'It's of no use your giving yourself any further trouble,' said Macquart with a laugh. 'They won't disturb themselves to come down. Well, here you are shut out of your own home. Don't you think now that my first idea was a good one? We must take the poor child to the Rougons'. She will be better there than in her own room; I assure you she will.'
Félicité was overwhelmed with alarm when she saw her daughter arrive at such a late hour, drenched with rain and apparently half dead. She put her to bed on the second floor, set the house in great commotion, and called up all the servants. When she grew a little calmer, as she sat by Marthe's bedside, she asked for an explanation.
'What has happened? How is it that you have brought her to me in such a state as this?'
Then Macquart, with a great show of kindness, told her about 'the dear child's' expedition. He defended himself, declared that he had done all that he could to dissuade her from going to see François, and ended by calling upon Rose to confirm him, for he saw that Félicité was scanning him narrowly with her suspicious eyes. Madame Rougon, however, continued to shake her head.
'It is a very strange story!' she said; 'there is something more in it than I can understand.'
She knew Macquart, and she guessed that there must be some rascality in it all from the expression of delight which she could detect in his eyes.
'You are a strange person,' said he, pretending to get vexed in order to bring Madame Rougon's scrutiny to an end; 'you are always imagining something extraordinary. I can only tell you what I know. I love Marthe more than you do, and I have never done anything that wasn't for her good. Shall I go for the doctor? I will at once, if you like.'
Madame Rougon watched him closely. She even questioned Rose at great length, without succeeding, however, in learning anything further. After all, she seemed glad to have her daughter with her, and spoke with great bitterness of people who would leave you to die on your own doorstep without even taking the trouble to open the door. And meantime Marthe, with her head thrown back upon her pillow, was indeed dying.