of having
felt giddy. Then, on another occasion, at the works, Victor Moineaud
pushed him away from some machinery in motion at the very moment when,
as if hypnotized, he was about to surrender himself to its devouring
clutches. Then he again smiled, and acknowledged that he had done wrong
in passing so near to the wheels. After this he was watched, for people
came to the conclusion that he occasionally lost his head. If Denis
retained him as chief accountant, this was, firstly, from a feeling
of gratitude for his long services; but, apart from that matter, the
extraordinary thing was that Morange had never discharged his duties
more ably, obstinately tracing every doubtful centime in his books,
and displaying the greatest accuracy over the longest additions. Always
showing a calm and restful face, as though no tempest had ever assailed
his heart, he clung tightly to his mechanical life, like a discreet
maniac, who, though people might not know it, ought, perhaps, to have
been placed under restraint.

At the same time, it should be mentioned that for some few years already
there had been quite a big affair in Morange's life. Although he was
Constance's confidant, although she had made him her creature by the
force of her despotic will, he had gradually conceived the greatest
affection for Denis's daughter, Hortense. As this child grew up, he
fancied that he found in her his own long-mourned daughter, Reine. She
had recently completed her ninth year, and each time that Morange
met her he was thrown into a state of emotion and adoration, the more
touching since it was all a divine illusion on his part, for the two
girls in no wise resembled each other, the one having been extremely
dark, and the other being nearly fair. In spite of his terrible avarice,
the accountant loaded Hortense with dolls and sweetmeats on every
possible occasion; and at last his affection for the child absorbed him
to such a degree that Constance felt offended by it. She thereupon gave
him to understand that whosoever was not entirely on her side was, in
reality, against her.

To all appearance, he made his submission; in reality, he only loved the
child the more for the thwarting of his passion, and he watched for her
in order to kiss her in secret. In his daily intercourse with Constance,
in showing apparent fidelity to the former mistress of the works, he
now simply yielded to fear, like the poor weak being he was, one whom
Constance had ever