He took off his hat as though he was
about to greet some important person, or to receive sentence in a court.
Instinctively he felt the little book of philosophy which he always
carried now in his breast-pocket, as a pietist would finger his beads in
moments of fear or anxiety. The Clerk of the Court passed his thin hand
over his hair, as he was wont to do in court when the Judge began his
charge to the Jury, and then with an action more impulsive than was usual
with him, he held out his hand, and Jean Jacques grasped it. Something
was bringing them together just when it seemed that, in the storm of Jean
Jacques' indignation, they were about to fall apart. M. Fille's eyes said
as plainly as words could do, "Courage, my friend!"
Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! The knocking was sharp and imperative now. The
Clerk of the Court went quickly forward and threw open the door.
There stepped inside the widow of Palass Poucette. She had a letter in
her hand. "M'sieu', pardon, if I intrude," she said to M. Fille; "but I
heard that M'sieu' Jean Jacques was here. I have news for him."
"News!" repeated Jean Jacques, and he looked like a man who was waiting
for what he feared to hear. "They told me at the post-office that you
were here. I got the letter only a quarter of an hour ago, and I thought
I would go at once to the Manor Cartier and tell M'sieu' Jean Jacques
what the letter says.
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