em the
boundless sea, the growling abomination of its injustice and its want? As
this thought came to him he turned his head and gazed at the city through
the huge window, whence it stretched away, ever present, ever living its
giant life. And at that hour, under the oblique sun-rays of the winter
afternoon, all Paris was speckled with luminous dust, as if some
invisible sower, hidden amidst the glory of the planet, were fast
scattering seed which fell upon every side in a stream of gold. The whole
field was covered with it; for the endless chaos of house roofs and
edifices seemed to be land in tilth, furrowed by some gigantic plough.
And Pierre in his uneasiness, stirred, despite everything, by an
invincible need of hope, asked himself if this was not a good sowing, the
furrows of Paris strewn with light by the divine sun for the great future
harvest, that harvest of truth and justice of whose advent he had
despaired.

At last he rose and took his leave, promising to return at once, if there
should be any bad news. It was Marie who showed him to the front door.
And there another of those childish blushes which worried her so much
suddenly rose to her face, just as she, in her turn, also wished to send
her loving message to the injured man. However, with her gay, candid eyes
fixed on those of the priest, she bravely spoke the words: "_Au revoir,
Monsieur l'Abbe_. Tell Guillaume that I love him and await him."

III. PENURY AND TOIL

THREE days went by, and every morning Guillaume, confined to his bed and
consumed by fever and impatience, experienced fresh anxiety directly the
newspapers arrived. Pierre had tried to keep them from him, but Guillaume
then worried himself the more, and so the priest had to read him column
by column all the extraordinary articles that were published respecting
the crime.

Never before had so many rumours inundated the press. Even the "Globe,"
usually so grave and circumspect, yielded to the general _furore_, and
printed whatever statements reached it. But the more unscrupulous papers
were the ones to read. The "Voix du Peuple" in particular made use of the
public feverishness to increase its sales. Each morning it employed some
fresh device, and printed some frightful story of a nature to drive
people mad with terror. It related that not a day passed without Baron
Duvillard receiving threatening letters of the coarsest description,
announcing that his wife, his son and his daughter