The peasants who met him on his homeward way were struck by his singular
demeanor, and felt convinced that some great catastrophe had just
befallen the house of the Baron d'Escorval.
Some bowed; others spoke to him, but he did not see or hear them.
Force of habit--that physical memory which mounts guard when the mind is
far away--brought him back to his home.
His features were so distorted with suffering that Mme. d'Escorval, on
seeing him, was seized with a most sinister presentiment, and dared not
address him.
He spoke first.
"All is over!" he said, hoarsely, "but do not be worried, mother; I have
some courage, as you shall see."
He did, in fact, seat himself at the table with a resolute air. He ate
even more than usual; and his father noticed, without alluding to it,
that he drank much more wine than usual.
He was very pale, his eyes glittered, his gestures were excited, and his
voice was husky. He talked a great deal, and even jested.
"Why will he not weep," thought Mme. d'Escorval; "then I should not be
so much alarmed, and I could try to comfort him.
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