She remained silent a moment longer, waiting for some remark from
Clotilde, some transition by which she might come to the subject she
wished to touch upon. When she saw that the young girl, occupied in
arranging the papers on her desk, was no longer listening, she came to
a sudden decision, after casting a glance at Martine, who continued
mending the chair, as if she were deaf and dumb.

"Your uncle cut the article out of the _Temps_, then?"

Clotilde smiled calmly.

"Yes, master put it away among his papers. Ah! how many notes he
buries in there! Births, deaths, the smallest event in life,
everything goes in there. And the genealogical tree is there also, our
famous genealogical tree, which he keeps up to date!"

The eyes of old Mme. Rougon flamed. She looked fixedly at the young
girl.

"You know them, those papers?"

"Oh, no, grandmother; master has never spoken to me of them; and he
has forbidden me to touch them."

But she did not believe her.

"Come! you have them under your hands, you must have read them."

Very simple, with her calm rectitude, Clotilde answered, smilingly