t received another
letter from Maxime, a despairing and imploring letter.

She began by explaining her presence.

"Yes, it is I, my dear, and you can understand that only very weighty
reasons could have induced me to set my foot here again. But, indeed,
you are getting crazy; I cannot allow you to ruin your life in this way,
without making a last effort to open your eyes."

She then read Maxime's letter in a tearful voice. He was nailed to an
armchair. It seemed he was suffering from a form of ataxia, rapid in its
progress and very painful. Therefore he requested a decided answer
from his sister, hoping still that she would come, and trembling at the
thought of being compelled to seek another nurse. This was what he would
be obliged to do, however, if they abandoned him in his sad condition.
And when she had finished reading the letter she hinted that it would be
a great pity to let Maxime's fortune pass into the hands of strangers;
but, above all, she spoke of duty; of the assistance one owed to a
relation, she, too, affecting to believe that a formal promise had been
given.

"Come, my dear, call upon your memory. You told him that if he should
ever need you, you would go to him; I can hear you saying it now. Was it
not so, my son?"

Pascal, his face pale, his head slightly bent, had kept silence since
his mother's entrance, leaving her to act. He answered only by an
affirmative nod.

Then Felicite went over all the arguments that he himself had employed
to persuade Clotilde--the dreadful scandal, to which insult was now
added; impending want, so hard for them both; the impossibility of
continuing the life they were leading. What future could they hope for,
now that they had been overtaken by poverty? It was stupid and cruel to
persist longer in her obstinate refusal.

Clotilde, standing erect and with an impenetrable countenance, remained
silent, refusing even to discuss the question. But as her grandmother
tormented her to give an answer, she said at last:

"Once more, I have no duty whatever toward my brother; my duty is here.
He can dispose of his fortune as he chooses; I want none of it. When
we are too poor, master shall send away Martine and keep me as his
servant."

Old Mme. Rougon wagged her chin.

"Before being his servant it would be better if you had begun by being
his wife. Why have you not got married? It would have been simpler and
more proper."

And Felicite reminded her how she had come