Perhaps he
found a strange satisfaction in proving to himself that there was
no hope left; possibly he believed his mother would say: "Yes, you
are right; and death is your only refuge!"
As Madame Ferailleur listened, however, her eyes dilated with fear
and horror, and she scarcely realized whether she were awake or in
the midst of some frightful dream. For this was one of those
unexpected catastrophes which are beyond the range of human
foresight or even imagination, and which her mind could scarcely
conceive or admit. But SHE did not doubt him, even though his
friends had doubted him. Indeed, if he had himself told her that
he was guilty of cheating at cards, she would have refused to
believe him. When his story was ended, she exclaimed: "And you
wished to kill yourself? Did you not think, senseless boy, that
your death would give an appearance of truth to this vile
calumny?"
With a mother's wonderful, sublime instinct, she had found the
most powerful reason that could be urged to induce Pascal to live.
"Did you not feel, my son, that it showed a lack of courage on
your part to brand yourself and your name with eternal infamy, in
order to escape your present sufferings? This thought ought to
have stayed your hand. An honest name is a sacred trust which no
one has a right to abuse. Your father bequeathed it to you, pure
and untarnished, and so you must preserve it. If others try to
cover it with opprobrium, you must live to defend it.
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