er the ruins of the Union Universelle. And would he, Pascal, hold
himself aloof, would he do nothing that she might die in peace, in the
joy of the final triumph of the Rougons, he who was so intelligent, so
affectionate, so good? He would go to mass, would he not, next Sunday?
and he would burn all those vile papers, only to think of which made
her ill. She entreated, commanded, threatened. But he no longer answered
her, calm and invincible in his attitude of perfect deference. He wished
to have no discussion. He knew her too well either to hope to convince
her or to venture to discuss the past with her.

"Why!" she cried, when she saw that he was not to be moved, "you do not
belong to us. I have always said so. You are a disgrace to us."

He bent his head and said:

"Mother, when you reflect you will forgive me."

On this day Felicite was beside herself with rage when she went away;
and when she met Martine at the door of the house, in front of the plane
trees, she unburdened her mind to her, without knowing that Pascal, who
had just gone into his room, heard all. She gave vent to her resentment,
vowing, in spite of everything, that she would in the end succeed in
obtaining possession of the papers and destroying them, since he did
not wish to make the sacrifice. But what turned the doctor cold was
the manner in which Martine, in a subdued voice, soothed her. She was
evidently her accomplice. She repeated that it was necessary to wait;
not to do anything hastily; that mademoiselle and she had taken a vow to
get the better of monsieur, by not leaving him an hour's peace. They had
sworn it. They would reconcile him with the good God, because it was
not possible that an upright man like monsieur should remain without
religion. And the voices of the two women became lower and lower, until
they finally sank to a whisper, an indistinct murmur of gossiping and
plotting, of which he caught only a word here and there; orders given,
measures to be taken, an invasion of his personal liberty. When his
mother at last departed, with her light step and slender, youthful
figure, he saw that she went away very well satisfied.

Then came a moment of weakness, of utter despair. Pascal dropped into a
chair, and asked himself what was the use of struggling, since the only
beings he loved allied themselves against him. Martine, who would have
thrown herself into the fire at a word from him, betraying him in this
way for his good! And C