"
"Can I put a stop to them?"
"Yes."
"Can I avenge them?"
"On their author, yes--on his tool, no."
"Why not?"
"Because--I am the tool."
Savinien turned pale.
"I have just seen Ursula--" said Goupil.
"Ursula?" said the lover, looking fixedly at the clerk.
"Mademoiselle Mirouet," continued Goupil, made respectful by
Savinien's tone; "and I would undo with my blood the wrong that has
been done; I repent of it. If you were to kill me, in a duel or
otherwise, what good would my blood do you? can you drink it? At this
moment it would poison you."
The cold reasoning of the man, together with a feeling of eager
curiosity, calmed Savinien's anger. He fixed his eyes on Goupil with a
look which made that moral deformity writhe.
"Who set you at this work?" said the young man.
"Will you swear?"
"What,--to do you no harm?"
"I wish that you and Mademoiselle Mirouet should not forgive me."
"She will forgive you,--I, never!"
"But at least you will forget?"
What terrible power the reason has when it is used to further
self-interest. Here were two men, longing to tear one another in
pieces, standing in that courtyard within two inches of each other,
compelled to talk together and united by a single sentiment.
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