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Chapter 11
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Theyhesitatedandlookedtomeforcounselofmywishes.ButPasquinididnotwait.
“Andifyoustillhaveanyscruples,”hehurriedon,“thenallowmetoremovethem...thus.”
Andhespatinthegrassatmyfeet.Thenmyangerseizedmeandwasbeyondme.TheredwrathIcallit—anoverwhelming,all-masteringdesiretokillanddestroy.IforgotthatPhilippawaitedformeinthegreathall.AllIknewwasmywrongs—theunpardonableinterferenceinmyaffairsbythegrayoldman,theerrandofthepriest,theinsolenceofFortini,theimpudenceofVillehardouin,andherePasquinistandinginmywayandspittinginthegrass.Isawred.Ithoughtred.Ilookeduponallthesecreaturesasrankandnoisomegrowthsthatmustbehewnoutofmypath,outoftheworld.Asanettedlionmayrageagainstthemeshes,soragedIagainstthesecreatures.Theywereallaboutme.Intruth,Iwasinthetrap.Theonewayoutwastocutthemdown,tocrushthemintotheearthandstampuponthem.
“Verywell,”Isaid,calmlyenough,althoughmypassionwassuchthatmyframeshook.“Youfirst,Pasquini.Andyounext,deGoncourt?Andattheend,deVillehardouin?”
EachnoddedinturnandPasquiniandIpreparedtostepaside.
