depths of the revenge so
slowly brought about when he found the canon settled in Chapeloud's
library, seated in Chapeloud's handsome armchair, sleeping, no doubt, in
Chapeloud's bed, and disinheriting at last the friend of Chapeloud, the
man who, for so many years, had confined him to Mademoiselle Gamard's
house, by preventing his advancement in the church, and closing the
best salons in Tours against him. By what magic wand had the present
transformation taken place? Surely these things belonged to Birotteau?
And yet, observing the sardonic air with which Troubert glanced at that
bookcase, the poor abbe knew that the future vicar-general felt certain
of possessing the spoils of those he had so bitterly hated,--Chapeloud
as an enemy, and Birotteau, in and through whom Chapeloud still thwarted
him. Ideas rose in the heart of the poor man at the sight, and plunged
him into a sort of vision. He stood motionless, as though fascinated by
Troubert's eyes which fixed themselves upon him.

"I do not suppose, monsieur," said Birotteau at last, "that you intend
to deprive me of the things that belong to me. Mademoiselle may have
been impatient to give you better lodgings, but she ought to have
been sufficiently just to give me time to pack my books and remove my
furniture."

"Monsieur," said the Abbe Troubert, coldly, not permitting any sign of
emotion to appear on his face, "Mademoiselle Gamard told me yesterday
of your departure, the cause of which is still unknown to me. If she
installed me here at once, it was from necessity. The Abbe Poirel has
taken my apartment. I do not know if the furniture and things that are
in these rooms belong to you or to Mademoiselle; but if they are
yours, you know her scrupulous honesty; the sanctity of her life is the
guarantee of her rectitude. As for me, you are well aware of my simple
modes of living. I have slept for fifteen years in a bare room without
complaining of the dampness,--which, eventually will have caused my
death. Nevertheless, if you wish to return to this apartment I will cede
it to you willingly."

After hearing these terrible words, Birotteau forgot the canonry and ran
downstairs as quickly as a young man to find Mademoiselle Gamard. He
met her at the foot of the staircase, on the broad, tiled landing which
united the two wings of the house.

"Mademoiselle," he said, bowing to her without paying any attention
to the bitter and derisive smile that was on her lips, nor t