“My dear life,” he said, with a gesture of melancholy joy, “if you had withstood him I should greatly have admired you; but weak and feeble, I adore you!”

“Poor, poor Emmanuel; what is left for us?”

“Leave the future to me,” cried the young man, with a radiant look; “we love each other, and all is well.”

CHAPTER XIII

Several months went by in perfect tranquillity.  Monsieur de Solis made Marguerite see that her petty economies would never produce a fortune, and he advised her to live more at ease, by taking all that remained of the sum which Madame Claes had entrusted to him for the comfort and well-being of the household.

During these months Marguerite fell a prey to the anxieties which beset her mother under like circumstances.  However incredulous she might be, she had come to hope in her father’s genius.  By an inexplicable phenomenon, many people have hope when they have no faith.  Hope is the flower of Desire, faith is the fruit of Certainty.  Marguerite said to herself, “If my father succeeds, we shall be happy.”  Claes and Lemulquinier alone said:  “We shall succeed.”  Unhappily, from day to day the Searcher’s face grew sadder.  Sometimes, when he came to dinner he dared not look at his daughter; at other times he glanced at her in triumph.  Marguerite employed her evenings in making young de Solis explain to her many legal points and difficulties.  At last her masculine education was completed; she was evidently preparing herself to execute the plan she had resolved upon if her father were again vanquished in his duel with the Unknown (X).

About the beginning of July, Balthazar spend a whole day sitting on a bench in the garden, plunged in gloomy meditation.  He gazed at the mound now bare of tulips, at the windows of his wife’s chamber; he shuddered, no doubt, as he thought of all that his search had cost him:  his movements betrayed that his thoughts were busy outside of Science.  Marguerite brought her sewing and sat beside him for a while before dinner.

“You have not succeeded, father?”

“No, my child.”

“Ah!” said Marguerite, in a gentle voice.  “I will not say one word of reproach; we are both equally guilty.  I only claim the fulfilment of your promise; it is surely sacred to you—­you are a Claes.  Your children will surround you with love and filial respect; but you now belong to me; you owe me obedience.  Do not be uneasy; my reign will be gentle, and I will endeavor to bring it quickly to an end.  Father, I am going to leave you for a month; I shall be busy with your affairs; for,” she said, kissing him on his brow, “you are now my child.  I take Martha with me; to-morrow Felicie will manage the household.  The poor child is only seventeen, and she will not know how to resist you; therefore be generous, do not ask her for money; she has only enough for the barest necessaries of the household.  Take courage:  renounce your labors and your thoughts for three or four years.  The great problem may ripen towards discovery; by that time I shall have gathered the money that is necessary to solve it,—­and you will solve it.  Tell me, father, your queen is clement, is she not?”