“Do lie down! Stuff yourself into the bed,” she said, pulling him back and burying him under the coverlet, as though he were some filthy thing she could not show anyone.
Then she sprang up to shut the door again. She was decidedly never lucky with her little rough. He was always coming when least wanted. And why had he gone to fetch money in Normandy? The old man had brought her the four thousand francs, and she had let him have his will of her. She pushed back the two flaps of the door and shouted:
“So much the worse for you! It’s your fault. Is that the way to come into a room? I’ve had enough of this sort of thing. Ta ta!”
Muffat remained standing before the closed door, thunderstruck by what he had just seen. His shuddering fit increased. It mounted from his feet to his heart and brain. Then like a tree shaken by a mighty wind, he swayed to and fro and dropped on his knees, all his muscles giving way under him. And with hands despairingly outstretched he stammered:
“This is more than I can bear, my God! More than I can bear!”
He had accepted every situation but he could do so no longer. He had come to the end of his strength and was plunged in the dark void where man and his reason are together overthrown. In an extravagant access of faith he raised his hands ever higher and higher, searching for heaven, calling on God.
“Oh no, I do not desire it! Oh, come to me, my God! Succor me; nay, let me die sooner! Oh no, not that man, my God! It is over; take me, carry me away, that I may not see, that I may not feel any longer! Oh, I belong to you, my God! Our Father which art in heaven—”
And burning with faith, he continued his supplication, and an ardent prayer escaped from his lips. But someone touched him on the shoulder. He lifted his eyes; it was M. Venot. He was surprised to find him praying before that closed door. Then as though God Himself had responded to his appeal, the count flung his arms round the little old gentleman’s neck. At last he could weep, and he burst out sobbing and repeated:
“My brother, my brother.”
All his suffering humanity found comfort in that cry. He drenched M. Venot’s face with tears; he kissed him, uttering fragmentary ejaculations.