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 THE TWO IJ no TU ERS 
 
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 • • • I If I 
 
 ^'TViaai 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 " Botheration!" rriod old M. Roland, altiiiptly. 
 
 For a (|iiarter ol an iionr lie had slood motionless, with his (^yos fixed 
 on the water, every now and llicti (|ui('l!y lilting his line, A\hi<h was sunk 
 to the hottoin of the sea. 
 
 .Madame Roland had fallen asleep al the hack of the vessel, wliere she 
 sat heside Madame Roséniillv, who had come on this fishing excursion as 
 her guest. She. raised herself, and hirned lo hci- Inishand. 
 
 '' Yes, Gérôme ; what is it' ' 
 
 The angry old fellow replied : 
 
 " I can't get another hite. Since twelve o'clock 1 have caught nothing
 
 8 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 One ought never to fish except in the company of men ; women always 
 make you kite in starting." 
 
 His two sons, Pierre and Jean, who held lines wound round their 
 forefingers, one to larboard and the other to starboard, laughed in unison; 
 and Jean answered iiim : 
 
 " You are not very polite to our guest, father." 
 M. Roland was disconcerted, and made his excuses. 
 
 " 1 beg your pardon, Madame Rosémilly. That is the kind of man 
 1 am. I invite ladies because I like to be in their company, and then, 
 when I feel the water under me, ! think of nothing but the fish." 
 
 Madame Roland was now quite awake, and was looking with a softened 
 expression at the wide stretch of cliffs and sea. 
 She murmured : 
 
 " You have had a fine haul, nevertheless." 
 
 Her husband shook his head in denial, al the same time glancing 
 complacently at the basket where the fish which the three men luul caught 
 were still faintly ([uivcring, with a pleasant sound of stiffening scales 
 and starting fins, of weak and powerless efforts, and gasping in the 
 deadly air. 
 
 M. l{oland seized the basket between his knees, tilted it up. turned 
 the stream of silver fish to the brim, in order to look at those beneath. 
 Their palpitation increased, and the strong smell, full ol the wholesome 
 odour of sea-water, rose up Irom the well-packed creel. 
 
 The old fisherman eagcilv iidialed it, as if he were taking in the scent 
 of roses, and exclaimed : 
 
 ■ 15y Jove, they are sweet, and no mistake!" 
 Then he added : 
 
 ■ How many of these did you catch, doctor? " 
 
 His eldest son, Pierre, a man of ihirlv, wilh black whiskers cut like a 
 magistrate's, and with shaved upper lip and chin, replied : 
 '■ Oh, very few. Tliiee or four. " 
 The father turned to his younger son : 
 " And you, Jean? "
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 9 
 
 Jcnn. ^vho was a tall lair man, with a lari^c-bcai'd, and niucli voniigcr 
 liian his hrotluT, sniilcil as he answeied : 
 
 • About as inanv as Pierre; say four or five." 
 
 They always told the same tale, which delighted I\l. Roland. 
 
 lie had wound his line round the thole of an oar, and, crossing his 
 arms, exclaimed : 
 
 " I shall never try to fish again after twelve. Even after ten it is too 
 late. The beggars will not bite alter that; they are basking in the sun!" 
 
 The worthy man surveyed the sea all round him with the contented aii' 
 of a proprietor. 
 
 fie was an old Parisian jeweller, whom an extravagant love of sailing 
 and fishing luul templed from his shop as soon as his circumstances 
 enabled him to live modestly on his income. 
 
 He had retireil to Havre, l)ought a fishing boat, aiul become an amateur 
 sailor. His two sons rt'mained at Paris in order to complete their studies, 
 and from time to time came down on a holiday, to share their father's 
 pleasures. 
 
 Pierre, the eldest by live years, having when he left college felt a 
 vocation for several professions one after another, had successively made 
 trial of half a dozen, and, quickly disgusted with each, plunged without 
 delay into new ambitions. 
 
 Finally medicine had allured him, and he had set to work with such 
 good will that he had jusi received his diploma after a somewhat short 
 course of study, and certain remissions of time which he had secured Irom 
 the minister. He was enthusiastic, intellectual, changeable, and yet capable 
 of tenacity, lull of philosophical ideals and fancies. 
 
 .lean, who was as fair as his brother was dark, as calm as his biolhcr 
 was ardent, as gentle as his brother was bitter, had steadily gone through 
 his course of legal study, and hail just obtained his licentiate's diploma 
 when Pierre was made a doctor. 
 
 They hail come home for a little rest, and intended to settle in Havre. 
 it they could do so to their satisfaction. 
 
 But a \ague jealousy, one of those dormant jealousies which almost
 
 10 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 insensibly grow uj> hclween brothers or sisters uiUil they reach maturity, 
 and come to a head when one of them marries or has a piece of good 
 hick, kept them on the alert, in a brotherly and harndess antagonism. 
 It was certain that they h)ved each other, but they watched one another 
 narrowly. Pierre, five years old when Jean was born, had regarded 
 with the hostility of a little spoiled animal the sudden appearance of this 
 otluM" little animal in the anus of his father and mother, so much caressed 
 aiul loved by them. 
 
 Jean had l)eeu a pattern of gentleness, goodness, and e(|uable temper 
 from his infancy, and Pierre had gradually accustomed himself to hear the 
 ceaseless puffing of ihc lad whose gentleness seemed to him to be 
 elfeminacy, his goodness simplicity, and his good-humour mere blindness, 
 liis parents, placid folk, who desired for their children honourable and 
 moderate positions in life, reproached him for his indecision, his enthusiasm, 
 his abortive attempts, and all his futile approximation to generous ideas 
 and brilliant professions. 
 
 Since he became a man they no longer said to him : " Look at Jean, 
 and imitate him!" But, whenever he heard : " Jean has done so and so," 
 he ipiile understood the meaning and allusion concealed beneath the words. 
 Their mother, a methodical woman, a somewhat sentimental and thrifty 
 dame ol the middle class, gifted with a tender yet prudent soul, was 
 always soothing away the little rivalries which daily sprang up between 
 her two great sons, out of all the trivialities of their life. At this time, 
 moreover, a chance occurrence was disturbing her to a certain extent. 
 During the winter she had made the acquaintance, whilst her sons were 
 completing their several studies, of a neighbour, Madame Rosémilly, the 
 widow of a sea-captain, who had died at sea two years before. The young 
 widow, only twenty-three years old, a determined woman, whose know- 
 ledge of life came by instinct, as in an animal which has its liberty, as though 
 she had seen, passed through, understood, and taken the measure of all that 
 could possibly happen, judging all in a wholesome, limited, and kindly spirit, 
 had got into the habit of coming to work and gossip in the evenings with 
 the pleasant neighbours who were wont to give her a cup of tea.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 11 
 
 .M. Poland, whose mania for seamanship was always u|)|)cniiost, used 
 to ask their ihw liiciul about tlic deceased captain, and she wouKI speak 
 about him, about liis voyages, his oKl yarns, without any difficulty, like a 
 sensible anti resigned lady who loves her life and has respect for death. 
 
 The two sons, on their reluiti, liiuling this pictty widow installed in 
 till- house, had at once begun to pay her attentions, less from the desire 
 to pleas(^ her than IVom a wish to oust each other. 
 
 Their prudent and practical mother eagerly hoped that one of them 
 would succeed, for the young widow was rich; but she would have been 
 very glad if the other had proved to be indifierent. 
 
 Madame liosémilly was fair, with blue eyes, with a crown of soft 
 hair which fluttered at the lightest breath, and a little swaggering, bold, 
 pugnacious manner, which was not at all in agreement with the methodical 
 cleverness of her mind. 
 
 She soon appealed to prefer Jean, being drawn to him by the similarity 
 of their natures. This ])reference, however, was displayed in a scarcely 
 perceptible dislinclion oi tone and glance, and in the fact that she occasion- 
 ally took his advice. 
 
 She seemed to recognize that Jean's opinion would confirm her own, 
 whilst Pierre's might well be adverse. When she spoke of the doctor's 
 ideas, political, aitistic, j)liilosopliical or moral, she would say : " ^'our 
 crotchets." At such times he would look at her with the chill aspect 
 of a magistrate who is conducting proceedings against a woman — against 
 all women — the unfortunate sex! 
 
 Before the rcLiiiri of his sons, M. Holand had never invited her on his 
 fisliing excuisions. lie never even took his wife, lor he liked lo set out 
 beliire daylight, with (lajjlain Heausii'c, a retired caplain who had made 
 long voyages, whom he had met on the <piay when the tiile came in, 
 until they became intinuite friends, and the old sailor l'aj)agi'is, nicknamed 
 Jean-Bart, whom he had placed in charge of the boat. 
 
 One evening in the previous week, as Madame Uosémilly, who had 
 been dining with them, expressed her opinion that fishing must be a 
 pleasant occupation, the old jeweller, llatteieil on his weak side, and fired
 
 12 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 with a wish to communicate his passion to another, and to make true 
 believers after the fashion of the preachers, exclaimed : 
 
 " Would you like to come?" 
 
 " Oh, yes!" 
 
 " Next Tuesday?" 
 
 " Yes, on Tuesday next!" 
 
 " Are you equal to setting out at five in the morning?" 
 
 She gave a cry of astonishment. 
 
 "■ Oh, dear me, no! " 
 
 He was disappointed and chilled, and suddenly iloubled wliethor she 
 had a call in ihis direction. But still lie asked her al what time she 
 could leave. 
 
 " Oh say at nine! " 
 
 " Not before?" 
 
 " No, not before. Even that is very early." 
 
 The worthy man hesitated. They would certainly catch nothing, for 
 if the sun grows hot the fish cease to bite ; but the two brothers were 
 eager to arrange the party, to plan and settle everything before they 
 separated. 
 
 Accordingly on the following Tuesday the Perle had cast anchor under 
 the white rocks of cape La Hève; and they had fished till midday, then 
 dozed, then fished again, catching nothing; and M. Roland, finding soon 
 afterwards that Madame Rosémilly as a matter of fact only cared for sailing, 
 and perceiving that his lines were agitated no longer, had, in a thoughtless 
 fit of impatience, uttered the energetic — " Botheration!" which was addressed 
 quite as much to the indifferent widow as to the elusive fish. 
 
 Now he was gazing at his haul with the trembling joy of a miser. 
 Then he raised his eyes to the sky, and observed that the sun was 
 sinking. 
 
 " Well, my lads," he said, " shall we stand in a bit?" 
 
 They drew in llicir lines, wound llieni up, stuck their cleaned hooks 
 in the corks, and stood ready. 
 
 Roland had risen to study llu' liori/.on like a captain.
 
 Tin: TWO BROTHERS 13 
 
 " There is no wind left," he said; " wc must row, hoys!" 
 
 And suddenly, pointing towards the north, he added : 
 
 " Stay a minute. There is the Southampton boat." 
 
 Over the level sea, stretched out like a vast blue glittering cloth, with 
 streaks of gold and of fire, a black cloud arose where he pointed, on 
 the rose-tinted sky. And underneath the cloud appeared the vessel, which 
 at that distance looked a speck. 
 
 Round to the south were other smokes, many in number, all converging 
 to the pier of Havre, whose white line it was difficult to make out, with 
 its lighthouse, standing like a horn upon the extremity. 
 
 Roland asked : 
 
 " Is not the Normandie due to-day?" 
 
 " Yes, father," said Jean. 
 
 " Give me my glass. 1 think that is she, out yonder. ' 
 
 The good man opened his coppcM- lube, fixed it to iiis eye, made out 
 the spot, and suddenly, delighted to have seen it, cried : 
 
 " Ay, ay, that is she. I know her by the two funnels. \^'ill you 
 look, Mailaiiic Hosémilly? " 
 
 She took the instrument, which she puinted towards the steamer, probably 
 without getting it witliin range, for she coidd distinguish nothing, nothing 
 except a blue circle, with a coloured ring, a circular rainbow, and alter that 
 sundrv odd spectacles, as it were eclipses, Avhich made her heart jump. 
 
 As siie returned the telescope she said : 
 
 •■ I must tell you all the same that I never knew liow to use that 
 instrument. It used to trouble my husband, who would stand loi- hours 
 at the windows, looking at the passing ships." 
 
 M. Roland replied, with some annoyance : 
 
 " It must he due to a defect in your eye, lor my glass is an exccllciil 
 one " 
 
 Then he offered it to his wife. 
 
 " Will vou have a look?" 
 
 " No, thanks, I know hcfoicliaiul lli:il I slioiiKI iiol he .Mr lo see." 
 
 Madame Uolaml, who was a woman of foily-eighl. ihougli she did not
 
 14 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 look it, appeared to enjoy the sail and the evening more than any one else. 
 
 Her chestnut hair was just beginning to turn. She had a calm and 
 sensible look, a hapi)y and kindly appearance, which were good to see. 
 As her son Pierre said, she knew the value of money, which did not 
 prevent her from indulging in dreams. She loved reading, romance, and 
 poetry, not for their artistic value, but for the melancholy and tender 
 fancies which they awoke in her. Some verse or other, often commonplace, 
 often trashy, made the finer string vibrate, as she would say, and gave 
 her the sensation of a mysterious desire all but realised. And she took 
 delight in these delicate emotions, which somewhat disturbed a mind 
 otherwise as well regulated as an account-book. 
 
 Since coming to Havre she had grown perceptibly stouter, and her 
 once very supple and slender figure had become somewhat more portly. 
 
 This sea-trip had delighted her. Her husband, who was not ill-natured, 
 domineered over her as the despots of the counter, with whom a command 
 implies strong language, are wont to domineer, without anger or ill-will. 
 Before strangers he held himself in check, but in the family circle he gave way 
 to his mood, and assumed terrible airs, though he was in fear of everybody. 
 She, through dread of noise, scenes, and useless explanations, always 
 yielded, and made no demands; so that for a long time past she had 
 not ventured to ask Roland to go out for a sail. Thus she had joyfully 
 seized this opportunity, and she appreciated the rare and novel pleasure. 
 
 As soon as they set out she gave herself up completely, mind and 
 body, to the gentle gliding motion over the waves. She was not thinking; 
 she did not meander amidst recollections or hopes; it seemed as though 
 her soul Avas floating, like her body, over a soft, flowing, delicious stream, 
 which cradled and lulled her. 
 
 When M. Roland gave orders to return, crying : " Now then, take your 
 places for a row!" she smiled as she saw her sons, her two big sons, 
 throw off their jackets and turn up tiio sleeves of their shirts. 
 
 Pierre, who was nearest to the two women, took the starboard thwart, 
 and Jean the other, waiting for the " Row on, all!" of the skipper — 
 for he made a point of having every detail punctiliously carried out.
 
 THE TWO BROTIIF.RS 15 
 
 Both together, with ;i simultaneous effort, they dropped their oars 
 inli) the water, then swung themselves baek, and pulled with all their 
 miirht; and thev vied with eaeh other to disijiav their slrcMi^tli. TIh'v had 
 come out (]uietiv under sail, hul the breeze had fallen, and the manly 
 |)ride of the hrolhers was suddenly stiniidated by the prospect of measuring 
 their strength. 
 
 ^^'hen they went fishing alone with their father, they rowed thus with 
 nobodv at the rudder, for Roland used to be preparing his lines, keeping 
 an eve on the handling of the boat, which he would direct by a gesture 
 or a word — ' Easy, Jean! " — or " Put it on, Pierre!" — or " Now then, 
 bow! Put it on, stroke! A little more elbow-grease." Thus the one who 
 was dreaming pulled stronger, and he who was lunning away with the 
 stroke slackened down, and the boat righted herseli. 
 
 To-day they were going to show off their biceps. Pierre's arms were 
 hairy, somewhat thin, but sinewy; those of Jean were thick and white, 
 with a tinge of pink, and a nuiss of muscles under the skin. 
 
 Pierre had the advantage at first. ^^'ilh his clenched teeth, knitted 
 brow, outstretched limbs, hands grasping the oar. he made it bend again 
 at every stroke, and the Perle shot in towards the coast. The father, 
 seated in the bows, so that he might leave the stern-seat for the two 
 women, exhausted himself with crying : 'Gently, stroke! Put it on, 
 bow!" Stroke redoubled his energy, and bow could not respond to this 
 ill-regulated pace. 
 
 At last the skipper cried : ■■ Easy all!" 'i'he two blades were raised 
 siundlaneoiislv. aiul J(\m, at his falhei-'s bidding, pulled aloiu' ior a lew 
 seconds. lint from this time the adxantage was with him. lie todk Iresh 
 life, and warmed to his work, whilst Pierre, out ol breath, exhausted by 
 his vigorous exertion, grew weak, ami panted, f'oiu' times running .M. Roland 
 easied them in order to enable the eldest to get his breath, and to 
 dress the boat, which was standing out to sea. Then the doctor, his 
 brow covered with perspiration, his cheeks pale, angry aiul humiliated, 
 stammered out : 
 
 " 1 (loll I know what's the matter with me. I liav(< a spasm in the 
 
 3
 
 16 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 heart. I started off all right, but this has taken it <uil of my arms." 
 
 " Shall 1 scull? " Jean asked him. 
 
 " Thanks, no; it will pass oil." 
 
 The mother said with some annoyance : 
 
 ■' What is the sense, Pierre, of working yourself into such a stale? 
 You arc no longer a child! 
 
 He raised his shoulders, and went on rowing. 
 
 Madame Rosémilly pretended not to see, or understand, or hear. Her 
 fair little head thrown hack at every movement of the boat, with a sharp 
 and captivating jerk, which tossed the soft hair on her temples. 
 
 I3ut the father exclaimed : " Look out! The Piince Albert is running 
 us down! ' Every one looked at the steamer. The long, low Southampton 
 boat, with lier two funnels sloping backwards, and her two yellow paddle- 
 boxes, round like two cheeks — the Southampton boat was coming up 
 at lull steam, laden with passengers under their open umbrellas. Her 
 rushing, noisy bows, cutting the water until it fell again in foam, made 
 her seem twice as speedy as she was, like an ex|)ress-boat; and the 
 upright bows, as they cut the sea, raised two lliin transparent sheets of 
 water which glided along the vessel's sides. 
 
 ^^'llcn it was <piile close to the Pcrlc, Uoland raised his hat, ami the 
 two ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and half a dozen umbrellas responded 
 to these salutations, leaning eagerly over the sides of the steamer which 
 passed on its way, leaving behind it a few slackening waves. 
 
 Thev saw other shi])s as well, wreathed in the same way with smoke, 
 hurrying in Irom all ptjints ol the hori/on to the short whilt; jelty, which 
 sucked them in one after another like a mouth. And the fishing boats 
 and the big sailing vessels with their sleniler masts gliding through the 
 blue, towed by tugs which could hardly be discerned, converged more 
 or less rapidiv towanls this devouring monster, which from time to time 
 looked as if it had been gorged, and shot out to the open sea another 
 licet of packets, brigs, schooners, three-masters laden as with a maze 
 of tree-to|)s. The hurrying steamers dispersed to the light and left, 
 or into the level surface of the ocean; and the sailing vessels, cjuilted
 
 TIIK TWO P.noTHRRS 17 
 
 by llic tiiy;s wliicli liiul In'owghl llicni in, l•n^\c niolionlcss, "whilst tlioy 
 were being covcrctl iVinii mainsail to top-mast with white or biowii 
 cativas, wliicli glowed red in the setting sun. 
 
 Madame Uoland, looking around her with hall-closed eyes, murmured : 
 • Ah, this sea! How heautilul it is! 
 
 Madame i\oséniilly answered her, with a long-drawn sigh, which had 
 nothing sad ahoul it : 
 
 " Yes! Ilul it is very cruel sometimes." 
 
 "Look," cried M. Holand. ■ there is the Nonnaiulic, just going to 
 enter. What a line ship, eh?" 
 
 Then he pointed out the features of the coast in front of them, 
 from the other side of the estuary of the Seine — twenty kilonu'tres across, 
 as he l<ild iheui. He showed them Villerville, Trouville. Iloulgale. Luc, 
 Arromamhes, the river of Caen, and the rocks of Calvados, which make 
 navigation tiangerous as far as Cli(>rbourg. Next he spoke of the Seine 
 sands, whirh aller their foian with every tide, and even pu/./.le liie |)ilols 
 of (,)uillebœuf, if they do not trace out tin- channel every day. He slunved 
 them how the port of Havre divides the low frcuu the high part of .\or- 
 mandv. In lower Normandy the Hat coast runs down to the sea in 
 pasture land, meadows, and fields. That of higher Normandy, on tlu> 
 oilier hand, is peipendicular , a vast cliff, scarped, jagged, magnificent, 
 constituting an immense white wall, in vvliich evcrv indentation conceals 
 a village or a harlioiir. Llictat, Fecamp, Sainl-\'alerv , Tréport, Diepjx', etc. 
 
 'I'he two women were not listening, for they were absorbeil in their 
 happiness, moved by the spectacle of the ocean, covered with ships 
 which dailed about like aniuuds around (heir ilen. ' licy were silent, 
 being overwhelmed by the vast horizon of air and water, reduced to 
 stillness by the soothing and splendid sunset. Holaiul alone continued to 
 talk. He was one of those whom nothin<ir can disturb. \\ lunen, with 
 more delicate nerves, are conscious now and then, hanllv knowing why, 
 that the sound of a iuhh' voice can be as irritating as an act of coarseness. 
 
 Pierre and .lean, restored to calmness, rowctl slowlv, arul the Perle, 
 a speck amongst the big vessels, was nearing the port.
 
 18 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 When she touched tlic quay, Papagris, who was waiting for her, 
 took ihe hands of the ladies to help them ashore ; and they entered the 
 town. A numerous and quiet crowd, the sort of crowd which daily 
 frequents the piers at full tide, was returning at the same time. 
 
 Madame Roland and Madame Rosémillv walked in front, followed by 
 the three men. As they climbed the Rue de Paris they sto])ped now 
 and again before a milliner's or a goldsmith's shop, to look at a bonnet 
 or a jewel; then, after comparing notes, they passed on again. 
 
 Opposite to the Place de la Bourse, Roland, as was his daily custom, 
 stood gazing at the Commercial Dock, crowded with ships, and continued 
 by other docks, where the great hulls, side by side, touched each other 
 in four or five rows. Their countless masts, for a length of several 
 kilometres of wharves, with their yards, spars, and rigging, gave to this 
 channel in the heart of the town the appearance of a great dead forest. 
 And above this leafless forest the sea-gulls hovered, waiting to swoop 
 down like a falling stone upon the remnants cast into the water; and a 
 sailor lad, who was securing a pulley at the end of a mast-head, seemed 
 as though he had climbed there to look for birds' nests. 
 
 '' W\\l you dine with us, without ceremony, that we may finish the 
 day together?" Madame Roland asked her friend. 
 
 '' Oh, yes, with pleasure! 1 accej)t without ceremony also. It would 
 be melancholy to go home alone this evening." 
 
 Pierre, who had lieard lliis, and whom the indifference of Madame 
 Rosémilly was beginning lo chill, muttered : "Good! The widow sticks 
 to us. " For some davs past he had been calling her " the widow." 
 This word, though it said nothing, annoyed Jean bv the tone in which 
 it was said, for it seemed to him ill-natured and offensive. 
 
 The three men did not speak again till they came to llieir own door- 
 step. The house was narrow, made up of a ground floor anil two low 
 stories, in the Rue Belle-Normande. The maid, Joséphine, a girl of nineteen, 
 a cheap country servant, who had in full measure the stony and shee])ish 
 look of the peasantry, opened and dosed the door, going up behind the 
 family to the little drawing-room on the first floor.
 
 /Xi^rmttwr tf. '4»f //m/'i/'.^- V' -"
 
 THE TWO lîROTHERS 19 
 
 Tlien she said : " There has been a gentleman come three times! 
 
 M. ni)Iaiul. who rarely spoke to her willioul shouting or swearing, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " \\'\\i) has come three times — deuce take the girl?" 
 
 She never troubled herself about her niastor's voice; so she wen I on : 
 
 " Gentleman IVoiii liie notary." 
 
 " What notary? " 
 
 " \Miv, M'sieu Canu. " 
 
 " And what did the gentleman say? " 
 
 ■• riial M sicu (]anu would coinc* here himself this evening." 
 
 M. Lecanu was Roland's notary, and in a sense his friend, managing his 
 affairs tor him. As he had "ixcn notice of his evcnino- visit, he nnist 
 have some urgent and iniporlant imsiuess, and the Uolantls lookcnl at (Mch 
 other, in some anxiety at the news, as moderately well-to-do people are 
 wont to be at every appearance of a notary, which raises a crowd oi ideas 
 as to contracts, iniu'iitances, trials, matters agreeable or alarming. The 
 father of the faudly, after a short sileiuc, muttered : 
 
 " W'liat on eartli can he have to say?" 
 
 Madame Rosémilly began to laugh. 
 
 " Conu' now! this is a legacy. I am sure ol it; 1 bring good luck. ' 
 
 l>ut they were not expecting liie death of any one who could U'ave them 
 unylhing. 
 
 Madame Roland, who was endowed with an excellent memory foi' rela- 
 tives, began to run over all the connections on her husband's siile and 
 on her own, to follow up all the tiescents, and to trace the cousinships. 
 
 Without having so much as taken of! her bonnet, she asked : 
 
 " Tell me, father " — she called her husband " father " at home, anil 
 occasionally " M. Roland " before strangers — ■'' tell me, father, do you 
 remeudjcr who married Joseph bebru, after his hrst wife?" 
 
 " Yes, a little Dumcnil girl, ilaughter of a stationer." 
 
 " WCrc llicic any children?" 
 
 " I should think there were. Four or five, at least. " 
 
 " Oh, then there's nothing iVum thai quarter!
 
 20 THE TWO lîROTlIKRS 
 
 She was thenceforth immersed in ihis quest. She clung to the hope 
 ol good fortune falling fioiu heaven upon them. But Pierre, who loved 
 his mother very much, who knew that she was somewhat imaginative, 
 and dreaded a disillusion for her. a small vexation and sorrow, if the 
 news should be had instead ol good, checked hvv. 
 
 ■' Don't run awav with an idea, mamma: uncles from America have 
 gone out. I rather think it is about a marriage for .lean. " 
 
 FiVervbodv was taken aback by this notion, and Jean was rather annoyed 
 that his brother should have said such a thing before Madame Rosémilly. 
 
 " Why for me more than for von ? The idea is very unlikelv. You 
 are the oldest, so that people must have thought of you first. And, 
 besides, I don't want lo marry." 
 
 Pierre snapped him up. 
 
 " You are in love then?" 
 
 Jean replied, out of humour : 
 
 " Must you be in love to say you dont want to marry yet?" 
 
 " Ah, the 'yet' alters the matter. You are waiting your time. ' 
 
 " Say 1 am waiting, if you like." 
 
 But M. Roland, who had been listenin"' and thinkino', suddcnlv hit 
 upon the most likely idea. 
 
 " By Jove! We are very stupid to be racking our brains! M. Lecanu 
 is our friend. He knows that Pierre is looking for a doctor's connection, and 
 Jean for a lawyer's, and he has met with a chance of settling one of vou." 
 
 It was so simple and probable that every one agreed about it. 
 
 '' Dinner's ready, " said the maid. 
 
 They went to their rooms to wash their hands before silting down. 
 
 Ten minutes later they were dining on the ground floor. 
 
 At first there was hardly any conversation, bul aflcr a time Roland 
 was puzzling himself over the notary's visit. 
 
 " Xow, why did he not write? \Miy did he send his clerk three 
 times? Why is he coming himself." 
 
 Pierre thought llial natural enouoh. 
 
 " No doubt he wauls an immediale answer. Perhaps he has confi-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 21 
 
 (loiilial coiKlitioiis to li-ll us of, siirii as one docs not care to write. " 
 
 I5ut all loiii' were preoeeiipietl, and rallier put out at liavint; invited 
 a stranger, who woidd interfere with thcMr chsenssion. 
 
 They had just rt-turnetl to the drawing-room when ihe notai'v was 
 annoiniced. Uolanil jumped up. 
 ■ (joo(.l tiay. my deal- .Mailri'. 
 
 lie gave .M. Leeanu the title of " Mailre. ' which is prefixed lo the 
 name of all notaries. 
 
 IMadamc Uosémillv rose. 
 
 " I must go. I feel very tired." 
 
 They maile a feehle attempt to keep liei', hut she would not he per- 
 suaded, and went away without either of the men escorting her, as their 
 custom was. 
 
 Madame l^oland hustled up to the visitor : 
 
 '' \ cup of coffee, Monsieur.' 
 
 " Thank vou, no. I Iia\e |ust had ni\' dinner. ' 
 
 " .\ cup of tea then? " 
 
 •■ I will not refuse — hut hy and hv. First we nnist talk husiness." 
 
 In the profound silence which lollowcd these words, nothing was heard 
 hut the regular swinging of the pendidum. ami on the Moor helow. the 
 noise of the dislies as thev were heing washed hy the maid — who was too 
 slu|)id e\cn lo listen at tloors. fhcii the notary continued : 
 
 '' Did you know at i'aris a certain M. Maréchal — J.,éon Maréchal.'" 
 
 M. Itoland and his wife uttered the sanu' exclamation. 
 
 ■ " I ndccd we dul ! 
 
 '' He was a Incnd n\ yours.'" 
 
 I'liiland cxchiiuu'd : 
 
 '■ Ihc hest ol Iriends, sir, hut an ohstinate Parisian; he never ipiils 
 the Boulevard. lie is head of a department al (he Treasury. I have 
 never seen him since I left the capital. And llicn w (> ceased to write 
 to eaih oliici- W hen we li\(' a! a distance, yon see 
 
 The notary gravely adtled : 
 
 " .M. .Maréchal is dead! "
 
 22 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 Husband and wife made the same little movement of surprise and 
 sorrow, real or feigned, hut always ([uick, with which one generally 
 receives such news. 
 
 M. Lecanu went on : 
 
 "My colleague in Paris has just informed me of the chief disposition 
 of his will, by which he constitutes your son Jean, M. Jean Roland, his 
 sole heir." 
 
 The astonishment was so great that no one had a word to say. 
 
 Madame Roland was the first to get the better of her emotion, and 
 murmured : 
 
 " Oh, dear, poor Léon! Our poor friend dear, dear! He is 
 
 dead !" 
 
 There were tears in her eyes, silent, womanly tears, tears of grief, 
 risino- from the soul, and trickling- down the cheeks, which seem so 
 charged with sorrow, and are so transparent. 
 
 But Roland thought less of the sadness of this loss than of the 
 hope which had been born in him. Ile dare not, however, ask at once 
 about the conditions of the will, or the amount of the fortune. But to 
 get nearer to the interesting subject, he asked : 
 
 " What was the cause of poor Maréchal's death?" 
 
 M. Lecanu iiad no idea. 
 
 " All I know," he said, " is that, dying without direct heirs, he 
 leaves the whole of his fortune, twenty thousand francs a year in the Three 
 per Cents, to your second son, whom he saw growing up IVoui his birth, 
 and whom he considers worthy of this bequest. In case .M. Jean should 
 not accept it, the inheritance would pass to the Foundlings." 
 
 M. Roland could no longer hide his joy, and cried : 
 
 ''By Jupiter, that was a kiiul thought ! 1 am sure, if I had had no 
 children, I should not have forgotten that dear friend of mine!" 
 
 The notary smiled. 
 
 - 1 have been very glad," he said, " to tell you this myself. It 
 always gives one pleasure to bring people good news." 
 
 He had not so much as thought that this good news was the death
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 23 
 
 f)f a fVieiuI. Udlaiul's Ix'st frieiul. wlio liad liimscU' jiisi forgoltcii in a» 
 instant l\\v rriendslii|) which he- had pi'cviunsly declared so emphatically. 
 
 Madame Roland and her sons still looked sad. She continued to weep 
 a little, drying her eyes with her handkerchief, which she pressed to her 
 lips in order to keep back her deep sighs. 
 
 The doctor inuiiiiiiicd : 
 
 " He was a good fellow, and very affectionate. He used frequently 
 to invite my brother and me to dinner." 
 
 Jean, with wide open and shining eyes, held his light beard with 
 his right hand — a familiar trick — and passed il llnongh to the end of the 
 hair, as if to lengthen and soften it. 
 
 Twice he parted his lips, in order to add a becoming phrase, and, 
 after searching for one a long time, could only say : 
 
 "Truly, he was very fond of me. He always embraced me when 
 I went to see him." 
 
 Hut the father's thoughts were running far ahead; they ran all round 
 the inheritance which had been announced to them, which was already 
 secured — this money waiting at the door, ready to enter, to-morrow, as 
 soon as it was accepted. 
 
 " There is no chance of impediment?" he asked, " no lawsuit? no 
 
 contesting? " 
 
 M. Lecanu appeared to be Iree from anxiety. 
 
 " No ; my Paris colleague describes the position of affairs as very 
 simple. All we want is iM. .lean's formal acceptance." 
 
 " Then it is perfectly straight. And this fortune is nneiuumbered? " 
 
 " Quite unencumbered.' 
 
 " .VII formalities observed?" 
 
 " All." 
 
 Suddenly the retired jeweller was a little ashamed, vaguely, instinctively, 
 momentarily ashamed of his hurry to learn the particulars, and he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " You quite understand that if I have asked at once about .ill these 
 matters, it is to save my son ironi troubles which he might not have
 
 24 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 foreseen. Sometimes there are debts, a comjilicated state of affairs, Heaven 
 knows Avlial ! And tlien it is like plunging' into a maze of brambles. In 
 short, I am not the heir, but I think of the ehild before all." 
 
 They always called Jean "the child" at home, though he was much 
 taller than Pierre. 
 
 Madame Roland seemed to i)e waking bom a dream, and recalling a 
 far-away, almost forgotten circumstance, which she had heard in other 
 days, and of which she was not quite assured. She suddenly stammered out : 
 
 ■' Were you not saying that our poor Maréchal had left his fortune 
 to my little Jean? " 
 
 " Yes, Madame." 
 
 Then she went on, ingenuously : 
 
 " This is a great pleasure to me, for it proves that he loved us." 
 
 Roland had risen to his feet. 
 
 " Do you wish, my dear Maître, that my son should sign his accept- 
 ance at once? ' 
 
 " No, no, M. Roland. To-morrow; to-morrow in my office, at two 
 o'clock, if that is convenient." 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course, it will be convenient! 
 
 Then Madame Roland, who had also risen, and who was smiling after 
 her tears, took two steps to the notary, rested her hand on the back 
 of his chair, and looking at him with the tender aspect of a grateful 
 mother, said : 
 
 " And now for that cup of tea, M. Lecanu? " 
 
 " Now I shall be very glad of it, Madame. 
 
 The maid, being summoned, brought in the first place some dry biscuits 
 in deep tin boxes — those stale and brittle English biscuits, which seem 
 as if they had been baked to suit the beaks of parrots, and soldered up 
 in metal bo.\es for a voyage round the world. Then she went in search 
 of some unbleached napkins, folded in little squares — tea-napkins, which are 
 rarelv washed in pool households. She returned a third time with the 
 sugar-basin and the cups Then she went off to boil the water. And 
 then they waited.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 25 
 
 Nobody could speak; lliey had too much to tliiiik about, and nothing 
 to say. Madame Roland alone tried to utter trivial phrases. She described 
 the fishing excursion, sang the praises of the Perle, and of Madame 
 Rosémilly. 
 
 " Delightful, very delightful, " said the notary from time to time. 
 
 Roland, leaning with his back against the chimney-piece, as a man 
 leans in winlcr, when there is a fire in the grate, with his hands in his 
 pockets, and his lips purseil as if to whistle, couhl not keep still, tor- 
 tured by an overmastering desire to give rein to his joy. 
 
 The two brothers, in two similar arm-chairs, with their legs crossed 
 in the same fashion, right and left of the centre table, wei'e staring fixedly 
 in front of them. Their attitudes were the same, but the expression was 
 very di lièrent. 
 
 At length the tea made its appearance. The notary took a cup, 
 sweetened anil drank it, after softening a little biscuit too hard lo be 
 bitten. Then he got up, shook hands, and departed. 
 
 " It is understood, then, " Roland reminded him, " to-morrow at two." 
 
 "Yes, it is understood; two, to-morrow." 
 
 Jean had not said a word. 
 
 After lie had gone, there was silence again. Then Roland came and 
 slapped his hand on his younger son's shoulder, and cried : 
 
 "Well, you lucky rascal, you don't embrace me?" 
 
 Jean smiled, and embraced his father, saying : 
 
 " It (lid not occur to me as necessary! 
 
 But the old fellow could no longer restrain his merry humour. He 
 walked alioni, played the piano on the furniture with his clumsy lingers, 
 balanced himself on his toes, and kept on saying : 
 
 "What luck! What luck! Here's a stroke of luck!" 
 
 Pierre asked him a question. 
 
 "You knew this Maréchal very well, then, in old days?" 
 
 The father answered : 
 
 " Why, you see, he used to spend every evening at our house. Hut 
 you remember that he used to fetch you from college, when you luul
 
 26 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 a holiday, and often took you back after dinner. All, I recollect, on the 
 very tlay of Jean's birth it was he who went for the doctor. lie had 
 been dining with us when your mother was taken ill , and set off at a 
 run. In his hurry he took my hat instead of his own. 1 remember that, 
 because we had a hearty laugh over it, later on. Perhaps he recalled 
 this detail on his death-bed, and as he had no heir of his own, he said : 
 'Happy thought! I had a hand in the birth of that youngster, and 1 will 
 leave him my money!'" 
 
 Madame Roland, buried in her low chair, seemed to have been lost 
 in her recollections. 
 
 She murmured now, like one thinking aloud : 
 
 "Oh, he was a good friend, devoted, faithful, a man in a thousand 
 in these days! " 
 
 Jean had risen. 
 
 "I'm going for a walk," he said. 
 
 His father was astonished, and tried to detain him; for they must 
 talk things over, make their plans, and form their decisions. But the 
 young man was obstinate, and pretended that he had an engagement. 
 Besides, there would be plenty of time to arrive at an understanding 
 before they came into the inheritance. 
 
 So he went off; for he wanted to be alone and think. Pierre, in his 
 turn, declared that he was going out, and after a few minutes he fol- 
 lowed his brother. 
 
 As soon as he was alone with his wife, M. Roland seized her in 
 his arms, kissed her twice on each cheek, and, by way of answer to a 
 reproach which she often launched at him, said : 
 
 " You see, my love, that it would have done me no good to slay in 
 Paris any longer, to drudge for the children, instead of coming here 
 and setting up my health; for good luck falls on us from the skies." 
 
 She had become quite serious now. 
 
 "It falls from the skies for Jean," she said. "But, Pierre?" 
 
 " Pierre! Oh, he is a doctor, and will make money. And then his 
 brother is sure to do something for him."
 
 TMK TWO BROTHERS 
 
 27 
 
 "No; he would not accept it. And then, this legacy is Jean's — only 
 Jean's. Pierre is placed at a great disadvantage by this." 
 
 The good man was perplexed. 
 
 " Then we will leave him a little more in my will." 
 
 " No, that is not just either! " 
 
 " Bother take it, then!" he cried. "What would you have me do? You 
 arc always on the look-out lor unpleasant ideas. You must spoil 
 all my pleasures. There, 1 am going to bed. Good night. All the same 
 this is a stroke of luck, a famous stroke! " 
 
 And he departed, overjoyed in spite of all, and without a word of 
 regret for the generous friend who was no more. 
 
 Madame Roland resumed her reverie, beside the smouldering lamp.
 
 II
 
 r^i^yW 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 As soon as he was outside, Pierre turnetl liis steps towards the Rue de 
 Paris, the luaiu street of Havre, wliieh was lighted u]), auinuited, uoisy. 
 Tlie fresh l)reeze hy the sea-side fanned his face, and he walked slowly 
 with his cane under his arm, and his hands behind his hack. 
 
 He fell ill at ease, depressed, dissatisfied, as one ieels when one has 
 heard a piece of had news. No definite thouglit afllicted him, and lie 
 would have l)een at a loss to say at once how this heaviness of soul ami 
 numbness of hodv had lallcti upon hiui. lie was wrong somewhere, without 
 knowing where; he had a litlle centre of pain, one of those almost insensible 
 wounds which we cainiol localise, liul which trouble us, weary, sadden, 
 irritate us; a strange, light suffering, as it were a germ of sorrow. 
 
 When he reached the Place du Théâtre, he was attracted by the lights 
 <)l the Cafe TorLoui, ami sliolled slowly to the illiiuiiualetl farddc : but, as
 
 32 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 he was about to enter, he thought that he woukl be sure to fliid friends 
 and acquaintances there, with whom he would have to talk ; and a prompt 
 repugnance came upon him against this petty comradeship of small cups 
 and half-glasses. Therefore, retracing his steps, he followed the main 
 street leading to the port. 
 
 "Where shall 1 go?" he asked himself, looking about for a place to 
 his mind, in keeping with his present mood. He could not find one, for 
 he longed to be alone, and did not want to meet any one. 
 
 Coming to the great quay, he hesitated again, and then turned towards 
 the pier. He had made up his mind for solitude. 
 
 As he brushed up against a bench on the breakwater, he sat down, 
 already tired of walking, and disgusted with his walk before he had 
 taken it. 
 
 "What is the matter with me?" he asked himself. And he searched 
 his memory for any vexation which might have occurred to him, as one 
 questions a sick person to find out the reason for his disorder. 
 
 His mind was at the same time excitable and prudent ; he rushed into 
 a business, and then began to reason, approving or condemning his impulse; 
 but with him the original disposition was strongest in the end, and the 
 man of sentiment prevailed over the intellectual man. 
 
 So he sought for the origin of this disturbance of nerve, this craving 
 for motion without any particular wish, this desire to meet some one in 
 order to change the current of his mind, and again this distaste for those 
 he was likely to meet, and for the things they were likely to say to him. 
 
 Then he put to himself this question : Could Jean's legacy be the 
 cause ? 
 
 Well, that was possible, after all. 
 
 When the notary had announced the news, he had felt his heart beat 
 a little faster. Certainly we are not always our own masters, and we 
 are subject to spontaneous and persistent emotions, against which we 
 strive in vain. 
 
 He began to rcllect deeply on this physiological problem of the impres- 
 sions produced by some event on a creature of instinct, and forming
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 33 
 
 witliin him a cuncnt of ideas and sensations, whether painful or pleasant. 
 different fi'ini those which ihc man of reflcetion , who has mastered 
 himsell l>v llic (ultiire of his intellect, desires, or summons up, or deems 
 good and wholesome. 
 
 He tried to conceive the state of mind of a son who inherits a large 
 fortune, who by its aid is about to enjoy many pleasures which he has 
 long desired — which had been forbidden by the avarice of a father, who 
 was still lovetl and regretted. 
 
 He got uji and began to walk again towards the end of the pier. 
 lie felt better, content with having understood, having detected himself, 
 and stripped the veil from thai second self which there is in all ol us. 
 "So [ have been jealous of Jean," he thought. "That is mean enough, 
 truly ! I am sure of it now, because liie lirst idea which entered my 
 mind was that of his marriage to Madame Uosémilly. And yet 1 ihm I 
 care fcii- lliat little calculating cocpiette, just cut out to disenchant one 
 with common sense aiul |)rudcnce. So it was groundless jealousy, jealousy 
 in tile abstract, with no reason for its existence. I must be on my guard 
 against that ! 
 
 He reachetl the signal-j)ost which shows the height of the water in the 
 harbour, and lighted a match in order to read the list of ships signalled 
 in the open, whicii were to enter at the next high tide. Steamers were 
 expected from Brazil, La Plata, CJiili, and .lapan, two Danish brigs, a 
 Norwegian scho(uier, and a Turkish steam-packet — which surprised Pierre 
 almost as much as il' he had icatl "a Swiss steamer" — and he saw, as 
 it were, in a sort of absurd dream, a big ship laden with turbaned men, 
 climbing the rigging in their baggy trousers. 
 
 "Stupid," he thought. "The Turks are sailors all the same." 
 .\(tei- talking a lew more steps, he pauseil to look round on the roadstead. 
 On the light, undei- Sainte-Adresse , the two electric lights of Cape la 
 Hcvc, like two monstrous twin Cyclops, threw their long and powerful 
 glances across the sea. The two parallel rays, pouring from two neigh- 
 lioiiiin^ hinlcrns, lil^e the vast liiils n\' two comets, descciuled by a stiaight 
 ami i-egiiliir sl()p<> iVoni the suniinit ol the <-oast to the extremity ol the
 
 34 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 horizon. Then two other lights from the two piers, the children of these 
 giants, indicated the entrance to the harbour; and below, on the other 
 bank of the Seine, others were to be seen, many others, fixed or revolving, 
 flashing and eclijjsing, opening and closing like eyes — the eyes of the 
 several ports, yellow, red, green, watching the dark ocean covered with 
 ships, the living eyes of the hospitable land, saying, if only by the unvarying 
 and regular mechanic motion of their eyelids : 
 
 " Here I am. 1 am Trouville, I am Honfleur, I am the estuary of Pont- 
 Audemer. " 
 
 And towering over all the rest, so high that one might take it, at 
 such a distance, for a planet, the lofty light of Etouville showed the 
 channel to Rouen, through the sand-banks in the estuary of the mighty river. 
 
 Then again, on the deep water, the limitless water, more gloomy than 
 liie sky, he fancied that he saw other stars, sprinkled about. They 
 trembled in the haze of night, small, whether near or far off, white, green, 
 and red. Almost all of them were motionless; yet some appeared to move. 
 These were the lights of the ships at anchor, awaiting the tide, or of 
 moving ships, which were making for an anchorage. 
 
 Just at this moment the moon rose behind the town ; and she looked 
 like a vast divine Canopus, lit up in the firmament to guide the innu- 
 merable ileet of the actual stars. 
 
 Pierre murmured, almost aloud : 
 
 "Ah! And we put ourselves about for the sake of twopence!" 
 
 Suddenly, close to him, in the broad black channel between the piers, 
 a shadow, an enormous and fantastic shadow, glided by. Leaning over 
 the parapet of granite, he saw a fishing boat which was returning to port, 
 without a sound from voice, or waA'e, or oar, gently propelled by its high 
 brown sail, spread to catch the breeze from the open sea. 
 
 lie thought : "If one could only live on that sea, hoAV calmly one 
 might live ! " 
 
 And then, after a few more steps, he became aware of a man seated 
 at the end of the jetty. 
 
 A dreamer, a lover, a sage — happy or sorrowful ? Who was it ? He
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 35 
 
 approached, curious to see the face of the solitary ; and he recognized 
 his brother. 
 
 '' Why, is it you, Jean ? " 
 
 "Why, Pierre! What are you come here for?" 
 
 " I am liaving a bh)W. And you ? " 
 
 Jean burst out laughing. 
 
 "I aiu having a blow likewise." 
 
 Pierre sat by his brother's side. 
 
 "Is not that a splendid sight?" 
 
 " It is." 
 
 By the sound of his voice he understood that Jean had not been looking. 
 He went on : 
 
 " For my part, when I come here I have a mad wish to go away, to 
 set oil with all these ships, northward or southward. Fancy ! Those 
 little lights below us have come from all quarters of llie world, from 
 countries with magnificent flowers and lovely giils, white or brown, from 
 the countries of the humming-birds, the elephants, lions at liberty, negroes 
 who are kings, from all the lands which are fairy tales to us who believe 
 no longer in the White Cat or the Sleeping Beauty. It would be wonder- 
 fully nice, if one could afford to make a journey to those places; but il 
 would mean a lot of money " 
 
 He was suddenly silent, remembering tliat his brother had it now, the 
 money he spoke of, and that he, delivered from all anxiety, from daily loil, a 
 free man without fetters, rich and happy, could go where his fancy led him, 
 to the pale-faced Swedish beauties, or to the brown Havannah girls. 
 
 Then one of those involuntary thoughts, which were frequent with iiim, 
 so sudden and swift that he could not foresee them, nor arrest, nor qualify 
 them, which seemed to come from another soul, independent of himself 
 and lull (tf violence, flashed upon liiiii. 
 
 "Bah! He is too stupid! lie will marry the little Uosemilly. " 
 
 He had risen to his feet. 
 
 " I will leave you to dream of the future. I want to walk. " 
 
 He grasped iiis i)r()tlicr's hand, and went on in hearty tones :
 
 36 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 " Well, my little Jean, and so you are a rich man. ! am very glad 
 that I met you alone to-night, that I may say how pleased 1 am, how 
 I wish you joy — and how 1 love you. ' 
 
 Jean, with his soft and tender nature, was much moved, and stam- 
 mered out : 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, my good Pierre. Thanks ! 
 
 And Pierre went slowly back again, his cane under his arm, and his 
 hands behind him. 
 
 When he came back to the town he asked himself again what he 
 should do, not satisfied with his own interrupted walk, and vexed at 
 having been deprived of the sea by his brother's presence. 
 
 He had a sudden inspiration — 'I will go and drink a glass with old 
 Marowsko. ' So he climbed up towards the Ingouville quarter. 
 
 He had known Marowsko in the hospitals at Paris. He was an old 
 Pole, a political refugee, so it was said, who had a terrible history, and 
 had come to Paris after submitting to fresh examinations, to practise as 
 a dispenser. Nothing was known of his past life; but there had been 
 legends afloat amongst the house-surgeons, the students, and later on 
 amongst the neighbours. His reputation as a dire conspirator, a nihilist, 
 a regicide, a patriot who was ready for any fate, who had escaped death 
 by a miracle, had fascinated the wild and lively imagination of Pierre 
 Roland, and he had contracted a friendship with the old Pole, though 
 without getting from him a single admission on the subject of his former 
 existence. And, in fact, it was through the young doctor that this worthy 
 had come and settled in Havre, reckoning on a good connection which 
 the aforesaid doctor was to find for him. 
 
 Meanwhile he was living in poverty in his modest apothecary's shop, 
 selling drugs to the poor shopkeepers and working men of the quarter. 
 
 Pierre would often go to see him after dinner, and to chat for an 
 hour to him, lor he loved the calm face and rare conversation of MarowsUo. 
 whose long silences he considered specially profound. 
 
 A single jet of gas was burning above the counter laden with phials. 
 Those in front of the shoj) had not been lighted, on the score of economy.
 
 Tin: 1 \VU BROTHERS 37 
 
 Behind lliis counter, seated on a chair, Avitli his legs stretched out, one 
 over the other, an oKl bald-headed man, having a large hcak of a nose 
 in a line with his narrow forehead, giving him the mclancliidy appearance 
 of a parrot, was fast asleep with his chin ii|)on his hrcast. 
 
 At the sound of the bell he awoke, rose up, and recognizing the 
 doctor, came up to him with outstretched hands. 
 
 His black coat, spotted with stains of acids and syrups, much loo 
 large (or lii> ihin. short body, looked like a venerable cassock; and the 
 man spoke with a strong Polish accent, which gave his rapid speech an 
 infantine expression, a lisp and intonations like those of a child just 
 beginning to j)ronounce. 
 
 Pierre sat down, and Marowsko asked him : 
 
 " What is there new, my dear doctor } " 
 
 " Nothing. Still the same thing everywhere. " 
 
 " You do not look cheerful, to-night. " 
 
 " I am not often cheerful. " 
 
 " Come, come ! You must drive that away. Will you have a glass 
 of liqueur ? " 
 
 " That is just what 1 should like. " 
 
 " Then 1 will let you taste a new preparation. I'or two months I have 
 been trying to get something from the currant, from which they have 
 iiilhcrto made nothing but a syrup ! Well ! I have invented a good 
 licpieur — very good, very good ! " 
 
 In great glee he went lo a cupboard, opened it, and took out a phial, 
 with which he returned, lie moved with brief gestures, never prolonged; 
 he did not extend his arm to its full length, nor sj)read his legs wide, 
 nor make any complete and definite movement. His ideas were like his 
 actions ; he indicated them, foreshadowed, sketched, and suggested them, 
 but did not give them full utterance. 
 
 The greatest concern of his life seemed, indeed, to be the preparation 
 of syrups and licpicurs. With a good syrup or a good licjucur one ruu\i\ 
 make a lorlunc, he used lo say. 
 
 lie iiad invciiU'd huudieds of sweet concoctions without succeeding in
 
 38 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 putting one on the market. Pierre declared that Marowsko made him 
 think of Marat. 
 
 Two little glasses were brought from the shop parlour, and placed on 
 the mixing slab ; and then the two men raised the liqueur to the gas, and 
 observed its colour. 
 
 " What a lovely ruby ! " cried Pierre. 
 
 "Is it not ? " 
 
 The old Pole with his parrot's head seemed enchanted. 
 
 The doctor tasted, smacked his lips, reflected, tasted again, again 
 reflected, and then said : 
 
 "Capital, capital, and quite a new flavour; a regular discovery, my 
 dear fellow. " 
 
 "Truly? Then I am very glad." 
 
 Marowsko asked Pierre's advice as to how he should name the new 
 liqueur; he suggested "essence of currant," or "fine groseille," or " gro- 
 sélia," or else "groséline." 
 
 Pierre did not care for any of these names. 
 
 An idea struck the old man. 
 
 "What you said just now was very good — 'Lovely ruby.'" 
 
 The doctor doubted the value of this name also, although he had hit 
 upon it. He recommended " groseillette, " which Marowsko declared to be 
 admirable. 
 
 Then they were silent, and remained seated for a few minutes, without 
 saying a word, under the solitary gas jet. 
 
 At last Pierre said, almost against his will : 
 
 "Look here; a rather curious thing happened to us to-night. One of 
 my father's friends has died, and left his fortune to my brother. " 
 
 The dispenser seemed not to understand at once, but, after thinking 
 about it, he hoped the doctor would come in for half. \\'hen the matter 
 had been thoroughly explained, he appeared surprised and angry ; and, by 
 way of .expressing his dissatisfaction at seeing his young friend sacrificed, 
 he repeated several limes : 
 
 " That will not look well."
 
 THE TWO l!l! (1 I 11 i: KS 
 
 30 
 
 Pierre, whose nervous fit was coming on again, wanted to know what 
 Marowsko meant hy this expression. 
 
 " Why Wf)iilcl it not look well ' What l)ad effect coukl he produced 
 by my brother inheriting the fortune of a friend of the family ? " 
 
 I5ut the circumspect old man would give no further explanation. 
 
 " it is usual in surh cases to let two brothers share alike. 1 tell 
 you that it will not look well. ' 
 
 And the doctor, a little i)ut out, departed, and returning home, went 
 
 to 1)0(1. 
 
 For some time he heard Jean walking softly in the nc.\t room, then, 
 after drinking two glasses of water, he went to sleep.
 
 TU
 
 we ,v J^/Nf:/^t/,4!fi" 
 
 CilAPTKH III 
 
 'I'liE tloflcjr woUe lU'xl iiiorning \viLli a (irm tlcLerniinalioii Lo make his 
 loiLuiK'. 
 
 Many a lime already lie had Ioi-iiuhI Uiis rosolulion, wilhoiil loUowiiig it 
 ii|). Al llic oiilsct ol' all his allcnipts at a now carocr, the h()|)(> oi rapidly 
 a((|iiiriii<>; wcallii siislaiiu'd his crforls and conhdcnce nnlil lie leachecl the 
 iiist obstacle, the lirst check, wiiich diverted him into a new path. 
 
 Sunk in his hed between the warm clothes, he lay and metlitaled. How 
 many doctors had become wealthy men in a short time! A grain ol tact 
 was all I hat was necessary, (or in the course of his studies lie had been able 
 to take the meastn-e of the most celebrated professors, and he considered 
 Ihem all so many asses. He was certainly as good as they were, il nut 
 bettei-. li lie- ( Didd only contrive in some way to get the fashionable and rich 
 |)atients in Havre, he mighl easily make his hundred thousand francs a year. 
 And he uiade a precise calculai ion of the certain |)rolils. In the morning he
 
 44 TIIK TWO IÎHOTIIERS 
 
 would go oui ;uul visit liis patients. Taking the average at ten a clay, which 
 was low enough, and twenty francs apiece, this would give him at least sev- 
 enty-two thousand francs a year — say seventy-five thousand, for ten patients 
 a day was well helow the mark. In llie afternoon he would receive in his 
 surgery an average of ten patients at ten francs each, or thirty-six thousand 
 francs a year. In round numbers there was a hundred thousand francs. Then 
 the old clients, and the friends whom he would visit at ten francs, and receive 
 at five, might somewhat diminish this total, but that would be made up for by 
 consultations with other doctors, and by all the little occasional windfalls 
 of the profession. 
 
 Nothing could be more easy than to manage this, with a little clever 
 puffing, and hints in the Figaro suggesting that the scientific body in Paris 
 had its eye on him, and was interested in certain surprising cures effected by 
 the young and modest proficient of Havre. He would be richer than his 
 brother, richer and more celebrated, and better pleased with his lot, for he 
 would owe his fortune to himself alone, and would be generous to his old 
 parents, who would be justly proud of his reputation. He should not marry, 
 for he did not want to burden his existence with a sintrle woman who would 
 bore him; but he should have good friends amongst his patients. 
 
 He felt himself so sure of success that he jumped out of bed as though to 
 seize it on the spot, and dressed himself, in order to search the town for suit- 
 able apartments. 
 
 Then, as he wandered through llie streets, he thought to himself how 
 slight were the determining causes of our actions. Any time within three 
 weeks he might, he ought to have come to this resolution which hail sud- 
 denly taken shape within him, doubtless in consequence of his brother's 
 legacy. 
 
 He paused before the doors where a placard announced ''good" or 
 " handsome apartments to let" — '' apartments" without an adjective 
 only exciting his scorn. Then he made inipiiries with a haughlv manner, 
 measured the height of the ceilings, drew the plan of the suite in his note- 
 book, with the connnunications, and liie relative position of the entrances, 
 announcing that he was a physician, and IkuI many visitors. It was necessary
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 45 
 
 that the stairs should be wide and handsome; and moreover lie would not 
 reside on any but the first floor. 
 
 After taking down seven or eight addresses, and making two hundred 
 entries, he went home to breakfast, being a quarter of an hour late. 
 
 In the vestibule he heard the noise of plates. They had begun without him. 
 Why? They were not so punctual in the house as a rule. He was hurt ;nul 
 displeased, being somewhat susceptible. As soon as he entered, Roland said 
 to him : 
 
 "Come along, Pierre, make haste, \\liat the dickens! You know we have 
 to go to the notary's at two. This is not the day lor mooning about. " 
 
 The doctor sat down without replying, having first kissed liis mother and 
 shaken hands with his father and brother; and he took the cutlet which 
 had been kept for Iiiiii, out of the dish in the middle of the table. It was cold 
 and dry; doubtless the worst oi I he lot. He thought they might have left it 
 in the oven till he came in, and not lose their heads so far as to completely 
 forget the other, the elder son. The conversation, interrupted by his 
 entrance, was resumed where it had been broken off. 
 
 "Now," said Madame Roland to Jean, "this is what I should do at once. 1 
 should take handsome apartments, so as to cut a dash; I should show myself 
 in society, go out riding, and pick out one or two interesting cases to take up, 
 and make an impression in the courts. I should elect to be a sort of amateur 
 advocate, much sought after. Thank God you are above want, and in line, 
 if you take a profession, it is only that you may not lose the benefit of 
 your studies, and because a man ought never to live without iloing any- 
 thing." 
 
 M. Uolaud, who was peeling a pear, exclaimed : 
 
 " Ry Jove, ii 1 were you, I should buy a good boat — a coaster like our 
 pilot boats. With that I should go as lar as Senegal." 
 
 Pierre too, was ready with his advice. It was not fortune, he said. 
 whi<h constituted the uujral or iulellecluiil worth of a man. For ordi- 
 iiarv spirits it was oidy a source ol degradation, whilst, on the other 
 hand, it jilacrd a powerful lever in the hands of the strong. Hut strong 
 people wei'C rare. If Jean were really a superior man, he could show
 
 46 THF. TWO r!ROTl[KRS 
 
 it. now that he was above want. But lie would have to work a hiinihed 
 times harder than he would under other circumstances. It was not a 
 question of taking cases for or against the widow and orphan, and pocketing 
 so many fees for every case, whether he lost or won it, but of becoming 
 an eminent jurisconsult, a light of the law. 
 
 And he added, by way of conclusion : 
 
 " If I had money, 1 should carve my way to fame." 
 
 M. Roland shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Tra la la! The wisest course in life is to make it run smooth. We 
 are not beasts of burden, but men. When we are born poor, we must 
 work. Very well, we work, mores the pity. But when we have an 
 income, by Jove, we must be fools to knock ourselves up with drudgery." 
 
 Pierre replied with much grandeur : 
 
 "Our inclinations are not the same. I must confess that I have no 
 respect for anything in the world except knowledge and intelligence. 
 Everything else is below contempt." 
 
 Madame Roland always made a point of softening the incessant shocks 
 between father and son; so she turned the conversation, and began to 
 talk of a murder committed in the previous week at Bolbec-Nointot. 
 Thus their minds were soon busy over the circumstances which sur- 
 rounded the outrage, drawn by that interesting horror, that attractive 
 mystery of crimes, which, even when they are vulgar, shameful, ami 
 repelling, exercise a strange and widespread fascination on the curiosity 
 of mankind. 
 
 But M. Roland drew out his watch from time to time. "Come," he 
 said, "we shall soon have to start." 
 
 Pierre sneered. 
 
 "It is not one o'clock yet. Indeed, it was hardly worth while to 
 make me eat a cold cutlet." 
 
 "Are you coming to the notary's?" his mother asked. 
 
 "I? No. What could I do? My presence is certainly useless." 
 
 Jean remainctl silent, as though lie had nothing to do with the matter. 
 When they were speaking of the Uolbec murder, he had ventured on a
 
 rilK TWO lM'i(»THFnS 47 
 
 lew ideas as a la\\\('r. anil made a lew remarks on (riiiic and ciiiiiiiials. 
 Now lie was sdeiil again, huL llu' brightness of his eye, Uie lively eolour 
 of his cheeks, the very hrilliancy of his heard, seemed to bespeak his 
 haj)piness. 
 
 After the departure of his family, Pierre, once more alone, renewed 
 his mornings investigations amongst the apartments to let. After two or 
 three hours of climbing up and down stairs he discovered at length, in 
 the Boulevard François Premier, something attractive; a large entresol, with 
 two doors in different streets, two drawing-rooms, a glazed corridor, wliere 
 the patients awaiting their turn could walk amongst flowers, and a deliglil- 
 ful round dining-room, looking over the sea. 
 
 ^^'hen he was about to engage them, the rent, which was three thou- 
 sand francs, startled him, for it was necessary to pay the (irst quarter 
 in advance, and he had nothing — ^not even a sou — at his command. 
 
 The small fortune saved by his father amounted to scarcely eight 
 thousand francs a year, and f^ierre reproached himself with having fre- 
 quently put his parents to trouble bv his long hesitation in the choice of 
 a career, his attempts which were constantly abandoned, and his repeated 
 new beginnings in his studies. So he went away, promising a reply 
 within two days; and the idea came into his head of asking his brother 
 lor this three months' rent, or even for six months' — that is to say, fiiteen 
 iiundred francs, as soon as Jean was in possession of his legacy. 
 
 "It will be a loan," he thought, "for a few months only. I shall 
 probablv ichnn it even before the end of the year. It is a small matter, 
 after all, and he will be glad to do this for me." 
 
 As it was not yet four, ami he had nothing, absolutely nothing to 
 do, he went and sat down in llie pid)lic gardens; and he remained silting 
 lor a long time, thinking of nothing, with his eyes on the ground, 
 oppressed by a weariness which was becoming painful. 
 
 .\nd vet. tiui-ing (he davs wliicli liad passed since his i-(>turr) to his 
 fathers house, he had lived llius, without sullering so much iVoni tlie 
 emptiness of his existence, and fiom his inacti\itv. How lluii had be 
 passed his time between waking and >leeping.'
 
 48 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 He had lounged on the jetty when the tide came in, lounged in the 
 streets, lounged in the cafe's, lounged at Marowsko's, lounged everywhere. 
 And now suddenly this life, which he had hitherto endured, became odious 
 and intolerable to him. If he had had any money he would have hired 
 a carriage, and taken a long drive in the country, along the roadside 
 fences, overshadowed by beeches and ashes; but he had to count the 
 price of a glass of ale, or of a postage stamp, and these whims were 
 forbidden to him. He thought suddenly how hard it was, when one has 
 passed one's thirtieth year, to ask ones mother now and then, with a 
 blush, for a lot/is; and he muttered, as he raked the gravel with the 
 end of his cane : 
 
 "I wish to Heaven 1 had some money!" 
 
 And the thought of his brother's inheritance came into his mind again, 
 like the sting of a wasj); but he banished it impatiently, unwilling to 
 give way to this jealousy. 
 
 Around him the children were playing on the dusty walks. They Avere 
 fair, long-haired creatures, and they were very seriously, with grave atten- 
 tion, making little heaps of sand, in order to stamp them out afterwards 
 with a single kick. 
 
 It was for Pierre one of those sad days on which we look into all 
 the recesses of our souls, and shake out all their folds. 
 
 " Our enterprises are like tlic lal)ours of these mites," he thought. 
 Then he asked himself if the wisest thing in life were not after all to 
 beget two or three of these useless little creatures, and to see them grow 
 up with pleasure and curiosity. And tlie desire of marriage came over 
 him. When one is no longer alone, one is not such a lost man. At 
 least one hears somebody stirring close to one, in the hours of trouble 
 and anxiety, and it is something to speak familiarly to a woman when one 
 is suffering. 
 
 He began to think about womankind. 
 
 He had very little knowledge of them, having only had fortnight's 
 fancies in the Latin quarter, broken off when he had got through his 
 months money, and renewed or replaced the month after. Still there
 
 Tin: TWO BROTHERS 49 
 
 must be very good, sweet, and comforting creatures in existence. Had 
 not his mother been the satisfaction and cliarm ol the paternal hearth ? 
 If he could only know a woman, a genuine woman! 
 
 He suddenly got tip willi the deterniinalion to pay a call on Madame 
 Rosémilly. Then he sat liown again promptly. She did not please him. 
 NN'hy .' She hail too much ordinary and inferior sense; and then, did not 
 she seem to prcler Jean to hiin.' Without plainlv making the admission to 
 himself, this preference had much to do with liis poor opinion of the 
 widow's intelligence; for, if he loved his brother, he could not help think- 
 ing him a little commonplace, and holding himself superior. 
 
 He was not going to stay there, however, till nightfall ; and, as on 
 the previous evening, he asked himself anxiously: "What am I to do?" 
 
 He felt in his soul a vearninj; for tenderness, to be kissed, and con- 
 soled. Consoled for what? He could not have answered the question, 
 but he was in one of those moods of weakness and lassitude in which 
 the presence of a woman, a woman's caress, the touch of a hand, the 
 rustle of a dress, a soft look from a black eye or a blue eye, seem 
 indispensable to our hearts, without a minute's delay. 
 
 And the recollection of a little barmaid whom he had once seen home, 
 and whom he had visited once or twice afterwards, recurred to him. 
 
 He got up again, therefore, meaning to go and drink a glass with 
 this girl. \\'hat should he say to her? What would she say to him? 
 Nothing, of course. But what of that? He would hold her hand for 
 a few seconds. She seemed to like him. N\ liy then diil he not go 
 and see her more frecjucntly? 
 
 He found her dozing in her chair, in the almost empty bar. Three 
 topers were smoking their pii)cs, willi their elbows on the oak tables; 
 the cashier was reading a novel, and the host, in his shirt-sleeves, was 
 fast asleep on the couch. 
 
 When she saw him, the girl got up eagerly, and came to him. 
 
 "Good day. How arc you by this lime?" 
 
 " Not so bad. .Vnd vnu :' " 
 'I am right enough. How scarce you make yourself!"
 
 50 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 "Yes. I have not much lime on my hands. 1 am a doctor, you 
 know." 
 
 "Why, you never loKl me that. If I hati known. I was oiil of 
 sorts last week, and I shouhl have asked your advice. What are you 
 ffoinrj to have?" 
 
 "A glass of ale. And you?" 
 
 "1 will have the same, as you are going to pay for it." 
 
 And she went on talking familiarly, as if the offer of refreshment 
 had implied an invitation to do so. Then, seated in front of each dIIut. 
 they conversed. Now and then she took his hand with the easy famil- 
 iarity of girls whose caress is for sale, and, looking at him with speak- 
 ing eyes, said : 
 
 " \\'liy don't you come oftener. 1 like you, my dear." 
 
 But he was already disgusted with her. He saw that she was stupitl, 
 common, and vulgar. \A'omen, he said to himself, ought to appear 
 to us in a dream, or in a golden mist of luxury which throws a poetic 
 veil over their vulgarity. 
 
 "You passed the other morning," she said, 'with a handsome, fair 
 man, with a long beard. Is that your brother?" 
 
 "Yes, it is my brother." 
 
 "He is a very nice-looking fellow." 
 
 " Do you think so ? ' 
 
 "Yes; and he looks like a free and easy man." 
 
 What strange impulse suddenly impelled him to tell this barmaid of 
 Jean's legacy? ^^'hy did this idea, which he drove away when he was 
 alone, which he repelled for fear of the disturbance it created in his 
 mind, spring to his lips at this moment, and why did he let it How 
 out, as if he had need to empty his soul of its bitterness again, in the 
 presence of another ? 
 
 Crossinj»' his Icffs, he said : 
 
 "lie is lucky, is my brother. He has just come into twenty thou- 
 sand francs a year." 
 
 She opened wide lier blue and covetous eyes.
 
 '\ ■■<■ „ 
 
 'm!-- 

 
 THE TWO i; IK) Tin; 11 S 
 
 51 
 
 "Oh! And who lias Icll him that? His grandmolher, or his aunl?" 
 
 "No, ail ohi tViciid of my |)arcnts?" 
 
 "Only a IVicnd? Impossible! And has he Idl nolhing to you?" 
 
 "No, I knew iitllc of him." 
 
 She rellectcd lor a lew seconds; then, wilh a queer smile on her 
 lips, said : 
 
 "Well, he is lueky, thai lirollier oC yours, lo have I'liends ol that 
 sort. It is certainly not to be wondered at that he rescuibles you so 
 little!" 
 
 lie iclt as if he could box her ears, without exactly knowing why , 
 and he asked her sternly : 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 She assunuîd a stupid and ingenuous look. 
 
 "Mean? Nothing. I mean that he is luckier than you." 
 
 He tiirew twenty sous on the table, and went away. 
 
 Then he repeated the sentence : "It is not to be wondered at that he 
 resembles you so little ! " 
 
 What was she thinking? What had she implied in these words? 
 There was certainly souiething mischievous, malicious, itilamous in them. 
 Yes, this girl must have thought that .lean was the son ol Marc'chal. 
 
 The trouble he Iclt at this suspicion cast on his mother was so 
 extrcMie that he stood still, and looked about lor a seat. 
 
 Another cdj)- happened to be in Iront ol him, and he enteretl, took 
 a chair, and. when thi' waiter came up, said : 
 
 " A glass ol ale. 
 
 lie fell his heait beat ; his llesh quivered under Ids skin. And sud- 
 (ieidv 111' recalled \\\\.\\ .Marowsko had said the nijjht beioic : "Thai will 
 not look well. ' Had he ihoiighl the same thing, had the same suspi- 
 cion as this girl .' 
 
 Willi his head bent over his glass, h(> watched the white IVolh sjiarkle 
 
 and sink, and said to liiinseir: "Is it possible lliat lliev should think so?" 
 
 The reasons which iiiinht cause this haldiil suspicion to arise in tluMi' 
 
 minds :ippc:ircd lo liini now. one alter aiiollicr. plain. e\ident. exaspciat-
 
 52 THE T\VO BROTHERS 
 
 ino-. If an old l);uheloi- without heirs were to leave his fortune to the 
 two children of a friend, nothing could be more simple and natural ; but 
 when he gives it all to one of the children, people are sure to wonder, 
 to whisper, and to smile. Why did he not foresee that? Why had 
 not his father felt it? Why ditl his mother not guess it? No; they had 
 been too delighted over this unexpected money to be visited by such 
 an idea. And then, how could these simple folk have imagined such a 
 disgrace ? 
 
 But the public, the neighbours, the shopkeepers, small and great, all 
 who knew them— would they not be repeating this abominable thing, 
 amusing themselves over it, chuckling, laughing at his father, and despis- 
 ing his mother ? 
 
 And the remark of the barmaid, that Jean Avas fair whilst he was 
 dark, that they were not alike in face, or bearing, or figure, or mind, 
 would henceforth strike every eye and every intelligence. When men 
 spoke of a young Roland, some one would say : "Which — the real or the 
 false?" 
 
 He jumped up, resolved to warn his brother, to put him on his guard 
 against this terrible danger which threatened their mother's good name, 
 [îut what could Jean do? The simplest thing, surely, would be to refuse 
 the legacy, which would then go to the poor, and tell one's friends and 
 acquaintances who had heard of the bequest merely that the will contained 
 clauses and conditions which Jean could not accept, which would have 
 made him not an heir, but a trustee. 
 
 As he returnctl to his father's house he thought that he must see his 
 brother alone, so as not to speak before his parents on such a subject. 
 
 ^^'hen he reached the door he heard the sound of voices and laughter 
 in the drawinir-room, and on entering he heard Madame Rosémilly and 
 Captain Beausire, who had been brought home by his father and kept 
 to dinner, in order to celebrate the good news. 
 
 Vermouth and absinthe had been sent for, to give them an appetite, and 
 they had been in a good humour from the first. Captain Beausire, a 
 little man, round from nmch tossing on the sea, all whose ideas seemed
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 53 
 
 to be roiind also, like the pebbles on the shore, who laughed with his 
 throat lull of " r's, " thought life an excellent business, in which everything 
 was delightful. 
 
 He was drinking with Roland, whilst Jean was oflering the ladies two 
 brimming glasses. 
 
 Madame Rosémilly declined, when Captain Beausire, who had known 
 her lale husband, cried : 
 
 "Come, come, Madame — bis repetita placent, as we say in our patois, 
 which means : ' Two veruioullis will never hurt you. For uiy part, you 
 know, since I gave up seafaring, 1 give myself every day before dinner 
 two or three glasses of artificial rolling. 1 atld a glass of pitching after 
 my coOee, which leaves me in a heavy sea for the rest of the evening. 
 1 never get so far as a tempest — never, never, for 1 am afraid of (himages." 
 
 Roland, whose nautical mania was llattered by the old sea-captain, 
 laughetl lieartilv, iiis face being already red, and his eve disturbed by 
 the absinthe. lie had a shopkeeper's paunch — he was all stomach . the 
 rest of his body seeming to have passed into it — one of those llabbv 
 stonuichs of sedentary men, who no longer possess thighs, nor chests, 
 nor arms nor necks, the seat of their chair having pressed all their 
 substance into the same receptacle. 
 
 Beausire, on the other hand, though short and stout, looked as full 
 as an ey'ir and as hard as a ball. 
 
 .Matlame Roland had not emptied her lirst glass, and. glowing with 
 hap])iness, with brilliant eyes, was gazing at her son Jean. 
 
 With him. by this time, the crisis of joy was reached. The allair 
 was sealed and signed; he had twenty thousand francs a year. From the 
 way in which he laughed, from his more sonorous voice, from his manner 
 of looking at people, from his eooler bearing and greater assurance, the 
 aplond) which money gives a man was evident. 
 
 Dinner was announced; and as old Roland went to olfer his arm to 
 Madame Rosémilly, his wife cried : 
 
 '•No, no, father; it must be Jean in everything to-day." 
 
 On tlic tabic, an unaccustomed luxury was conspicuous. In Iront ol
 
 54 THE TWO BROTIIF.RS 
 
 Jean's plate — he was seated to-night in his father's chair — an enormous 
 bouquet, full of silken favours, a regulation bouquet as befitted a grand 
 ceremony, rose like a dome decked with Hags, flanked with four dessert 
 dishes, of which one held a pyramid of splendid peaches, the second a 
 monumental cake smothered in whipped cream and covered with bell- 
 flowers of moulded sugar — a baked cathedral, the liurd. slices of pine-apple, 
 soaked in clear syrup, and the fourth (unheard-of luxury) black grapes 
 from southern climes. 
 
 '■'■ Bigre!'' said Pierre, as he sat down, "we are celebrating the 
 accession of Jean the Rich. " 
 
 After the soup there was Madeira; and already every one was speaking 
 at the same time. Beausire was telling of a ilinner which he had had 
 at San Domingo, at the table of a negro general. M. Roland was listening 
 to him, trying meanwhile to slip in between the sentences a story of 
 another feast given by one of his friends at Meudon, every guest at 
 which had been ill for fifteen days after. Madame Rosémilly , Jean, 
 and his mother, were planning an excursion and a breakfast at Saint- 
 Joiiiii. at wliirli they promised themselves beforehand unlimited joy; and 
 I'icrre was regretting that he hail not dined alone, in a pot-house on 
 the sea-shore, so as to avoid all this noise, this laughter and joy which 
 depressed him. 
 
 He was thinking how he could manage now to tell his brother of his 
 fears, and to make him renounce the fortune which he had already 
 accepted, which he was enjoying, on which he was intoxicating himself 
 beforehand. It would be hard for hiui. no doubt, but he must do it; 
 he could not hesitate, for the reputation of their mother was endan- 
 gered. 
 
 The appearance of an enormous barb(>l turned iîoland upon fishing 
 anecdotes. Beausire related some remarkable ones about the Gaboon, 
 Sainte-Marie de Madagascar, and especially about the coasts of China and 
 Japan, where the fish have a peculiar aspect, like the inhabitants. He 
 told of the a|)|)("aran(e of these fishes, their great golden eves, their red 
 and blue bellies, their quaint fins, like fans, their tails in the shape of
 
 THE TWO lîlldTIlKRS 55 
 
 crosrcnts, talking with siuli aimisini^ gestures, tluiL llicy all laiiylicd iiiilil 
 lliey cried, as they listcncil lo hiin. 
 
 Pierre alone seemed incredulous, and nuittereil : 
 
 'One may well say llial llic Normans arc the Gascons of the Xorlh." 
 
 After the fish came a vol-aii-vcnt, then a roast chicken, a salad, 
 some P^'CMicli beans, anti a pie of Pithiviers larks. Madame Hosemilly's 
 maid was lu'l|)ing to wait . and the gaiety increased with the number 
 of glasses of wine. When the cork ol the first champagiu,' bottle flew, 
 old M. Holand, greatly excited, imitated the sound of the explosion with 
 his nioulli, and said : 
 
 "I like that belter than a pistol-shot." 
 
 Pierre, who was more and more tormented, saiil with a sneer: 
 
 " PtM'liaps. all the same, it is more dangerous foi- you." 
 
 Uolanil, who was about to drink, set down his full glass on the table. 
 "Why, pray?" he asked. 
 
 He had long been complaining of his health, oi heaviness, giddiness, 
 constant and inexplicable discomforts. The doctor replied: 
 
 " Because a pistol-shot might go past you, whilsl the glass of wine 
 is received into your stomach." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Then it burns your stomach, disorganizes the nervous system, checks 
 the circidation, and leads to apoplcxN' . \\ith \\hicb all men of your 
 temperament are menaced. ' 
 
 The advancing intoxication of the old jeweller seemed to be dissipated 
 like smoke before the wind ; and he looked at his son with (Ixcd and 
 anxious eyes, trying to understand whclher he was jesting or not. 
 
 But Beausirc ciicd : 
 
 "Oh, these confounded doctors, they are all alike. Von mnsi not 
 eat, you must not driid<, you nnist ncjt love, and you unist not dance. 
 .\ll dial kind oi' lliing may do some lilllc mischief to a man in pool- 
 health Well. I have tried all llial. sir. in all parts of ihc world, wlicicver 
 I coiil.l. iiid IS much as I could; and I am iiol a bit the woi'sc lor it.' 
 
 Pierre rc|oined. with billeriiess :
 
 () 
 
 56 TIIK TWO BROTHERS 
 
 "In the first place, Captain, you are stronger llian my ialher; and 
 
 then all good livers talk like you until And they don't comeback next 
 
 morning to say to the wise physician, 'You were right, iloctor.' When 
 1 see my father do what is the worst and most dangerous thing for 
 him, it is very natural that I should warn him. 1 should be a bad son 
 if 1 did otherwise." 
 
 Madame Rohuid, in tlespair, now struck in : 
 
 " lUit, Pierre, wluit is wrong with you? P^or once in a way this will 
 not hurl him. Think what a great day this is for him, for us all. 
 You will spoil his pleasure entirely, and vex us all. What you are 
 doing is very unbecoming." 
 
 He muttered as he shrugged his shoulders : 
 
 " Let him do what he likes. I have warned him." 
 
 Hut old M. Roland did not drink. He gazed at his glass, his glass full 
 f bright, transparent wine, whose light and intoxicating spirit was fleeting 
 Jn little bubbles from the bottom, which leaped up raj)idly one after another 
 to break on the surface; and he looked at it with the distrust of a fox who 
 finds a dead fowl, and suspects a snare. 
 
 "You think," he said with much hesitation, "that this would do me a 
 great deal of harm? 
 
 Pierre felt remorseful, and reproached himself for making others feel 
 his bail liunu)ur. 
 
 "No, go on, for once; drink it, but don't abuse it. and don't get 
 into the habit." 
 
 Then Roland raised his glass, without resolving even yet to carry it 
 to his mouth. lie looked at it sorrowfully, with d(>sire and fcai' ; then 
 he smelt it, tasted it, draidv it in sips, smacking his lips over them, 
 with his heart full of anguish, of weakness, and gluttony, and finally 
 of regret, as soon as he had sucked up ihe last drop. 
 
 Suddenly Pierre nu-t the eye of Madame Rosémilly; it was fixed upon 
 him, liquid and blue, penetrating and hard. And he felt, he realised, 
 he divined the clear thought which inspired the look — the angry thought 
 of ihis llltlc woman with her simpl(> and straightforward mind; for
 
 THE TWO BROTH I:RS 57 
 
 tlio look snid to Iiiin ''You arc jealous, sir. That is shameful!" 
 
 lie hcuL his Ikm(I, and went on eating. He was not hungry; nothino- 
 was to his taste. He had a harassing desire to go away, to shake oiï' 
 this company, not to hear them talk, or jest, or laugh. 
 
 .Mean\vliih> AI. l^oland, on whom the fumes of the wine were heo-innino- 
 to take effect, was aheady forgetting the counsels of his son, and was 
 gazing with oblique and tender look at a bottle of champagne, still 
 almost full, which stood by his plate. He dared not touch it, for fear 
 of fresh admonitions, and he was thinking l)y what trick, by what clever 
 device he could get hold of it without rousing Pierre's observation. He 
 conceived a very simple plan. He took the bottle coolly, and, holding- 
 it by the bottom, stretched his arm across the table so as to fill first 
 the glass of the doctor, which Avas empty; then he did the same to (he 
 other glasses, and when he came to his own he began to sj)eak very 
 loud, and, ii lie poured anything into it, you would have certainly sworn 
 that it was by inadvertence. Hut nobotly saw it. 
 
 Pierre thoughtlessly drank deep. Nervous and distressed, he repeatedly 
 took lip I lie long taper glass, in which the bubbles rose steadily in the 
 living and transjKuent licpior, and raised it with an unconscious air to his 
 lips. Then he let it (low gently through his mouth, that he might feel 
 the little sugared stings of the gas as it evaporated on his tongue. 
 
 Gradiiallv a pleasant warmth was diffused through his body. Rising 
 from the stomach, as from a hearth, it reached the chest, passed into 
 the limbs, .ind pciincaLcd tlic whole llesh , like a warm and healing 
 wave, carrying pleasure with it. lie lelt liimsell bettei-, less impatient, 
 less dissatisfied; and even his resolution lo speak to Ins iudllicr lo-iiight 
 faded away; not that llic ihought of abandoning his iiileiitioii bad ciilcrcd 
 his miiiil. iiiil he could not so (piuklx di>liirb the happiness which he 
 was experiencing. 
 
 licausire rose to propose a toast. Willi a swce|)ing bow be began : 
 
 "Most gracious ladies, gentlemen all I We are gathered together to 
 
 celebrate a happy event wliicli lias jiisl bclallen one of our friends. 
 
 They used lo say llial fortune was blind. Iml I believe she was simply
 
 58 TIIK TWO BROTHERS 
 
 short-sighted or sportive, and that she has just possessed herself of a 
 good marine binocular, Avhich has enabled her to doted in the port of 
 Havre the son of our good comrade Roland, captain ol' the Perle." 
 
 Applause leaped from every mouth, backed by claj)ping of hands; and 
 the older Roland got up to reply. 
 
 After a lit of coughing — for he felt his throat swelling and his tongue 
 a Lrille heavy — he stuttered : 
 
 "Thanks, Captain! Thanks for myself and my son. 1 sliall never 
 forget your action on this occasion. Here's luck to you.' 
 
 His eyes and nose were full of tears, and he sal tlown again, unable 
 to say more. 
 
 Jean, with a laugh, set himself to speak : 
 
 "1 must thank," he said, "my very devoted friends here, my excellent 
 friends," — he was looking at Madame Rosémilly — "who give me to-day 
 this touching proof of their alFection. But 1 cannot show my gratitude 
 in words. 1 will prove it to-morrow, at every moment of my life, 
 and always, for our friendship is not of the transitory sort. " 
 
 His mother, greatly afi'ected, murmured : 
 
 "Well said, my boy." 
 
 Hut Beausire cried : 
 
 "Come, Madame Rosémilly. speak for llie fair sex." 
 
 She raised her glass, and with a pretty voice, having just a shade 
 oi sadness in it, said : 
 
 "1 drink to the blessed memory of M. .Maréchal.'' 
 
 There was a little approval of becoming comj)osurc, such as follows 
 a prayer ; and Beausire, who was prolific of comj)liments, observed : 
 
 ".\h. only women think of these refinements!" 
 
 Tlicn turning to Roland the elder, he said : 
 
 "Mow, what sort of a fellow really was this Maréchal' Vou must 
 have been very intimate willi liim?" 
 
 Tlie old man, softened with tlrink. began to cry, and said with a 
 broken voice : 
 
 "He was a brullier tlon'l you know such as you only meet
 
 THF, TWO r.HoTHERS 
 
 59 
 
 once il) a lifetime. \\'e were never apart. He dined with us every 
 
 evening ;iiul made it up l)y taking- us to tlu' llieatrc. That's all 
 
 all all I can tell you. He was a friend. A regular regular 
 
 wasn't he, Louise?" 
 
 .Viid liis wife answered ([uietly : 
 
 " Yes, he was a faithliil IViend. 
 
 I'iciTc was looking al his lallier and mother; but, as the conversation 
 changed, he i)egan to drink again. 
 
 He remembered little of the close of the evening. They had had coflee, 
 sipped liqueurs, and laughed and joked a great deal. Then he went to 
 bed. about niidnigiit, with a confused mind and a heavy head. And he 
 slept like an animal till nine o'clock in the morning.
 
 IV
 
 A 
 
 .«i^- 
 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 'I'liAT slumber, steeped in clKimpagiie and tliarlieusc, nuisl have solteiied 
 and calmed him, for he awdke wilh llie most heiievoleiit tlisposilion. As 
 he was dressinti' li(> balanced, \\ ciolied, and rehearsed bis emolions ol the 
 ni;^lil before, Iryinjj^ to gel clearly and lully at tlieii' real and secret canses 
 — the causes which were personal , as well as those which were outside 
 himself. 
 
 No doubt it was possible that the girl in the drinking-bar bad imagiiu'il 
 £^n evil lliuMght, the natinal thought of a bad woman, when she beard 
 that only one of two brothers inherited a fortune from a stranger; but are 
 not such ci-eatures always having suspicions of this kind about virtuous 
 women, without a shadow of reason ? Are they not always heard, whenever 
 they speak, insulting, calumniating, defaming the women whom they 
 recognize as irreproachable ' Whenever a woman above blame is mentione<l 
 before them, they get angry, as ibough they were being insulted, and
 
 64 THE TWO n H OTHERS 
 
 cry : "Oh, yes, I know nil ahout your married -women, and tlieir [iropriety. 
 They have more dear friends llian we, but ihey hold their tongues ahout 
 it, being hypocrites. That is their propriety ! " 
 
 At any other time he would not have understood, nor so much as con- 
 ceived to be possible, such insinuations as these against his poor mother, 
 good and simple and worthy as she was. But now his soul was disturbed 
 by the leaven of jealousy which was fermenting in him. His overexcited 
 spirit, on the watch, as it were, in spite of himself, for anything which 
 might injure his brother, might have attributed to this beer-seller an odious 
 meaning which she never had. 
 
 His imagination alone — that imajrination which he did not hold in check, 
 which was constantly eluding his will — had roamed at large, boKl. venture- 
 some, and truculent, amidst the infinite world of ideas, and brought 
 back now and then shameful and unavowable conceptions, which it hid in 
 its lair, in the depths of his soul, in unfathomable recesses, like stolen 
 things ; it aiiglit be that this imagination alone had created or invented 
 this terrible suspicion. His heart, surely his own heart kept secrets from 
 him ; and had not this injured heart discovered in this hateful suspicion a 
 means of depriving his brother of the inheritance of which he was jealous ? 
 He suspected himself, now, interrogating all the mysteries of his thoughts, 
 as devotees question their conscience. 
 
 Of a truth Madame Rosémilly, though her intelligence was limited, had 
 a woman's tact, scent, and subtle appreciation. Now this idea had not 
 occurred to her, since she had drunk with |)erfect simplicity to the sacred 
 memory of Maréchal. She would not have done that, if the slightest sus- 
 [licion had occurred to her. Now he could no longer doubt that his 
 involuntary disaj)pointment over the fortune left to his brother, and also, 
 surely, his devout love for his mother, had magnified his scruples, pious 
 scruples and worthy of respect, even though exaggerated. 
 
 When he came to this conclusion, he was pleased, as we arc when we 
 have peifornied a good action, and lu' resolved to behave nicely to every- 
 body, and began with his father, whose crotchets, foolish statements, 
 and too conspicuous poverty of mind, were always vexing him.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 65 
 
 lie came to breakfast in good time, and amused tlic whole family by 
 his spirit and good humour. 
 
 His niothci', delighted, said to him : 
 
 " Pierrot, you dont know how anmsing and witly you can be, when 
 you try." 
 
 .\nd he chatted, made jokes, caused them all to laugh by his clever 
 sketches ol their liieiuls. Beausire served him as a bull, and even Madame 
 Rosémilly in some degree, though in a discreet manner, and wilhoul malice. 
 And he thoughl, as he looked at his brother : '' Why don 1 you delend 
 her, my simpleton? No matter how rich nou are, 1 shall eclipse you when 
 1 want to." 
 
 As they were taking their cofiee, he said to his lather : 
 
 "Are you going to use the Perle to-day?" 
 
 "No, my boy. " 
 
 "May I have her, willi Jean-Bart?" 
 
 "Of course you may, as much as you like." 
 
 He bought a good cigar at the first tobacconists , and went lightly 
 down lo the quay. 
 
 Me noticed that the sky was clear, bright, of a pale blue tint, refreshed 
 and swept by the sea-breeze. 
 
 The sailor I'apagris, who was called Jean-Bart, was asleep in llu- boat 
 which it \sas his business to have ready at any hour up lo midday, when 
 no one went lishinjj' in the mornino-. 
 
 " We are going to have it to ourselves, skipper, " said I'iei re. 
 
 lie descended the iron ladder of the quay, and jumped in. 
 
 " How's the wind ? "' he said. 
 
 "Steady from the east, M'sieu I'ierie \\C II have a fine breeze off 
 llic land. " 
 
 " All right, governor; off wc go ! 
 
 They spread the foresail, and raised anchor, and I he boat, set at liberty, 
 glided slowly towards the pier on the calm harliour water. The weak 
 brealh of aii- blowing from llic low ii look the lop of ihc sail, so gently 
 that it was not fell by llicni . and the I'filc seemed as though animated
 
 66 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 by a life of ils own, — by a boat's life — and driven onward by a myste- 
 rious inner force. Pierre held the rudder, and, with liis cigar between his 
 teeth, his legs extended on the bench, his eyes half closed against the 
 blinding rays of the sun, he saw the great tarred beams of the breakwater 
 carried past him. 
 
 When they stood out for the open sea, after reaching the north ex- 
 tremity of (he projecting jetty, the fresher breeze swept over the doctor's 
 face and hands like a cold caress, entered his chest, which opened to 
 drink it in with a long sigh, and, filling the brown expanding sail, made 
 the I'cric dip and assume fresh life. 
 
 Suddenly Jean-Bart ran out the jib sail, whose triangle, filled with wind, 
 looked like a wing, then reaching the stern in a couple of strides, loos- 
 ened the l)0(jm, which was lashed to the mast. 
 
 Then, on the side of the boat which was suddenly dipped in the sea, 
 and racing now at full sj)eed, there came a pleasant and lively sound of 
 bubbling, rushing water. 
 
 The prow clove the sea like a ploughshare, and the mounting wave, 
 elastic and white with foam, curled and fell again, as the upturned clods 
 of earth fall Hal and heavy. 
 
 At (>very wave they met — and they were short and close — the imj)act 
 shook the Veile from jib-boom to helm, wliicli (juixcred in Piciies haiul ; 
 ami wlicn (lie wind blew stronger, for a few seconds [lie waves struck 
 amidships as though they would swamp the boat. 
 
 A steam coaling -vessel from Liverpool was at anchor, awaiting the 
 tide ; ihey went about in her rear, then approached one after another 
 the ships lying in the roads, and finally stood out from land to see the 
 coast line. 
 
 Kor three hours Pierre, calm and content, drifted on the tremvdous 
 sea, steering as though it were a winged animal, swift and obedient, this 
 creature of wood and canvas, whitli came and went at his whim, uniler 
 the stress of his hngers. 
 
 lie di'eamed , as one dreams on horseback, or on the bridge of a 
 boat, thinking of his fuluri-, which was to be enviable, and ol the delight
 
 THE TWO P.ROTIIKRS . 67 
 
 of liviii"- all intelligent life. To-morrow lie should ask his hrolhor to lend 
 liini llfteen hundred francs for liiree months, whcrewilh to settle liiniself 
 al once in the deliglitful suite in llie Boidevard Fianrois Premier. 
 
 Suddenly the sailor said : 
 
 " There's a storm coming, M'sicu Pierre. We must put back. " 
 
 lie raised his eyes, and saw towards the north a grey shadow, low and 
 light, blotting out the sky and spreading over the sea, hurrying up to 
 them, as though it were a cloud fallen from heaven. 
 
 lie put about, and with tiie wind heliinil them steered for the jetty. 
 folhnved close by the rapidly advancing storm. When it touciietl the 
 Perle, enfolding it in its imperceptible mist, a cold shudder ran through 
 Pierre's limbs, and a whilf of smoke ami damp. l]u> strange smell of 
 the sea fog, made him close his mouth, that he might not taste this wet 
 and iev cloud. 
 
 When liie boat was moored again, the town was already completely 
 buried under this thin vapour, which, without falling, damped one like 
 rain, and sank down upon houses and streets like a flowing stream. 
 
 Pierre, whose feet and hands were nip})ed, walked home ipuckly. and 
 threw himself on his bed, so as to gel a do/.e before dinner. \\ hen 
 he made his appearance in the dining-room , his mother was saying 
 to Jean : 
 
 " The oallerv will be charmino'. We will have (lowers there. You 
 will see ! I shall look alter them, and see to their renewal. When you 
 give parties, it will look sini|)ly (airy-like. 
 
 "What are yon talking of.*" llie doctor asked. 
 
 " Of a delightful suite of rooms which I have just taken for your 
 brother. It was (pnte a (iuti — an riilresol. between two streets. It has two 
 drawintj-rooms, a n-lass-covcred corridor, and a little round dnnng-room — 
 simplv delighldil (or a bachelor. 
 
 Pierre turned white. .\ lit of rage seizeil his heart. 
 
 " Where is it ?" he asked. 
 
 "On llie liuiilevard f'laiuois Premier." 
 
 lie hail no further (l..id>l, and sank into a seat, so annoyed thai he was
 
 68 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 on the point of crying : "This is too much! There is nothing, save for him!" 
 
 His beaming mother went on talking : 
 
 " Anil just imagine that I have secured that for two thousand eight 
 hundred francs. They wanted three thousand, hut I got ihem to take off 
 two liuiidred by making an agreement for three, six, or nine years. Your 
 brother will be delightfullv situated. An elegant house is enough to make 
 an a\'oc(it's fortune. It attracts a client, charms him, retains him, inspires 
 him with respect, and gives him to understand that a man lodged in 
 that fashion receives a good price for his speeches. " 
 
 She was silent for a few seconds, and continued : 
 
 " We must find something similar for you, much more modest, because 
 you have nothing, but fairly nice all the same. I assure you that il will 
 help you on considerably. 
 
 Pierre replied, scornfully : 
 
 " Oh, it is by work and knoAvledge that 1 shall get (ju. 
 
 Mis mother insisted on her point : 
 
 "Yes, but I assure you that pretty apartments will help you " 
 
 Towards the middle of the meal he suddenly asked a question. 
 
 " How did you come to know this Maréchal ? " 
 
 His father raised his head, and went l)ack in his memory : 
 
 "Wait a bit; 1 am not very clear in my recollections. It is so long 
 ago. Oh, yes, 1 remember. Your mother made his acquaintance in ihc 
 shop — did you not, Louise ? lie had come to order something, anil he 
 came back again pretty often; we knew him as a customer, before 
 know ing him as a friend. " 
 
 Pierre, who Avas eating haricot beans, and transfixed them one after 
 another on the point of his fork, went on : 
 •' At what date was that acipiainlance made ? 
 
 Roland runiiualed again, but, rcuuMubcring no more, he ajjpealed to 
 his wife's recollections. 
 
 "Let us see, Louise. You c;iniu>t have forgotten, with your good 
 
 memory? Let us see. It was in — ^in — in fifty-five or fifty-six? Think; 
 
 you ought to know it better liiau 1."
 
 rill'; TWO i;kotiii:iis 69 
 
 Slic ihought for sonic time, accordingly ; and llien. with a steady and 
 tranquil voice, replied : 
 
 •jl \v;is in (ifty-eight, my dear. Pierre was llicii lliree years old. I ;un 
 sure I am right, for it was the year when the child had scarlatina, and 
 Maréchal, whom we knew very slightly at the time, was a great help lo us." 
 
 Roland exclaimed : 
 
 '■ True, true ! Nay, he was admirable. .Vs your mother was tireil oui, 
 and I was Itusy iti my shop, he used to go to the dis|)enser's lor your 
 medicine. lie was intleetl a good-hearted fellow. .Vnd when vou were 
 cured, you cannot imagine how j)leased he was, and how he kissed you. 
 From that moment we became great friends. " 
 
 .Vnd this thought, sudden, violent, enteretl Pierre's heart like a bullet 
 which ])ierces and tears the llesh : "Since he knew me first, and was so 
 lontl of me, since he liked me, and kisseil me so much, since I was the 
 cause of his givat attachment lo my parents, why did he leave all his 
 fortune to my brother, and nothing to me ? " 
 
 He asked no more (piestions , and continued silent, rather absorbed 
 than in thought, retaining a new source of restlessness, vague as yet^ 
 the hitlden germ of a new trouble. 
 
 lie went out early, and began to roam the streets again. They were 
 buried in the fog. which made the night oppressive, dark, and unwhole- 
 some. Il was like a pestilential smoke, beaten down upon the ground, 
 it was visible as it passed over the gas-jets, which at times it almost 
 extinguished. The pavements grew slippery, as after frosty nights, and 
 all kinds of evil odours seemed to come Iroin within the houses stinks 
 of the cellars, of the cesspools, of the drains, of scpialid kitchens — to 
 mingle with the frightful smell ol this creeping fog. 
 
 Pierre, with round back, and hands in his pockets, unwilling lo icmain 
 outside in the cold, ht'look himsell lo .Marowsko's. 
 
 Undrr the gas-jet A\hl( li kept watch for liiin , the old dispenser was 
 sleeping as usual. When he recognized Pierre, whom he loxcd with ihc 
 love of ;\ faithful dog, he shook off his ilrowsiness, went to lelch a 
 couple of glasses, and brought the groscillette.
 
 70 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " how are you getting on with your liqueur?" 
 
 The Pole informed him that four of the principal cafe's in the town 
 had agreed to put it in circulation, and that the Phare de la Côte, anil 
 the Sémaphore havrais would pull' it, in exchange for a few drugs which 
 he was to place at the service of the staff. 
 
 After a long silence , Marowsko asked if Jean had come into his 
 inheritance; then he put two or lliree other vague questions on the same 
 subject. Mis jealous devotion to Pierre revolted against this preference. 
 And Pierre fancied that he could hear him thinking aloud; guessed and 
 understood, read in his averted eyes, in the hesilaliug tone of his voice, the 
 phrases which came to his lips and which he did not speak out — which 
 he would not speak out, being so prudent, timid, and crafty. 
 
 Now he could doubt no lonoer ; the old man was thinking : "You 
 ought not to have let him accept this legacy, which will get your mother 
 ill spoken of. " Perhaps he even thought that Jean was Maréchal's son. 
 Certainly he thought it! How should he not think it, so likely, so probable, 
 so manifest it seemed to be! But as for him, Pierre, the son, had he not 
 been striving with all his force, with all the subtlety of his heart, to deceive 
 his reason, had he not been striving against this terrible suspicion? 
 
 And again, suddenly, the need for being alone in order to think, to 
 discuss it with himself, to face this possible, yet monstrous thing boldly, 
 without scruple, without weakness, came upon him in such overmas- 
 tering force, that he got uj) without even drinking his glass of groseillette, 
 grasped the hand of the astonished dispenser, and plunged again into 
 the fog of the streets. 
 
 He kept saying to himself : " Why did this .Maréchal leave all his 
 fortune to Jean ? " 
 
 It was not jealousy now, which made him ask this; it was no longer 
 the rather mean , yet natural envy which he had been able to keep 
 concealed within him, and wliicli he had combated for three davs past, 
 but the dread of a terrible thing, the dread of believing fur himself that 
 his brother was the son of this man ! 
 
 No, he did not believe it. He could not even put such a criminal
 
 THE TWO lîIKiTlir.US 71 
 
 question Id himself. Bui il was necessary that this suspicion, so sliglit, 
 so improbable, should be rejected by him ultcriy and for ever. He must 
 have light, certainty, complete security in his mind ; for his mother was 
 the only creature in the world whom he loved. 
 
 Anil as he wandered alone through the night , he would make a 
 searching incpiitv in lus memory, in his understanding, from which tlic 
 conspicuous Lrulh shniild stand oui. After that was done, he wouhl ihink 
 of it no more — never more. He would go to sleep. 
 
 '•Come now, '" he mused, '' let us first examine the facts. Then I 
 will recall everything 1 knew ol him, of his behaviour towards my brother 
 and myseli. 1 will search out all the causes which coukl su[)ply a motive 
 
 fur this preference lie saw Jean born ? Yes, but he knew me before 
 
 that — If he had loved my niolhcr with a silenl anil reserved love, I should 
 have been |)referred , because it was through me, through my scarlet 
 fever, that he became the intimate friend of my parents. Logically, there- 
 fore he ought to have made choice of me, to have possessed for me a 
 more lively tenderness, unless he felt for my brother, as he saw him 
 grow up, some instinctive attraction and predilection. " 
 
 Then he searched his memory , with a desperate application of his 
 whole mind, his whole inlcllectual power, to build up again, to perceive 
 once more, to renew acquaintance with, and enter into the man — this man 
 \\\\i> had been lamiliai' lo him, ihough indiffercnl l(.) his heart, throughout 
 iiis life in Paris. 
 
 I'ul he Icll ihal walking, the slight movement ol his steps, somewhat 
 ilislurbed his ideas, interfered w'ith their steadiness, weakened their eflect, 
 and dimmetl his memory. 
 
 In order to east back upon the past, and its uncomj)rehendeil events, 
 the keen regard Irom which nolhing ought lo escape, he must be motion- 
 less in some vasl and empty space. And he (h'cided to go and sit upon 
 the pier, as he hail done two nights ago. 
 
 .\s he drew near the harbour he heard from the open sea a sinister 
 cry, like the bellowing of a bull, but longer and nime poweiful. It was 
 the sound of a ■siren" — ihe ciy oi' shi|)s lost in llie fog. 
 
 10
 
 72 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 A shudder stirred his flesh and contracted his heart, so strongly had 
 it resounded in his soul and in his nerves, this cry of distress which he 
 thought he had uttered himself. Another sound of the same kind pealed 
 out, at a somewhat greater distance; then, close to him, the harbour 
 signal, responding to these, sent fortli a harrowing scream. 
 
 Pierre reached the pier with long strides, thinking of nothing more, 
 content to be Avithin these mournful and howling shades. 
 
 When he had taken his seat on the extremity of the breakwater, he 
 closed his eyes, that he might not see the electric lights, veiled in the 
 mist, which make it possible to enter the harbour by night, or the red 
 flame of the lighthouse on the southern pier, which, however, could scarcely 
 be distinguished. 
 
 Then , half turned round , he rested his elbows on the granite , and 
 buried his face in his hands. 
 
 In thought, though he did not pronounce the word witli his lips, he 
 kept repeating, as if to summon him, to evoke and call forth his shade : 
 
 " Maréchal ! Maréchal ! " 
 
 And in the darkness, under his closed eyelids, he suddeidy saw him, 
 just as he had known him. lie was a man of sixty, with a pointed Avhite 
 beard, and thick eyebrows equally white. He was neither tall nor short; 
 he had a pleasant aspect, grey and tender eyes, modest demeanour, the 
 bearing of a good, simple, and aflcctionate man. He used to call Pierre 
 and Jean ''my dear children,"' had never seemed to prefer one to the 
 other, and used to have them both to dinner. 
 
 And i'ierre , with the tenacity of a dog which (bliows a dispersed 
 scent, set himself to examine the words, gestures, intonations, looks of 
 this man w^ho had disappeared from the world. He brought him back, 
 little by little, in his a|iarlment in ihe Wuc Tronchet, when he used to 
 have his brother and himself at his table. 
 
 Two maids used t(j wait on them, both old, who had long since grown 
 accustomed to speak of ''Monsieur Pierre" and "Monsieur Jean." 
 
 Maréchal would stretch out iiis two hands to the youngsters, his right 
 to one and his left to the other, just as they happened to enter.
 
 Ht 
 
 'im^.-
 
 TIIK TWO nnOTIIKRS 73 
 
 " Good clay, inv cliildrcn, " he would say, '^ have you luMid from your 
 parents ? They never wiile lo ine. " 
 
 They used to talk of ordinary matters, pleasantly and fainiliarly. There 
 was nothing original in llic niiiul ni this man. but niucli anu'iiilx', cliai'm, 
 and grace. lie was certainly a good friend to them, one of those good 
 friends of whom we scarcely think, hecause we are so sure of them. 
 
 Now recollections hcgan to Hood the mind ol Pierre. Seeing him 
 anxious now and then, and guessing his poverty as a student, Maréchal 
 had oHeicd and Iciil him money, a few hundred francs perhaps, forgotten 
 on holli sides, and ncvci- ])aid back. So this man always loved him. was 
 always interestcnl in hiui. seeing that he troubled Inmscll about his \\anls. 
 'I'licn — then wliv leav<- all liis foitiine to .lean :' No, he had never 
 been jierceptibly more affectionate towards the yoiuiger than towards the 
 elder, more taken iij) with one than with ihe other, less tender to all 
 
 appearances with om^ llian \\\\\\ the other. 'IMien — then there must 
 
 have been a powerful and secret reason for gi\ing ail to Jean — all — and 
 nothing to Pierre. The more he thouiiht of il, ihe more he re\i\'C(l ihe 
 liilci- years of ihe pasi, the more; the doctor consitlcrcd this dilfcrencc created 
 between the two unlikely and incredible. 
 
 .\ml a sharp pain, an umilterable anguish invaded his breast, causing 
 
 his heart to beat like a fluttering scai'f. Its springs setuned Id he broken, 
 
 and llic IiIdikI Ihiwed in stroii"' waves, sliakiri"' it wiili a liiundtiious ni>li. 
 
 I lien, half aloud, as one speaks in a nightmare, he nniiuiured : '"! must 
 
 know. ()li. Odd! I nnisl know." 
 
 Now lie gn>|)('d iurllicr. in the more distant days \\ luui his parents 
 were living in Paiis. i'.ut the faces escaped him , and this dinnucd his 
 recollections, lie was especially eager to gel back to Maréchal, with his 
 hair — was it linhl. brown, nr black ' lie coidd nol do it, the last face 
 ol the man, his old lace, having bloltcd out the others. Yet \\c renuun- 
 bered that he was moi-e slender, thai he had a soft hand, and that he 
 oltcn carried llowcrs — ver\' often , lor his father was always saNang : 
 " .More bouquets ! 'i'his is madness, my dear fellow. Von will ruin 
 \ourscli in roses. "
 
 74 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 Maréchal used to answer : "Oh, never mhid ; it is a pleasure to me." 
 
 And suddenly his mother's voice, as she smiled and said " Thank you, 
 my friend ! " crossed his mind, so clearly that he thought he heard it. 
 She must have said it very often, for these four words to he thus engraven 
 in tlie memory of her son ! 
 
 So, Maréchal used to hring flowers — he, the rich man, the gentleman, 
 llic customer — to the little shopkeeper, to tlie wife of llie uiodest jeweller. 
 Had lie loved her ? How could lie have become the friend of these trades- 
 people, if he had not loved the wife? He was a man of culture, of 
 considerable refinement. How often had he spoken about poets and poetry 
 to Pierre ! He did not appreciate authors like a critic . hut like an 
 average man capable of being thrilled. The doctor had often smiled at 
 these soft emotions, which he considered rather silly. Now he understood 
 that this sentimental man could never have been the friend of his father, 
 his positive, worldly, dull father, foi- whom the word '"jioetry" was équi- 
 valent to foolishness. 
 
 This Maréchal, then, young, free, rich, ready for any degree of ten- 
 derness, had come one day into the shop, by mere chance, having possibly 
 observed a pretty shopkeeper. He had bought, come again, chatted more 
 familiarly every day, paying by frequent purchases for the right of sitting 
 in this house, smiling on the young wife, and shaking the hauil of her 
 hushaud. 
 
 And then afterwards — afterwards Oh, God ! afterwartis ! 
 
 He h.id taken to and caressed the first child, the jeweller's cliikl. up 
 to the hiilh n{ the other: then hi' had continued impenetrable until death; 
 and then, \\ hen his tomb was closed, his body dissolved, his name wij)ed 
 out of the book of the living, his whole existence disappeared for ever, 
 having nothing more to do, to fear, or to hide, he had given his whole 
 fortune to the youngest child ! ^^ hy ? 
 
 The man was intelligent he must have understood and foreseen 
 
 that he might -that he almost inevitably must have caused pe()j)le to 
 conclude that this child was his own. Then he would be bringing disgrace 
 on a woman .' How coulil he have done thai if Jean was not his son ?
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 75 
 
 Ami ;ill ill once a precise and Icriililc rccollcclioii crosscHl Pierre's 
 miiul. Maréchal was lair, as fair as Jean. ilc remembered now a little 
 miniature portrait wjii» Ii lie lia<l once seen in Paris, on tlicir diawing- 
 roi>m manlel-piccc , which had disappeared. Where was it i' Lost or 
 concealed ? Oii. it he cdiild liave it in his hands lor no more liian a 
 second ! ills moliicr liad ivcpl it, |)erhaps, in that private drawei- where 
 one keeps tlie mementos ot love. 
 
 His distress at this thou^iit hccame so hanowing that he uttered a 
 groan , one of those sliorl laments tcu'ii from tlie breast by too acute 
 pains. And sudcU'rdv. as il it luui licard liim , as d il iiad undcrshiod 
 and rcsponilcd to liim, tiu' piei' signai liowicd (piite close to inm. Its 
 clamour, as ot a supernatural monster, MU)re icsonant than lininder, a 
 savage and lurmldai)ic roar created to oNcrcome tiu- voices ol liu' wiiul 
 and waves, sprcati through the darkness over the inxisihie sea, buried 
 bcncalii I lie logs. 
 
 Tlicn llnougii tiie nust , near or lar oil, similar sounds were laised 
 again in ihc dailvuess. 'Piicv were terrible, these cries uttered by tlie 
 great i)iind steamers. Then ail was still again. 
 
 I'icri'c had opened his eyes, and was looking aijout him, surprised to 
 liiul himseir there, awakened from liis niglitnuire. 
 
 ■■ I aui mad." he tliought, '" I am suspecting mv mother." 
 
 .Viul a rush ol love and teiulerness, of repentance, of pia\-er, and deso- 
 lalion. overwhelmed his heart. His motlici- ! Knowing Ler as he ilid, 
 how coidd lie have suspected her ? Were not the soul and the life of 
 this simple, xirliioiis, and loval woman more trans|)ai'ent than water.' To 
 see and lo know her. how was it |)Ossible not to think her beyond 
 reproach .' .\n<l It was he, her son, who had doubled her ! Oh. il he 
 could lia\c lakeii lier in his arms at this moineni . how he would lia\e 
 kissed and rondled her, how he would have knell to her, aiul beiiyed 
 
 ^ DO 
 
 her to |iai(!(iii Inm ! 
 
 Slie. (I(rei\e Ills lallier -she! His father! Siirelv he was a good 
 
 man . Iioiininable and iipii^;lil in liiisine^-.. llioiij^li his mind had never 
 
 crossed the hoii/.on ol his shop How eoiild this woman, once very
 
 7G THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 pretty, as he knew and could still see, endowed witli a delicate, affec- 
 tionate, tender soid , liave accepted a man who differed I'lom her so 
 greatly, as a lover and a husband ? 
 
 Why ask ? She hatl married, as girls will marry, the well-to-do man 
 whom I heir parents bring before them. They had established themselves 
 forthwith in their shoj) in ihe Rue MonLmarlre. and the young wife, mis- 
 tress al the desk, animated by the s|)iri[ of the new home, bv the subtle 
 and sacred sense of common interest which is a substitute for love, and 
 even for affection , in most of the tradesmen's households of Paris , had 
 s(^t hei'self to work with her whole active and acute intelligence (or the 
 hoped-lor prosperity of ihcir house. And her life had passed in this way, 
 uniform, trancjnil, \irtuous, without love ! 
 
 Without love ? Was it possible that a woman should not love ? 
 
 A young and pretty woman, living in Paris, reading books, applauding 
 actresses who die of passion on the stage, could she pass from youth 
 to old age, and her lu>art not be even once touched ? He would not 
 believe it of another woman — why believe it of his mother ? 
 
 Certainly she might have loved, like any one else ! For wliv should she 
 be different from any one else, though she was his mother ? 
 
 She had been young, with all the poetic weaknesses which affect the 
 heart ol the young! Shut up, imprisonctl in the shop, with a vulgar 
 husband always talking of trade, she hail dreanuMi of moonlight, of travels, 
 ol kisses under the shade of night. Anil then a man one day had come 
 in, as lovers come in books, and he had spoken as they speak. 
 
 She had loved him. Why not!' But she was his mother. \>'ell ! Need 
 he be so blind and stupiil as to reject evidence because his mother was 
 in ipjestion ? 
 
 Had she yielded ?- - Yes, for this man had no other i'emale friend. 
 Yes, lor he had remained faithful to the woman when she was at a 
 distance and grown old. Yes, for he had left liis whole lorlune to his 
 son, to their son ! 
 
 And Pierre rose, trend)lino- with such raye that he could have made 
 uj) his mind to kill somebody? His outstretched aim, his open hand,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 77 
 
 itched to strike, to wound, to crush, to strangle. Whom ? Every one. 
 His father, his brother; tlic dead man, his mother! 
 
 He rusheil homeward. What did lie mean lo do ? 
 
 .Vs he passed a turret iieai' the signal mast, the strident cry of the 
 siren exploded in his i'ace. His surprise was so great that he was near 
 falling, anil lie staggered back lo the granite parapet. He sat down 
 there, destitute of strength, shattered l)v the uproar. 
 
 The steamer which was first to respond seemed quite close to him. 
 and lay at the entrance of the harbour, it was high tide. 
 
 Pierre turned round, and saw its red eye diiiimed with mist. Then, 
 under the illumination diflused by the electric lights of the harbour, a 
 great black shadow could be traced bclween the two jetties. Behind him 
 the voice of the watchman, the hoarse voice of an ohi retired captain, cried : 
 
 •• Ships name ? " 
 
 And amid the fog the voice of the pilot standing on the bridge, 
 hoarse like the other, made answer. 
 
 '' Santa Lucia I " 
 
 '' Country ? " 
 
 •• Italy !" 
 
 " Port ?" 
 
 " Naples. " 
 
 And Pierre thought that he saw before his tiisordered gaze the licry 
 plume of Vesuvius, whilst at the foot ol the volcano lirc-tbes were darting 
 in the orange-thickets of Sorrento or Castellamare. How often had he 
 dreameil of these familial' uauies, as though he iiad known the countries ! 
 Oh, if he could lia\c dcpailed, at once, no matter where, and never come 
 back, never written, never let them know what had become of him ! Uut 
 no; he must go back, home to his fathers house, and slce|) iu his bed! 
 
 But he would not go back. He would wail lor daylight, 'fhe sound 
 of the '-sirens" pleased him. He rose and began to walk, like an oHicer 
 keeping his watch on the l)ridge. 
 
 Another ship .ipproachcd luliind the ilist , eiu>ruu)us anil mysterious. 
 
 It was an Englishman, homeward bound houi India.
 
 78 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 "He saw several others, emerging one hy one from the impenetrable 
 shadow. Then, as the damp of the fog became intolerable, Pierre set off 
 on his way to the town. He was so cold that he went into a sailors' 
 café to get a glass of spirits ; antl when the hot and spiced brandy had 
 burned his palate and throat, he felt a hope reviving within him. 
 
 Perhaps he was mistaken ? He knew that extravagant folly of his so 
 well ! He must iiave deceived himself. He had piled up the proofs as 
 one draws up an indictment against an innocent man, whom it is always 
 easy to convict when one is minded to think him guilty. He would think 
 very diderently when he had slept. So he went home and to bed ; and, 
 by force of will, he succeeded in falling asleep. 
 
 ^iX^^: 
 
 \iMf ^ . w^;^vw^^r
 
 V
 
 ,.U" ■■'*»v( 
 
 mm^^^^*^""'^ 
 
 i4. 
 
 'xf.^ 
 
 jjr-t 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 But the .loclor barely slept an hour or t^vo, in a restless and troubled 
 slumber. When he awoke, in llu- darkness of his warn, and eiosed 
 room, he felt, even before his lho.i,i.hts were clear again, that painful 
 oppression an.l disturbance of soul whi.h the grief on wluch we sleep 
 leaves within us. It is as though the u.dmppincss whose impact only 
 shocked us overnight, had crept during sleep into our very llesh, whuh 
 it hurt and wearnni l,kc a fever. Su.hlrnly recollection came back to 
 him, and he sat up in bed. 
 
 Then he began agan,. slowly, ..no by one, all the arguments wluch 
 had inilu.rd his hrarl -m liu- pier, amidst the clamour of the sirens. 
 The MX.,., he tiumght, the less he doubted. He fell himself drawn by 
 Ins logic, as though by a dragging and strangling hand, tu intolerable
 
 82 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 certainty. lie was thirsty and hot, and his heart thumped. lie got up 
 to open the window and breathe, and when he was on his feel a hght 
 sound reached him through the wall. 
 
 Jean was sleeping lightly, ami snoring a little. He could sleep ! lie 
 had foreboded nothine-, guessed nothing. A man who had known their 
 mollicr had left him all his fortune. lie took the money, thinking il 
 right and naluial. lie slept, lith and satisfied, without knowing that 
 his brother was panting with j)ain and distress. And anger rose withiiT 
 him at this careless and contented snorer. 
 
 Last night he would have knocked at the door, entered, and sitting by 
 the bed, would have said to him in the affright ol his sudden awakening : 
 "Jean, you must not keep this legacy, which to-morrow might cause our 
 mother to be suspected of dishonour. " 
 
 But to-day he could no longer speak; he could not tell Jean that he 
 did not believe him to be the sou of iheir father. He must now keep 
 anil bury within him this shame which he had discovered, hid(! from all 
 the blot which he had perceived, and which no man must detect; not 
 even his brother — above all, not his brother. 
 
 He scarcely thought now of idle regard for what people might think. 
 He would have been willing that everybody should accuse his mother, pro- 
 vided he knew her to be innocent — he, and he alone. How could he 
 endure to live by her side, day by day, and to believe, as he looked at 
 her. lliat his brother was the child of a stranger? 
 
 How calm and serene she was, nolwillistanding ! How self-possessed 
 she seemed to he. 
 
 \\'as it possible that a woman such as she was, a woman of pure soul 
 and good heart, could fall a victim to passion, with no after-appearance 
 of remorse, no recollections of a troubled conscience ? 
 
 Ah! remorse! remorse! It must once have troubled her, in the earlier 
 days, and then have been blotted out, as everything is blotted out. Surely 
 she had mourned her fault, and had gradually all but forgotten it. Have 
 not all women, willioul e.vception, this prodigious power of forgetlulness, 
 which scarcely even permils Llicm to recall, after the lapse of a few years,
 
 TUE TWO BROTHERS 83 
 
 the man to whom ihcy have wholly abandoned themselves ? The kiss 
 strikes like lightning, love [)asscs like a storm . and then life grows calm 
 again like the sky, and goes on as of old. Does one remember a cloud? 
 
 Pierre could stay in his chamber no longer. This house, his father's 
 house, o])|)rcssed him. The roof seemed to weigh upon his head, and 
 the walls to smother him. .\n(l ;is he was very thirsty, he lighted his 
 candle in mdcr to o-o and (hink a (jlass of cool water irom the filter 
 ill liic kitchen, lie went down tiic two flights, and then, as lie was going 
 up again willi tlic laiafc lull, he sat down in his shirt on the stairs, where 
 there was a current of air. and drank, without a glass, long draughts of 
 water, like a ruiiiicr who is out of breath. When he had ceased to move 
 about, the silence of the house troubled him; then he heard the slightest 
 noises, one by one, first it was the clock of the dining-room, whose 
 ticking seemed to grow louder every moment. Then he heard a snoring 
 again, the snoring of an old man, short, difficult, and hard; his father's, 
 no doubt; and he was irritated by the itlea, as though it had only just 
 occurred to him, that these two men who were snoring in the same 
 house, the father and the son, were nothing at all to each other! No tie, 
 not the slightest, connected them, and they did not know it! They spoke 
 to each other tenderly, they embraced, rejoiced, Avere affected together 
 over the same things, as though the same blood had flowed in their 
 veins. And two persons born at the two extremities of the world could 
 not be til-eater strangers to each other than this father and this son. 
 They thought they loved each other because a lie had grown ii|) between 
 them. It was a lie which created this paternal love and this filial love, 
 a lie which it was impossible to expose, and which nobody would ever 
 know except him, the true sun. 
 
 .\nd yet and yet suppose he were deceiving himself .' How 
 
 could he make sure ? Ah, if some resemblance, however slight, existed 
 between his father and Jean, one of those mysterious resemblances which 
 pass down from grandfather to great-grandchildren, showing that the whole 
 man descends directly from a single stock. So little would have been 
 necessary for him, a physician, lo recognize that — the form of the jaw,
 
 84 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 the curve of the nose, the distance of the eyes, the character of the 
 teeth or hair; less still, even a trick, a habit, a mannerism, a transniittcil 
 taste, any sign which would have been characteristic to a practised eye. 
 
 He searched his memory, and could remembci- nothing — no, nothing. 
 But he had scarcely looked, perhaps, having no motive for observing 
 these faint indications. 
 
 He got up to return to his room, and began to ascend the stairs, 
 slowly, and thinking still. He passed his brother's door, and stopped 
 short, stretching out his hand to open it. An urgent desire came upon 
 him to see Jean at once, to take a long look at him, to surprise him in 
 his sleep, whilst the quiet face and relaxed features were at rest, and 
 every living gesture had disappeared. So might he grasp the slumbering 
 secret of his physiognomy; and if any appreciable resemblance existed, it 
 could not escape him. 
 
 But if Jean should wake, what would he say? How could he explain 
 that visit ? 
 
 He remained standing, his fingers closed on the lock, and casting 
 about for a reason, a pretext. He suddenly remembered ihaL he had 
 lent his brother, a week ago, a phial of laudanum to ease a toothache. 
 He might have a toothache himself to-night, and come to get his medicine 
 back. So he entered, but stealthily, like a thief. 
 
 Jean, with his mouth half open, was sleeping the deep sleep of an 
 animal. His beard ami liglil hair made a patch of gold on the white 
 linen. He did not wake, but he ceased to snore. 
 
 Pierre, stooping over him, looked at him with a greedy eye. No, 
 that young man had no resemblance to Boland ; and for the second time 
 there arose in his mind the recollection of the little vanished portrait of 
 Maréchal. He must find it, and when he saw it he would doubt no longer. 
 
 His brother moved, doubtless troubled by his presence, or by the light 
 ot the candle shining thnuigh his eyelids ! Then the doctor retired, on 
 tiptoe, to the door, which he closed without a noise ; and so he returned 
 to his room, but not to bed. 
 
 The day was slow in coming. The hours struck, one after another.
 
 .'^^Ô£>i(itfnfW/\'i(^.'4ft/r/0HV^/<(Y''
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 85 
 
 fiwdii llic (lining room clock, whicli had a dcoj) and serious tone, as though 
 lliis little machine had swallowed a cathedral bell. They mountetl the 
 vacant staircase, passed through walls and doors, died away among the 
 rooms, in llie dull ear oi the sleepers. 
 
 Pierre had begun to walk to and fro , between his bed and the 
 window. What was he to do ? He was too upset to pass this day 
 with his family. He wanted to be still alone, at least until to-morrow, 
 so as to reflect, to grow calm, to strengthen himself for the daily life 
 which he must resume. 
 
 Well ! He would go to Trouville. and watch the bustle of the crowd 
 on the beach. That would change the aspect of his thoughts, anil give 
 him time to prepare for the horrible thing which he had discovered. 
 
 When dawn appeared, he washed and dressed. The fog was dispersed, 
 and it was very fine. As the Trouville steamer did not leave the port 
 till nine o'clock, the doctor thought that he ought to say good morning 
 to his mother before he left. 
 
 He waited until the hour when she usually rose, and then went down. 
 His heart beat so loudly as he touched her door that he waited to draw 
 breath. His hand, resting on the lock, was weak and shaking, almost 
 incapable of the slight effort required to turn the handle. He knocked. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked his mother's voice. 
 
 " I, Pierre." 
 
 " What do you want ? " 
 
 " To say good morning. 1 am going to spend the day at Trouville 
 with some friends. " 
 
 " 1 am still m bed." 
 
 "Well then, don I liniible. ! will kiss you when I come back, to-night. " 
 
 lie hoped lliat he might go wilhoul seeing her. williDUl pressing on 
 her cheek the deceitful kiss which revolted his heart beforehand. 
 
 But she answered : 
 
 "Wait a minute. I will open l<> \nii. Wait until I am in beil again." 
 
 He heard her naked ieet on the lloor, and then the sliding of the bolt. 
 
 " Come in ! " she cried.
 
 86 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 He went in. She was silting up in bed, whilst Roland, by her side, 
 with a nightcap on his head, and his face to the wall, slept on soundly. 
 Nothing woke him, so long as he was not taken by the arm and shaken. On 
 fishing days it was the maid, rung up at the appointed hour by the sailor 
 Papagris, who came up and dragged her master Crom this invincible repose. 
 
 Pierre, as he walked towards her, looked at his mother, and it seemed 
 to him all at once as though he had never seen her. 
 
 She held out her cheek to him, and he kissed her twice; then he 
 sat down on a low chair. 
 
 "Was it last night that you arranged that party?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes, last night. " 
 
 "You are coming back lor dinner?" 
 
 "1 am not sure, yet. At any rate, don't wait tor me." 
 
 He was observing her with a stuj)ified curiosity. This woman was his 
 mother! The whole lace, which he had seen from his infancy, from 
 the moment when his eye could distinguish one thing from another, that 
 smile, that voice which he knew so well, which was so familiar, seemed 
 all on a sudden new and different from what they had hitherto been to 
 him. Me understood now that, loving her, he had never studied her. 
 Yet there was no doubt as to her identity, and he knew each of the 
 smallest details of her face, but he saw clearly each of these little details 
 for the first time. His anxious attention, studying that dearly-loved head, 
 revealed it to him in a different aspect, with a physiognomy which he 
 had never discovered. 
 
 lie rose to go ; then, yielding suddenly to the unconquerable thirst for 
 knowledge which had gnawed at his heart since the previous night : 
 
 " By the way, 1 thought 1 remembered that there was once, at Paris, 
 a little portrait of Maréchal in our drawing-room. " 
 
 She hesitated for a second or two, or at least he fancied that she 
 hesitated. Then she said : 
 
 " Yes, there was. " 
 
 "And what has become of llial portrait?" 
 
 Again she might have been quicker over her reply.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 87 
 
 '• That portrait let mc see I am not quite sure Perhaps 
 
 I have it in my desk. " 
 
 " I should i)e so glad if you could find it. " 
 
 " Yes, I will look for it. ^^ hy tl<> Vf^u want it ? " 
 
 '• Oh. it is mil tor myscH. I lliouglit il would be uatuial to give it 
 to Jean, and thai il would please him." 
 
 " Yes, you are right, it is a happy idea. I will go and look for it 
 as soon as I am drt'sstnl. "' 
 
 Then he went away. 
 
 It was a day of blue, without a breath of air. The people in the 
 street seemed cheerful : the merchants were going about their business, 
 the clerks to their desks, the girls to their shops. A few were singing, 
 enlivened bv the brightness. The passengers were already embarking on 
 the Trouville steamer. Pierre sat in the stern, on a wooden bench. 
 
 "Was she troubled," he asked himself, '"by my question about the 
 portrait, or only surprised ? Did she lose it or hide it ? Does she know 
 where it is, or docs she not ^ If she hid it, why ? " 
 
 And his mind, always on the same track, from one deduction to 
 another, came to the following conclusion : 
 
 The portrait, which was the jiortrait of a friend and a lover, had 
 remained in the drawing-room until the day when the wife and mother 
 had perceived, before anybody else, that it was like, her son. Doubtless 
 for a long time she had watched for this resemblance; then, having 
 discovered it, having seen it appear, and uuderstandiuy that any one might 
 see it likewise, one day or the other, she had one evening removed the 
 alarming little miniature, ami had hidden it, not daring to destroy it. 
 
 And Pierre remembered clearly now that this miniature had long disap- 
 peared, long before iheir departure from Paris ! It had disappeared, he 
 thought, when .lean's beard, beginning to grow, had suddenly rendered 
 him like the fair young man who smiled from the pielure-frame. 
 
 The motion of the vessel disturbed his thought, and scattered it. 'I'lien 
 he stood u|). and looked at the sea. 
 
 The lillle steamer emerged from the jetties, tiirnetl lo ihe left, and
 
 88 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 went puffing and quivering towards the distant coast, just visible in the 
 morning haze. Here and there the red sail of a fishing-smack, motionless 
 on the level sea, looked like a great rock standing out of the water. 
 
 In less than an hour ihey came to the port of Trouville, and as it 
 was Lathing time, Pierre betook himself to liie beach. 
 
 From a distance the beach looked like a long garden lull of brilliant 
 flowers. On the great stretch of yellow sand, from the jetty to the lilack 
 Rocks, sunshades of every colour, hats of every shape, dresses of every 
 hue, in groups before the machines, in lines along the surf, or scattered 
 up and down, were like nothing so much as enormous flower beds in a 
 vast meadow. And the confused noise, near and far, of voices resounding 
 in the air, the shouts, the cries of bathing children, the shrill laughter 
 of the women, created a constant and pleasant hum, mingled with the 
 imperceptible breeze, so that one drew them in together. 
 
 Pierre walked about amidst those people, more divided from them, 
 more isolated, more deeply plunged in his tormenting thoughts, than if he 
 had been cast into the sea from the deck of a ship a hundred leagues 
 from land. He brushed against them, heard, without listening, some of 
 their talk ; and without looking he saw the men speaking to the women, 
 and the women smiling at the men. 
 
 But suddenly, as though he had awoke from sleep, he saw them 
 distinctly; and hatred rose up in his mind against them, because they 
 seemed happy and content. 
 
 Now he went amongst the groups, moving round them, occupied with 
 new thoughts. All these many-coloured dresses which covered the sand 
 like a flower garden, these pretty garments, these bright sunshades, the 
 artificial grace of the tight-laced figures, all the ingenious tricks of fashion, 
 from the tiny shoes to the extravagant hat, the seductive gestures, voices, 
 and smiles — in brief, the coquettish airs displayed in every part of the 
 beach, looked lo him suddenly like an immense efflorescence of feminine 
 perversity. All these dressed-up women were seeking to please, to lead 
 astray, to tenq)t some one. They had made themselves beautiful for men, 
 for all men except for the husband whom there was no longer any need to
 
 f*UM< -•■;* 
 
 f 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^'
 
 Til H TWO BROTHERS 89 
 
 conquer. They had made themselves beautiful for the lover of to-day and 
 the lover of to-morrow, for some unknown man whom they had met, 
 remarked, or perhaps expected. And these men, seated near them, eye to 
 eye, mouth speaking close to mouth, challenged and coveted them, hunted 
 them like fleeting game, although they seemed so near and so easy to catch. 
 This vast beach, then, was but a market of love, where some women 
 were sold and others gave themselves away, some traded on their favours, 
 and others merely promised themselves. .Vll these women thought but of 
 one and the same thing, to present and create a desire for their persons, 
 which had ahcady been given, sold, or promised to other men. And he 
 mused that throughout the whole world it was ever the same thing. 
 
 His mother had done like the rest — that was all! Like the rest? No! 
 There were exceptions ; many, to be sure ! The creatures whom he saw 
 around him, rich, light-minded, covetous of love, belonged in fact to the 
 elegant and worldly class of intriguers, or even to the class which had 
 its regular tarifl, for on the beach, trampled bv the legion of idlers, you 
 did not meet the legion of virtuous women who were held safe at home. 
 
 The sea was coming in, gradually driving towards the town the lirst 
 line of bathers. Groups were seen briskly rising and taking to ilight, 
 carrying their seats with them, before the advancing yellow surf fringed 
 with a little lace of foam. The rumbling machines, yoked to a horse, 
 came up likewise, and on the [)lanks of the promenade which borders 
 the beach from end to end, there was a continuous stream, dense and 
 slow, of elegant [)eoplc, forming two adverse currents, which elbowed and 
 crowded each other. Pierre, nervous, irritated by the jostling, lied away, 
 biiiied himsc'ir in llic town, and stopped to break his fast at a modest 
 wine-shop ;it the entrance to the meadows. 
 
 When lie IuhI taken his colfee he stretched himself on two chairs in 
 front of llu- door, and as he had scarcely slept the night before, he fell 
 into a slumber beneath the sliadow of a lime. 
 
 After a few hours' rest, having roused himself, he saw ihal it was time 
 to go back and catch the boat, and he set forth, hanilicapped by a sudden 
 cramp. wlii( h had seized him in his sleep. Now he wanted to get home;
 
 90 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 he Avanted to see if his mother had found the portrait of Maréchal. And 
 would she be the first to speak, or would he have to ask for it again ? 
 Certainly, if she expected to be questioned again, she had a secret reason 
 lor not showing the picture. 
 
 Bui when he had returned to his room, he hesitated to go down to 
 dine. He was sufi'ering too much. His revolted heart had not yet had 
 time to regain its calm. 
 
 But he made up his mind, and appeared in the dining-room as they 
 were sitting down to tabic. Cheerfulness lighted up every face. 
 
 "Well!" said Roland, "how are you getting on with your purchases? 
 I don't want to see anything till the place is complete. " 
 
 "Of course you don't,"' answered Madame Roland. "Bui we must take 
 plenty of time to consider, so as not to get anything out of keeping. 
 The furnishing question gives us a good deal of trouble. " 
 
 She had spent the day in going with Jean to upholsterers and furniture 
 shops. She desired to have rich materials, somewhat showy, to catch 
 the eye. Her son, on the other hand, wanted something sinqjle and 
 out of the comiuon. Accordingly they had jjolh rehearsed their arguments 
 over each article pul before them. She made out that the client, the 
 man who goes to law, needs to be impressed, thai he ought to experience 
 an effect of luxury when he enters the reception-room. 
 
 Jean, on the contrary, wishing to attract only an elegant and wealthy 
 connection, would work on the minds of refined peo|)le by his modest and 
 unquestionable taste. And the discussion, which had lasted all day, was 
 resumed over the soup. 
 
 Roland had no opinion. He kept saying : 
 
 " 1 dont want to hear anything. 1 shall go and look when it is 
 finished. " 
 
 Madame Roland appealed to the judgment of her elder son : 
 
 "Come, Pierre, what do you think? " 
 
 His nerves were so highly strung that he could have answered with 
 an oath. Nevertheless, he said in a dry and irritated tone : 
 
 "For my part, I aui entirely of Jeans opinion. I only care for sim-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 91 
 
 plicilv. which is. in matters of laslc. what uprightness is in the matter 
 of character. " 
 
 llis mother repHed : 
 
 " Remember thai \v(> air living in a town of merchants, where good 
 taste is not picked up in the streets. " 
 
 Pierre answered : 
 
 "What then? Is that a reason for imitating fools? If my countrymen 
 are stupid or dishonest, neeil i luliow their example? A woman will not 
 go wrong simply because her neighbours have their lovers. " 
 
 Jean burst out laujihiii"-. 
 
 " Vou give us comparative reasons which seem to be taken from the 
 maxims of a moralist. " 
 
 Pierre made no answer. llis mother and brother began to talk again 
 of sluir and cum lies. lie lookctl al them as he had looked at iiis mother 
 ill liic morning, before he set out for 'rrouville- — like a stranger who is 
 making his observations ; and in lad he seemed as if he had suddenly 
 entered an uiduiown family. 
 
 His father, in particular, startled both his sight and his thoughts. This 
 fat and llabby man, self-satisfied and foolish, was his father — his ! No, no, 
 Jean was in no sense like him. 
 
 llis family! i''iir two davs past an unknown anil malevolent IkuuI, the 
 hand (>l a dead man, had torn and broken, one by one, all the bonds 
 which held these four people together. It was destroyed — it was shat- 
 tered, lie had no longer a mother, for he could no longer cherish her, 
 since he could not reverence her with that absolute, tender, and |)ious 
 respect which the heart of a son demands ; no longer a biolhcr. since 
 this brother was a stranger's chihl. lie IkhI but a father — this coarse man 
 whom he diti not love, however he tried. 
 
 Ami suddcnlv he asked : 
 
 " Well, mamma, have you found llial [)orlrail ? " 
 
 She o|)cn((l her eyes in wonder. 
 
 " W hat portrait ?" 
 
 " The portrait of Maréchal.
 
 92 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 " No I mean yes I have not found it, but I tliiiik I know 
 
 where it is. " 
 
 "What's that?" asked Roland. 
 
 " It's a little portrait of Maréchal, " said Pierre, " which used to be 
 in our drawinsr-room at Paris. I thought Jean would like to have it. " 
 
 M. Roland cried out : 
 
 "Yes, yes! I remember perfectly; why, I saw it again at the end 
 of last week. Your mother pulled it out of her desk when she was 
 arranging her papers. It was Thursday or Friday, you remember, Louise? 
 I was about to shave, when you took it from a drawer, and laid it on 
 a chair by your side, with a heap of letters, half of which you burned. 
 Ha, ha ! It Avas odd that you should have touched this portrait barely 
 two or three days before Jean came into his fortune. if 1 believed in 
 presentiments, 1 should say that was one ! " 
 
 Madame Roland replied, calmly : 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I know where it is. I will go and find it presently. " 
 
 So she had lied ! She had lied this morning even, when she answered 
 her son's question as to what had become of the miniature with the words : 
 " ! am not quite sure perhaps I have it in my desk. " 
 
 She had seen, looked at it a few days before ; then she had hidden 
 it again in the jjrivate drawer with letters — with the letters of that man. 
 
 Pierre looked at his mother, who had told a lie ! lie looked at her 
 with the sharp auger of a son who had been cheated, disappointed in 
 his most sacred affections, and wilh the jealousy of a man who had long 
 been blind, but at last discovers a shameful treason. If he had been 
 her husband — he, who was her child — he should have seized her by the 
 wrists, or the shoulders, or the hair, cast her to the ground, struck her, 
 hurt her, crushed her ! And he could say nothing, do nothing, show 
 nothing, and reveal nothing. He was her son ; he had nothing to avenge, 
 for he had not been deceived. 
 
 And yd he had been deceived in his love, deceived in his pious respect. 
 She ought to have been irreproachable to him, as all mothers should be 
 t(j their sons. If the rage with which he was attacked rose almost to
 
 THF. TWO BROTHERS 93 
 
 hatred, it was l)ecause he felt that she had offended against himself more 
 even than against liis iallicr. 
 
 The love of a man ami woman is a voluntary eompact, in wliicli 
 tiie one who fails is guilty only of perfidy ; hut when the wife has 
 become a mother, her duty has increased, for nature has intrusted her 
 with a race. If she fails then, she is a coward, worthless, infamous! 
 
 '•1 must confess," old Roland suddenly exclaimed, stretching out his 
 legs under the tahle, as he did every evening when he sipped his glass 
 of curranl-wine, "' I must confess that it is not sucli a had tiling to 
 live an idle life when you have an independent income. 1 hope Jean 
 will give good dinners now; and if 1 get occasional indigestion, I can't 
 help it.' Then, turning to his wife, he said : "Go and lind that portrait, 
 darling, as you iiave done your dinner. I slioukl like to see it too. " 
 
 She rose, took a candle, and went out. 
 
 Then, after an absence which seemed long to Pierre, though it was 
 under three minutes, Madame Roland returned with a smile, holding by 
 its ring an antique gold frame. 
 
 "There." she said. ■ 1 found il almost immediately." 
 
 The doctor had been the lirst to extend his hand. lie took the 
 portrait, and e.xaniined it at a little distance, at arm's length. Then, 
 feeling that his mother was looking at him, he slowly raised his eyes to 
 his brother, in order to make a comparison. lie was nearly saying, 
 carried away by his vehemence : "Why, that resembles Jean. " If he dare 
 not utter those terrible words, he revealed his thoughts by the manner 
 in which he compared the living face with the painted one. 
 
 There were certainly features in common, the same beard and the 
 same forehead, but lujthing precise enough to justify one in saying : 
 " This is the father, and this is the son. " It was more a family resem- 
 blance, a link between two faces animated by the same bliK)d. Now, 
 what was more decisive for Pierre than this correspondence of features, 
 was that his mother had risen, hail turned her back, and made a point 
 of putting away the sugar and wine in a cupboard, with more than rea- 
 sonable slowness.
 
 94 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 She had understood that he knew, or at least suspected ! 
 
 " Pass it to me, " said Roland. 
 
 Pierre held out the miniature, and his father drew a candle near to 
 him, that he might take a good look. Then he murmured : 
 
 "Poor chap! To think that he was like that when we first knew him! 
 By Jove ! how time flies ! He was a fine fellow, all the same, at that 
 date ; and so nice in his manners, was he not, Louise ? " 
 
 As his wife did not answer, he went on : 
 
 " And what a calm temper ! I never saw him in a bad humour. 
 There ! it is all over, and there's nothing left of him — except what he 
 has bequeathed to Jean. In truth one may say of him that he showed 
 himself a good friend, and faithful to the end." 
 
 Jean now stretched out his arm to take the portrait. He looked at 
 it for a few moments, and then said regretfully : 
 
 •' I dont recognize him one bit. 1 can only remember him with 
 white hair. ' 
 
 And he returned the miniature to his mother. She threw at it a 
 rapid glance, quickly averted, which seemed full of fear ; and then said 
 in her usual voice : 
 
 "That belongs to you now, Jean, my dear, since you are his heir. 
 We will take it to your new rooms. " 
 
 And as they were entering the drawing-room, she placed the miniature 
 on the chimney-piece, near the clock, where it used to be of old. 
 
 Roland filled his pipe, Pierre and Jean lighted cigarettes. They used 
 to smoke as a rule, Pierre walking up and down the room, Jean sitting 
 deep in an easy chair, with his legs crossed. The father always sat 
 astride of a chair, spitting from a distance into the fireplace. 
 
 Madame Roland, on a low seat, by a little table with a lamp on it, 
 would do her embroidery, knit, or mark linen. 
 
 This evening she began a piece of fancy-work intended for Jean's 
 rooms. It was a complicated piece, which in the first instance required 
 her whole attention. Nevertheless, from time to time her eye, as it 
 reckoned up the points, would look up. (piickly, furtively, to the little
 
 THK TWO BROTHERS 95 
 
 portrait i>l tlic dciid iimii. whicli leaned against tlie clock. And llie doctor, 
 crossing the room in lour oi- i'wv strides, with his hands behind his hack, 
 and his cigarette between his lij)s, met his mother's h)ok every time. 
 
 Anv one would Iiave said tiial they were watching each other, that war 
 had been ileehired between them; and a painful, intolerable distress 
 assailed the heart of Pierre. Tortured and yet satisfied, he said to himself: 
 " How she must sulTer, now, if she knows that I have got at the 
 truth ! " And every time he returned to the fireplace he paused a second 
 or two to look at the fair face of Maréchal, to make it clear that a fixed 
 idea had seized upon him. .Viid this little portrait, smaller than an open 
 hand, appeared like a living, malicious, formidable creature, which had 
 suddenly entered the house and family. 
 
 All at once there w\as a ring at the street door. Madame Roland, 
 usually so calm, started in such a way as to show the doctor how her 
 nerves were disturbed. Then she said : 
 
 " That must be Madame Rosémilly. " 
 
 And her anxious eyes again fell upon the chimney-piece. 
 
 Pierre understood, or thought that he understood, her terror and anguish. 
 The looks of women are acute, their mind is agile, their thoughts are 
 lull 1)1 suspicion. When she who was coming in perceived the little 
 unknown miniature, perhaps at first sight she would perceive the resem- 
 blance of this face to that of .lean. Then she would know and compre- 
 licnd everything. He w^as afraid, suddenly and terribly afraid, that the 
 shame would be detected ; and turning round, as the door was opened, 
 he took the little portrait, and slipped it under the clock, without his 
 father and brother observing him. 
 
 Again encountering the eyes of his mother, they seemed to him to 
 have become changed, troubled, and wild. 
 
 "Good day," said Madame Rosémilly. 'I have come to drink a cup 
 of tea with you. " 
 
 Rut whilst they gathered round lo ask how she was, Pierre disappeared 
 llirougli the open door. 
 
 When his departure was noticed, they were astonished.
 
 96 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 Jean, being displeased, because he thought the young widow might be 
 hurt, muttered : 
 
 " What a bear he is ! " 
 
 Madame Roland explained : 
 
 ''We must not look for his company; he is not well to-day, and he is 
 tired from his trip to Trouville. " 
 
 "What of that?" said Roland. "It is no excuse for his going off 
 like a savage. " 
 
 Madame Rosémilly tried to smooth things over, saying : 
 
 "No, no; he went off in the English fashion. They always depart like 
 that in society, when they go away early. " 
 
 "Oh!" Jean replied, "in society that may be so, but we do not 
 treat our family in English fashion. My brother has been doing that 
 sort of thing for some time past. " 
 
 -'fc^nnaor .É , X»-,<S^^. i^-
 
 VI
 
 , ' '.wwftiwr- ^;!^frSv«fi^^t'-' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Noth.no particular happened tc the Roh.nds for a ^veek or two. The 
 father f.shed; Jean settled down in his apartments, assisted l>y ins mother; 
 Pierre, gloomy to excess, only n.adc his appearance at meals. 
 His father asked him one evening : 
 
 ''Why the den.c do you make yourself like a mute at a funeral? 
 To-day is not the lirst time 1 luive noticed it." 
 
 ''The burden of life weighs on mc terribly," replied the doctor. 
 The worthy man had no notion what he meant. 
 
 "Really " he said. wUh a disconsolate air, -it is too stupid. Since 
 this good'huU of tlu- legacy bch-11 us, everybody seems unhappy- We 
 ■ht have had an a, cident, or gone int.. mourning for sou.e one! 
 I au. mourning for some one," said Pierre. 
 You.' For whom?" 
 
 mig
 
 100 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 " Oh, some one you never knew. Some one I loved too well." 
 
 Roland thought there was a sweetheart in the question, some light 
 creature to whom his son had paid attention. He asked : 
 
 "A woman, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes, a woman." 
 
 " Dead?" 
 
 '' No — worse than that. Lost. " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Though astonished by this unexpected confidence, which was made 
 before his wife, and by the strange tone of his son, the old man did not 
 dwell upon it, for he thouglit that these affairs had nothing to ilo with 
 third parties. 
 
 Madame Roland looked as if she had heard nothing. She seemed ill, 
 and was very pale. Several times already her husband, surprised to see 
 her sitting as though she had fallen down on her chair, and to hear 
 her pant as though she could not breathe, had said to her : 
 
 " Really, Louise, you don't look well. You must be tiring yourself 
 too umch by settling Jean in his rooms. Take some rest, I tell you. 
 The rascal is not in a hurry, now he is rich." 
 
 She only shook her head, without replying. 
 
 To-day her paleness was so extreme that Roland again remarked it : 
 
 " Gome, this won't do at all, my poor old girl. You nnist be looked 
 after. " 
 
 Then he turned to his son : 
 
 " You can see plainly that your mother is ill. Have you noticed her, 
 it nothing else?" 
 
 " No," Pierre replied. " 1 had not observed that anything was the 
 matter with her. " 
 
 Then Roland was angry : 
 
 " Devil take it, this is enough to make a man swear! What is the 
 good of being a doctor then, if you can't even see that your mother is 
 unwell? Look at lur, 1 tell you! Look at her! No, on my soul, you 
 might die, and this doctor fellow would never suspect it ! "
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 101 
 
 Madame Roland had hegun to gasp. She was so ghastly that her 
 husband cried : 
 
 " She is going to faint ! 
 
 "■No — no it is nothing -it \\ill go off it is nothing." 
 
 Picric had approached hei', and was looking at her fixedly. 
 
 •■ I'cll iiic ! What is wrong with you?" he asked. 
 
 She said again, in a low and hurric<l voice : 
 
 "Nothing — nothing! I assure you — nothing!" 
 
 Roland had gone to (inil some vinegar; he came hack, and handed 
 liie hottle to his son. 
 
 " There. Now you must relieve her. Have you tried her heart at 
 all?" 
 
 .Vnd as Pierre stooped to feel her pulse, she drew hack iiei- hand with 
 such a sudden action thai she struck against a seat which was near her. 
 
 "Come!" he said, coldly; "let me attend to you, as you are ill." 
 
 Then she sat up, and held out her arm. Her skin was very hot, 
 and her heart beat wildly and irregularly. He muttered : 
 
 "It is rather serious, to be sure. You must have soothing draughts. 
 I wdl wiile you a prescription." 
 
 -Vnd as he wrote, bent over his paper, a light sound of repressed sighs, 
 ol suffocation, of short impeded breath, made him suddenly turn round. 
 
 She was crying, with lier hanils over her face. 
 
 Roland, in despair, asked her : 
 
 •'Louise, Louise! What is the matter? Oh, what is llu' matter, 
 dear?" 
 
 She made no answer, ami seemed to be ilislracted by a deep and 
 terrible grief. 
 
 lier husband tried to take her hanils Iroui her face. She resisted, 
 crying : 
 
 " No, no, no!" 
 
 He turned (u ins sf)n : 
 
 What IS the matter with her.' I lia\c never seen her thus." 
 " It is nothing," said Pierre, " only a little nervous crisis."
 
 102 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 And it soomeil to him as though his own licnit were romfortoil to see 
 her in this torment — that her grief Hghtenecl his resentment, anil diminished 
 his mother's due of blame, lie looked at her like a judge satisfied with 
 his task. 
 
 Hut all at once she rose, and rushed to the door with such a sudden 
 movement that they could neither prevent nor keep her hack. She ran 
 to her room, and shut herself in. 
 
 Roland and the doctor remained face to face. 
 
 " Can you make anything out of it? " said the former. 
 
 " Yes. This comes of a little nervous trouble which often comes on 
 at mamma's age. It is probable that she will have plenty more of such 
 fits." 
 
 And in fact she had more, almost every day, which Pierre seemed 
 to bring on by a word, as though he held the secret of her strange 
 and hidden unrest. He watched the intermitting calm of her face, and, 
 with the skill of a torturer, called back by a word the grief which had 
 been soothed for a moment. 
 
 And he suffered on his own part as much as she did. He suffered 
 terribly from the fact that he no longer loved her, that he no longer 
 respected her, that he was actually torturing her. When he had thor- 
 oughly renewed the bleeding wound laid open by him in the heart of 
 the wife and mother, when he felt how wretched and desperate she was, 
 he wandered off alone into the town, so tormented by remorse, so 
 sore with |)ity, so disconsolate at having beaten her down by filial scorn, 
 that he felt inclined to leap into the sea, to drown himself, and make 
 an end of it. 
 
 Oh, how gladly he would have pardoned her now! But he could not 
 do it, for he was unable to forget. If only he could have forborne to 
 give her pain ; but that was equally impossible whilst he suffered himself. 
 He went in to meals, full of tender resolutions; then, as he beheld her, 
 as soon as he saw her eye, once so direct and frank, now avoiding him, 
 lull of fear and bewildered, his blow descended in spite of himself, for 
 he could not hold back the double-edged phrase that sprang to his lips.
 
 THE TWO BROTIIKRS lO:! 
 
 The accursed secret, known to them idone. armed iiini against her. It 
 was a poison \vhi( h he caiiicd in liis veins, and winch made him want 
 to bite like a mad do^-. Nothing- now prevented him from constantly 
 tormenting her, ior .lean lived ahnost cnlirciv al his new a[)artments, and 
 came home onlv to dine and sleep witli his family. 
 
 Me often nolicc<l the bitterness ami vioh-nce oi liis brother, and allrd)nted 
 them to jealousx . lie made np his mind to sel things straight, and give 
 him a lesson one day or (jther. for the life of the iamily was becoming 
 wretched through these continual scenes. Hut as he I'wvd apart now, he 
 sufi'ered less from these brutalities, and his love of a ipiiet Hie tlisposed 
 him to patience. Fortune, moreover, had spoiletl him, antl his thoughts 
 dwelt on little else than matters which specially concerned him. He 
 would come in with his mind full ol new and petty cai'cs, absorbed by the 
 cut of his coat, the shape ol a ielt hat. the proper size of his visiting cards. 
 And he spoke persislcMitlv oi tlii' details oi his suite, ol the boards in his 
 bedroom cupboard to keep his iin(Mi pressed, of boxes in the \('stibule, ol 
 electric alarms arrangi'd to prexcnl any secret invasion ot his apartments. 
 
 He luul decided that on the day when he linally took |)ossession they 
 would have a countrv party at Saint-.Ionin, ami couu' back ailei' dinner 
 to lake tea at his rooms. Uoland wanted to go by sea, l)ut the distance 
 and uncertainty of arrival of this route, il the wind were to get up, 
 caused his plan to be rejected, and a break was hired for the occasion. 
 
 Thcv set oil about ten o'clock, so as to be in time for the midday 
 meal. In the carriage, which was drawn bv two fat and slow-lii>lling 
 horses, the iannlv oi the liohinds, Madame liosémilly. and Captain lieausire 
 rode in silence, deiiiencd b\ the noise oi the wheels, antl closed their 
 «■yes in :i cloud ol dust. 
 
 Il was hiirvest lime. ISeside the dark green clover and the coarse green 
 ol the beetiools. the yellow corn brighleiu'd up llie countr\' with a blaze 
 ol gold iind Ihixen lighl. Here and ihere the ingathering was begun, and 
 in the iiclds where the sickle had been set to work, nua: were seen 
 swaying as lliey swept the gidiind with llieir long winghke blade. 
 
 Alter a two hours ride, the break lurned to the Ielt. passed by a
 
 104 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 ■windmill nt work, n nielanclioly clingy wail, liall" decayed and destined 
 to destruction, the last survival oF the old mills. Then it entered a pretty 
 court-yard, and stopped before an attractive house, a hotel famous 
 throughouL the district. 
 
 The landlady, known as lli<> lair Alplumsine, came (nit smiling into 
 the porch, and held out her hand to the two ladies, who were hesitating 
 over the rallu>r high steps. 
 
 Under a lent, on the edge of the lawn shadcil hy apple trees, some visitoi's 
 were alrcadv breakfasting. Thev were Parisians from P^tretat ; and inside the 
 house could be heard \oices, lau"htt'r, and a clatter of earthenware. 
 
 They had to eat in a private room, all the dining-rooms being lull. 
 Suddenlv Roland saw some shrimping-nets on the wall. 
 
 "Ah! ah! ' he ci'ied, " do they catch prawns here?" 
 
 " Yes," said Beausire. " In fact, this is where they catch the largest 
 number along the coast." 
 
 " Bv Jove! Let us go after breakfast!" 
 
 Thev found that the tide was out at three o'clock; and it was decided 
 that evervbodv should spenil the afternoon amongst the locks, looking- 
 for shrimps. 
 
 They ate little, for fear of a rush of IiKxhI to llic head when their 
 feet were in the watei-. Besides, they wisheil to rescive themselves for 
 dinner, which was ordered on a grand scale, and which was to be 
 ready when they returned at six. 
 
 Roland could not restrain his impatience. He wanled to purchase 
 the s])eci;il nets emploxcd In this kind of fishing, which are very like 
 those used to catch bnl tciilics. Thev are called Icincts, and they are 
 little pockets of thread, bound round a wooden ring, at the end of a 
 long stick. 
 
 Alphonsine, smiling continually, lent him them. Then she assisted the 
 two women lo make a hasty toilette, so that ihev might not nudce iheir 
 dresses wet. She brought them skirts, large woollen stockings, and Spanish 
 sandals. The men took off their shoes and stockings, and bought from 
 the local shoi'uiaker some slipjiers and sabots.
 
 TUR TWO BIIOTHKRS 105 
 
 Tlifii (liov set 1)11, nets on iheir sIiouKUm-s ;iihI l);iskels on ihcir 
 backs. MikI.iiiic Uosémillv was absolutely cbarniing-. 
 
 The skirl lenl l)V Alplinnsinc, tiaintilv canj^bl ii|) and held lo^i'lber 
 bv a stitcli HI" Iwo, so tbat she eoiilil run atui |nin|) willioul ilanj^er 
 amoni^sl the rocks, jusi shewed the ankh' aiul the he^iiiniui;' ol ihe calf. 
 The lii^ure was free, so as to inak(^ uioNcnient easy; she liad hiund a 
 large garden hat to cover her head, ol veUow stra\\', willi \ast Haps, to 
 whieli a branch of tamarind, holding back one edge, gave the swaggering 
 look ol a mousquetaire. 
 
 Since he came into liis lorlune, Jean had been asking himself whether 
 he should marry her or not. I'^very tinu> he saw lier again he decidetl 
 to make her his wile; iheii, \\hen he was alone, he ihoiight lliat wailing 
 gave time for i-e(lection. She was less wealthv than he was now, for she 
 had only about Iwidvc ihousaud Iram's a yeai' : bul it was in landed 
 property, farms, sites in llaxre, on liic docks; and bv and bv ibis unglil 
 be worth a great sum. Their foitunes thus were almost equal, and the 
 young widow ccrtainlN pleased him vastly- 
 
 As he saw her walking in front of him to-dav. he thought : •• Xow, 
 1 imisl make u|) my minil. (lertainlv I shall lind nothing better." 
 
 They were going along a lillle sloping \alley, descending from the 
 village t(J the din"; and the ilifl at the end of the valley overlooked the 
 sea Irom a height of eighty metres. Within the framework of the green 
 sides ol tli(> valley running down to the rigiit and lei'l, a gi-eat triangle 
 oi water, silver-blue benealh the sun, was manifest at a distaiu'c, and a 
 sail, scarcely visii)le, looked like an insect ilown below. Tlu" brilliant 
 sky mingled with the waves so that it was impossible to distinguish 
 whci'c one ended or the oliiei- began; and the two wonu-n , walking in 
 Iront ol the men, exhibited tlieir sha|)ely (igui-es against the clear hori/on. 
 
 .lean, whose eves luul "athei-ed brightness, saw the neat aidvic-, the 
 sicndrr and supple lignre, ami the tantalising big hat of .Madame Hosé- 
 unlly Hitting liefore him; and the llight sllmulaled his desire, and drove 
 iiiiu til (iiie 111 lliiise lin.d icsi ijii I ions which the timid and hesitating are 
 Wont lo lake .ill III ,1 liiiiiA , The w.irm air, in which w.is mimjled the
 
 10(i THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 smell of the hill-sides, of the gorse, of the clover antl grass, and of the 
 rocks left hare by the tide, encouraged whilst it mildly intoxicated him, 
 and he herame more and more decided at every step, every instant, at 
 every glance di reeled towards llie young woman's agile figure. He resolved 
 lo hesitate no longer, hut to lell lier that he loved her, antl wanted her 
 for his wife. The fishing would help him, and make a ipiiet interview 
 easy; and moreover this would he a pretty framework, a delightful place 
 to talk of love — their feet in a jjool of limpid water, whilst they saw 
 the long beards of the prawns disappear under the sea-weed. 
 
 When they came to the end of the valley, to the edge of the precipice, 
 they saw a narrow path descending the cliff, and beneath them, between 
 the sea and the foot of the cliff, about half-way across, a wonderful 
 chaos of enormous rocks, shattered, overthrown, heaped one above another 
 in a kind of overgrown and (piivering plain, which disappeared from 
 sight towards the south, creatiHl by ancient landslips. On this long belt 
 of brushwood and turf, shaken out, one would suppose, by earthquakes, 
 the fallen rocks seemed like the ruins of a mighty vanished city, once 
 overlooking the ocean, and itself overlooked by the white and endless Avail 
 of the cliff. 
 
 "There now, that is beautiful!" said Madame Rosemilly, coming to 
 a halt. 
 
 Jean had come up with her, and, with beating heart, offered her his 
 hand to descend the narnnv staircase hewn out of the rock. 
 
 They went on in advance, whilst Heausire offered his arm to Madame 
 Roland, who was rendered di/./y by the abrupLiu-ss. 
 
 Roland ami Pierre came last, and the iloctor had lo lead his father, 
 who was so li()id)led l)y giddiness that he let himself slip down on his 
 haunches from step to step. 
 
 The young people, who were scampering down well to the front, 
 moved rapidly; and all at once they perceived, running along llie loot 
 of a wooded slope, wliich made a resting-])lace about hall-way down the 
 descent, a thread of (lear water springing from a litllc rent in the cliil. 
 It lornuHl at first a pool, antl ihence. failing in a cascade barely two
 
 THF. TWO BROTHERS 107 
 
 l'cct high, il liiii oil across the path, causing a heel of water-cress to shoot iip, 
 and thsappearecl in the hramhle and grass, along the rock-strcwii [)lain. 
 
 ■'()li, liow thirsty I am!" ciicd .Maihinie Uoscniillv. 
 
 I'liil il \\a> not easy to (h'ink. She tried to (ill the hoUo\y ol her 
 hand with water, hut it trickled away tlironuli her lingers. An idea sLruck 
 Jean. He placed a stone on the ground, and she knelt on it, so as to 
 bring her lips to the same ley(d as the spring and drink Ironi it direct. 
 
 When she raised her head covered with hriglit little dro[)s whicli had 
 been sprinkled in thousands over her skin, her hair, her eyebrows, and 
 her bodice, Jean leaned over her and niiirmured : 
 
 '■'■ How lovely you are ! 
 
 "Will you have the goodness to hold your tongue? "" she ie|)lied, in 
 such a voice as one assumes in oixler to scold a child. 
 
 These were the lirst words which ihev exchanged ol a gallant sort. 
 
 "Come along," said Jean, in some concern, " before they over- 
 take us." 
 
 Antl indeed he could see, quil(' near to them by this lime, the back 
 of Captain Beausirc, who was coming down backwards, supjxuling Madame 
 Uoland by both hands; and further up, Roland was still sliiling ilown in 
 a sitting posture, drawing hiinsell along on his fe(>t and elbows at a snail's 
 pace, whilst Pierre |)rece(.le(l hiui and superinlendeil his movements. 
 
 The path, now less precipitous, became a sort of steep road which 
 woiuid amongst the enormous blocks long since cast down from the hill- 
 side. Madame Uosemilly and Jean set oil at a run , and were soon 
 amongst the shingle. They crossed it and reached the rocks. They 
 stretched over a long and level surface coveied with sea-weed out ol 
 which gleamed innumerable |)Ools of water. The ebbing tide was far 
 away below them, beyonil that glutinous plain of sea-weed, glossy green 
 and black. 
 
 Jean rolletl uj) his trousers above his calves, and his sleeves up to 
 llii' elbows, so thai he might not trouble himself about the water. Then 
 he cried "Forward! and look a bold plunge into the lirsl pond ihey 
 came to.
 
 108 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 The lady, more prudent, though likewise bent on taking the water by 
 and by, went round the narrow basin with gingerly steps, for she slipped 
 on the viscous weed. 
 
 " Can you see anything?" she cried. 
 
 "Yes! 1 see your face relleclcd in llie water." 
 
 '■ II' lliat is ail you can see, you will not do much lisliing." 
 
 lie nimiiuired tenderly : 
 
 " or all the kinds of fisiiing 1 know, this is the one 1 like most." 
 She laughed. 
 
 "Try it then! You will see iiow it slips through your net." 
 
 " Oil, but if you " 
 
 " I want to see you catch shrim|)s and notliing else just now." 
 
 "You are too bad. Come on furtlicr; there is nolhiug here." 
 
 And he offered her his hand over tlie slippery rocks. She rested on 
 him rather timidly, and he felt himself suddenly stormed by love, assailed 
 by his longings, hungry for her, as though the sickness which had been 
 implanted in him had awaited tiiis day to come to a head. 
 
 Thev presently came to a deeper crevice, where, under liie quivering 
 water which flowed towards the distant sea by some invisil)Ie fissure, 
 floated long, slender sea-piants, strange of iuie, like piidi and green threads 
 of hair, wliich seemed to be swimming. 
 
 Madame iîosémilly cried out : 
 
 " Stop, stop! I see one, a big, a verv big one, yonder! 
 
 lie saw it in his turn, and went Ixildiv down into tiu- liole, thoui>h 
 he had lo plunge up to liis waist. 
 
 Rut the creature di'ew l)ack genliv I)ef()re the net. .lean puslunl her 
 towards the sea-moss, leeling sure that lie siiould catcii her there. \\ hen 
 she felt herself obstructed, she slipped with a sudden sjn'ing above the 
 net, sliot across tiie pool, and disappeared. 
 
 The young woman who was looking on at this attcmpi . all brcalldcss, 
 could not hel|) exclaiming : 
 
 " Oh, clumsy! " 
 
 He was vexed, and with a careless movement drew his net througii
 
 I^lberr i^iiiitl»
 
 TllK TWO BROTHERS 109 
 
 the wecdv hottom. \\'lipii lie raised il to the siirf'arc ol' the water he 
 saw witliiii it llirce hit Iranspaieiil shrimps, iielled at hazard in iheir 
 in\ isd)le liidiiig-place. 
 
 lie nresented liieiii tiiuin|iliaiill\ l<> .Madame iiosemdlw whu dai'e not 
 touch iheiii. being afraid ui the sharp anil jaggeil horn by which iheir 
 «mall Iiead is armed. 
 
 I')UL she matle up her minil, ami, catching between two lingers the 
 thread-like end oi iheir beard, she put them one alter another into her 
 basket, with a bit of sea-moss to keep them alive. Then, liiuiing a pool 
 of water not cpiite so deep, she \\ent in timidly, a little out of breath 
 from the cold which attacked her feet, and ihen began (ishing hersell. 
 She was clever and dexterous, having a supple hand, and the huntei's 
 instinct which he lacked. Almost at every stroke of the net she brought 
 up creatures which Inul been deceived and taken in by the ingenious 
 slowness of liei' pursuit. 
 
 Jean was liniling nolhing now, l)uL he followed hei- slej) by step, 
 brushed against her, leaneil over hei'. feigning deep despair at his 
 awkwardness, and anxiety to learn. 
 
 ■' Oh, show me how you do it! he said, '" show me! 
 
 Then, as iheii- faces were reflected near together in the clear water, 
 which tlu' black plants at the bottom converted into a limpid glass, 
 Jean smileil at tlu' face which looked at him from below, and at limes, 
 Irom the ends of his lingers thi'ew it a kiss, which seemed to fall 
 upon it. 
 
 ■ Ah, you arc troublesome," said the ladv. " !\lv friend, you should 
 never do two things at once." 
 
 '■ ! am oid\ doing one. I am loxing you." 
 
 She straightenetl herself up, and said gravely : 
 
 " W'^hat has come u\ca- vou these ten miniiles ' Have you lost your 
 head:"' 
 
 ■' Xo. I ha\c not lost my Iu;ad. I lo\(" you. and at last I lia\c the 
 courage to Icll vou so." 
 
 They wert" standing now in the salt lake which welled them abf)ve
 
 110 THE TWO IJUUTIIERS 
 
 tlicir ankles, and with tlu'ii' dripping- liands supported on tlicir ncls ihey 
 looked each other straight in the eyes. 
 
 She replied in a jesting and rather disconcerted tone : 
 
 " How foolish it is to talk to nie about that at this moment. Can 
 you not wait another day, and not spoil my fishing?" 
 
 " Forgive me," he nmrmured, " hut I could not be silent any longer. 
 1 have loved you ever so long. To-day you intoxicated me so much 
 that I lost my balance." 
 
 Then all on a sudden she seemed to fall in with him, to resign 
 herself to speaking of business and renouncing pleasure. 
 
 " Let us sit down on this rock." she said. " Wc shall be able to 
 talk fpiietly. 
 
 They clambered on the rock which rose above the level, and when 
 they had sat down side by sitle, llieir feet hanging down, and in the 
 full sunlight, she said : 
 
 '' My dear friend, you are no longer a child, and 1 am no longer a 
 young girl. We both know very well what is at stake, and we can 
 weigh all the consequences of our actions. If you are resolved to-day 
 to tell me that you love me. I naturally suppose that you want to 
 marry me." 
 
 He scarcely expected this |)lain statement of the situation, and answered 
 foolishly : 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " And have you spoken to your father and mother?" 
 
 '' No, I wished to know if you wouki have me." 
 
 She held out her hand, which was still wet, and as he eagerly laid 
 his own upon it, she said : 
 
 " For my part, I will gladly. I believe you are good and loyal. But 
 do not forget that I wovdd not go against the wishes of your parents. " 
 
 " Oh, do vou thiidv mv mother has not foreseen anything, and that 
 she would love you as she does if she were opposed to a marriage 
 between us?" 
 
 " The fact is, I am a little upset."
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 111 
 
 They were silent. He wondered, however, that she was so little upset, 
 so common-sense. He expected a little gallant hy-play, refusals wliicii 
 meant yes, a dainty comcdv of love and fishing, amidst the plashing of 
 the water. And it was all over, he was hound and married off in 
 twenty words. They had no more to say to each other, since they were 
 of the same mind, and they were now hotli a liltle embarrassed hy what 
 had passed so quickly between them, perhaps a liltle confused, not daring 
 to speak or to fish, and not knowing what to do. 
 
 The voice of Roland came as a relief : 
 
 " Here are the young people! Here they are! Come and see Beausire. 
 The fellow is emptying the sea." 
 
 In I'act the captain had made a wonderful catch. Wet to llic ribs, 
 he advanced Iroin lake to lake, knowing the best places at a glance, 
 and searching all the hollows under the sea-weed with a slow and steatly 
 movement of his net. 
 
 And the line ti'ansjjarenl slirim|is, of a light gray colour, lluttered iu 
 the hollow of his hand when he took them coolly to throw into his 
 basket. 
 
 Madame Roscmilly, surpi'ised and dcligliled, did not leave him again, 
 iniitaliiig him to the best of hei' ability, almost forgetting her promise 
 and .lean, who moodily followed her, to abandon herself entirely to the 
 childish joy of catching the shrimps under the floating sea-weed. 
 
 Roland suildenly ( ried : 
 
 " Here is Madame Roland coming." 
 
 She had remained alone with Pierre on the beach, for neither of them 
 desired to amuse themselves by running amongst the rocks, and wading 
 iu the pools; and yet they hesitated to renuiin together. She feared him; 
 and lice son feared both for her and for liimself the cruelly which he 
 could not master. So thev sat close together on the shingle. 
 
 .\ud both of ihcm, under the heat of the sun just cooled by the sea 
 air, before the broad soft hori/on of blue water streaked with silver, 
 thought the same thought : " How pleasant it would have been here once 
 on a time." 
 
 IS
 
 112 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 She dare not speak to Pierre, convinced that he woiiUl reply witli 
 something hard; and he dare not speak to his mother, knowing also that 
 in spite of himself he would do it in a violent lashion. 
 
 With the end of his cane he was fidgetting with the round pebbles, 
 turning them over, and striking them. She, with absent eyes, had taken 
 up three or four little stones, which she passed from one hand to the 
 other with slow mechanical action. Then her undecided gaze, which had 
 been wandering in front of her, saw amongst the sea-weed her son Jean, 
 fishing with Madame Rosémilly. Then she followed them, watched their 
 movements, dimly understanding with her maternal instinct that they 
 were not talking on everyday subjects. She saw them bending side by 
 side when they looked at each other in the water, and stand face to face 
 when they were searching each other's hearts, then climb on the rock 
 to exchange their vows. 
 
 Their figures stood out clearly, alone on the horizon, and, in this 
 wide expanse of sky, sea, and cliff, looked grand and symbolic. 
 
 Pierre also was looking at them, and a dry smile suddenly curled his 
 lips. Without turning towards him Madame Roland said : 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 He sneered again. 
 
 " I am learning a lesson. 1 am teaching myself how a husbaiul 
 prepares himself to be dujicd." 
 
 She had a rush of anger, of revolt, shocked at the expression, and 
 exasperated because she thought she understood him. 
 
 "For whom do you say that?" 
 
 " F'or Jean, of course! It is comical to see them so." 
 
 She murmured in a low tone, trembling with emotion : 
 
 "Oh, Pierre, how cruel you are! That woman is virtue itself. "\our 
 brother couUl not (ind a better." 
 
 He began lo laugh aloud, a forced and broken laugh. 
 
 "Ha, ha! Ha. ha! Xirtuc ilsclf! .Ml women are virtue itself and 
 
 all men are cuckolds. Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 \\'ithout answering she got up, walked (juickly down the slope of the
 
 THE TWO I5U() I IllJiS 113 
 
 shingle, and at tlie risk of slipping and falling in iho hole concealed by 
 the sea-Aveed, whereby she might easily have broken a leg or an arm, 
 she lelt liiin almost at a run, striding over the pools without seeing tlicm. 
 straight before her, towaids her other son. 
 
 Seeing lier approach, .lean cried out : 
 
 "Well, mamma, have you made up your mind at hist?" 
 
 iS'ot answering his question she grasjied his arm. as though she would 
 have said : " Save me! Defend me! 
 
 He saw her trouble, and, much surpi'ised, cried : 
 
 "How pale you are! \\'hat is the matter?" 
 
 She stammerctl out : 
 
 " I nearl\' fell. I am afraid, on these rocks." 
 
 Then .lean led her, supported her, told her about iheir fishing, in 
 orilei- lo arouse her iulcrest. Hut as she scarcely list(MU'd to him, and 
 as he greatly wauled to conlide in somebody, be ilrew her fuilher away, 
 and said in a low \oice : 
 
 " Guess what I have done ?" 
 
 " But but I cannot say." 
 
 " Guess." 
 
 ''I — I can't." 
 
 " Well, I hav(> told Madame Rosémilly that 1 desire to mak(> her my wife." 
 
 Si ill she did not reply. Her head was buzzing, hei- mind was in 
 such (lislicss that she could barely comprehend anything. 
 
 " Your wife? " she repeated. 
 
 "Yes. Did I do well? She is iovelv, is she not?" 
 
 " Yes lovely You lia\(' done well." 
 
 " 'I'iu II I lia\e your approval?" 
 
 " Yes- you have my aj)proval." 
 
 " How oddly you say that. One would lliiniv thai that j'ou are 
 
 not pleased." 
 
 "Oh yes — 1 am pleased." 
 
 " (Jiiile sure ?" 
 
 " Oiiite sure."
 
 li'l 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 And to convince him of it, she clasped him in her arms, and kissed 
 him on the lips, with a mother's full kiss. 
 
 Then, when she had dried the tears from her eyes, she saw on the 
 beach below a body stretched on its face like a corpse. It was her other 
 son, Pierre, who was plunged in a despairing reverie. 
 
 Then she took her younger one, .lean, further away still, close to 
 the waves, anil they spoke for a long time of the marriage on which 
 he had set his heart. 
 
 The rising sea drove them back towards the fishers, whom they rejoined; 
 and so everybody went back to the hill-foot. Pierre, who pretended that 
 he li;id been asleep, was roused ; ami dinnei-, drowned in wine, occupied 
 them fur hours.
 
 vil
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 As they came home in the hreak, all the .nen went to sleep except 
 Jean Beausirc and Uuhuul sank clo^vn every live minutes nu a ne.gh- 
 bouring shoulder, which pushed then. dV wUh a ,,erk. Then they sat up 
 straight, ceased to snore, opened their eyes, muttered :- Lovely ^veather, 
 aud >ank down ahn..st immediately on the other side. 
 
 When they entered Havre their drowsiness was so great thai liu-y 
 iKKl ,uurh dMTi.nhv in shaking it olT. and Beausire even declined to g.. 
 to Jean's rooms, where tea awaited the.n. He had to he set down at lus 
 own door. The young advocate was going to sleep in his new apart 
 „..-nts lor the lirst tinu- ; and he t..ok a great, almost cluhhsh joy n. 
 showing his betrothed the residence which she was s(,on I., occupy. 
 
 The maid had gone, Madau.e Hoiand havn.g undertaken to bod the 
 water and attend to them. She dul not Ida- to leave servants waiting 
 up, lor Icar ol lire.
 
 118 THE TWO lîIKiTIIKRS 
 
 Xc) one hut herself, her son, and llie workmen hiul hitherlo entered; so 
 tliat the surprise was complete when they saw how well things looked. 
 
 In the vestibule, Jean asked them to wait. He wanted to light the 
 candles and lamps, and he left Madame Rosémilly with his father and 
 brother in tiie darkness. Then, opening the great folding-doors, he bade 
 them enter. The glazed gallery, lighted up by a lustre, and the painted 
 glass half concealed by pahns, india-rubber plants, and flowers, looked at 
 first like a stage effect. There was a moment of wonder. Roland, mar- 
 velling at the splendour, exclaimed : "By Jove!" and felt inclined to 
 clap his hands, as though he were present at a transformation scene. 
 
 Then they went into the first drawing-room, which was small, hung 
 with old gold hangings, like the upholstery of the seats. The great 
 drawing-room for consultations, being very simple and of a pale salmon 
 colour, looked imposing. 
 
 Jean sat down in the easy chair before his desk which was laden 
 with books, and in a grave voice, a little forced, said: 
 
 "Yes, Madame, the legal texts are distinct, and after the concurrence 
 of which 1 informed you, they beget in me the absolute certainty that 
 within three months the affair of which we have been speaking will 
 arrive at a fortunate termination." 
 
 He looked at Madame Rosémillv, who, looking at his mother, broke 
 into a smile , and Madame Roland took her hand and pressed it. 
 
 Jean, beaming with joy, cut a schoolboy caper, and cried : 
 
 "How well the voice travels. This drawing-room would be capital to 
 plead in. 
 
 Then he began to declaim : 
 
 ■If humanity alone, if that sentiment of natural kindliness which we 
 experience before every kind of suffering, were needed to supply a motive 
 for the acquittal which we ask of you, we should make an appeal to 
 your pity, gentlemen of the jury, to your paternal or sinijily human hearts; 
 Init we have the law on our side, and it is exclusively a (juestion ol 
 law which we are going to raise before you." 
 
 Pierre looked at this residence which might have been his own, and
 
 Tin; TWO B ROT UK lis 119 
 
 he wiis initiiUnl In liis hrollicr's extravagances, voting liini dceiclcclly loo 
 Foolish, and wauling in wil. 
 
 Madame Itohuid opened a door on ihc right. 
 
 'Here is the bedroom." she said. 
 
 The hangings were in Kouen cretonne, made to imitate the old 
 .\unnandv linen. .\ l>ouis ( )nin/.c desijin. a shepherdess in a mechillion 
 
 fi 
 
 en 
 
 closed hctween the united beaks of two doves, ■jave lo the walls. 
 
 n 
 
 the ciirlairis. the bcil. the seats, a very pretty, dainty, mul rural aspect. 
 
 ■'Oh, this is charming. " said .Madame llosémiliy, lurinng a little serious 
 as she entered this room. 
 
 •• Do vou like it ? ' said Jean. 
 
 •■Vastly." 
 
 ■■\ou cant thiidc how ghul I .1111 to Ikmi- you sav so." 
 
 Thev exchangeil an instantaneous look, with much lendiuness and trust 
 implied in it. 
 
 Xevertheless. she was a little liouldcd ami c(Uilused in this room, wliith 
 was to be hei' iniptial chandier. She had obseixed as she came that the 
 bed was vei\' wide, a regidar lamilv bedstead, which had iloubtless 
 been selected b\' .Ahidame Uolaud, because she had foicseen and dcsirt'd her 
 son's s|)eedv mairiagc: aiul vtT this roicthoughl of the mother pleascil her. 
 ami secuietl t(j show her that siie would be welcouied m the lamily. 
 
 Tlieu. when tlie\ li;i(l returned to the dra w iiig-iooui , .li'an suddenlv 
 oitened the door on ihc lelt . and showed the round di niiuj' iixun . lujhtctl 
 bv three windows, and denuatcd ill .lapanese la-.liioii. .Mother aiul son 
 hail cmploNcd ui it all the capricious taste o| winch llie\ were capable. 
 This room, with its bamboo liiiiiil 11 re . its (linncsc \ases. gold-spangled 
 silks, tiansparciit blinds on winch llu" glass beads looked like drops 
 ol water, lans nailed to the walls as supports lor the curtains; with 
 its screens, sabres, masks, storks imitated with real leathers, witii all 
 its pretlv knick-knacks ol' porcelain, wood. paiK-r. i\or\. molhcr-ol-pcarl. 
 and bron/.c. had the pretentious anil aileclcd look which awkward hands 
 and iiiilrmiied eves givi' to things which icipiire the utmost lad, taste, 
 ami artistic education. \ vl it was the room which was most admirt'd.
 
 120 JIIK TWO liROTHERS 
 
 Pierre alone showed some reserve, with a slightly bitter irony, Ity wiiicli 
 his brother was a little luirt. 
 
 On the table were fruits arranged in pyramids, cakes built up in 
 monuments. Nobody was hungry. Then, at the end ol an hour, Madame 
 Kosémilly took her leave. 
 
 It was derided that .M. Holand sliouhl see her home and go oil with 
 her at onee, whilst Madame Uolanil, in the absence ol a maid, should 
 cast a mother's last look over the apartments, that her son might not 
 be in need ol anything. 
 
 "Shall I come back lor you?" said Holand. 
 
 She hesitated; then said : 
 
 '"No, my dear, go to bed. Pierre will take me home." 
 
 As soon as they were gone, she blew out the candles, locked up 
 the cakes, sugar, and licpieurs in a sideboard ol which she gave the 
 key to Jean ; then went into the bedroom, turned down the coverings, 
 saw that the carafe was Idled with fresh water, and the window secured. 
 
 Pierre and Jean had remained in the little drawing-room, the latter 
 still chilled by the criticism which had been passed on his taste, and 
 the other more and more exasperated to see his brother in this residence, 
 lioth sat and smoked in silence. l^ierre suddenly jumped up. 
 
 "By Jove," he said, "the widow did look washed out to-night. 
 Picnics don't suit her.'" 
 
 Jean was suddenly attacked by one of those quick and furious rages 
 to which good-iKilured men are subject when their heart has received a 
 wound. 
 
 He was so strongly moved that his breath failed him, and h(> stammered : 
 
 "1 ask you henceforth not to say 'the widow" when you speak of 
 Madame Rosémilly. " 
 
 Pierre turned to him with a lofty air. 
 
 "You seem to be giving me orders. Do you happen to be going mad.'" 
 
 Jean had stood u|), too. 
 
 ■1 am not going mad. but 1 have had enough of your way of 
 treatintr me.'
 
 w 
 
 K 
 
 . ■'H-^ ;*».■( fffr ■( ■- '/rui ''•*« ■!■'
 
 Till-: iw'd ni; (» Til i: Hs 121 
 
 "Treating you!" sneered llie otlier. •Have you become a pail of 
 Madame lîosémilly ? " 
 
 " I would have you know llial Madame IJosémilly is lo he uiy wile. " 
 
 Pierre lauglied more loudly. 
 
 "Aha! Capital! Now 1 understand ^\hy 1 am no longer lo «all lui- 
 • (lie widow." l)Ut you have taken an odd way ol announcing your 
 marriage." 
 
 "I forbid \(>ii lo jest — do you iindcM'Stand ? I forbid it." 
 
 .lean li;id ;ippi();i(licd his brother, ^\ith licmuloiis voice, exasperated 
 bv ihe ironv which assailed the woman whom he loved and had chosen. 
 
 Bui Pierre became equally furious. All llic impotent wrath which 
 had nalhcrcd in him, ihc rc^prcssed ran<<)ui'. ihe rebellious Icclings which 
 he had been holding in restraint, and the silent tiespair, leaped lo his 
 head, and overwhelmed him like a stroke of a[)oplexy. 
 
 "Dare j'ou i* — Dare you? And I order you to hold your tongue. 
 
 Do you understand:* I order you." 
 
 .lean, taken aback by this violence, was silent for a few moments, 
 seeking, in the menial disturbance which iury creates in us, for the 
 thing, the phrase, ihe wortl. which might sting his brother to the heart. 
 
 He replied, studiously cuibim; himself so as to strike hardei', speidcing 
 more slowly so as to speak with more point : 
 
 "I have long Isiiowu you were jealous of nu-, ever since the d;iy 
 when you began to talk of ' the widow,' because you thought that would 
 hurt me. 
 
 Pierre gave one of those strident ;ind scornful laughs which were 
 usuid wilh him. 
 
 "Aha! Good Cod! .b-alous of you ! What, I ;'^l ?— And of what ? 
 < 'I whal III iieaxcns uame.' -Of voiir lace or youi' mind.'" 
 
 iiul .lean lell sure that he had touched the sore point. 
 
 "Yes, you are jealous of lue, and you June been jealous from my 
 iiilancy. and you became furious when you saw ihal I his iatly prelerrcd 
 me and would \\a\c nolhing to sav lo you." 
 
 i'lerie. euraged b\ ihis itlea, stammered out ;
 
 122 THE TWO lilU)THF.nS 
 
 "I? — I.' .lenloMs of vou .' And on nrronnt ol that silly c-reature, 
 that (h)lt, that I'al goose?" 
 
 •lean stM'ini;- tliat his l)h>\\s went home, conliruii'd : 
 
 "And how al)oiil tlial dav ^^h(■n \()n tried to vow haich'r than I 
 couUI, in the t\-rlc .' And all vou said beloi'c her, to get hei' good 
 opinion ! Why, yon are l)nrsting with jealousy. And llicn ^\ hen I got 
 this legacy, you were enraged, and haled me, and yon ha\(' shown it 
 in eyery way, and have made every one suffer for it; ami you ean'l let 
 an hour pass without spitting out the hile that chokes you. " 
 
 Pierre clenched his lists with fury, almost irresistibly im])elled to leap 
 on his brother and take him by the throat. 
 
 "Oil, be quiet!" he said, "and don't talk to me of llial fortune." 
 
 "Jealousy oozes out of your skin." cried Jean. "You never say a 
 word to my father, my mother, or myself, ^vilhout its Ijreaking oui. It 
 is because you arc jealous that you pretend to despise me. ^'ou |)i(k 
 a qiiarrtd with evei'ybodv because you are jealous. And now that I am 
 lich, you cannot restrain yourself; you have l)ecomc \eiiom(jus, and you 
 torlure our nu)ther as if it were her fault!" 
 
 Pierre hail fallen back to the chimncv-picce. his moiilh halt open, 
 his me dilated, a prey to one of those mad rages which make men 
 commit crimes. lie rejx'aled in a low, ])anting voice : 
 
 "Be (piiet, be ([uict. I tell you!" 
 
 • I \\(>n t. I have been wanting loi' a long lime lo tell vou all I 
 thought; \()U iia\e gi\'en me \\\c oppoilunil v, and so uuich llie worse loi' 
 you, I love a woman, and as soon as you see it. you begin to rail 
 at her before^ me, \'ou dri\c me to e.vlremilies ; so nnnli the worse lor 
 you. Uul 1 will break your ser|)ent"s teeth. I will mal^c \ou respect me. 
 
 " Uespect you .' " 
 
 " Yes, me ! " 
 
 "Respect you! You, who have dishonoured us all by youi' grccnl ! ' 
 
 "What do you say? Uepeat that r(>peal it!" 
 
 " I say that people don'l accept a palrimorn' from one man when 
 they are passing as sons of another."
 
 Illi: TWO lilîOTIIF.HS 123 
 
 Jean was motionless, iiol uiulerstanrling-. lie was |)ai;il\ scd l)v llic 
 insinuation ol' wliicli lie onlv half j^athci'cd llic mcaiiino-. 
 
 ■■^^'llat do vou mean to say? l^cpcal it again." 
 
 ■' I say that ovoryliody is whisjiering and S|)roading" it aboiii tliat yon 
 aro th(> son ol the iiiaii who lias Icll \oii his lortiiiic. We'll, a lellow 
 with anv spiill would rml accept money which dishoiioiiis hi> mollier." 
 
 '■ Pierre l*ierre — Piene ! Can vou suppose il ' It is you — vou! who 
 say tliis iniamous thing?" 
 
 "Yes, it is 1 it is I. Could you not see that I have heen dviii"- 
 
 n\ grief on this accounl. for a month and more — that I pass mv nights 
 without sleeping and m\ days in hiding, like a wild heast — that I tio 
 lonyer know what I am saving or doin<i', nor what is to hecome of me, 
 I am in such pain, so mad with shame and giiel .' I^^or I guessed il al 
 lirst, and now I am suic of il. 
 
 ■"Pierre, he cpiiel I Our mother is in llie next I'oom ! Think, she 
 mav iiear us she; does hear us.'' 
 
 But he was hound to (n>liur(leu himsell. lie went ihrouijh e\(M\ ihinu'. 
 
 his suspicions, his arguments, his sli'uggles, his cerlainlv. not foigelt 
 
 ■ ti"""^ " 1 on 
 
 niij' 
 
 the storv ol ihe porlrail. which IuhI again disappeared. 
 
 Il(^ spoke in >horl. hroken. incoherent phrases, hke (lie lalk of a 
 madman. He seemed now to have loi'gotten Jean, and his mother in (he 
 next room. He spoke as though nohodv were listening to iiiin. hecause he 
 had to speak, because Im had sullercd loo much, and had loo long hoinid up 
 and concealccl his wound II had orown like a tumour, and the tumour 
 
 had i)urs|. He hegan to walk up and down, as was Ins wonli and Willi 
 his eyes staring straight before him, gesticulating, in a freiizx' ol desj)air, 
 his throat choked willi sobs, with i-ecurrences of his own sell-hatred, he 
 spoke as il he wanted to confess his misery and llie niiserv of his 
 relatives, and as il he would have cast his pain into tlu' invisible ileal 
 air to which his woids were borne. 
 
 .lean, who was o\ (M'whelmed, ami almosi coiuinced out ol hand by llie 
 blind eneriJA ol his brolhei, had set his back a^ainsl the door beliind 
 whi(h he thought that their mother must have heai'd lliem.
 
 124 THF. TWO lîRoTHRRS 
 
 She could not «jo out; she would have to couie through tlu- (h-a\viii<>- 
 room. Slic liati not returned. It must have been because she daic not. 
 
 Pierre all at once, stamping on the lloor with his loot, erietl out : 
 
 ^'Oh, I am a brute to say this ! " 
 
 And iu' rushed, bareheaded, down the stairs. 
 
 The noise ol the outer door, which chised with a bang, aroused .lean 
 from llir ileep torpor into which he had fallen. A few seconds had 
 passed, longer than hours, and liis soul liad been engulfed in idiolic 
 stupefaction. He felt that he must think and act immediately, but he 
 waited, not even wishing any longer to understand, to know, to recollect, 
 out of fear, and weakness, and cowardice. lie was of the race of llie 
 temporizers, who are always j)utting off till to-morrow; and when he hail 
 to take an instant resolution, he still instinctively Irieil to gain a few 
 moments. Hut the ]:)rofound silence which surrounded him now, after 
 the vociferations of Pierre, the sudden silence of walls ami (urniliirc. 
 \\ilh this bright light of the six candles and two lamps, terrilied him so 
 much that he was disjioscd to run away also. 
 
 Then he roused his thoughts and his heart, and tried (o think. 
 
 Throughout his life he had never encountered a diKiculty. There are 
 men who let thinos o>o like runnincr water. Ib> had learned at school 
 sedulously, in order to escape punishment, and had gone through his law 
 classes with regularity, because his existence was a calm one. Everj'- 
 tliiny in the world seemed natural to him, without otherwise arousing 
 his notice. lie hked ordei', proprietv, repose, by virtue of his lemperamenl, 
 having no duplicity in his mind ; and in face of this catastrophe he was 
 like a man who falls inio the walci- without having leai'ned to swim. 
 
 .\l llrst he hied to doulit. His brother must have lied, through 
 hatred antl jealousy. And yel how could he have been such a ^^rel(•h 
 as to say such a thing of their mollier, unless he had liims(>lf been drixcn 
 mad by despair.' .\nd .lean retained in his ears, in his eves, in his 
 nerves, at the bottom of his heart, certain words and cries of sufiering, 
 certain tones and gestures of Pierre, so full of pain that they were 
 irresistible — as irrefragable as certainty.
 
 THE TWO UKOTIIHRS 125 
 
 IK' was loo cniNlict! to move or exercise his will. jjis distress was 
 l)CComing- intolerable; and lu; Icll lliat his mother was there behind llie 
 door, havin<j' heard cvervlhin<>-, and thai she was waitiiiii' loi- him. 
 
 What was she doing? No stir, no ni>lle, no breath, no sigh revealed 
 llie presence of a living creatnre behind thai screen of wood. Could- she 
 
 have gone away? l>nl how? If she Inul gone she nuisl have thrown 
 
 herself from the window into ihe street! 
 
 lie was assailed bv a fil of terror, so (|niek and overmastering ihal 
 he burst In rallier than opened llic door, am! (hiNlied nilo his bedroom. 
 
 It seenu'd lo be emplv. .V single candle lighted it. 
 
 .K-an leaped to the window. Il was closed, ami ihe shullcrs were 
 fast. lie reliirncd. -wepl all ihe corners with an.xions eyes, and ihen 
 iioliccd lli;il the curtains of the bed had l)een drawn. He ran and 
 opened them. Ills mother was stretched upon his bed, with her lace 
 buried In the pillow, which she had folded with lici- liamis oxer her 
 head, so that she might hear no more. At (Irsl he llioughl she was 
 smothered. 'I'lien, having grasped her by the slioukU-rs, lu' tuincd her 
 round. She did not loosen her hold of llie pillow which concealetl 
 her face, and which she IkkI seized with her teeth lo pievenl her crying. 
 
 Hut as he touched the sliliened form, the rigid arms, he received the 
 shock of her indescribable anguish. The energy and force with which 
 she held ihe pillow willi lingers and lecîlh over her moiilh and eyes and 
 ears, so thai he might not see or speak to her, made him divine by 
 his own sensation how profoundly it is possible to sulfer. Anil his hearl, 
 his simple heart, was dlslracUul with pily- He was not a judge, not 
 even a pilying judge ; he Mas a man lull of weakness, and a son lull 
 of tenderness. He remembeicd nothing of what his brother had said to 
 him: he neither reasoned nor discussed; he simply touched with his hands 
 the motionless bod\ of In-- mollier. and as he coidil not lake the pillow 
 from her lace, he kissed her dress. ;ind cried : 
 
 ".Mothei! .Mother! .My poor mother, look at me!" 
 
 She would have seemed dead, if all her limbs had nol been Iranslixed 
 with ;ui almost insensible tr<Mnor. like the xibralion ol a slrelched coril.
 
 126 THE TWO BRdTllHRS 
 
 '•MotluM'. molluT." lie repealed, -listen to me. 'I'liat is imt line. 
 1 am sure that it is ikjI true." 
 
 There was a spasm, a sufïbcatiu^- sound, and iheii all at once she 
 sobbed beneath her pillow. Immediately all her nerves were relaxed, 
 her rigid nuiscles grew soft, her fingers extending lei the pillow drop, 
 and she suffered him to see her faee. 
 
 She was perfeetly pale, perfectly white, and Irom her closed eyelids 
 there fell tear aftcM- leai-. Clasping her round the neck, he kisseil her 
 eyes, slowly, with long, desolate kisses; anil he kept on saying: 
 
 ^'Mother, dear mother, I am sure it is not true. Do not cry; I 
 know it — It is not true ! '" 
 
 She raised herself, and sat looking at him with one ol those ellorts 
 of heroism which we need now and then, to meet death with ; and she 
 saitl : 
 
 " No. my chihl I It is true ! " 
 
 And they remained facing each dllicr. without a word For a lew 
 seconds again she ihoked, straining her throat as he turned aside to 
 breathe; then she conquered herself again, and continued : 
 
 "It is true, my child. \Miy should I lell a lie.' It is true. You 
 would not believe uie if I lied." 
 
 She looked like a mad woman. Seized with terror, he lell on his 
 kiie("s beside the bed. mm-unning : 
 
 ■' Ue silent, niannua ; be silent!" 
 
 She rose with terrible resolution and energy. 
 
 " Uu! I lia\i' no more to sav to \()u. niv child. Fai'ewell ! " 
 
 She walked to the door. lie si'ized her in his arniN, civing : •"What 
 ^\l)ldd \<)u do, mamma.' Where are \(>u sjoniii' .' 
 
 ■1 do not know. How should I know.' There is nothing I can 
 do lor I am all . all aloiu' 
 
 She fought to escape hiui. Holding her back, he could sav nothing 
 but the one woi'd : 
 
 " Mamma mamma — mamma ! " 
 
 And as she struimled to break from him, she said :
 
 j;- -'•'^ 
 
 HllîCl^ ^^-^initli
 
 THF. TWO lîllOTIIKRS 127 
 
 •'No. IK), I am not your niotlicr now. I am nolliiiii;- any longer to 
 voii. to anvliodv — nothing — nothint;' any more ! \*>u liavc no longer a 
 IVitlit'r or a motlicr. mv poor clnld. Farewell ! " 
 
 III' Iclt al once thai it lie lei liei- l;o he should never see her again. 
 lie raiseil her. carried her lo a couch, made her sit down, and tlicn, 
 kneeling bv her. and making .1 chain ol his arms, cried : 
 
 ''You shall not go. mamma. I love you, and I will guard you. 1 
 will guard V()u for I'ver; lor you are mine." 
 
 With broken \()ice she murmured : 
 
 •' No. no. my poor child, it is no longer possilde. l'o-night you 
 weep with me — to-morrow you will east me out. You would never |)ardon 
 nie — never." 
 
 He replied with such a rush ol sincere love : ' \\'hat, I ' I.' How 
 little you know mc!" that she uttered a cry, took his head between her 
 open hands, tirew him vehemently towards her, anil kissed him Iran- 
 tically on the laee. 
 
 Then she was motionless, with her cheek pressed to the cheek of her 
 son, feeling the heat of his flesh through his heard; ami she whispered 
 in his ear : 
 
 "No. my little .Jean. You would not forgive me to-morrow. Yon 
 think you would, but you are mistaken. You have forgiven me to- 
 night, and that forgiveness has saved my life. But you musl not see 
 me again. 
 
 He continued to repeat, as he clasped her close : 
 
 ''.Mamma, do not say that!" 
 
 •'\es, my child. I mnsi go away. 1 know not where, nor how I 
 ^hall do il, nor what I shall say, but it must be. I siiould nol dare lo 
 look at you again, nor lo kiss you. Do you not undersland .' 
 
 I'hcn he. in his liirn. whispered in her ear : 
 
 ■■'My lilllc molher, you shall remain, because I wish it, because I 
 have need of you. And you shall swear at once to (jbcy inc." 
 
 "No. my child." 
 
 "Oh. mamma, it miisl be "N'oii hear' It must be!" 
 
 17
 
 128 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 "No, my cliild, il is impossible. It would be to contleiim us both 
 to hell. I know what that torment is, I have known it lor a month. 
 You are touched; but when this is over, when you look at me as Pierre 
 
 looks, when you recall what I have said to you! Oh! — my little 
 
 Jean; ihink think that I am your mother." 
 
 "You shall not leave me, mother. 1 have nothing but you." 
 
 " lUil consider, my son, that we shall not be able to look at each 
 olluT without a blush, without my feeling that I must die of shame, and 
 without your eyes causing mine to fall." 
 
 "That is not true, mamma!" 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes, it is true! Oh, I have understood, be sure, all 
 the struggles of vour poor brother, every one of them, from ihe lir.st 
 day. Now when 1 think I hear his step in the house my heart leaps 
 as though it would burst through my breast. When I hear his voice, 
 1 feel that I am ready to swoon away. But I had you left! Now I 
 have you no longer. Oh ! my little Jean, do you think I could live 
 between you both ? " 
 
 "Yes, mamma. 1 will love you so much that you shall think of it 
 no more . ' ' 
 
 "Oh! Oh! As if that were possible!" 
 
 "Yes, it is possible." 
 
 "How do you suppose it is possible that I should think of it no 
 more, between your brother and you? Would you think oi' it no more? 
 
 "I swear that I would not." 
 
 "You will think of it every hour of the day." 
 
 "No; 1 swear it. And besides, listen to me. If you go away I 
 shall enlist, and get myself shot." 
 
 She was shocked by the boyish threat, and pressed Jean in her arms, 
 caressing him with passionate tenderness. 
 
 He continued : 
 
 "I love you better than you think oh, much belter, much better! 
 Now, be reasonable. Make an effort to stay only for eight (.lays. Will 
 you promise mc eight days? You caiinol refuse me that. '
 
 Till-: TWO DIIOTIIKRS 129 
 
 Slic hiiil her lianils on Jean's shoulders, and, hokling- him at arms' 
 length, said : 
 
 "My child let us try and he calm, and not carried away hv our 
 
 feelings. First, let me speak to you. It I were once to hear from your 
 lips what I have been hearing lor a month from vour brother; il I were 
 once to see in your eyes what 1 read in his ; if I were to guess 
 by a single word tliat 1 am otlious to you as 1 am to him — one hour 
 afterwards, understand me, one iiour allerwards — I should be gone for 
 ever." 
 
 " Mother. 1 swear to you " 
 
 "Let me linish. For a monlii I have suilered all that a W(uiiaii can 
 sailer. h^roiu the momenl when I untlerslood that your brother, my 
 other son, suspected me, thai he was divining the trulh minute by minuit', 
 evei'y instant of my life has been a martyrdom which it is impossible 
 to make you understand " 
 
 Her voice was so full of pain that the contagion of her tortuii' lilh-d 
 ■lean's eyes with teais. 
 
 Me wanted to kiss her, but she pushed him back. 
 
 "Let me alone. Listen. I have still much to tell you. ihat you 
 
 may understand but you will not uiulerstand. It is this. 11 I were 
 
 to stay, it would be necessary J\o, 1 cannot!" . 
 
 "Tell me, mamma, tell me." 
 
 "^^'ell ! 1 will then. At least 1 shall not have deceived you. You 
 wish that I should stay with you, do you not? To make that possible, 
 llial we should be able to see each other still, s])eak to each other, see 
 each olhci- daily in the house — for 1 dare no longer open a iloor, for 
 l<'ar ol llnding your brolhei- on the other side — to do this, it is necessary, 
 not that you shoidd pardon me (nothing hurts nu)rc than a pardonV but 
 that you should not rcmend)er against mc anylhing which I have done. 
 Vtiu nuist feel yourself strong enough, different enough from everybody 
 else, to admit that you are not Holaiul's son, without blushing lor that, 
 and without despising me! 1 have suffered enough. I have sullcicd 
 loo uuicli : I can sullcr no more — no more. .\nd it is not a cpieslion
 
 130 THE TWO 15 ROTH ERS 
 
 of to-day, hv sure ol that ; I have siifCorccl h^ng. But you will uovor 
 fuuie l<) iin(l(M'sUuul thai. 11 we are to he ahU' lo live logelher still, 
 and einhraee eaeh other, my little Jean, say to yourself that, if I was 
 your fathers mistress, 1 was yet more his wife, and his true wife — 
 that in my heart of iiearls I am not ashamed of it, that I regret nothing, 
 that I love him still, dead though he he, ihat 1 shall love him for ever, 
 that 1 have never loved another, that he has been my whole life, my 
 only joy, my only hope anil consolation — everything, everything, every- 
 thing to me for oh such a long time! Listen, my little one! Before 
 God, who hears me, 1 should never have had any good thing in exis- 
 tence if I had never met him — never anything; neither tenderness, nor 
 sweetness, nor a single one of those hours that make us regret to wake 
 again. Nothing! 1 owe all to him! I have had only him in the 
 world — and after him you two, your brother and you. \\'ithout you, it 
 would all be empty, black and empty as the night. 1 should never 
 have loved anything, known anything, desired anything. 1 should not 
 have wept; for I have wept, my little Jean. Oh, yes! 1 have wept, 
 since we came here. I had given myself up to him entirely, body and 
 soul, tor ever, to my joy ; and for more than ten years I was his wife, 
 as he was my husband, before the God who made us for eacli other ; 
 and then 1 understood that he loved me less. He was always kind and 
 thoughtful, but I was no longer what I had been for him. It was 
 over! Oh, how I wept! How miserable and deceptive is life! No- 
 thing lasts. And we came here; and 1 never saw him again; he never 
 
 came. He used to promise in all his letters I constantly expected him 
 
 ■ — and I never saw him again. And now he is dead ! But he loved 
 us still, since he thought of you. I shall love him to my last breath, 
 and I shall never forswear him ; and I love you because you are his 
 child, and 1 could never be ashamed of him before you ! Do you 
 understand? I could not! If you wish me to stay, you must accept 
 the hict that you are his son, and we must speak of him sometimes, 
 anil you nuist love him a little, and we must think ol him when we 
 look at each other. II you will not — if you cannot — farewell, my little
 
 TIIK T\V(» liRoTllEUS 131 
 
 one; it is impossible that we should remain logethcr llu-ii ! 1 will act 
 as you decide." 
 
 Jean replied in a gentle voice : 
 "Stay, mother." 
 
 She clasped liini in lier arms and began lo weep again; llicn. ilieek 
 to cheek, she went on : 
 
 "Yes; hut Pierre? What are we to do ahout him?" 
 "We shall think of something, saiil .lean, 'you can no longer live 
 with liini. 
 
 \l ihc thought ot her eldest-born, she was contracted with anguish, 
 "No, I cannot any longer! No! No!" 
 
 And throwing herself on Jean's breast, she cried, in her soul's distress : 
 •■Save me from him, my little one! Save me; do something, 1 know 
 not what! Think — save me." 
 "Yes, mamma: I will thirds. " 
 
 "At once — you must! At once — do not leave me! I am so afraid 
 ui him — so afraid ! " 
 
 "Y(>s, I will lind a way. I promise yon." 
 
 "Oh, but (piick. (juiek ! You do not understand what i feel when 
 I see him." 
 
 Then she nnirmured low in his ear : 
 "Keep me in this place, with you 
 
 lie hesitated, reilccted, and with his common sense; perceived the 
 danger of this complication. 
 
 But he had to reason long, to discuss and condjat with precise ar- 
 guments her insanity and terror. 
 
 'Only to-night," she said; "only to-night. You can say to Koland 
 to-morrow that I was ill." 
 
 "It is not possible, for Pierre has gone back. Come, be brave, 
 i will arrange everything, I promise, lo-morrow. I will be with you 
 by nine o'clock. Come, [)ul on your bonnet. I will take you home! 
 
 "I will do what you wish," she said, with a snbmissiveness which 
 was at once chililish. timid, and urateinl.
 
 132 
 
 ÏIIK TWO BROTHERS 
 
 She tried to stand up, but the shock had been too severe, her legs 
 would no longer support her. 
 
 Then he made her take a warm, sweet, drink, and use her smelling- 
 salts, and he bathed her temples with vinegar. She let liiiu do it, feeling 
 herself exhausted, and comforted as after an illness. 
 
 At last she was able to walk, and she took his arm. Three o'clock 
 was striking when they passed the town-hall. 
 
 Before the door of her house he embraced her, and said : 
 
 "Good-bye, mother, keep up your courage." 
 
 She went up the silent stairs with cautious steps, entered her room, 
 hastily undressed, and slipped in by the snoring Roland, with the long- 
 forgotten agitation of other days. 
 
 Pierre was the only one in the house who was not asleep, and he 
 had heard her return. 

 
 VIll
 
 rt^a^fotfuarii^. ''f^r.Tkx^/^^" 
 
 Cil A I'll: u \'iii 
 
 WiiKN lie liad rctiiiiK'd In liis room. Jean sank wearily on a sofa ; for 
 the griefs aiul cares wlucli made his hrollier waiil to rush oil and lake 
 flight like a hiinled animal, acling in the opposite sense u|)on his som- 
 nolent nalinc. lacked his legs and aims. lie felt himsell so relaxed that 
 he could not move, could not get inio ixd lie was relaxed in hody 
 and mind, cruslicd and desolale. lie was not woiuidetl, as Pierre had heen, 
 in the simplicitv of Ins filial love, in that secret dignity which clothes a 
 proud heart, hut oveiwhelmcd liv a hlow oi tlestiny which at the same 
 lime threatened In^ dearest interests. 
 
 When his sold al last had grown calm, when his thoughts had heen 
 cleared like drixcn and agitated water, he laced the siliialion \\liicli had 
 heen iinloldcd to him. If he had leaiiicd tiic secret of his liiilli in any 
 other mainu'r, he would ccrlainlv have heen angered, and would have lelt 
 
 18
 
 136 THE TWO IJKOTIIKRS 
 
 a profoimd uricf ; hut nf'lcr liis (|ii;iiiel with his hrother, afU'i- that \ iolcul 
 and hrulal (U'liunciatiou which had sliakcn his nerves, the acute sul'lering 
 and confession of his motlier left him without the energy to rebel. The 
 shock to his sensibility had been strong enough to carry oil, by an irre- 
 sistible compassion, all the pi-ejudices and sacied susceptibilities ol natural 
 morality. Besides, he was not one ol the men who resist. He did not 
 like to fight against anybody, and still less against himself; he therefore 
 resigned himself; and by instinctive inclination, by an inborn love of 
 repose, and of a pleasant and tranquil life, he immediately worried himsell 
 over the perturbations which were about to surround him, and invade him 
 personally, lie saw that they were inevitable, and, in order to keep them 
 off, he resolved upon vast efforts of energy and activity. It was neces- 
 sary that the difficulty should be solved forthwith , the very next day ; 
 for, again, he now and then felt that imperious craving for immediate 
 solutions which constitutes the whole force of the weak, who are incapable 
 of a long activity of the will. His lawyerdike mind, accustomed to disen- 
 tangle and examine complicated situations, and matters of private concern 
 in families overtaken by trouble, at once recognized all the immediate 
 consequences of his brother's state of mind. He faced the issues, in spite 
 of his feelings, from a professional point of view, as though he had been 
 ordering the future relations of clients after a catastrophe of a moral 
 description. It was certain that continued dealings with Pierre had Ix-come 
 impossible inr him. He could easily avoid him by remaining at home, 
 but then it was imj^ossible that their mollu-r should conlinue to live under 
 the same roof with her ehlest son. 
 
 He meditated for a long time, motionless, on his cushions, constructing 
 and rejecting combinations, without finding one to satisfy him. 
 
 But suddeidy an idea seized him — '■ \\'ouId an honest man keep this 
 fortune which had fallen to him ? " 
 
 lie answered " No," at first, and resolved to give il to the jxior. 
 That was hard — so much the worse. He would sell his lurniture , anil 
 work like any one else — like all men at tlie outset of their lives. This 
 manly and painful resolution having whipped up his couiage, he rose and
 
 TlIK TWO lîlidTlIKIiS i;{7 
 
 stood ^\illl liis f'ncc to the window. Il(> had \)ccn jioor . and was lo 
 become |ioor ai;ain. Il \\(iiil(l not kill him, alter all. His cncs looked al 
 the i^MS |et which hiinied in IronI ol hiin li'oiii the olher side ol the street. 
 iV'ow, as a woman passed slowU on the |)a\c>inent, he siiddenh llionghl ol 
 Madame Uos(''millv , and re(ei\('d in his heart liie shock oi deep feeling 
 which springs nj) within ns alter a crnel ihougiil. .\ll the disheartening 
 Consc<|uences ol Ins decision ajjpeared ixdoie him al the same moment, 
 lie nuist give up the idea of marrying this woman , renounce happiness, 
 renounce everything. Could he act thus, now thai iu' liad engaged iiim- 
 sell lo her ? She luul accepled him, knowing that he was lich. If he 
 were \mu>v she might slill accept him ; hiil had he llie right lo expect 
 it of her, lo impose lliis sacrilice upon her .' W Oiild it not he heller lo 
 kce|) lliis iiKuiev as a deposit, whicli he couki give to the pooi- later on .' 
 And in his soul, whose sellishness look honest disguises, all his maski'tl 
 interests strove and conlcnded. His (irst scru])les gave place to ingenious 
 argiimeuls, then reappeared, then again were ellaeed. Once more he sal 
 down, gnij)iiig for a licfinile motive , an overpowering picte.xt lo llx his 
 hesitation and coii\iiice his innate; sense of right. TwcnU' limes he put 
 this (pu'slioii Id himsell : " Since I am the son ol this man, since I know 
 it and accept the position, is not il natural that I should also accept his 
 becjuest }' I'ml ihe aigiimeiit could not slille the " ISo, ' pionoiinced by 
 his inward conscience. SiiddciiK' the thouj>ht : " Since I am not the son 
 of the man whom I believed lo be my lather. I can no longer accept 
 anxlliiiig liom hiiii, alise tn- dead. That would i)e neithei' right ncu- lair. It 
 would be lobbing my brother. This new way ol looking at things Inning 
 
 consoled him , and appeased his conscience, he returned to the window, 
 '■^'es," he said to lilmseH. ■ I must renounce the lamiK- loiliine — leave il 
 unloiichcd to my brother, because I am not the s(Ui ol his lather. That is 
 pisl. Then is it not also pisl that I should keep m\ own lathers money:'" 
 Having recogni/,ed lli.il he could not prolll b\ Holand's l(H-|unc, having 
 decided lo ali.iiidnii it absoliitelv, he coiiseiiled and resolved to keep thai ol 
 Maréchal; lor bv repudiating both one and the other, he would be reduced 
 to simple m e I u 1 1 c 1 1 y .
 
 138 THE TWO lï HOT in; US 
 
 This delicate malter once anangccl, he came hack lo the ([iieslion of 
 Pierre's j^resence in his parents' house. How was he to he kept away .' 
 lie was despairing of finding a practical solution, when the whistle ol 
 a steamer coming into port seemed to give him an answer hy suggesting 
 an idea. 
 
 'Piien he threw himself, dressed as he was, on his hed, and dreameil 
 uiilil ilav came. 
 
 Ai)out nine o'clock he went out to make sure if the execution of his 
 plan was possihle. Next, after a few walks and a few visits, he Avent 
 to his mother's house. She was waiting for him, shut up in her room. 
 
 ■If vou had not come," she said. -l should never have dared to 
 go down. 
 
 Presently Roland was heard crying on the stairs : 
 
 "Is there to he nothing to eat to-day, nom d'un chien?'' 
 
 Nobody answered, and he shouted : 
 
 " Joséphine, what the devil are you doing ? " 
 
 The maids voice replied from the recesses of the basement : 
 
 ■' IMease sir, what is it? " 
 
 " Where is Madame } " 
 
 '• Madame is upstairs with M'sien Jean." 
 
 Then he bawled, raising his head upwards : 
 
 '■ Louise ! 
 
 Madame lloland half opened her door, and answered : 
 
 " What, my dear ? " 
 
 " Nothing to eat, nom il'nn cliicn ! " 
 
 ■ There, mv dear, we are coming.' 
 
 Then she went down, followed by Jean. 
 
 As M. Roland saw the young man, he crietl : 
 
 "All, so you are there! Already sick of your rooms?" 
 
 "No, father, but I wanted to have some talk with mamma this 
 morning." 
 
 Jean came down with outstretched hand, and when he fell th(> paternal 
 grasp of the old man tighten on his fingers, a strange ami unloreseen
 
 À<ivnn-)taf J'ino yi<trn 
 
 •'XmSiMff/X^'-
 
 TiiK TWO i; HOT in; US 
 
 139 
 
 cMiiulioii sci/cil ii|)(iM liim — an ciiioLioii of soparalioii anti larewclls, ^\itllo^lt 
 hope ol return. 
 
 ■• Picrro lias not come down .' asked Madame Uolaiid. 
 
 Her liiisliaiul slirugged his sliouldeis. 
 ■ .\o. I>ul lie is always late, so much the worse lor him ! Let us begin 
 
 willioul luiU." 
 
 She turned to Jean : 
 
 '•You should go and Irlrli him, my child. It imrts him when we do 
 not wail lor him. 
 
 •' ^ es. mamma, I w dl go." 
 
 And the young man went out. lie s|)rang upstaii'S. with ihi' ieyerish 
 haste ol a timid man about to light. 
 
 When he knocked at the door, Pierre cried : 
 
 '• Come in. 
 
 He enlcred. The other was ^yriting. hent oyer the table. 
 
 ■• (iood morning. said .lean. 
 
 Pierre got up. 
 
 " Good morning. " 
 
 And llicy held out iheir hands as though nothing had liap|)ened. 
 
 ■"Are \'ou nol coming down lo breaklast .' 
 
 '■ \\'hv the lact is - I lia\e a lot ol" work lo do." 
 
 The yoice ol the elder brother trembled, and his an.\ious eye «-learly 
 asked the younger what he meant to do. 
 
 " They are waiting ibr you. 
 
 '^ Is is OUI' molhei' dow n ? " 
 
 ''Yes. Indeed it was she who sent me lo letch you." 
 
 " Oh. then I will come." 
 
 nelurc ihe door ol the dining-room he hesitated to show himsell lirst ; 
 then he npciu'd it wilh a jerk, and saw his father and his mother seatcul 
 at table, lace lo lace. 
 
 He approached her lirst without lifting his eyes, without saying a word, 
 and, stooping down, presented his lace for her to kiss, as he had (Ion(> 
 lor some lime, instead ol kissing lier clieelis as ol old He supposeil
 
 IW THE TWO 1Î HOT Hi: II S 
 
 IIkiI her inoulli appioaclu'tl liini, hiil lie did tml led her li|)s on Iiis I'luc. 
 and lie slraialilcMU'd hiniseli, willi a Ix'alinii- licarl. alter (Ids sijiiiddcrum 
 of a eaivss. 
 
 " W'lial, "' he was ihitdving, "did they say after I left?" 
 
 Jean said tenderly, over and over again, " niotliei-, and 'tlear mamma, " 
 looked after her, supplied her wants, and poured out for her. Then Pierre 
 untlerstood that they luul wept together, but lie could not penetrate their 
 thoughts. Dill Jean thini; his mother guiltv, or his hrollier a wretch? 
 
 .\rul all the reproaches whicli lie had heaped on hiuiself lor having 
 reveaieil the horrihle truth assailed him again; contracted his throat, and 
 closed his mouth, prexenling him liom either eating or sjjcaking. 
 
 Now he was attacked hv an intoleiahle desire to (lee away, to quit 
 this house ^\hich was no longer his, these people who held him no longer, 
 save l>v imperceplilile bonds. And he woidtl have liketl to go at once, 
 no matlei' where, feeling that ail was over, that he could no longer 
 remain with them . that he would be always torturing them in spile of 
 himself, il ordv bv his presenee, and that they would make him suffer 
 ceaselessly an insu|)portal)le torment. 
 
 Jean spoke, talking ^^ilh M. Hohnul whilst Pieire did not listen — tlid 
 not even hear. Hut he thougiit tiiat he lelt a signilicancc» in iiis brother's 
 voice, and took note of the nu-aning of his words. Jean was saving : 
 
 " It will be, they say, the finest vessel in their lleet. Thev talk 
 of si.\ thousand live hundred tons. It will make its lirst Aovaue next 
 month." 
 
 Uoland Avas astonished. 
 
 " So soon. I thought it would not be readv for sea this summer." 
 
 '• Oh, ves. They have pushed on the work so lliat the first voyage 
 might take j)laee before the autumn. I was at the office of the Company 
 this morning, and talkeil with one ol the managers." 
 
 '^ So ! So ! Which of them ?" 
 
 " .M. .Mareluuul, the special friend ol the chairman." 
 
 " Why, do you know him ?" 
 
 " Yes, and then I had a little favour to ask him."
 
 Tin; TWO iii!oTiii:iis i4i 
 
 " All. tlicii yoii can <^<M lur taki-ii over llic Lorraine as soon as she 
 comes into liailxnir, can I Mm .'" 
 '■ Of coiii'se. that is soon ilonc. '" 
 
 Jean seemed lo Iicsitalc, as ii lliinkin^- how to (wprcss hini^cH, and 
 atlcmptin<^- a difficnll change of snbject. He went on : 
 
 •■ Xo donht ahont it. life on those great Transatlantic steamers is very 
 enviahh\ More than hall llie uiontli is spent on huid, in two magnilicent 
 towns. .New \^n^\< and lla\|-e. and tlic rest at sea, with cliainiing people 
 \\ h\', one can make in this way wvy agreeable actpiaintames amongst 
 
 the passengers, ^yho will he uselid later on Yes, yery nselnl. Just lancy ! 
 
 The captain, l)v economising coal, can make twenty-fiye thousand iiancs 
 a year, if not nnjre. 
 
 " /^/i.'/v .' " said lloland : aiul he whistled, to show his proloiind respect 
 lor the sum and lor the ca[)tain. 
 Jean continuetl : 
 
 " The stewai'd can rise to ten thousand, antl the doctor lias li\e tlioiisanil 
 francs regular salary, with lodgings, food, lights, coals, attendance, and so 
 forth. That must mean ten thousand at least, which is a fair sum." 
 
 Pierre, who had raiseil his eyes, met those of his hiother, anil under- 
 stor»! him. 
 
 Then, alter some hesitation, he asked : 
 
 ''Are these surgeoncies yery hard to get on a Transatlantic?" 
 "Yes — and no. .\ll de|)ends on circumstances and inlluence." 
 Ther(^ was a long sdence. Then I lie doctor continued ; 
 ■■ Ihe l.niidiHc leaves ne.\t month .' 
 " Yes, on the 7th." 
 'Ihev were silent again. 
 
 Pierre was thinking. It would certainly he a solution, if he could go 
 abroad as docloi- on tins steamer. .\flei' that— well, liiey would see. 
 P<alia|i-. lie might give it up. .Meanwhile he would he earning his 
 
 li\elilioo(l will I asking his i.imily for anything. Tiie nighl helore, he 
 
 Ii.hI 1i;i(1 to sell his watch, lo|- he no longer held out his hand lo his 
 iiiollier 1 Then he had no resources, when that was gone— no chance of
 
 i',2 Till': TWO nr.iiTii i;ns 
 
 eating any food l)iit that of tliL- liouse he lived in, of sleeping in any 
 other bed, under any other roof. And he said, with a little hesitation : 
 
 ■• I would gladly go out in one ol' tlieni it' 1 could." 
 ■ Whv ean't you^'" Jean asked. 
 
 "Because I know no one in the Vomjxi'^nic Ircinsallantiqtie/' 
 
 Roland was astounded. 
 
 'And what is to become of all yoiu' line plans lor making a fortune.'" 
 
 Pierre murmuied : 
 
 " There are times when you must be able to sacrifice everything, and 
 renounce your best hopes. Besides, it is only an ojjening, a way of 
 saving uj> a few thousand francs, so as to settle dt)wn allerwards. " 
 
 His father was convinced at once. 
 
 " That is quite true. In two years you can lay by si.\ or seven thou- 
 sand, which, ])ropcrly used, will go a long way. What do you think of 
 it, Louise ^ 
 
 " 1 think Pierre is right. 
 
 Uolantl cried ; 
 
 "Well I shall go and talk about it to .M . I'oulin . who is a great 
 friend of mine. He is Judge of the Tribunal of Commerce, anil has to 
 do with the alTairs of the Company. There is M. Lenient also, the 
 shijiowner, who is intimate with one ol the deputy-chairnu'n. ' 
 
 Jean askc'd his brother : 
 
 " Woidd vou like me to try my luck with M. .Marchand lo-dav V 
 
 •' ^ Cs, I shoulil be very glad." 
 
 After thinking a few instants, Pierre went on : 
 
 " The best way, after all, perhaps, wouki be to write to my professors of 
 the School of Medicine, who used to think pretty well of me. They often 
 send a very average sort of man on these steamers. M arm letters from 
 Professors Mas-Roussel, Rémusot, Flaihe, and Borrirpiel would manage the 
 thing out of hand, better than anv doubtful introductions. It \\ould sulllce 
 to present these letters llu'ough vour iricnd, .M. Mar( hand, to the Boai'd. ' 
 
 Jean was all aj)proval. 
 
 •• Your idea is excellent, excellent !
 
 TIIK TWO i; I», (I Tin: Il S 143 
 
 Ami Ik' siinU'd. r<MSMiic'(l. ;ilin()>l Imppy, ;nul (('ilain of success ; for 
 he was inca|)al)lo ol hoiililint^ liimscll for long at a lime. 
 
 " Voii will wiilc lo llu-m to-day," ho said. 
 
 " \l (Hi((> — imnicdiaU'lv. I am y<iiny to do it now. 1 wont have any 
 colVee this morning' ; I am loo nervous." 
 
 He rose and went oui. 'I'Iumi .lean liirncd lo his mother. 
 
 ■'Now, man)ma, what are yon going to do V 
 
 '■ Nothing. I don'l know." 
 
 ■"Will you couH' willi me Lo .\hulame liosémilly s ? " 
 
 " Oh — yes. if you like." 
 
 •' You know it is indispensable that 1 should go to-day." 
 
 •• \"es — yes ! That is true." 
 
 '• How is that .' Imlispensahle ?" asked {{olaml, \\\n) indeed was never 
 wont to understand what was said helore him. 
 
 '■ IJeeause I pronilscd hci' to go there. 
 
 '■ .\h, very well ! That is anothei' thing. " 
 
 And he hegan to lill his pipe, whilst mother and son went u[)slairs 
 to get ready. 
 
 When they weic in the street, Ji-an said lo her : 
 
 •• Will you take my aian, mamma .' " 
 
 He never used to offer it. for ihev were wont to walk side l)y side. 
 She accepted it. and leaned upon liiui. 
 
 for some time tliev ilid not speak. fhen he said : 
 
 "■ ^<)U see that I'ieri'e is (|uile willing to go away ! 
 
 " I'oor hoy,' she muruiured. 
 
 ■ \\'hv |)oor hov .' lie will nol he at all unhappv on the l.fi/'/Y/i/ic." 
 ■No, I know he will nol. liul I am ihlnking o( so many things." 
 
 hong lime she thought, with heni head, keeping step wllli her son, 
 then, with llial strange voice wliieli we souuMinu^s put on to terminate 
 a long and secret meditation : 
 
 ■ l>ile is a wrelehed husiness. If for omc \'om meet with a Mille 
 
 sweetness out oi il. von are wioul; to abandon yourself to it, and \ou 
 
 will pav lor il lalei- on. 
 
 Ill
 
 IV. Till': TWO iîl'.oTIlEllS 
 
 " Don't s|)(Mk ol' that. iiiaiuiiKi I lie said, in a low lone. 
 
 " Conlcl 1 liel|) il ? I am always tlnnlving oi' it. " 
 
 " Yon will lorgcl." 
 
 Slic was silenl again, ihcn saiii, willi (Iccp regrol in lici- voice : " Ah, 
 how ha|>|)v 1 niighl have hccn if I had married anolhcr man!" 
 
 Im)|- the niomenl her dislike lor Holand was aroused. She east upon 
 his nuliness, his stiipidilv. his awkwardness, his dulness of wit, and the 
 coMunoii appeaianee of his person, the whole rcsponsihilily h)r her fault 
 and her unhappiness. It was to that, to the vulgarity of tiiis man, that 
 she owed lh(> fact of her having deceived him, of having driven one of 
 lier sons to despair, and made to the other the most grievous confession 
 which could draw hlood from a mother's heart. 
 
 "It is frightful,' she murmured, "for a young girl to marry a hus- 
 hand like mine." 
 
 .lean made no answer. lie was ihiidung ol the man whose son he 
 had liillierlo su|iposed himself to he ; and perhaps the confused idea which 
 he hail long entertained of the paternal mediocrity, the constant irony of 
 his hrother, the scornful indifference of otIuM- people, and even the disdain 
 oi the maid for Roland . had |nepared his minti for his mother's terrible 
 confession. It cost him less on this account that he was another man's 
 son ; and after the great shock of emotion the night before, if he had not 
 experienced the same leactionarv shock oi rebellion . indignation . ami 
 angei- which was fell by Madame Roland . it was because he had long- 
 unconsciously sulli>red by thiidiing himself the son of this mild old dullard. 
 
 Thev had reached Madam(> Hosénnllys dooi'. She lived in llu- Sainte- 
 .\dri'sse road, on the second story oi' a large building which belonged to 
 her. I'rom her windows one could see the whoh- roadstead ol Havre. 
 
 When she saw Madame Roland, who was the iirst to enter, instead of 
 holding out her hand as usual, she extended her arms and «Mnbiaccd her, 
 i'or she divined the reason ol her visit. 
 
 The iurnlturc of the drawing-room, in stamped velvet, was always 
 prolecled bv coverings. The walls, coxcred with ilowered paper, bore 
 four engravings that had lie(Mi bought bv her lirsl husbaml. the captain.
 
 /' 
 
 , ^A'Aymuun .{ ■"'tfi/t Mntfif tl f
 
 Till-: TWO IJlloTllKllS l'i5 
 
 'I'licN r('|)i(-~('iil('il >ca-|)ic(('s ;iiid sciitimciUal scenes. In llie lirsl was 
 ilepicled a iislierniaii s \\ ile , \va\ iiii;' her liarulUcreliiel on llie sea-shore, 
 whilst the sail ^\■hieh hoi'e hei' husl)anil a\\a\' troin lier \vas (lisap|)(>nriny 
 on the hori/oM. in the seeoiul, the same woman, kneelnii^' on tlu" same 
 sea-shore, strained her arms as she gazed inti) ihe distance, under a sky 
 charged with lightning, at her luishand's shij). loundcM'ing in a sea of 
 impossihle waxes. The olher two pictures icpresenti'd analogous scenes 
 in a siijx'rioi' social rank. A lair young woman muses as she leans upon 
 the rail of a departing steamer. She is gazing at the already distant 
 coast, her eyes moist with tears and regrets. 
 
 Who is the man she has left behind her ? 
 
 Next, the same young woman, seated near a window which oj^cns on 
 the sea, has fainted in her chair. A letter has fallen from her lap to 
 the carpet. 
 
 Ile is dead ; and she is in despair. 
 
 N'isitors were generally moved and drawn hy the commonplace sadness 
 of these Iransparent and poetic subjects. Tbey tcjok them in at once, 
 wilhoul explanation or iiupiirx ami pitied the |)Oor wonu'ii, allhough they 
 did not precisely know the source ol grid in the case of the superior 
 lad\-. Iiut e\cn this (|()id)t heightened their imagination. She must have 
 lost her hehdilied. As soon as a visitor entered, his eye was irresistibly 
 attracted li\ these lour subjects, and hehl as by a sort of fascination. 
 It left them only to reluiii again, ami to contemplate the foui' shades ol 
 expression in the two women, who wei'e like enough to be sisters. I'rom 
 the dear, linished, careful drawing, in the style of a fashion plate, ami 
 from the glittering frame, there breathed a sense of propriety and exactitude 
 which the r(>sl f)f llie iuiiiilure still lurlher accentuated. The chairs were 
 arranged in unvarying (jixlei', some against the walls, others riMind ihe 
 centre table. The while and spotless curtains hung in folds so straight 
 and regular that one longed to tund>le them a little; and not a grain ol 
 dust disligured the glass shade in which the gilded clock in the style 
 
 of the I'lmpire -a globe carried hv .\tlas kneeling seemed lo be ripening 
 
 like a melon in a Irame.
 
 146 THK TWO 1] 11 OTHERS 
 
 As the two ladies sat down, they chaiigeil llie position of tlieir chairs. 
 
 'You have not been out to-day?" Madame Rohuid asked. 
 
 ''No; I eonl'ess that I am rather tired." 
 
 And slie went over, as though to thank Jean and his mother for 
 it, all the pleasure which she had received from the fishing. 
 
 "You must know," she said, "that I ale my shrimps this morning. They 
 were delicious. If you like, we will repeat that picnic some day or other." 
 
 The young man interrupted : 
 
 "Before we begin a second, suppose we linish the first?" 
 
 " Mow do you mean ? It seems to me that it is finished." 
 
 '• Oh, Madame, I too, caught a fish amongst those rocks of Saint-Jouin, 
 which 1 should like to take home with me." 
 
 She became innocent and mischievous. 
 • You ? How so ? What did you find ?" 
 
 " A wife. And mamma and I have come to ask you if she has not 
 changed her mind this morning. 
 
 She began Ui smile. 
 
 'No, sir; I never change my mind." 
 
 Then it was his turn to hold out to her his big hand . into which 
 she let hers fall with a brisk and resolute movement. And he said : 
 ■"You will niak(- it as soon as possible — will you not?" 
 
 ■' \\ hen you like. " 
 
 "In six weeks ? " 
 
 '' I have no opinion in the matter. \\haL does mv fulure molher-in- 
 law think about it ? " 
 
 Madame UolantI replied with a rather melancholy smile : 
 
 "Oh, as lor me. I think nothing. 1 simpiv thank you for having 
 been willing to accept Jean, for vou will make him very happy." 
 
 " What is possible shall be done, mamma." 
 
 A little moved, lor the lirst time, Madame Rosémilly got up, and 
 taking Madame Uoland in hei' arms, gave her a long kiss, like a child : 
 and under this novel caress a strong emotion swelled the sorrowing- 
 heart of the poor woman. She could not have said what hail come over her ;
 
 THE TWU U 11 UT Hi: 11 S 147 
 
 it was sad and sweet at the saiiu! Liiiie. Slic liatl lost a son , a grown- 
 up son ; aiul in liis place she had received a ilauyhlcr, a grownup daughter. 
 When ihey sat down ("ace to face again, on their chairs, lliey took 
 each otiiei's hands, and remained in that way, looking at one another 
 anil smiling, whilst .lean seemed to he almost lorgotten. Ihey spoke ol 
 a nundxT of things of which they had to think in connection with the 
 approaching mairiage. W hen all was decided and arranged, Matlame Uosé- 
 milly seemed suddenly to hcthink herself ol a detail, and asked : 
 
 • \ Ou ha\t' consulted M. Uoland, have you not?" 
 
 The same hlusli all at once tinged the cheeks of mother and son. It 
 was the mother wlio answeri'tl : 
 
 "Oh. no, that is unnecessary." 
 
 Then she hesitated, feeling that an ex[)lanation was called for: and 
 she wcui on : 
 
 • We are doing everything without idling him of it. It will he enough 
 to iulorm him when it is decided. ' 
 
 .Madame Hosémilly smiled, in no way surprisetl , considering it very 
 natural; lur thr worthy man counted for so little. 
 
 When Madame Uoland was once more in the street with her son : 
 •' Suj)pose we go to your rooms," she said ; '' I want to rest." 
 She lelt lieiscif willioul protection or refuge, heing afraid of her home. 
 Tliey went to Jean s ; and as soon as she saw the door closed hehind 
 her she hreathed a deep sigh, as if the lock liad placed her in security, 
 riien , instead ol' resting, as she had said, she hcgan to open the cup- 
 boards, to coniil llie |)iles ol linen, anil the inindier of handkerchiefs and 
 socks. She changed iheii- arrangenu-nts for others more to her mind, and 
 more satisfactory to lu'r housewifely instinct; and when she had disposed 
 everything to her taste, ranged the towels, drawers, and shirts on the 
 proper sheKcs. and dividid all the linen into their main classes, of body 
 linen, houseliohl linen, and table linen, she stepped back lo look al her 
 work, ami said : 
 
 ■.lean, come here, and see how nice it is." 
 lie rose and admired it. in onlei' to please her.
 
 148 
 
 THE TWO lîROTHERS 
 
 SudtltMilv. \\ licii he liiul sal down a^aiii, she a])]in)a(licil his cliaii- 
 liiihtlv from behind, and, takin"- liini round the neck \vit!i her riulit arm, 
 kissed him as slie sel on ihe mantelpiece sometliing folded in ^vllile j)a|)or, 
 which she had held in her other hand. 
 
 " What is that .' " he asked. 
 
 'J'hough slie did not answer, he undersLootI, lor he recogni/ed the shape 
 ot the frame. 
 
 " Give it to me, ' he said. 
 
 Hilt she pretended not to hear, and went baik to her linen closets. lie 
 rose, eagerly seized the painful relic, and, crossing the room, went and 
 locked it, with a double turn of the key, in a drawer of his desk. Then, 
 with the ti|)s of her fingers, she wiped a tear from her eye, and. faltering 
 a liltle in her voice, said : 
 
 " Now 1 am going to see if your new maid looks after her kitchen 
 properly. As she is out just now, 1 can inspect everything, and see for 
 myself. " 
 
 
 ■" '^TBiTr-
 
 IX
 
 JU _ - 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The testimonials of Professors Mas-Roussel, Rémusot, Flaclio. .iiul noniqucl. 
 AviitlcMi in vcrv (lallcrin^- terms on hohall' of their pupil. Dr. Pierre Roland, 
 hail hecn submilled hv .M. .Marchand to the Hoard ol' the Compagnie 
 transatlantique, supported liy MM. Poidin . jinlge ol' the Trihunal ol 
 Commerce, Lenient, a large shipowner, and Mari val. deputy-mayor ol 
 Havre, the latter a special friend of Captain lieausire. 
 
 It happened thai nn doelur had vet been nominated to the Lorraine, 
 and Pierre had the j^udd luck lo he appointed wilhin a few days. 
 
 'i'lic letter anu( umcinL;' the fact was handed to hiui one morning hy 
 the maid .Joséphine, as he finished dressing. 
 
 Ills iirsi ieelitig was that of a man condemned to death, who is 
 itd'ormed of a couiuuitit ion of his sentence. He I'elt his troui)le instantly 
 
 relieved i)v the thought of the voyage and the calm existence — constantly
 
 152 THE TWO n 110 Til Ell S 
 
 rocked by the rolling waves, constantly on the move, conslanlly fleeing 
 from himself. At present he was living in his father's house like a silent 
 and reserved stranger. 
 
 From that night on which he had allowed the wretched secret discov- 
 ered l)v him to escape him in his brother's presence, he ielt that he 
 had broken the last links with his own peoj)le. Remorse for having told 
 llic ihing [o .lean luurowed him. lie considered himself odious, unclean, 
 wicked ; and vet he was assuaged by having spoken. 
 
 Never ao-ain had he met the yaze of his mother or of his brother. 
 In order to avoid each other their eyes had acquired a marvellous mo- 
 bility, the shifts of enemies who fear to cross each othei's path. lie 
 was always asking himself : '■'■ What could she have said to Jean i' Did 
 she confess or deny it ? What does my brother believe ? What does 
 she — what does he think of me?" He could not guess, and it exasperated 
 him. And he scarcely spoke to them now, except when Roland was 
 present, that he might avoid being questioned by him. 
 
 When he had received the letter announcing his appointment, he 
 showed it on the same day to his family. flis father, who had a strong 
 tendency to rejoice at everything, clapped his hands. Jean replied seriously, 
 but with joy in his soul : 
 
 •' I congratulate you with all my heart, for I know there were many 
 candidates for it. You certainly owe that to the letters of your professors. " 
 
 And his mother bent her head as she murmured : 
 
 '' I am very glad you have succeeded. " 
 
 .Vfter breakfast he went to the Company's office, to get information 
 on a nuud)er of things, and he asked for the name ol the doctor of the 
 Picardie, which was leaving next morning, that he might learn from him all 
 the details of his new life, and of the special duties which awaited him. 
 
 Dr. I'irettc being on board, he went to him, and was received in a 
 little cabin by a young man with a lair beartl, not unlike his brother. 
 1'hey had a long talk together. 
 
 I'^'om the resounding depths of the immense vessel they heard a great 
 bustle, confused and never ending, in which the desienl of the cargo as
 
 Till-; TWO I'.HdTllKRS 153 
 
 il was piled up in the hold was niiiigled with Iraiupiiios, voices, the 
 motion of tlio machinery lilling the tanks, the whistling of tlie mates, and 
 the sound ol dragging chains, or of the (•ai)U's as they were Mound on 
 the windlasses by the hoarse-sounding steam, which caused the whole 
 hulk of the mighty ship to tpiiyer. 
 
 But when Pierre had left his colleague, and was once nu)re in the 
 street, a new sadness fell upon him, and enfolded him as in one of those 
 fogs which roam oyer the sea, sweeping from tlu^ ends of the world, and 
 hearing something mysterious and im|)urc in their intangible densencss, 
 like the pestilential breath of a distant, malarious land. 
 
 In his hours of greatest pain he had never felt himself |)lunged in 
 such a slough of wretchedness. 
 
 The reason was that the last rupture had been made; he had lost his 
 last hold. When he tore from his heart the roots of every tender feeling, 
 he hail not suliered this misery, akin to that of a lost dog, which all at 
 once laid hold on him. 
 
 It was lU) longer a moi-al anil tormenting pain, but the madness ol an 
 animal without protection, the physical anguish of a wandering creature 
 who has no home, anil who is assaileil by rain, wind, storm, and idl the 
 brutal foi-ces of the world. \\ hen he set foot on this steamer and entered 
 the little cabin, slung over the waves, the flesh of the man who hail 
 always sle[)t in a still and (piiet bed revolteil IVom the precariousni'ss ol 
 all his future life. I'p to that time it had fell ilself protected by solid 
 walls, sunk into the t(Miacious earth, and by the certainty of rest in the 
 self-same spol. undci- llic wind-resisting roof. A'ow, all that one loved to 
 defy in llic warnilii of a close-shul house would become a dangi-r, and 
 a constant cause of sulli'rinu'. 
 
 There would be no nuire soil beneath his feet, but a rolling, roaring, 
 and en^uliing sea, Xo more space lo walk, to run, lo lose his way, 
 but a lew \ards oi' planks to liamp on, like a ci iiHleumed man amongst 
 his lellow piisnuers. Xo more tri-es, garilens, streets, houses —nothing but 
 water and clouds. And he W(Uild feel the ship conslaully moving under 
 his feel. ( )n s|orm\' d.us he wduld have lo cIiiil'' lo llic bulkhead. la\'
 
 154 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 hold of the doors, and fasten himself to his hammock, lest he should be 
 thrown about. On calm days he would hear the panting (juiver of the 
 screw, and woukl feci the ship which carried him sweep on with continuous, 
 regular, exasperating flight. 
 
 And now he was condemned to this life of a wandering galley-slave, 
 simply because his mother had committed herself. 
 
 He walked on straight before him, giving way to the desolate melan- 
 choly of men resolved on exile. 
 
 lie no lono'cr felt in his heart that loftv scorn and liisdainful hatred 
 of the unknown people who passed him by, but a sad longing to speak 
 lo Ihem, to tell them that he w^as going to leave France, to get himself 
 lisLencd to and consoled. There was within him the shamefaced need 
 of a poor man who is ready to hold out his hand, a timid, yet strong 
 desire to feel that some one would sulfer by his departure. 
 
 lie thought of .Marowsko The old I'olc was the only man who loved 
 him enough to feel a true and deep emotion ; and the doctor instantly 
 decided to go and see him. 
 
 When he entered the shop, the dispenser, who was pounding some 
 ])owder in a marble mortar, gave a little start and quitted his work. 
 •You are scarcely ever seen now." he said. 
 
 The young man explained that he had to do a great number of things, 
 without saying what they were; and as he sat down he asked : 
 
 " \A'ell, how are things going?" 
 
 Thiu'>s were not going well. The competition was terrible, and sick 
 men were rare, and poor in this working- man's quarter. Only cheap 
 medicines could be sold here; and the doctors did not give those unusual 
 and elaborate prescriptions on which one could make a |)ro(it of five 
 hundred per cent. The good man ended by saying : 
 
 •■' W it goes on for another three months or so, I shall have to shut 
 up shop. If I were not reckoning on you, my kind doctor. I should 
 already have taken to blacking boots. 
 
 Pierre fell his heail contract, and he suddenly decided to strike his 
 blow, since it had to be done :
 
 Till-: TWO BROTHERS 155 
 
 '■ Oh, ;is to me, I can no loii<>ei- he oC any use to voii. 1 am hMvino- 
 Havre at tlie hogiiining of next inonlli. 
 
 Marowsko took off his spectacles, lie was so grcally uionciI : 
 
 ■' You you \\ liai did you say?" 
 
 '■ 1 sav that I am going lo Umvo. niv poor (riend. " 
 
 The old iiKiu was astounchHJ, ieeliug his last hope ciuiidjie away ; anil 
 he fell a sudden animer a<i"ainsl this man whom he had followed, wluiin 
 he loved, in whom lie had SO much conlideuee, ami who was lorsaking 
 him in such a lasiiiou. 
 
 lie slammeied out : 
 
 " Hut you, too. are not going lo heli'ay me, are you ? " 
 
 Pierre was so touched that he was ready lo kiss him. 
 
 " I am not hetraying you. 1 have not heen ahle lo take a house 
 here, and 1 am going as docloi' on a Trausallanlic sleanu-r. " 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur Pierre, you promised uu' so lailhlulh lo help me lo 
 get a li\ing ! 
 
 ■• \\ hal can I tlo ? 1 must make a living myself. I have not a sou 
 of my own. 
 
 "This is very had," said .Marowsko. ' W'hal you are doing is very 
 Lad. TIku'C is nothing lell for uu' lo tlo but lo die of hunger. .\l my 
 age, all is over. ll is had. ^Ou are ahandiuiing a poor old man w lu) 
 came here lo he with you. Il is had." 
 
 Pierre tried to explain, lo prolesl, lo give reasons lo prove ihat he 
 coidd not have acted otherwise. The Pole would not listen, heing enraged 
 hy ihe (h^serlion ; and he ended hy saying, douhtless ihiidung ol certain 
 political e\euls : 
 
 ■ .\ll you I'^'enchmeu hreak your promises." 
 
 Then Pierre rose, ridlled in his luru. and pulling on an air of supe- 
 riont\ saul : 
 
 ■ You are unjiisl, père Marowsko. Strong reasons were needed to 
 make me do as I have done; and you ought to understand it. Ciood-hye. 
 1 hope you will Ik- more it-asouahle the next time I see you ' 
 
 And so he wciil out.
 
 156 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 "There!" he said; "nobody will have any sincere regret tor me!" 
 
 He searched his thoughts, going over all the people he knew, or had 
 known, and, amongst the faces which defded before him in his memorj', 
 he came upon that of the barmaid who had caused him to suspect his 
 mother. He hesitated, for he retained an instinctive bitterness against her; 
 then, suddenly making up his mind, he said to himself : 
 
 " After all, she was in the right. " 
 
 And he set out for the street where she lived. 
 
 The drinking-shop happened to be full of people, and full also of 
 smoke. 
 
 The customers, who where tradespeople and workmen — for it was a 
 holiday — w'ere clamouring, laughing, crying out, and the landlord himself 
 was serving, running from table to table, carrying away the empty glasses, 
 and bringinff back full ones. 
 
 When Pierre had discovered a seat not far iioui the bar, he waited, 
 hoping that the girl would see and recognize him. 
 
 But she passed and repassed him, without a glance, tripping lightly 
 beneath her skirts with a pretty sauciness. 
 
 At last he rapped on the table with a piece of money. She ran up : 
 
 " What shall 1 get you, sir ^ " 
 
 She was not looking at him, her mind being absorbed in the reckon- 
 ings of the customers she had served. 
 
 "Well!" he said, "is that how we say good day to our friends?" 
 
 She fixed her eyes on him, and said in a hurried voice : 
 
 " Ah, it is you. Hope you're well ; but Ive lu) lime to-day. Do vou 
 want a glass of beer. " 
 
 " Yes, a glass of beer. " 
 
 ^^"hen she brought it, he said : 
 
 " I have come to say good-bye. I am going away. 
 
 She answered, indifferently : 
 
 " Indeetl ! Where are you going .' '" 
 
 " To America. 
 
 " Thev sav it's a fine countrv. "
 
 THE Ï\V(» IJROTIIEUS 157 
 
 And that was all. lie must surely have been very stupid to speak 
 to lior that day. There were too many people in the rrz/r. 
 
 And Pierre wandered down to the sea. When he reached I lie |iier hv 
 saw the Perle, returning with his father and Captain Beausire. The sailor 
 Papagris was rowing, and the two men, silting in the stern, were smoking 
 their [)ipes with an appearance oJ complele haj)piness. The doctor thought, 
 as he watched ihem passing : •' Blessed are the poor in spirit. " And he 
 seated himself on one of the seats of" the hreakwatcM-, lo try if he could 
 lose himself in an animal sleep. 
 
 When he returned home in the evening, his mother said to him, 
 without daring to raise her eyes to his face : 
 
 " You must have a number of ihings to do before you go, and I am 
 in a litlle difficulty. I have just ordered your linen, and 1 have been 
 to the tailor's about your coats ; but is there nothing else you need, 
 things that I may not know of?" 
 
 He parted his lips to say : "No, nothing.'' Biil he bethought himself 
 that he must at least consent to be well-dressed ; and he answered very 
 calmly : 
 
 "I really don't know yet; I will enquire at the Company's office." 
 
 He did enquire, and received a list of indispensable articles. AMien 
 his mother took it from him, she looked at him lor the lirst time within 
 many weeks; and deep down in her eyes there was the humble, gentle, 
 sad, and suppliant look of a poor beaten dog suing for pardon. 
 
 On the 1st of October the Lorrdine, coming from Saint-Nazaire, entered 
 the port of Havre, being timed to leave again on the 7tli nl the same 
 month for New York; and Pierre Roland was to take [)ossessioii ol the 
 hllle cabin in which lie was thenceforth to spend his life. 
 
 On the following morning, as he was going out, he met his mother 
 on the stairs. 
 
 Madame Uoland was waiting for him, ami miirmureil, in a scarcely 
 intelligible voice : 
 
 "Do you not want me lo help you lo settle down on board the ship?" 
 
 " No, thank you. Everything is ready. "
 
 158 THK TWO BROTHERS 
 
 " I should so much like,' she imirmiircd, " to see your eabin. ' 
 "It is not worth while. It is very ugly and small." 
 He passed on, leaving her downcast, leaning against the wall, with 
 blanched face. 
 
 Now Roland , who went over the Larrdinc on the same day, could 
 talk of nothing at dinner but this splenditl ship, and was much astonished 
 that his wife was not anxious to know all al)out it, since their son was 
 to embark in it. 
 
 Pierre scarcely lived with his family during the days which followed. 
 He was nervous, irritable, stern, and his brutal speech seemed to cast 
 its lash over everybody. But on the eve of his departure he appeared 
 all at once to be quite changed and softened. As he kissed his parents 
 before going to sleep on board, he asked for the first time : 
 
 "You will come and bid me good-bye, on board ship, to-morrow?" 
 "Yes, of course we will! ' cried Roland. " ^A'on't we, Louise?"' 
 " Certainly," she said, in a low voice. 
 Pierre went on : 
 
 " We leave at eleven, precisely. You nnist be there at half-past nine, 
 at latest. ' 
 
 " Stay ! "" cried his father, " I have an idea. When we leave you we 
 will make haste and put off in the Pcrlr, so as to accompany you beyonil 
 the jetties, and see you again. Shall we, Louise?" 
 " Yes, certainly ! " 
 
 " In that way," said Roland, "you will not lose us in the crowd 
 which always covers the pier-head Avhen the Transatlantics steam out. 
 People on board can never tell their own friends. Uo you like the idea?" 
 "Yes, I do. That is understood." 
 
 An hour later, he was stretched on his hammock, narrow and long, 
 like a coffin. He lay there some time, with his eves open, thinking of 
 all that had h;ippcncd in the last two months of his life, and especially 
 within his own soul. By dint of suffering and making others suffer, his 
 aggressive and vengeful grief was worn out, like a blunted blade. He 
 had scarcely spirit enough remaining to bear a grudge against anybody.
 
 Tin: iwo niidiiiiiKs 159 
 
 (n- 1)11 any account, and he let his revolt vanish into thin air. as lie lelt 
 his lite slipping down the streani. He was so weaiy of slril'e. of lU-aling 
 hlows, of hating, of everything, thai he couki persevere no longer with 
 it, and tried to steep his heart in forgetfulness, as one sinks into sleep. 
 Vaguely he heard around his head th(> new sounds of the vessel, li<>ht 
 and scarcely perceptible sounds, in this calm night in the harbour ; ami 
 of his wound, hitherto so sore, he felt hut the painful strainings of a 
 healing scar. 
 
 He had fallen into a prolouud sleep when the mo\-euient of the sailors 
 dislurhed his rest. It was growing light, and (he lidal train, bringing 
 passengers irt)in Pai'is. was drawing up on (he «piay. 
 
 'fhen he wandered over the ship amidsl I lie busy, restless folk, looking 
 for their cabins, exchanging greetings, questions, and answers off-hand, in 
 the strangeness of the first hours of theii- journey. After he had paid 
 his respects to the captain and shaken hands with his companion the 
 rfinu/i/ssairc dit liunl, he eiilered the saloon, where a lew I'^ntrlishmen 
 w'ere already asleep in the corners. The line apartment, with walls of 
 white marble enclosed in gilded moiddings, extended in (he mirrors the 
 pers])ective of its long tables, flanked with two endless rows of revolving 
 seats, with their crimson cushions. That was the vast, floating, cos- 
 iiHipniilan liai! where \\c'allli\- travellers ol all continents were to take 
 their meals together. Its costly luxury reseud)h'd ihal of the great hotels, 
 theatres, and public places, the imposing and vulgai- iuxuiy which satisfies 
 the eyes of millionaires. 
 
 'file ddclor was about to pass on into the |)art of the ship set aside 
 lui- the second class, when he rcmembeicd thai the night before a large 
 conipanv of emigrants had been taken on board, and he descended into 
 the steerage cabin. .\s he made his way insitle, he was greeted by a 
 sickening odour ol |)Oor and unclean humanity, a smell more unpleasant 
 than that o( the hide or wool ol animals. Then, in a sort oi dark and 
 Iiiw iiiideri;rMiind ia\e. lilu- the galleries of a mine, Pieiae percei\cd 
 several liuiKlicd men. women, and children, extended on planks one 
 above another, oi- grovelling in heaps on the iloor. lie tnuid not ilis-
 
 i(jO THE TWO BIlOTIiERS 
 
 tinguisli faces, but dimly saw that squalul, tattered crowd, that crowd 
 of wretched victims of existence, exhausted and crushed, dcparling with 
 their lean wives and half-starved children for an unknown land, where 
 they hopeil that possibly they might not die of hunger. 
 
 And the doctor, as he thought of their past labour, their labour thrown 
 away, their barren efforts, their desperate struggle, renewed every day to 
 no purpose, and of the energy displayed by these poor wretches, who 
 were going to begin again, without knowing where, this lile ot hateful 
 misery, felt inclined to cry out to thcni : •• Go and drown yourselves in 
 the sea, with your mates and your little ones ! " And his heart was so 
 wrung with pity that he went away, unable to bear the sight of them. 
 
 His father, his mother, his brother, and Madame Uoscmilly were already 
 waiting for him in his cabin. 
 
 '' So soon ! he said. 
 
 "Yes," Madame Roland answered, in tremulous tones, "we wanted to 
 have time to see a little of you.' 
 
 He looked at her. She was in black, as though she were wearing 
 mourning, and he suddenly observed that her hair, which was grey a 
 month ago, was now becoming quite white. 
 
 He had much difficulty in getting the four persons seated in his little 
 apartment, and he himself leaped upon his bed. Through the tloor. which 
 remained open, they could sec a crowd as numerous as that of the streets 
 on a holiday, for all the friends of the passengers and an army of mere 
 sight-seers had invaded the immense steamer. They walked in the gang- 
 ways, in the saloons, and everywhere, and heads were even thrust inside 
 the cabin, whilst voices outside explained : "That is the doctor's crib." 
 
 Pierre pushed the door to ; but when he found himself shut in with 
 his own peojde he felt inclined to open it again , lor the bustle of the 
 ship beguiled their awkwardness and silence. 
 
 .\t last Madame Rosémilly was good enough to s])eak. 
 
 "There is not much air through these little windows," she said. 
 
 "It is a liublot,'" Pierre replied, "a port-hole light." 
 
 lie pointed out the thickness of the glass, which made it capable of
 
 THI-: TWO lîROTHERS 161 
 
 resisting tlio most viol(>nl shocks. Then, at considerable lenglli, lie explainecl 
 the system hy \\hi<li it was closed. 
 
 Rohiiid said : 
 
 " ^ on ha\(' \<iiir medicine-chest hei'e ? " 
 
 The doctor o|)ene(l a cupboard and displayed a store of piuals bearing 
 Latin names on labels of white papeiv 
 
 He took one out, and enumerated the pioperlies ol Lhe ilrugs whieh 
 coniposetl it. A second followetl, and then a I bird, and he gave them a 
 regular course of therapeutics, to which they appeared to listen with great 
 attention. 
 
 Holand kept on repeating, as he shook his head, that it was very 
 interesting. 
 
 There was a gentle rap at the door. 
 
 "Come in," cried Pierre; and ('a|>tain Hcansire made his ap])earanee. 
 
 As he liehl out his hand he said : " I am late, because I did not wish 
 to embarrass the elTiisions." 
 
 He also had to sit on the, bed. 1'iien silence (ell again. 
 
 But sudtlenh' tlie captain pi'icked up his ears. CiM'tain orders reached 
 him thi'ough the partition ; and he announced : 
 
 " It is time to go, il we mean to put off in ihi' Vcrlr and see von 
 as you leave, so as to say good-bye out at sea. 
 
 M. Roland was bent upon this, no doubt in order to make an impres- 
 sion on the Lorraine s passengers; and he pimped up at once. 
 
 "Well llien. good-bye, my boy. 
 
 lie kissed I'leiic on liis whiskers, and opened the door. 
 
 Madame lioland ditl not move, and remained with downcast eyes, and 
 very pale. 
 
 lier iuisband touched her on llie arm. 
 
 •'Come! bet us make iiaste I We have not a minute to lose." 
 
 She rose, took a step towards her son, and ollei<'d hiiu h(>r cheeks, 
 while as \\a.\, \\lii( h he iiissed without ulliM'ing a woi'd. TIicm he shook 
 hands with .Madame Hosemilly and his brother, asking the lattei' : 
 
 '■ When is \(iur marriaijc to be.''
 
 1G2 THE TWO nUOTIlKRS 
 
 " I am iiol <|iiite sure yet. We will iiiake it coincide with one of 
 your return voyages." 
 
 At last every one left the cabin and went on deck, wliicli was crowded 
 by visitors, porters, luggage, and sailors. 
 
 The steam was puffing in the vast lungs of the shi|). which seemed lo 
 be quivering witii impatience. 
 
 "Good-bye," said Roland, in a hurry as usual. 
 
 "Good-bye," said Pierre, who was standing on one of the little wooden 
 bridges which connected the Larrainr with the wharf. 
 
 lie shook hands again all round, and his family departed. 
 
 " Get into the carriage ! Quick , quick ! " cried the old man. 
 
 A fiacre was waiting for them, and bore them to the tide-dock, where 
 Papagris had the Perle in readiness to put off. 
 
 There was not a breath of air. It was one of those days, still autumn 
 days, on wliicli llie polished sea looks cold and hard as steel. 
 
 Jean seized an oar, and the sailor took the other ; and they began to 
 row. On the breakw^aters, the jetties, and even the granite coping, there 
 w-as a dense, sw^aying, and noisy crowd waiting for the Lorraine. 
 
 The Perle passed between these two human waves, and was soon 
 beyonil llic pici-hcatl. 
 
 Captain Beausire was seated between tlic ladies, and guitlcd the helm. 
 
 " You will lind," he said, " that we shall precisely strike the track, 
 precisclv ! '' 
 
 And the oarsmen pulled hard, so as to get as far as possible. Suddenly 
 Holand exclaimed : 
 
 " There she is ! 1 can see her masts antl funnels. She is just leaving 
 the basin. " 
 
 " Put it on, my lads ! " Beausire kept repeating. 
 
 Madame Roland took out her handkerchief and held it to her eyes. 
 
 Roland was standing, glued to the mast, and recorded progress. 
 
 "Now she is making a turn in the outer harbour She has stopped 
 
 moving She is moving again She lias bad to take a lug Now 
 
 she's (.Aï \ Hooray! She has come out belwccMi llic jellies! - Just
 
 ('>'■.•/' 'fc»/'//y/' •*
 
 THE TWO P, HOT II ERS 163 
 
 hear the erowd shouting ! — Hooray ! The Nepliinc is towiny her 
 
 Now I can see lici prow- — There she is! there she is! God's name, 
 
 what a ship! Look at her. all of yon ! 
 
 Madame lloséinilly and lieausire turned round ; the two men ceased 
 to row : .Madame Hohind alone did not move. 
 
 The iiinnense steamer drawn by a powerful tug, which looked like a 
 caterpillar in iVoiil of her, was slowly and majestically (piitting the liarliour. 
 And the peojile of Havre, massed upon the pier-head, on the beach, at the 
 windows, all at once carried away by a patriotic fervour, began to cry : 
 " \i\'e la Lorraine! cheering and applauding the splendid start, this 
 birth of a crand ocean city, which bestowed on the sea the finest of lier 
 daughters. 
 
 I5ut the ship, as soon as she had passed the narrow channel closed 
 in between two walls of oranite, feelini»' herself free at last, cut loose 
 her lug, and went on her way alone, like an enormous creature racing 
 over the waves. 
 
 "There she is! There she is!' Uoland kepi on. 'She is bearing- 
 right down upon us ! 
 
 And L$eausire joyfully repeated : 
 
 "What did 1 promise you, eh? Do I know iheir track?" 
 
 Jean said to his mother, in a low voice : 
 
 " Look, mamnia ; she is coming ! 
 
 .Madame Uoland uncovered her eyes, which were blintled by tears. 
 
 Ilie Liirraiiir came on, steaming at lull speed since she had lelt the 
 harbour, under I he lair sky, so clear and calm. lieausire, pointing his 
 glass, cried : 
 
 "Now, look out! .Monsieur Pierr(> is in the stern, staniling alone, 
 well in sight. i^ook out ! 
 
 High up lii^c a inonnlain. rapid as a (rain, the vessel at length s\ve[)t 
 by the I'rr/c. almost lunching her. 
 
 And .Madame Holand, (piite overcome, madly strained her arms towards 
 it, and she saw her son. her son Pierre, his braided cap on ln> heail, 
 waving towards her his farewell kisses with both hands.
 
 Ifi4 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 15ul lie was going away; he was fleeing from her; he gradually disap- 
 peared. He had grown diminutive, blurred, like an imperceptible speck 
 on the mighty vessel. She strove to recognize him still, and could not 
 distinguish him. 
 
 Jean had taken her hand. 
 
 "Did you see him?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, I saw him. How kind he is!" 
 
 They turned back towards the town. 
 
 "Jupiter! What a pace she puts on!" Roland exclaimed, with enthu- 
 siastic conviction. 
 
 Every second, indeed, the steamer grew smaller and smaller, as though 
 it were sinking in the ocean. Madame Roland, keeping her eyes upon 
 it, saw it plunge into the horizon towards an uidcnown land , on the 
 other side of the world. 
 
 On that vessel, whicli nothing could arrest, on that vessel which in a 
 minute she would see no longer, was her son. her poor son. And it 
 seemed to her as though the half of her heart were going with him — 
 seemed to her as though her own life were ended — seemed to her as 
 though she wouhl never see her child again. 
 
 "What are you crying for?" asked her husband. "He will be back 
 in a month. 
 
 "1 don't know," she stammered. "I cry because I am ill." 
 
 When they had lauded, Beausire Icll ihem at once, to go to breakfast 
 with a friend. 
 
 Then Jean went on in front with Madame Rosémillv, and Roland said 
 to his wife : 
 
 "lie is a line-built fellow, don't you know, our Jean!'" 
 
 "Yes," said the mother. 
 
 And she added, too dislurbeil in her mind to think ol what she was 
 saying : 
 
 '■ I am very glad thai he is going to marry Madame i\osémilly." 
 
 The good man was astounded. 
 
 "Go on! What do vou mean? .Marry Madame Rosémillv? '
 
 THE TWO lîHOTIIERS 
 
 165 
 
 "Yes, certainly. We were going to consult you this very day." 
 "What! What! Has this business been spoken of King?" 
 "Oh, dear no! Only a few days. Jean wanted to be sure of her 
 consent before speaking to vou. ' 
 Roland rubbed his hands. 
 
 "Capital! Capital! This is excellent! F'or my part. I perfectiv 
 approve.'" 
 
 As they were about to leave the quay, and pass into the Boulevard 
 François l^reniier. his wife turned round once more, to cast a parting 
 gaze upon the open sea; but all she could detect was a lillle streamer of 
 gray smoke, so far away and so indistinct that it looked like a mist. 
 
 - •' Ktnmêt ^'mmmm
 
 LIST 
 
 ILLUSTIiVTIONS
 
 ''I"' 
 
 LIS1 
 
 ILM STRVTIONS 
 
 The fiill-|);igo illustrations arc by M. A. Lynch, .iikI th.- lica.l ami tail-pieces by M. K. Dukz. 
 
 I. — CH[>C (Ic la Ili'VC (Pi.geT). 
 
 A sea-excmsion (To fare pagi- 12). 
 
 The steps 1)11 lllc (,)liay (T» face page is). 
 I'lic lldlaiNS visit ( To face page 22). 
 
 A basUcI of lisli (Page 2:). 
 
 II. _- -rlic I'oil ;iiiil ('.land <hiay ( Page :)I ). 
 I'iorrc lUl llic Jflly ( To r.we page S'l). 
 
 Tlu' sijrnallin"- slatimi on llic Jfllv (I'ageSo). 
 
 III. — Tlic I'lil.lic (iaidcii (l>ago'.^). 
 
 I'icnc ill tlio Cafe (To ÙHC page :,o). 
 
 Miiclamc luiscmilK |)l()|)nsin^- a loasl (lu fa<e page â(i)- 
 111 llic 1 imdsli'ail (Page oil). 
 
 TV. — Tin' /'r/Vr |)llltill!^- ulll lo sea (PageO:!)- 
 I lir jcwclicl s sll()|) ( Tci face pugo CS). 
 rllc JcllV al lli^ill (T.I fare page 72). 
 rilr iinllllnm^r .111 Ihf jelly (Page 78).
 
 170 THE TWO BROTHERS 
 
 V. — Troiivillo (Pi.n,. 81). 
 
 Tile lilvCnCSS (To face paye 84). 
 I'llf l)(M('tl at TrOUvillc (To face jmgc 88). 
 
 Jii lln' sliadc (Page yt;). 
 
 > I. — l,<nv tide (Pagc9'.i). 
 
 Arrival al Saiiit-.Iouiii (To face page id'i). 
 
 Shrim|)-lisllill{r (To face page lOS). 
 
 Fisliiiij; lacklo (Page 114). 
 
 VII. — The sea from Sainlc-Adresse (Page in). 
 N'isiling Jean's room (To face page 120). 
 
 The confession (To face page 126). 
 
 In the harbour (Page 132). 
 VIII. — A Transalhmtic steamer (Page 13.5). 
 
 Louise (To face page 138). 
 
 The betrothal (To face page I'ii). 
 
 Sainte-Adresse (Page I'lS). 
 
 IX. — The Lorraine leaving port (Page i.^i). 
 
 Pierre's departure from home (To face page i.^fi). 
 
 Farewell ! (To face page 1(12). 
 
 On llie sea (Page I6r>).
 
 THIS EDITION 
 
 THE TWO BUOTHEllS 
 
 II\S BEEN PRINTED 
 
 THE ACCOMPANYING PIATES HAVE ALSO BEEN EN(;R\VED AND PHINTED 
 
 BOUSSOD, VALADOX & G» 
 
 IN TIIKia i: ST An 1. 1 s II M F.N r at ASMlCIt KS-SU n-SEIN k 
 
 IN THE VEAK ISS'.I.
 
 •ry
 
 UlNIVtKSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 J>^
 
 1 tlHÛL 
 
 . ■> j Mau passant - 
 2349 Pierre et Jean 
 P61E 
 1889 
 
 tlHQiRt liUVl 
 
 ^ lybO" 
 
 *P5 
 
 23li5 
 P^IE 
 1889 
 
 I "xq
 
 !i