she had seen him only twice, once at Paris and again at Plassans. Yet
his image, refined, elegant, and vivacious, had remained engraven on
her mind; his face had grown hollow, his hair was streaked with silver
threads. But notwithstanding, she found in him still, with his
delicately handsome head, a languid grace, like that of a girl, even
in his premature decrepitude.

"How well you look!" he said simply, as he embraced his sister.

"But," she responded, "to be well one must live in the sunshine. Ah,
how happy it makes me to see you again!"

Pascal, with the eye of the physician, had examined his nephew
critically. He embraced him in his turn.

"Goodday, my boy. And she is right, mind you; one can be well only out
in the sunshine--like the trees."

Felicite had gone hastily to the house. She returned, crying:

"Charles is not here, then?"

"No," said Clotilde. "We went to see him yesterday. Uncle Macquart has
taken him, and he is to remain for a few days at the Tulettes."

Felicite was in despair. She had come only in the certainty of finding
the boy at Pascal's. What was to be done now? The doctor, with his
tranquil air, proposed to write to Uncle Macquart, who would bring him
back in the morning. But when he learned that Maxime wished positively
to go away again by the nine o'clock train, without remaining over