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Updated: May 17, 2025
She let her work fall, and raised her eyes, looking very pale. "Ah!" she said, "so you have made up your mind." "Yes, irrevocably. At four o'clock I shall be yonder, and it will all be over." "'Tis well you are the master." Silence fell, terrible silence. Guillaume's voice seemed to come from far away, from somewhere beyond the world.
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.
Directly Bertheroy perceived Pierre he came forward, pressed his hand and seated him on a chair beside Guillaume's son Francois, who had been one of the first arrivals. The young man was completing his third year at the Ecole Normale, close by, so he only had a few steps to take to call upon his master Bertheroy, whom he regarded as one of the firmest minds of the age.
Then he sallied forth, without even turning round, and for a moment they could hear the firm tread of his feet over the garden gravel. As a matter of fact there was no need for him to dog Guillaume's heels, for he knew where his brother was going.
That same day Janzen and Bache came to spend the evening with Guillaume. Once a week they now met at Montmartre, as they had formerly done at Neuilly. Pierre, on these occasions, went home very late, for as soon as Mere-Grand, Marie, and Guillaume's sons had retired for the night, there were endless chats in the workroom, whence Paris could be seen spangled with thousands of gas lights.
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.
In a corner, on the left, Guillaume's dwelling, which had been whitewashed during the previous spring, showed its bright frontage and five lifeless windows, for all its life was on the other, the garden, side, which overlooked Paris and the far horizon. Pierre mustered his courage and, pulling a brass knob which glittered like gold, rang the bell.
Mere-Grand, fortunately, was still there, erect and courageous; the household retained its queen, and in her the children found a manageress and teacher, schooled in adversity and heroism. Two years passed; and then came an addition to the family. A young woman, Marie Couturier, the daughter of one of Guillaume's friends, suddenly entered it.
Just come with me and I'll show it you." Thereupon he insisted on taking them to his private studio, which was near by, just below Guillaume's little house. It was entered by way of the Rue du Calvaire, a street which is simply a succession of ladder-like flights of steps.
The Captain reflected, taking as long as he decently could over the task. Indeed he was in trouble. Guillaume's scheme was sagacious, Guillaume's position very strong. And at last Guillaume grew impatient. But still the persistent candle burnt. "I give you one minute to make up your mind," said Guillaume, dropping his tone of sarcastic pleasantry, and speaking in a hard, sharp voice.
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