The Toulon coach, which passed through Les Tulettes, where it changed horses, left Plassans at three o\'clock. Marthe, goaded on by a fixed, unswerving resolve, was anxious not to lose a moment. She put on her shawl and hat, and ordered Rose to dress immediately.

\'I can\'t tell what madame\'s after,\' said the cook to Olympe: \'but I fancy we\'re going away for some days.\'

Marthe left the keys in the cupboard doors; she was in a hurry to be off. Olympe, who went with her to the front door, vainly tried to ascertain where she was going and how long she would be away.

\'Well, make yourself quite easy,\' she said to her in her pleasant way, as they parted; \'I will look after everything, you will find things all right when you come back. Don\'t hurry yourself, take the time to do all you want. If you go to Marseilles, bring us back some fresh shell-fish.\'

Before Marthe had turned the corner of the Rue Taravelle, Olympe had taken possession of the whole house. When Trouche came home he found his wife banging the doors and examining the contents of the drawers and closets, as she hummed and sang and rushed about the rooms.

\'She\'s gone off and taken that beast of a cook with her,\' she cried to him as she lolled into an easy-chair. \'What luck it would be if they should both get upset into a ditch and stop there! Well, we must enjoy ourselves for as long as we have the chance. It\'s very nice being alone, isn\'t it, Honoré? Come and give me a kiss! We are quite by ourselves now, and we can do just as we like.\'

Marthe and Rose reached the Cours Sauvaire only just in[Pg 293] time to catch the Toulon coach. The coupé was disengaged. When the cook heard her mistress tell the conductor to set them down at Les Tulettes, she took her place with an expression of vexation, and before the coach had got out of the town she had begun grumbling in her cross-grained fashion.

\'Well, I did think that you were at last going to behave sensibly! I felt sure that we were going to Marseilles to see Monsieur Octave. We could have brought back a lobster and some oysters. Ah! I shouldn\'t have hurried myself so if I had known. But it\'s just like you. You are always hunting after troubles, and always doing things that upset you.\'

Marthe was lying back in her corner in a semi-conscious condition. Now that she was no longer stiffening herself against the pains which oppressed her heart, a death-like faintness was creeping over her. But the cook did not even look towards her.

\'Did anyone ever hear of such an absurd idea as going to see the master?\' she continued. \'A cheerful sort of sight it will be for us. We sha\'n\'t be able to sleep for a week after it. You may be as frightened as you like at nights, now; you won\'t get me to come and look under the furniture for you. It isn\'t as though your going to see him could do the master any good. He\'s just as likely to fly at your face as not! I hope to goodness that they won\'t let you see him. It\'s against the rules, I know. I ought not to have got into the coach when I heard you mention Les Tulettes, for I don\'t think you would have ventured to go on such a foolish errand all by yourself.\'

A deep sigh from Marthe checked her flow of words. She turned round to her mistress, saw her pale and suffocating, and grew still angrier than before as she opened the window to let in some fresh air.

\'There now, you\'ll have to come and lie in my arms! Don\'t you think you\'d have been ever so much better in bed, taking care of yourself? To think that you have had the good fortune to be surrounded by pious, holy people without being the least bit grateful to God Almighty for it! You know it\'s only the truth I\'m saying. His reverence the Curé and his mother and sister, and even Monsieur Trouche himself, are all attention towards you. They would throw themselves into the fire for you; they are ready to do anything at any hour of the day or night. I saw Madame Olympe crying—yes,[Pg 294] crying—the last time you were ill. And what sort of gratitude do you show them for all their kindness and attention? Why, you do all you can to distress them, and set off on the sly to see the master, although you know quite well that you will grieve them dreadfully by doing so, for it\'s impossible that they should be fond of the master, who treated you so cruelly. I\'ll tell you what, madame—marriage has done you no good; you\'ve got infected with all the master\'s bad nature. There are times when you are every bit as bad as he is.\'

All the way to Les Tulettes she continued in this strain, eulogising the Faujases and the Trouches, and accusing her mistress of every kind of wrong-doing. And she concluded by saying:

\'Ah, they are the sort of people who would make excellent masters if they could only afford to keep servants. But fortune merely comes in the way of bad-hearted folks!\'

Marthe, who was now calmer, made no reply. She gazed out of the window, watching the scraggy trees and the wide-stretching fields which spread out like great lengths of brown cloth. Rose\'s growlings were lost amidst the noisy jolting of the coach.

When they reached Les Tulettes, Marthe hastened towards the house of her uncle Macquart, followed by the cook, who had now subsided into silence, contenting herself by shrugging her shoulders and biting her lips.

\'Hallo! is that you?\' cried the uncle in great surprise. \'I thought you were in your bed. I heard that you were very ill. Well, my little dear, you really don\'t look very strong. Have you come to ask me for some dinner?\'

\'I should like to see Fran?ois, uncle,\' said Marthe.

\'Fran?ois?\' repeated Macquart, looking her in the face. \'You would like to see Fran?ois? It is a very kind thought of yours. The poor fellow has been crying for you a great deal. I have seen him from the end of my garden knocking his fist against the walls while he called for you to come to him. And so it is to see him that you have come, eh? I really thought that you had forgotten all about him over yonder.\'

Big tears welled into Marthe\'s eyes.

\'It will not be very easy to see him to-day,\' Macquart continued. \'It is getting on for four o\'clock, and I\'m not at all sure that the manager will give you leave. Mouret hasn\'t[Pg 295] been very quiet lately. He smashes everything that he can lay his hands on, and talks about burning the place down. Those madmen are not in a pleasant humour every day.\'

Marthe trembled as she listened to her uncle; she was going to question him, but instead of doing so she merely stretched out her hands supplicatingly.

\'I beseech you to help me,\' said she. \'I have come on purpose. It is absolutely necessary that I should speak to Fran?ois to-day, at once. You have friends in the asylum, and you can obtain me admission.\'

\'No doubt, no doubt,\' he replied, without committing himself further.

He appeared to be in a state of great perplexity, unable to divine the real cause of Marthe\'s sudden journey, and revolving the matter in his own mind from a point of view known only to himself. He glanced inquisitively at the cook, who turned her back upon him. At last a slight smile began to play about his lips.

\'Well,\' he said, \'since you wish it, I will see what I can do for you. Only, remember, that if your mother is displeased about it, you must tell her that I was not able to dissuade you. I am afraid that you may do yourself harm; it isn\'t a pleasant place to visit.\'

Rose absolutely declined to accompany them to the asylum. She had seated herself in front of a fire of vine-stocks, which was blazing on the great hearth.

\'I don\'t want to have my eyes torn out,\' she said snappishly. \'The master isn\'t over fond of me. I would rather stop here and warm myself.\'

\'It would be very good of you if you were to get us some mulled wine ready,\' Macquart whispered in her ear. \'The wine and sugar are in the cupboard yonder. We shall want it when we come back.\'

Macquart did not take his niece to the principal gate of the asylum. He went round to the left and inquired at a little door for warder Alexandre, with whom, on his appearance, he exchanged a few words in a low voice. Then they all three silently entered the seemingly interminable corridors. The warder walked in front.

\'I will wait for you here,\' said Macquart, coming to a halt in a little courtyard. \'Alexandre will remain with you.\'

\'I would rather be left alone,\' said Marthe.

\'Madame would very quickly have enough of it, if she[Pg 296] were,\' Alexandre replied, with a tranquil smile. \'I\'m running a good deal of risk as it is.\'

He took Marthe through another court, and stopped in front of a little door. As he softly turned the key, he said in a low voice:

\'Don\'t be afraid. He has been quieter to-day, and they have been able to take the strait-waistcoat off. If he shows any violence you must step out backwards, and leave me alone with him.\'

Marthe trembled as she passed through the narrow doorway. At first she could only see something lying in a heap against the wall in one of the corners. The daylight was waning, and the cell was merely lighted by a pale glimmer which fell from a grated window.

\'Well, my fine fellow!\' Alexandre exclaimed familiarly, as he stepped up to Mouret and tapped him on the shoulder; \'I am bringing you a visitor. I hope you will behave properly.\'

Then he returned and leant against the door, keeping his eyes fixed upon the madman. Mouret slowly rose to his feet. He did not show the slightest sign of surprise.

\'Is it you, my dear?\' he said in his quiet voice. \'I was expecting you; I was getting uneasy about the children.\'

Marthe\'s knees trembled under her, and she looked at him anxiously, rendered quite speechless by his affectionate reception. He did not appear changed at all. If anything, he looked better than he had done before. He was sleek and plump, and cleanly shaved. His eyes, too, were bright; all his former little mannerisms had reappeared, and he rubbed his hands and winked, and stalked about with his old bantering air.

\'I am very well indeed, my dear. We can go back home together. You have come for me, haven\'t you? I hope the garden has been well looked after. The slugs were dreadfully fond of the lettuces, and the beds were quite eaten up with them, but I know a way of destroying them. I have some splendid ideas in my head that I\'ll tell you of. We are very comfortably off, and we can afford to pay for our fancies. By the way, have you seen old Gautier of Saint-Eutrope while I\'ve been absent? I bought thirty hogsheads of common wine from him for blending. I must go and see him to-morrow. You never recollect anything.\'

He spoke in a jesting way, and shook his finger at her playfully.

[Pg 297]

\'I\'ll be bound that I shall find everything in dreadful disorder,\' he continued. \'You never look after anything. The tools will be all lying about, the cupboard doors will be open, and Rose will be dirtying the rooms with her broom. Why hasn\'t Rose come with you? Ah, what a strange creature she is! Do you know, she actually wanted to turn me out of the house one day? Really, she seems to think that the whole place belongs to her. She goes on in the most amusing way possible. But you don\'t tell me anything about the children. Désirée is still with her nurse, I suppose. We will go and kiss her and see if she is tired of staying there. And I want to go to Marseilles as well, for I am a little uneasy about Octave. The last time I was there I found him leading a wild life. As for Serge, I have no anxiety about him; he is almost too quiet and steady. He will sanctify the whole family. Ah! I quite enjoy talking about the house and the children.\'

He rattled along at great length, inquiring about every tree in his garden, going into the minutest details of the household arrangements, and showing an extraordinary memory of a host of insignificant matters. Marthe was deeply touched by the gentle affection which he manifested for her. She thought she could detect a loving delicacy in the care which he took to say nothing that savoured of reproach, to make no allusion, however slight, to all that had passed. She felt, indeed, that she was forgiven, and she vowed that she would atone for her crime by becoming the submissive servant of this man who was so sublime in his good nature. Big silent tears rolled down her cheeks, and her knees bent under her in her gratitude.

\'Take care!\' the warder whispered in her ear. \'I don\'t like the look of his eyes.\'

\'But he isn\'t mad!\' she stammered; \'I swear to you that he isn\'t mad! I must speak to the manager. I want to take him away with me at once.\'

\'Take care!\' the warder repeated sharply, pulling her by her arm.

Mouret had suddenly stopped short in the midst of his chatter, and was now crouching upon the floor. Then, all at once, he began to crawl along beside the wall, on his hands and knees.

\'Wow! wow!\' he barked in hoarse, prolonged notes.

He gave a spring into the air and fell upon his side.[Pg 298] Then a dreadful scene ensued. He began to writhe like a worm, beat his face with his fist, and tore his flesh with his nails. In a short time he was half naked, his clothes in rags, and himself bruised and lacerated and groaning.

\'Come away, madame, come away!\' cried the warder.

Marthe stood rooted to the floor. She recognised in the scene before her her own writhings at home. It was in that way that she had thrown herself upon the floor of her bedroom; it was in that way that she had beaten and torn herself. She even recognised the very tones of her voice. Mouret vented the same rattling groan. It was she who had brought the poor man into this miserable state.

\'He is not mad!\' she stammered; \'he cannot be mad, it would be too horrible! I would rather die!\'

The warder put his arm round her and pushed her out of the cell, but she remained leaning against the door on the other side. She could hear a terrible struggle going on within, screams like those of a pig being slaughtered; then a dull fall like that of a bundle of damp linen, and afterwards death-like silence. When the warder came out of the cell, the night had nearly fallen. Through the partially open doorway, Marthe could see nothing.

\'Well, upon my word, madame,\' cried the warder, \'you are a very queer person to say that he is not mad. I nearly left my thumb behind me; he got firmly hol............