What I now suffered from was not so much my own follies, my own disgrace and crimes as the misery which I had caused those around me. Old Marie!... Old Felix!... Oh, the poor couple! Where were they now? What were they doing? Did they have anything to eat, at least? Had I not compelled them to beg their bread when I expelled them—so old, so kind, so confiding, more feeble and desolate than homeless dogs! I saw them bent over their staffs, horribly thin, coughing, harassed, spending nights in chance lodgings. And the sainted Mother Le Gannec who took care of me as a mother her child, who lulled me to sleep with her warm caresses like those bestowed on little ones! Instead of kneeling before her, of thanking her, did I not treat her brutally, did I not almost beat her! Ah, no! Let her not come! Let her not come!
Mother Le Gannec lit the lamp, and I was about to close the window when I heard the tinkling of small bells upon the road, then the trundling of a carriage. I mechanically looked out. Indeed a carriage had ascended the steep hill of this place, it was a sort of stage which appeared very high and loaded with trunks. A fisherman passed by. The postman asked him:
"Will you please tell us where the house of Madame Le Gannec is?" "It is in front of you," answered the fisherman, who indicated the house with a motion of hand and continued on his way.
I grew very pale ... and I saw by the light of the lantern a small gloved hand resting on the handle of the stage door.
"Juliette! Juliette!" I shouted like a madman. "Mother Le Gannec, it's Juliette!... Quick, quick ... it's Juliette!"
Running, tumbling down the stairway, I dashed to the street: "Juliette! My Juliette!"
Arms embraced me, lips pressed against my cheek, a voice breathed in my ears:
"Jean! My dear little Jean!"
And I swooned into the arms of Juliette.
It did not take me long to regain my senses, however. They put me to bed and Juliette, bent over me, embraced me, crying: