. . His
cowardice angered him. Like a thief taking advantage of the sleep of his
victim, he was stalking around this brave and true man who could not
see him, who could not defend himself, in order to rob him of the only
affection that he had in the world which had so miraculously returned to
him! Very well, Gentleman Desnoyers! . . . Ah, what a scoundrel he was!
Such subconscious insults made him draw himself erect, in haughty, cruel
and inexorable defiance against that other I who so richly deserved the
judge's scorn.
He turned his head away; he could not meet Marguerite's piteous eyes; he
feared their mute reproach. Neither did he dare to look at the blind man
in his shabby and heroic uniform, with his countenance aged by duty and
glory. He feared him like remorse.
So the vanquished lover turned his back on the two and went away with a
firm step. Good-bye, Love! Goodbye, Happiness! . . . He marched quickly
and bravely on; a miracle had just taken place within him! he had found
the right road at last!
To Paris! . . . A new impetus was going to fill the vacuum of his
objectless existence.
CHAPTER V
THE INVASION
Don Marcelo was fleeing to take refuge in his castle when he met the
mayor of Villeblanche. The noise of the firing had made him hurry to the
barricade. When he learned of the apparition of the group of stragglers
he threw up his hands in despair.
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