of liberty, of handsome costumes, of secure, happy,
triumphant life.
But I must buy the little café," he says to me. "I cannot let such an opportunity go by. And he Revolution comes? Think of it, Célestine; that means fortune right away. And who knows? The Revolution—ah! bear that in mind—is the best thing possible for the cafés."
"Buy it, at any rate. If it is not I, it will be somebody else."
"No, no, it must be you. Nobody else will do. I am crazy over you. But you distrust me."
"No, Joseph, I assure you."
"Yes, yes; you have bad ideas about me."
I do not know, no, really, I do not know, where, at that moment, I found the courage to ask him:
"Well, Joseph, tell me that it was you who outraged the little Claire in the woods."
Joseph received the shock with extraordinary tranquillity. He simply shrugged his shoulders, swayed back and forth a few seconds, and then, giving a hitch to his pantaloons, which had slipped a little, he answered, simply:
"You see? Did I not tell you so? I know your thoughts; I know everything that goes on in your mind."
His voice was softer, but his look had become so terrifying that it was impossible for me to articulate a word.
