26 An inexact quotation from Voltaire’s play Mahomet.

"What do you mean, you won't appeal?" she said, raising her voice, her eyes blazing with anger. "And why, if you don't mind telling me?" "Because right now I think I've got courage enough to die, without too many people laughing at my expense. And who can promise that, two months from now, after a long stay in this damp cell, I'll be just as willing? I can see meeting with priests, with my father...Nothing in the world could be as disagreeable. Let me die." This unexpected opposition roused all Mathilde's lofty pride. She hadn't been able to see the vicar-general before the cells were opened: her anger fell on Julien. She adored him but, for a full quarter of an hour, as she cursed his very nature, and swore she regretted ever having loved him, he saw once again the same haughty soul that, in other days, had covered him with such poisonous insults, in the de La Mole library. "Heaven should have glorified your race by making you a man," he said. "But for myself," he thought, "I'd be a wretched fool, believing I could stand two months in this disgusting place, the butt of slanders and humiliations invented by the patricians,27 with my only consolation being the curses of this crazy woman...All right, two mornings from now I'll fight a duel with a fellow known for his calm collectedness and remarkable skill... 'Very remarkable,' said his Mephistophelian side. 'He never misses.' "All right, so be it, fine (Mathilde's eloquence flowed on). Damn it, no," he told himself. "I won't appeal." Having made this decision, he fell into a reverie..."The mail carrier, making his rounds, will bring the newspaper at six o'clock, as usual. At eight, after Monsieur de Rênal has read it, Elisa will go up, on tiptoes, and put it on her bed. Later, she'll wake up: suddenly, as she reads, she'll be upset, her pretty hand will tremble; she'll read as far as: 'At five minutes after ten, he ceased to exist.' "She'll shed hot tears, I know she will. Never mind that I tried to kill her: everything will be forgotten. And she who I wanted to deprive of her life will be the only one honestly crying over my death. "Ah, what an antithesis!" he thought—and for the rest of a long quarter of an hour, as Mathilde went on with her scene, all he thought about was Madame de Rênal. In spite of himself, and even though he often replied to what Mathilde was saying to him, he could not pull his soul away from the memory of her bedroom, in Verrières. He saw the Besançon Gazette lying on the orange taffeta quilt. He saw that whitest of white hands clutching it, in a convulsive movement. He saw Madame de Rênal weeping...He followed the path of each of her tears, down that charming face... Unable to get anything out of Julien, Mademoiselle de La Mole had the lawyer brought in. Luckily he had been a captain in the army, during the Italian campaign of 1796, where he had been the illustrious Jacques Manuel's28 comrade. Good form required him to oppose the condemned man's decision. Wishing to treat him respectfully, Julien set out all his reasons. "On my faith, it's possible to think that way," Monsieur Félix Vaneau—that being the lawyer's name—finally said. "But you have three full days to file an appeal, and it's my duty to return on each of those days. Then, if a volcano erupted under the prison, you'd be saved. You could die of illness," he said, watching Julien. Julien shook his hand. "Let me thank you. You're a thoroughly decent man. I'll think about it."