"Let us be philosophers," said Pécuchet. "A little less money, the intrigues of a woman, the clumsiness of a servant—what is it but this? You are too much immersed in matter."
"But when it annoys me?" said Bouvard.
"For my part, I don't admit it," rejoined Pécuchet.
He had recently been reading an analysis of Berkeley, and added:
"I deny extension, time, space, even substance! for the true substance is the mind-perceiving qualities."
"Quite so," said Bouvard; "but get rid of the world, and you'll have no proof left of God's existence."
Pécuchet uttered a cry, and a long one too, although he had a cold in his head, caused by the iodine of potassium, and a continual feverishness increased his excitement. Bouvard, being uneasy about him, sent for the doctor.
Vaucorbeil ordered orange-syrup with the iodine, and for a later stage cinnabar baths.
"What's the use?" replied Pécuchet. "One day or another the form will die out. The essence does not perish."
"No doubt," said the physician, "matter is indestructible. However——"