One day, however, Pascal seemed very grave. He was now convinced that his illness had resulted from purely accidental causes, and that heredity had had no part in it. But this filled him none the less with humility.
“My God!” he murmured, “how insignificant we are! I who thought myself so strong, who was so proud of my sane reason! And here have I barely escaped being made insane by a little trouble and overwork!”
He was silent, and sank again into thought. After a time his eyes brightened, he had conquered himself. And in a moment of reason and courage, he came to a resolution.
“If I am getting better,” he said, “it is especially for your sake that I am glad.”
Clotilde, not understanding, looked up and said:
“How is that?”
“Yes, on account of your marriage. Now you will be able to fix the day.”
She still seemed surprised.
“Ah, true—my marriage!”
“Shall we decide at once upon the second week in June?”