I say even more:
fight against thoughts of Marie-Anne as a traveller on the verge of a
precipice fights against the thought of vertigo."
"Have you seen Marie-Anne, father? Have you spoken to her?"
"I found her even more inflexible than Lacheneur."
"They reject me, and they receive Chanlouineau, perhaps."
"Chanlouineau is living there."
"My God! And Martial de Sairmeuse?"
"He is their familiar guest. I saw him there." That each of these
responses fell upon Maurice like a thunder-bolt was only too evident.
But M. d'Escorval had armed himself with the impassable courage of
a surgeon who does not relax his hold on his instruments because the
patient groans and writhes in agony.
M. d'Escorval wished to extinguish the last ray of hope in the heart of
his son.
"It is evident that Monsieur Lacheneur has lost his reason!" exclaimed
Maurice.
The baron shook his head despondently. "I thought so myself, at first,"
he murmured.
"But what does he say in justification of his conduct? He must say
something."
"Nothing; _he_ refuses any explanation.
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