M. Prémereux looked at him as at a curiosity from a museum.
"You are young—"
"They told me that only to-day."
"Your eyes are not yet open."
"Mine?" said Philippe, surprised and piqued; he prided himself on never being deceived.
"Yes, yours. In order to judge, one must not be concerned in the trial, and you are constantly summoning yourself to appear when you make your own estimates. But never mind, the greater part of mankind open their eyes only once."
"Only once?"
"Yes—at death—and then they are quickly shut."
III
THE PLAINTIFF
An hour later, Philippe Lagier presented himself at Mme. Derize's house. Would he see her alone or in the company of Mme. Molay-Norrois? He knew it would be almost impossible to convince the latter by arguments predicated upon experience, obstinate as she was, with an unchanging, simple conviction, in an opinion which originated with the austere M. Salvage,—one of those provincial magistrates who have charge of the morals of the community. If she were present, the effect of his efforts would be nil. If she were not, his very cordial relations with the young couple who had often dined with him at Grenoble, and who had entertained him in Paris, made him feel that before the case was opened, he could take this unusual step which he was about to attempt, not as a lawyer—that would have been out of the question—but as a friend. He would make another effort to avert a break, to lay the foundations of reconciliation. Since their quarrel he had been out of touch with the people concerned. Most of his information had really come to him from the petition to the President of the Court: that contained dates and exact facts. But of what use have facts and dates ever been to explain emotions, and how much more truthfully can a facial expression, a word of rebellion, of hatred, or of sorrow, give a clew to these intimate dramas!