I found it impossible to concentrate my attention on the case
concerning which I was consulted; I could no longer express myself with
lucidity. Outwardly sedate, reliable, I sat at my desk dizzied by such
visions as pursued St. Anthony to his cell. No sooner was I free than I
fled from Vernon, dined in Paris, bought a false beard, and plunged
wildly into the vortex of a dancing-hall. Scoundrel! This is past
pardon! My sensibilities revolt, and my prudence shudders. Who shall
say but that one night I may be recognised? Who can foretell to what
blackmail you may expose me? I, Maitre Lapalme, forbid your
profligacies, which devolve upon me; I forbid--etc.
Such admissions my brother sent to me in a disguised hand, and
unsigned; perhaps he feared that his blackmailer might prove to be
myself! Typewriting was not yet general in France.
Our mother still lived at Vernon, where she contemplated her favourite
son's success with the profoundest pride. Occasionally I spent a few
days with her; sometimes even more, for she always pressed me to
remain. I think she pressed me to remain, not from any pleasure in my
society, but because she knew that while I was at home I could commit
no actions that would corrupt Gregoire. One summer, when I visited her,
I met mademoiselle Leuillet.
Mademoiselle Leuillet was the daughter of a widower, a neighbour. I
remembered that when our servant first announced her, I thought, "What
a nuisance; how bored I am going to be!" And then she came in, and in
an instant I was spellbound.
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