nchanted, and he remained at the
Tulettes.

It was not until very late, until seven o'clock, that Clotilde and
Pascal were able to take the train to return to Plassans, after the
doctor had at last visited the two patients whom he had to see. But
when they returned together to the notary's on the day appointed for the
meeting, they had the disagreeable surprise of finding old Mme. Rougon
installed there. She had naturally learned of Macquart's death, and had
hurried there on the following day, full of excitement, and making a
great show of grief; and she had just made her appearance again to-day,
having heard the famous testament spoken of. The reading of the will,
however, was a simple matter, unmarked by any incident. Macquart
had left all the fortune that he could dispose of for the purpose of
erecting a superb marble monument to himself, with two angels with
folded wings, weeping. It was his own idea, a reminiscence of a similar
tomb which he had seen abroad--in Germany, perhaps--when he was a
soldier. And he had charged his nephew Pascal to superintend the
erection of the monument, as he was the only one of the family, he said,
who had any taste.

During the reading of the will Clotilde had remained in the notary's
garden, sitting on a bench under the shade of an ancient chestnut tree.
When Pascal and Felicite again appeared, there was a moment of great
embarrassment, for they had not spoken to one another for some months
past. The old lady, however, affected to be perfectly at her ease,
making no allusion whatever to the new situation, and giving it to be
understood that they might very well meet and appear united before the
world, without for that reason entering into an explanation or becoming
reconciled. But she committed the mistake of laying too much stress
on the great grief which Macquart's death had caused her. Pascal, who
suspected the overflowing joy, the unbounded delight which it gave her
to think that this family ulcer was to be at last healed, that this
abominable uncle was at last out of the way, became gradually possessed
by an impatience, an indignation, which he could not control. His eyes
fastened themselves involuntarily on his mother's gloves, which were
black.

Just then she was expressing her grief in lowered tones:

"But how imprudent it was, at his age, to persist in living alone--like
a wolf in his lair! If he had only had a servant in the house with him!"

Then the doctor, hardly c