Was it, indeed, necessary that the morning after this meeting with Corentin a visit from Madame Lambert, now become an exacting and importunate creditor, should come to bear its weight on la Peyrade’s determination?  As the great chief had pointed out to him the night before, was there not in his nature, in his mind, in his aspirations, in the mistakes and imprudences of his past life, a sort of irresistible incline which drew him down toward the strange solution of existence thus suddenly offered to him?

Fatality, if we may so call it, was lavish of the inducements to which he was destined to succumb.  This day was the 31st of October; the vacation of the Palais was just over.  The 2nd of November was the day on which the courts reopened, and as Madame Lambert left his room he received a summons to appear on that day before the Council of his order.

To Madame Lambert, who pressed him sharply to repay her, under pretence that she was about to leave Monsieur Picot and return to her native place, he replied:  “Come here the day after to-morrow, at the same hour, and your money will be ready for you.”

To the summons to give account of his actions to his peers he replied that he did not recognize the right of the Council to question him on the facts of his private life.  That was an answer of one sort, certainly.  Inevitably it would result in his being stricken from the roll of the barristers of the Royal courts; but, at least, it had an air of dignity and protestation which saved, in a measure, his self-love.

Finally, he wrote a letter to Thuillier, in which he said that his visit to du Portail had resulted in his being obliged to accept another marriage.  He therefore returned to Thuillier his promise, and took back his own.  All this was curtly said, without the slightest expression of regret for the marriage he renounced.  In a postscript he added:  “We shall be obliged to discuss my position on the newspaper,” —­indicating that it might enter into his plans not to retain it.

He was careful to make a copy of this letter, and an hour later, when, in Corentin’s study, he was questioned as to the result of his night’s reflections, he gave that great general, for all answer, the matrimonial resignation he had just despatched.

“That will do,” said Corentin.  “But as for your position on the newspaper, you may perhaps have to keep it for a time.  The candidacy of that fool interferes with the plans of the government, and we must manage in some way to trip up the heels of the municipal councillor.  In your position as editor-in-chief you may find a chance to do it, and I think your conscience won’t kick at the mission.”

“No, indeed!” said la Peyrade, “the thought of the humiliations to which I have been so long subjected will make it a precious joy to lash that bourgeois brood.”