ire, and of burning her hands,
she gathered up the leaves which remained yet unconsumed and bravely
extinguished them, pressing them against her. But all this was very
little, only some _debris_; not a complete page remained, not even a
few fragments of the colossal labor, of the vast and patient work of
a lifetime, which the fire had destroyed there in two hours. And with
growing anger, in a burst of furious indignation, she cried:

"You are thieves, assassins! It is a wicked murder which you have just
committed. You have profaned death, you have slain the mind, you have
slain genius."

Old Mme. Rougon did not quail. She advanced, on the contrary, feeling
no remorse, her head erect, defending the sentence of destruction
pronounced and executed by her.

"It is to me you are speaking, to your grandmother. Is there nothing,
then, that you respect? I have done what I ought to have done, what you
yourself wished to do with us before."

"Before, you had made me mad; but since then I have lived, I have loved,
I have understood, and it is life that I defend. Even if it be terrible
and cruel, the truth ought to be respected. Besides, it was a sacred
legacy bequeathed to my protection, the last thoughts of a dead man, all
that remained of a great mind, and which I should have obliged every one
to respect. Yes, you are my grandmother; I am well aware of it, and it
is as if you had just burned your son!"

"Burn Pascal because I have burned his papers!" cried Felicite. "Do
you not know that I would have burned the town to save the honor of our
family!"

She continued to advance, belligerent and victorious; and Clotilde, who
had laid on the table the blackened fragments rescued by her from
the burning flames, protected them with her body, fearing that her
grandmother would throw them back again into the fire. She regarded the
two women scornfully; she did not even trouble herself about the fire
in the fireplace, which fortunately went out of itself, while Martine
extinguished with the shovel the burning soot and the last flames of the
smoldering ashes.

"You know very well, however," continued the old woman, whose little
figure seemed to grow taller, "that I have had only one ambition, one
passion in life--to see our family rich and powerful. I have fought, I
have watched all my life, I have lived as long as I have done, only to
put down ugly stories and to leave our name a glorious one. Yes, I have
never despaired; I have