I had not foreseen this pretext for cavilling when I had flattered myself on avoiding a scene. I refused to give in. The old chap kicked against the pricks. Paper-money? Wot good was that to any one nowadays, you wouldn't get a hunk of bread for it!
He obviously distrusted me. I was on the point of losing my temper. Guillaumin angrily dubbed the old man a robber and a blooming Bosche. The latter got annoyed and made as if to take back his poultry. Bouillon kept his eyes fixed on me, and was only waiting for a sign to hurl himself upon the old man.
For a fantastical instant I was tempted to let him have his way. I was enraged, and disgusted. More than that, I was suddenly seized with a longing to loot. It would be a wonderful opportunity. What risk should we run? None at all. It would simply be one more picturesque scene to add to our store of memories.
At that moment, the servant girl happened to cross the bottom of the room. Her dress fell into lines which suggested the rounded form beneath. Bouillon was looking at her too, and Guillaumin also. His big red nose was quivering. The blood rushed to my head, and desire took possession of me. We all three exchanged a look of feverish bestiality. Plunder the old man, violate the girl. Nothing could be easier—some strange madness urged us on—the beast in us was raising its head.
A vision of Jeannine passed through my mind, but it held no power to restrain me, for was it not purely a physical impulse? It did not count in my eyes. No one would ever know anything about it, I repeated to myself. Why not indulge this whim? It was a sinister moment. We had each taken a step towards the girl, whose face contracted.
AT PEACE WITH MYSELF
And then, after all, something stopped me, something I had never experienced before. Was it prejudice? Or moral restraint? I had no time to examine my feelings. Was it self-respect? Yes, that, without doubt. No one would ever know anything about it, but I should know about it myself!