“However it is, you did right not to strangle Cafflie.”

“Whom you, yourself, have condemned to death.”

“By the hand of justice, whether human or divine; but not by yours, any more than by Florentin’s or mine, although we know better than any one that he does not deserve any mercy.”

“And you see I foresaw your objections, as I did not tighten his cravat.”

“Happily.”

“Is it necessary to say ’happily’?”

CHAPTER X

SANIEL MAKES A RESOLUTION

This evening Phillis was obliged to be at home early, but she cleared off the table, and put everything in order before leaving.

“You can breakfast on the remains of the chicken,” she said, as she put it in the pantry.

And as Saniel accompanied her with a candle in his hand, he saw that she had thought not only of his breakfast for the following day, but for many days, besides carrots for the rabbits.

“What a good heart you have!” he said.

“Because I think of the rabbits?”

“Because of your tenderness and thoughtfulness.”

“I wish I could do something for you!”

As soon as she was gone he seated himself at his desk and began to work, anxious to make up for the time that he had given to sentiment.  The fact that his work might not be of use to him, and that his experiments might be rudely interrupted the next morning or in a few days, was not a sufficient reason for being idle.  He had work to do, and he worked as if with the certitude that he would pass his examinations, and that his experiments of four years past would have a good ending, without interference from any one.

This was his strong point, this power to work, that was never disturbed or weakened by anything; not by pleasure or pain, by preoccupation or by misery.  In the street he could think of Phillis, be he hungry or sleepy; at his desk he had no thought of Phillis, neither of hunger nor of sleep, no cares, no memories; his work occupied him entirely.

It was his strength, and also his pride, the only superiority of which he boasted; for although he knew that he had others, he never spoke of them, while he often said to his comrades: 

“I work when I will and as much as I wish.  My will never weakens when I am at work.”

This evening he worked for about an hour, in his usual condition of mind; neither sheriffs, nor Jardine, nor Caffie troubled him.  But having to draw upon his memory for certain facts, he found that it did not obey him as usual; there were a hesitation, a fogginess, above all, extraordinary wanderings.  He wrestled with it and it obeyed, but only for a short time, and soon again it betrayed him a second time, then a third and fourth time.

Decidedly he was not in a normal state, and his will obeyed in place of commanding.

There were a name and a phrase that recurred to him mechanically from time to time.  The name was Caffie, and the phrase was, “Nothing easier.”