mestic difficulties in families that had
got out of gear, at once foresaw the more immediate consequences of
his brother's state of mind. In spite of himself, he looked at the
issue from an almost professional point of view, as though he had to
legislate for the future relations of certain clients after a moral
disaster. Constant friction against Pierre had certainly become
unendurable. He could easily evade it, no doubt, by living in his own
lodgings; but even then it was not possible that their mother should
live under the same roof with her elder son. For a long time he sat
meditating, motionless, on the cushions, devising and rejecting
various possibilities, and finding nothing that satisfied him.

But suddenly an idea took him by storm. This fortune which had come to
him. Would an honest man keep it?

"No," was the first immediate answer, and he made up his mind that it
must go to the poor. It was hard, but it could not be helped. He would
sell his furniture and work like any other man, like any other
beginner. This manful and painful resolution spurred his courage; he
rose and went to the window, leaning his forehead against the pane. He
had been poor; he could become poor again. After all, he should not
die of it. His eyes were fixed on the gas lamp burning at the
opposite side of the street. A woman, much belated, happened to pass;
suddenly he thought of Mme. Rosemilly with the pang at his heart, the
shock of deep feeling which comes of a cruel suggestion. All the dire
results of his decision rose up before him together. He would have to
renounce his marriage, renounce happiness, renounce everything. Could
he do such a thing after having pledged himself to her? She had
accepted him knowing him to be rich. She would take him still if he
were poor; but had he any right to demand such a sacrifice? Would it
not be better to keep this money in trust, to be restored to the poor
at some future date?

And in his soul, where selfishness put on a guise of honesty, all
these specious interests were struggling and contending. His first
scruples yielded to ingenious reasoning, then came to the top again,
and again disappeared.

He sat down again, seeking some decisive motive, some all-sufficient
pretext to solve his hesitancy and convince his natural rectitude.
Twenty times over had he asked himself this question: "Since I am this
man's son, since I know and acknowledge it, is it not natural that I
should also accept th