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[bg...@apache.org]

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+\ufeff Chapter 18 The next day he did not leave the house , and , indeed , spent most of the time in his own room , sick with a wild terror of dying , and yet indifferent to life itself . The consciousness of being hunted , snared , tracked down , had begun to dominate him . If the tapestry did but tremble in the wind , he shook . The dead leaves that were blown against the leaded panes seemed to him like his own wasted resolutions and wild regrets . When he closed his eyes , he saw again the sailor 's face peering through the mist-stained glass , and horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart . But perhaps it had been only his fancy that had called vengeance out of the night and set the hideous shapes of punishment before him . Actual life was chaos , but there was something terribly logical in the imagination . It was the imagination that set remorse to dog the feet of sin . It was the imagination that made each crime bear its misshapen brood . In the common world of fact
  the wicked were not punished , nor the good rewarded . Success was given to the strong , failure thrust upon the weak . That was all . Besides , had any stranger been prowling round the house , he would have been seen by the servants or the keepers . Had any foot-marks been found on the flower-beds , the gardeners would have reported it . Yes , it had been merely fancy . Sibyl Vane 's brother had not come back to kill him . He had sailed away in his ship to founder in some winter sea . From him , at any rate , he was safe . Why , the man did not know who he was , could not know who he was . The mask of youth had saved him . And yet if it had been merely an illusion , how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms , and give them visible form , and make them move before one ! What sort of life would his be if , day and night , shadows of his crime were to peer at him from silent corners , to mock him from secret places , to whisper in his ear as he sa
 t at the feast , to wake him with icy fingers as he lay asleep ! As the thought crept through his brain , he grew pale with terror , and the air seemed to him to have become suddenly colder . Oh ! in what a wild hour of madness he had killed his friend ! How ghastly the mere memory of the scene ! He saw it all again . Each hideous detail came back to him with added horror . Out of the black cave of time , terrible and swathed in scarlet , rose the image of his sin . When Lord Henry came in at six o'clock , he found him crying as one whose heart will break . It was not till the third day that he ventured to go out . There was something in the clear , pine-scented air of that winter morning that seemed to bring him back his joyousness and his ardour for life . But it was not merely the physical conditions of environment that had caused the change . His own nature had revolted against the excess of anguish that had sought to maim and mar the perfection of its calm . With subtle and fin
 ely wrought temperaments it is always so . Their strong passions must either bruise or bend . They either slay the man , or themselves die . Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on . The loves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude . Besides , he had convinced himself that he had been the victim of a terror-stricken imagination , and looked back now on his fears with something of pity and not a little of contempt . After breakfast , he walked with the Duchess for an hour in the garden and then drove across the park to join the shooting-party . The crisp frost lay like salt upon the grass . The sky was an inverted cup of blue metal . A thin film of ice bordered the flat , reed-grown lake . At the corner of the pine-wood he caught sight of Sir Geoffrey Clouston , the Duchess 's brother , jerking two spent cartridges out of his gun . He jumped from the cart , and having told the groom to take the mare home , made his way towards his guest through the withered
  bracken and rough undergrowth . " Have you had good sport , Geoffrey ? " he asked . " Not very good , Dorian . I think most of the birds have gone to the open . I dare say it will be better after lunch , when we get to new ground . " Dorian strolled along by his side . The keen aromatic air , the brown and red lights that glimmered in the wood , the hoarse cries of the beaters ringing out from time to time , and the sharp snaps of the guns that followed , fascinated him and filled him with a sense of delightful freedom . He was dominated by the carelessness of happiness , by the high indifference of joy . Suddenly from a lumpy tussock of old grass some twenty yards in front of them , with black-tipped ears erect and long hinder limbs throwing it forward , started a hare . It bolted for a thicket of alders . Sir Geoffrey put his gun to his shoulder , but there was something in the animal 's grace of movement that strangely charmed Dorian Gray , and he cried out at once , " Do n't sh
 oot it , Geoffrey . Let it live . " " What nonsense , Dorian ! " laughed his companion , and as the hare bounded into the thicket , he fired . There were two cries heard , the cry of a hare in pain , which is dreadful , the cry of a man in agony , which is worse . " Good heavens ! I have hit a beater ! " exclaimed Sir Geoffrey . " What an ass the man was to get in front of the guns ! Stop shooting there ! " he called out at the top of his voice . " A man is hurt . " The head-keeper came running up with a stick in his hand . " Where , sir ? Where is he ? " he shouted . At the same time , the firing ceased along the line . " Here , " answered Sir Geoffrey angrily , hurrying towards the thicket . " Why on earth do n't you keep your men back ? Spoiled my shooting for the day . " Dorian watched them as they plunged into the alder-clump , brushing the lithe swinging branches aside . In a few moments they emerged , dragging a body after them into the sunlight . He turned away in horror . I
 t seemed to him that misfortune followed wherever he went . He heard Sir Geoffrey ask if the man was really dead , and the affirmative answer of the keeper . The wood seemed to him to have become suddenly alive with faces . There was the trampling of myriad feet and the low buzz of voices . A great copper-breasted pheasant came beating through the boughs overhead . After a few moments \u2013 that were to him , in his perturbed state , like endless hours of pain \u2013 he felt a hand laid on his shoulder . He started and looked round . " Dorian , " said Lord Henry , " I had better tell them that the shooting is stopped for to-day . It would not look well to go on . " " I wish it were stopped for ever , Harry , " he answered bitterly . " The whole thing is hideous and cruel . Is the man ... ? " He could not finish the sentence . " I am afraid so , " rejoined Lord Henry . " He got the whole charge of shot in his chest . He must have died almost instantaneously . Come ; let us go home . " The
 y walked side by side in the direction of the avenue for nearly fifty yards without speaking . Then Dorian looked at Lord Henry and said , with a heavy sigh , " It is a bad omen , Harry , a very bad omen . " " What is ? " asked Lord Henry . " Oh ! this accident , I suppose . My dear fellow , it ca n't be helped . It was the man 's own fault . Why did he get in front of the guns ? Besides , it is nothing to us . It is rather awkward for Geoffrey , of course . It does not do to pepper beaters . It makes people think that one is a wild shot . And Geoffrey is not ; he shoots very straight . But there is no use talking about the matter . " Dorian shook his head . " It is a bad omen , Harry . I feel as if something horrible were going to happen to some of us . To myself , perhaps , " he added , passing his hand over his eyes , with a gesture of pain . The elder man laughed . " The only horrible thing in the world is ennui , Dorian . That is the one sin for which there is no forgiveness . 
 But we are not likely to suffer from it unless these fellows keep chattering about this thing at dinner . I must tell them that the subject is to be tabooed . As for omens , there is no such thing as an omen . Destiny does not send us heralds . She is too wise or too cruel for that . Besides , what on earth could happen to you , Dorian ? You have everything in the world that a man can want . There is no one who would not be delighted to change places with you . " " There is no one with whom I would not change places , Harry . Do n't laugh like that . I am telling you the truth . The wretched peasant who has just died is better off than I am . I have no terror of death . It is the coming of death that terrifies me . Its monstrous wings seem to wheel in the leaden air around me . Good heavens ! do n't you see a man moving behind the trees there , watching me , waiting for me ? " Lord Henry looked in the direction in which the trembling gloved hand was pointing . " Yes , " he said , sm
 iling , " I see the gardener waiting for you . I suppose he wants to ask you what flowers you wish to have on the table to-night . How absurdly nervous you are , my dear fellow ! You must come and see my doctor , when we get back to town . " Dorian heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the gardener approaching . The man touched his hat , glanced for a moment at Lord Henry in a hesitating manner , and then produced a letter , which he handed to his master . " Her Grace told me to wait for an answer , " he murmured . Dorian put the letter into his pocket . " Tell her Grace that I am coming in , " he said , coldly . The man turned round and went rapidly in the direction of the house . " How fond women are of doing dangerous things ! " laughed Lord Henry . " It is one of the qualities in them that I admire most . A woman will flirt with anybody in the world as long as other people are looking on . " " How fond you are of saying dangerous things , Harry ! In the present instance , you are qu
 ite astray . I like the Duchess very much , but I do n't love her . " " And the Duchess loves you very much , but she likes you less , so you are excellently matched . " " You are talking scandal , Harry , and there is never any basis for scandal . " " The basis of every scandal is an immoral certainty , " said Lord Henry , lighting a cigarette . " You would sacrifice anybody , Harry , for the sake of an epigram . " " The world goes to the altar of its own accord , " was the answer . " I wish I could love , " cried Dorian Gray with a deep note of pathos in his voice . " But I seem to have lost the passion and forgotten the desire . I am too much concentrated on myself . My own personality has become a burden to me . I want to escape , to go away , to forget . It was silly of me to come down here at all . I think I shall send a wire to Harvey to have the yacht got ready . On a yacht one is safe . " " Safe from what , Dorian ? You are in some trouble . Why not tell me what it is ? You
  know I would help you . " " I ca n't tell you , Harry , " he answered sadly . " And I dare say it is only a fancy of mine . This unfortunate accident has upset me . I have a horrible presentiment that something of the kind may happen to me . " " What nonsense ! " " I hope it is , but I ca n't help feeling it . Ah ! here is the Duchess , looking like Artemis in a tailor-made gown . You see we have come back , Duchess . " " I have heard all about it , Mr. Gray , " she answered . " Poor Geoffrey is terribly upset . And it seems that you asked him not to shoot the hare . How curious ! " " Yes , it was very curious . I do n't know what made me say it . Some whim , I suppose . It looked the loveliest of little live things . But I am sorry they told you about the man . It is a hideous subject . " " It is an annoying subject , " broke in Lord Henry . " It has no psychological value at all . Now if Geoffrey had done the thing on purpose , how interesting he would be ! I should like to know 
 some one who had committed a real murder . " " How horrid of you , Harry ! " cried the Duchess . " Is n't it , Mr. Gray ? Harry , Mr. Gray is ill again . He is going to faint . " Dorian drew himself up with an effort and smiled . " It is nothing , Duchess , " he murmured ; " my nerves are dreadfully out of order . That is all . I am afraid I walked too far this morning . I did n't hear what Harry said . Was it very bad ? You must tell me some other time . I think I must go and lie down . You will excuse me , wo n't you ? " They had reached the great flight of steps that led from the conservatory on to the terrace . As the glass door closed behind Dorian , Lord Henry turned and looked at the Duchess with his slumberous eyes . " Are you very much in love with him ? " he asked . She did not answer for some time , but stood gazing at the landscape . " I wish I knew , " she said at last . He shook his head . " Knowledge would be fatal . It is the uncertainty that charms one . A mist make
 s things wonderful . " " One may lose one 's way . " " All ways end at the same point , my dear Gladys . " " What is that ? " " Disillusion . " " It was my d�but in life , " she sighed . " It came to you crowned . " " I am tired of strawberry leaves . " " They become you . " " Only in public . " " You would miss them , " said Lord Henry . " I will not part with a petal . " " Monmouth has ears . " " Old age is dull of hearing . " " Has he never been jealous ? " " I wish he had been . " He glanced about as if in search of something . " What are you looking for ? " she inquired . " The button from your foil , " he answered . " You have dropped it . " She laughed . " I have still the mask . " " It makes your eyes lovelier , " was his reply . She laughed again . Her teeth showed like white seeds in a scarlet fruit . Upstairs , in his own room , Dorian Gray was lying on a sofa , with terror in every tingling fibre of his body . Life had suddenly become too hideous a burden for him to bea
 r . The dreadful death of the unlucky beater , shot in the thicket like a wild animal , had seemed to him to pre-figure death for himself also . He had nearly swooned at what Lord Henry had said in a chance mood of cynical jesting . At five o'clock he rang his bell for his servant and gave him orders to pack his things for the night-express to town , and to have the brougham at the door by eight-thirty . He was determined not to sleep another night at Selby Royal . It was an ill-omened place . Death walked there in the sunlight . The grass of the forest had been spotted with blood . Then he wrote a note to Lord Henry , telling him that he was going up to town to consult his doctor and asking him to entertain his guests in his absence . As he was putting it into the envelope , a knock came to the door , and his valet informed him that the head-keeper wished to see him . He frowned and bit his lip . " Send him in , " he muttered , after some moments ' hesitation . As soon as the man e
 ntered , Dorian pulled his chequebook out of a drawer and spread it out before him . " I suppose you have come about the unfortunate accident of this morning , Thornton ? " he said , taking up a pen . " Yes , sir , " answered the gamekeeper . " Was the poor fellow married ? Had he any people dependent on him ? " asked Dorian , looking bored . " If so , I should not like them to be left in want , and will send them any sum of money you may think necessary . " " We do n't know who he is , sir . That is what I took the liberty of coming to you about . " " Do n't know who he is ? " said Dorian , listlessly . " What do you mean ? Was n't he one of your men ? " " No , sir . Never saw him before . Seems like a sailor , sir . " The pen dropped from Dorian Gray 's hand , and he felt as if his heart had suddenly stopped beating . " A sailor ? " he cried out . " Did you say a sailor ? " " Yes , sir . He looks as if he had been a sort of sailor ; tattooed on both arms , and that kind of thing .
  " " Was there anything found on him ? " said Dorian , leaning forward and looking at the man with startled eyes . " Anything that would tell his name ? " " Some money , sir \u2013 not much , and a six-shooter . There was no name of any kind . A decent-looking man , sir , but rough-like . A sort of sailor we think . " Dorian started to his feet . A terrible hope fluttered past him . He clutched at it madly . " Where is the body ? " he exclaimed . " Quick ! I must see it at once . " " It is in an empty stable in the Home Farm , sir . The folk do n't like to have that sort of thing in their houses . They say a corpse brings bad luck . " " The Home Farm ! Go there at once and meet me . Tell one of the grooms to bring my horse round . No. Never mind . I 'll go to the stables myself . It will save time . " In less than a quarter of an hour , Dorian Gray was galloping down the long avenue as hard as he could go . The trees seemed to sweep past him in spectral procession , and wild shadows to
  fling themselves across his path . Once the mare swerved at a white gate-post and nearly threw him . He lashed her across the neck with his crop . She cleft the dusky air like an arrow . The stones flew from her hoofs . At last he reached the Home Farm . Two men were loitering in the yard . He leaped from the saddle and threw the reins to one of them . In the farthest stable a light was glimmering . Something seemed to tell him that the body was there , and he hurried to the door and put his hand upon the latch . There he paused for a moment , feeling that he was on the brink of a discovery that would either make or mar his life . Then he thrust the door open and entered . On a heap of sacking in the far corner was lying the dead body of a man dressed in a coarse shirt and a pair of blue trousers . A spotted handkerchief had been placed over the face . A coarse candle , stuck in a bottle , sputtered beside it . Dorian Gray shuddered . He felt that his could not be the hand to take 
 the handkerchief away , and called out to one of the farm-servants to come to him . " Take that thing off the face . I wish to see it , " he said , clutching at the door-post for support . When the farm-servant had done so , he stepped forward . A cry of joy broke from his lips . The man who had been shot in the thicket was James Vane . He stood there for some minutes looking at the dead body . As he rode home , his eyes were full of tears , for he knew he was safe . 
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+\ufeff Chapter 8 It was long past noon when he awoke . His valet had crept several times on tiptoe into the room to see if he was stirring , and had wondered what made his young master sleep so late . Finally his bell sounded , and Victor came softly in with a cup of tea , and a pile of letters , on a small tray of old Sevres china , and drew back the olive-satin curtains , with their shimmering blue lining , that hung in front of the three tall windows . " Monsieur has slept well this morning , " he said , smiling . " What o'clock is it , Victor ? " asked Dorian Gray drowsily . " One hour and a quarter , Monsieur . " How late it was ! He sat up , and having sipped some tea , turned over his letters . One of them was from Lord Henry , and had been brought by hand that morning . He hesitated for a moment , and then put it aside . The others he opened listlessly . They contained the usual collection of cards , invitations to dinner , tickets for private views , programmes of charity conc
 erts , and the like that are showered on fashionable young men every morning during the season . There was a rather heavy bill for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet-set that he had not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians , who were extremely old-fashioned people and did not realise that we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities ; and there were several very courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money-lenders offering to advance any sum of money at a moment 's notice and at the most reasonable rates of interest . After about ten minutes he got up , and throwing on an elaborate dressing-gown of silk-embroidered cashmere wool , passed into the onyx-paved bathroom . The cool water refreshed him after his long sleep . He seemed to have forgotten all that he had gone through . A dim sense of having taken part in some strange tragedy came to him once or twice , but there was the unreality of a dream about it . As soon as he was dressed 
 , he went into the library and sat down to a light French breakfast that had been laid out for him on a small round table close to the open window . It was an exquisite day . The warm air seemed laden with spices . A bee flew in and buzzed round the blue-dragon bowl that , filled with sulphur-yellow roses , stood before him . He felt perfectly happy . Suddenly his eye fell on the screen that he had placed in front of the portrait , and he started . " Too cold for Monsieur ? " asked his valet , putting an omelette on the table . " I shut the window ? " Dorian shook his head . " I am not cold , " he murmured . Was it all true ? Had the portrait really changed ? Or had it been simply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where there had been a look of joy ? Surely a painted canvas could not alter ? The thing was absurd . It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day . It would make him smile . And yet , how vivid was his recollection of the whole thing ! First in t
 he dim twilight , and then in the bright dawn , he had seen the touch of cruelty round the warped lips . He almost dreaded his valet leaving the room . He knew that when he was alone he would have to examine the portrait . He was afraid of certainty . When the coffee and cigarettes had been brought and the man turned to go , he felt a wild desire to tell him to remain . As the door was closing behind him , he called him back . The man stood waiting for his orders . Dorian looked at him for a moment . " I am not at home to any one , Victor , " he said with a sigh . The man bowed and retired . Then he rose from the table , lit a cigarette , and flung himself down on a luxuriously cushioned couch that stood facing the screen . The screen was an old one , of gilt Spanish leather , stamped and wrought with a rather florid Louis-Quatorze pattern . He scanned it curiously , wondering if ever before it had concealed the secret of a man 's life . Should he move it aside , after all ? Why not
  let it stay there ? What was the use of knowing . ? If the thing was true , it was terrible . If it was not true , why trouble about it ? But what if , by some fate or deadlier chance , eyes other than his spied behind and saw the horrible change ? What should he do if Basil Hallward came and asked to look at his own picture ? Basil would be sure to do that . No ; the thing had to be examined , and at once . Anything would be better than this dreadful state of doubt . He got up and locked both doors . At least he would be alone when he looked upon the mask of his shame . Then he drew the screen aside and saw himself face to face . It was perfectly true . The portrait had altered . As he often remembered afterwards , and always with no small wonder , he found himself at first gazing at the portrait with a feeling of almost scientific interest . That such a change should have taken place was incredible to him . And yet it was a fact . Was there some subtle affinity between the chemic
 al atoms that shaped themselves into form and colour on the canvas and the soul that was within him ? Could it be that what that soul thought , they realised ? \u2013 that what it dreamed , they made true ? Or was there some other , more terrible reason ? He shuddered , and felt afraid , and , going back to the couch , lay there , gazing at the picture in sickened horror . One thing , however , he felt that it had done for him . It had made him conscious how unjust , how cruel , he had been to Sibyl Vane . It was not too late to make reparation for that . She could still be his wife . His unreal and selfish love would yield to some higher influence , would be transformed into some nobler passion , and the portrait that Basil Hallward had painted of him would be a guide to him through life , would be to him what holiness is to some , and conscience to others , and the fear of God to us all . There were opiates for remorse , drugs that could lull the moral sense to sleep . But here was a
  visible symbol of the degradation of sin . Here was an ever-present sign of the ruin men brought upon their souls . Three o'clock struck , and four , and the half-hour rang its double chime , but Dorian Gray did not stir . He was trying to gather up the scarlet threads of life and to weave them into a pattern ; to find his way through the sanguine labyrinth of passion through which he was wandering . He did not know what to do , or what to think . Finally , he went over to the table and wrote a passionate letter to the girl he had loved , imploring her forgiveness and accusing himself of madness . He covered page after page with wild words of sorrow and wilder words of pain . There is a luxury in self-reproach . When we blame ourselves , we feel that no one else has a right to blame us . It is the confession , not the priest , that gives us absolution . When Dorian had finished the letter , he felt that he had been forgiven . Suddenly there came a knock to the door , and he heard L
 ord Henry 's voice outside . " My dear boy , I must see you . Let me in at once . I ca n't bear your shutting yourself up like this . " He made no answer at first , but remained quite still . The knocking still continued and grew louder . Yes , it was better to let Lord Henry in , and to explain to him the new life he was going to lead , to quarrel with him if it became necessary to quarrel , to part if parting was inevitable . He jumped up , drew the screen hastily across the picture , and unlocked the door . " I am so sorry for it all , Dorian , " said Lord Henry as he entered . " But you must not think too much about it . " " Do you mean about Sibyl Vane ? " asked the lad . " Yes , of course , " answered Lord Henry , sinking into a chair and slowly pulling off his yellow gloves . " It is dreadful , from one point of view , but it was not your fault . Tell me , did you go behind and see her , after the play was over ? " " Yes . " " I felt sure you had . Did you make a scene with h
 er ? " " I was brutal , Harry \u2013 perfectly brutal . But it is all right now . I am not sorry for anything that has happened . It has taught me to know myself better . " " Ah , Dorian , I am so glad you take it in that way ! I was afraid I would find you plunged in remorse and tearing that nice curly hair of yours . " " I have got through all that , " said Dorian , shaking his head and smiling . " I am perfectly happy now . I know what conscience is , to begin with . It is not what you told me it was . It is the divinest thing in us . Do n't sneer at it , Harry , any more \u2013 at least not before me . I want to be good . I ca n't bear the idea of my soul being hideous . " " A very charming artistic basis for ethics , Dorian ! I congratulate you on it . But how are you going to begin ? " " By marrying Sibyl Vane . " " Marrying Sibyl Vane ! " cried Lord Henry , standing up and looking at him in perplexed amazement . " But , my dear Dorian \u2013 " " Yes , Harry , I know what you are going
  to say . Something dreadful about marriage . Do n't say it . Do n't ever say things of that kind to me again . Two days ago I asked Sibyl to marry me . I am not going to break my word to her . She is to be my wife . " " Your wife ! Dorian ! ... Did n't you get my letter ? I wrote to you this morning , and sent the note down by my own man . " " Your letter ? Oh , yes , I remember . I have not read it yet , Harry . I was afraid there might be something in it that I would n't like . You cut life to pieces with your epigrams . " " You know nothing then ? " " What do you mean ? " Lord Henry walked across the room , and sitting down by Dorian Gray , took both his hands in his own and held them tightly . " Dorian , " he said , " my letter \u2013 do n't be frightened \u2013 was to tell you that Sibyl Vane is dead . " A cry of pain broke from the lad 's lips , and he leaped to his feet , tearing his hands away from Lord Henry 's grasp . " Dead ! Sibyl dead ! It is not true ! It is a horrible lie 
 ! How dare you say it ? " " It is quite true , Dorian , " said Lord Henry , gravely . " It is in all the morning papers . I wrote down to you to ask you not to see any one till I came . There will have to be an inquest , of course , and you must not be mixed up in it . Things like that make a man fashionable in Paris . But in London people are so prejudiced . Here , one should never make one 's d�but with a scandal . One should reserve that to give an interest to one 's old age . I suppose they do n't know your name at the theatre ? If they do n't , it is all right . Did any one see you going round to her room ? That is an important point . " Dorian did not answer for a few moments . He was dazed with horror . Finally he stammered , in a stifled voice , " Harry , did you say an inquest ? What did you mean by that ? Did Sibyl \u2013 ? Oh , Harry , I ca n't bear it ! But be quick . Tell me everything at once . " " I have no doubt it was not an accident , Dorian , though it must be put i
 n that way to the public . It seems that as she was leaving the theatre with her mother , about half-past twelve or so , she said she had forgotten something upstairs . They waited some time for her , but she did not come down again . They ultimately found her lying dead on the floor of her dressing-room . She had swallowed something by mistake , some dreadful thing they use at theatres . I do n't know what it was , but it had either prussic acid or white lead in it . I should fancy it was prussic acid , as she seems to have died instantaneously . " " Harry , Harry , it is terrible ! " cried the lad . " Yes ; it is very tragic , of course , but you must not get yourself mixed up in it . I see by the Standard that she was seventeen . I should have thought she was almost younger than that . She looked such a child , and seemed to know so little about acting . Dorian , you must n't let this thing get on your nerves . You must come and dine with me , and afterwards we will look in at th
 e opera . It is a Patti night , and everybody will be there . You can come to my sister 's box . She has got some smart women with her . " " So I have murdered Sibyl Vane , " said Dorian Gray , half to himself , " murdered her as surely as if I had cut her little throat with a knife . Yet the roses are not less lovely for all that . The birds sing just as happily in my garden . And to-night I am to dine with you , and then go on to the opera , and sup somewhere , I suppose , afterwards . How extraordinarily dramatic life is ! If I had read all this in a book , Harry , I think I would have wept over it . Somehow , now that it has happened actually , and to me , it seems far too wonderful for tears . Here is the first passionate love-letter I have ever written in my life . Strange , that my first passionate love-letter should have been addressed to a dead girl . Can they feel , I wonder , those white silent people we call the dead ? Sibyl ! Can she feel , or know , or listen ? Oh , Ha
 rry , how I loved her once ! It seems years ago to me now . She was everything to me . Then came that dreadful night \u2013 was it really only last night ? \u2013 when she played so badly , and my heart almost broke . She explained it all to me . It was terribly pathetic . But I was not moved a bit . I thought her shallow . Suddenly something happened that made me afraid . I ca n't tell you what it was , but it was terrible . I said I would go back to her . I felt I had done wrong . And now she is dead . My God ! My God ! Harry , what shall I do ? You do n't know the danger I am in , and there is nothing to keep me straight . She would have done that for me . She had no right to kill herself . It was selfish of her . " " My dear Dorian , " answered Lord Henry , taking a cigarette from his case and producing a gold-latten matchbox , " the only way a woman can ever reform a man is by boring him so completely that he loses all possible interest in life . If you had married this girl , you wo
 uld have been wretched . Of course , you would have treated her kindly . One can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing . But she would have soon found out that you were absolutely indifferent to her . And when a woman finds that out about her husband , she either becomes dreadfully dowdy , or wears very smart bonnets that some other woman 's husband has to pay for . I say nothing about the social mistake , which would have been abject \u2013 which , of course , I would not have allowed \u2013 but I assure you that in any case the whole thing would have been an absolute failure . " " I suppose it would , " muttered the lad , walking up and down the room and looking horribly pale . " But I thought it was my duty . It is not my fault that this terrible tragedy has prevented my doing what was right . I remember your saying once that there is a fatality about good resolutions \u2013 that they are always made too late . Mine certainly were . " " Good resolutions are useless attempt
 s to interfere with scientific laws . Their origin is pure vanity . Their result is absolutely nil . They give us , now and then , some of those luxurious sterile emotions that have a certain charm for the weak . That is all that can be said for them . They are simply cheques that men draw on a bank where they have no account . " " Harry , " cried Dorian Gray , coming over and sitting down beside him , " why is it that I cannot feel this tragedy as much as I want to ? I do n't think I am heartless . Do you ? " " You have done too many foolish things during the last fortnight to be entitled to give yourself that name , Dorian , " answered Lord Henry with his sweet melancholy smile . The lad frowned . " I do n't like that explanation , Harry , " he rejoined , " but I am glad you do n't think I am heartless . I am nothing of the kind . I know I am not . And yet I must admit that this thing that has happened does not affect me as it should . It seems to me to be simply like a wonderful 
 ending to a wonderful play . It has all the terrible beauty of a Greek tragedy , a tragedy in which I took a great part , but by which I have not been wounded . " " It is an interesting question , " said Lord Henry , who found an exquisite pleasure in playing on the lad 's unconscious egotism \u2013 " an extremely interesting question . I fancy that the true explanation is this : It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence , their absolute incoherence , their absurd want of meaning , their entire lack of style . They affect us just as vulgarity affects us . They give us an impression of sheer brute force , and we revolt against that . Sometimes , however , a tragedy that possesses artistic elements of beauty crosses our lives . If these elements of beauty are real , the whole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatic effect . Suddenly we find that we are no longer the actors , but the spectators of th
 e play . Or rather we are both . We watch ourselves , and the mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us . In the present case , what is it that has really happened ? Some one has killed herself for love of you . I wish that I had ever had such an experience . It would have made me in love with love for the rest of my life . The people who have adored me \u2013 there have not been very many , but there have been some \u2013 have always insisted on living on , long after I had ceased to care for them , or they to care for me . They have become stout and tedious , and when I meet them , they go in at once for reminiscences . That awful memory of woman ! What a fearful thing it is ! And what an utter intellectual stagnation it reveals ! One should absorb the colour of life , but one should never remember its details . Details are always vulgar . " " I must sow poppies in my garden , " sighed Dorian . " There is no necessity , " rejoined his companion . " Life has always poppies in her hands .
  Of course , now and then things linger . I once wore nothing but violets all through one season , as a form of artistic mourning for a romance that would not die . Ultimately , however , it did die . I forget what killed it . I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole world for me . That is always a dreadful moment . It fills one with the terror of eternity . Well \u2013 would you believe it ? \u2013 a week ago , at Lady Hampshire 's , I found myself seated at dinner next the lady in question , and she insisted on going over the whole thing again , and digging up the past , and raking up the future . I had buried my romance in a bed of asphodel . She dragged it out again and assured me that I had spoiled her life . I am bound to state that she ate an enormous dinner , so I did not feel any anxiety . But what a lack of taste she showed ! The one charm of the past is that it is the past . But women never know when the curtain has fallen . They always want a sixth act , and as soon
  as the interest of the play is entirely over , they propose to continue it . If they were allowed their own way , every comedy would have a tragic ending , and every tragedy would culminate in a farce . They are charmingly artificial , but they have no sense of art . You are more fortunate than I am . I assure you , Dorian , that not one of the women I have known would have done for me what Sibyl Vane did for you . Ordinary women always console themselves . Some of them do it by going in for sentimental colours . Never trust a woman who wears mauve , whatever her age may be , or a woman over thirty-five who is fond of pink ribbons . It always means that they have a history . Others find a great consolation in suddenly discovering the good qualities of their husbands . They flaunt their conjugal felicity in one 's face , as if it were the most fascinating of sins . Religion consoles some . Its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation , a woman once told me , and I can quite unde
 rstand it . Besides , nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner . Conscience makes egotists of us all . Yes ; there is really no end to the consolations that women find in modern life . Indeed , I have not mentioned the most important one . " " What is that , Harry ? " said the lad listlessly . " Oh , the obvious consolation . Taking some one else 's admirer when one loses one 's own . In good society that always whitewashes a woman . But really , Dorian , how different Sibyl Vane must have been from all the women one meets ! There is something to me quite beautiful about her death . I am glad I am living in a century when such wonders happen . They make one believe in the reality of the things we all play with , such as romance , passion , and love . " " I was terribly cruel to her . You forget that . " " I am afraid that women appreciate cruelty , downright cruelty , more than anything else . They have wonderfully primitive instincts . We have emancipated them ,
  but they remain slaves looking for their masters , all the same . They love being dominated . I am sure you were splendid . I have never seen you really and absolutely angry , but I can fancy how delightful you looked . And , after all , you said something to me the day before yesterday that seemed to me at the time to be merely fanciful , but that I see now was absolutely true , and it holds the key to everything . " " What was that , Harry ? " " You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of romance \u2013 that she was Desdemona one night , and Ophelia the other ; that if she died as Juliet , she came to life as Imogen . " " She will never come to life again now , " muttered the lad , burying his face in his hands . " No , she will never come to life . She has played her last part . But you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply as a strange lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy , as a wonderful scene from Webster , or Ford , or
  Cyril Tourneur . The girl never really lived , and so she has never really died . To you at least she was always a dream , a phantom that flitted through Shakespeare 's plays and left them lovelier for its presence , a reed through which Shakespeare 's music sounded richer and more full of joy . The moment she touched actual life , she marred it , and it marred her , and so she passed away . Mourn for Ophelia , if you like . Put ashes on your head because Cordelia was strangled . Cry out against Heaven because the daughter of Brabantio died . But do n't waste your tears over Sibyl Vane . She was less real than they are . " There was a silence . The evening darkened in the room . Noiselessly , and with silver feet , the shadows crept in from the garden . The colours faded wearily out of things . After some time Dorian Gray looked up . " You have explained me to myself , Harry , " he murmured with something of a sigh of relief . " I felt all that you have said , but somehow I was afr
 aid of it , and I could not express it to myself . How well you know me ! But we will not talk again of what has happened . It has been a marvellous experience . That is all . I wonder if life has still in store for me anything as marvellous . " " Life has everything in store for you , Dorian . There is nothing that you , with your extraordinary good looks , will not be able to do . " " But suppose , Harry , I became haggard , and old , and wrinkled ? What then ? " " Ah , then , " said Lord Henry , rising to go \u2013 " then , my dear Dorian , you would have to fight for your victories . As it is , they are brought to you . No , you must keep your good looks . We live in an age that reads too much to be wise , and that thinks too much to be beautiful . We cannot spare you . And now you had better dress and drive down to the club . We are rather late , as it is . " " I think I shall join you at the opera , Harry . I feel too tired to eat anything . What is the number of your sister 's b
 ox ? " " Twenty-seven , I believe . It is on the grand tier . You will see her name on the door . But I am sorry you wo n't come and dine . " " I do n't feel up to it , " said Dorian listlessly . " But I am awfully obliged to you for all that you have said to me . You are certainly my best friend . No one has ever understood me as you have . " " We are only at the beginning of our friendship , Dorian , " answered Lord Henry , shaking him by the hand . " Good-bye . I shall see you before nine-thirty , I hope . Remember , Patti is singing . " As he closed the door behind him , Dorian Gray touched the bell , and in a few minutes Victor appeared with the lamps and drew the blinds down . He waited impatiently for him to go . The man seemed to take an interminable time over everything . As soon as he had left , he rushed to the screen and drew it back . No ; there was no further change in the picture . It had received the news of Sibyl Vane 's death before he had known of it himself . It 
 was conscious of the events of life as they occurred . The vicious cruelty that marred the fine lines of the mouth had , no doubt , appeared at the very moment that the girl had drunk the poison , whatever it was . Or was it indifferent to results ? Did it merely take cognizance of what passed within the soul ? He wondered , and hoped that some day he would see the change taking place before his very eyes , shuddering as he hoped it . Poor Sibyl ! What a romance it had all been ! She had often mimicked death on the stage . Then Death himself had touched her and taken her with him . How had she played that dreadful last scene ? Had she cursed him , as she died ? No ; she had died for love of him , and love would always be a sacrament to him now . She had atoned for everything by the sacrifice she had made of her life . He would not think any more of what she had made him go through , on that horrible night at the theatre . When he thought of her , it would be as a wonderful tragic fi
 gure sent on to the world 's stage to show the supreme reality of love . A wonderful tragic figure ? Tears came to his eyes as he remembered her childlike look , and winsome fanciful ways , and shy tremulous grace . He brushed them away hastily and looked again at the picture . He felt that the time had really come for making his choice . Or had his choice already been made ? Yes , life had decided that for him \u2013 life , and his own infinite curiosity about life . Eternal youth , infinite passion , pleasures subtle and secret , wild joys and wilder sins \u2013 he was to have all these things . The portrait was to bear the burden of his shame : that was all . A feeling of pain crept over him as he thought of the desecration that was in store for the fair face on the canvas . Once , in boyish mockery of Narcissus , he had kissed , or feigned to kiss , those painted lips that now smiled so cruelly at him . Morning after morning he had sat before the portrait wondering at its beauty , alm
 ost enamoured of it , as it seemed to him at times . Was it to alter now with every mood to which he yielded ? Was it to become a monstrous and loathsome thing , to be hidden away in a locked room , to be shut out from the sunlight that had so often touched to brighter gold the waving wonder of its hair ? The pity of it ! the pity of it ! For a moment , he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy that existed between him and the picture might cease . It had changed in answer to a prayer ; perhaps in answer to a prayer it might remain unchanged . And yet , who , that knew anything about life , would surrender the chance of remaining always young , however fantastic that chance might be , or with what fateful consequences it might be fraught ? Besides , was it really under his control ? Had it indeed been prayer that had produced the substitution ? Might there not be some curious scientific reason for it all ? If thought could exercise its influence upon a living organism , might
  not thought exercise an influence upon dead and inorganic things ? Nay , without thought or conscious desire , might not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods and passions , atom calling to atom in secret love or strange affinity ? But the reason was of no importance . He would never again tempt by a prayer any terrible power . If the picture was to alter , it was to alter . That was all . Why inquire too closely into it ? For there would be a real pleasure in watching it . He would be able to follow his mind into its secret places . This portrait would be to him the most magical of mirrors . As it had revealed to him his own body , so it would reveal to him his own soul . And when winter came upon it , he would still be standing where spring trembles on the verge of summer . When the blood crept from its face , and left behind a pallid mask of chalk with leaden eyes , he would keep the glamour of boyhood . Not one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade .
  Not one pulse of his life would ever weaken . Like the gods of the Greeks , he would be strong , and fleet , and joyous . What did it matter what happened to the coloured image on the canvas ? He would be safe . That was everything . He drew the screen back into its former place in front of the picture , smiling as he did so , and passed into his bedroom , where his valet was already waiting for him . An hour later he was at the opera , and Lord Henry was leaning over his chair . 
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+\ufeff Part 2 Chapter 4 WHEN Maheu came in after having left �tienne at Rasseneur 's , he found Catherine , Zacharie , and Jeanlin seated at the table finishing their soup . On returning from the pit they were always so hungry that they ate in their damp clothes , without even cleaning themselves ; and no one was waited for , the table was laid from morning to night ; there was always someone there swallowing his portion , according to the chances of work . As he entered the door Maheu saw the provisions . He said nothing , but his uneasy face lighted up . All the morning the emptiness of the cupboard , the thought of the house without coffee and without butter , had been troubling him ; the recollection came to him painfully while he was hammering at the seam , stifled at the bottom of the cutting . What would his wife do , and what would become of them if she were to return with empty hands ? And now , here was everything ! She would tell him about it later on . He laughed with sati
 sfaction . Catherine and Jeanlin had risen , and were taking their coffee standing ; while Zacharie , not filled with the soup , cut himself a large slice of bread and covered it with butter . Although he saw the brawn on a plate he did not touch it , for meat was for the father , when there was only enough for one . All of them had washed down their soup with a big bumper of fresh water , the good , clear drink of the fortnight 's end . " I have no beer , " said Maheude , when the father had seated himself in his turn . " I wanted to keep a little money . But if you would like some the little one can go and fetch a pint . " He looked at her in astonishment . What ! she had money , too ! " No , no , " he said , " I 've had a glass , it 's all right . " And Maheu began to swallow by slow spoonfuls the mixture of bread , potatoes , leeks , and sorrel piled up in the bowl which served him as a plate . Maheude , without putting Estelle down , helped Alzire to give him all that he requir
 ed , pushed near him the butter and the meat , and put his coffee on the fire to keep it quite hot . In the meanwhile , beside the fire , they began to wash themselves in the half of a barrel transformed into a tub . Catherine , whose turn came first , had filled it with warm water ; and she undressed herself tranquilly , took off her cap , her jacket , her breeches , and even her chemise , habituated to this since the age of eight , having grown up without seeing any harm in it . She only turned with her stomach to the fire , then rubbed herself vigorously with black soap . No one looked at her , even L�nore and Henri were no longer inquisitive to see how she was made . When she was clean she went up the stairs quite naked , leaving her damp chemise and other garments in a heap on the floor . But a quarrel broke out between the two brothers : Jeanlin had hastened to jump into the tub under the pretence that Zacharie was still eating ; and the latter hustled him , claiming his turn
  , and calling out that he was polite enough to allow Catherine to wash herself first , but he did not wish to have the rinsings of the young urchins , all the less since , when Jeanlin had been in , it would do to fill the school ink-pots . They ended by washing themselves together , also turning towards the fire , and they even helped each other , rubbing one another 's backs . Then , like their sister , they disappeared up the staircase naked . " What a slop they do make ! " murmured Maheude , taking up their garments from the floor to put them to dry . " Alzire , just sponge up a bit . " But a disturbance on the other side of the wall cut short her speech . One heard a man 's oaths , a woman 's crying , a whole stampede of battle , with hollow blows that sounded like thumps of an empty gourd . " Levaque 's wife is catching it , " Maheu peacefully stated as he scraped the bottom of his bowl with the spoon . " It 's queer ; Bouteloup made out that the soup was ready . " " Ah , yes
  ! ready , " said Maheude . " I saw the vegetables on the table , not even cleaned . " The cries redoubled , and there was a terrible push which shook the wall , followed by complete silence . Then the miner , swallowing the last spoonful , concluded , with an air of calm justice : " If the soup is not ready , one can understand . " And after having drunk a glassful of water , he attacked the brawn . He cut square pieces , stuck the point of his knife into them and ate them on his bread without a fork . There was no talking when the father was eating . He himself was hungry in silence ; he did not recognize the usual taste of Maigrat 's provisions ; this must come from somewhere else ; however , he put no question to his wife . He only asked if the old man was still sleeping upstairs . No , the grandfather had gone out for his usual walk . And there was silence again . But the odour of the meat made L�nore and Henri lift up their heads from the floor , where they were amusing thems
 elves with making rivulets with the spilt water . Both of them came and planted themselves near their father , the little one in front . Their eyes followed each morsel , full of hope when it set out from the plate and with an air of consternation when it was engulfed in the mouth . At last the father noticed the gluttonous desire which made their faces pale and their lips moist . " Have the children had any of it ? " he asked . And as his wife hesitated : " You know I do n't like injustice . It takes away my appetite when I see them there , begging for bits . " " But they 've had some of it , " she exclaimed , angrily . " If you were to listen to them you might give them your share and the others ' , too ; they would fill themselves till they burst . Is n't it true , Alzire , that we have all had some ? " " Sure enough , mother , " replied the little humpback , who under such circumstances could tell lies with the self-possession of a grown-up person . L�nore and Henri stood motio
 nless , shocked and rebellious at such lying , when they themselves were whipped if they did not tell the truth . Their little hearts began to swell , and they longed to protest , and to say that they , at all events , were not there when the others had some . " Get along with you , " said the mother , driving them to the other end of the room . " You ought to be ashamed of being always in your father 's plate ; and even if he was the only one to have any , does n't he work , while all you , a lot of good-for-nothings , ca n't do anything but spend ! Yes , and the more the bigger you are . " Maheu called them back . He seated L�nore on his left thigh , Henri on the right ; then he finished the brawn by playing at dinner with them . He cut small pieces , and each had his share . The children devoured with delight . When he had finished , he said to his wife : " No , do n't give me my coffee . I 'm going to wash first ; and just give me a hand to throw away this dirty water . " They 
 took hold of the handles of the tub and emptied it into the gutter before the door , when Jeanlin came down in dry garments , breeches and a woollen blouse , too large for him , which were weary of fading on his brother 's back . Seeing him slinking out through the open door , his mother stopped him . " Where are you off to ? " " Over there . " " Over where ? Listen to me . You go and gather a dandelion salad for this evening . Eh , do you hear ? If you do n't bring a salad back you 'll have to deal with me . " " All right ! " Jeanlin set out with hands in his pockets , trailing his sabots and slouching along , with his slender loins of a ten-year-old urchin , like an old miner . In his turn , Zacharie came down , more carefully dressed , his body covered by a black woollen knitted jacket with blue stripes . His father called out to him not to return late ; and he left , nodding his head with his pipe between his teeth , without replying . Again the tub was filled with warm water . 
 Maheu was already slowly taking off his jacket . At a look , Alzire led L�nore and Henri outside to play . The father did not like washing en famille , as was practised in many houses in the settlement . He blamed no one , however ; he simply said that it was good for the children to dabble together . " What are you doing up there ? " cried Maheude , up the staircase . " I 'm mending my dress that I tore yesterday , " replied Catherine . " All right . Do n't come down , your father is washing . " Then Maheu and Maheude were left alone . The latter decided to place Estelle on a chair , and by a miracle , finding herself near the fire the child did not scream , but turned towards her parents the vague eyes of a little creature without intelligence . He was crouching before the tub quite naked , having first plunged his head into it , well rubbed with that black soap the constant use of which discoloured and made yellow the hair of the race . Afterwards he got into the water , lathere
 d his chest , belly , arms , and thighs , scraping them energetically with both fists . His wife , standing by , watched him . " Well , then , " she began , " I saw your eyes when you came in . You were bothered , eh ? and it eased you , those provisions . Fancy ! those Piolaine people did n't give me a sou ! Oh ! they are kind enough ; they have dressed the little ones and I was ashamed to ask them , for it crosses me to ask for things . " She interrupted herself a moment to wedge Estelle into the chair lest she should tip over . The father continued to work away at his skin , without hastening by a question this story which interested him , patiently waiting for light . " I must tell you that Maigrat had refused me , oh ! straight ! like one kicks a dog out of doors . Guess if I was on a spree ! They keep you warm , woollen garments , but they do n't put anything into your stomach , eh ! " He lifted his head , still silent . Nothing at Piolaine , nothing at Maigrat 's : then where
  ? But , as usual , she was pulling up her sleeves to wash his back and those parts which he could not himself easily reach . Besides , he liked her to soap him , to rub him everywhere till she almost broke her wrists . She took soap and worked away at his shoulders while he held himself stiff so as to resist the shock . " Then I returned to Maigrat 's , and said to him , ah , I said something to him ! And that it did n't do to have no heart , and that evil would happen to him if there were any justice . That bothered him ; he turned his eyes and would like to have got away . " From the back she had got down to the buttocks and was pushing into the folds , not leaving any part of the body without passing over it , making him shine like her three saucepans on Saturdays after a big clean . Only she began to sweat with this tremendous exertion of her arms , so exhausted and out of breath that her words were choked . " At last he called me an old nuisance . We shall have bread until Sat
 urday , and the best is that he has lent me five francs . I have got butter , coffee , and chicory from him . I was even going to get the meat and potatoes there , only I saw that he was grumbling . Seven sous for the chitterlings , eighteen for the potatoes , and I 've got three francs seventy-five left for a ragout and a meat soup . Eh , I do n't think I 've wasted my morning ! " Now she began to wipe him , plugging with a towel the parts that would not dry . Feeling happy and without thinking of the future debt , he burst out laughing and took her in his arms . " Leave me alone , stupid ! You are damp , and wetting me . Only I 'm afraid Maigrat has ideas---- " She was about to speak of Catherine , but she stopped . What was the good of disturbing him ? It would only lead to endless discussion . " What ideas ? " he asked . " Why , ideas of robbing us . Catherine will have to examine the bill carefully . " He took her in his arms again , and this time did not let her go . The bath 
 always finished in this way : she enlivened him by the hard rubbing , and then by the towels which tickled the hairs of his arms and chest . Besides , among all his mates of the settlement it was the hour for stupidities , when more children were planted than were wanted . At night all the family were about . He pushed her towards the table , jesting like a worthy man who was enjoying the only good moment of the day , calling that taking his dessert , and a dessert which cost him nothing . She , with her loose figure and breast , struggled a little for fun . " You are stupid ! My Lord ! you are stupid ! And there 's Estelle looking at us . Wait till I turn her head . " " Oh , bosh ! at three months ; as if she understood ! " When he got up Maheu simply put on a dry pair of breeches . He liked , when he was clean and had taken his pleasure with his wife , to remain naked for a while . On his white skin , the whiteness of an anaemic girl , the scratches and gashes of the coal left tat
 too-marks , grafts as the miners called them ; and he was proud of them , and exhibited his big arms and broad chest shining like veined marble . In summer all the miners could be seen in this condition at their doors . He even went there for a moment now , in spite of the wet weather , and shouted out a rough joke to a comrade , whose breast was also naked , on the other side of the gardens . Others also appeared . And the children , trailing along the pathways , raised their heads and also laughed with delight at all this weary flesh of workers displayed in the open air . While drinking his coffee , without yet putting on a shirt , Maheu told his wife about the engineer 's anger over the planking . He was calm and unbent , and listened with a nod of approval to the sensible advice of Maheude , who showed much common sense in such affairs . She always repeated to him that nothing was gained by struggling against the Company . She afterwards told him about Madame Hennebeau 's visit 
 . Without saying so , both of them were proud of this . " Can I come down yet ? " asked Catherine , from the top of the staircase . " Yes , yes ; your father is drying himself . " The young girl had put on her Sunday dress , an old frock of rough blue poplin , already faded and worn in the folds . She had on a very simple bonnet of black tulle . " Hallo ! you 're dressed . Where are you going to ? " " I 'm going to Montsou to buy a ribbon for my bonnet . I 've taken off the old one ; it was too dirty . " " Have you got money , then ? " " No ! but Mouquette promised to lend me half a franc . " The mother let her go . But at the door she called her back . " Here ! do n't go and buy that ribbon at Maigrat 's . He will rob you , and he will think that we are rolling in wealth . " The father , who was crouching down before the fire to dry his neck and shoulders more quickly , contented himself with adding : " Try not to dawdle about at night on the road . " In the afternoon , Maheu worke
 d in his garden . Already he had sown there potatoes , beans , and peas ; and he now set about replanting cabbage and lettuce plants , which he had kept fresh from the night before . This bit of garden furnished them with vegetables , except potatoes of which they never had enough . He understood gardening very well , and could even grow artichokes , which was treated as sheer display by the neighbours . As he was preparing the bed , Levaque just then came out to smoke a pipe in his own square , looking at the cos lettuces which Bouteloup had planted in the morning ; for without the lodger 's energy in digging nothing would have grown there but nettles . And a conversation arose over the trellis . Levaque , refreshed and excited by thrashing his wife , vainly tried to take Maheu off to Rasseneur 's . Why , was he afraid of a glass ? They could have a game at skittles , lounge about for a while with the mates , and then come back to dinner . That was the way of life after leaving the
  pit . No doubt there was no harm in that , but Maheu was obstinate ; if he did not replant his lettuces they would be faded by to-morrow . In reality he refused out of good sense , not wishing to ask a farthing from his wife out of the change of the five-franc piece . Five o'clock was striking when Pierrone came to know if it was with Jeanlin that her Lydie had gone off . Levaque replied that it must be something of that sort , for B�bert had also disappeared , and those rascals always went prowling about together . When Maheu had quieted them by speaking of the dandelion salad , he and his comrade set about joking the young woman with the coarseness of good-natured devils . She was angry , but did not go away , in reality tickled by the strong words which made her scream with her hands to her sides . A lean woman came to her aid , stammering with anger like a clucking hen . Others in the distance on their doorsteps confided their alarms . Now the school was closed ; and all the c
 hildren were running about , there was a swarm of little creatures shouting and tumbling and fighting ; while those fathers who were not at the public-house were resting in groups of three or four , crouching on their heels as they did in the mine , smoking their pipes with an occasional word in the shelter of a wall . Pierronne went off in a fury when Levaque wanted to feel if her thighs were firm ; and he himself decided to go alone to Rasseneur 's , since Maheu was still planting . Twilight suddenly came on ; Maheude lit the lamp , irritated because neither her daughter nor the boys had come back . She could have guessed as much ; they never succeeded in taking together the only meal of the day at which it was possible for them to be all round the table . Then she was waiting for the dandelion salad . What could he be gathering at this hour , in this blackness of an oven , that nuisance of a child ! A salad would go so well with the stew which was simmering on the fire--potatoes 
 , leeks , sorrel , fricasseed with fried onion . The whole house smelt of that fried onion , that good odour which gets rank so soon , and which penetrates the bricks of the settlements with such infection that one perceives it far off in the country , the violent flavour of the poor man 's kitchen . Maheu , when he left the garden at nightfall , at once fell into a chair with his head against the wall . As soon as he sat down in the evening he went to sleep . The clock struck seven ; Henri and L�nore had just broken a plate in persisting in helping Alzire , who was laying the table , when Father Bonnemort came in first , in a hurry to dine and go back to the pit . Then Maheude woke up Maheu . " Come and eat ! So much the worse ! They are big enough to find the house . The nuisance is the salad ! " 
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