But Felicite, grown desperate, did not hear, did not let go her hold
when Pascal entered hastily. He had supposed that some accident had
happened, that some one had fallen, and he stood stupefied at what he
saw--his mother on the chair, her arm still in the air, while Martine
had withdrawn to one side, and Clotilde, very pale, stood waiting,
without turning her head. When he comprehended the scene, he himself
became as white as a sheet. A terrible anger arose within him.

Old Mme. Rougon, however, troubled herself in no wise. When she saw
that the opportunity was lost, she descended from the chair, without
making any illusion whatever to the task at which he had surprised
her.

"Oh, it is you! I do not wish to disturb you. I came to embrace
Clotilde. But here I have been talking for nearly two hours, and I
must run away at once. They will be expecting me at home; they won't
know what has become of me at this hour. Good-by until Sunday."

She went away quite at her ease, after smiling at her son, who stood
before her silent and respectful. It was an attitude that he had long
since adopted, to avoid an explanation which he felt must be cruel,
and which he had always feared. He knew her, he was willing to pardon
her everything, in his broad tolerance as a scientist, who made
allowance for heredity, environment, and circumstances. And, then, was
she not his mother? That ought to have sufficed, for, in spite of the
frightful blows which his researches inflicted upon the family, he
preserved a great affection for those belonging to him.

When his mother was no longer there, his anger burst forth, and fell