Conscience — Complete - Hector Malot

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the coat.”

      Joseph took the coat from the wardrobe in the hall, and rolled it in a newspaper.

      “Of course you will not expect me in the morning,” he said, as he put his key on the table. “I must look out for another place.”

      “Very well, I shall not expect you.”

      “Good-evening, sir.”

      And Joseph hurried away as quickly as possible.

      Left alone, Saniel did not return to his work immediately, but throwing himself in an armchair he cast a melancholy glance around his office and through the open door into the parlor. In the faint light of the candle he saw the large armchairs methodically placed each side of the chimney, the curtains at the windows lost in shadow, and all the furniture which for four years had cost him so many efforts. He had long been the prisoner of this Louis XIV camlet, and he was now going to be executed. A beautiful affair, truly, brilliant and able! All this had been used only by the poor Auvergnats, without Saniel enjoying it at all, for he had neither the bourgeois taste for ornaments nor the desire for elegance. A movement of anger and revolt against himself made him strike his desk with his fist. What a fool he had been!

      The bell rang again. This time, not expecting a rich patient, he would not open it. After a moment a slight tap was heard on the panel. He rose quickly and ran to open the door.

      A woman threw herself into his arms.

      “O my dearest! I am so glad to find you at home!”

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      She passed her arm about him and pressed him to her, and with arms entwined they entered the study.

      “How glad I am!” she said. “What a good idea I had!”

      With a quick movement she took off her long gray cloak that enveloped her from head to foot.

      “And are you glad?” she asked, as she stood looking at him.

      “Can you ask that?”

      “Only to hear you say that you are.”

      “Are you not my only joy, the sweet lamp that gives me light in the cavern where I work day and night?”

      “Dear Victor!”

      She was a tall, slender young woman with chestnut hair, whose thick curls clustering about her forehead almost touched her eyebrows. Her beautiful eyes were dark, her nose short, while her superb teeth and rich, ruby-colored lips gave her the effect of a pretty doll; and she had gayety, playful vivacity, gracious effrontery, and a passionate caressing glance. Dressed extravagantly, like the Parisian woman who has not a sou, but who adorns everything she wears, she had an ease, a freedom, a natural elegance that was charming. With this she had the voice of a child, a joyous laugh, and an expression of sensibility on her fresh face.

      “I have come to dine with you,” she said, gayly, “and I am so hungry.”

      He made a gesture that was not lost upon her.

      “Do I disturb you?” she asked, uneasily.

      “Not at all.”

      “Must you go out?”

      “No.”

      “Then why did you make a gesture that showed indifference, or, at least, embarrassment?”

      “You are mistaken, my little Phillis.”

      “With any one else I might be mistaken, but with you it is impossible. You know that between us words are not necessary; that I read in your eyes what you would say, in your face what you think and feel. Is it not always so when one loves—as I love you?”

      He took her in his arms and kissed her long and tenderly. Then going to a chair on which he had thrown his coat, he drew from the pocket the bread that he had bought.

      “This is my dinner,” he said, showing the bread.

      “Oh! I must scold you. Work is making you lose your head. Can you not take time to eat?”

      He smiled sadly.

      “It is not time that I want.”

      He fumbled in his pocket and brought out three big sous.

      “I cannot dine at a restaurant with six sous.”

      She threw herself in his arms.

      “O dearest, forgive me!” she cried. “Poor, dear martyr! Dear, great man! It is I who accuse you, when I ought to embrace your knees. And you do not scold me; a sad smile is your only reply. And it is really so bad as that! Nothing to eat!”

      “Bread is very good eating. If I might be assured that I shall always have some!”

      “Well, to-day you shall have something more and better. This morning, seeing the storm, an idea came to me associated with you. It is quite natural, since you are always in my heart and in my thoughts. I told mamma that if the storm continued I would dine at the pension. You can imagine with what joy I listened to the wind all day, and watched the rain and leaves falling, and the dead branches waving in the whirlwind. Thank God, the weather was bad enough for mamma to believe me safe at the pension; and here I am. But we must not fast. I shall go and buy something to eat, and we will play at making dinner by the fire, which will be far more amusing than going to a restaurant.”

      She put on her cloak quickly.

      “Set the table while I make my purchases.”

      “I have my article to finish that will be sent for at eight o’clock. Just think, I have three tonics to recommend, four preparations of iron, a dye, two capillary lotions, an opiate, and I don’t know how many soaps and powders. What a business!”

      “Very well, then, do not trouble yourself about the table; we will set it together when you have finished, and that will be much more amusing.”

      “You take everything in good part.”

      “Is it better to look on the dark side? I shall soon return.”

      She went to the door.

      “Do not be extravagant,” he said.

      “There is no danger,” she replied, striking her pocket.

      Then, returning to him, she embraced him passionately.

      “Work!”

      And she ran out.

      They had loved each other for two years. At the time they met, Saniel was giving a course of lectures on anatomy at a young ladies’ school just outside of Paris, and every time he went out there he saw a young woman whom he could not help noticing. She came and went on the same trains that he did, and gave lessons in a rival school. As she frequently carried under her arm a large cartoon, and sometimes a plaster cast, he concluded that she gave lessons in drawing. At first he paid no attention to her. What was she to him? He had more important things in his head than women. But little by little, and because she was reserved and discreet, he was struck by the vivacity and gayety of her expression. He really enjoyed looking at this pretty and pleasing young woman. However, his looks said nothing; if their eyes smiled when they met, that was all; they did not make each other’s acquaintance. When they left the train they did not notice each other; if he took the left side of the street, she took the other, and vice versa. This state of things lasted several months without a word having been exchanged between them; in due time they learned each other’s names and professions. She was a professor of drawing, as he supposed, the daughter of an artist who had been dead several years, and was called Mademoiselle Phillis Cormier. He was a physician for whom a brilliant

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