"Your duty was to flee. You are the lowest of men."
Julien approached the table and wrote:
"I have found my life unbearable for a long time; I am putting an end to it.
I request monsieur the marquis to accept my apologies (together with the expression of my infinite gratitude) for any embarrassment that may be occasioned by my death in his hotel."
"Kindly run your eye over this paper, M. the marquis," said Julien. "Kill me, or have me killed by your valet.
It is one o'clock in the morning. I will go and walk in the garden in the direction of the wall at the bottom."
"Go to the devil," cried the marquis, as he went away.
"I understand," thought Julien. "He would not be sorry if I were to spare his valet the trouble of killing me.... "Let him kill me, if he likes; it is a satisfaction which I offer him.... But, by heaven, I love life. I owe it to my son."
This idea, which had not previously presented itself with so much definiteness to his imagination, completely engrossed him during his walk after the first few minutes which he had spent thinking about his danger.
This novel interest turned him into a prudent man.
"I need advice as to how to behave towards this infuriated man.... He is devoid of reason; he is capable of everything.
Fouque is too far away; besides, he would not understand the emotions of a heart like the marquis's."
"Count Altamira ... am I certain of eternal silence?
My request for advice must not be a fresh step which will raise still further complications.
Alas!
I have no one left but the gloomy abbe Pirard. His mind is crabbed by Jansenism.... A damned Jesuit would know the world, and would be more in my line. M. Pirard is capable of beating me at the very mention of my crime."
The genius of Tartuffe came to Julien's help.
"Well, I will go and confess to him."
This was his final resolution after having walked about in the garden for two good hours.
He no longer thought about being surprised by a gun shot. He was feeling sleepy.
Very early the next day, Julien was several leagues away from Paris and knocked at the door of the severe Jansenist.
He found to his great astonishment that he was not unduly surprised at his confidence.
"I ought perhaps to reproach myself," said the abbe, who seemed more anxious than irritated.
"I thought I guessed that love.
My affection for you, my unhappy boy, prevented me from warning the father."
"What will he do?" said Julien keenly.
At that moment he loved the abbe, and would have found a scene between them very painful.
"I see three alternatives," continued Julien.
"M. de la Mole can have me put to death," and he mentioned the suicide letter which he had left with the Marquis; (2) "He can get Count Norbert to challenge me to a duel, and shoot at me point blank."
"You would accept?" said the abbe furiously as he got up.
"You do not let me finish.
I should certainly never fire upon my benefactor's son. (3) He can send me away.
If he says go to Edinburgh or New York, I will obey him.
They can then conceal mademoiselle de la Mole's condition, but I will never allow them to suppress my son."
"Have no doubt about it, that will be the first thought of that depraved man."
At Paris, Mathilde was in despair.
She had seen her father about seven o'clock.
He had shown her Julien's letter. She feared that he might have considered it noble to put an end to his life; "and without my permission?" she said to herself with a pain due solely to her anger.
"If he dies I shall die," she said to her father.
"It will be you who will be the cause of his death.... Perhaps you will rejoice at it but I swear by his shades that I shall at once go into mourning, and shall publicly appear as Madame the widow Sorel, I shall send out my invitations, you can count on it.... You will find me neither pusillanimous nor cowardly."
Her love went to the point of madness.
M. de la Mole was flabbergasted in his turn.
He began to regard what had happened with a certain amount of logic.
Mathilde did not appear at breakfast.
The marquis felt an immense weight off his mind, and was particularly flattered when he noticed that she had said nothing to her mother.
Julien was dismounting from his horse. Mathilde had him called and threw herself into his arms almost beneath the very eyes of her chambermaid.
Julien was not very appreciative of this transport. He had come away from his long consultation with the abbe Pirard in a very diplomatic and calculating mood.
The calculation of possibilities had killed his imagination.
Mathilde told him, with tears in her eyes, that she had read his suicide letter.
"My father may change his mind; do me the favour of leaving for Villequier this very minute. Mount your horse again, and leave the hotel before they get up from table."