Volume VIII Part 12 (1/2)
”It was in fifty-eight, old man Pierre was three years old I am quite sure that I am not mistaken, for it was in that year that the child had scarlet fever, and Marechal, e then knew but very little, was of the greatest service to us”
Roland exclaimed:
”To be sure--very true; he was really invaluable When your ue and I had to attend to the shop, he would go to the chemist's to fetch your medicine He really had the kindest heart!
And when you ell again, you cannot think how glad he was and how he petted you It was froreat friends”
And this thought rushed into Pierre's soul, as abrupt and violent as a cannon-ball rending and piercing it: ”Since he knew me first, since he was so devoted to me, since he was so fond of reat intimacy with my parents, why did he leave all histo loo in his soul a new anxiety as yet undefined, the secret ger about the streets once ht heavy, opaque, and nauseous
It was like a pestilential rock dropped on earth It could be seen swirling past the gas-lights, which it seemed to put out at intervals
The paveht after a rain, and all sorts of evil smells seemed to come up from the bowels of the houses--the stench of cellars, drains, sewers, squalid kitchens--to
Pierre, with his shoulders up and his hands in his pockets, not caring to remain out of doors in the cold, turned into Marowsko's The druggist was asleep as usual under the gas-light, which kept watch On recognizing Pierre, for who, he shook off his drowsiness, went for two glasses, and brought out the _Groseillette_
”Well,” said the doctor, ”how is the liqueur getting on?”
The Pole explained that four of the chief cafes in the town had agreed to have it on sale, and that two papers, the _Northcoast Pharos_ and the _Havre Semaphore_, would advertise it, in return for certain chemical preparations to be supplied to the editors
After a long silence Marowsko asked whether Jean had come definitely into possession of his fortune; and then he put two or three other questions vaguely referring to the saainst this preference And Pierre felt as though he could hear hiuessed and understood, read in his averted eyes and in the hesitancy of his tone, the words which rose to his lips but were not spoken--which the druggist was too timid or too prudent and cautious to utter
At this ht not to have suffered him to accept this inheritance which will make people speak ill of your mother”
Perhaps, indeed, Marowsoblieved that Jean was Marechal's son Of course he believed it! How could he help believing it when the thing must seem so possible, so probable, self-evident? Why, he himself, Pierre, her son--had not he been for these three days past fighting with all the subtlety at his coainst this hideous suspicion?
And suddenly the need to be alone, to reflect, to discuss the matter with himself--to face boldly, without scruple or weakness, this possible but --came upon hi his glass of _Groseillette_, shook hands with the astounded druggist and plunged out into the foggy streets again
He asked himself: ”What made this Marechal leave all his fortune to Jean?”
It was not jealousy nohich made him dwell on this question, not the rather mean but natural envy which he knew lurked within hi these three days, but the dread of an overpowering horror; the dread that he himself should believe Jean, his brother, was that man's son
No He did not believe it; he could not even ask hiet rid of this faint suspicion, iht, for certainty--he must win absolute security in his heart, for he loved no one in the world but his h the darkness he would rack hisout the blazing truth Then there would be an end to the o and sleep
He argued thus: ”Let me see: first to examine the facts; then I will recall all I know about him, his behavior to ht have given rise to this preference He knew Jean from his birth? Yes, but he had known me first If he had loved my mother silently, unselfishly, he would surely have chosen h my scarlet fever, that he becaht to have preferred me, to have had a keener affection for me--unless it were that he felt an instinctive attraction and predilection for row up”
Then, with desperate tension of brain and of all the powers of his intellect, he strove to reconstitute froe of this Marechal, to see him, to know him, to penetrate the man who all those years in Paris
But he perceived that the slight exertion of walking somewhat disturbed his ideas, dislocated their continuity, weakened their precision, clouded his recollection To enable him to look at the past and at unknown events with so keen an eye that nothing should escape it, he must be motionless in a vast and eo and sit on the jetty as he had done that other night
As he approached the harbor he heard, out at sea, a lugubrious and sinister wail like the bellowing of a bull, but -horn, the cry of a shi+p lost in the fog A shi+ver ran through hi his heart; so deeply did this cry of distress thrill his soul and nerves that he felt as if he had uttered it himself Another and a similar voice answered with such another -horn on the pier gave out a fearful sound in answer Pierreno , content to walk on into this o darkness
When he had seated himself at the end of the breakwater he closed his eyes, that he , which lare of the light on the south pier, which was, however, scarcely visible
Turning half-round, he rested his elbows on the granite and hid his face in his hands
Though he did not pronounce the ith his lips, his : ”Marechal--Marechal,” as if to raise and challenge the shade And on the black background of his closed eyelids, he suddenly saw him as he had known him: a man of about sixty, with a white beard cut in a point and very thick eyebrows, also white He was neither tall nor short, his entle, his whole appearance that of a good fellow, simple and kindly He called Pierre et Jean ”my dear children,” and had never seeether to dine with hi seeking a lost scent, tried to recall the words, gestures, tones, looks, of this rees he saw him quite clearly in his rooms in the rue Tronchet, where he received his brother and himself at dinner