“To reflect!  You want to reflect before taking over a family practice, which has been destined for you since you were an infant, in view of which you have been working for five years, and which I have nursed for you, I, your uncle, as if you had been my son?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Don’t be a fool!  You can reflect at Bourges quite as well as here.  Your object in staying here is to see her again.”

“It is not.”

“To wander like a troubled spirit up and down her street.  By the way, which is her street?”

“Rue de l’Universite.”

My uncle took out his pocketbook and made a note, “Charnot, Rue de l’Universite.”  Then all his features expanded.  He gave a snort, which I understood, for I had often heard it in court at Bourges, where it meant, “There is no escape now.  Old Mouillard has cornered his man.”

My uncle replaced his pencil in its case, and his notebook in his pocket, and merely added: 

“Fabien, you’re not yourself to-night.  We’ll talk of the matter another time.  Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”  He was counting on his fingers.  “These return tickets are very convenient; I need not leave before to-morrow evening.  And, what’s more, you’ll go with me, my boy.”

M. Mouillard talked only on indifferent subjects during our brief walk from the Rue Soufflot to catch the omnibus at the Odeon.  There he shook me by the hand and sprang nimbly into the first bus.  A lady in black, with veil tightly drawn over a little turned up nose, seeing my uncle burst in like a bomb, and make for the seat beside her, hurriedly drew in the folds of her dress, which were spread over the seat.  My uncle noticed her action, and, fearing he had been rude, bent over toward her with an affable expression.  “Do not disturb yourself, Madame.  I am not going all the way to Batignolles; no farther, indeed, than the Boulevards.  I shall inconvenience you for a few moments only, a very few moments, Madame.”  I had time to remark that the lady, after giving her neighbor a glance of Juno-like disdain, turned her back upon him, and proceeded to study the straps hanging from the roof.

The brake was taken off, the conductor whistled, the three horses, their hoofs hammering the pavement, strained for an instant amid showers of sparks, and the long vehicle vanished down the Rue de Vaugirard, bearing with it Brutus and his fortunes.

CHAPTER X

A FAMILY BREACH

May 10th.

It is an awful fate to be the nephew of M. Mouillard!  I always knew he was obstinate, capable alike of guile and daring, but I little imagined what his intentions were when he left me!

My refusal to start, and my prayer for a respite before embarking in his practice, drove him wild.  He lost his head, and swore to drag me off, ‘per fas et nefas’.  He has mentally begun a new action—­Mouillard v.  Mouillard, and is already tackling the brief; which is as much as to say that he is fierce, unbridled, heartless, and without remorse.