually he came to see himself, in his
selfish forethought, loved, petted, and protected; yet for all that he
might not have risked such a journey, if his physician had not just at
that time sent him to the waters of St. Gervais. Thus, having to go
only a few leagues out of his way, he had dropped in unexpectedly that
morning on old Mme. Rougon, firmly resolved to take the train again in
the evening, after having questioned her and seen the boy.

At two o'clock Pascal and Clotilde were still beside the fountain under
the plane trees where they had taken their coffee, when Felicite arrived
with Maxime.

"My dear, here's a surprise! I have brought you your brother."

Startled, the young girl had risen, seeing this thin and sallow
stranger, whom she scarcely recognized. Since their parting in 1854 she
had seen him only twice, once at Paris and again at Plassans. Yet his
image, refined, elegant, and vivacious, had remained engraven on her
mind; his face had grown hollow, his hair was streaked with silver
threads. But notwithstanding, she found in him still, with his
delicately handsome head, a languid grace, like that of a girl, even in
his premature decrepitude.

"How well you look!" he said simply, as he embraced his sister.

"But," she responded, "to be well one must live in the sunshine. Ah, how
happy it makes me to see you again!"

Pascal, with the eye of the physician, had examined his nephew
crit