longer be the cause of misfortune to this child,
whom he adored. And on the evening of the same day an event took place
which brought about the solution hitherto sought in vain, with the fear
of finding it. After dinner Martine beckoned him aside, and gave him a
letter, with all sorts of precautions, saying:

"I met Mme. Felicite, and she charged me to give you this letter,
monsieur, and she told me to tell you that she would have brought it
to you herself, only that regard for her reputation prevented her
from returning here. She begs you to send her back M. Maxime's letter,
letting her know mademoiselle's answer."

It was, in fact, a letter from Maxime, and Mme. Felicite, glad to have
received it, used it as a new means of conquering her son, after having
waited in vain for misery to deliver him up to her, repentant and
imploring. As neither Pascal nor Clotilde had come to demand aid or
succor from her, she had once more changed her plan, returning to her
old idea of separating them; and, this time, the opportunity seemed
to her decisive. Maxime's letter was a pressing one; he urged his
grandmother to plead his cause with his sister. Ataxia had declared
itself; he was able to walk now only leaning on his servant's arm. His
solitude terrified him, and he urgently entreated his sister to come to
him. He wished to have her with him as a rampart against his father's
abominable designs; as a sweet and upright woman after all, who would
take care of him. The letter gave it to be understood that if she
conducted herself well toward him she would have no reason to repent it;
and ended by reminding the young girl of the promise she had made him,
at the time of his visit to Plassans, to come to him, if the day ever
arrived when he really needed her.

Pascal turned cold. He read the four pages over again. Here an
opportunity to separate presented itself, acceptable to him and
advantageous for Clotilde, so easy and so natural that they ought to
accept it at once; yet, in spite of all his reasoning he felt so weak,
so irresolute still that his limbs trembled under him, and he was
obliged to sit down for a moment. But he wished to be heroic, and
controlling himself, he called to his companion.

"Here!" he said, "read this letter which your grandmother has sent me."

Clotilde read the letter attentively to the end without a word, without
a sign. Then she said simply:

"Well, you are going to answer it, are you not? I refuse."