“I understand,” thought Julien. “He would not be sorry if I were to spare his valet the trouble of killing me....
“Let him kill me, if he likes; it is a satisfaction which I offer him.... But, by heaven, I love life. I owe it to my son.”
This idea, which had not previously presented itself with so much definiteness to his imagination, completely engrossed him during his walk after the first few minutes which he had spent thinking about his danger.
This novel interest turned him into a prudent man. “I need advice as to how to behave towards this infuriated man.... He is devoid of reason; he is capable of everything. Fouqué is too far away; besides, he would not understand the emotions of a heart like the marquis’s.”
“Count Altamira ... am I certain of eternal silence? My request for advice must not be a fresh step which will raise still further complications. Alas! I have no one left but the gloomy abbé Pirard. His mind is crabbed by Jansenism.... A damned Jesuit would know the world, and would be more in my line. M. Pirard is capable of beating me at the very mention of my crime.”
The genius of Tartuffe came to Julien’s help. “Well, I will go and confess to him.” This was his final resolution after having walked about in the garden for two good hours. He no longer thought about being surprised by a gun shot. He was feeling sleepy.
Very early the next day, Julien was several leagues away from Paris and knocked at the door of the severe Jansenist. He found to his great astonishment that he was not unduly surprised at his confidence.
“I ought perhaps to reproach myself,” said the abbé, who seemed more anxious than irritated. “I thought I guessed that love. My affection for you, my unhappy boy, prevented me from warning the father.”
“What will he do?” said Julien keenly.
At that moment he loved the abbé, and would have found a scene between them very painful.