Here
were his hopes; here the heavens contained the only atmosphere in
which his lungs could breathe the breath of life. This alliance of
places and things with men, which is so powerful in feeble natures,
becomes almost tyrannical in men of science and students. To leave his
house was, for Balthazar, to renounce Science, to abandon the Problem,
--it was death.
Marguerite was a prey to anxiety until the breakfast hour. The former
scene in which Balthazar had meant to kill himself came back to her
memory, and she feared some tragic end to the desperate situation in
which her father was placed. She came and went restlessly about the
parlor, and quivered every time the bell or the street-door sounded.
At last Balthazar returned. As he crossed the courtyard Marguerite
studied his face anxiously and could see nothing but an expression of
stormy grief. When he entered the parlor she went towards him to bid
him good-morning; he caught her affectionately round the waist,
pressed her to his heart, kissed her brow, and whispered,--
"I have been to get my passport."
The tones of his voice, his resigned look, his feeble movements,
crushed the poor girl's heart; she turned away her head to conceal her
tears, and then, unable to repress them, she went into the garden to
weep at her ease. During breakfast, Balthazar showed the cheerfulness
of a man who had come to a decision.
"So we are to start for Bretagne, uncle," he said to Monsieur
Conyncks.
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