Then he smoked a cigarette. In an hour of semi-delirium he smoked ten. The thing was so immensely vile, so wanton, such bad form, that the very enormity of it calmed him. A man who learns that the bank has smashed, that his wife has eloped, and that his house is burnt to the ground all at the same moment, ten to one receives the news with calmness—the blow stuns him. He feels that Fate and Death and other heroic personages have condescended to turn their undivided attention for a moment to his affairs—he is almost a hero, in fact.
So Toto turned from blank horror to the heroic mood. The whole world was against him; well, he would stick to his guns. He almost felt glad that all this had happened, and lit another cigarette just as Garnier entered, bearing in his hand a huge bunch of black grapes for Célestin. They were muscatels, and must have cost him a little fortune, unless he stole them, or, what is more probable, obtained them on credit.
“Garnier,” said Toto, his cheeks flushing slightly, “see here,” and he pointed his cigarette with a wave at Pantin lying open on the table.
“And she?” asked Garnier, as he made a sign towards the closed door of Célestin’s room, laying his grapes down on the table and taking up the paper all at the same time.
“She is better.”
“Ah, this which is marked with crosses?”
“Yes, read it.”
Garnier began to read, standing under the top-light and holding the paper at full length before him. In a moment he folded the sheet in a more comfortable manner and continued reading calmly and without any sign of astonishment. At one place he frowned slightly, where Célestin’s name appeared, then when he had finished he laid Pantin back on the table beside the grapes.
“Well?” inquired Toto.