What do you want to kill yourself for?"
Hector reflected; he almost saw the possibility of living.
"I am ruined," answered he, sadly.
"And it's for this that--stop, my friend, let me tell you, you
are an ass! Ruined! It's a misfortune, but when a man is of your
age he rebuilds his fortune. Besides, you aren't as ruined as you
say, because I've got an income of a hundred thousand francs."
"A hundred thousand francs--"
"Well, my fortune is in land, which brings in about four per cent."
Tremorel knew that his friend was rich, but not that he was as rich
as this. He answered with a tinge of envy in his tone:
"Well, I had more than that; but I had no breakfast this morning."
"And you did not tell me! But true, you are in a pitiable state;
come along, quick!"
And he led him toward the restaurant.
Tremorel reluctantly followed this friend, who had just saved his
life. He was conscious of having been surprised in a distressingly
ridiculous situation. If a man who is resolved to blow his brains
out is accosted, he presses the trigger, he doesn't conceal his
pistol. There was one alone, among all his friends, who loved him
enough not to see the ludicrousness of his position; one alone
generous enough not to torture him with raillery; it was Sauvresy.
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