The struggle was a frightful one. Until daybreak he sobbed in martyrdom. Why had he taken off his cassock? He had done so at a word from Marie; and now another word from her gave him the despairing idea of donning it once more. One could not escape from so fast a prison. That black gown still clung to his skin. He fancied that he had divested himself of it, and yet it was still weighing on his shoulders, and his wisest course would be to bury himself in it for ever. By donning it again he would at least wear mourning for his manhood.
All at once, however, a fresh thought upset him. Why should he struggle in that fashion? Marie did not love him. There had been nothing between them to indicate that she cared for him otherwise than as a charming, tender-hearted sister. It was Guillaume that she loved, no doubt. Then he pressed his face to his pillow to stifle his sobs, and once more swore that he would conquer himself and turn a smiling face upon their happiness.
IV. TRIAL AND SENTENCE
HAVING returned to Montmartre on the morrow Pierre suffered so grievously that he did not show himself there on the two following days. He preferred to remain at home where there was nobody to notice his feverishness. On the third morning, however, whilst he was still in bed, strengthless and full of despair, he was both surprised and embarrassed by a visit from Guillaume.
“I must needs come to you,” said the latter, “since you forsake us. I’ve come to fetch you to attend Salvat’s trial, which takes place to-day. I had no end of trouble to secure two places. Come, get up, we’ll have dejeuner in town, so as to reach the court early.”
Then, while Pierre was hastily dressing, Guillaume, who on his side seemed thoughtful and worried that morning, began to question him: “Have you anything to reproach us with?” he asked.
“No, nothing. What an idea!” was Pierre’s reply.
“Then why have you been staying away? We had got into the habit of seeing you every day, but all at once you disappear.”
Pierre vainly sought a falsehood, and all his composure fled. “I had some work to do here,” said he, “and then, too, my gloomy ideas cane back to me, and I didn’t want to go and sadden you all.”
At this Guillaume hastily waved his hand. “If you fancy that your absence enlivens us you’re mistaken,” he replied. “Marie, who is usually so well and happy, had such a bad headache on the day before yesterday that she was obliged to keep her room. And she was ill at ease and nervous and silent again yesterday. We spent a very unpleasant day.”