Nevertheless, a fact which was destined to be of paramount
importance in the life of the poor creature escaped the notice of the
wily old doctor. Timidity is a good deal like dissimulation, and is
equally secretive. Jean-Jacques was passionately in love with the
Rabouilleuse. Nothing, of course, could be more natural. Flore was the
only woman who lived in the bachelor's presence, the only one he could
see at his ease; and at all hours he secretly contemplated her and
watched her. To him, she was the light of his paternal home; she gave
him, unknown to herself, the only pleasures that brightened his youth.
Far from being jealous of his father, he rejoiced in the education the
old man was giving to Flore: would it not make her all he wanted, a
woman easy to win, and to whom, therefore, he need pay no court? The
passion, observe, which is able to reflect, gives even to ninnies,
fools, and imbeciles a species of intelligence, especially in youth.
In the lowest human creature we find an animal instinct whose
persistency resembles thought.
The next day, Flore, who had been reflecting on her master's silence,
waited in expectation of some momentous communication; but although he
kept near her, and looked at her on the sly with passionate glances,
Jean-Jacques still found nothing to say. At last, when the dessert was
on the table, he recommenced the scene of the night before.
"You like your life here?" he said to Flore.
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