He
wished to act, to make a supreme effort at reconciliation.
At ten o'clock on the following morning, when Mathieu alighted from the
train at the Paris terminus, he drove direct to the factory at Grenelle.
Before everything else he wished to see Denis, who had hitherto taken no
part in the quarrel. For a long time now, indeed ever since Constance's
death, Denis had been installed in the house on the quay with his wife
Marthe and their three children. This occupation of the luxurious
dwelling set apart for the master had been like a final entry into
possession, with respect to the whole works. True, Beauchene had lived
several years longer, but his name no longer figured in that of the firm.
He had surrendered his last shred of interest in the business for an
annuity; and at last one evening it was learnt that he had died that day,
struck down by an attack of apoplexy after an over-copious lunch, at the
residence of his lady-friends, the aunt and the niece. He had previously
been sinking into a state of second childhood, the outcome of his life of
fast and furious pleasure. And this, then, was the end of the egotistical
debauchee, ever going from bad to worse, and finally swept into the
gutter.
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