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Updated: May 17, 2025
And so Guillaume's feelings of humanity and justice revolted, for he knew the real Salvat, a man of tender heart and dreamy mind, so liable to be impassioned by fancies, a man cast into life when a child without weapon of defence, ever trodden down or thrust aside, then gradually exasperated by the perpetual onslaughts of want, and at last dreaming of reviving the golden age by destroying the old, corrupt world.
And so Guillaume's feelings of humanity and justice revolted, for he knew the real Salvat, a man of tender heart and dreamy mind, so liable to be impassioned by fancies, a man cast into life when a child without weapon of defence, ever trodden down or thrust aside, then gradually exasperated by the perpetual onslaughts of want, and at last dreaming of reviving the golden age by destroying the old, corrupt world.
She flushed and murmured: "The murderer went to the pantry at M. Guillaume's and drank half a bottle of wine straight out of the bottle, which shows my husband's fingerprints." It seemed as though her strength was exhausted and as though, at the same time, the unconscious hope which Renine's intervention had awakened in her had suddenly vanished before the accumulation of adverse facts.
Thus Guillaume's sole companion was Mere-Grand, who sat near the window busy with her needlework; for Marie was ever going about the house, and only stayed in the workroom for any length of time when Pierre happened to be there. Guillaume's gloom was generally attributed to the feelings of anger and revolt into which the condemnation of Salvat had thrown him.
One afternoon, just as Thomas was about to repair to the Grandidier works, some one came to Guillaume's with the news that old Toussaint, the workman, had been stricken with a fresh attack of paralysis. Thomas thereupon decided that he would call upon the poor fellow on his way, for he held him in esteem and wished to ascertain if he could render him any help.
FIFTEEN months later, one fine golden day in September, Bache and Theophile Morin were taking /dejeuner/ at Guillaume's, in the big workroom overlooking the immensity of Paris. Near the table was a cradle with its little curtains drawn. Behind them slept Jean, a fine boy four months old, the son of Pierre and Marie.
But now he seized Guillaume's revolver, and dragged the old fellow out of the hut. Then he sat down on his chest, pinning his arms together on the ground above his head. "You enjoyed playing your mouse just a trifle too long, old cat," said he. Guillaume lay very still, exhausted, beaten, and defenceless. Dieppe released his hands, and, rising, stood looking down at him. A smile came on his face.
Pierre did not argue with himself that day: he took a cab and gave Guillaume's address to the driver for fear lest he should be overcome on the way and wish to turn back. And when he again found himself, as in a dream, in the large work-shop, where Guillaume and the young men welcomed him in a delicately affectionate way, he witnessed an unexpected scene which both impressed and relieved him.
When they rose from table Pierre was absolutely determined to go off. The cordial and simple meal, the sight of that family, which had been rendered so happy by Guillaume's return, and of that young woman who smiled so placidly at life, had brought him keen suffering, though why he could not tell.
Pierre did not argue with himself that day: he took a cab and gave Guillaume's address to the driver for fear lest he should be overcome on the way and wish to turn back. And when he again found himself, as in a dream, in the large work-shop, where Guillaume and the young men welcomed him in a delicately affectionate way, he witnessed an unexpected scene which both impressed and relieved him.
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