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"
This
very
instant
,
odds
life
,
"
exclaimed
M
.
de
Rênal
,
transported
with
rage
and
yet
happier
than
he
had
been
for
twelve
hours
.
"
Will
you
swear
to
me
,
"
said
Madame
de
Rênal
quite
gravely
,
"
never
to
quarrel
with
the
director
of
the
workhouse
about
these
letters
?
"
"
Quarrel
or
no
quarrel
,
I
can
take
those
foundlings
away
from
him
,
but
,
"
he
continued
furiously
,
"
I
want
those
letters
at
once
.
Where
are
they
?
"
"
In
a
drawer
in
my
secretary
,
but
I
shall
certainly
not
give
you
the
key
.
"
"
I
’
ll
manage
to
break
it
,
"
he
cried
,
running
towards
his
wife
’
s
room
.
He
did
break
in
fact
with
a
bar
of
iron
a
costly
secretary
of
veined
mahogany
which
came
from
Paris
and
which
he
had
often
been
accustomed
to
wipe
with
the
nap
of
his
coat
,
when
he
thought
he
had
detected
a
spot
.
Madame
de
Rênal
had
climbed
up
at
a
run
the
hundred
and
twenty
steps
of
the
dovecot
.
She
tied
the
corner
of
a
white
handkerchief
to
one
of
the
bars
of
iron
of
the
little
window
.
She
was
the
happiest
of
women
.
With
tears
in
her
eyes
she
looked
towards
the
great
mountain
forest
.
"
Doubtless
,
"
she
said
to
herself
,
"
Julien
is
watching
for
this
happy
signal
.
"
She
listened
attentively
for
a
long
time
and
then
she
cursed
the
monotonous
noise
of
the
grasshopper
and
the
song
of
the
birds
.
"
Had
it
not
been
for
that
importunate
noise
,
a
cry
of
joy
starting
from
the
big
rocks
could
have
arrived
here
.
"
Her
greedy
eye
devoured
that
immense
slope
of
dark
verdure
which
was
as
level
as
a
meadow
.
"
Why
isn
’
t
he
clever
enough
,
"
she
said
to
herself
,
quite
overcome
,
"
to
invent
some
signal
to
tell
me
that
his
happiness
is
equal
to
mine
?
"
She
only
came
down
from
the
dovecot
when
she
was
frightened
of
her
husband
coming
there
to
look
for
her
.
She
found
him
furious
.
He
was
perusing
the
soothing
phrases
of
M
.
