people have not the same ideas, it is certainly better not to talk
about them."

An embarrassed silence followed; this was the one difference of
opinion which, at times, brought about disagreements among these three
united beings who led so restricted a life. Martine was only
twenty-nine, a year older than the doctor, when she entered his house,
at the time when he made his _debut_ as a physician at Plassans, in a
bright little house of the new town. And thirteen years later, when
Saccard, a brother of Pascal, sent him his daughter Clotilde, aged
seven, after his wife's death and at the moment when he was about to
marry again, it was she who brought up the child, taking it to church,
and communicating to it a little of the devout flame with which she
had always burned; while the doctor, who had a broad mind, left them
to their joy of believing, for he did not feel that he had the right
to interdict to any one the happiness of faith; he contented himself
later on with watching over the young girl's education and giving her
clear and sound ideas about everything. For thirteen years, during
which the three had lived this retired life at La Souleiade, a small
property situated in the outskirts of the town, a quarter of an hour's
walk from St. Saturnin, the cathedral, his life had flowed happily
along, occupied in secret great works, a little troubled, however, by
an ever increasing uneasiness--the collision, more and more violent,
every day, between their beliefs.

Pascal took a few turns gloomily up and down the room. Then, like a
man who did not mince his words, he said:

"See, my dear, all this phantasmagoria of mystery has turned your
pretty head. Your good God had no need of you; I should have kept you