lle
Gamard had acquired the habit of using it in petty intrigues, provincial
cabals, and those self-seeking schemes which occupy, sooner or later,
the lives of all old maids. Birotteau, unhappily, had developed in
Sophie Gamard the only sentiments which it was possible for that poor
creature to feel,--those of hatred; a passion hitherto latent under the
calmness and monotony of provincial life, but which was now to become
the more intense because it was spent on petty things and in the
midst of a narrow sphere. Birotteau was one of those beings who are
predestined to suffer because, being unable to see things, they cannot
avoid them; to them the worst happens.

"Yes, it will be a fine day," replied the canon, after a pause,
apparently issuing from a revery and wishing to conform to the rules of
politeness.

Birotteau, frightened at the length of time which had elapsed between
the question and the answer,--for he had, for the first time in
his life, taken his coffee without uttering a word,--now left the
dining-room where his heart was squeezed as if in a vise. Feeling that
the coffee lay heavy on his stomach, he went to walk in a sad mood among
the narrow, box-edged garden paths which outlined a star in the little
garden. As he turned after making the first round, he saw Mademoiselle
Gamard and the Abbe Troubert standing stock-still and silent on the
threshold of the door,--he with his arms folded and motionless like a
statue on a tomb; she leaning against the blind door. Both seemed to be
gazing at him and counting his steps. Nothing is so embarrassing to
a creature naturally timid as to feel itself the object of a close
examination, and if that is made by the eyes of hatred, the sort of
suffering it causes is changed into intolerable martyrdom.

Presently Birotteau fancied he was preventing Mademoiselle Gamard and
the abbe from walking in the narrow path. That idea, inspired equally by
fear and kindness, became so strong that he left the garden and went to
the church, thinking no longer of his canonry, so absorbed was he by the
disheartening tyranny of the old maid. Luckily for him he happened to
find much to do at Saint-Gatien,--several funerals, a marriage, and two
baptisms. Thus employed he forgot his griefs. When his stomach told him
that dinner was ready he drew out his watch and saw, not without alarm,
that it was some minutes after four. Being well aware of Mademoiselle
Gamard's punctuality, he hurried back