"You enlist, and renounce all your hopes!"
"They are all folly! I went again to-day to the palace . . . there is no longer any hope. It would be necessary, in order to carry on the lawsuit against the German princes, or the Superintendent of Xaintonge, to deposit with the solicitor more money than I shall ever have. I renounce it;—but hold, Dominique! I do not feel well, I am cold"—and the Marquis sank trembling on the side of his bed.
"Poor child! I can well believe it"—said the professor, with a mournful sigh—"to be out in this cold rain,—to come in without finding a spark of fire . . . to be received by the insults of that hag, whom I wish I could put into the fireplace in the shape of faggots, for, alas! as for wood . . . God knows if I" . . .
"Enough, my good Dominique," said Létorière, putting his hand over his friend's month . . . "Have you not already done too much for me? Have you not abandoned your class, your situation?"
"And Socrates? did not that sage, that great philosopher, abandon everything . . . to follow Alcibiades!!! Only as it is not so cold in Athens as in Paris . . . Socrates had not the pain of seeing his pupil shivering with cold. But, listen to me! You had better lie down . . . take off your wet clothes,—you will be warmer in bed."
"You are right, Dominique; I do not know,—but I think I am feverish". . .
"No! not so bad as that! to see you fall sick!" Then, turning with an angry air, Dominique cried, shaking his first at the door by which Madelaine had gone out:
"'Tis you, you cursed hag, who have brought this new misfortune upon my unhappy pupil, with your indiscreet clamorings! I'm sorry now that I did not put you out neck and heels . . ."
In the midst of this apostrophe the door opened, and Dominique saw, with astonishment, a porter bringing in two enormous faggots, and some packages of kindlings. . . .
"You are mistaken; this wood is not for us, my lad," said Dominique, with a sigh.