CHAPTER LXIII
THE HELL OF WEAKNESS
A clumsy lapidary, in cutting this diamond, deprived it of some of its most brilliant facets. In the middle ages, nay, even under Richelieu, the Frenchman had force of will.—Mirabeau,
Julien found the marquis furious. For perhaps the first time in his life this nobleman showed bad form. He loaded Julien with all the insults that came to his lips. Our hero was astonished, and his patience was tried, but his gratitude remained unshaken.
"The poor man now sees the annihilation, in a single minute, of all the fine plans which he has long cherished in his heart. But I owe it to him to answer. My silence tends to increase his anger." The part of Tartuffe supplied the answer
"I am not an angel. … I served you well; you paid me generously. … I was grateful, but I am twenty-two. … Only you and that charming person understood my thoughts in this household."
"Monster," exclaimed the marquis. "Charming! Charming, to be sure! The day when you found her charming you ought to have fled."
"I tried to. It was then that I asked permission to leave for Languedoc."
Tired of stampeding about and overcome by his grief, the marquis threw himself into an arm-chair. Julien heard him whispering to himself, "No, no, he is not a wicked man."
"No, I am not, towards you," exclaimed Julien, falling on his knees. But he felt extremely ashamed of this manifestation, and very quickly got up again.
