Making his way through the parlour, Jean saw the Mater dolorosa as before, and read again the names of Philippe-Guy Thiererche and the Countess Valentine.
"I hate them," he muttered through clenched teeth, "I hate them all."
Meantime, the good priest felt a stir of pity. Every day they had badgered him with reports against Jean Servien. This time he had given way; he had sacrificed the young usher; but he really could make nothing of this tale about a beggar. He changed his mind, ran to the door and called to the young man to corne back.
Jean turned and faced him:
"No!" he cried, "no! I can bear the life no longer; I am unhappy,
I am full of misery—and hate."
"Poor lad!" sight the Director, letting his arms drop by his side.
That evening he did not write a single line of his Tragedy.
XXVII
The kind-hearted bookbinder harassed his son with no reproaches.
After dinner he went and sat at his shop-door, and looked at the first star that peeped out in the evening sky.