“I was quite aware that you wouldn’t like a book of that kind.”
Anthime might have excused the book. But this allusion to his opinions touched him in a sore place; he began to protest that they never in the least influenced his judgment of works of art in general, or of his brother-in-law’s novels in particular. Julius smiled condescendingly, and, in order to change the subject, enquired after his brother-in-law’s sciatica, which he inadvertently called “lumbago.” Ah! why had he not enquired instead about his scientific researches? Then it would have been a satisfaction to answer him. But his “lumbago”! It would be his wen next, most likely! But his brother-in-law, apparently, knew nothing about his scientific researches—he chose to know nothing about them.... Anthime was exasperated and his “lumbago” was hurting him. With a sneering laugh, he answered viciously:
“Am I better? Ha, ha, ha! You’d be very sorry to hear that I was!”
Julius was astonished and begged his brother-in-law to say why such uncharitable feelings should be imputed to him.
“Good heavens! You Catholics aren’t above calling in a doctor when one of you falls ill; but when the patient gets well, it’s no thanks to science—it’s all because of the prayers you said while the doctor was looking after him. You would think it a gross impertinence if a man who didn’t go to church got better.”
“Would you rather remain ill than go to church?” said Marguerite, earnestly.
What made her poke her oar in? As a rule she never took part in conversations of general interest, and as soon as Julius opened his mouth, she would meekly efface herself. This was man’s talk. Pooh! Why should he show her any consideration? He turned to her abruptly:
“My dear girl, kindly understand that if I knew that an instantaneous and certain cure lay to my hand, there—do you hear?—there!” (and he pointed wildly to the salt-cellar) “but that before taking it, I must beg the Principal” (this was his jocose name for the Supreme Being on the days when he was in a bad temper) “or beseech him to intervene—to upset for my sake the established order—the natural order—the venerable order of cause and effect, I wouldn’t take his cure. I wouldn’t! I should say to the Principal: ‘Don’t come bothering me with your miracle! I don’t want it—at any price! I don’t want it!’”
He stressed each word—each syllable. The loudness of his voice matched the fury of his temper. He was frightful.
“You wouldn’t want it? Why not?” asked Julius, very calmly.