And nothing
seems impossible at the first moment, when hatred surges in the
brain, and the foam of anger rises to the lips; no obstacle seems
insurmountable, or, rather, none are perceived. But later, when
the faculties have regained their equilibrium, one can measure the
distance which separates the dream from reality, the project from
execution. And on setting to work, how many discouragements
arise! The fever of revolt passes by, and the victim wavers. He
still breathes bitter vengeance, but he does not act. He
despairs, and asks himself what would be the good of it? And in
this way the success of villainy is once more assured.
Similar despondency attacked Pascal Ferailleur when he awoke for
the first time in the abode where he had hidden himself under the
name of Maumejan. A frightful slander had crushed him to the
earth--he could kill his slanderer, but afterward--? How was he to
reach and stifle the slander itself? As well try to hold a handful
of water; as well try to stay with extended arms the progress of
the poisonous breeze which wafts an epidemic on its wings. So the
hope that had momentarily lightened his heart faded away again.
Since he had received that fatal letter from Madame Leon the
evening before, he believed that Marguerite was lost to him
forever, and in this case, it was useless to struggle against
fate.
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