knew, that torturing conjugal life in Paris between a fierce
mother-in-law and an unworthy husband, and then those three days of
complete liberty spent at Lourdes, that brief bonfire of passion to which
she had hastened under the sacrilegious pretext of serving the divinity.
Tears whose cause he could not even explain, tears that ascended from the
very depths of his being, from his own voluntary chastity, welled into
his eyes amidst the feeling of intense sorrow which came over him.

"Well, are you ready?" joyously called M. de Guersaint as he came back,
with his grey jacket buttoned up and his hands gloved.

"Yes, yes, let us go," replied Pierre, turning aside and pretending to
look for his hat so that he might wipe his eyes.

Then they went out, and on crossing the threshold heard on their left
hand an unctuous voice which they recognised; it was that of M. Vigneron,
who was loudly repeating the morning prayers. A moment afterwards came a
meeting which interested them. They were walking down the passage when
they were passed by a middle-aged, thick-set, sturdy-looking gentleman,
wearing carefully trimmed whiskers. He bent his back and passed so
rapidly that they were unable to distinguish his features, but they
noticed that he was carrying a carefully made parcel. And immediately
afterwards he slipped a key into the lock of the room adjoining M. de
Guersaint's, and opening the door disappeared noiselessly, like a shadow.

M. de Guersaint had glanced round: "Ah! my neighbour," said he; "he has
been to market and has brought back some delicacies, no doubt!"

Pierre pretended not to hear, for his companion was so light-minded that
he did not care to trust him with a secret which was not his own.