Thank God, I keep the faith that is behind all faith--the speech of a
man's soul with God. . . . But there, if you can, let us hear what man it
is who disturbs the home of the philosopher. It is not my Fille, that's
sure."
He could not resist teasing, this judge who had a mind of the most rare
uprightness; and he was not always sorry when his teasing hurt; for, to
his mind, men should be lashed into strength, when they drooped over the
tasks of life; and what so sharp a lash as ridicule or satire!
"Proceed, my friend," he urged brusquely, not waiting for the gasp of
pained surprise of the little Clerk to end. He was glad to see the figure
beside him presently straighten itself, as though to be braced for a task
of difficulty. Indignation and resentment were good things to stiffen a
man's back.
"It was three days ago," said M. Fille. "I saw it with my own eyes. I had
come to the Manor Cartier by the road, down the hill--Mont Violet--behind
the house. I could see into the windows of the house. There was no reason
why I should not see--there never has been a reason," he added, as though
to justify himself.
"Of course, of course, my friend. One's eyes are open, and one sees what
one sees, without looking for it. Proceed."
"As I looked down I saw Madame with a man's arms round her, and his lips
to hers. It was not Jean Jacques.
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