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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #54686 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54686)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of Piping Hot!, by Émile Zola
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: Piping Hot!
-       Pot-Bouille, A Realistic Novel
-
-Author: Émile Zola
-
-Commentator: George Moore
-
-Illustrator: Georges Bellenger
-
-Release Date: May 8, 2017 [eBook #54686]
-[Most recently updated: August 7, 2021]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-Produced by: David Widger
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPING HOT! ***
-
-
-
-
-PIPING HOT!
-
-
-(_POT-BOUILLE_)
-
-A Realistic Novel
-
-By Émile Zola.
-
-
-Translated From The 63rd French Edition.
-
-_Illustrated With Sixteen Page Engravings_
-
-From Designs By Georges Bellenger
-
-London: Vizetelly & Co.
-
-1887.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-CONTENTS
-
- PREFACE.
-
- PIPING-HOT!
-
- CHAPTER I.
-
- CHAPTER II.
-
- CHAPTER III.
-
- CHAPTER IV.
-
- CHAPTER V.
-
- CHAPTER VI.
-
- CHAPTER VII.
-
- CHAPTER VIII.
-
- CHAPTER IX.
-
- CHAPTER X.
-
- CHAPTER XI.
-
- CHAPTER XII.
-
- CHAPTER XIII.
-
- CHAPTER XIV.
-
- CHAPTER XV.
-
- CHAPTER XVI.
-
- CHAPTER XVII.
-
- CHAPTER XVIII.
-
-
-
-
-PREFACE.
-
-
-One day, in the middle of a long literary conversation, Théodore Duret
-said to me: “I have known in my life two men of supreme intelligence. I
-knew of both before the world knew of either. Never did I doubt, nor
-was it possible to doubt, but that they would one day or other gain the
-highest distinctions—those men were Léon Gambetta and Émile Zola.”
-
-Of Zola I am able to speak, and I can thoroughly realise how
-interesting it must have been to have watched him, at that time, when
-he was poor and unknown, obtaining acceptance of his articles with
-difficulty, and surrounded by the feeble and trivial in spirit, who,
-out of inborn ignorance and acquired idiocy, look with ridicule on
-those who believe that there is still a new word to say, still a new
-cry to cry.
-
-I did not know Émile Zola in those days, but he must have been then as
-he is now, and I should find it difficult to understand how any man of
-average discrimination could speak with him for half-an-hour without
-recognising that he was one of those mighty monumental intelligences,
-the statues of a century, that remain and are gazed upon through the
-long pages of the world’s history. This, at least, is the impression
-Émile Zola has always produced upon me. I have seen him in company, and
-company of no mean order, and when pitted against his compeers, the
-contrast has only made him appear grander, greater, nobler. The witty,
-the clever Alphonse Daudet, ever as ready for a supper party as a
-literary discussion, with all his splendid gifts, can do no more when
-Zola speaks than shelter himself behind an epigram; Edmond De Goncourt,
-aristocratic, dignified, seated amid his Japanese watercolours,
-bronzes, and Louis XV. furniture, bitterly admits, if not that there is
-a greater naturalistic god than he, at least that there is a colossus
-whose strength he is unable to oppose.
-
-This is the position Émile Zola takes amid his contemporaries.
-
-By some strange power of assimilation, he appropriates and makes his
-own of all things; ideas that before were spattered, dislocated, are
-suddenly united, fitted into their places. In speaking, as in writing,
-he always appears greater than his subject, and, Titan-like, grasps it
-as a whole; in speaking, as in writing, the strength and beauty of his
-style is an unfailing use of the right word; each phrase is a solid
-piece of masonry, and as he talks an edifice of thought rises
-architecturally perfect and complete in design.
-
-And it is of this side of Émile Zola’s genius that I wish particularly
-to speak—a side that has never been taken sufficiently into
-consideration, but which, nevertheless, is its ever-guiding and
-determinating quality. Émile Zola is to me a great epic poet, and he
-may be, I think, not inappropriately termed the Homer of modern life.
-For he, more than any other writer, it seems, possesses the power of
-seeing a subject as a whole, can divest it at will of all side issues,
-can seize with a firm, logical comprehension on the main lines of its
-construction, and that without losing sight of the remotest causes or
-the furthest consequences of its existence. It is here that his
-strength lies, and his is the strength which has conquered the world.
-Of his realism a great deal, of course, has been said, but only because
-it is the most obvious, not the most dominant quality of his work. The
-mistletoe invariably hides the oak from the eyes of the vulgar.
-
-That Émile Zola has done well to characterise his creations with the
-vivid sentiment of modern life rather than the pale dream which reveals
-to us the past, that he was able to bend, to model, to make serviceable
-to his purpose the ephemeral habits and customs of our day, few will
-now deny. But this was only the off-shoot of his genius. That the
-colour of the nineteenth century with which he clothes the bodies of
-his heroes and heroines is not always exact, that none other has
-attempted to spin these garments before, I do not dispute. They will
-grow threadbare and fall to dust, even as the hide of the megatharium,
-of which only the colossal bones now remain to us wherewith to
-construct the fabric of the primeval world. And, in like manner, when
-the dream of the socialist is realized, when the burden of pleasure and
-work is proportioned out equally to all, and men live on a more
-strictly regulated plan than do either the ant or the bee, I believe
-that the gigantic skeleton of the Rougon-Macquart family will still
-continue to resist the ravages of time, and that western scientists
-will refer to it when disputing about the idiosyncrasies of a past
-civilization.
-
-In the preceding paragraph, I have said neither more nor less than my
-meaning, for I am convinced that the living history of no age has been
-as well written as the last half of the nineteenth century is in the
-Rougon-Maequart series. I pass over the question whether, in describing
-Renée’s dress, a mistake was made in the price of lace, also whether
-the author was wrong in permitting himself the anachronism of
-describing a fête in the opera-house a couple of years before the
-building was completed. Errors of this kind do not appear to me to be
-worth considering. What I maintain is, that what Émile Zola has done,
-and what he alone has done—and I do not make an exception even in the
-case of the mighty Balzac—is to have conceived and constructed the
-frame-work of a complex civilization like ours, in all its worse
-ramifications. Never, it seems to me, was the existence of the epic
-faculty more amply demonstrated than by the genealogical tree of this
-now celebrated family.
-
-The grandeur, the amplitude of this scheme will be seen at once.
-Adélaïde Fouque, a mad woman confined in a lunatic asylum at Plassans,
-is the first ancestor; she is the transmitter of the original neurosis,
-which, regulated by his or her physical constitution, assumes various
-forms in each individual member of the family, and is developed
-according to the surroundings in whieh he or she lives. By Rougon this
-woman had two children; by Macquart, with whom she cohabited on the
-death of her husband, she had three. Ursule Macquart married a man
-named Mouret, and their children are therefore cousins of the
-Rougon-Macquarts. This family has some forty or fifty members, who are
-distributed through the different grades of our social system. Some
-have attained the highest positions, as, Son Excellence Eugène Rougon,
-others have sunk to the lowest depths, as Gervaise in “L’Assommoir,”
-but all are tainted with the hereditary malady. By it Nana is
-invincibly driven to prostitution; by it Etienne Lantier, in
-“Germinal,” will be driven to crime; by it his brother, Claude, will be
-made a great painter. Protean-like is this disease. Sometimes it skips
-over a generation, sometimes lies almost latent, and the balance of the
-intelligence is but slightly disturbed, as in the instance of Octave in
-“Pot-Bouille,” and Lazare in “La Joie de Vivre.” But the mind of the
-latter is more distorted than is Octave’s. Lazare lives in a perpetual
-fear of death, and is prevented from realizing any of his magnificent
-projects by his vacillating temperament; in him we have an example how
-a splendid intelligence may be drained away like water through an
-imperceptible crack in the vase, and how what might have been the fruit
-of a life withers like the flowers from which the nourishing liquid has
-been withdrawn.
-
-And so in the Rougon-Macquart series we have instances of all kinds of
-psychical development and decay; and with an overt and an intuitive
-reading of character truly wonderful, Émile Zola makes us feel that as
-the north and south poles and torrid zones are hemmed about with a
-girdle of air, so an ever varying but ever recognisable kinship unites,
-sometimes, indeed, by an almost imperceptible thread, the ends the most
-opposed of this remarkable race, and is diffused through the different
-variation each individual member successively presents. Can we not
-trace a mysterious physical resemblance between Octave Mouret in “Le
-Bonheur des Dames” and Maxime in “La Curée?” Is not the moral something
-by which Claude Lantier in “Le Ventre de Paris” escapes the fate of
-Lazare made apparent? Then, again, does not the inherited neurosis that
-makes of Octave a millionaire, of Lazare a wretched hypochondriac, of
-Claude Lantier a genius, of Maxime a symbol of ephemeral vice, reappear
-in a new and more deadly form in Jeanne, the hysterical child, in that
-most beautiful of beautiful books, “Une Page d’Amour?”
-
-As beasts at a fair are urged on by the goads of their drivers, so
-certain fate pushes this wretched family forward into irrevocable death
-that is awaiting it. At each generation they grow more nervous, more
-worn out, more ready to succumb beneath the ravages of the horrible
-disease that in a hundred different ways is sweeping them into the
-night of the grave.
-
-Even from this imperfect outline, what majesty, what grandeur there is
-in this dark design! Does not the great idea of fate receive a new and
-more terrible signification? Is not the horror and gloom of the tragedy
-increased by the fact that the thought was born in the study of the
-scientist, and not in the cloud-palace of the dreamer? What poet ever
-conceived an idea more vast! and if further proof of the epic faculty
-with which I have credited Émile Zola be wanting, I have only to refer
-to Pascal Rougon. Noah survived the deluge. Pascal Rougon, by some
-miracle, escapes the inherited stain—he, and he alone, is completely
-free from it He is a doctor, an advanced scientist, and he, in the
-twentieth volume, will analyse the terrible neurosis that has
-devastated his family.
-
-In the upbuilding of this enormous edifice, Émile Zola shows the same
-constructive talent as he did in its conception. The energy he displays
-is marvellous. Every year a wing, courtyard, cupola, or tower is added,
-and each is as varied as the most imaginative could desire. Without
-looking further back than “L’Assommoir,” let us consider what has been
-done. In this work, we have a study of the life of the working people
-in Paris, written, for the sake of preserving the “milieu,” for the
-most part in their own language. It shows how the workers of our great
-social machine live, and must live, in ignorance and misery; it shows,
-as never was shown before, what the accident of birth means; it shows
-in a new way, and, to my mind, in as grand a way as did the laments of
-the chorus in the Greek play, the irrevocability of fate. “L’Assommoir”
-was followed by “Une Page d’Amour,” a beautiful Parisian idyl. Here we
-see the “bourgeois” at their best. We have seven descriptions of Paris
-seen from a distance of which Turner might be proud; we have a picture
-of a children’s costume ball which Meissonier might fall down and
-worship; we have the portrait of a beautiful and virtuous woman with
-her love story told, as it were, over the dying head of Jeanne (her
-little girl), the child whose nervous sensibilities are so delicate
-that she trembles with jealousy when she suspects that behind her back
-her mother is looking at the doctor. After “Une Page d’Amour” comes
-“Nana,” and with her we are transported to a world of pleasure-seekers;
-vicious men and women who have no thought but the killing of time and
-the gratification of their lusts. Nana is the Messaline of modern days,
-and, obeying the epic tendency of his genius, Émile Zola has instituted
-a comparison between the death of the “gilded fly,” conceived in
-drunkenness and debauchery, and the harlot city of the third Emperor,
-which, rotten with vice, falls before the victorious arms of the
-Germans.
-
-“Nana” and “Une Page d’Amour” are psychological and philological
-studies of two radically different types of women; in both works, and
-likewise in “L’Assommoir,” there is much descriptive writing, and,
-doubtless, Émile Zola had this fact present in his mind when he set
-himself to write “Pot-Bouille,” that terrible satire on the
-“bourgeoisie.” He must have said, as his plan formulated itself in his
-mind, “this is a novel dealing with the home-life of the
-middle-classes; if I wish to avoid repeating myself, this book must
-contain a vast number of characters, and the descriptions must be
-reduced to a bare sufficiency, no more than will allow my readers to
-form an exact impression of the surroundings through which, the action
-passes.”
-
-“Pot-Bouille,” or “Piping Hot!” as the present translation is called,
-is, therefore, an inquiry into the private lives of a number of
-individuals, who, while they follow different occupations, belong to
-the same class and live under the same roof. The house in the Rue de
-Choiseul is one of those immense “maisons bourgeoises,” in which,
-apparently, an infinite number of people live. On the first floor, we
-find Monsieur Duveyrier, an “avocat de la cour,” with his musical wife,
-Clotilde, and her father, Monsieur Vabre, a retired notary and
-proprietor of the house, who is absorbed in the preparation of an
-important statistical work; on the fourth floor are Madame Josserand,
-her two daughters, whom she is always trying to marry, her crazy son
-Saturnin, and her husband who spends his nights addressing advertising
-circulars at three francs a thousand, in order to eke out an additional
-something to help his family to ape an appearance of easy
-circumstances. On the third floor is an architect, Monsieur Campardon,
-with his ailing, yet blooming, wife Rose, and her cousin, “l’autre
-Madame Campardon.” There is also one of Monsieur Vabre’s sons, and “a
-distinguished gentleman who comes one night a week to work.”
-
-These are the principal “locataires” but, in various odd corners, “des
-petits appartements qui donnent sur la cour,” we find all sorts and
-conditions of people. First on the list is the government clerk Jules
-and his wife Marie. She is a weak-minded little thing who commits
-adultery without affection, without desire, and the frequency of her
-confinements excites the ire of her mother and father. Then come two
-young men, Octave and Trublot. The former plays a part similar to that
-of a tenor in an opera; he is the accepted lover of the ladies. The
-latter is equally beloved by the maids. From the frequency of his
-visits, he may almost be said to live in the house; he is constantly
-asked to dine by one or other of the inmates, and in the morning he is
-generally found hiding behind the door of one of the servants’ rooms,
-waiting for an opportunity of descending the staircase unperceived by
-the terrible “concierge,” the moral guardian of the house.
-
-Other visitors who figure prominently in the story are Madame
-Josserand’s brother, Uncle Bachelard, a dissipated widower, and his
-nephew Gueulin; the Abbé Mouret, ever ready to throw the mantle of
-religion over the back-slidings of his flock, and Madame Hédouin, the
-frigid directress of “The Ladies’ Paradise,” where Octave is originally
-engaged. The remaining “locataires” are Madame Juzeur, a lady who only
-reads poetry, and who was deserted by her husband after a single week
-of matrimonial, bliss; a workwoman who has a garret under the slates;
-and last, but not least, an author who lives on the second floor. He is
-rarely ever seen, he makes no one’s acquaintance, and thereby excites
-the enmity of everyone.
-
-All these, the author of course excepted, pass and repass before the
-reader, and each is at once individual and representative; even the
-maid-servants—who only answer “yes” and “no” to their masters and
-mistresses—are adroitly characterised. We see them in their kitchens
-engaged in their daily occupations: while peeling onions and gutting
-rabbits and fish they call to and abuse each other from window to
-window. There is Julie, the belle of the attics, of whose perfume and
-pomatum Trublot makes liberal use when he honours her with a visit;
-there is fat Adèle whose dirty habits and slovenly ways make of her a
-butt whereat is levelled the ridicule and scorn of her fellow-servants;
-there are the lovers, Hippolyte and Clémence, whose carnal intercourse
-affords to Madame Duveyrier much ground for uneasiness, and in the end
-necessitates the intervention of the Abbé. Never were the manners and
-morals of servants so thoroughly sifted before, never was the
-relationship which their lives bear to those of their masters and
-mistresses so cunningly contrasted. The courtyard of the house echoes
-with their quarrelling voices, and it is there, in a scene of which
-Swift might be proud, that is spoken the last and terrible word of
-scorn which Émile Zola flings against the “bourgeoisie.” From her
-kitchen window a fellow-servant of Julie’s is congratulating her on
-being about to leave, and wishing that she may find a better place. To
-which Julie replies, “Toutes les baraques se ressemblent. Au jour
-d’aujourd’hui, qui a fait l’une a fait l’autre. C’est cochon et
-compagnie.”
-
-I do not know to what other work to go to find so much successful
-sketching of character. I had better, I think, explain the meaning I
-attach to this phrase, “sketching of character,” for it is too common
-an error to associate the idea of superficiality with the word
-“sketch.” The true artist never allows anything to leave his studio
-that he deems superficial, or even unfinished. The word unfinished is
-not found in his vocabulary; to him a sketch is as complete as a
-finished picture. In the former he has painted broadly and freely,
-wishing to render the vividness, the vitality of a first impression; in
-the latter he is anxious to render the subtlety of a more intellectual
-and consequently a less sensual emotion. The portrait of Madame
-Josserand is a case in point, it is certainly less minute than that of
-Hélène Mouret, but is not for that less finished. In both, the artist
-has achieved, and perfectly, the task he set himself. “Piping Hot!”
-cannot be better defined than as a portrait album in which many of our
-French neighbours may be readily recognized.
-
-This merit will not fail to strike any intelligent reader; but the
-marvellous way the almost insurmountable difficulties of binding
-together the stories of the lives of the different inhabitants of the
-house in the Rue de Choiseul are overcome, none but a fellow-worker
-will be able to appreciate at their full value. Up and down the famous
-staircase we go, from one household to another, interested equally in
-each, disgusted equally with all. And this sentence leads us right up
-to the enemies’ guns, brings us face to face with the two batteries
-from which the critics have directed their fire. The first is the
-truthfulness of the picture, the second is the coarseness with which it
-is painted. I will attempt to reply to both.
-
-M. Albert Wolff in the “Figaro” declared that in a “maison bourgeoise”
-so far were “locataires” from being all on visiting terms, that it was
-of constant occurrence that the people on one floor not only did not
-know by sight but were ignorant of the names of those living above and
-below them; that the spectacle of a “maison bourgeoise,” with the
-lodgers running up and down stairs in and out of each other’s
-apartments at all hours of the night and day, was absolutely false; had
-never existed in Paris, and was an invention of the writer. Without a
-word of parley I admit the truth of this indictment. I will admit that
-no house could be found in Paris where from basement to attic the
-inhabitants are on such terms of intimacy as they are in the house in
-the Rue de Choiseul; but at the same time I deny that the extreme
-isolation described by M. Wolff could be found or is even possible in
-any house inhabited over a term of years by the same people. Émile Zola
-has then done no more than to exaggerate, to draw the strings that
-attach the different parts a little tighter than they would be in
-nature. Art, let there be no mistake on this point, be it romantic or
-naturalistic, is a perpetual concession; and the character of the
-artist is determined by the selection he makes amid the mass of
-conflicting issues that, all clamouring equally to be chosen, present
-themselves to his mind. In the case of Émile Zola, the epic faculty
-which has been already mentioned as the dominant trait of his genius
-naturally impelled him to make too perfect a whole of the heterogeneous
-mass of material that he had determined to construct from. The flaw is
-more obvious than in his other works, but in “Piping Hot!” he has only
-done what he has done since he first put pen to paper, what he will
-continue to do till he ceases to write. We will admit that to make all
-the people living in the house in the Rue de Choiseul on visiting terms
-was a trick of composition—_et puis?_
-
-This was the point from which the critics who pretended to be guided by
-artistic considerations attacked the book; the others entrenched
-themselves behind the good old earthworks of morality, and primed their
-rusty popguns. Now there was a time, and a very good time it must have
-been, when a book was judged on its literary merits; but of late years
-a new school of criticism has come into fashion. Its manners are very
-summary indeed. “Would you or would you not give that book to your
-sister of sixteen to read?” If you hesitate you are lost; for then the
-question is dismissed with a smile and you are voted out of court. It
-would be vain to suggest that there are other people in the world
-besides your sister of sixteen summers.
-
-I do not intend putting forward any well known paradox, that art is
-morals, and morals are art. That there are great and eternal moral laws
-which must be acted up to in art as in life I am more than ready to
-admit; but these are very different from the wretched conventionalities
-which have been arbitrarily imposed upon us in England. To begin with,
-it must be clear to the meanest intelligence that it would never do to
-judge the dead by the same standard as the living. If that were done,
-all the dramatists of the sixteenth century would have to go; those of
-the Restoration would follow. To burn Swift somebody lower in the
-social scale than Mr. Binns would have to be found, although he might
-do to commit Sterne to the flames. Byron, Shelley, yes, even Landor
-would have to go the same way. What would happen then, it is hard
-to-say; but it is not unfair to hint that if the burning were argued to
-its logical conclusion, some of the extra good people would find it
-difficult to show reason, if the intention of the author were not taken
-into account, why their most favourite reading should be saved from the
-general destruction.
-
-Many writers have lately been trying to put their readers in the
-possession of infallible recipes for the production of good fiction;
-they would, to my mind, have employed their time and talents to far
-more purpose had they come boldly to the point and stated that the
-overflow of bad fiction with which we are inundated is owing to the
-influence of the circulating library, which, on one side, sustains a
-quantity of worthless writers who on their own merits would not sell a
-dozen copies of their books; and, on the other, deprives those who have
-something to say and are eager to say it of the liberty of doing so. It
-may be a sad fact, but it is nevertheless a fact, that literature and
-young girls are irreconcilable elements, and the sooner we leave off
-trying to reconcile them the better. At this vain endeavour the
-circulating library has been at work for the last twenty years, and
-what has been the result? A literature of bandboxes. Were Pope,
-Addison, Johnson, Fielding, Smollet, suddenly raised from their graves
-and started on reviewing “three vols.,” think you that they would not
-all cry together, “This is a literature of bandboxes?”
-
-We judge a pudding by the eating, and I judge Messrs. Mudie and Smith
-by what they have produced; for they, not the ladies and gentlemen who
-place their names on the title pages, are the authors of our fiction.
-And what a terrible brood to admit the parentage of! Let those who
-doubt put aside pre-conceived opinions, and forgetting the bolstered up
-reputation of the authors, read the volumes by the light of a little
-common sense. Cast a glance at those that lie in Miss Rhoda Broughton’s
-lap. What a wheezing, drivelling lot of bairns they are! They have not
-a virtue amongst them, and their pinafore pages are sticky with
-childish sensualities.
-
-And here we touch the keynote of the whole system. For, mark you, you
-can say what you like provided you speak according to rule. Everything
-is agreed according to precedent. I could give a hundred instances, but
-one will suffice. On the publication of “Adam Bede” a howl was raised,
-but the book was alive; it finished by being accepted, and the
-libraries were obliged to give way. The employment of seduction in the
-fabulation of a story was therefore established. This would have been a
-great point gained, if Mr. Mudie had not succeeded in forcing on all
-succeeding writers George Eliot’s manner of conducting her story. In
-“Adam Bede” we have Hetty described as an extremely fascinating
-dairymaid and Arthur as a noble-minded young man. After a good deal of
-flirtation they are shown to us walking through a wood together, and
-three months after we hear that Hetty is _enceinte_. Now, ever since
-the success of this book was assured, we have had numberless novels
-dealing with seductions, but invariably an interval of three months is
-allowed wherein the reader’s fancy may disport until the truth be told.
-
-Not being a select librarian I will not undertake to say that the cause
-of morality is advanced by leaving the occurrence of the offence
-unmarked by a no more precise date than that of three months, but being
-a writer who loves and believes in his art, I fearlessly declare that
-such quibblery is not worthy of the consideration of serious men; and
-it was to break through this puerile conventionality that I was daring
-enough in my “Mummer’s Wife” to write that Dick dragged Kate into the
-room and that the door was slammed behind her. And it is on this
-passage that the select circulating libraries base a refusal to take
-the book. And it is such illiterate censorship that has thrown English
-fiction into the abyss of nonsense in which it lies; it is for this
-reason and no other that the writers of the present day have ceased
-even to try to produce good work, and have resigned themselves to the
-task of turning out their humdrum stories of sentimental
-misunderstanding. Yet, strange to say, in every other department of
-art, an unceasing intellectual activity prevails. Our poetry, our
-histories, our biographies, our newspapers are strong and vigorous,
-pregnant with thought, trenchant in style; it is not until we turn to
-the novel that we find a wearisome absence of everything but drivel.
-
-Though much that I would like to have said is still unsaid, the
-exigencies of space compel me to bring this notice to a close. However,
-this one thing I hope I have made clear: that it is my firm opinion
-that if fiction is to exist at all, the right to speak as he pleases on
-politics, morals, and religion must be granted to the writer, and that
-he on his side must take cognizance of other readers than sentimental
-young girls, who require to be provided with harmless occupation until
-something fresh turns up in the matrimonial market. Therefore the great
-literary battle of our day is not to be fought for either realism or
-romanticism, but for freedom of speech; and until that battle be gained
-I, for one, will continue fearlessly to hold out a hand of welcome to
-all comers who dare to attack the sovereignty of the circulating
-library.
-
-The first of these is “Piping Hot!” and, I think, the pungent odour of
-life it exhales, as well as its scorching satire on the middle-classes,
-will be relished by all who prefer the fortifying brutalities of truth
-to the soft platitudes of lies. As a satire “Piping Hot!” must be read;
-and as a satire it will rank with Juvenal, Voltaire, Pope, and Swift.
-
-George Moore.
-
-
-
-
-PIPING-HOT!
-
-(_POT-BOUILLE_)
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.
-
-
-In the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, a block of vehicles arrested the cab
-which was bringing Octave Mouret and his three trunks from the Lyons
-railway station. The young man lowered one of the windows, in spite of
-the already intense cold of that dull November afternoon. He was
-surprised at the abrupt approach of twilight in this neighbourhood of
-narrow streets, all swarming with a busy crowd. The oaths of the
-drivers as they lashed their snorting horses, the endless jostlings on
-the foot-pavements, the serried line of shops swarming with attendants
-and customers, bewildered him; for, though he had dreamed of a cleaner
-Paris than the one he beheld, he had never hoped to find it so eager
-for trade, and he felt that it was publicly open to the appetites of
-energetic young fellows.
-
-The driver leant towards him.
-
-“It’s the Passage Choiseul you want, isn’t it?”
-
-“No, the Rue de Choiseul. A new house, I think.”
-
-And the cab only had to turn the corner. The house was the second one
-in the street: a big house four storeys high, the stonework of which
-was scarcely discoloured, in the midst of the dirty stucco of the
-adjoining old frontages. Octave, who had alighted on to the pavement,
-measured it and studied it with a mechanical glance, from the silk
-warehouse on the ground floor to the projecting windows on the fourth
-floor opening on to a narrow terrace. On the first floor, carved female
-heads supported a highly elaborate cast-iron balcony. The windows were
-surrounded with complicated frames, roughly chiselled in the soft
-stone; and, lower down, above the tall doorway, two cupids were
-unrolling a scroll bearing the number, which at night-time was lighted
-up by a jet of gas from the inside.
-
-A stout fair gentleman, who was coming out of the vestibule, stopped
-short on catching sight of Octave.
-
-“What! you here!” exclaimed he. “Why, I was not expecting you till
-to-morrow!”
-
-“The truth is,” replied the young man, “I left Hassans a day earlier
-than I originally intended. Isn’t the room ready?”
-
-“Oh, yes. I took it a fortnight ago, and I furnished it at once in the
-way you desired. Wait a bit, I will take you to it.”
-
-He re-entered the house, though Octave begged he would not give himself
-the trouble. The driver had got the three trunks off the cab. Inside
-the doorkeeper’s room, a dignified-looking man with a long face,
-clean-shaven like a diplomatist, was standing up gravely reading the
-“Moniteur.” He deigned, however, to interest himself about these trunks
-which were being deposited in his doorway; and, taking a few steps
-forward, he asked his tenant, the architect of the third floor as he
-called him:
-
-“Is this the person, Monsieur Campardon?”
-
-“Yes, Monsieur Gourd, this is Monsieur Octave Mouret, for whom I have
-taken the room on the fourth floor. He will sleep there and take his
-meals with us. Monsieur Mouret is a friend of my wife’s relations, and
-I beg you will show him every attention.”
-
-Octave was examining the entrance with its panels of imitation marble
-and its vaulted ceiling decorated with rosettes. The courtyard at the
-end was paved and cemented, and had a grand air of cold cleanliness;
-the only occupant was a coachman engaged in polishing a bit with a
-chamois leather at the entrance to the stables. There were no signs of
-the sun ever shining there.
-
-Meanwhile, Monsieur Gourd was inspecting the trunks. He pushed them
-with his foot, and, their weight filling him with respect, he talked of
-fetching a porter to carry them up the servants’ staircase.
-
-“Madame Gourd, I’m going out,” cried he, just putting his head inside
-his room.
-
-It was like a drawing-room, with bright looking-glasses, a red flowered
-Wilton carpet and violet ebony furniture; and, through a partly opened
-door, one caught a glimpse of the bed-chamber with a bedstead hung with
-garnet rep. Madame Gourd, a very fat woman with yellow ribbons in her
-hair, was stretehed out in an easy-chair with her hands clasped, and
-doing nothing.
-
-“Well! let’s go up,” said the architect.
-
-And seeing how impressed the young man seemed to be by Monsieur Gourd’s
-black velvet cap and sky blue slippers, he added, as he pushed open the
-mahogany door of the vestibule:
-
-“You know he was formerly the Duke de Vaugelade’s valet.”
-
-“Ah!” simply ejaculated Octave.
-
-“It’s as I tell you, and he married the widow of a little bailiff of
-Mort-la-Ville. They even own a house there. But they are waiting until
-they have three thousand francs a year before going there to live. Oh!
-they are most respectable doorkeepers!”
-
-The decorations of the vestibule and the staircase were gaudily
-luxurious. At the foot of the stairs was the figure of a woman, a kind
-of gilded Neapolitan, supporting on her head an amphora from which
-issued three gas-jets protected by ground glass globes. The panels of
-imitation white marble with pink borders succeeded each other at
-regular intervals up the wall of the staircase, whilst the cast-iron
-balustrade with its mahogany hand-rail was in imitation of old silver
-with clusters of golden leaves. A red carpet, secured with brass rods,
-covered the stairs. But what especially struck Octave on entering was a
-green-house temperature, a warm breath which seemed to be puffed from
-some mouth into his face.
-
-“Hallo!” said he, “the staircase is warmed.”
-
-“Of course,” replied Campardon. “All landlords who have the least
-self-respect go to that expense now. The house is a very fine one, very
-fine.”
-
-He looked about him as though he were sounding the walls with his
-architect’s eyes.
-
-“My dear fellow, you will see, it is a most comfortable place, and
-inhabited solely by highly respectable people!”
-
-Then, slowly ascending, he mentioned the names of the different
-tenants. On each floor were two separate suites of apartments, one
-looking on to the street, the other on to the courtyard, and the
-polished mahogany doors of which faeed eaeh other. He began by saying a
-few words respecting Monsieur Auguste Vabre; he was the landlord’s
-eldest son; since the spring he had rented the silk warehouse on the
-ground floor, and he also occupied the whole of the “entresol” above.
-Then, on the first floor the landlord’s other son, Monsieur Théophile
-Vabre and his wife, resided in the apartment overlooking the courtyard;
-and in the one overlooking the street lived the landlord himself,
-formerly a notary at Versailles, but who was now lodging with his
-son-in-law, Monsieur Duveyrier, a judge at the Court of Appeal.
-
-“A fellow who is not yet forty-five,” said Campardon, stopping short.
-“That’s something remarkable, is it not?”
-
-He ascended two steps, and then suddenly turning round, he added:
-
-“Water and gas on every floor.”
-
-Beneath the tall window on each landing, the panes of which, bordered
-with fretwork, lit up the staircase with a white light, was placed a
-narrow velvet covered bench. The architect observed that elderly
-persons could sit down and rest. Then, as he passed the second floor
-without naming the tenants.
-
-“And there?” asked Octave, pointing to the door of the principal suite.
-
-“Oh! there,” said he, “persons whom one never sees, whom no one knows.
-The house could well do without them. Blemishes, you know, are to be
-found everywhere.”
-
-He gave a little snort of contempt.
-
-“The gentleman writes books, I believe.”
-
-But on the third floor his smile of satisfaction reappeared. The
-apartments looking on to the courtyard were divided into two suites;
-they were occupied by Madame Juzeur, a little woman who was most
-unhappy, and a very distinguished gentleman who had taken a room to
-which he came once a week on business matters. Whilst giving these
-particulars, Campardon opened the door on the other side of the
-landing.
-
-“And this is where I live,” resumed he. “Wait a moment, I must get your
-key. We will first go up to your room; you can see my wife afterwards.”
-
-During the two minutes he was left alone, Octave felt penetrated by the
-grave silence of the staircase. He leant over the balustrade, in the
-warm air which ascended from the vestibule; he raised his head,
-listening if any noise came from above. It was the death-like
-peacefulness of a middle-class drawing-room, carefully shut in and not
-admitting a breath from outside. Behind the beautiful shining mahogany
-doors there seemed to be unfathomable depths of respectability.
-
-“You will have some excellent neighbours,” said Campardon, reappearing
-with the key; “on the street side there are the Josserands, quite a
-family, the father who is cashier at the Saint-Joseph glass works, and
-also two marriageable daughters; and next to you the Pichons, the
-husband is a clerk; they are not rolling in wealth, but they are
-educated people. Everything has to be let, has it not? even in a house
-like this.”
-
-From the third landing, the red carpet ceased and was replaced by a
-simple grey holland. Octave’s vanity was slightly ruffled. The
-staircase had, little by little, filled him with respect; he was deeply
-moved at inhabiting such a fine house as the architect termed it. As,
-following the latter, he turned into the passage leading to his room,
-he caught sight through a partly open door of a young woman standing up
-before a cradle. She raised her head at the noise. She was fair, with
-clear and vacant eyes; and all he carried away was this very distinct
-look, for the young woman, suddenly blushing, pushed the door to in the
-shame-faced way of a person taken by surprise.
-
-Campardon turned round to repeat:
-
-“Water and gas on every floor, my dear fellow.”
-
-Then he pointed out a door which opened on to the servants’ staircase.
-Their rooms were up above. And stopping at the end of the passage, he
-added:
-
-“Here we are at last.”
-
-The room, which was square, pretty large, and hung with a grey
-wall-paper with blue flowers, was furnished very simply. Close to the
-alcove was a little dressing-closet with just room enough to wash one’s
-hands. Octave went straight to the window, which admitted a greenish
-light. Below was the courtyard looking sad and clean, with its regular
-pavement, and the shining brass tap of its cistern. And still not a
-human being, nor even a noise; nothing but the uniform windows, without
-a bird-cage, without a flower-pot, displaying the monotony of their
-white curtains. To hide the big bare wall of the house on the left hand
-side, which shut in the square of the courtyard, the windows had been
-repeated, imitation windows in paint, with shutters eternally closed,
-behind which the walled-in life of the neighbouring apartments appeared
-to continue.
-
-“But I shall be very comfortable here!” cried Octave delighted.
-
-“I thought so,” said Campardon. “Well! I did everything as though it
-had been for myself; and, moreover, I carried out the instructions
-contained in your letters. So the furniture pleases you? It is all that
-is necessary for a young man. Later on, you can make any changes you
-like.”
-
-And, as Octave shook his hand, thanking him, and apologising for having
-given him so much trouble, he resumed in a serious tone of voice:
-
-“Only, my boy, no rows here, and above all no women! On my word of
-honour, if you were to bring a woman here it would revolutionize the
-whole house!”
-
-“Be easy!” murmured the young man, feeling rather anxious.
-
-“No, let me tell you, for it is I who would be compromised. You have
-seen the house. All middle-class people, and of extreme morality!
-between ourselves, they affect it rather too much. Never a word, never
-more noise than you have heard just now. Ah, well! Monsieur Gourd would
-at once fetch Monsieur Vabre, and we should both be in a nice pickle!
-My dear fellow, I ask it of you for my own peace of mind: respect the
-house.”
-
-Octave, overpowered by so much virtue and respectability, swore to do
-so. Then, Campardon, casting a mistrustful glance around, and lowering
-his voice as though some one might have heard him, added with sparkling
-eyes:
-
-“Outside it concerns nobody. Paris is big enough, is it not? there is
-plenty of room. As for myself, I am at heart an artist, therefore I
-think nothing of it!”
-
-A porter carried up the trunks. When everything was straight, the
-architect assisted paternally at Octave’s toilet. Then, rising to his
-feet he said:
-
-“Now we will go and see my wife.”
-
-Down on the third floor the maid, a slim, dark, and coquettish looking
-girl, said that madame was busy. Campardon, with a view of putting his
-young friend at ease, showed him over the rooms: first of all, there
-was the huge white and gold drawingroom, highly decorated with
-artificial mouldings, and situated between a green parlour which the
-architect had turned into a workroom and the bedroom, into which they
-could not enter, but the narrow shape of which, and the mauve
-wall-paper, he described. As he next ushered him into the dining-room,
-all in imitation wood, with an extraordinary complication of baguettes
-and coffers, Octave, enchanted, exclaimed:
-
-“It is very handsome!”
-
-On the ceiling, two big cracks cut right through the coffers, and, in a
-corner, the paint had peeled off and displayed the plaster.
-
-“Yes, it creates an effect,” slowly observed the architect, his eyes
-fixed on the ceiling. “You see, these kind of houses are built to
-create effect. Only, the walls will not bear much looking into. It is
-not twelve years old yet, and it is already cracking. One builds the
-frontage of handsome stone, with a lot of sculpture about it; one gives
-three coats of varnish to the walls of the staircase; one paints and
-gilds the rooms; and all that flatters people, and inspires respect.
-Oh! it is still solid, it will certainly last as long as we shall!”
-
-He led him again across the ante-room, which was lighted by a window of
-ground glass. To the left, looking on to the courtyard, there was a
-second bed-chamber where his daughter Angèle slept, and which, all in
-white, looked on this November afternoon as sad as a tomb. Then at the
-end of the passage, came the kitchen, into which he insisted on
-conducting Octave, saying that it was necessary to see everything.
-
-“Walk in,” repeated he, pushing open the door.
-
-A terrible uproar issued from it. In spite of the cold, the window was
-wide open. With their elbows on the rail, the dark maid and a fat cook,
-a dissolute looking old party, were leaning out into the narrow well of
-an inner courtyard, which lighted the kitchens of each floor, placed
-opposite to each other. They were both yelling with their backs bent,
-whilst, from the depths of this hole, arose the sounds of vulgar
-voices, mingled with oaths and bursts of laughter. It was like the
-overflow of some sewer: all the domestics of the house were there,
-easing their minds. Octave’s thoughts reverted to the peaceful majesty
-of the grand staircase.
-
-Just then the two women, warned by some instinct, turned round. They
-remained thunderstruck on beholding their master with a gentleman.
-There was a gentle whistle, windows were shut, and all was once more as
-silent as death.
-
-“What is the matter, Lisa?” asked Campardon.
-
-“Sir,” replied the maid, greatly excited, “it’s that filthy Adèle
-again. She has thrown a rabbit’s guts out of the window. You should
-speak to Monsieur Josserand, sir.”
-
-Campardon became very grave, anxious not to make any promise. He
-returned to his workroom, saying to Octave:
-
-“You have seen all. On each floor, the rooms are arranged the same. I
-pay a rent of two thousand five hundred francs, and on a third floor,
-too! Rents are rising every day. Monsieur Vabre must make about
-twenty-two thousand francs a year from his house. And it will increase
-still more, for there is a question of opening a wide thoroughfare from
-the Place de la Bourse to the new Opera-house. And he had the ground
-this is built upon almost for nothing, twelve years ago, after that
-great fire caused by a druggist’s servant!”
-
-As they entered, Octave observed, hanging above a drawing-table, and in
-the full light from the window, a richly framed picture of a Virgin,
-displaying in her opened breast an enormous flaming heart. He could not
-repress a movement of surprise; he looked at Campardon, whom he had
-known to be a rather wild fellow at Plassans.
-
-“Ah! I forgot to tell you,” resumed the latter slightly colouring, “I
-have been appointed diocesan architect, yes, at Evreux. Oh! a mere
-bagatelle as regards money, in all barely two thousand francs a year.
-But there is scarcely anything to do, a journey now and again; for the
-rest I have an inspector there. And, you see, it is a great deal, when
-one can print on one’s cards: ‘government architect.’ You can have no
-idea what an amount of work that procures me in the highest society.”
-
-Whilst speaking, he looked at the Virgin with the flaming heart.
-
-“After all,” continued he in a sudden fit of frankness, “I do not care
-a button for their paraphernalia!”
-
-But, on Octave bursting out laughing, the architect was seized with
-fear. Why confide in that young man? He gave a side glance, and,
-putting on an air of compunction, he tried to smooth over what he had
-said.
-
-“I do not care and yet I do care. Well! yes, I am becoming like that.
-You will see, you will see, my friend: when you have lived a little
-longer, you will do as every one else.”
-
-And he spoke of his forty-two years, of the emptiness of life, posing
-for being very melancholy, which his robust health belied. In the
-artist’s head which he had fashioned for himself, with flowing hair and
-beard trimmed in the Henri IV. style, one found the flat skull and
-square jaw of a middle-class man of limited intelligence and voracious
-appetites. When younger, he had a fatiguing gaiety.
-
-Octave’s eyes became fixed on a number of the “Gazette de France,”
-which was lying amongst some plans. Then, Campardon, more and more ill
-at ease, rang for the maid to know if madame was at length disengaged.
-Yes, the doctor was just leaving, madame would be there directly.
-
-“Is Madame Campardon unwell?” asked the young man.
-
-“No, she is the same as usual,” said the architect in a bored tone of
-voice.
-
-“Ah! and what is the matter with her?”
-
-Again embarrassed, he did not give a straightforward answer.
-
-“You know, there is always something going wrong with women. She has
-been in this state for the last thirteen years, ever since her
-confinement. Otherwise, she is as well as can be. You will even find
-her stouter.”
-
-Octave asked no further questions. Just then, Lisa returned, bringing a
-card; and the architect, begging to be excused, hastened to the
-drawing-room, telling the young man as he disappeared to talk to his
-wife and have patience. Octave had caught sight, on the door being
-quickly opened and closed, of the black mass of a cassock in the centre
-of the large white and gold apartment.
-
-At the same moment, Madame Campardon entered from the ante-room. He
-scarcely knew her again. In other days, when a youngster, he had known
-her at Plassans, at her father’s, Monsieur Domergue, government clerk
-of the works, she was thin and ugly, as puny-looking as a young girl
-suffering from the crisis of her puberty; and now he beheld her plump,
-with the clear and placid complexion of a nun, soft eyes, dimples, and
-a general appearance of an overfed she-cat. If she had not been able to
-grow pretty, she had ripened towards thirty, gaining a sweet savour and
-a nice fresh odour of autumn fruit. He remarked, however, that she
-walked with difficulty, her whole body wrapped, in a mignonette
-coloured silk dressing-gown, moving; which gave her a languid air.
-
-“But you are a man, now!” said she gaily, holding out her hands. “How
-you have grown, since our last journey to the country!”
-
-And she gazed at him: tall, dark, handsome, with his well kept
-moustache and beard. When he told her his age, twenty-two, she scarcely
-believed it: he looked twenty-five at least. He, whom the presence of a
-woman, even though she were the lowest of servants, filled with
-rapture, laughed melodiously, enveloping her with his eyes of the
-colour of old gold, and of the softness of velvet.
-
-“Ah! yes,” repeated he gently, “I have grown, I have grown. Do you
-recollect, when your cousin Gasparine used to buy me marbles?”
-
-Then, he gave her news of her parents. Monsieur and Madame Domergue
-were living happily, in the house to which they had retired; they
-merely complained of being very lonely, bearing Campardon a grudge for
-having taken their little Rose from them, during a stay he had made at
-Plassans on business. Then, the young man tried to bring the
-conversation round to cousin Gasparine, having a precocious youngster’s
-old curiosity to satisfy, in the matter of an hitherto unexplained
-adventure: the architect’s mad passion for Gasparine, a tall lovely
-girl, but poor, and his sudden marriage with skinny Rose who had a
-dowry of thirty thousand francs, and quite a tearful scene, and a
-quarrel, and the flight of the abandoned one to Paris, to an aunt who
-was a dressmaker. But Madame Campardon, whose placid complexion
-preserved a rosy paleness, did not appear to understand. He was unable
-to draw a single particular from her.
-
-“And your parents?” inquired she in her turn. “How are Monsienr and
-Madame Mouret?”
-
-“Very well, thank you,” replied he. “My mother scarcely leaves her
-garden. You would find the house in the Rue de la Banne, just as you
-left it.”
-
-Madame Campardon, who seemed unable to remain standing for long without
-feeling tired, had seated herself on a high drawing-chair, her legs
-stretched out in her dressing-gown; and he, taking a low chair beside
-her, raised his head when speaking, with his air of habitual adoration.
-With his large shoulders, he was like a woman, he had a woman’s feeling
-which at once admitted him to their hearts. So that, at the end of ten
-minutes, they were both talking like two lady friends of long standing.
-
-“Now I am your boarder,” said he, passing a handsome hand with neatly
-trimmed nails over his beard. “We shall get on well together, you will
-see. How charming it was of you to remember the Plassans youngster and
-to busy yourself about everything, at the first word!”
-
-But she protested.
-
-“No, do not thank me. I am a great deal too lazy, I never move. It was
-Achille who arranged everything. And, besides, was it not sufficient
-that my mother mentioned to us your desire to board in some family, for
-us to think at once of opening our doors to you? You will not be with
-strangers, and will be company for us.”
-
-Then, he told her of his own affairs. After having obtained a
-bachelor’s diploma, to please his family, he had just passed three
-years at Marseilles, in a big calico print warehouse, which had a
-factory in the neighbourhood of Plassans. He had a passion for trade,
-the trade in women’s luxuries, into which enters a seduction, a slow
-possession by gilded words and adulatory glances. And he related,
-laughing victoriously, how he had made the five thousand francs,
-without which he would never have ventured on coming to Paris, for he
-had the prudence of a Jew beneath the exterior of an amiable
-giddy-headed fellow.
-
-“Just fancy, they had a Pompadour calico, an old design, something
-marvellous. No one would bite at it; it had been stowed away in the
-cellars for two years past. Then, as I was about to travel through the
-departments of the Var and the Basses-Alpes, it occurred to me to
-purchase the whole of the stock and to sell it on my own account. Oh!
-such a success! an amazing success! The women quarrelled for the
-remnants; and to-day, there is not one there who is not wearing some of
-my calico. I must say that I talked them over so nicely! They were all
-with me, I might have done as I pleased with them.”
-
-And he laughed, whilst Madame Campardon, charmed, and troubled by
-thought of that Pompadour calico, questioned him: “Little bouquets on
-an unbleached ground, was it not?” She had been trying to obtain the
-same thing everywhere for a summer dressing-gown.
-
-“I have travelled for two years, which is enough,” resumed he.
-“Besides, there is Paris to conquer. I must immediately look out for
-something.”
-
-“What!” exclaimed she, “has not Achille told you? But he has a berth
-for you, and close by, too!”
-
-He uttered his thanks, as surprised as though he were in fairy land,
-asking, by way of a joke, whether he would not find a wife and a
-hundred thousand francs a-year in his room that evening, when a young
-girl of fourteen, tall and ugly, with fair insipid-looking hair, pushed
-open the door, and gave a slight cry of fright.
-
-“Come in and don’t be afraid,” said Madame Campardon. “It is Monsieur
-Octave Mouret, whom you have heard us speak of.”
-
-Then, turning towards the latter, she added:
-
-“My daughter, Angèle. We did not bring her with us at our last journey.
-She was so delicate! But she is getting stouter now.”
-
-Angèle, with the awkwardness of girls in the ungrateful age, went and
-placed herself behind her mother, and cast glances at the smiling young
-man. Almost immediately, Campardon reappeared, looking excited; and he
-could not contain himself, but told his wife in a few words of his good
-fortune: the Abbé Mauduit, Vicar of Saint-Roch, had called about some
-work, merely some repairs, but which might lead to many other things.
-Then, annoyed at having spoken before Octave, and still quivering, he
-rapped one hand in the other, saying:
-
-“Well! well! what are we going to do?”
-
-“Why, you were going out,” said Octave. “Do not let me disturb you.”
-
-“Achille,” murmured Madame Campardon, “that berth, at the Hédouins’—”
-
-“Why, of course! I was forgetting,” exclaimed the architect. “My dear
-fellow, a place of first clerk at a large linen-draper’s. I know some
-one there who has said a word for you. You are expected. It is not yet
-four o’clock; shall I introduce you now?”
-
-Octave hesitated, anxious about the bow of his necktie, flurried by his
-mania for being neatly dressed. However, he decided to go, when Madame
-Campardon assured him that he looked very well. With a languid
-movement, she offered her forehead to her husband, who kissed her with
-a great show of tenderness, repeating:
-
-“Good-bye, my darling—good-bye, my pet.”
-
-“Do not forget that we dine at seven,” said she, accompanying them
-across the drawing-room, where they had left their hats.
-
-Angèle followed them without the slightest grace. But her music-master
-was waiting for her, and she at once commenced to strum on the
-instrument with her bony fingers. Octave, who was lingering in the
-ante-room, repeating his thanks, was unable to make himself heard. And,
-as he went downstairs, the sound of the piano seemed to follow him: in
-the midst of the warm silence other pianos—from Madame Juzeur’s, the
-Vabres’, and Duveyriers’—were answering, playing on eaeh floor other
-airs, whieh issued, distantly and religiously, from the calm solemnity
-of the doors.
-
-On reaching the street, Campardon turned into the Rue
-Neuve-Saint-Augustin. He remained silent, with the absorbed air of a
-man seeking for an opportunity to broach a subject.
-
-“Do you remember Mademoiselle Gasparine?” asked he, at length. “She is
-first lady assistant at the Hédouins’. You will see her.”
-
-Octave thought this a good time for satisfying his curiosity.
-
-“Ah!” said he. “Does she live with you?”
-
-“No! no!” exelaimed the architect, hastily, and as though feeling hurt
-at the bare idea.
-
-Then, as the young man appeared surprised at his vehemence, he gently
-continued, speaking in an embarrassed way:
-
-“No; she and my wife no longer see each other. You know, in families—
-Well, I met her, and I could not refuse to shake hands, could I? more
-especially as she is not very well off, poor girl. So that, now, they
-have news of each other through me. In these old quarrels, one must
-leave the task of healing the wounds to time.”
-
-Octave was about to question him plainly on the subject of his
-marriage, when the architect suddenly put an end to the conversation by
-saying:
-
-“Here we are!”
-
-It was a large linen-drapers, opening on to the narrow triangle of the
-Place Gaillon, at the corner of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin and the
-Rue de la Michodière. Across two windows immediately above the shop was
-a signboard, with the words, “The Ladies’ Paradise, founded in 1822,”
-in faded gilt letters, whilst on the shop windows was inscribed, in
-red, the name of the firm, “Deleuze, Hédouin, & Co.”
-
-“It has not the modern style, but it is honest and solid,” rapidly
-explained Campardon. “Monsieur Hédouin, formerly a clerk, married the
-daughter of the elder Deleuze, who died a couple of years ago; so that
-the business is now managed by the young couple—the old Deleuze and
-another partner, I think, both keep out of it. You will see Madame
-Hédouin. Oh! a woman with brains! Let us go in.”
-
-It so happened that Monsieur Hédouin was at Lille buying some linen;
-therefore Madame Hédouin received them. She was standing up, a
-penholder behind her ear, giving orders to two shopmen who were putting
-away some pieces of stuff on the shelves; and she appeared to him so
-tall, so admirably lovely, with her regular features and her tidy hair,
-so gravely smiling, in her black dress, with a turn-down collar and a
-man’s tie, that Octave, not usually timid, could only stammer out a few
-observations. Everything was settled without any waste of words.
-
-“Well!” said she, in her quiet way, and with her tradeswoman’s
-accustomed gracefulness, “you may as well look over the place, as you
-are not engaged.”
-
-She called one of her clerks, and put Octave under his guidance; then,
-after having politely replied to a question of Campardon’s that
-Mademoiselle Gasparine was out on an errand, she turned her back and
-resumed her work, continuing to give her orders in her gentle and
-concise voice.
-
-“Not there, Alexandre. Put the silks up at the top. Be careful, those
-are not the same make!”
-
-Campardon, after hesitating, at length said to Octave that he would
-call again for him to take him back to dinner. Then, during two hours,
-the young man went over the warehouse. He found it badly lighted,
-small, encumbered with stock, which, overflowing from the basement,
-became heaped up in the corners, leaving only narrow passages between
-high walls of bales. On several different occasions he ran against
-Madame Hédouin, busy, and scuttling along the narrowest passages
-without ever catching her dress in anything. She seemed the very life
-and soul of the establishment, all the assistants belonging to which
-obeyed the slightest sign of her white hands. Octave felt hurt that she
-did not take more notice of him. Towards a quarter to seven, as he was
-coming up a last time from the basement, he was told that Campardon was
-on the first floor with Mademoiselle Gasparine. Up there was the
-hosiery department, which that young lady looked after. But, at the top
-of the winding staircase, the young man stopped abruptly behind a
-pyramid of pieces of calico systematically arranged, on hearing the
-architect talking most familiarly to Gasparine.
-
-“I swear to you it is not so!” cried he, forgetting himself so far as
-to raise his voice.
-
-A slight pause ensued.
-
-“How is she now?” at length inquired the young woman.
-
-“Well! always the same. It comes and goes. She feels that it is all
-over now. She will never get right again.”
-
-Gasparine resumed, in compassionate tones:
-
-“My poor friend, it is you who are to be pitied. However, as you have
-been able to manage in another way, tell her how sorry I am to hear
-that she is still unwell—”
-
-Campardon, without letting her finish, seized hold of her by the
-shoulders and kissed her roughly on the lips, in the gas-heated air
-already becoming heavy beneath the low ceiling. She returned his kiss,
-murmuring:
-
-“To-morrow morning, if you can, at six o’clock; I will remain in bed.
-Knock three times.”
-
-Octave, bewildered, and beginning to understand, coughed, and showed
-himself. Another surprise awaited him. Cousin Gasparine had become
-dried up, thin and angular, with her jaw projecting, and her hair
-coarse; and all she had preserved of her former self were her large
-superb eyes, in a face that had now become cadaverous. With her jealous
-forehead, her ardent and obstinate mouth, she troubled him as much as
-Rose had charmed him by her tardy expansion of an indolent blonde.
-
-Gasparine was polite, without effusiveness. She remembered Plassans—she
-talked to the young man of the old times. When they went off, Campardon
-and he, she shook their hands. Downstairs, Madame Hédouin simply said
-to Octave:
-
-“To-morrow, then, sir.”
-
-Out in the street the young man, deafened by the cabs, jostled by the
-passers-by, eould not help remarking that this lady was very beautiful,
-but that she did not seem particularly amiable. On the black and muddy
-pavement, the bright windows of freshly-painted shops, flaring with
-gas, east broad rays of vivid light; whilst the old shops, with their
-sombre displays, lit up in the interior only by smoking lamps, which
-burnt like distant stars, saddened the streets with masses of shadow.
-In the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, just before turning into the Rue do
-Choiseul, the architect bowed on passing before one of these
-establishments.
-
-A young woman, slim and elegant, dressed in a silk mantlet, was
-standing in the doorway, drawing a little boy of three towards her, so
-that he might not get run over. She was talking to an old bareheaded
-lady, the shopkeeper, no doubt, whom she addressed in a familiar
-manner. Octave eould not distinguish her features in that dim light,
-beneath the dancing reflections of the neighbouring gas-jets; she
-seemed to him to be pretty, he only saw two bright eyes, whieh were
-fixed a moment upon him like two flames. Behind her yawned the shop,
-damp like a cellar, and emitting an odour of saltpetre.
-
-“That is Madame Vabre, the wife of Monsieur Théophile Vabre, the
-landlord’s younger son. You know the people who live on the first
-floor,” resumed Campardon, when he had gone a few steps. “Oh! a most
-charming lady! She was born in that shop, one of the best paying
-haberdashers of the neighbourhood, which her parents, Monsieur and
-Madame Louhette, still manage, for the sake of having something to
-occupy them. They have made some money there, I will warrant!”
-
-But Octave did not understand trade of that sort, in those holes of old
-Paris, where at one time a piece of stuff was sufficient sign. He swore
-that nothing in the world would ever make him consent to live in such a
-den. One surely caught some rare aches and pains there!
-
-Whilst talking, they had reached the top of the stairs. They were being
-waited for. Madame Campardon had put on a grey silk dress, had arranged
-her hair coquettishly, and looked very neat and prim. Campardon kissed
-her on the neck, with the emotion of a good husband.
-
-“Good evening, my darling; good evening, my pet.”
-
-And they passed into the dining-room. The dinner was delightful. Madame
-Campardon at first talked of the Deleuzes and the Hédouins—families
-respected throughout the neighbourhood, and whose member’s were well
-known; a cousin who was a stationer in the Rue Gaillon, an uncle who
-had an umbrella shop in the Passage Choiseul, and nephews and nieces in
-business all round about. Then the conversation turned, and they talked
-of Angèle, who was sitting stiffly on her chair, and eating with inert
-gestures. Her mother was bringing her up at home, it was preferable;
-and, not wishing to say more, she blinked her eyes, to convey that
-young girls learnt very naughty things at boarding-schools. The child
-had slyly balanced her plate on her knife. Lisa, who was clearing the
-cloth, missed breaking it, and exclaimed:
-
-“It was your fault, mademoiselle!”
-
-A mad laugh, violently restrained, passed over Angèle’s face. ‘Madame
-Campardon contented herself with shaking her head; and, when Lisa had
-left the room to fetch the dessert, she sang her praises—very
-intelligent, very active, a regular Paris girl, always knowing which
-way to turn. They might very well do without Victoire, the cook, who
-was no longer very clean, on account of her great age; but she had seen
-her master born at his father’s—she was a family ruin which they
-respected. Then as the maid returned with some baked apples:
-
-“Conduct irreproachable,” continued Madame Campardon in Octave’s ear.
-“I have discovered nothing against her as yet. One holiday a month to
-go and embrace her old aunt, who lives some distance off.”
-
-Octave observed Lisa. Seeing her nervous, flat-chested, blear-eyed, the
-thought came to him that she must go in for a precious fling, when at
-her old aunt’s. However, he greatly approved what the mother said, as
-she continued to give him her views on education—a young girl is such a
-heavy responsibility, it is necessary to keep her clear even of the
-breaths of the street And, during this, Angèle, each time Lisa leant
-over near her chair to remove a plate, pinched her in a friendly way,
-whilst they both maintained their composite, without even moving an
-eyelid.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-“One should be virtuous for one’s own sake,” said the architect
-learnedly, as though by way of conclusion to thoughts he had not
-expressed. “I do not care a button for public opinion; I am an artist!”
-
-After dinner, they remained in the drawing-room until midnight. It was
-a little jollification to celebrate Octave’s arrival. Madame Campardon
-appeared to be very tired; little by little she abandoned herself,
-leaning back on the sofa.
-
-“Are you suffering, my darling?” asked her husband.
-
-“No,” replied she in a low voice. “It is always the same thing.”
-
-She looked at him, and then gently asked:
-
-“Did you see her at the Hédouins’?”
-
-“Yes. She asked after you.”
-
-Tears came to Rose’s eyes.
-
-“She is in good health, she is!”
-
-“Come, come,” said the architect, showering little kisses on her hair,
-forgetting they were not alone. “You will make yourself worse again.
-You know very well that I love you all the same, my poor pet!”
-
-Octave, who had discreetly retired to the window, under the pretence of
-looking into the street, returned to study Madame Campardon’s
-countenance, his curiosity again awakened, and wondering if she knew.
-But she had resumed her amiable and doleful expression, and was curled
-up in the depths of the sofa, like a woman who has to find her pleasure
-in herself, and who is forcibly resigned to receiving the caresses that
-fall to her share.
-
-At length Octave wished them good-night. With his candlestick in his
-hand, he was still on the landing, when he heard the sound of silk
-dresses rustling over the stairs. He politely stood on one side. It was
-evidently the ladies of the fourth floor, Madame Josserand and her two
-daughters, returning from some party. As they passed, the mother, a
-superb and corpulent woman, stared in his face; whilst the elder of the
-young ladies kept at a distance with a sour air, and the younger,
-giddily looked at him and laughed, in the full light of the candle. She
-was charming, this one, with her irregular but agreeable features, her
-clear complexion, and her auburn hair gilded with light reflections;
-and she had a bold grace, the free gait of a young bride returning from
-a ball in a complicated costume of ribbons and lace, like unmarried
-girls do not wear. The trains disappeared along the balustrade: a door
-closed. Octave lingered a moment, greatly amused by the gaiety of her
-eyes.
-
-He slowly ascended in his turn. A single gas-jet was burning, the
-staircase was slumbering in a heavy warmth. It seemed to him more
-wrapped up in itself than ever, with its chaste doors, its doors of
-rich mahogany, closing the entrances to virtuous alcoves. Not a sigh
-passed along, it was the silence of well-mannered people who hold their
-breath. Presently a slight noise was heard; Octave leant over and
-beheld Monsieur Gourd, in his cap and slippers, turning out the last
-gas-jet. Then all subsided, the house became enveloped by the solemnity
-of darkness, as though annihilated in the distinction and decency of
-its slumbers.
-
-Octave, nevertheless, had great difficulty in getting to sleep. He kept
-feverishly turning over, his brain occupied with the new faces he had
-seen. Why the devil were the Campardons so amiable? Were they dreaming
-of marrying their daughter to him later on? Perhaps, too, the husband
-took him to board with them so that he might amuse and enliven the
-wife? And that poor lady, what peculiar complaint could she be
-suffering from? Then his ideas got more mixed; he saw shadows pass—?
-little Madame Pichon, his neighbour, with her clear empty glances;
-beautiful Madame Hédouin, correct and grave in her black dress; and
-Madame Vabre’s ardent eyes, and Mademoiselle Josserand’s gay laugh. How
-they swarmed in a few hours in the streets of Paris! It had always been
-his dream, ladies who would take him by the hand and help him in his
-affairs. But these kept returning and mingling with fatiguing
-obstinacy. He knew not which to choose; he tried to keep his voice
-soft, his gestures cajoling. And suddenly, worn-out, exasperated, he
-yielded to his brutal inner nature, to the ferocious disdain in which
-he held woman, beneath his air of amorous adoration.
-
-“Are they going to let me sleep at all?” said he out loud, turning
-violently on to his back. “The first who likes, it is the same to me,
-and all together if it pleases them! To sleep now, it will be daylight
-to-morrow.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.
-
-
-When Madame Josserand, preceded by her young ladies, left the evening
-party given by Madame Dambreville, who resided on a fourth floor in the
-Rue de Rivoli, at the corner of the Rue de l’Oratoire, she roughly
-slammed the street door, in the sudden outburst of a passion she had
-been keeping under for the past two hours. Berthe, her younger
-daughter, had again just gone and missed a husband.
-
-“Well! what are you doing there?” said she angrily to the young girls,
-who were standing under the arcade and watching the cabs pass by. “Walk
-on! don’t have any idea we are going to ride! To waste another two
-francs, eh?”
-
-And as Hortense, the elder, murmured:
-
-“It will be pleasant, with this mud. My shoes will never recover it.”
-
-“Walk on!” resumed the mother, all beside herself. “When you have no
-more shoes, you can stop in bed, that’s all. A deal of good it is,
-taking you out!”
-
-Berthe and Hortense bowed their heads and turned into the Rue de
-l’Oratoire. They held their long skirts up as high as they could over
-their crinolines, squeezing their shoulders together and shivering
-under their thin opera-cloaks. Madame Josserand followed behind,
-wrapped in an old fur cloak made of Calabar skins, looking as shabby as
-cats’. All three, without bonnets, had their hair enveloped in lace
-wraps, head-dresses which caused the last passers-by to look back,
-surprised at seeing them glide along the houses, one by one, with bent
-backs, and their eyes fixed on the puddles. And the mother’s
-exasperation increased still more at the recollection of many similar
-returns home, for three winters past, hampered by their gay dresses,
-amidst the black mud of the streets and the jeers of belated
-blackguards. No, decidedly, she had had enough of dragging her young
-ladies about to the four corners of Paris, without daring to venture on
-the luxury of a cab, for fear of having to omit a dish from the
-morrow’s dinner!
-
-“And she makes marriages!” said she out loud, returning to Madame
-Dambreville, and talking alone to ease herself, without even addressing
-her daughters, who had turned down the Rue Saint-Honoré. “They are
-pretty, her marriages! A lot of impertinent minxes, who come from no
-one knows where! Ah! if one was not obliged! It’s like her last
-success, that bride whom she brought out, to show us that it did not
-always fail; a fine specimen! a wretched child who had to be sent back
-to her convent for six months, after a little mistake, to be
-re-whitewashed!”
-
-The young girls were crossing the Place du Palais-Royal, when a shower
-came on. It was a regular rout. They stopped, slipping, splashing,
-looking again at the vehicles passing empty along.
-
-“Walk on!” cried the mother, pitilessly. “We are too near now; it is
-not worth two francs. And your brother Léon, who refused to leave with
-us for fear of having to pay for the cab! So much the better for him if
-he gets what he wants at that lady’s, but we can say that it is not at
-all decent. A woman who is over fifty and who only receives young men!
-An old nothing-much whom a high personage married to that fool
-Dambreville, appointing him head clerk!”
-
-Hortense and Berthe trotted along in the rain, one before the other,
-without seeming to hear. When their mother thus eased herself, letting
-everything out, and forgetting the wholesome strictness with which she
-kept them, it was agreed that they should be deaf. Berthe, however,
-revolted on entering the gloomy and deserted Rue de l’Echelle.
-
-“Oh, dear!” said she, “the heel of my shoe is coming off. I cannot go a
-step further!”
-
-Madame Josserand’s wrath became terrible.
-
-“Just walk on! Do I complain? Is it my place to be out in the street at
-such a time and in such weather? It would be different if you had a
-father like others! But no, the fine gentleman stays at home taking his
-ease. It is always my turn to drag you about; he would never accept the
-burden. Well! I declare to you that I have had enough of it. Your
-father may take you out in future if he likes; may the devil have me if
-ever again I accompany you to houses where I am plagued like that! A
-man who deceived me as to his capacities, and who has never yet
-procured me the least pleasure! Ah! good heavens! there is one I would
-not marry now, if it were to come over again!”
-
-The young ladies no longer protested. They were already acquainted with
-this inexhaustible chapter of their mother’s blighted hopes. With their
-lace wraps drawn over their faces, their shoes sopping wet, they
-rapidly followed the Rue Sainte-Anne. But, in the Rue de Choiseul, at
-the very door of her house, a last humiliation awaited Madame
-Josserand: the Duveyriers’ carriage splashed her as it passed in.
-
-On the stairs, the mother and the young ladies, worn out and enraged,
-recovered their gracefulness when they had to pass before Octave. Only,
-as soon as ever their door was closed behind them, they rushed through
-the dark apartment, knocking up against the furniture, and tumbled into
-the dining-room, where Monsieur Josserand was writing by the feeble
-light of a little lamp.
-
-“Failed!” cried Madame Josserand, letting herself fall on to a chair.
-
-And, with a rough gesture, she tore the lace wrap from her head, threw
-her fur cloak on to the back of her chair, and appeared in a flaring
-dress trimmed with black satin and cut very low in the neck, looking
-enormous, her shoulders still beautiful, and resembling a mare’s
-shining flanks. Her square face, with its drooping cheeks and too big
-nose, expressed the tragic fury of a queen restraining herself from
-descending to the use of coarse, vulgar expressions.
-
-“Ah!” said Monsieur Josserand simply, bewildered by this violent
-entrance.
-
-He kept blinking his eyes and was seized with uneasiness. His wife
-positively crushed him when she displayed that giant throat, the full
-weight of which he seemed to feel on the nape of his neck. Dressed in
-an old thread-bare frock-coat which he was finishing to wear out at
-home, his face looking as though tempered and expunged by thirty-five
-years spent at an office desk, he watched her for a moment with his big
-lifeless blue eyes. Then, after thrusting his grey locks behind his
-ears, feeling very embarrassed and unable to find a word to say, he
-attempted to resume his work.
-
-“But you do not seem to understand!” resumed Madame Josserand in a
-shrill voice. “I tell you that there is another marriage knocked on the
-head, and it is the fourth!”
-
-“Yes, yes, I know, the fourth,” murmured he. “It is annoying, very
-annoying.”
-
-And, to escape from his wife’s terrifying nudity, he turned towards
-his. daughters with a good-natured smile. They also were removing their
-lace wraps and their opera-cloaks; the elder one was in blue and the
-younger in pink; their dresses, too, free in cut and over-trimmed, were
-like a provocation. Hortense, with her sallow complexion, and her face
-spoilt by a nose like her mother’s, which gave her an air of disdainful
-obstinacy, had just turned twenty-three and looked twenty-eight; whilst
-Berthe, two years younger, retained all a child’s gracefulness, having,
-however, the same features, but more delicate and dazzlingly white, and
-only menaced with the coarse family mask after she entered the fifties.
-
-“It will do no good if you go on looking at us for ever!” cried Madame
-Josserand. “And, for God’s sake, put your writing away; it worries my
-nerves!”
-
-“But, my dear,” said he peacefully, “I am addressing wrappers.”
-
-“Ah! yes, your wrappers at three francs a thousand! Is it with those
-three francs that you hope to marry your daughters?”
-
-Beneath the feeble light of the little lamp, the table was indeed
-covered with large sheets of coarse paper, printed wrappers, the blanks
-of which Monsieur Josserand filled in for a largo publisher who had
-several periodicals. As his salary as cashier did not suffice, he
-passed whole nights at this unprofitable labour, working in secret, and
-seized with shame at the idea that any one might discover their penury.
-
-“Three francs are three francs,” replied he in his slow, tired voice.
-“Those three francs will enable you to add ribbons to your dresses, and
-to offer some pastry to your guests on your Tuesdays at home.”
-
-He regretted his words as soon as he had uttered them; for he felt that
-they struck Madame Josserand full in the heart, in the most sensitive
-part of her wounded pride. A rush of blood purpled her shoulders; she
-seemed on the point of breaking out into revengeful utterances; then,
-by an effort of dignity, she merely stammered, “Ah! good heavens! ah!
-good heavens!”
-
-And she looked at her daughters; she magisterially crushed her husband
-beneath a shrug of her terrible shoulders, as much as to say, “Eh! you
-hear him? what an idiot!” The daughters nodded their heads. Then,
-seeing himself beaten, and laying down his pen with regret, the father
-opened the “Temps” newspaper, which he brought home every evening from
-his office.
-
-“Is Saturnin asleep?” sharply inquired Madame Josserand, speaking of
-her younger son.
-
-“Yes, long ago,” replied he. “I also sent Adèle to bed. And Léon, did
-you see him at the Dambrevilles’?”
-
-“Of course! he sleeps there!” she let out in a cry of rancour which she
-was unable to restrain.
-
-The father, surprised, naively added,
-
-“Ah! you think so?”
-
-Hortense and Berthe had become deaf again. They faintly smiled,
-however, affecting to be busy with their shoes, which were in a pitiful
-state. To create a diversion, Madame Josserand tried to pick another
-quarrel with Monsieur Josserand; she begged him to take his newspaper
-away every morning, not to leave it lying about in the room all day, as
-he had done with the previous number, for instance, a number containing
-the report of an abominable trial, which his daughters might have read.
-She well recognised there his want of morality.
-
-“Well, are we going to bed?” asked Hortense. “I am hungry.”
-
-“Oh! and I too!” said Berthe. “I am famishing.”
-
-“What! you are hungry!” cried Madame Josserand beside herself. “Did you
-not eat any cake there, then? What a couple of geese! You should have
-eaten some! I did.”
-
-The young ladies resisted. They were hungry, they were feeling quite
-ill. So the mother accompanied them to the kitchen, to see if they
-could discover anything. The father at once returned stealthily to his
-wrappers. He well knew that, without them, every little luxury in the
-home would have disappeared; and that was why, in spite of the scorn
-and unjust quarrels, he obstinately remained till daybreak engaged in
-this secret work, happy like the worthy man he was whenever he fancied
-that an extra piece of lace would hook a rich husband. As they were
-already stinting the food, without managing to save sufficient for the
-dresses and the Tuesday receptions, he resigned himself to his
-martyr-like labour, dressed in rags, whilst the mother and daughters
-wandered from drawing-room to drawing-room with flowers in their hair.
-
-“What a stench there is here!” cried Madame Josserand on entering the
-kitchen. “To think that I can never get that slut Adèle to leave the
-window slightly open! She pretends that the room is so very cold in the
-morning.”
-
-She went and opened the window, and from the narrow courtyard
-separating the kitchens there rose an icy dampness, the unsavoury odour
-of a musty cellar. The candle which Berthe had lighted caused colossal
-shadows of naked shoulders to dance upon the wall.
-
-“And what a state the place is in!” continued Madame Josserand,
-sniffing about, and poking her nose into all the dirty corners. “She
-has not scrubbed her table for a fortnight. Here are plates which have
-been waiting to be washed since the day before yesterday. On my word,
-it is disgusting! And her sink, just look! smell it now, smell her
-sink!”
-
-Her rage was lashing itself. She tumbled the crockery about with her
-arms white with rice powder and bedecked with gold bangles; she trailed
-her flaring dress amidst the grease stains, catching it in cooking
-utensils thrown under the tables, risking her hardly earned luxury
-amongst the vegetable parings. At last, the discovery of a notched
-knife made her anger break all bounds.
-
-“I will turn her into the street to-morrow morning!”
-
-“You will be no better off,” quietly remarked Hortense. “We are never
-able to keep anyone. This is the first who has stayed three months. The
-moment they begin to get a little decent and know how to make melted
-butter, off they go.”
-
-Madame Josserand bit her lips. As a matter of fact, Adèle alone, stupid
-and lousy, and only lately arrived from her native Brittany, could put
-up with the ridiculously vain penury of these middle-class people, who
-took advantage of her ignorance and her slovenliness to half starve
-her. Twenty times already, on account of a comb found on the bread or
-of some abominable stew which gave them all the colic, they had talked
-of sending her about her business; then, they had resigned themselves
-to putting up with her, in the presence of the difficulty of replacing
-her, for the pilferers themselves declined to be engaged, to enter that
-hole, where even the lumps of sugar were counted.
-
-“I can’t discover anything!” murmured Berthe, who was rummaging a
-cupboard.
-
-The shelves had the melancholy emptiness and the false luxury of
-families where inferior meat is purchased, so as to be able to put
-flowers on the table. All that was lying about were some white and gold
-porcelain plates, perfectly empty, a crumb-brush, the silver-plated
-handle of which was all tarnished, and some cruets without a drain of
-oil or vinegar in them; there was not a forgotten crust, not a morsel
-of dessert, not a fruit, nor a sweet, nor a remnant of cheese. One
-could feel that Adèle’s hunger never satisfied, lapped up the rare
-dribblets of sauce which her betters left at the bottoms of the dishes,
-to the extent of rubbing the gilt off.
-
-“But she has gone and eaten all the rabbit!” cried Madame Josserand.
-
-“True,” said Hortense, “there was the tail piece. Ah! no, here it is.
-It would have surprised me if she had dared. I shall stick to it, you
-know. It is cold, but it is better than nothing!”
-
-Berthe, on her side, was rummaging about, but without result. At length
-her hand encountered a bottle, in which her mother had diluted the
-contents of an old pot of jam, so as to manufacture some red currant
-syrup for her evening parties. She poured herself out half a glass,
-saying:
-
-“Ah! an idea! I will soak some bread in this, as it is all there is!”
-
-But Madame Josserand, all anxiety, looked at her sternly.
-
-“Pray, don’t restrain yourself, fill your glass whilst you are about
-it. It will be quite sufficient if I offer water to the ladies and
-gentlemen to-morrow, will it not?”
-
-Fortunately, the discovery of another of Adèle’s evil doings
-interrupted her reprimand. She was still turning about, searching for
-crimes, when she caught sight of a volume on the table; and then
-occurred a supreme explosion.
-
-“Oh! the beast! she has again brought my Lamartine into the kitchen!”
-
-It was a copy of “Jocelyn.” She took it up and rubbed it hard, as
-though dusting it; and she kept repeating that she had twenty times
-forbidden her to leave it lying about in that way, to write her
-accounts upon. Berthe and Hortense, meanwhile, had shared the little
-piece of bread which remained; then carrying their suppers away with
-them, they said that they would undress first. The mother gave the icy
-cold stove a last glance, and returned to the dining-room, tightly
-holding her Lamartine beneath the massive flesh of her arm.
-
-Monsieur Josserand continued writing. He trusted that his wife would be
-satisfied with crushing him with a glance of contempt as she crossed
-the room to go to bed. But she again dropped on to a chair, facing him,
-and looked at him fixedly without speaking. He felt this look, and was
-seized with such uneasiness, that his pen kept sputtering on the flimsy
-wrapper paper.
-
-“So it was you who prevented Adèle making a cream for tomorrow
-evening?” said she at length.
-
-He raised his head in amazement.
-
-“I, my dear!”
-
-“Oh! you will again deny it, as you always do. Then, why has she not
-made the cream I ordered? You know very well that before our party
-to-morrow Uncle Bachelard is coming to dinner, it is his saint’s-day,
-which is very awkward, happening as it does on my reception day. If
-there is no cream, we must have an ice, and that will be another five
-francs squandered!”
-
-He did not attempt to exculpate himself. Not daring to resume his work,
-he began to play with his penholder. There was a brief pause.
-
-“To-morrow morning,” resumed Madame Josserand, “you will oblige me by
-calling on the Campardons and reminding them very politely, if you can,
-that we are expecting to see them in the evening. Their young man
-arrived this afternoon. Ask them to bring him with them. Do you
-understand? I wish him to come.”
-
-“What young man?”
-
-“A young man; it would take too long to explain everything to you. I
-have obtained all necessary information about him. I am obliged to try
-everything, as you leave your daughters entirely to me, like a bundle
-of rubbish, without occupying yourself about marrying them any more
-than about marrying the Grand Turk.”
-
-The thought revived her anger.
-
-“You see, I contain myself, but it is more, oh! it is more than I can
-stand! Say nothing, sir, say nothing, or really my anger will get the
-better of me.”
-
-He said nothing, but she vented her wrath upon him all the same.
-
-“It has become unbearable! I warn you, that one of these mornings I
-shall go off, and leave you here with your two idiotic daughters. Was I
-born to live such a skinflint life as this? Always cutting farthings
-into four, never even having a decent pair of boots, and not being able
-to receive my friends decently! And all that through your fault! Ah! do
-not shake your head, do not exasperate me more than I am already! Yes,
-your fault! You deceived me, sir, basely deceived me. One should not
-marry a woman, when one is decided to let her want for everything. You
-played the boaster, you pretended you had a fine future before you, you
-were the friend of your employer’s sons, of those brothers Bemheim,
-who, since, have merely made a fool of you. What! You dare to pretend
-that they have not made a fool of you! But you ought to be their
-partner by now? It is you who made their business what it is, one of
-the first glass-houses in Paris, and you have remained their cashier, a
-subordinate, a hireling. Really! you have no spirit; hold your tongue.”
-
-“I get eight thousand francs a year,” murmured the cashier. “It is a
-very good berth.”
-
-“A good berth, after more than thirty years’ labour?” resumed Madame
-Josserand. “They grind you down, and you are delighted. Do you know
-what I would have done, had I been in your place? well! I would have
-put the business into my pocket twenty times over. It was so easy. I
-saw it when I married you, and since then I have never ceased advising
-you to do so. But it required some initiative and intelligence; it was
-a question of not going to sleep on your leather-covered stool, like a
-blockhead.”
-
-“Come,” interrupted Monsieur Josserand, “are you going to reproach me
-now with being honest?”
-
-She jumped up, and advanced towards him, flourishing her Lamartine.
-
-“Honest! in what way do you mean? Begin by being honest towards me.
-Others do not count till afterwards, I hope! And I repeat, sir, it is
-not honest to take a young girl in, pretending to be ambitious to
-become rich some day, and then to end by losing what little wits you
-had in looking after somebody else’s cashbox. On my word, I was nicely
-swindled! Ah! if it were to happen over again, and if I had only known
-your family!”
-
-She was walking violently about. He could not restrain a slight sign of
-impatience, in spite of his great desire for peace.
-
-“You would do better to go to bed, Eléonore,” said he. “It is past one
-o’clock, and I assure you this work is pressing. My family has done you
-no harm, so do not speak of it.”
-
-“Ah! and why, pray? Your family is no more sacred than another, I
-suppose. Every one at Clermont knows that your father, after selling
-his business of solicitor, let himself be ruined by a servant. You
-might have seen your daughters married long ago, had he not taken up
-with a strumpet when over seventy. There is another who has swindled
-me!”
-
-Monsieur Josserand turned pale. He replied in a trembling voice, which
-rose higher as he went on:
-
-“Listen, do not let us throw our relations at each other’s heads. Your
-father never paid me your dowry, the thirty thousand francs he
-promised.”
-
-“Eh? what? thirty thousand francs!”
-
-“Exactly; don’t pretend to be surprised. And if my father met with
-misfortunes, yours behaved in a most disgraceful way towards us. I was
-never able to find out clearly what he left. There were all sorts of
-underhand dealings, so that the school in the Rue des
-Fossés-Saint-Victor should remain with your sister’s husband, that
-shabby usher who no longer recognises us now. We were robbed as though
-in a wood.”
-
-Madame Josserand, now ghastly white, was choking with rage before her
-husband’s inconceivable revolt.
-
-“Do not say a word against papa! For forty years he was a credit to
-instruction. Go and talk of the Bachelard Academy in the neighbourhood
-of the Panthéon! And as for my sister and my brother-in-law, they are
-what they are. They have robbed me, I know; but it is not for you to
-say so. I will not permit it, understand that! Do I speak to you of
-your sister, who eloped with an officer? Oh! you have indeed some nice
-relations!”
-
-“An officer who married her, madame. There is uncle Bachelard, too,
-your brother, a man totally destitute of all morality—”
-
-“But you are becoming cracked, sir! He is rich, he earns what he
-pleases as a commission merchant, and he has promised to provide
-Berthe’s dowry. Do you then respect nothing?”
-
-“Ah! yes, provide Berthe’s dowry! Will you bet that he will give a sou,
-and that we shall not have had to put up with his nasty habits for
-nothing? He makes me feel ashamed of him every time he comes here. A
-liar, a rake, a person who takes advantage of the situation, who for
-fifteen years past, seeing us all on our knees before his fortune, has
-been taking me every Saturday to spend two hours in his office, to go
-over his books! It saves him five francs. We have never yet been
-favoured with a single present from him.”
-
-Madame Josserand, catching her breath, was wrapped for a moment in
-thought. Then she uttered this last cry:
-
-“And you have a nephew in the police, sir!”
-
-A fresh pause ensued. The light from the little lamp was becoming
-dimmer, wrappers were flying about beneath Monsieur Josserand’s
-feverish gestures; and he looked his wife full in the face—his wife in
-her low neck dress—determined to say everything, and quivering with
-courage.
-
-“With eight thousand francs a year one can do many things,” resumed he.
-“You are always complaining. But you should not have arranged your
-housekeeping on a footing superior to our means. It is your mania for
-receiving and for paying visits, of having your at homes, of giving tea
-and pastry—“?
-
-She did not let him finish.
-
-“Now we have come to it! Shut me up in a box at once. Reproach me for
-not walking out as naked as my hand. And your daughters, sir, who will
-marry them if we never see any one? We don’t see many people as it is.
-It does well to sacrifice oneself, to be judged afterwards with such
-meanness of heart!”
-
-“We have all of us, madame, sacrificed ourselves. Léon had to make way
-for his sisters; and he left the house to earn his own living without
-any assistance from us. As for Saturnin, poor child, he does not even
-know how to read. And I deny myself everything; I pass my nights—”
-
-“Why did you have daughters then, sir? You are surely not going to
-reproach them with their education, I hope? Any other man in your place
-would be proud of Hortense’s diploma and of Berthe’s talents. The dear
-child again delighted every one this evening with her waltz, the ‘Banks
-of the Oise,’ and her last painting will certainly enchant our guests
-to-morrow. But you, sir, you are not even a father; you would have sent
-your children to take cows to grass, instead of sending them to
-school.”
-
-“Well! I took out an assurance for Berthe’s benefit Was it not you,
-madame, who, when the fourth payment became due, made use of the money
-to cover the drawing-room furniture? And, since then, you have even
-negotiated the premiums that had been paid.”
-
-“Of course! as you leave us to die of hunger. Ah! you may indeed bite
-your fingers, if your daughters become old maids.”
-
-“Bite my fingers! But, Jove’s thunder! it is you who frighten the
-likely men away, with your dresses and your ridiculous parties!”
-
-Never before had Monsieur Josserand gone so far. Madame Josserand,
-suffocating, stammered forth the words: “I—I ridiculous!” when the door
-opened. Hortense and Berthe were returning, in their petticoats and
-little calico jackets, their hair let down, and their feet in old
-slippers.
-
-“Ah, well! it is too cold in our room!” said Berthe shivering. “The
-food freezes in your mouth. Here, at least, there has been a fire this
-evening.”
-
-And both dragging their chairs along the floor, seated themselves close
-to the stove, which still retained a little warmth. Hortense held her
-rabbit bone in the tips of her fingers, and was skilfully picking it.
-Berthe dipped pieces of bread in her glass of syrup. The parents,
-however, were so excited that they did not even appear to notice their
-arrival. They continued:
-
-“Ridiculous—ridiculous, sir! I shall not be ridiculous again! Let my
-head be cut off if I wear out another pair of gloves in trying to get
-them husbands. It is your turn now! And try not to be more ridiculous
-than I have been!”
-
-“I daresay, madame, now that you have exhibited them and compromised
-them everywhere! Whether you marry them or whether you don’t, I don’t
-care a button!”
-
-“And I care less, Monsieur Josserand! I care so little that I will
-bundle them out into the street if you aggravate me much more. And if
-you have a mind to, you can follow them, the door is open. Ah, heavens!
-what a good riddance!”
-
-The young ladies quietly listened, used to these lively recriminations.
-They were still eating, their little jackets dropping from their
-shoulders, and their bare skin gently rubbing against the lukewarm
-earthenware of the stove; and they looked charming in this undress,
-with their youth and their hearty appetites and their eyes heavy with
-sleep.
-
-“You are very foolish to quarrel,” at length observed Hortense, with
-her mouth full. “Mamma only spoils her temper, and papa will be ill
-again to-morrow at his office. It seems to me that we are old enough to
-be able to find husbands for ourselves.”
-
-This created a diversion. The father, thoroughly exhausted, made a
-feint of returning to his wrappers; and he sat with his nose over the
-paper, unable to write, his hands trembling violently. The mother, who
-had been moving about the room like an escaped lioness, went and
-planted herself in front of Hortense.
-
-“If you are speaking for yourself,” cried she, “you are a great ninny!
-Your Verdier will never marry you.”
-
-“That is my business,” boldly replied the young girl.
-
-After having contemptuously refused five or six suitors, a little
-clerk, the son of a tailor, and other young fellows whose prospects she
-did not consider good enough, she had ended by setting her cap at a
-barrister, whom she had met at the Dambrevilles’, and who was already
-turned forty. She considered him very clever, and destined to make a
-name in the world. But the misfortune was that for fifteen years past
-Verdier had been living with a mistress, who in the neighbourhood even
-passed for his wife. She knew of this, though, and by no means let it
-trouble her.
-
-“My child,” said the father, raising his head once more, “I begged you
-not to think of this marriage. You know the situation.”
-
-She stopped sucking her bone, and said with an air of impatience:
-
-“What of it? Verdier has promised me he will leave her. She is a fool.”
-
-“You are wrong, Hortense, to speak in that way. And if he should also
-leave you one day to return to her whom you would have caused him to
-abandon?”
-
-“That is my business,” sharply retorted the young woman.
-
-Berthe listened, fully acquainted with this matter, the contingencies
-of which she discussed daily with her sister. She was, besides, like
-her father, all in favour of the poor woman, whom it was proposed to
-turn out into the street, after having performed a wife’s duties for
-fifteen years. But Madame Josserand intervened.
-
-“Leave off, do! those wretched women always end by returning to the
-gutter. Only, it is Verdier who will never bring himself to leave her.
-He is fooling you, my dear. In your place, I would not wait a second
-for him; I would try and find some one else.”
-
-Hortense’s voice became sourer still, whilst two livid spots appeared
-on her cheeks.
-
-“Mamma, you know how I am. I want him, and I will have him. I will
-never marry any one else, even though he kept me waiting a hundred
-years.”
-
-The mother shrugged her shoulders.
-
-“And you call others fools!”
-
-But the young girl rose up, quivering with rage.
-
-“Here! don’t go pitching into me!” cried she. “I have finished my
-rabbit. I prefer to go to bed. As you are unable to find us husbands,
-you must let us find them in our own way.”
-
-And she withdrew, violently slamming the door behind her.
-
-Madame Josserand turned majestically towards her husband, and uttered
-this profound remark:
-
-“That, sir, is the result of your bringing up!”
-
-Monsieur Josserand did not protest; he was occupied in dotting his
-thumb nail with ink, whilst waiting till they allowed him to resume his
-writing. Berthe, who had eaten her bread, dipped a finger in the glass
-to finish up her syrup. She felt comfortable, with her back nice and
-warm, and did not hurry herself, being undesirous of encountering her
-sister’s quarrelsome temper in their bedroom.
-
-“Ah! and that is the reward!” continued Madame Josserand, resuming her
-walk to and fro across the dining-room. “For twenty years one wears
-oneself out for these young ladies, one goes in want of everything in
-order to make them accomplished women, and they will not even let one
-have the satisfaction of seeing them married according to one’s own
-fancy. It would be different, if they had ever been refused a single
-thing! But I have never kept a sou for myself, and have even gone
-without clothes to dress them as though we had an income of fifty
-thousand francs. No, really, it is too absurd! When those hussies have
-had a careful education, have got just as much religion as is
-necessary, and the airs of rich girls, they leave you in the lurch,
-they talk of marrying barristers, adventurers, who lead lives of
-debauchery!”
-
-She stopped before Berthe, and, menacing her with her finger, said:
-
-“As for you, if you follow your sister’s example, you will have me to
-deal with.”
-
-Then she recommenced stamping round the room, speaking to herself,
-jumping from one idea to another, contradicting herself with the
-brazenness of a woman who will always be in the right.
-
-“I did what I ought to do, and were it to be done over again I should
-do the same. In life, it is only the most shamefaced who lose. Money is
-money; when one has none, one may as well retire. Whenever I had twenty
-sous, I always said I had forty; for that is real wisdom, it is better
-to be envied than pitied. It is no use having a good education if one
-has not good clothes to wear, for then people despise you. It is not
-just, but it is so. I would sooner wear dirty petticoats than a cotton
-dress. Feed on potatoes, but have a chicken when you have any one to
-dinner. And only fools would say the contrary!”
-
-She looked fixedly at her husband, to whom these last reflections were
-addressed. The latter, worn out, and declining another battle, had the
-cowardice to declare:
-
-“It is true; money is everything in our days.”
-
-“You hear,” resumed Madame Josserand, returning towards her daughter.
-“Go straight ahead and try to give us satisfaction. How is it you let
-this marriage fall through?”
-
-Berthe understood that her turn had come.
-
-“I don’t know, mamma,” murmured she “A second head-clerk in a
-government office,” continued the mother; “not yet thirty, with a
-splendid future before him. Every month he would be bringing you his
-money; it is something substantial that, there is nothing like it. You
-have been up to some tomfoolery again, just the same as with the
-others.”
-
-“I have not, mamma, I assure you. He must have obtained some
-information—have heard that I had no money.”
-
-But Madame Josserand cried out at this.
-
-“And the dowry that your uncle is going to give you! Every one knows
-about that dowry. No, there is something else; he withdrew too
-abruptly. When dancing you passed into the parlour.”
-
-Berthe became confused.
-
-“Yes, mamma. And, as we were alone, he even tried to do some naughty
-things; he kissed me, seizing hold of me like that. Then I was
-frightened; I pushed him up against the furniture—”
-
-Her mother, again overcome with rage, interrupted her.
-
-“Pushed him up against the furniture, ah! the wretched girl pushed him
-up against the furniture!”
-
-“But, mamma, he held me—”
-
-“What of it? He held you, that was nothing! A fat lot of good it is
-sending such fools to school! Whatever did they teach you, eh?”
-
-A rush of colour rose to the young girl’s cheeks and shoulders. Tears
-filled her eyes, whilst she looked as confused as a violated virgin.
-
-“It was not my fault; he looked so wicked. I did not know what to do.”
-
-“Did not know what to do! she did not know what to do! Have I not told
-you a hundred times that your fears are ridiculous? It is your lot to
-live in society. When a man is rough, it is because he loves you, and
-there is always a way of keeping him in his place in a nice manner. For
-a kiss behind a door! in truth now, ought you to mention such a thing
-to us, your parents? And you push people against the furniture, and you
-drive away your suitors!”
-
-She assumed a doctoral air as she continued:
-
-“It is ended; I despair of doing anything with you, you are too stupid,
-my girl. One would have to coach you in everything, and that would be
-awkward. As you have no fortune, understand at least that you must hook
-the men by some other means. One should be amiable, have loving eyes,
-abandon one’s hand occasionally, allow a little playfulness, without
-seeming to do so; in short, one should angle for a husband. You make a
-great mistake, if you think it improves your eyes to cry like a fool!”
-
-Berthe was sobbing.
-
-“You aggravate me—leave off crying. Monsienr Josserand, just tell your
-daughter not to spoil her face by crying in that way. It will be too
-much if she becomes ugly!”
-
-“My child,” said the father, “be reasonable; listen to your mother’s
-good advice. You must not spoil your good looks, my darling.”
-
-“And what irritates me is that she is not so bad when she likes,”
-resumed Madame Josserand. “Come, wipe your eyes, look at me as if I was
-a gentleman courting you. You smile, you drop your fan, so that the
-gentleman, in picking it up, slightly touches your fingers. That is not
-the way. You are holding you head up too stiffly, you look like a sick
-hen. Lean back more, show your neck; it is too young to be hidden.”
-
-“Then, like this, mamma?”
-
-“Yes, that is better. And never be stiff, be supple. Men do not care
-for planks. And, above all, if they go too far do not play the
-simpleton. A man who goes too far is done for, my dear.”
-
-The drawing-room clock struck two; and, in the excitement of that
-prolonged vigil, in her desire now become furious for an immediate
-marriage, the mother forgot herself in thinking out loud, making her
-daughter turn about like a papier-mache doll. The latter, without
-spirit or will, abandoned herself; but she felt very heavy at heart,
-fear and shame brought a lump to her throat. Suddenly, in the midst of
-a silvery laugh which her mother was forcing her to attempt, she burst
-into sobs, her face all upset:
-
-“No! no! it pains me!” stammered she,
-
-For a second, Madame Josserand remained incensed and amazed. Ever since
-she left the Dambrevilles’, her hand had been itching, there were slaps
-in the air. Then, she landed Berthe a clout with all her might.
-
-“Take that! you are too aggravating! What a fool! On my word, the men
-are right!”
-
-In the shock, her Lamartine, which she had kept under her arm, fell to
-the floor. She picked it up, wiped it, and without adding another word,
-she retired into the bedroom, royally drawing her ball-dress around
-her.
-
-“It was bound to end thus,” murmured Monsieur Josserand, not daring to
-detain his daughter, who went off also, holding her cheek and crying
-louder than ever.
-
-But, as Berthe felt her way across the ante-room, she found her brother
-Saturnin up, barefooted and listening. Saturnin was a big, ill-formed
-fellow of twenty-five, with wild-looking eyes, and who had remained
-childish after an attack of brain-fever. Without being mad, he
-terrified the household by attacks of blind violence, whenever he was
-thwarted. Berthe, alone, was able to subdue him with a look. He had
-nursed her when she was still quite a child, through a long illness,
-obedient as a dog to her little invalid girl’s caprices; and, ever
-since he had saved her, he was seized with an adoration for her, into
-which entered every kind of love.
-
-“Has she been beating you again?” asked he in a low and ardent voice.
-
-Berthe, uneasy at finding him there, tried to send him away.
-
-“Go to bed, it is nothing to do with you.”
-
-“Yes, it is. I will not have her beat you! She woke me up, she was
-shouting so. She had better not try it on again, or I will strike her!”
-
-Then, she seized him by the wrists, and spoke to him as to a
-disobedient animal. He submitted at once, and stuttered, crying like a
-little boy:
-
-“It hurts you very much, does it not? Where is the sore place, that I
-may kiss it?”
-
-And, having found her cheek in the dark, he kissed it, wetting it with
-his tears, as he repeated:
-
-“It is well, now, it is well, now.”
-
-Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, left alone, had laid down his pen, his
-heart was so full of grief. At the end of a few minutes, he got up
-gently to go and listen at the doors. Madame Josserand was snoring. No
-sounds of crying issued from his daughters’ room. All was dark and
-peaceful. Then he returned, feeling slightly relieved. He saw to the
-lamp which was smoking, and mechanically resumed his writing. Two big
-tears, unfelt by him, dropped on to the wrappers, in the solemn silence
-of the slumbering house.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.
-
-
-So soon as the fish was served, skate of doubtful freshness with black
-butter, which that bungler Adèle had drowned in a flood of vinegar,
-Hortense and Berthe, seated on the right and left of uncle Bachelard,
-incited him to drink, filling his glass one after the other, and
-repeating:
-
-“It’s your saint’s-day, drink now, drink! Here’s your health, uncle!”
-
-They had plotted together to make him give them twenty francs. Every
-year, their provident mother placed them thus on either side of her
-brother, abandoning him to them. But it was a difficult task, and
-required all the greediness of two girls prompted by dreams of Louis
-XV. shoes and five button gloves. To get him to give the twenty francs,
-it was necessary to make the uncle completely drunk. He was ferociously
-miserly whenever he found himself amongst his relations, though out of
-doors he squandered in crapulous boozes the eighty thousand francs he
-made each year out of his commission business. Fortunately, that
-evening, he was already half fuddled when he arrived, having passed the
-afternoon with the wife of a dyer of the Faubourg Montmartre, who kept
-a stock of Marseilles vermouth expressly for him.
-
-“Your health, my little ducks!” replied he each time, with his thick
-husky voice, as he emptied his glass.
-
-Covered with jewellery, a rose in his button-hole, enormous in build,
-he filled the middle of the table, with his broad shoulders of a
-boozing and brawling tradesman, who has wallowed in every vice. His
-false teeth lit up with too harsh a whiteness his ravaged face, the big
-red nose of which blazed beneath the snowy crest of his short cropped
-hair; and, now and again, his eyelids dropped of themselves over his
-pale and misty eyes. Gueulin, the son of one of his wife’s sisters,
-affirmed that his uncle had not been sober during the ten years he had
-been a widower.
-
-“Narcisse, a little skate, I can recommend it,” said Madame Josserand,
-smiling at her brother’s tipsy condition, though at heart it made her
-feel rather disgusted.
-
-She was sitting opposite to him, having little Gueulin on her left, and
-another young man on her right, Hector Trublot, to whom she was
-desirous of showing some politeness. She usually took advantage of
-family gatherings like the present to get rid of certain invitations
-she had to return; and it was thus that a lady living in the house,
-Madame Juzeur, was also present, seated next to Monsieur Josserand. As
-the uncle behaved very badly at table, and it was the expectation of
-his fortune alone which enabled them to put up with him without
-absolute disgust, she only had intimate acquaintances to meet him or
-else persons whom she thought it was no longer worth while trying to
-dazzle. For instance, she had at one time thought of finding a
-son-in-law in young Trublot, who was employed at a stockbroker’s,
-whilst waiting till his father, a wealthy man, purchased him a share in
-the business; but, Trublot having professed a determined objection to
-matrimony, she no longer stood upon ceremony with him, even placing him
-next to Saturnin, who had never known how to eat decently. Berthe, who
-always had a seat beside her brother, was commissioned to subdue him
-with a look, whenever he put his fingers too much into the gravy.
-
-After the fish came a meat pie, and the young ladies thought the moment
-arrived to commence their attack.
-
-“Take another glass, uncle!” said Hortense. “It is your saint’s day.
-Don’t you give anything when it’s your saint’s-day?”
-
-“Dear me! why of course,” added Berthe naively. “People always give
-something on their saint’s-day. You must give us twenty francs.”
-
-On hearing them speak of money, Bachelard at once exaggerated his tipsy
-condition. It was his usual dodge; his eyelids dropped, and he became
-quite idiotic.
-
-“Eh? what?” stuttered he.
-
-“Twenty francs. You know very well what twenty francs are, it is no use
-your pretending you don’t,” resumed Berthe. “Give us twenty francs, and
-we will love you, oh! we will love you so much!”
-
-They threw their arms round his neck, called him the most endearing
-names, and kissed his inflamed face without the least repugnance for
-the horrid odour of debauchery which he exhaled. Monsieur Josserand,
-whom these continual fumes of absinthe, tobacco and musk upset, had a
-feeling of disgust on seeing his daughters’ virgin charms rubbing up
-against those infamies gathered in the vilest places.
-
-“Leave him alone!” cried he.
-
-“Why?” asked Madame Josserand, giving her husband a terrible look.
-“They are amusing themselves. If Narcisse wishes to give them twenty
-francs, he is quite at liberty to do so.”
-
-“Monsieur Bachelard is so good to them!” complacently murmured little
-Madame Juzeur.
-
-But the uncle struggled, becoming more idiotic than ever, and
-repeating, with his mouth full of saliva:
-
-“It’s funny. I don’t know, word of honour! I don’t know.”
-
-Then, Hortense and Berthe, exchanging a glance, released him. No doubt
-he had not had enough to drink. And they again resorted to filling his
-glass, laughing like courtesans who intend robbing a man. Their bare
-arms, of an adorable youthful plumpness, kept passing every minute
-under the uncle’s big flaming nose.
-
-Meanwhile, Trublot, like a quiet fellow who takes his pleasures alone,
-was watching Adèle as she turned heavily round the table. Being very
-short-sighted he thought her pretty, with her pronounced Breton
-features and her hair the colour of dirty hemp. When she brought in the
-roast, a piece of veal, she leant right over his shoulder, to reach the
-centre of the table; and he, pretending to pick up his napkin, gave her
-a good pinch on the calf of her leg. The servant, not understanding,
-looked at him, as though he had asked her for some bread.
-
-“What is it?” said Madame Josserand. “Did she knock against you, sir?
-Oh! that girl! she is so awkward! But, you know, she is quite new to
-the work; she will be better when she has had a little training.”
-
-“No doubt, there is no harm done,” replied Trublot, stroking his bushy
-black beard with the serenity of a young Indian god.
-
-The conversation was becoming more animated in the diningroom, at first
-icy cold, and now gradually warming with the fumes of the dishes.
-Madame Juzeur was once more confiding to Monsieur Josserand the
-dreariness of her thirty years of solitary existence. She raised her
-eyes to heaven, and contented herself with this discreet allusion to
-the drama of her life: her husband had left her after ten days of
-married bliss, and no one knew why; she said nothing more. Now, she
-lived by herself in a lodging that was as soft as down and always
-closed, and which was frequented by priests.
-
-“It is so sad, at my age!” murmured she languishingly, cutting up her
-veal with delicate gestures.
-
-“A very unfortunate little woman,” whispered Madame Josserand in
-Trublot’s ear, with an air of profound sympathy.
-
-But Trublot glanced indifferently at this clear-eyed devotee, so full
-of reserve and hidden meanings. She was not his style.
-
-Then there was a regular panic. Saturnin, whom Berthe was not watching
-so closely, being too busy with her uncle, had amused himself by
-cutting up his meat into various designs on his plate. This poor
-creature exasperated his mother, who was both afraid and ashamed of
-him; she did not know how to get rid of him, not daring through pride
-to make a workman of him, after having sacrificed him to his sisters by
-having removed him from the school where his slumbering intelligence
-was too long awakening; and, during the years he had been hanging about
-the house, useless and stinted, she was in a constant state of fright
-whenever she had to let him appear before company. Her pride suffered
-cruelly.
-
-“Saturnin!” cried she.
-
-But Saturnin began to chuckle, delighted with the mess he had made in
-his plate. He did not respect his mother, but called her roundly a
-great liar and a horrid nuisance, with the perspicacity of madmen who
-think out loud. Things certainly seemed to be going wrong. He would
-have thrown his plate at her head, if Berthe, reminded of her duties,
-had not looked him straight in the face. He tried to resist; then the
-fire in his eyes died out; he remained gloomy and depressed on his
-chair, as though in a dream, until the end of the meal.
-
-“I hope, Gueulin, that you have brought your flute?” asked Madame
-Josserand, trying to dispel her guests’ uneasiness.
-
-Gueulin was an amateur flute-player, but solely in the houses where he
-was treated without ceremony.
-
-“My flute! Of course I have,” replied he.
-
-He was absent-minded, his carroty hair and whiskers were more bristly
-than usual, as he watched with deep interest the young ladies’
-manoeuvres around their uncle. Employed at an assurance office, he
-would go straight to Bachelard on leaving off work, and stick to him,
-visiting the same cafés and the same disreputable places. Behind the
-big, ill-shaped body of the one, the little pale face of the other was
-sure always to be seen.
-
-“Cheerily, there! stick to him!” said he, suddenly, like a true
-sportsman.
-
-The uncle was indeed losing ground. When, after the vegetables, French
-beans swimming in water, Adèle placed a vanilla and currant ice on the
-table, it caused unexpected delight amongst the guests; and the young
-ladies took advantage of the situation to make the uncle drink half of
-the bottle of champagne, which Madame Josserand had bought for three
-francs of a neighbouring grocer. He was becoming quite affectionate,
-and forgetting his pretended idiocy.
-
-“Eh, twenty francs! Why twenty francs? Ah! you want twenty francs! But
-I have not got them, really now. Ask Gueulin. Is it not true, Gueulin,
-that I forgot my purse, and that you had to pay at the café? If I had
-them, my little ducks, I would give them to you, you are so nice.”
-
-Gueulin was laughing in his cool way, making a noise like a pulley that
-required greasing. And he murmured:
-
-“The old swindler!”
-
-Then, suddenly, unable to restrain himself, he cried:
-
-“Search him!”
-
-So Hortense and Berthe again threw themselves on the uncle, this time
-without the least restraint. The desire for the twenty francs, which
-their good education had hitherto kept within bounds, bereft them of
-their senses in the end, and they forgot everything else. The one, with
-both hands, examined his waistcoat pockets, whilst the other buried her
-fingers inside the pockets of his frock-coat. The uncle, however,
-pressed back on his chair, still struggled; but he gradually burst out
-into a laugh—a laugh broken by drunken hiccoughs.
-
-“On my word of honour, I haven’t a sou! Leave off, do; you’re tickling
-me.”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-“In the trousers!” energetically exclaimed Gueulin, excited by the
-spectacle.
-
-And Berthe resolutely searched one of the trouser pockets.
-
-Their hands trembled; they were both becoming exceedingly rough, and
-could have smacked the uncle. But Berthe uttered a cry of victory: from
-the depths of the pocket she brought forth a handful of money, which
-she spread out in a plate; and there, amongst a heap of coppers and
-pieces of silver, was a twenty-franc piece.
-
-“I have it!” said she, her face all red, her hair undone, as she tossed
-the coin in the air and caught it again.
-
-There was a general clapping of hands, every one thought it very funny.
-It created quite a hubbub, and was the success of the dinner. Madame
-Josserand looked at her daughters with a mother’s tender smile. The
-uncle, who was gathering up his money, sententiously observed that,
-when one wanted twenty francs, one should earn them. And the young
-ladies, worn out and satisfied, were panting on his right and left,
-their lips still trembling in the enervation of their desire.
-
-A bell was heard to ring. They had been eating slowly, and the other
-guests were already arriving. Monsieur Josserand, who had decided to
-laugh like his wife, enjoyed singing some of Béranger’s songs at table;
-but as this outraged his better half’s poetic tastes, she compelled him
-to keep quiet. She got the dessert over as quickly as possible, more
-especially as, since the forced present of the twenty francs, the uncle
-had been trying to pick a quarrel, complaining that his nephew, Léon,
-had not deigned to put himself out to come and wish him many happy
-returns of the day. Léon was only coming to the evening party. At
-length, as they were rising from table, Adèle said that the architect
-from the floor below and a young man were in the drawing-room.
-
-“Ah! yes, that young man,” murmured Madame Juzeur, accepting Monsieur
-Josserand’s arm. “So you have invited him? I saw him to-day talking to
-the doorkeeper. He is very good-looking.”
-
-Madame Josserand was taking Trublot’s arm, when Saturnin, who had been
-left by himself at the tableland who had not been roused from
-slumbering with his eyes open by all the uproar about the twenty
-francs, kicked back his chair, in a sudden outburst of fury, shouting:
-
-“I won’t have it, damnation! I won’t have it!”
-
-It was the very thing his mother always dreaded. She signalled to
-Monsieur Josserand to take Madame Juzeur away. Then she freed herself
-from Trublot, who understood, and disappeared; but he probably made a
-mistake, for he went off in the direction of the kitchen, close upon
-Adèle’s heels. Bachelard and Gueulin, without troubling themselves
-about the maniac, as they called him, chuckled in a corner, whilst
-playfully slapping one another.
-
-“He was so peculiar, I felt there would be something this evening,”
-murmured Madame Josserand, uneasily. “Berthe, come quick!”
-
-But Berthe was showing the twenty-franc piece to Hortense. Saturnin had
-caught up a knife. He repeated:
-
-“Damnation! I won’t have it! I’ll rip their stomachs open!”
-
-“Berthe!” called her mother in despair.
-
-And, when the young girl hastened to the spot, she only just had time
-to seize him by the hand and prevent him from entering the
-drawing-room. She shook him angrily, whilst he tried to explain, with
-his madman’s logic.
-
-“Let me be, I must settle them. I tell you it’s best. I’ve had enough
-of their dirty ways. They’ll sell the whole lot of us.”
-
-“Oh! this is too much!” eried Berthe. “What is the matter with you?
-what are you talking about?”
-
-He looked at her in a bewildered way, trembling with a gloomy rage, and
-stuttered:
-
-“They’re going to marry you again. Never, you hear! I won’t have you
-hurt.”
-
-The young girl eould not help laughing. Where had he got the idea from
-that they were going to marry her? But he nodded his head: he knew it,
-he felt it. And as his mother intervened to try and calm him, he
-grasped his knife so tightly that she drew back. However, she trembled
-for fear he should be overheard, and hastily told Berthe to take him
-away and lock him in his room; whilst he, becoming crazier than ever,
-raised his voice:
-
-“I won’t have you married, I won’t have you hurt. If they marry you,
-I’ll rip their stomachs open.”
-
-Then Berthe put her hands on his shoulders, and looked him straight in
-the face.
-
-“Listen,” said she, “keep quiet, or I will not love you any more.”
-
-He staggered, despair softened the expression of his face, his eyes
-filled with tears.
-
-“You won’t love me any more, you won’t love me any more. Don’t say
-that. Oh! I implore you, say that you will love me still, say that you
-will love me always, and that you will never love any one else.”
-
-She had seized him by the wrist, and she led him away as gentle as a
-child.
-
-In the drawing-room Madame Josserand, exaggerating her intimacy, called
-Campardon her dear neighbour. Why had Madame Campardon not done her the
-great pleasure of coming also? and on the architect replying that his
-wife still continued poorly, she exelaimed that they would have been
-delighted to have received her in her dressing-gown and her slippers.
-But her smile never left Octave, who was conversing with Monsieur
-Josserand; all her amiability was directed towards him, over
-Campardon’s shoulder. When her husband introduced the young man to her,
-her cordiality was so great that the latter felt quite uncomfortable.
-
-Other guests were arriving; stout mothers with skinny daughters,
-fathers and uncles scarcely roused from their office drowsiness,
-pushing before them flocks of marriageable young ladies. Two lamps,
-with pink paper shades, lit up the drawingroom with a pale light, which
-only faintly displayed the old, worn, yellow velvet covered furniture,
-the scratched piano, and the three smoky Swiss views, which looked like
-black stains on the cold, bare, white and gold panels. And, in this
-miserly light, the guests—poor, and, so to say, worn-out figures,
-without resignation, and whose attire was the cause of much pinching
-and saving—seemed to become obliterated. Madame Josserand wore her
-fiery costume of the day before; only, with a view of throwing dust in
-people’s eyes, she had passed the day in sewing sleeves on to the body,
-and in making herself a lace tippet to cover her shoulders; whilst her
-two daughters, seated beside her in their dirty cotton jackets,
-vigorously plied their needles, rearranging with new trimmings their
-only presentable dresses, which they had been thus altering bit by bit
-ever since the previous winter.
-
-After each ring at the bell, the sound of whispering issued from the
-ante-chamber. They conversed in low tones in the gloomy drawing-room,
-where the forced laugh of some young lady jarred at times like a false
-note. Behind little Madame Juzeur, Bachelard and Gueulin were nudging
-each other, and making smutty remarks; and Madame Josserand watched
-them with an alarmed look, for she dreaded her brother’s vulgar
-behaviour. But Madame Juzeur might hear anything; her lips quivered,
-and she smiled with angelic sweetness as she listened to the naughty
-stories. Uncle Bachelard had the reputation of being a dangerous man.
-His nephew, on the contrary, was chaste. No matter how splendid the
-opportunities were, Gueulin declined to have anything to do with women
-upon principle, not that he disdained them, but because he dreaded the
-morrows of bliss: always very unpleasant, he said.
-
-Berthe at length appeared, and went hurriedly up to her mother.
-
-“Ah, well! I have had a deal of trouble!” whispered she in her ear. “He
-would not go to bed, so I double-locked the door. But I am afraid he
-will break everything in the room.”
-
-Madame Josserand violently tugged at her dress. Octave, who was close
-to them, had turned his head.
-
-“My daughter, Berthe, Monsieur Mouret,” said she, in her most gracious
-manner, as she introduced them. “Monsieur Octave Mouret, my darling.”
-
-And she looked at her daughter. The latter was well acquainted with
-this look, which was like an order to clear for action, and which
-recalled to her the lessons of the night before. She at once obeyed,
-with the complaisance and the indifference of a girl who no longer
-stops to examine the person she is to marry. She prettily recited her
-little part with the easy grace of a Parisian already weary of the
-world, and acquainted with every subject, and she talked
-enthusiastically of the South, where she had never been. Octave, used
-to the stiffness of provincial virgins, was delighted with this little
-woman’s cackle and her sociable manner.
-
-Presently, Trublot, who had not been seen since dinner was over,
-entered stealthily from the dining-room; and Berthe, catching sight of
-him, asked thoughtlessly where he had been. He remained silent, at
-which she felt very confused; then, to put an end to the awkward pause
-which ensued, she introduced the two young men to each other. Her
-mother had not taken her eyes off her; she had assumed the attitude of
-a commander-in-chief, and directed the campaign from the easy-chair in
-which she had settled herself. When she judged that the first
-engagement had given all the result that could have been expected from
-it, she recalled her daughter with a sign, and said to her, in a low
-voice:
-
-“Wait till the Vabre’s are here before commencing your music. And play
-loud.”
-
-Octave, left alone with Trublot, began to engage him in conversation.
-
-“A charming person.”
-
-“Yes, not bad.”
-
-“The young lady in blue is her elder sister, is she not? She is not so
-good-looking.”
-
-“Of course not; she is thinner!”
-
-Trublot, who looked without seeing with his near-sighted eyes, had the
-broad shoulders of a solid male, obstinate in his tastes. He had come
-back from the kitchen perfectly satisfied, crunching little black
-things which Octave recognised with surprise to be coffee berries.
-
-“I say,” asked he abruptly, “the women are plump in the South, are they
-not?”
-
-Octave smiled, and at once became on an excellent footing with Trublot.
-They had many ideas in common which brought them closer together. They
-exchanged confidences on an out-of-the-way sofa; the one talked of his
-employer at “The Ladies’ Paradise,” Madame Hédouin, a confoundedly fine
-woman, but too cold; the other said that he had been put on to the
-correspondence, from nine to five, at his stockbroker’s, Monsieur
-Desmarquay, where there was a stunning maid servant. Just then the
-drawing-room door opened, and three persons entered.
-
-“They are the Vabres,” murmured Trublot, bending over towards his new
-friend. “Auguste, the tall one, he who has a face like a sick sheep, is
-the landlord’s eldest son—thirty-three years old, ever suffering from
-headaches which make his eyes start from his head, and which, some
-years ago, prevented him from continuing to learn Latin; a sullen
-fellow who has gone in for trade. The other, Théophile, that abortion
-with carroty hair and thin beard, that little old-looking man of
-twenty-eight, ever shaking with fits of coughing and of rage, tried a
-dozen different trades, and then married the young woman who leads the
-way, Madame Valérie—”
-
-“I have already seen her,” interrupted Octave. “She is the daughter of
-a haberdasher of the neighbourhood, is she not? But how those veils
-deceive one! I thought her pretty. She is only peculiar, with her
-shrivelled face and her leaden complexion.”
-
-“She is another who is not my ideal,” sententiously resumed Trublot.
-“She has superb eyes, and that is enough for some men. But she’s a thin
-piece of goods.”
-
-Madame Josserand had risen to shake Valérie’s hand.
-
-“How is it,” cried she, “that Monsieur Vabre is not with you? and that
-neither Monsieur nor Madame Duveyrier have done us the honour of
-coming? They promised us though. Ah! it is very wrong of them!”
-
-The young woman made excuses for her father-in-law, whose age kept him
-at home, and who, moreover, preferred to work of an evening. As for her
-brother and sister-in-law, they had asked her to apologise for them,
-they having received an invitation to an official party, which they
-were obliged to attend. Madame Josserand bit her lips. She never missed
-one of the Saturdays at home of those stuck-up people on the first
-floor, who would have thought themselves dishonoured had they ascended,
-one Tuesday, to the fourth. No doubt her modest tea was not equal to
-their grand orchestral concerts. But, patience! when her two daughters
-were married, and she had two sons-in-law and their relations to fill
-her drawing-room, she also would go in for choruses.
-
-“Get yourself ready,” whispered she in Berthe’s ear.
-
-They were about thirty, and rather tightly packed, for the parlour,
-having been turned into a bedroom for the young ladies, was not thrown
-open. The new arrivals distributed handshakes round. Valérie seated
-herself beside Madame Juzeur, whilst Bachelard and Gueulin made
-unpleasant remarks out loud about Théophile Vabre, whom they thought it
-funny to call “good for nothing.” Monsieur Josserand—who in his own
-home kept himself so much in the background that one would have taken
-him for a guest, and whom one would fail to find when wanted, even
-though he were standing close by—was in a corner listening in a
-bewildered way to a story related by one of his old friends, Bonnaud.
-He knew Bonnaud, who was formerly the general accountant of the
-Northern railway, and whose daughter had married in the previous
-spring? Well! Bonnaud had just discovered that his son-in-law, a very
-respectable-looking man, was an ex-clown, who had lived for ten years
-at the expense of a female circus-rider.
-
-“Silence! silence!” murmured some good-natured voices. Berthe had
-opened the piano.
-
-“Really!” explained Madame Josserand, “it is merely an unpretentious
-piece, a simple reverie. Monsieur Mouret, you like music, I think. Come
-nearer then. My daughter plays pretty fairly—oh! purely as an amateur,
-but with expression; yes, with a great deal of expression.”
-
-“Caught!” said Trublot in a low voice. “The sonata stroke.” Octave was
-obliged to leave his seat and stand up beside the piano. To see the
-caressing attentions which Madame Josserand showered upon him, it
-seemed as though she were making Berthe play solely for him.
-
-“‘The Banks of the Oise,’” resumed she. “It is really very pretty. Come
-begin, my love, and do not be confused. Monsieur Mouret will be
-indulgent.”
-
-The young girl commenced the piece without being in the least confused.
-Besides, her mother kept her eyes upon her like a sergeant ready to
-punish with a blow the least theoretical mistake. Her great regret was
-that the instrument, worn-out by fifteen years of daily scales, did not
-possess the sonorous tones of the Duveyriers’ grand piano; and her
-daughter never played loud enough in her opinion.
-
-After the sixth bar, Octave, looking thoughtful and nodding his head at
-each spirited passage, no longer listened. He looked at the audience,
-the politely absent-minded attention of the men, and the affected
-delight of the women, all that relaxation of persons for a moment at
-rest, but soon again to be harassed by the cares of every hour, the
-shadows of which, before long, would be once more reflected on their
-weary faces. Mothers were visibly dreaming that they were marrying
-their daughters, whilst a smile hovered about their mouths, revealing
-their fierce-looking teeth in their unconscious abandonment; it was the
-mania of this drawing-room, a furious appetite for sons-in-law, which
-consumed these worthy middle-class mothers to the asthmatic sounds of
-the piano.
-
-The daughters, who were very weary, were falling asleep, with their
-heads dropping on to their shoulders, forgetting to sit up erect.
-Octave, who had a certain contempt for young ladies, was more
-interested in Valerie—she looked decidedly ugly in her peculiar yellow
-silk dress, trimmed with black satin—and feeling ill at ease, yet
-attracted all the same, his gaze kept returning to her; whilst she,
-with a vague look in her eyes, and unnerved by the discordant music,
-was smiling like a crazy person.
-
-At this moment quite a catastrophe occurred. A ring at the bell was
-heard, and a gentleman entered the room without the least regard for
-what was taking place.
-
-“Oh! doctor!” said Madame Josserand angrily.
-
-Doctor Juillerat made a gesture of apology, and stood stockstill.
-Berthe, at this moment, was executing a little passage with a slow and
-dreamy fingering, which the guests greeted with flattering murmurs. Ah!
-delightful! delicious! Madame Juzeur was almost swooning away, as
-though being tickled. Hortense, who was standing beside her sister,
-turning the pages, was sulkily listening for a ring at the bell amidst
-the avalanche of notes; and, when the doctor entered, she made such a
-gesture of disappointment that she tore one of the pages on the stand.
-But, suddenly, the piano trembled beneath Berthe’s weal: fingers,
-thrumming away like hammers; it was the end of the reverie, amidst a
-deafening uproar of clangorous chords.
-
-There was a moment of hesitation. The audience was waking up again..
-Was it finished? Then the compliments burst out on all sides. Adorable!
-a superior talent!
-
-“Mademoiselle is really a first-rate musician,” said Octave,
-interrupted in his observations. “No one has ever given me such
-pleasure.”
-
-“Do you really mean it, sir?” exclaimed Madame Josserand delighted.
-“She does not play badly, I must admit. Well! we have never refused the
-child anything; she is our treasure! She possesses every talent she
-wished for. Ah! sir, if you only knew her.”
-
-A confused murmur of voices again filled the drawing-room. Berthe very
-calmly received the praise showered upon her, and did not leave the
-piano, but sat waiting till her mother relieved her from fatigue-duty.
-The latter was already speaking to Octave of the surprising manner in
-which her daughter dashed off “The Harvesters,” a brilliant gallop,
-when some dull and distant thuds created a stir amongst the guests. For
-several moments past there had been violent shocks, as though some one
-was trying to burst a door open. Everybody left off talking, and looked
-about inquiringly.
-
-“What is it?” Valérie ventured to ask. “I heard it before, during the
-finish of the piece.”
-
-Madame Josserand had turned quite pale. She had recognised Saturnin’s
-blows. Ah! the wretched lunatic! and in her mind’s eye she beheld him
-tumbling in amongst the guests. If he continued hammering like that, it
-would be another marriage done for!
-
-“It is the kitchen door slamming,” said she with a constrained smile.
-“Adèle never will shut it. Go and sec, Berthe.”
-
-The young girl had also understood. She rose and disappeared. The noise
-ceased at once, but she did not return immediately. Uncle Bachelard,
-who had scandalously disturbed “The Banks of the Oise” with reflections
-uttered out loud, finished putting his sister out of countenance by
-calling to Gueulin that he felt awfully bored and was going to have a
-grog. They both returned to the dining-room, banging the door behind
-them.
-
-“That dear old Narcisse, he is always original!” said Madame Josserand
-to Madame Juzeur and Valérie, between whom she had gone and seated
-herself. “His business occupies him so much! You know, he has made
-almost a hundred thousand francs this year!”
-
-Octave, at length free, had hastened to rejoin Trublot, who was half
-asleep on the sofa. Near them, a group surrounded Doctor Juillerat, the
-old medical man of the neighbourhood, not over brilliant, but who had
-become in course of time a good practitioner, and who had delivered all
-the mothers in their confinements and had attended all the daughters.
-He made a speciality of women’s ailments, which caused him to be in
-great demand of an evening, the husbands all trying to obtain a
-gratuitous consultation in some corner of the drawing-room. Just then,
-Théophile was telling him that Valérie had had another attack the day
-before; she was for ever having a choking fit and complaining of a lump
-rising in her throat; and he, too, was not very well, but his complaint
-was not the same. Then he did nothing but speak of himself, and relate
-his vexations: he had commenced to read for the law, had engaged in
-manufactures at a foundry, and had tried office management at the
-Mont-de-Piété; then he had busied himself with photography, and thought
-he had found a means of making vehicles supply their own motive power;
-meanwhile, out of kindness, he was travelling some piano-flutes, an
-invention of one of his friends. And he complained of his wife: it was
-her fault if nothing went right at home; she was killing him with her
-perpetual nervous attacks.
-
-“Do pray give her something, doctor!” implored he, coughing and
-moaning, his eyes lit up with hatred, in the querulous rage of his
-impotency.
-
-Trublot watched him, full of contempt; and he laughed silently as he
-glanced at Octave. Doctor Juillerat uttered vague and calming words: no
-doubt, they would relieve her, the dear lady. At fourteen, she was
-already stifling, in the shop of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin; he had
-attended her for vertigo which always ended by bleeding at the nose;
-and, as Théophile recalled with despair her languid gentleness when a
-young girl, whilst now, fantastic and her temper changing twenty times
-in a day, she absolutely tortured him, the doctor merely shook his
-head. Marriage did not succeed with all women.
-
-“Of course!” murmured Trublot, “a father who has gone off his chump by
-passing thirty years of his life in selling needles and thread, a
-mother who has always had her face covered with pimples, and that in an
-airless hole of old Paris, no one can expect such people to have
-daughters like other folks!”
-
-Octave was surprised. He was losing some of his respect for that
-drawing-room which he had entered with a provincial’s emotion.
-Curiosity was awakened within him, when he observed Campardon
-consulting the doctor in his turn, but in whispers, like a sedate
-person desirous of letting no one become acquainted with his family
-mishaps.
-
-“By the way, as you appear to know everything,” said Octave to Trublot,
-“tell me what it is that Madame Campardon is suffering from. Every one
-puts on a very sad face whenever it is mentioned.”
-
-“Why, my dear fellow,” replied the young man, “she has—”
-
-And he whispered in Octave’s ear. Whilst he listened, the latter’s face
-first assumed a smile, and then became very long with a look of
-profound astonishment.
-
-“It is not possible!” said he.
-
-Then, Trublot gave his word of honour. He knew another lady in the same
-state.
-
-“Besides,” resumed he, “it sometimes happens after a confinement that—”
-
-And he began to whisper again. Octave, convinced, became quite sad. He
-who had fancied all sorts of things, who had imagined quite a romance,
-the architect occupied elsewhere and drawing him towards his wife to
-amuse her! In any case he now knew that she was well guarded. The young
-men pressed up against each other, in the excitement caused by these
-feminine secrets which they were stirring up, forgetting that they
-might be overheard.
-
-Madame Juzeur was just then confiding to Madame Josser-and her
-impressions of Octave. She thought him very becoming, no doubt, but she
-preferred Monsieur Auguste Vabre The latter, standing up in a corner of
-the drawing-room, remained silent, in his insignificance and with his
-usual evening headache.
-
-“What surprises me, dear madame, is that you have not thought of him
-for your Berthe. A young man set up in business, who is prudence
-itself. And he is in want of a wife, I know that he is desirous of
-getting married.”
-
-Madame Josserand listened, surprised. She would never herself have
-thought of the linendraper. Madame Juzeur, however, insisted, for in
-her misfortune, she had the mania of working for the happiness of other
-women, which caused her to busy herself with everything relating to the
-tender passions of the house. She affirmed that Auguste never took his
-eyes off Berthe. In short, she invoked her experience of men: Monsieur
-Mouret would never let himself be caught, whilst that good Monsieur
-Vabre would be very easy and very advantageous. But Madame Josserand,
-weighing the latter with a glance, came decidedly to the conclusion
-that such a son-in-law would not be of much use in filling her
-drawing-room.
-
-“My daughter detests him,” said she, “and I would never oppose the
-dictates of her heart.”
-
-A tall thin young lady had just played a fantasia on the “Dame
-Blanche.” As uncle Bachelard had fallen asleep in the dining-room,
-Gueulin reappeared and imitated the nightingale on his flute. No one
-listened, however, for the story about Bonnaud had spread. Monsieur
-Josserand was quite upset, the fathers held up their arms, the mothers
-were stifling. What! Bonnaud’s son-in-law was a clown! Then who could
-one believe in now? and the parents, in their appetites for marriages,
-suffered regular nightmares, like so many distinguished convicts in
-evening dress. The fact was, that Bonnaud had been so delighted at the
-opportunity of getting rid of his daughter that he had not troubled
-much about references, in spite of his rigid prudence of an
-over-scrupulous general accountant.
-
-“Mamma, the tea is served,” said Berthe, as she and Adèle opened the
-folding doors.
-
-And, whilst the company passed slowly into the dining-room, she went up
-to her mother and murmured:
-
-“I have had enough of it! He wants me to stay and tell him stories, or
-he threatens to smash everything!”
-
-On a grey cloth which was too narrow, was served one of those teas
-laboriously got together, a cake bought at a neighbouring baker’s, with
-some mixed sweet biscuits, and some sandwiches on either side. At
-either end of the table quite a luxury of flowers, superb and costly
-roses, withdrew attention from the ancient dust on the biscuits, and
-the poor quality of the butter. The sight caused a commotion, and
-jealousies were kindled: really those Josserands were ruining
-themselves in trying to marry off their daughters. And the guests,
-having but poorly dined, and only thinking of going to bed with their
-bellies full, casting side glances at the bouquets, gorged themselves
-with weak tea and imprudently devoured the hard stale biscuits and the
-heavy cake. For those persons who did not like tea, Adèle handed round
-some glasses of red currant syrup. It was pronounced excellent.
-
-Meanwhile, the uncle was asleep in a corner. They did not wake him,
-they even politely pretended not to see him. A lady talked of the
-fatigues of business. Berthe went from one to another, offering
-sandwiches, handing cups of tea, and asking the men if they would like
-any more sugar. But she was unable to attend to every one, and Madame
-Josserand was looking for her daughter Hortense, when she caught sight
-of her standing in the middle of the deserted drawing-room, talking to
-a gentleman, of whom one could only see the back.
-
-“Ah! yes! he has come at last,” she permitted, in her anger, to escape
-her.
-
-There was some whispering. It was that Verdier, who had been living
-with a woman for fifteen years past, whilst waiting to marry Hortense.
-Every one knew the story, the young ladies exchanged glances; but they
-bit their lips, and avoided speaking of it, out of propriety. Octave,
-being made acquainted with it, examined the gentleman’s back with
-interest. Trublot knew the mistress, a good girl, a reformed
-streetwalker, who was better now, said he, than the best of wives,
-taking care of her man, and looking after his clothes; and he was full
-of a fraternal sympathy for her. Whilst they were being watched from
-the dining-room, Hortense was scolding Verdier with all the sulkiness
-of a badly brought up virgin for having come so late.
-
-“Hallo! red currant syrup!” said Trublot, seeing Adèle standing before
-him, a tray in her hand.
-
-He sniffed it and declined. But, as the servant turned round, a stout
-lady’s elbow pushed her against him, and he pinched her back. She
-smiled, and returned to him with the tray.
-
-“No, thanks,” said he. “By-and-by.”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-Women were seated round the table, whilst the men were eating, standing
-up behind them. Exclamations were, heard, an enthusiasm, which died
-away as the mouths were filled with food. The gentlemen were appealed
-to. Madame Josserand cried:
-
-“Ah! yes, I was forgetting. Come and look, Monsieur Mouret, you who
-love the arts.”
-
-“Take care, the water-colour stroke!” murmured Trublot, who knew the
-house.
-
-It was better than a water-colour. As though by chance, a porcelain
-bowl was standing on the table; right at the very bottom of it,
-surrounded by the brand new varnished bronze mounting, Greuze’s “Young
-girl with the broken Pitcher” was painted in light colours, passing
-from pale lilac to faint blue. Berthe smiled in the midst of the
-praise.
-
-“Mademoiselle possesses every talent,” said Octave with his
-good-natured grace. “Oh! the colours are so well blended, and it is
-very accurate, very accurate!”
-
-“I can guarantee that the design is!” resumed Madame Josserand,
-triumphantly. “There is not a hair too many or few. Berthe copied it
-here, from an engraving. There are really such a number of nude
-subjects at the Louvre, and the people there are at times so mixed!”
-
-She had lowered her voice when giving this last piece of information,
-desirous of letting the young man know that, though her daughter was an
-artist, she did not let that carry her beyond the limits of propriety.
-She probably, however, thought Octave rather cold, she felt that the
-bowl had not met with the success she had anticipated, and she watched
-him with an anxious look, whilst Valérie and Madame Juzeur, who were
-drinking their fourth cup of tea, examined the painting and gave vent
-to little cries of admiration.
-
-“You are looking at her again,” said Trublot to Octave, on seeing him
-with his eyes fixed on Valérie.
-
-“Why, yes,” replied he, slightly confused. “It is funny, she looks
-pretty just at this moment. A warm woman, evidently. I say, do you
-think one might venture?”
-
-“Warm, one never knows. It is a peculiar fancy! Anyhow, it would be
-better than marrying the girl.”
-
-“What girl?” exclaimed Octave, forgetting himself. “What! you think I
-am going to let myself be hooked’ Never! My dear fellow, we don’t marry
-at Marseilles!” Madame Josserand had drawn near. The words came upon
-her like a stab in the heart. Another fruitless campaign, another
-evening party wasted! The blow was such, that she was obliged to lean
-against a chair, as she looked with despair at the now despoiled table,
-where all that remained was a burnt piece of the cake. She had given up
-counting her defeats, but this one should be the last; she took a
-frightful oath, swearing that she would no longer feed persons who came
-to see her solely to gorge. And, upset and exasperated, she glanced
-round the dining-room, seeking into what man’s arms she could throw her
-daughter, when she caught sight of Auguste resignedly standing against
-the wall and not having partaken of anything.
-
-Just then, Berthe, with a smile on her face, was moving towards Octave,
-with a cup of tea in her hand. She was continuing the campaign,
-obedient to her mother’s wishes. But the latter caught her by the arm
-and called her a silly fool under her breath.
-
-“Take that cup to Monsieur Vabre, who has been waiting for an hour
-past,” said she, graciously and very loud.
-
-Then, whispering again in her daughter’s ear, and giving her another of
-her warlike looks, she added:
-
-“Be amiable, or you will have me to deal with!”
-
-Berthe, for a moment put out of countenance, soon recovered herself. It
-often changed thus three times in an evening. She carried the cup to
-Auguste, with the smile which she had commenced for Octave; she was
-amiable, talked of Lyons silks, and did the engaging young person who
-would look very well behind a counter. Auguste’s hands trembled a
-little, and he was very red, as he was suffering a good deal from his
-head that evening.
-
-Out of politeness, a few persons returned and sat down for some moments
-in the drawing-room. Having fed, they were all going off. When they
-looked for Verdier, he had already taken his departure; and some young
-ladies, greatly put out, only carried away an indistinct view of his
-back. Campardon, without waiting for Octave, retired with the doctor,
-whom he detained on the landing, to ask him if there was really no more
-hope. During the tea, one of the lamps had gone out, emitting a stench
-of rancid oil, and the other lamp, the wick of which was all charred,
-lit up the room with so poor a light that the Vabres themselves rose to
-leave in spite of the attentions with which Madame Josserand
-overwhelmed them. Octave had preceded them into the ante-room, where he
-had a surprise: Trublot, who was looking for his hat, suddenly
-disappeared. He could only have gone off by the passage leading to the
-kitchen.
-
-“Well! wherever has he got to? does he leave by the servants’
-staircase?” murmured the young man.
-
-But he did not seek to clear up the mystery. Valérie was there, looking
-for a lace neckerchief. The two brothers, Théophile and Auguste, were
-going downstairs, without troubling themselves about her. Octave,
-having found the neckerchief, handed it to her, with the air of
-admiration he put on when serving the pretty lady customers of “The
-Ladies’ Paradise.” She looked at him, and he felt certain that her
-eyes, on fixing themselves on his, had flashed forth flames.
-
-“You are too kind, sir,” said she, simply.
-
-Madame Juzeur, who was the last to leave, enveloped them both in a
-tender and discreet smile. And when Octave, highly excited, had reached
-his cold chamber, he looked at himself for an instant in the glass, and
-he thought it worth while to make the attempt!
-
-Meanwhile, Madame Josserand was wandering about the deserted room,
-without saying a word, and as though carried away by some gale of wind.
-She had violently closed the piano and turned out the last lamp; then,
-passing into the diningroom, she began to blow out the candles so
-vigorously that the chandelier quite shook. The sight of the despoiled
-table covered with dirty plates and empty cups, increased her rage; and
-she turned round it, casting terrible glances at her daughter Hortense,
-who, quietly sitting down, was devouring the piece of burnt cake.
-
-“You are putting yourself in a fine state again, mamma,” said the
-latter. “Is it not going on all right, then? For myself, I am
-satisfied. He is purchasing some chemises for her to enable her to
-leave.”
-
-The mother shrugged her shoulders.
-
-“Eh? you say that this proves nothing. Very good, only steer your ship
-as well as I steer mine. Here now is a cake which may flatter itself it
-is a precious bad one! They must be a wretched lot to swallow such
-stuff.”
-
-Monsieur Josserand, who was always worn out by his wife’s parties, was
-reposing on a chair; but he was in dread of an encounter, he feared
-that Madame Josserand might drive him before her in her furious
-promenade; and he drew close to Bachelard and Gueulin, who were seated
-at the table in front of Hortense. The uncle, on awaking, had
-discovered a decanter of rum. He was emptying it, and bitterly alluding
-to the twenty francs.
-
-“It is not for the money,” he kept repeating to his nephew, “it is the
-way the thing was done. You know how I behave to women: I would give
-them the shirt off my back, but I do not like them to ask me for
-anything. The moment they begin to ask, it annoys me, and I don’t even
-chuck them a radish.”
-
-And, as his sister was about to remind him of his promises: “Be quiet,
-Eléonore! I know what I have to do for the child. But, you see, when a
-woman asks, it is more than I can stand. I have never been able to keep
-friends with one, have I now, Gueulin? And besides, there is really
-such little respect shown me! Léon has not even deigned to wish me many
-happy returns of the day.”
-
-Madame Josserand resumed her walk, clinching her fists. It was true,
-there was Léon too, who promised and then disappointed her like the
-others. There was one who would not sacrifice an evening to help to
-marry off his sisters! She had just discovered a sweet biscuit, fallen
-behind one of the flower vases, and was locking it up in a drawer when
-Berthe, who had gone to release Saturnin, brought him back with her.
-She was quieting him, whilst he, haggard and with a mistrustful look in
-his eyes, was searching the corners, with the feverish excitement of a
-dog that has been long shut up.
-
-“How stupid he is!” said Berthe, “he thinks that I have just been
-married. And he is seeking for the husband! Ah! my poor Saturnin, you
-may seek. I tell you that it has come to nothing! You know very well
-that it never comes to anything.”
-
-Then, Madame Josserand’s rage burst all bounds.
-
-“Ah! I swear to you that it sha’n’t come to nothing next time, even if
-I have to tie him to you myself! There is one who shall pay for all the
-others. Yes, yes, Monsieur Josserand, you may stare at me, as though
-you did not understand: the wedding shall take place, and without you,
-if it does not please you. You hear, Berthe! you have only to pick that
-one up!” Saturnin appeared not to hear. He was looking under the table.
-The young girl pointed to him; but Madame Josserand made a gesture
-which seemed to imply that he would be got out of the way. And Berthe
-murmured:
-
-“So then it is decidedly to be Monsieur Vabre? Oh! it is all the same
-to me. To think though that not a single sandwich has been saved for
-me?”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.
-
-
-AS early as the morrow, Octave commenced to occupy himself about
-Valérie. He studied her habits, and ascertained the hour when he would
-have a chance of meeting her on the stairs; and he arranged matters so
-that he could frequently go up to his room, taking advantage of his
-coming home to lunch at the Campardons’, and leaving “The Ladies’
-Paradise” for a few minutes under some pretext or other. He soon
-noticed that, every day towards two o’clock, the young woman, who took
-her child to the Tuileries gardens, passed along the Rue Gaillon. Then
-he would stand at the door, wait till she came, and greet her with one
-of his handsome shopman’s smiles. At each of their meetings, Valérie
-politely inclined her head and passed on; but he perceived her dark
-glance to be full of passionate fire; he found encouragement in her
-ravaged complexion and in the supple swing of her gait.
-
-His plan was already formed, the bold plan of a seducer used to
-cavalierly overcoming the virtue of shop-girls. It was simply a
-question of luring Valérie inside his room on the fourth floor; the
-staircase was always silent and deserted, no one would discover them up
-there; and he laughed at the thought of the architect’s moral
-admonitions; for taking a woman belonging to the house was not the same
-as bringing one into it.
-
-One thing, however, made Octave uneasy. The passage separated the
-Pichons’ kitchen from their dining-room, and this obliged them to
-constantly have their door open. At nine o’clock in the morning, the
-husband started off for his office, and did not return home until about
-five in the evening; and, on alternate days of the week, he went out
-again after his dinner to do some bookkeeping, from eight to midnight.
-Besides this, though, the young woman, who was very reserved—almost
-wildly timid—would push her door to, directly she heard Octave’s
-footsteps. He never caught sight of more than her back, which always
-seemed to be flying away, with her light hair done up into a scanty
-chignon. Through that door kept discreetly ajar, he had, up till then,
-only beheld a small portion of the room: sad and clean looking
-furniture, linen of a dull whiteness in the grey light admitted through
-a window which he could not see, and the corner of a child’s crib
-inside an inner room; all the monotonous solitude of a wife occupied
-from morning to night with the recurring cares of a clerk’s home.
-Moreover, there was never a sound; the child seemed dumb and worn-out
-like the mother; one scarcely distinguished at times the soft murmur of
-some ballad which the latter would hum for hours together in an
-expiring voice. But Octave was none the less furious with the
-disdainful creature as he called her. She was playing the spy upon him
-perhaps. In any case, Valérie could never come up to him if the
-Pichons’ door was thus being continually opened.
-
-He was just beginning to think that things were taking the right
-course. One Sunday when the husband was absent, he had manoeuvred in
-such a way as to be on the first-floor landing at the moment the young
-woman, wrapped in her dressing-gown, was leaving her sister-in-law’s to
-return to her own apartments; and she being obliged to speak to him,
-they had stood some minutes exchanging polite remarks. So he was hoping
-that next time she would ask him in. With a woman with such a
-temperament the rest would follow as a matter of course. That evening
-during dinner, there was some talk about Valérie at the Campardons’.
-Octave tried to draw the others out. But as Angèle was listening and
-casting sly glances at Lisa, who was handing round some leg of mutton
-and looking very serious, the parents at first did nothing but sing the
-young woman’s praises. Moreover, the architect always stood up for the
-respectability of the house, with the vain conviction of a tenant who
-seemed to obtain from it a regular certificate of his own gentility.
-
-“Oh! my dear fellow, most respectable people. You saw them at the
-Josserands’. The husband is no fool; he is full of ideas, he will end
-by discovering something very grand. As for the wife, she has some
-style about her, as we artists say.”
-
-Madame Campardon, who had been rather worse since the day before, and
-who was half reclining, though her illness did not prevent her eating
-thick underdone slices of meat, languidly murmured in her turn:
-
-“That poor Monsieur Théophile, he is like me, he drags along. Ah! great
-praise is due to Valérie, for it is not lively always having by one a
-man trembling with fever, and whose infirmity usually makes him
-quarrelsome and unjust.”
-
-During dessert, Octave, seated between the architect and his wife
-learnt more than he asked. They forgot Angèle, they spoke in hints,
-with glances which underlined the double meanings of the words; and,
-when they were at a loss for an expression, they bent towards him one
-after the other, and coarsely whispered the rest of the disclosure in
-his ear. In short, that Théophile was a stupid and impotent person, who
-deserved to be what his wife made him. As for Valérie, she was not
-worth much, she would have behaved just as badly even if her husband
-had been different, for with her, nature had so much the mastery.
-Moreover, no one was ignorant of the fact that, two months after her
-marriage, in despair at recognising that she would never have a child
-by her husband, and fearing she would lose her share of old Vabre’s
-fortune if Théophile happened to die, she had her little Camille got
-for her by a butcher’s man of the Rue Sainte-Anne.
-
-Campardon bent down and whispered a last time in Octave’s ear:
-
-“Well! you know, my dear fellow, a hysterical woman!”
-
-And he put into the word all the middle-class wantonness of an
-indelicacy combined with the blobber-lipped smile of a father of a
-family whose imagination, abruptly let loose, revels in licentiousness.
-The conversation then took a different turn, they were speaking of the
-Pichons, and words of praise were not stinted.
-
-“Oh! they are indeed worthy people!” repeated Madame Campardon.
-“Sometimes, when Marie takes her little Lilitte out, I also let her
-take Angèle. And I assure you, Monsieur Mouret, I do not trust my
-daughter to everyone; I must be absolutely certain of the person’s
-morality. You love Marie very much, do you not, Angèle?”
-
-“Yes, mamma,” answered the child.
-
-The details continued. It was impossible to find a woman better brought
-up, or according to severer principles. And it was a pleasure to see
-how happy the husband was! Such a nice little home, and so clean, and a
-couple that adored each other, who never said one word louder than
-another!
-
-“Besides, they would not be allowed to remain in the house, if they did
-not behave themselves properly,” said the architect gravely, forgetting
-his disclosures about Valérie. “We will only have respectable people
-here. On my word of honour! I would give notice, the day that my
-daughter ran the risk of meeting disreputable women on the stairs.”
-
-That evening, he had secretly arranged to take cousin Gasparine to the
-Opéra-Comique. He therefore went and fetched his hat at once, talking
-of a business matter which would keep him out till very late. Rose
-though probably knew of the arrangement, for Octave heard her murmur,
-in her resigned and maternal voice, when her husband came to kiss her
-with his habitual effusive tenderness:
-
-“Amuse yourself well, and do not catch cold on coming out.” On the
-morrow, Octave had an idea: it was to become acquainted with Madame
-Pichon, by rendering her a few neighbourly services; in this way, if
-she ever caught Valeric, she would keep her eyes shut. And an
-opportunity occurred that very day. Madame Pichon was in the habit of
-taking Lilitte, then eighteen months old, out in a little basket-work
-perambulator, which raised Monsieur Gourd’s ire; the doorkeeper would
-never permit it to be carried up the principal staircase, so that she
-had to take it up the servants’; and as the door of her apartment was
-too narrow, she had to remove the wheels every time, which was quite a
-job. It so happened that that day Octave was returning home, just as
-his neighbour, incommoded by her gloves, was giving herself a great
-deal of trouble to get the nuts off. When she felt him standing up
-behind her, waiting till the passage was clear, she quite lost her
-head, and her hands trembled.
-
-“But, madame, why do you take all that trouble?” asked he at length.
-“It would be far simpler to put the perambulator at the end of the
-passage, behind my door.”
-
-She did not reply, her excessive timidity kept her squatting there,
-without strength to rise; and, beneath the curtain of her bonnet, he
-beheld a hot blush invade the nape of her neck and her ears. Then he
-insisted:
-
-“I assure you, madame, it will not inconvenience me in the least.”
-
-Without waiting, he lifted up the perambulator and carried it in his
-easy way. She was obliged to follow him; but she remained so confused,
-so frightened by this important adventure in her uneventful every-day
-life, that she looked on, only able to stutter fragments of sentences.
-
-“Dear me! sir, it is too much trouble—I feel quite ashamed—you will
-find it very awkward. My husband will be very pleased—”
-
-And she entered her room and locked herself in, this time hermetically,
-with a sort of shame. Octave thought that she was stupid. The
-perambulator was a great deal in his way for it prevented him opening
-his door wide, and he had to slip into his room sideways. But his
-neighbour seemed to be won over, more especially as Monsieur Gourd
-consented to authorize the obstruction at that end of the passage,
-thanks to Campardon’s influence.
-
-Every Sunday, Marie’s parents, Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume, came to
-spend the day. On the Sunday following, as Octave was going out, he
-beheld all the family seated taking their coffee, and he was discreetly
-hastening by, when the young woman, whispering quickly in her husband’s
-ear, the latter jumped up, saying:
-
-“Excuse me, sir, I am always out, I have not yet had an opportunity of
-thanking you. But I wish to tell you how pleased I was—”
-
-Octave protested. At length he was obliged to give in. Though he had
-already had his coffee, they made him accept another cup. They gave him
-the place of honour, between Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume. Opposite to
-him, on the other side of the round table, Marie was again thrown into
-one of those confused conditions which at any minute, without apparent
-cause, brought all the blood from her heart to her face. He watched
-her, never having seen her at his ease. But, as Trublot said, she was
-not his fancy: she seemed to him wretched and washed out, with her flat
-face and her thin hair, though her features were refined and pretty.
-When she recovered herself a little, she laughed lightly as she again
-talked of the perambulator, about which she found a great deal to say.
-
-“Jules, if you had only seen Monsieur Mouret carry it in his arms. Ah
-well! it did not take long!”
-
-Pichon again uttered his thanks. He was tall and thin, with a doleful
-look about him, already subdued to the routine of office life, his dull
-eyes full of the apathetic resignation displayed by circus horses.
-
-“Pray say no more about it!” Octave ended by observing, “it is really
-not worth while. Madame, your coffee is exquisite. I have never drunk
-any like it.”
-
-She blushed again, and so much that her hands even became quite rosy.
-
-“Do not spoil her, sir,” said Monsieur Vuillaume gravely, “Her coffee
-is good, but there is better. And you see how proud she has become at
-once!”
-
-“Pride is worth nothing,” declared Madame Vuillaume. “We have always
-taught her to be modest.”
-
-They were both of them little and dried up, very old, and with
-dark-looking countenances; the wife wore a tight black dress, and the
-husband a thin frock-coat, on which only the mark of a big red ribbon
-was to be seen.
-
-“Sir,” resumed the latter, “I was decorated at the age of sixty, on the
-day I was pensioned off, after having been for thirty-nine years
-employed at the Ministry of Public Instruction. Well! sir, on that day
-I dined the same as on other days, and did not let pride interfere with
-any of my habits. The Cross was due to me, I knew it. I was simply
-filled with gratitude.” His life was perfectly clear, he wished every
-one to know it. After twenty-five years’ service, he had been promoted
-to four thousand francs. His pension, therefore, was two thousand. But
-he had had to re-engage himself in a subordinate position at fifteen
-hundred francs, as they had had their little Marie late in life when
-Madame Vuillaume was no longer expecting either son or daughter. Now
-that the child was established in life, they were living on the
-pension, by pinching themselves, in the Rue Durantin at Montmartre,
-where things were cheaper.
-
-“I am sixty-three,” said he, in conclusion, “and that is all about it,
-and that is all about it, son-in-law!”
-
-Pichon looked at him in a silent and weary way, his eyes fixed on his
-red ribbon. Yes, it would be his own story if luck favoured him. He was
-the last born of a greengrocer who had spent the entire worth of her
-shop in her anxiety to make her son take a degree, just because all the
-neighbourhood said he was very intelligent; and she had died bankrupt
-eight days before his triumph at the Sorbonne. After three years of
-hardships at his uncle’s, he had had the unexpected luck of getting a
-berth at the Ministry, which was to lead him to everything, and on the
-strength of which he had already married.
-
-“When one does one’s duty, the government does the same,” murmured he,
-mechanically reckoning that he still had thirty-six years to wait
-before obtaining the right to wear a piece of red ribbon and to enjoy a
-pension of two thousand francs.
-
-Then he turned towards Octave.
-
-“You see, sir, it is the children who are such a heavy weight.”
-
-“No doubt,” said Madame Vuillaume. “If we had had another we should
-never have made both ends meet. Therefore, remember Jules, what I
-insisted upon when I gave you Marie: one child and no more, or else we
-shall quarrel! It is only workpeople who have children like fowls lay
-eggs, without troubling themselves as to what it will cost them. It is
-true that they turn the youngsters out on to the streets, like flocks
-of animals, which make me feel sick when I pass by.”
-
-Octave had looked at Marie, thinking that this delicate subject would
-make her cheeks crimson; but she remained pale, approving her mother’s
-words with ingenuous serenity. He was feeling awfully bored, and did
-not know how to retire. In the little cold dining-room these people
-thus spent their afternoon, slowly muttering a few words every five
-minutes, and always about their own affairs. Even dominoes disturbed
-them too much.
-
-Madame Vuillaume now explained her notions. At the end of a long
-silence, which left all four of them in no way embarrassed as though
-they had felt the necessity of rearranging their ideas, she resumed:
-
-“You have no child, sir? It will come in time. Ah! it is a
-responsibility, especially for a mother! When my little one was born I
-was forty-nine, sir, an age when luckily one knows how to behave. A boy
-will get on anyhow, but a girl! And I have the consolation of knowing
-that I have done my duty, oh, yes!”
-
-Then, she explained her plan of education, in short sentences. Honesty
-first. No playing on the stairs, the little one always kept at home and
-watched closely, for children think of nothing but evil. The doors and
-windows shut, never any draughts, which bring the wicked things of the
-street with them. Out of doors, never leave go of the child’s hand,
-teach it to keep its eyes lowered to avoid seeing anything wrong. With
-regard to religion, it should not be overdone, just sufficient as a
-moral restraint. Then, when she has grown up, engage teachers instead
-of sending her to school, where the innocent ones are corrupted; and
-assist also at the lessons, see that she does not learn what she should
-not know, hide all newspapers of course, and keep the bookcase locked.
-
-“A young person always knows too much,” declared the old lady coming to
-an end.
-
-Whilst her mother spoke, Marie kept her eyes vaguely fixed on space.
-She once more beheld the little convent-like lodging, those narrow
-rooms in the Rue Durantin, where she was not even allowed to lean out
-of a window. It was one prolonged childhood, all sorts of prohibitions
-which she did not understand, lines which her mother inked out on their
-fashion paper, the black marks of which made her blush, lessons
-purified to such an extent that even her teachers were embarrassed when
-she questioned them. A very gentle childhood, however, the soft warm
-growth of a greenhouse, a waking dream in which the words uttered by
-the tongue, and the facts of every day life acquired ridiculous
-meanings. And, even at that hour as she gazed vacantly, and was filled
-with these recollections, a childish smile hovered about her lips, as
-though she had remained in ignorance spite even of her marriage.
-
-“You will believe me if you like, sir,” said Monsieur Vuillaume, “but
-my daughter had not read a single novel when she was past eighteen. Is
-it not true, Marie?”
-
-“Yes, papa.”
-
-“I have George Sand’s works very handsomely bound,” he continued, “and
-in spite of her mother’s fears I decided, a few months before her
-marriage, to permit her to read ‘André,’ a perfectly innocent work,
-full of imagination, and which elevates the soul. I am for a liberal
-education. Literature has certainly its rights. The book produced an
-extraordinary effect upon her, sir. She cried all night in her sleep:
-which proves that there is nothing like a pure imagination to
-understand genius.”
-
-“It is so beautiful!” murmured the young woman, her eyes sparkling.
-
-But Pichon having enunciated this theory: no novels before marriage,
-and as many as one likes afterwards—Madame Vuillaume shook her head.
-She never read, and was none the worse for it. Then, Marie gently spoke
-of her loneliness.
-
-“Well! I sometimes take up a book. Jules chooses them for me at the
-library in the Passage Choiseul. If I only played the piano!”
-
-For some time past, Octave had felt the necessity of saying something.
-
-“What! madame,” exclaimed he, “you do not play!”
-
-A slight awkwardness ensued. The parents talked of a succession of
-unfortunate circumstances, not wishing to admit that they had not been
-willing to incur the expense. Madame Vuillaume, moreover, affirmed,
-that Marie sang in tune from her birth; when she was a child she knew
-all sorts of very pretty ballads, she had only to hear the tunes once
-to remember them; and the mother spoke of a song about Spain, the story
-of a captive weeping for her lover, which the child gave out with an
-expression that would draw tears from the hardest hearts. But Marie
-remained disconsolate. She let this cry escape her, as she extended her
-hand in the direction of the inner room, where her little one was
-sleeping:
-
-“Ah! I swear that Lilitte shall learn to play the piano, even though I
-have to make the greatest sacrifices!”
-
-“Think first of bringing her up as we brought you up,” said Madame
-Vuillaume, severely. “I certainly do not condemn music, it develops
-one’s feelings. But, above all, watch over your daughter, keep every
-foul breath from her, strive that she may preserve her innocence.”
-
-She started off again, giving even more weight to religion, settling
-the number of times to go to confess each month, naming the masses that
-it was absolutely necessary to attend, all from the point of view of
-propriety. Then Octave, unable to bear any more of it, talked of an
-appointment which obliged him to go out. He had a singing in his ears,
-he felt that this conversation would continue in a like manner until
-the evening. And he hastened away, leaving the Vuillaumes and the
-Pichons telling one another, around the same cups of coffee slowly
-emptied, what they told each other every Sunday. As he was bowing a
-last time, Marie, suddenly and without any reason, became scarlet.
-
-Ever since that afternoon, Octave hastened past the Pichons’ door
-whenever he heard the slow tones of Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume on a
-Sunday. Moreover, he was entirely absorbed in his conquest of Valérie.
-In spite of the fiery glances of which he thought himself the object,
-she maintained an inexplicable reserve; and in that he fancied he saw
-the play of a coquette. He even met her one day, as though by chance,
-in the Tuileries gardens, when she quietly began to talk of a storm of
-the day before; which finally convinced him that she was devilish
-smart. And he was constantly on the staircase, watching for an
-opportunity of entering her apartments, decided if necessary upon being
-positively rude.
-
-Now, every time that he passed her, Marie smiled and blushed. They
-exchanged the greetings of good neighbours. One morning, at lunch-time,
-as he brought her up a letter, which Monsieur Gourd had given him, to
-avoid having to go up the four flights of stairs himself, he found her
-in a sad way: she had seated Lilitte in her chemise on the round table,
-and was trying to dress her again.
-
-“What is the matter?” asked the young man.
-
-“Why, this child!” replied she. “I foolishly took her things off,
-because she was complaining. And now I don’t know what to do, I don’t
-know what to do!”
-
-He looked at her in surprise. She was turning a skirt over and over,
-looking for the hooks. Then, she added:
-
-“You see, her father always helps me to dress her in the morning before
-he goes out. I can never manage it by myself. It bothers me, it annoys
-me.”
-
-The child, meanwhile, tired of being in her chemise and frightened by
-the sight of Octave, was struggling and tumbling about on the table.
-
-“Take care!” cried he, “she will fall.”
-
-It was quite a catastrophe. Marie looked as though she dare not touch
-her child’s naked limbs. She continued contemplating her, with the
-surprise of a virgin, amazed at having been able to produce such a
-thing. However, assisted by Octave, who quieted the little one, she
-succeeded in dressing her again.
-
-“How will you manage when you have a dozen?” asked he, laughing.
-
-“But we shall never have any more!” answered she in a fright.
-
-Then, he joked: she was wrong to be so sure, a child comes so easily?
-
-“No! no!” repeated she obstinately. “You heard what mamma said, the
-other day. She forbade Jules to have any more. You do not know her; it
-would lead to endless quarrels, if another came.”
-
-Octave was amused by the quiet way in which she discussed this
-question. He drew her out, without, however, succeeding in embarrassing
-her. She, moreover, did as her husband wished. No doubt, she loved
-children; had she been allowed to desire others, she would not have
-said no. And, beneath this complacency, which was restricted to her
-mother’s commands, the indifference of a woman whose maternity was
-still slumbering could be recognized. Lilitte occupied her like her
-home, which she looked after through duty. When she had washed up the
-breakfast things and taken the child for her walk, she continued her
-former young girl’s existence, of a somnolent emptiness, lulled by the
-vague expectation of a joy which never came. Octave having remarked
-that she must feel very dull, being always alone, she seemed surprised:
-no, she was never dull, the days passed somehow or other, without her
-knowing, when she went to bed, how she had employed her time. Then, on
-Sundays, she sometimes went out with her husband; or her parents
-called, or else she read. If reading did not give her headaches, she
-would have read from morning till night, now that she was allowed to
-read everything.
-
-“What is really annoying,” resumed she, “is that they have scarcely
-anything at the library in the Passage Choiseul. For instance, I wanted
-‘André,’ to read it again, because it made me cry so much the other
-time. Well! their copy has been stolen. Besides that, my father refuses
-to lend me his, because Lilitte might tear the pictures.”
-
-“But,” said Octave, “my friend Campardon has all George Sand’s works. I
-will ask him to lend me ‘André’ for you.”
-
-She blushed, and her eyes sparkled. He was really too kind! And, when
-he left her, she stood before Lilitte, her arms hanging down by her
-sides, without an idea in her head, in the attitude which she
-maintained for whole afternoons together. She detested sewing, she did
-crochet work, always the same piece, which she left lying about the
-room.
-
-Octave brought her the book on the morrow, a Sunday. Pichon had had to
-go out, to leave his card on one of his superiors. And, as the young
-man found her dressed for walking, she having just been on some errand
-in the neighbourhood, he asked her out of curiosity whether she had
-been to church, having the idea that she was religious. She answered
-no. Before marrying her off, her mother used to take her regularly to
-mass. During the six first months of her married life, she continued
-going through force of habit, with the constant fear of being too late.
-Then, she scarcely knew why, after missing a few times, she left off
-going altogether. Her husband detested priests, and her mother never
-even mentioned them now. Octave’s question, however, disturbed her, as
-though it had awakened within her things that had been long buried
-beneath the idleness of her existence.
-
-“I must go to Saint-Roch one of these mornings,” said she. “An
-occupation gone always leaves a void behind it.”
-
-And, on the pale face of this late child, born of parents too old,
-there appeared the unhealthy regret of another existence, dreamed of
-once upon a time, in the land of chimeras. She could conceal nothing,
-everything was reflected in her face, beneath her skin, which had the
-softness and the transparency accompanying an attack of chlorosis.
-Then, she gave way to her feelings, and caught hold of Octave’s hands
-with a familiar gesture.
-
-“Ah! let me thank you for having brought me this book! Come to-morrow
-after lunch. I will return it to you and tell you the effect that it
-produced on me. It will be amusing, will it not?”
-
-On leaving her, Octave thought that she was funny all the same. She was
-beginning to interest him, he contemplated speaking to Pichon so as to
-make him rouse her up a bit; for the little woman, most decidedly, only
-wanted a shaking. It so happened that on the morrow he came across the
-clerk just as he was going off, and he accompanied him part of the way,
-at the risk of being late himself at “The Ladies’ Paradise.” But Pichon
-seemed to him to be even more benumbed than his wife, full of manias in
-their early stage, and entirely occupied with the dread of getting mud
-on his shoes in wet weather. He walked on his toes, and continually
-talked of the second head-clerk of his office. Octave, who was only
-animated by fraternal intentions in the matter, ended by leaving him in
-the Rue Saint-Honoré, after advising him to take Marie to the theatre
-frequently.
-
-“Whatever for?” asked Pichon in amazement.
-
-“Because it is good for women. It makes them nicer.”
-
-“Ah! you really think so?”
-
-He promised to give the matter his attention, and crossed the street,
-eyeing the cabs with terror, the only thing in life which worried him
-being the fear of getting splashed.
-
-At lunch-time, Octave knocked at the Pichons’ door for the book. Marie
-was reading, her elbows on the table, her hands buried in her
-dishevelled hair. She had just eaten an egg cooked in a tin pan which
-was lying in the centre of the hastily laid table without any cloth.
-Lilitte, forgotten on the floor, was sleeping with her nose on the
-pieces of a plate which she had no doubt broken.
-
-“Well?”
-
-Marie did not answer at once. She was still wrapped in her morning
-dressing-gown, which, from the buttons being torn off, displayed her
-throat, in all the disorder of a woman just risen from her bed.
-
-“I have scarcely read a hundred pages,” she ended by saying. “My
-parents came yesterday.”
-
-And she spoke in a painful tone of voice, with a sourness about her
-mouth. When she was younger, she longed to live in the midst of the
-woods. She was for ever dreaming that she met a huntsman who was
-sounding his horn. He approached her and knelt down. This took place in
-a copse, very far away, where roses were blooming like in a park. Then,
-suddenly, they had been married, and afterwards lived there, wandering
-about till eternity. She, very happy, wished for nothing more; he, as
-tender and submissive as a slave, was continually at her feet.
-
-“I had a talk with your husband this morning,” said Octave. “You do not
-go out enough, and I have persuaded him to take you to the theatre.”
-
-But she shook her head, turning pale and shivering. A silence ensued.
-She again beheld the narrow dining-room with its cold light. Jules’s
-image, sullen and correct, had suddenly cast a shadow over the huntsman
-of the romance whom she had been imagining, and the sound of whose horn
-in the distance again rang in her ears. Every now and then she
-listened: perhaps he was coming. Her husband had never taken her feet
-in his hands to kiss them; he had never either knelt beside her to tell
-her he adored her. Yet, she loved him well; but she was surprised that
-love did not contain more sweetness.
-
-“What stifles me, you know,” resumed she, returning to the book, “is
-when there are passages in novels about the characters telling one
-another of their love.”
-
-Octave then sat down. He wished to laugh, not caring for such
-sentimental trifling.
-
-“I detest a lot of phrases,” said he. “When two persons adore each
-other, the best thing is to prove it at once.”
-
-But she did not seem to understand, her eyes remained undimmed. He
-stretched out his hand, slightly touching hers, and leant over so close
-to her to observe a passage in the book that his breath warmed her
-shoulder through the open dressing-gown; yet she remained insensible.
-Then, he rose up, full of a contempt mingled with pity. As he was
-leaving, she said:
-
-“I read very slowly, I shall not have finished it before tomorrow. It
-will be amusing to-morrow! Look in during the evening.”
-
-He certainly had no designs upon her, and yet he felt indignant. He
-conceived a singular friendship for this young couple who exasperated
-him, they seemed to take life so stupidly. And the idea came to him of
-rendering them a service in spite of them; he would take them out to
-dinner, make them tipsy, and then amuse himself by pushing them into
-each other’s arms. When such fits of kindness got hold of him, he, who
-would not have lent ten francs, delighted in flinging his money out of
-the window, to bring two lovers together and give them joy.
-
-Little Madame Pichon’s coldness, however, brought Octave back to the
-ardent Valérie. This one, certainly, would not require to be breathed
-upon twice on the back of her neck. He was advancing in her favour: one
-day that she was going upstairs before him, he had ventured to
-compliment her on her ankle, without her appearing displeased.
-
-At length the opportunity so long watched for presented itself. It was
-the evening that Marie had made him promise to look in; they would be
-alone to talk about the novel, as her husband was not to be home till
-very late. But the young man had preferred to go out, seized with
-fright at the thought of this literary treat. However, he had decided
-to venture upon it, towards ten o’clock, when he met Valérie’s maid on
-the first-floor landing with a scared look on her face, and who said to
-him:
-
-“Madame has gone into hysterics, my master is out, and every one
-opposite has gone to the theatre. Pray come in. I am all alone, I don’t
-know what to do.”
-
-Valérie was stretched out in an easy-chair in her bedroom, her limbs
-rigid. The maid had unlaced her stays, and her bosom was heaving. The
-attack subsided almost immediately. She opened her eyes, was surprised
-to see Octave there, and acted moreover as she might have done in the
-presence of a doctor.
-
-“I must ask you to excuse me, sir,” murmured she, her voice still
-choking. “I have only had this girl since yesterday, and she lost her
-head.”
-
-Her perfect coolness in adjusting her stays and fastening up her dress
-again, embarrassed the young man. He remained standing, swearing not to
-depart thus, yet not daring to sit down. She had sent away the maid,
-the sight of whom seemed to irritate her; then she went to the window
-to breathe the cool outdoor air in long nervous inspirations, her mouth
-wide open. After a short silence, they commenced talking. She had first
-suffered from these attacks when fourteen years old; Doctor Juillerat
-was tired of prescribing for her; sometimes they seized her in the
-arms, sometimes in the loins. However, she was getting used to them;
-she might as well have them as anything else, as no one was really
-perfectly well. And, whilst she talked, with scarcely any life in her
-limbs, he excited himself with looking at her, he thought her provoking
-in the midst of her disorder, with her leaden complexion, her face
-upset by the attack as though by a whole night of love. Behind the
-black mass of her loose hair, which hung over her shoulders, he fancied
-he beheld the husband’s poor and beardless head. Then, stretching out
-his hands, with the unrestrained gesture with which he would have
-seized some harlot, he tried to take hold of her.
-
-“Well! what now?” asked she, in a voice full of surprise.
-
-In her turn she looked at him, whilst her eyes were so cold, her flesh
-so calm, that he felt frozen and let his hands fall with an awkward
-slowness, fully aware of the ridiculousness of his gesture. Then, in a
-last nervous gape which she stifled, she slowly added:
-
-“Ah! my dear sir, if you only knew!”
-
-And she shrugged her shoulders, without getting angry, as though
-crushed beneath her contempt for man and her weariness of him. Octave
-thought she was about to have him turned out when he saw her move
-towards a bell-pull, dragging her loosely fastened skirts along with
-her. But she merely required some tea; and she ordered it to be very
-weak and very hot. Altogether nonplussed, he muttered some excuses and
-made for the door, whilst she again reclined in the depths of her
-easy-chair, with the air of a chilly woman greatly in want of sleep.
-
-On the stairs, Octave stopped at each landing. She did not like that
-then? He had just seen how indifferent she was, without desire as
-without indignation, as difficult to deal with as his employer, Madame
-Hédouin. Why did Campardon say she was hysterical? it was absurd to
-take him in by telling him such humbug; for had it not been for the
-architect’s lie, he would never have risked such an adventure. And he
-remained quite bewildered by the result, his ideas of hysteria
-altogether upset, and thinking of the different stories that were going
-about. He recalled Trublot’s words: one never knows what to expect,
-with those crazy sort of people whose eyes shine like balls of fire.
-
-Up on his landing Octave, annoyed with all women, walked as softly as
-he could. But the Pichons’ door opened, and he had to resign himself.
-Marie awaited him, standing in the narrow room, which the charred wick
-of the lamp but imperfectly lighted. She had drawn the crib close to
-the table, and Lilitte was sleeping there in the circle of the yellow
-light. The lunch things had probably also served for the dinner, for
-the closed book was lying beside a dirty plate full of radish ends.
-
-“Have you finished it?” asked Octave, surprised at the young woman’s
-silence.
-
-She seemed intoxicated, her face was swollen as though she had just
-awakened from a too heavy sleep.
-
-“Yes, yes,” said she, with an effort. “Oh! I have passed the day, my
-head in my hands, buried in it. When the fit takes one, one no longer
-knows where one is. I have such a stiff neck.”
-
-And, feeling pains all over her, she did not speak any more of the
-book, but was so full of her emotion and of confused dreams engendered
-by her reading, that she was choking. Her ears rang with the distant
-calls of the horn, blown by the huntsman of her romances, in the blue
-background of ideal loves. Then, without the least reason, she said
-that she had been to Saint-Roch that morning to hear the nine o’clock
-mass. She had wept a great deal, religion replaced everything.
-
-“Ah! I feel better,” resumed she, heaving a deep sigh and standing
-still in front of Octave.
-
-A pause ensued. She smiled at him with her candid eyes. He had never
-thought her so useless, with her scanty hair and her washed-out
-features. But as she continued looking at him, she became very pale and
-almost stumbled; and he was obliged to put out his hands to support
-her.
-
-“Good heavens! good heavens!” stuttered she, sobbing.
-
-He continued to hold her, feeling considerably embarrassed.
-
-“You should take a little infusion. You have been reading too much.”
-
-“Yes, it upset me, when on closing the book I found myself alone. How
-kind you are, Monsieur Mouret! I might have hurt myself, had it not
-been for you.”
-
-He looked for a chair on which to seat her.
-
-“Shall I light a fire?”
-
-“No, thank you, it would dirty your hands. I have noticed that you
-always wear gloves.”
-
-And choking again at the idea, and suddenly feeling faint, she launched
-an awkward kiss into space as though in a dream, a kiss which slightly
-touched the young man’s ear.
-
-Octave received this kiss with amazement. The young woman’s lips were
-as cold as ice. Then, when she had sank upon his breast in an
-abandonment of her whole frame, he was seized with a sudden desire, and
-sought to bear her into the inner room. But this brusque wooing roused
-Marie; her womanly instinct revolted; she struggled and called upon her
-mother, forgetting her husband, who was shortly to return; and her
-daughter who was sleeping near her.
-
-“No, oh! no, no. It is wrong.”
-
-But he kept ardently repeating:
-
-“No one will ever know—I shall never tell.”
-
-“No, Monsieur Octave. Do not spoil the happiness I have in knowing you.
-It will do no good I assure you, and I had dreamed things—”
-
-Then he left off speaking, having a revenge to take on woman-kind, and
-saying coarsely to himself: “You, at any rate, shall succumb!” The door
-had not even been shut, the solemnity of the staircase seemed to ascend
-in the midst of the silence. Lilitte was peacefully sleeping on the
-pillow of her crib.
-
-When Marie and Octave rose up, they could find nothing to say to each
-other. She, mechanically, went and looked at her daughter, took up the
-plate, and then laid it down again. He remained silent, a prey to
-similar uneasiness, the adventure had been so unexpected; and he
-recalled to mind how he had fraternally planned to restore the young
-woman to her husband’s arms. Feeling the necessity of breaking that
-intolerable silence he ended by murmuring:
-
-“You did not shut the door, then?”
-
-She glanced out on to the landing, and stammered:
-
-“That is true, it was open.”
-
-Her face wore an expression of disgust. The young man too was now
-thinking that after all there was nothing the least funny in this
-adventure with a helpless woman, in the midst of that solitude.
-
-“Dear me! the book has fallen on the floor!” she continued, picking the
-volume up.
-
-A corner of the cover was broken. That drew them together, and afforded
-some relief. Speech returned to them. Marie appeared quite distressed.
-
-“It was not my fault. You see, I had covered it with paper for fear of
-soiling it. We must have knocked it over, without doing so on purpose.”
-
-“Was it there then?” asked Octave. “I did not notice it. Oh! for
-myself, I don’t care a bit! But Campardon thinks so much of his books!”
-
-They kept passing it from one to the other, trying to put the corner
-straight again. Their fingers touched without a quiver. As they
-inflected on the consequences, they were quite dismayed at the accident
-which had happened to that handsome volume of George Sand.
-
-“It was bound to end badly,” concluded Marie, with tears in her eyes.
-
-Octave was obliged to console her. He would invent some story,
-Campardon would not eat him. And their uneasiness returned, at the
-moment of separation. They would have liked at least to have said
-something amiable to eaeh other; but the words choked them.
-Fortunately, a step was heard, it was the husband coming upstairs.
-Octave silently took her in his arms again and kissed her in his turn
-on the mouth. She once more complaisantly submitted, her lips iey cold
-as before. When he had noiselessly regained his room, he asked himself,
-as he took off his overcoat, whatever was it that she wanted? Women, he
-said, were decidedly very peculiar.
-
-On the morrow, at the Cam pardons’, just as lunch was finished, Octave
-was once more explaining that he had clumsily knocked the book over,
-when Marie entered the room. She was going to take Lilitte to the
-Tuileries gardens, and she had called to ask if they would allow Angèle
-to accompany her. And she smiled at Octave, without the least
-confusion, and glanced in her innocent way at the book lying on a
-chair.
-
-“Why, I shall be only too pleased!” said Madame Campardon. “Angèle, go
-and put your hat on. I have no fear in trusting her with you.”
-
-Marie, looking very modest, in a simple dress of dark woollen stuff,
-talked of her husband, who had caught a cold the night before, and of
-the price of meat, which would soon prevent people buying it at all.
-Then, when she had left with Angèle, they all leant out of the windows
-to see them depart. Marie gently pushed Lilitte’s perambulator along
-the pavement with her gloved hands; whilst Angèle, knowing that they
-were looking at her, walked beside her friend, with her eyes fixed on
-the ground.
-
-“How respectable she looks!” exclaimed Madame Campardon. “And so
-gentle! so decorous!”
-
-Then, slapping Octave on the shoulder, the architect said:
-
-“Education is everything in a family, my dear fellow; there is nothing
-like it!”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.
-
-
-That evening, there was a reception and concert at the Duveyriers.
-
-Towards nine o’clock, Octave, who had been invited for the first time,
-was just finishing dressing. He was grave, and felt irritated with
-himself. Why had he missed fire with Valérie, a woman so well
-connected? And Berthe Josserand, ought he not to have reflected before
-refusing her? At the moment he was tying his white tie, the thought of
-Marie Pichon had become unbearable to him: five months in Paris, and
-nothing but that wretched adventure! It was as painful to him as a
-disgrace, for he well saw the emptiness and the uselessness of such a
-connection. And he vowed to himself, as he took up his gloves, that he
-would no longer waste his time in such a manner. He was decided to act,
-as he had at length got into society, where opportunities were
-certainly not wanting.
-
-But, at the end of the passage, Marie was watching for him. Pichon not
-being there, he was obliged to go in for a moment.
-
-“How smart you are!” murmured she.
-
-They had never been invited to the Duveyriers’, and that filled her
-with respect for the first floor drawing-room. Besides, she was jealous
-of no one, she had neither the strength nor the will to be so.
-
-“I shall wait for you,” resumed she holding up her forehead. “D° not
-come up too late; you can tell me how you amused yourself.”
-
-Octave had to deposit a kiss on her hair. Though relations were
-established between them, according to his fancy, whenever a desire or
-want of something to do drew him to her, they did not as yet address
-each other very familiarly. He at length went downstairs; and she,
-leaning over the balustrade, followed him with her eyes.
-
-At the same minute, quite a drama was enacting at the Josserands’. In
-the mind of the mother, the Duveyriers’ party to which they were going,
-was to decide the question of a marriage between Berthe and Auguste
-Vabre. The latter, who had been vigorously attacked for a fortnight
-past, still hesitated, evidently entertaining doubts with respect to
-the dowry. So Madame Josserand, for the purpose of striking a decisive
-blow, had written to her brother, informing him of the contemplated
-marriage and reminding him of his promises, with the hope that, in his
-answer, he might say something that she could turn to account. And all
-the family were awaiting nine o’clock before the dining-room stove,
-dressed ready to go down, when Monsieur Gourd brought up a letter from
-uncle Bachelard which had been forgotten under Madame Gourd’s snuff-box
-since the last delivery.
-
-“Ah! at last!” said Madame Josserand, tearing open the envelope.
-
-The father and the two daughters watched her anxiously as she read.
-Adèle, who had had to dress the ladies, was moving heavily about,
-clearing the table still covered with the dirty crockery from the
-dinner. But Madame Josserand turned ghastly pale.
-
-“Nothing! nothing!” stuttered she, “not a clear sentence! He will see
-later on, at the time of the marriage. And he adds that he loves us
-very much all the same. What a confounded scoundrel!”
-
-Monsieur Josserand in his evening dress sank into a chair. Hortense and
-Berthe also sat down, their legs feeling worn out; and they remained
-there, the one in blue, the other in pink, in their eternal costumes,
-altered once again.
-
-“I have always said,” murmured the father, “that Bachelard is imposing
-upon us. He will never give a sou.”
-
-Standing up in her flaring dress, Madame Josserand was reading the
-letter over again. Then, her anger burst out, “Ah! men! men! That one,
-one would think him an idiot, he leads such a life. Well! not a bit of
-it! Though he never seems to be in his right mind, he opens his eye the
-moment any one speaks to him of money. Ah! men! men!”
-
-She turned towards her daughters, to whom this lesson was addressed.
-
-“It has come to the point, you see, that I ask myself why it is you
-have such a mania for getting married. Ah! if you had been worried out
-of your lives by it as I have! Not a fellow who loves you for
-yourselves and who would bring you a fortune without haggling!
-Millionaire uncles who, after having been fed for twenty years, will
-not even give their nieces a dowry! Husbands who are quite incompetent,
-oh! yes, sir, incompetent!”
-
-Monsieur Josserand bowed his head. Adèle, who was not even listening,
-was quietly finishing clearing the table. But Madame Josserand suddenly
-turned angrily upon her.
-
-“What are you doing there, spying upon us? Go into your kitchen and see
-if I am there!”
-
-And she wound up by saying:
-
-“In short, everything for those wretched beings, the men; and for us,
-not even enough to satisfy our hunger. Listen! they are only fit for
-being taken in! Remember my words!”
-
-Hortense and Berthe nodded their heads, as though deeply penetrated by
-what their mother had been saying. For a long time past she had
-completely convinced them of man’s utter inferiority, his unique part
-in life being to marry and to pay. A long silence ensued in the smoky
-dining-room, where the remainder of the things left on the table by
-Adèle emitted a stuffy smell of food. The Josserands, gorgeously
-arrayed, scattered on different chairs and overwhelmed, were forgetting
-the Duveyriers’ concert as they reflected on the continual deceptions
-of life From the depths of the adjoining chamber, one could hear the
-snoring of Saturnin, whom they had sent to bed early.
-
-At length, Berthe spoke:
-
-“So it is all up. Shall we take our things off?”
-
-But, at this, Madame Josserand’s energy at once returned to her. Eh?
-what? take their things off! and why pray! were they not respectable
-people, was not an alliance with their family as good as with any
-other? The marriage should take place all the same, she would die
-rather. And she rapidly distributed their parts to each: the two young
-ladies were instructed to be very amiable to Auguste, and not to leave
-him until he had taken the leap; the father received the mission of
-overcoming old Vabre and Duveyrier, by agreeing with everything they
-said, if his intelligence was sufficient to enable him to do such a
-thing; as for herself, desirous of neglecting nothing, she undertook
-the women, she would know how to get them all on her side. Then,
-collecting her thoughts and casting a last glance round the
-dining-room, as though to make sure that no weapon had been forgotten,
-she put on the terrible look of a man of war about to lead his
-daughters to massacre, and uttered these words in a powerful voice:
-
-“Let us go down!”
-
-And down they went. In the solemnity of the staircase, Monsieur
-Josserand was full of uneasiness, for he foresaw many disagreeable
-things for the too narrow conscience of a worthy man like himself.
-
-When they entered, there was already a crush at the Duveyriers’.
-
-The enormous grand piano occupied one entire end of the drawing-room,
-the ladies being seated in front of it on rows of chairs, like at the
-theatre; and two dense masses of black coats filled up the doorways
-leading to the dining-room and the parlour. The chandelier and the
-candelabra, and the six lamps standing on side-tables, lit up with a
-blinding light the white and gold room in which the red silk of the
-furniture and of the hangings showed up vividly. It was very warm, the
-fans produced a breeze at regular intervals, impregnated with the
-penetrating odours of bodices and bare shoulders.
-
-Just at that moment, Madame Duveyrier was taking her seat at the piano.
-With a gesture, Madame Josserand smilingly begged she would not disturb
-herself; and she left her daughters in the midst of the men, as she
-accepted a chair for herself between Valérie and Madame Juzeur.
-Monsieur Josserand had made for the parlour, where the landlord,
-Monsieur Vabre, was dozing at his usual place, in the corner of a sofa.
-There were also Campardon, Théophile and Auguste Vabre, Doctor
-Juillerat and the Abbé Mauduit, forming a group; whilst Trublot and
-Octave, who had rejoined each other, had flown from the music to the
-end of the dining-room. Near them, and behind the stream of black
-coats, Duveyrier, thin and tall of stature, was looking fixedly at his
-wife seated at the piano waiting for silence. In the button-hole of his
-coat he wore the ribbon of the Legion of Honour in a neat little
-rosette.
-
-“Hush! hush! silence!” murmured some friendly voices.
-
-Then, Clotilde Duveyrier commenced one of Chopin’s most difficult
-serenades. Tall and handsome, with magnificent red hair, she had a long
-face, as pale and cold as snow; and, in her grey eyes, music alone
-kindled a flame, an exaggerated passion on which she existed without
-any other desire either of the flesh or the spirit. Duveyrier continued
-watching her; then, after the first bars, a nervous exasperation
-contracted his lips, he drew aside and kept himself at the farthest end
-of the dining-room. On his clean-shaven face, with its pointed chin and
-eyes all askew, large red blotches indicated a bad blood, quite a
-pollution festering just beneath the skin.
-
-Trublot, who was examining him, quietly observed:
-
-“He does not like music.”
-
-“Nor I either,” replied Octave.
-
-“Oh! the unpleasantness is not the same for you. A man, my dear fellow,
-who was always lucky. Not a whit more intelligent than another, but who
-was helped along by every one. Belonging to an old middle-class family,
-the father an ex-presiding judge, called to the bar the moment he had
-completed his studies, then appointed, deputy judge at Reims, from
-whence he was removed to Paris and made judge of the Court of First
-Instance, decorated, and now a counsellor before he is forty-five years
-of age. It’s stiff, isn’t it? But he does not like music, that piano
-has been the bane of his life. One cannot have everything.”
-
-Meanwhile, Clotilde was knocking off the difficult passages with
-extraordinary composure. She handled her piano like a circus-rider her
-horse. Octave’s attention was solely occupied with the furious working
-of her hands.
-
-“Just look at her fingers,” said he, “it is astonishing! A quarter of
-an hour of that must hurt her immensely.”
-
-And they both fell to talking of women without troubling themselves any
-further with what she was playing. Octave felt rather embarrassed on
-catching sight of Valérie: what line of conduct should he pursue? ought
-he to speak to her or pretend not to see her? Trublot affected a great
-disdain: there was still not one to take his fancy; and, as his
-companion protested, looking about, and saying that there was surely
-one amongst the number who would suit him, he learnedly declared:
-
-“Well! take your choice, and you will see afterwards, when the gloss is
-off. Eh? not the one with the feathers over there; nor the blonde in
-the mauve dress; nor that old party, though she at least has the merit
-of being fat. I tell you, my dear fellow, it is absurd to seek for
-anything of the kind in society. Plenty of airs, but not a particle of
-pleasure!”
-
-Octave smiled. He had to make his position in the world; he could not
-afford merely to consider his taste, like Trublot, whose father was so
-rich. The sight of those rows of women set him musing, he asked himself
-which among them he would have chosen for his fortune and his pleasure,
-if he had been allowed to take one of them away. As he was weighing
-them with a glance, one after the other, he suddenly exclaimed:
-
-“Hallo! my employer’s wife! She visits here then?”
-
-“Did you not know it?” asked Trublot. “In spite of the difference in
-their ages, Madame Hédouin and Madame Duveyrier are two school friends.
-They used to be inseparable, and were called the polar bears, because
-they were always fully twenty degrees below freezing point. They are
-some more of the ornamental class! Duveyrier would be in a sad plight
-if he had not some other hot water-bottle for his feet in winter time!”
-
-But Octave had now become serious. For the first time, he beheld Madame
-Hédouin in a low neck dress, her shoulders and arms bare, with her
-black hair plaited in front; and she appeared in the ardent light as
-the realisation of his desires: a superb woman, extremely healthy and
-calmly beautiful, who would be a benefit in every way to a man.
-Complicated plans were already absorbing him, when an awful din awoke
-him from his dream.
-
-“What a relief! it is finished!” said Trublot.
-
-Compliments were being showered upon Clotilde. Madame Josserand, who
-had hastened to her, was pressing her hands; whilst the men resumed
-their conversation, and the ladies fanned themselves more vigorously.
-Duveyrier then ventured back into the parlour, where Trublot and Octave
-followed him. Whilst in the midst of the skirts, the former whispered
-into the latter’s ear:
-
-“Look on your right. The angling has commenced.”
-
-It was Madame Josserand who was setting Berthe on to Auguste. He had
-imprudently gone up to the ladies to wish them good evening. His head
-was not bothering him so much just then; he merely felt a touch of
-neuralgia in his left eye; but he dreaded the end of the party, for
-there was going to be singing, and nothing was worse for him than this.
-
-“Berthe,” said the mother, “tell Monsieur Vabre of the remedy you
-copied for him out of that book. Oh! it is a sovereign cure for
-headaches!”
-
-And, having started the affair, she left them standing beside a window.
-
-“By Jove! they are going in for chemistry!” murmured Trublot.
-
-In the parlour, Monsieur Josserand, desirous of pleasing his wife, had
-remained seated before Monsieur Vabre, feeling very embarrassed, for
-the old gentleman was asleep, and he did not dare awake him to do the
-amiable. But, when the music ceased, Monsieur Vabre raised his
-eye-lids. Short and stout, and completely bald, save for two tufts of
-white hair over his ears, he had a ruddy face, with thick lips, and
-round eyes almost at the top of his head. Monsieur Josserand having
-politely inquired after his health, the conversation began. The retired
-notary, whose four or five ideas always followed the same order,
-commenced by making an observation about Versailles, where he had
-practiced during forty years; then, he talked of his sons, once more
-regretting that neither the one nor the other had shown himself capable
-of carrying on the practice, so that he had decided to sell it and
-inhabit Paris; after which, he came to the history of his house, the
-building of which was the romance of his life.
-
-“I have buried three hundred thousand francs in it, sir. A superb
-speculation, my architect said. But to-day I have great difficulty in
-getting the value of my money; more especially as all my children have
-come to live here, with the idea of not paying me, and I should never
-have a quarter’s rent, if I did not apply for it myself on the
-fifteenth. Fortunately, I have work to console me.”
-
-“Do you still work much?” asked Monsieur Josserand.
-
-“Always, always, sir!” replied the old gentleman with the energy of
-despair. “Work is life to me.”
-
-And he explained his great task. For ten years past, he had every year
-waded through the official catalogue of the exhibition of paintings,
-writing on tickets each painter’s name, and the paintings exhibited. He
-spoke of it with an air of weariness and anguish; the whole year
-scarcely gave him sufficient time, the task was often so arduous, that
-it sometimes proved too much for him; for instance, when a lady artist
-married, and then exhibited under her husband’s name, how was he to see
-his way clearly?
-
-“My work will never be complete, it is that which is killing me,”
-murmured he.
-
-“You take a great interest in art, do you not?” resumed Monsieur
-Josserand, to flatter him.
-
-Monsieur Vabre looked at him, full of surprise.
-
-“No, I do not require to see the paintings. It is merely a matter of
-statistics. There now! I had better go to bed, my head will be all the
-clearer to-morrow. Good-night, sir.”
-
-He leant on a walking-stick, which he used even in the house, and
-withdrew, walking painfully, the lower part of his back already
-succumbing to paralysis. Monsieur Josserand felt perplexed: he had not
-understood very clearly, he feared he had not spoken of the tickets
-with sufficient enthusiasm.
-
-But a slight hubbub coming from the drawing-room, attracted
-
-Trublot and Octave again to the door. They saw a lady of about fifty
-enter, very stout, and still handsome, followed by a young man,
-correctly attired, and with a serious air about him.
-
-“What! they arrive together!” murmured Trublot. “Well! I never!”
-
-The new-comers were Madame Dambreville and Léon Josserand. She had
-undertaken to find him a wife; then, whilst waiting, she had kept him
-for her own personal use; and they were now in their full honeymoon,
-attracting general attention in the middle-class drawing-rooms. There
-were whisperings amongst the mothers who had daughters to marry. But
-Madame Duveyrier was advancing to meet Madame Dambreville, who supplied
-her with young men for her choruses. Madame Josserand at once
-supplanted her, and overwhelmed her son’s friend with all sorts of
-attentions, reflecting that she might have need of her. Léon coldly
-exchanged a few words with his mother; yet, she was now beginning to
-think that he would after all be able to do something for himself.
-
-“Berthe does not see you,” said she to Madame Dambreville. “Excuse her,
-she is telling Monsieur Auguste of some remedy.”
-
-“But they are very well together, we must leave them alone,” replied
-the lady, understanding at a glance.
-
-They both watched Berthe maternally. She had ended by pushing Auguste
-into the recess caused by the window, and was keeping him there with
-her pretty gestures. He was becoming animated, and running the risk of
-a bad headache.
-
-Meanwhile, a group of grave men were talking politics in the parlour.
-There had been a stormy sitting of the Senate the day before, where
-they were discussing the address respecting the Roman question; and
-Doctor Juillerat, whose opinions were atheistical and revolutionary,
-was maintaining that Rome ought to be given to the king of Italy;
-whilst the Abbé Mauduit, one of the heads of the Ultramontane party
-prophesied the most awful catastrophes, if Frenchmen did not shed the
-last drop of their blood in supporting the temporal power of the pope.
-
-“Perhaps some _modus vivendi_ may be found which will prove acceptable
-to both parties,” observed Léon Josserand arriving.
-
-He was just then the secretary of a celebrated barrister, one of the
-deputies of the left. During two years, having nothing to expect from
-his parents, whose mediocrity moreover exasperated him, he had
-frequented the students’ quarter in the guise of a ferocious demagogue.
-But, since his acquaintance with the Dambrevilles, at whose expense he
-was satisfying his first appetites, he was calming down, and drifting
-into the learned Republican.
-
-“No, no agreement is possible,” said the priest. “The Church could not
-make terms.”
-
-“Then, it shall vanish!” exclaimed the doctor.
-
-And, though great friends, having met at the bedsides of all the
-departing souls of the Saint-Roch district, they seemed irreconcilable,
-the doctor thin and nervous, the priest fat and affable. The latter
-preserved a polite smile, even when making his most absolute
-statements, like a man of the world, tolerant for the shortcomings of
-existence, but also like a Catholic who did not intend to abandon any
-of his religions belief.
-
-“The Church vanish, pooh!” said Campardon with a furious air, just to
-be well with the priest, from whom he was expecting a large order.
-
-Besides, it was the opinion of almost all the gentlemen: it could not
-vanish. Théophile Vabre, who, coughing and spitting, and shaking with
-fever, dreamed of universal happiness through the organization of a
-humanitarian republic, alone maintained that, perhaps, it would be
-transformed.
-
-The priest resumed in his gentle voice:
-
-“The Empire is committing suicide. You will see it is so, next year,
-when the elections come on.”
-
-“Oh! as for the Empire, we permit you to rid us of it,” said the doctor
-boldly. “You will be rendering us a precious service.”
-
-Then, Duveyrier, who seemed listening profoundly, shook his head. He
-belonged to an Orleanist family; but he owed everything to the Empire
-and considered he ought to defend it.
-
-“Believe me,” he at length declared severely, “do not shake the
-foundations of society, or everything will collapse. It is we, as sure
-as fate, who suffer from every catastrophe.”
-
-“Very true!” observed Monsieur Josserand, who entertained no opinion,
-but remembered his wife’s instructions.
-
-All spoke at once. None of them liked the Empire. Doctor Juillerat
-condemned the Mexican expedition, the Abbé Mauduit blamed the
-recognition of the kingdom of Italy. Yet, Théophile Vabre and even Léon
-felt anxious when Duveyrier threatened them with another ’93. What was
-the use of those continual revolutions? had not liberty been obtained?
-and the hatred of new ideas, the fear of the people wishing their
-share, calmed the liberalism of those satisfied middle-class men. They
-all declared, however, that they would vote against the Emperor, for he
-was in need of a lesson.
-
-“Ah! how they bore me!” said Trublot, who had been trying to understand
-for some minutes past.
-
-Octave persuaded him to return to the ladies. In the recess of the
-window, Berthe was deafening Auguste with her laughter. This big
-fellow, with his pale blood, was forgetting his fear of women, and was
-becoming quite red, beneath the attacks of the lovely girl, whose
-breath warmed his face. Madame Josserand, however, probably considered
-that the affair was dragging, for she looked fixedly at Hortense; and
-the latter obediently went and gave her sister her assistance.
-
-“Are you quite recovered, madame?” Octave dared to ask Valérie. “Quite,
-sir, thank you,” replied she coolly, as though she remembered nothing.
-
-Madame Juzeur spoke to the young man about some old lace which she
-wished to show him, to have his opinion of it; and he had to promise to
-look in on her for a moment on the morrow. Then, as the Abbé Mauduit
-re-entered the drawing-room, she called him and made him sit beside her
-with an air of rapture.
-
-The conversation had again resumed. The ladies were discussing their
-servants.
-
-“Well! yes,” continued Madame Duveyrier, “I am satisfied with Clémenee,
-she is a very clean and very active girl.”
-
-“And your Hippolyte,” asked Madamo Josserand, “had you not the
-intention of discharging him?”
-
-Just then, Hippolyte, the footman, was handing round some ices. When he
-had withdrawn, tall, strong, and with a florid complexion, Clotilde
-answered in an embarrassed way:
-
-“We have decided to keep him. It is so unpleasant changing! You know,
-servants get used to one another, and I should not like to part with
-Clémence.”
-
-Madame Josserand hastened to agree with her, feeling that they were on
-delicate ground. There was some hope of marrying the two together, some
-day; and the Abbé Mauduit, whom the Duveyriers’ had consulted in the
-matter, slowly wagged his head, as though to dissemble a state of
-affairs known to all the house, but of which no one ever spoke. All the
-ladies now opened their hearts: Valérie had sent another servant about
-her business that very morning, and that made three in a week; Madamo
-Juzeur had decided to take a young girl of fifteen from the foundling
-hospital so as to teach her herself; as for Madame Josserand, her
-complaints of Adèle seemed never likely to cease, a slut, a
-good-for-nothing, whose goings-on were most extraordinary. And they
-all, feeling languid in the blaze of the candles and the perfume of the
-flowers, sank deeper into these ante-room stories, wading through
-greasy account-books, and taking a delight in relating the insolence of
-a coachman or of a scullery-maid.
-
-“Have you seen Julie?” abruptly asked Trublot of Octave, in a
-mysterious tone of voice.
-
-And, as the other looked at him in amazement, he added:
-
-“My dear fellow, she is stunning. Go and see her. Just pretend you want
-to go somewhere, and then slip into the kitchen. She is stunning!”
-
-He was speaking of the Duveyriers’ cook. The ladies’ conversation was
-taking a turn: Madame Josserand was describing, with overflowing
-admiration, a very modest estate which the Duveyriers had near
-Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and which she had merely caught a glimpse of
-from the train, one day when she was going to Fontainebleau. But
-Clotilde did not like the country, she lived there as little as
-possible, merely during the holidays of her son, Gustave, who was then
-studying rhetoric at the Lycée Bonaparte.
-
-“Caroline is right in not wishing to have any children,” declared she,
-turning towards Madame Hédouin, seated two chairs away from her. “The
-little things interfere with all your habits!”
-
-Madame Hédouin said that she liked them a good deal. But she was much
-too busy; her husband was constantly away, and she had everything to
-look after.
-
-Octave, standing up behind her chair, searched with a side glance the
-little curly hairs, as black as ink, on the nape of her neck, and the
-snowy whiteness of her bosom, which—her dress being open very
-low—disappeared in a mass of lace. She ended by completely confusing
-him, as she sat there so calm, speaking but rarely and with a
-continuous smile on her handsome face; he had never before seen so
-superb a creature, even at Marseilles. Decidedly, it was worth trying,
-though it would be a long task.
-
-“Having children robs women of their good looks so quickly!” said he in
-her ear, leaning over, feeling an absolute necessity to speak to her,
-and yet finding nothing else to say.
-
-She slowly raised her large eyes, and then replied with the simple air
-with which she would give him an order at the warehouse.
-
-“Oh! no, Monsieur Octave; with me it is not for that. One must have the
-time, that is all.”
-
-But Madame Duveyrier intervened. She had merely greeted the young man
-with a slight bow, when Campardon had introduced him to her; and now
-she was examining him, and listening to him, without seeking to hide a
-sudden interest. When she heard him conversing with her friend, she
-could not help asking:
-
-“Pray, excuse me, sir. What voice have you?”
-
-He did not understand immediately; but he ended by saying that his was
-a tenor voice. Then, Clotilde became quite enthusiastic: a tenor voice,
-really! what a piece of luck, tenor voices were becoming so rare! For
-instance, for the “Blessing of the Daggers,” which they were going to
-sing by-and-by, she had never been able to find more than three tenors
-among her acquaintances, when at least five were required. And,
-suddenly excited, her eyes sparkling, she had to restrain herself from
-going at once to the piano to try his voice. He was obliged to promise
-to come one evening for the purpose. Trublot, who was behind him, kept
-nudging him with his elbow, ferociously enjoying himself in his
-impassibility.
-
-“Ah! so you are in for it too!” murmured he, when she had moved away.
-“For myself, my dear fellow, she first of all thought I had a barytone
-voice; then, seeing that I did not get on all right, she tried me as a
-tenor; but as I went no better, she has decided to use me to-night as
-bass. I am one of the monks.”
-
-But he had to leave Octave as Madame Duveyrier was just then calling
-him; they were about to sing the chorus, the great piece of the
-evening. There was quite a commotion. Some fifteen men, all amateurs,
-and all recruited among the guests of the house, painfully opened a
-passage for themselves through the groups of ladies, to form in front
-of the piano. They were constantly brought to a standstill, and asked
-to be excused, in voices drowned by the hum of conversations; whilst
-the fans were moved more rapidly in the increasing heat. At length,
-Madame Duveyrier counted them; they were all there, and she distributed
-them their parts, which she had copied out herself. Campardon took the
-part of Saint-Bris; a young auditor attached to the Council of State
-was intrusted with De Nevers’s few bars; then came eight nobles, four
-aldermen, and three monks, represented by barristers, clerks, and
-simple householders. She, who accompanied, had also reserved herself
-the part of Valentine, passionate cries which she uttered whilst
-striking chords; for she would have no lady amongst the gentlemen, the
-resigned troop of whom she directed with all the severity of a
-conductor of an orchestra.
-
-The conversations continued, an intolerable noise issued from the
-parlour especially, where the political discussions were evidently
-entering on a disagreeable phase. Then Clotilde, taking a key from her
-pocket, tapped gently with it on the piano. A murmur ran through the
-room, the voices dropped, two streams of black coats again flowed to
-the doors; and, looking over the heads, one beheld for a moment
-Duveyrier’s red spotted face wearing an agonised expression. Octave had
-remained standing behind Madame Hédouin, the glances from his lowered
-eyes losing themselves, in the shadows of her bosom, in the depths of
-the lace. But when the silence was almost complete, there was a burst
-of laughter, and he raised his head. It was Berthe, who was amused at
-some joke of Auguste’s; she had heated his poor blood to such a point
-that he was becoming quite jovial. Every person in the drawing-room
-looked at them, mothers became grave, members of the family exchanged a
-glance.
-
-“She has such spirits!” murmured Madame Josserand tenderly, in such a
-way as to be heard.
-
-Hortense, close to her sister, was assisting her with complaisant
-abnegation, joining in her laughter, and pushing her up against the
-young man; whilst the breeze which entered through the partly open
-window behind them gently swelled the big crimson silk curtains.
-
-But a sepulchral voice resounded, all the heads turned towards the
-piano. Campardon, his mouth wide open, his beard spread out in a
-lyrical blast, was giving the first line:
-
-“Yes, we are here assembled by the queen’s command.”
-
-
-Clotilde at once ran up a scale and down again; then, her eyes fixed on
-the ceiling, a look of fright on her face, she uttered the cry:
-
-“I tremble!”
-
-
-And the whole thing followed, the eight barristers, clerks and
-householders, their noses on their parts, in the postures of schoolboys
-humming and hawing over a page of Greek, swore that they were ready to
-deliver France. This opening was a surprise, for the voices were
-stifled beneath the low ceiling, one was unable to catch more than a
-sort of hum, like a noise of passing carts full of paving stones
-causing the windows to rattle. But when Saint-Bris’s melodious line:
-“For this holy cause—” unrolled the principal theme, some of the ladies
-recognised it and nodded their heads knowingly. All were warming to the
-work, the nobles shouted out at random: “We swear it!—We will follow
-you!” and, each time, it was like an explosion which caught the guests
-full in the chest.
-
-“They sing too loud,” murmured Octave in Madame Hédouin’s ear.
-
-She did not move. Then, as De Nevers’s and Valentine’s explanations
-bored him, more especially as the auditor attached to the Council of
-State was a false barytone, he corresponded by signs with Trublot who,
-whilst awaiting the entrance of the monks, drew his attention with a
-wink to the window where Berthe was continuing to keep Auguste
-imprisoned. Now, they were alone, in the fresh breeze from outside;
-whilst, with her ear pricked up, Hortense stood before them, leaning
-against the curtain and mechanically twisting the loop. No one was
-watching them now, even Madame Josserand and Madame Dambreville were
-looking away, after an instinctive exchange of glances.
-
-Meanwhile, Clotilde, her fingers on the keys, carried away and unable
-to risk a gesture, stretehed her neck and addressed to the music stand
-this oath intended for De Nevers:
-
-“Ah! from to-day all my blood is yours!”
-
-
-The aldermen had made their entrance, a substitute, two attorneys, and
-a notary. The quartette was well delivered, the line: “For this holy
-cause—” returned, spread out, supported by half the chorus, in a
-continuous expansion. Cam pardon, his mouth opened wider and wider,
-gave the orders for the combat, with a terrible roll of syllables. And,
-suddenly, the chant of the monks burst forth: Trublot sang from his
-stomach, so as to reach the low notes.
-
-Octave, having had the curiosity to wateh him singing, was struck with
-surprise, when he again cast his eyes in the direction of the window.
-As though carried away by the chorus, Hortense had unfastened the loop,
-by a movement which might have been unintentional; and, in falling, the
-big crimson silk curtain had completely hidden Auguste and Berthe. They
-were there behind it, leaning against the window bar, without a
-movement betraying their presence. Octave no longer troubled himself
-about Trublot, who was just then blessing the daggers: “Holy daggers,
-by us be blessed.” Whatever could they be doing behind that curtain?
-The fugue was commencing; to the deep tones of the monks, the chorus
-replied: “Death! death! death!” And still they did not move; perhaps,
-feeling the heat too much, they were simply watching the cabs pass. But
-Saint-Bris’s melodious line had again returned, by degrees all the
-voices uttered it with the whole strength of their lungs, progressively
-and in a final outburst of extraordinary force. It was like a gust of
-wind burying itself in the farthest corners of the too narrow room,
-scaring the candles, making the guests turn pale and their ears bleed.
-Clotilde furiously strummed away on the piano, carrying the gentlemen
-along with her with a glance; then the voices quieted down, almost
-whispering: “At midnight, let there be not a sound!” and she continued
-on alone, using the soft pedal, and imitating the cadenced and distant
-footsteps of some departing patrol.
-
-Then, suddenly, in the midst of this expiring music, of this relief
-after so much uproar, one heard a voice exclaim:
-
-“You are hurting me!”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-All the heads again turned towards the window. Madame Dambreville
-kindly made herself useful, by going and pulling the curtain aside. And
-the whole drawing-room beheld Auguste looking very confused and Berthe
-very red, still leaning against the bar of the window.
-
-“What is the matter, my treasure?” asked Madame Josserand earnestly.
-
-“Nothing, mamma. Monsieur Auguste knocked my arm with the window. I was
-so warm!”
-
-She turned redder still. There were, affected smiles and scandalized
-pouts. Madame Duveyrier, who, for a month past, had been trying to keep
-her brother out of Berthe’s way, turned quite pale, more especially as
-the incident had spoilt the effect of her chorus. However, after the
-first moment of surprise, the applause burst forth, she was
-congratulated, and some amiable things were said about the gentlemen.
-How delightfully they had sung! what pains she must have taken to get
-them to sing so well in time! Really, it could not have been rendered
-better at a theatre. But, beneath all this praise, she could not fail
-to hear the whispering which went round the drawing-room: the young
-girl was too much compromised, a marriage had become inevitable.
-
-“Well! he is hooked!” observed Trublot as he rejoined Octave. “What a
-ninny! as though he could not have pinched her whilst we were all
-bellowing! I thought all the while that he was taking advantage of it.
-You know, in drawing-rooms where they go in for singing, one pinches a
-lady, and if she cries out it does not matter, no one hears!”
-
-Berthe, now very calm, was again laughing, whilst Hortense looked at
-Auguste with her crabbed air of a girl who had taken a diploma; and, in
-their triumph, the mother’s lessons reappeared, the undisguised
-contempt for man. All the gentlemen had now invaded the drawing-room,
-mingling with the ladies, and raising their voices. Monsieur Josserand,
-feeling sick at heart through Berthe’s adventure, had drawn near his
-wife. He listened uneasily as she thanked Madame Dambreville for all
-her kindness to their son Léon, whom she had most decidedly changed to
-his advantage. But his uneasiness increased when he heard her again
-refer to her daughters. She pretended to converse in low tones with
-Madame Juzeur, though speaking all the while for Valérie and Clotilde,
-who were standing up close beside her.
-
-“Well, yes! her uncle mentioned it in a letter again to-day; Berthe
-will have fifty thousand francs. It is not much, no doubt, but when the
-money is there, and as safe as the bank too!”
-
-This lie roused his indignation. He could not help stealthily touching
-her shoulder. She looked at him, forcing him to lower his eyes before
-the resolute expression of her face. Then, as Madame Duveyrier turned
-round quite amiably, she asked her with great concern for news of her
-father.
-
-“Oh! papa has probably gone to bed,” replied the young woman, quite won
-over. “He works so hard!”
-
-Monsieur Josserand said that Monsieur Vabre had indeed retired, so as
-to have his ideas clear on the morrow. And he mumbled a few words: a
-most remarkable mind, extraordinary faculties; asking himself at the
-same time where he would get that dowry from, and thinking what a
-figure he would cut, the day the marriage contract had to be signed.
-
-A great noise of chairs being moved now filled the drawingroom. The
-ladies passed into the dining-room, where the tea was ready served.
-Madame Josserand sailed victoriously in, surrounded by her daughters
-and the Vabre family. Soon only the group of serious men remained
-amidst the vacant chairs. Campardon had button-holed the Abbé Mauduit:
-there was a question of some repairs to the calvary at Saint-Roch. The
-architect said he was quite free, for the diocese of Evreux gave him
-very little to do. All he had in hand there were a pulpit and a heating
-apparatus, and also some new ranges to be placed in the bishop’s
-kitchen, which work his inspector was quite competent to see after.
-Then, the priest promised to have the matter definitely settled at the
-next meeting of the vestry. And they both joined the group where
-Duveyrier was being complimented on a judgment, of which he admitted
-himself to be the author; the presiding judge, who was his friend,
-reserved certain easy and brilliant tasks for him, so as to bring him
-to the fore.
-
-“Have you read this last novel?” asked Léon, looking through a number
-of the “Revue des Deux Mondes,” lying on a table. “It is well written;
-but there is another adultery, it is really becoming wearisome!”
-
-And the conversation turned upon morality. Campardon said that there
-were some very virtuous women. All the others agreed with him.
-Moreover, according to the architect, one could always live peacefully
-at home, if one only went the right way about it. Théophile Vabre
-observed that it depended on the woman, without explaining himself
-farther. They wished to have Doctor Juillerat’s opinion, but he smiled
-and begged to be excused: he considered virtue was a question of
-health. During this, Duveyrier had remained wrapped in thought.
-
-“Dear me!” murmured he at length, “these authors exaggerate; adultery
-is very rare amongst educated people. A woman who comes from a good
-family, has in her soul a flower—”
-
-He was for grand sentiments, he uttered the word “ideal” with an
-emotion which brought a mist to his eyes. And he said that the Abbé
-Mauduit was right when the latter spoke of the necessity for the wife
-and mother having some religious belief. The conversation was thus
-brought back to religion and politics, at the point where these
-gentlemen had previously left it. The Church would never disappear,
-because it was the foundation of all families, the same as it was the
-natural support of governments.
-
-“As a sort of police, perhaps it is,” murmured the doctor.
-
-Duveyrier, however, did not like politics being discussed in his house,
-and he contented himself with severely declaring, as he glanced into
-the dining-room where Berthe and Hortense were stuffing Auguste with
-sandwiches:
-
-“There is one fact, gentlemen, which settles everything: religion
-moralizes marriage.”
-
-At the same moment, Trublot, seated on a sofa beside Octave, was
-bending towards the latter.
-
-“By the way,” asked he, “would you like me to get you invited to a
-lady’s where there is plenty of amusement?”
-
-And as his companion desired to know what kind of a lady, he added,
-indicating the counsellor by a sign:
-
-“His mistress.”
-
-“Impossible!” said Octave in amazement.
-
-Trublot slowly opened and closed his eyes. It was so. When one married
-a woman who was disobliging and disgusted with one’s little ailments,
-and who strummed on her piano to the point of making all the dogs of
-the neighbourhood ill, one had to go elsewhere and be made a fool of!
-
-“Let us moralize marriage, gentlemen, let us moralize marriage,”
-repeated Duveyrier in his rigid way, with his inflamed face, where
-Octave now distinguished the foul blood of secret vices.
-
-The gentlemen were being called into the dining-room. The Abbé Mauduit,
-left for a moment alone in the middle of the empty drawing-room, looked
-from a distance at the crush of guests. His fat shrewd face bore an
-expression of sadness. He who heard all those ladies, both old and
-young, at confession, knew them all in the flesh, the same as Doctor
-Juillerat, and he had had to end by merely watching over appearances,
-like a master of the ceremonies throwing the mantle of religion over
-the corruption of the middle classes, trembling at the certainty of a
-final downfall, the day when the canker would appear in all its
-hideousness. At times, in his ardent and sincere faith of a priest, his
-indignation would overcome him. But his smile returned; he took the cup
-of tea which Berthe came and offered him, and conversed a minute with
-her so as to cover, as it were, the scandal of the window, with his
-sacred character; and he again became the man of the world, resigned to
-merely insisting upon a decent behaviour from those sinners, who were
-escaping him, and who would have compromised providence.
-
-“Well, these are fine goings-on!” murmured Octave, whose respect for
-the house had received another shock.
-
-And seeing Madame Hédouin move towards the ante-room, he wished to
-reach there before her, and followed Trublot, who was also leaving. His
-intention was to see her home. She refused; it was scarcely midnight,
-and she lived so near. Then, a rose having fallen from the bouquet at
-her breast, he picked it up in spite and made a pretence of keeping it.
-The young woman’s beautiful eyebrows contracted; then, she said in her
-quiet way:
-
-“Pray open the door for me, Monsieur Octave. Thank you.” When she had
-departed, the young man, who was rather confused, looked for Trublot.
-But Trublot had disappeared, the same as he had done at the
-Josserands’. This time also he must have slipped along the passage
-leading to the kitchen.
-
-Octave, greatly put out, went off to his room, his rose in his hand.
-Upstairs, he beheld Marie leaning over the balustrade, at the place
-where he had left her; she had been listening for his footstep, and had
-hastened to see him come up. And when she had made him enter her room,
-she said:
-
-“Jules has not yet come home. Did you enjoy yourself? Were there any
-pretty dresses?”
-
-But she did not give him time to answer. She had caught sight of the
-rose, and was seized with a childish delight. “Is that flower for me?
-You have thought of me? Ah! how nice of you! how nice of you!”
-
-And her eyes filled with tears, she became quite confused and very red.
-Then Octave, suddenly moved, kissed her tenderly.
-
-Towards one o’clock, the Josserands withdrew in their turn. Adèle
-always left a candle and some matches on a chair. When the members of
-the family, who had not exchanged a word coming upstairs, had entered
-the dining-room, from whence they had gone down in despair, they
-suddenly yielded to a mad delirious joy, holding each others’ hands,
-and dancing like savages round the table; the father himself gave way
-to the contagion, the mother cut capers, and the daughters uttered
-little inarticulate cries; whilst the candle in the middle of them
-showed up their huge shadows careering along the walls.
-
-“At last, it is settled!” said Madame Josserand, out of breath,
-dropping on to a chair.
-
-But she jumped up again at once, in a fit of maternal affection, and
-ran and imprinted two big kisses on Berthe’s cheeks.
-
-“I am very pleased, very pleased indeed with you, my darling. You have
-just rewarded me for all my efforts. My poor girl, my poor girl it is
-true then, this time!”
-
-Her voice was choking, her heart was in her mouth. She succumbed in her
-flaring dress, beneath the weight of a deep and sincere emotion,
-suddenly overwhelmed in the hour of her triumph by the fatigues of her
-terrible campaign which had lasted three winters. Berthe had to swear
-that she was not ill, for her mother thought she looked ill, and was
-full of little attentions, almost insisting on making her a cup of
-infusion. When the young girl was in bed, she went barefooted and
-carefully tucked her in, like in the already distant days of her
-childhood.
-
-Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, his head on his pillow, awaited her. She
-blew out the light, and stepped over him, to reach the side of the bed
-nearest the wall. He was wrapped in thought, his uneasiness having
-returned, his conscience all upset by that promise of a dowry of fifty
-thousand francs. And he ventured to mention his scruples aloud. Why
-make a promise, when one has a doubt of being able to keep it? It was
-not honest.
-
-“Not honest!” exclaimed Madame Josserand in the dark, her voice
-resuming its ferocious tone. “It is not honest to let your daughters
-become old maids, sir; yes, old maids, such was perhaps your dream! We
-have plenty of time to turn about, we can talk the matter over, we will
-end by persuading her uncle. And understand, sir, that in my family, we
-have always been honest!”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.
-
-
-On the morrow, which was a Sunday, Octave with his eyes open lay
-thinking for an hour in the warmth of the sheets. He awoke happy, full
-of the lucidity of the morning laziness. What need was there to hurry?
-He was very comfortable at “The Ladies’ Paradise,” he was there losing
-all his provincial ways, and he had an absolute and profound conviction
-of one day possessing Madame Hédouin, who would make his fortune; but
-it was an affair that required prudence, a long series of gallant
-tactics, which his voluptuous passion for women was already enjoying by
-anticipation. As he was dozing off again, forming his plans, allowing
-himself six months to succeed in, Marie Pichon’s image resulted in
-calming his impatience. A woman like that was a real boon; he had
-merely to stretch out his arm, when he required her, and she did not
-cost him a sou. Whilst awaiting the other, he could certainly not hope
-for anything better. In his half-slumber, this bargain and this
-convenience ended by making him quite tender-hearted: she appeared to
-him very nice and pretty with all her good-nature, and he promised
-himself he would behave better to her in future.
-
-“Hang it! nine o’clock!” said he thoroughly roused by his clock
-striking. “I must get up.”
-
-A fine rain was falling. Then, he made up his mind not to go out all
-day. He would accept an invitation to dine with the Pichons, which he
-had been refusing for some time past, dreading another meeting with the
-Vuillaumes; it would please Marie, he would find opportunities of
-kissing her behind the doors; and, as she was always asking for books,
-he even thought of giving her the surprise of a quantity which he had,
-stowed away in one of his boxes in the loft. When he was dressed, he
-went down to Monsieur Gourd to get the key of this common loft, where
-all the tenants got rid of whatever things were in their way, or which
-they had no present use for.
-
-Down below, on that damp morning, it was quite stifling in the heated
-staircase, the imitation marble, the tall looking-glasses, and the
-mahogany doors of which were covered with steam. Under the porch, a
-poorly clad woman, mother Pérou, to whom the Gourds paid four sons an
-hour for doing the heavy work of the house, was washing the pavement
-with plenty of water, in face of the icy-cold blast blowing from the
-courtyard.
-
-“Eh! I say old ’un, just rub that a bit better, that I may not find a
-spot on it!” called out Monsieur Gourd, warmly covered up, standing on
-the threshold of his apartment.
-
-And, Octave arriving, he talked to him of mother Pérou with the brutal
-domineering spirit, the mad mania for revenge, of former servants who
-were being served in their turn.
-
-“A lazy creature that I can do nothing with! I should like to have seen
-her at the duke’s! Ah well! they stood no nonsense there! I’ll send her
-to the right about, if she doesn’t give me my money’s worth! That’s all
-I care about. But, excuse me, what is it you require, Monsieur Mouret?”
-
-Octave asked for the key. Then the doorkeeper, without hurrying
-himself, continued to explain to him that, if they had chosen, Madame
-Gourd and he, they might have lived respectably in their own house, at
-Mort-la-Ville; only, Madame Gourd adored Paris, in spite of her swollen
-legs which prevented her getting as far as the pavement; and they were
-waiting until they had made their income into a round sum, their hearts
-almost breaking moreover and drawing back, each time that they felt a
-desire to go and live at last upon the little fortune which they had
-got together sou by sou.
-
-“No one had better bother me,” concluded he, drawing himself up to the
-full height of his handsome figure. “I’m no longer working for a
-living. The key of the loft you said, did you not, Monsieur Mouret?
-Wherever have we put the key of the loft, my dear?”
-
-Madame Gourd, tenderly seated before a wood fire, the flames of which
-enlivened the big light room, was drinking her coffee and milk out of a
-silver cup. She had no idea; perhaps in one of the drawers. And, whilst
-soaking her toast, she did not take her eyes off the door of the
-servants’ staircase, at the other end of the courtyard, looking barer
-and severer than ever in the rain.
-
-“Look out! here she is!” said she suddenly, as a woman appeared in the
-doorway.
-
-Monsieur Gourd at once went and placed himself before his room, so as
-to prevent the woman from passing, whilst she slackened her footsteps
-with an air of anxiety.
-
-“We have been on the look-out for her since the first thing this
-morning, Monsieur Mouret,” resumed he, in a low voice. “Last night we
-saw her pass. You know she comes from that carpenter, upstairs, the
-only workman we have in the house, thank goodness! And if the landlord
-only listened to me, he would let the room remain empty, a servant’s
-room which does not go with the other apartments. For one hundred and
-thirty francs a year, it is really not worth while having such a scum
-in the place—”
-
-He interrupted himself, to ask the woman roughly:
-
-“Where do you come from?”
-
-“From upstairs, of course!” answered she, walking on.
-
-Then, he exploded.
-
-“We’ll have no women here, understand! The man who brings you has
-already been told so. If you return here to sleep, I’ll fetch a
-policeman, that’s what I’ll do! and we’ll see if you’ll continue your
-goings-on in a respectable house!”
-
-“Oh! don’t bother me!” said the woman. “I’ve a right here; I shall come
-if I choose.”
-
-And she went off, followed by Monsieur Gourd’s indignation, as he
-talked of going up to fetch the landlord. Had any one ever heard the
-like! such a creature amongst respectable people, who did not tolerate
-the least immorality! And it seemed as though that little room occupied
-by a workman was the abomination of the house, a bad place, the
-supervision of which offended the doorkeeper’s delicacy and spoilt his
-rest at night.
-
-“And that key!” Octave ventured to observe.
-
-But the doorkeeper, furious at a tenant’s having been able to see his
-authority disputed, fell on mother Pérou, wishing to show that he knew
-how to make himself obeyed. Did she take him for a fool? She had again
-splashed the door of his room with her broom. If he paid her out of his
-own pocket, it was to save him from dirtying his hands, and yet he
-continually had to clean up after her. Might the devil take him if he
-was ever again charitable enough to have anything more to do with her!
-she could go and croak. Without answering, and bent double by the
-fatigue of this task so much above her strength, the old body continued
-to scrub with her skinny arms, struggling to keep back her tears, so
-great was the respectful fright that broad shouldered gentleman in cap
-and slippers caused her.
-
-“I remember, my darling,” called Madame Gourd from her easy chair in
-which she passed the day, warming her fat person. “It was I who hid the
-key under the shirts, so that the servants should not be always going
-into the loft. Come, give it to Monsieur Mouret.”
-
-“They’re a nice lot, too, those servants!” murmured Monsieur Gourd,
-who, from his many years in service, had preserved a hatred for
-menials. “Here is the key, sir; but I must ask you to bring it me back,
-for no place can be left open, without the servants getting in there
-and misconducting themselves.”
-
-To save crossing the wet courtyard, Octave went back up the principal
-staircase. It was not till he had reached the fourth floor that he
-gained the servants’ staircase, by taking the door of communication
-that was close to his room. Up above, a long passage was intersected
-twice at right angles, it was painted pale yellow with a dado of darker
-ochre; and the doors of the servants’ rooms, also yellow, were uniform
-and placed at equal distances, the same as in the corridor of a
-hospital. An icy chill came from the zinc roof. All was bare and clean,
-with that unsavoury odour of the lodgings of the poor.
-
-The loft overlooking the courtyard was in the right wing, at the
-further end. But Octave, who had not been there since the day of his
-arrival, was going along the left wing, when, suddenly, a spectacle
-which he beheld inside one of the rooms, by the partly open door,
-brought him to a standstill and filled him with amazement. A gentleman
-was standing in his shirt sleeves before a little looking-glass, tying
-his white cravat.
-
-“What! you here?” said he.
-
-It was Trublot. He also, at first, stood as one petrified. No one ever
-came near there at that hour. Octave, who had walked in, looked at him
-in that room with its narrow iron bedstead, and its washstand on which
-a little bundle of woman’s hair was floating on the soapy water; and,
-perceiving the black dress coat hanging up amongst some aprons, he
-could not restrain himself from saying:
-
-“So you sleep with the cook?”
-
-“Not at all!” replied Trublot, in a fright.
-
-Then, recognising the stupidity of this lie, he began to laugh in his
-convinced and satisfied way.
-
-“Eh! she is amusing! I assure you, my dear fellow, it is awfully fine!”
-
-Whenever he dined out, he escaped from the drawing-room to go and pinch
-the cook before her stove; and when she was willing to trust him with
-her key, he would take his departure before midnight, and go and wait
-patiently for her in her room, seated on a trunk, in his black dress
-coat and white tie. On the morrow, he would leave by the principal
-staircase towards ten o’clock, and pass before the doorkeeper as though
-he had been making an early call on one of the tenants. So long as he
-was pretty punctual at the stockbroker’s, his father was satisfied.
-Moreover, he was now employed in attending the Bourse from twelve to
-three. It would sometimes happen that on a Sunday he would spend the
-whole day in some servant’s bed, happy, lost, his nose buried in the
-pillow.
-
-“You, who are going to be so rich some day!” said Octave, his face
-retaining an expression of disgust.
-
-Then Trublot learnedly declared:
-
-“My dear fellow, you don’t know what it is; don’t speak about it.”
-
-And he stood up for Julie, a tall Burgundian of forty, with her big
-face pitted with small-pox, but who had the body of a superb woman. One
-might disrobe the ladies of the house; they were all sticks, not one
-would come up to her knee. Besides that, she was a girl very well to
-do; and to prove it he opened her drawers, displayed a bonnet, some
-jewellery, and some chemises trimmed with lace, no doubt stolen from
-Madame Duveyrier. Octave, indeed, now noticed a certain coquettishness
-about the room, some gilded cardboard boxes on the drawers, a chintz
-curtain hung over the skirts, all the accessaries of a cook aping the
-grand lady.
-
-“There is no denying, you see, that one may own to this one,” repeated
-Trublot. “If they were only all like her!”
-
-At this moment a noise came from the servants’ staircase. It was Adèle
-coming up to wash her ears, Madame Josserand having furiously forbidden
-her to proceed with her work until she had cleaned them with soap.
-Trublot peeped out and recognised her.
-
-“Shut the door quick!” said he very anxiously. “Hush! don’t say a
-word!”
-
-He pricked up his ear, and listened to Adèle’s heavy footstep along the
-passage.
-
-“You sleep with her too, then?” asked Octave, surprised at his
-paleness, and guessing that he dreaded a scene.
-
-But this time Trublot was coward enough to deny.
-
-“Oh! no indeed! not with that slut! Whoever do you take me for, my dear
-fellow!”
-
-He had seated himself on the edge of the bed, and while waiting to
-finish dressing, begged Octave not to move; and both remained perfectly
-still, whilst that filthy Adèle scoured out her ears, which took at
-least ten good minutes. They heard the tempest in her washhand basin.
-
-“There is, however, a room between this one and hers,” softly explained
-Trublot, “a room that is let to a workman, a carpenter who stinks the
-place out with his onion soup. ‘This morning again, it almost made me
-sick. And you know, in all houses, the partitions of the servants’
-rooms are now almost as thin as sheets of paper. I don’t understand the
-landlords. It is not very decent, one can scarcely turn in one’s bed. I
-think it very inconvenient.”
-
-When Adèle had gone down again, he resumed his swagger and finished
-dressing himself, making free use of Julie’s combs and pomatum. Octave
-having spoken of the loft, he insisted on taking him there, for he knew
-the most out-of-the-way corner of that floor. And, as he passed the
-doors, he familiarly mentioned the servants’ names: in this bit of a
-passage, after Adèle came Lisa, the Campardons’ maid, a wench who took
-her pleasures outside; then, Victoire, their cook, a stranded whale,
-seventy years old, the only one he respected; then, Françoise, who had
-entered Madame Valerie’s service the day before, and whose trunk would
-perhaps only remain twenty-four hours behind the meagre bed upon whieh
-such a gallop of maids passed, that it was always necessary to make
-inquiries before going there and waiting in the warmth of the blanket;
-then, a quiet couple, in the service of the people on the second floor;
-then, these people’s coachman, a strapping fellow of whom he spoke with
-the jealousy of a handsome man, suspecting him of going from door to
-door and noiselessly doing some very fine work; finally, at the other
-end of the passage, there were Clémenee, the Duveyriers’ maid, whom her
-neighbour Hippolyte, the butler, rejoined matrimonially every night,
-and little Louise, the orphan whom Madame Juzeur had taken on trial, a
-chit of fifteen, who must hear some very strange things in the small
-hours, if she were a light sleeper.
-
-“My dear fellow, don’t lock the door, do this to oblige me,” said he to
-Octave, when he had helped him to take the books from the box. “You
-see, when the loft is open, one can hide there and wait.”
-
-Octave, having consented to deceive Monsieur Gourd, returned with
-Trublot to Julie’s room. The young man had left his overcoat there.
-Then it was his gloves that he could not find; he shook the skirts,
-overturned the bed-clothes, raised such a dust and such an odour of
-soiled linen, that his companion, half-suffocated, opened the window.
-It looked on to the narrow inner courtyard, which gave light to all the
-kitchens. And he was stretching out his head over this damp well, which
-exhaled the greasy odours of dirty sinks, when a sound of voices made
-him hastily withdraw.
-
-“The little morning gossip,” said Trublot on all fours under the bed,
-still searching. “Just listen to it.”
-
-It was Lisa, who was leaning out of the window of the Campardons’
-kitchen to speak to Julie, two storeys below her.
-
-“So it’s come off then this time?”
-
-“It seems so,” replied Julie, raising her head. “You see, she did all
-she could to catch him. Hippolyte came from the drawing-room so
-disgusted, that he almost had an attack of indigestion.”
-
-“If we were only to do a quarter as much!” resumed Lisa.
-
-But she disappeared a moment, to drink some broth that Victoire brought
-her. They got on well together, nursing each other’s vices, the maid
-hiding the cook’s drunkenness, and the cook facilitating the maid’s
-outings, from which the latter returned quite worn out, her limbs
-aching, her eyelids blue.
-
-“Ah! my children,” said Victoire leaning out in her turn, her elbows
-touching Lisa’s, “you’re young. When you’ve seen what I’ve seen! At old
-Campardon’s, there was a niece who had been well brought up, and who
-used to go and look at the men through the key-hole.”
-
-“Pretty goings-on!” murmured Julie with the horrified air of a lady.
-“Had I been in the place of the little one of the fourth floor, I’d
-have boxed Monsieur Auguste’s ears, if he’d touched me in the
-drawing-room! He’s a fine fellow!”
-
-At these words, a shrill laugh issued from Madame Juzeur’s kitchen.
-Lisa, who was opposite, searched the room with a glance, and caught
-sight of Louise, whose precocious fifteen years took a delight in
-listening to the other servants.
-
-“She’s spying on us from morning to night, the chit,” said she. “How
-stupid it is to thrust a child upon us! We sha’n’t be able to talk at
-all soon.”
-
-She did not finish. The sound of a suddenly opened window chased them
-away. A profound silence ensued. But they ventured to look out again.
-Eh! what! what was the matter? They had thought that Madame Valérie or
-Madame Josserand was going to catch them.
-
-“No fear!” resumed Lisa. “They’re all soaking in their washhand basins.
-They’re too busy with their skins, to think of bothering us. It’s the
-only moment in all the day when one can breathe freely.”
-
-“So it still goes on the same at your place?” asked Julie, who was
-paring a carrot.
-
-“Still the same,” replied Victoire. “It’s all over, she’s no more use.”
-
-“But your big noodle of an architect, what does he do then?”
-
-“Takes up with the cousin, of course!”
-
-They were laughing louder than ever, when they beheld the new servant,
-Françoise, in Madame Valérie’s kitchen. It was she who had caused the
-alarm, by opening the window. At first there was an exchange of
-politeness.
-
-“Ah! it’s you, mademoiselle.”
-
-“Why, yes, mademoiselle. I am trying to make myself at home, but this
-kitchen is so filthy!”
-
-Then came scraps of abominable information.
-
-“You will be more than constant, if you remain there long. The last one
-had her arms all scratched by the child, and madame worked her so hard,
-that we could hear her crying from here.”
-
-“Ah well! that won’t last long with me,” said Françoise. “Thanks all
-the same, mademoiselle.”
-
-“Where is she, your missus?” asked Victoire curiously.
-
-“She’s just gone off to lunch with a lady.”
-
-Lisa and Julie stretched their necks, to exchange a glance. They knew
-her well, the lady. A funny sort of lunch, with her head down and her
-feet in the air! Was it possible, to lie to that extent! They did not
-pity the husband, for he deserved more than that; only, it was a
-disgrace to humanity, that a woman should not behave herself better.
-
-“There’s Dish-cloth!” interrupted Lisa, discovering the Josserands’
-servant overhead.
-
-Then a host of vulgar expressions were bawled from the depths of this
-hole, as obscure and infected as a sewer. All, with their faces raised,
-violently yelled at Adèle, who was their butt, the dirty awkward
-creature on whom the entire household vented their spite.
-
-“Hallo! she’s washed herself, it’s evident!”
-
-“Just throw your fish bones into the yard again, and I’ll come up and
-rub ’em in your face!”
-
-Thoroughly bewildered, Adèle looked down upon them from above, her body
-half out of the window. She ended by answering:
-
-“Leave me alone, can’t you? or I’ll water you.”
-
-But the yells and the laughter increased.
-
-“You married your young mistress, last night, didn’t you! Eh! it’s you,
-perhaps, who teach her how to hook the men?”
-
-“Ah! the heartless thing! she stops in a place where they don’t give
-you enough to eat! On my word, it’s that which exasperates me against
-her! You’re such a fool, you should send ’em to blazes!”
-
-Adèle’s eyes filled with tear’s.
-
-“You can only talk nonsense,” stammered she. “It’s not my fault if I
-don’t get enough to eat.”
-
-And the voices swelled, unpleasant words commenced to be exchanged
-between Lisa and the new servant, Françoise, who stuck up for Adèle,
-when the latter, forgetting the abuse heaped upon her, and yielding to
-party instinct, called out: “Look out! here’s madame!”
-
-The silence of the tomb ensued. They all immediately plunged back into
-their kitchens; and from the dark chasm of the narrow courtyard all
-that ascended was the stench of the dirty sinks, like the exhalation of
-the hidden abominations of the families, stirred up there by the spite
-of the hirelings. It was the sewer of the house, the shames of which it
-carried off, whilst the masters were still lounging in their slippers,
-and the grand staircase unfolded the solemnity of its flights, in the
-silent suffocation of the hot air stove. Octave recalled the blast of
-uproar he received full in the face, when entering the Campardons’
-kitchen, the day of his arrival.
-
-“They are very nice,” said he simply.
-
-And, leaning out in his turn, he looked at the walls, as though annoyed
-at not having at once read through them, behind the imitation marble
-and the mouldings bright with gilding.
-
-“Where the devil has she stowed them away?” repeated Trublot who had
-searched everywhere for his white kid gloves.
-
-At length, he discovered them at the bottom of the bed itself,
-flattened out and quite warm. He gave a last glance in the glass, went
-and hid the key in the place agreed upon, right at the end of the
-passage, underneath an old sideboard left behind by some lodger, and
-led the way downstairs, accompanied by Octave. After passing the
-Josserands’ door, on the grand staircase, he recovered all his
-assurance, with his overcoat buttoned up to the neck to hide his dress
-clothes and white tie.
-
-“Good-bye, my dear fellow,” said he raising his voice. “I felt anxious,
-so I just looked in to hear how the ladies were. They passed a very
-good night. Good-bye.”
-
-Octave watched him with a smile as he went downstairs. Then, as it was
-almost lunch time, he decided to return the key of the loft later on.
-During lunch, at the Campardons’, he particularly watched Lisa, who
-waited at table. She had her usual clean and agreeable look; but, in
-his mind, he could still hear her defiling her lips with the most
-abominable words. His knowledge of women had not deceived him with
-respect to that girl with the flat chest. Madame Campardon continued to
-be enchanted with her, surprised that she did not steal anything, which
-was a fact, for her vice was of a different kind. Moreover, the girl
-seemed very kind to Angèle, and the mother entirely trusted her.
-
-It so happened, that on that day Angèle disappeared when the dessert
-was placed on the table, and she could be heard laughing in the
-kitchen. Octave ventured to make an observation.
-
-“You are perhaps wrong, to let her be so free with the servants.”
-
-“Oh! there is not much harm in it,” replied Madame Campardon, in her
-languid way. “Victoire saw my husband born, and I am so sure of Lisa.
-Besides, how can I help it? the child gives me a headache. I should go
-crazy, if I heard her jumping about me all day.”
-
-The architect gravely chewed the end of his cigar.
-
-“It is I,” said he, “who make Angèle pass two hours in the kitchen,
-every afternoon. I wish her to become a good housewife. It teaches her
-a great deal. She never goes out, my dear fellow, she is continually
-under our sheltering wing. You will see what a jewel we shall make of
-her.”
-
-Octave said no more. On certain days, Campardon appeared to him to be
-very stupid; and as the architect pressed him to go and hear a great
-preacher at Saint-Roch, he refused, obstinately persisting in remaining
-indoors. After telling Madame Campardon that he would not dine with
-them that evening, he was returning to his room, when he felt the key
-of the loft in his pocket. He preferred to go down and return it at
-once. But on the landing an unexpected sight attracted his attention.
-The door of the room let to the highly distinguished gentleman, whose
-name was never mentioned, happened to be open; and this was quite an
-event, for it was invariably shut, as though barred by the silence of
-the tomb. His surprise increased: he was looking for the gentleman’s
-work-table, and in its stead had discovered the corner of a big
-bedstead, when he beheld a slim lady dressed in black, her face hidden
-behind a thick veil, come out of the room, whilst the door closed
-noiselessly behind her.
-
-Then, his curiosity being roused, he followed the lady downstairs, to
-find out if she were pretty. But she hastened along with an anxious
-nimbleness, scarcely touching the Wilton carpet with her tiny boots,
-and leaving no trace in the house, save a faint odour of verbena. As he
-reached the vestibule, she disappeared, and he only beheld Monsieur
-Gourd standing under the porch, cap in hand and bowing very low to her.
-
-When the young man had returned the doorkeeper his key, he tried to
-make him talk.
-
-“She looks very lady-like,” said he. “Who is she?”
-
-“A lady,” answered Monsieur Gourd.
-
-And he would add nothing further. But he was more communicative
-regarding the gentleman on the third floor. Oh! a man belonging to the
-very best society, who had taken that room to come and work there
-quietly, one night a week.
-
-“Ah! he works!” interrupted Octave. “What at, pray!”
-
-“He was kind enough to ask me to keep his room tidy for him,” continued
-Monsieur Gourd, without appearing to have heard the question. “And, you
-know, he pays money down. Ah! sir, when one waits on people, one soon
-knows whether they are decent He is everything that is most
-respectable: it is easily seen by his clothes.”
-
-He was obliged to jump on one side, and Octave himself had to enter the
-doorkeepers’ room for a moment, in order to let the carriage of the
-second floor people, who were going to the Bois, pass. The horses pawed
-the ground, held back by the coachman the reins high; and, when the big
-closed landau rolled under the vaulted roof, one beheld through the
-windows two handsome children, whose smiling faces almost hid the vague
-profiles of the father and mother. Monsieur Gourd drew himself up,
-polite, but cold.
-
-“They don’t make much noise in the house,” observed Octave.
-
-“No one makes any noise,” said the doorkeeper, curtly.
-
-“Eaeh one lives as he thinks best, that’s all. There are people who
-know how to live, and there are people who don’t know how to live.”
-
-The second floor tenants were judged severely, because they associated
-with no one. They appeared to be well off, however; but the husband
-wrote books, and Monsieur Gourd mistrusted him, curling his lip with
-contempt; more especially as no knew what the family was up to in
-there, with its air of requiring nobody, and being always perfectly
-happy. It did not seem to him natural.
-
-Octave was opening the vestibule door, when Valérie returned. He drew
-politely on one side, to allow her to pass before him.
-
-“Are you quite well, madame?”
-
-“Yes, sir, thank you.”
-
-She was out of breath; and as she went upstairs he looked at her muddy
-boots, thinking of that lunch, with her head down and her feet in the
-air, which the servants had spoken of. She had no doubt walked home,
-not having been able to find a cab. A hot unsavoury odour came from her
-damp skirts. Fatigue, a placid weariness of all her flesh, made her at
-times, in spite of herself, place her hand on the balustrade.
-
-“What a disagreeable day, is it not, madame?”
-
-“Frightful, sir. And, with that, the atmosphere is very close.”
-
-She had reached the first-floor landing, and they bowed to each other.
-But, with a glance, he had seen her haggard face, her eyelids heavy
-with sleep, her unkempt hair beneath the bonnet tied on in haste; and
-as he continued on his way upstairs, he reflected, annoyed and angry.
-Then, why not with him? He was neither more stupid nor uglier than the
-others.
-
-When before Madame Juzeur’s door, on the third floor, his promise of
-the evening before recurred to him. He felt curious about that little
-woman, so discreet and with eyes like periwinkles. He rang. It was
-Madame Juzeur herself who answered the door.
-
-“Ah! dear sir, how kind of you! Pray walk in.”
-
-There was a softness about the lodging which smelt a bit stuffy:
-carpets and hangings everywhere, seats as yielding as down, with the
-warm unruffled atmosphere of a chest padded with old rainbow coloured
-satin. In the drawing-room, to which the double curtains imparted the
-peacefulness of a church, Octave was invited to seat himself on a broad
-and very low sofa.
-
-“Here is the lace,” resumed Madame Juzeur, reappearing with a
-sandal-wood box full of finery. “I am going to make a present of it to
-some one, and I am curious to know its value.”
-
-It was a piece of very fine old Brussels. Octave examined it carefully,
-and ended by valuing it at three hundred francs. Then, without waiting
-further, as their hands were both handling the lace, he bent forward
-and kissed her fingers, fingers as delicate as a little girl’s.
-
-“Oh! Monsieur Octave, at my age! you cannot think what you are doing!”
-murmured Madame Juzeur, prettily, without getting angry.
-
-She was thirty-two, and pretended she was quite old. And she made her
-usual allusion to her misfortunes; good heavens! yes, after ten days of
-married bliss, the cruel man had gone off one morning and had not
-returned, nobody had ever discovered why.
-
-“You can understand,” continued she, gazing up at the ceiling, “that
-all is over for the woman who has gone through this.”
-
-Octave had kept hold of her little warm hand which seemed to mould
-itself to his, and he continued kissing it lightly, on the fingers. She
-turned her eyes towards him, and gazed upon him with a vague and tender
-look; then, in a maternal way, she uttered this single word:
-
-“Child!”
-
-Thinking himself encouraged, he wished to take her round the waist, and
-draw her on to the sofa; but she freed herself without any violence,
-and slipped from his arms, laughing, and with an air of thinking that
-he was merely playing.
-
-“No, leave me alone, do not touch me, if you wish that we should remain
-good friends.”
-
-“Then, no?” asked he in a low voice.
-
-“What, no? What do you mean? Oh! my hand, as much as you like!”
-
-He had again taken hold of her hand. But, this time, he opened it,
-kissing it on the palm; and, her eyes half closed, treating the little
-game as a joke, she opened her fingers like a cat spreads out its claws
-to be tickled inside its paw. She did not let him go farther than the
-wrist. The first day, a sacred line was drawn there, where harm began.
-
-“The priest is coming upstairs,” Louise suddenly entered and said, on
-returning from some errand.
-
-The orphan had the yellow complexion, and the squashed features of
-girls forgotten on doorsteps. She burst into an idiotic laugh on
-beholding the gentleman eating, as she thought, out of her mistress’s
-hand. But at a glance from the latter, she hastened away.
-
-“I greatly fear I shall never be able to do anything with her,” resumed
-Madame Juzeur. “However, it is only right to try and put one of those
-poor souls into the straight path. Come this way, if you please,
-Monsieur Mouret.”
-
-She conducted him to the dining-room, so as to leave the drawing-room
-to the priest, whom Louise ushered in. She invited Octave to come again
-and have a chat. It would be a little company for her; she was always
-so sad and so lonely! Happily, religion consoled her.
-
-That evening, towards five o’clock, Octave experienced a real relief in
-making himself comfortable at the Pichons’ whilst waiting for dinner.
-The house bewildered him somewhat; after having allowed himself to be
-impressed with a provincial’s respect, in the face of the rich
-solemnity of the staircase, he was gliding to an exaggerated contempt
-for what he thought he could guess took place behind the high mahogany
-doors. He was quite at sea; it seemed to him now that those
-middle-class women, whose virtue had frozen him at first, should yield
-at a sign; and, when one of them resisted, he was filled with surprise
-and rancour.
-
-Marie blushed with joy on seeing him place the pile of books which he
-had fetched for her in the morning on the sideboard. She kept saying,
-“How nice of you, Monsieur Octave! Oh! thank you, thank you! And how
-kind to come early! Will you have a glass of sugar and water with some
-cognac? It assists the appetite.”
-
-He accepted, just to please her. Everything appeared pleasant to him,
-even Pichon and the Vuillaumes, who conversed round the table, slowly
-mumbling over again their usual Sunday conversation. Marie, now and
-again, ran to the kitchen, where she was cooking a boned shoulder of
-mutton; and he dared in a chaffing way to follow her, seizing hold of
-her before the stove, and kissing her on the nape of her neck. She,
-without a cry and without a start, turned round and kissed him in her
-turn on the mouth, with lips which were always cold. This coolness
-seemed delicious to the young man.
-
-“Well, and your new Minister?” asked he of Pichon, on returning into
-the room.
-
-But the clerk gave a start. Ah! there was going to be a new Minister of
-Public Instruction! He knew nothing of it; no one ever troubled about
-that at the Ministry.
-
-“The weather is so bad!” he abruptly remarked. “It is quite impossible
-to keep one’s trousers clean!”
-
-Madame Vuillaume talked of a girl at Batignolles who had gone to the
-bad.
-
-“You will scarcely believe me, sir,” said she. “She had been
-exceedingly well brought up; but she felt so bored at her parents’,
-that she had twice tried to throw herself into the street. It is
-incredible!”
-
-“They should have put bars on the windows,” said Monsieur Vuillaume
-simply.
-
-The dinner was delightful. This kind of conversation lasted all the
-time around the modest board lighted by a little lamp. Pichon and
-Monsieur Vuillaume, having got on to the staff of the Ministry, did
-nothing but talk of head-clerks and second head-clerks; the
-father-in-law obstinately alluded to those of his time, then
-recollected that they were dead; whilst, on his side, the son-in-law
-continued to speak of the new ones, in the midst of an inextricable
-confusion of names. The two men, however, as well as Madame Vuillaume,
-agreed on one point: fat Chavignat, he who had such an ugly wife, had
-gone in for a great deal too many children. It was absurd for a man of
-his position. And Octave smiled, feeling happy and at his ease; he had
-not spent such an agreeable evening for a long time; he even ended by
-blaming Chavignat with conviction. Marie quieted him with her clear,
-innocent look, devoid of emotion at seeing him seated beside her
-husband, helping them both according to their tastes, with her rather
-tired air of passive obedience.
-
-Punctually at ten o’clock, the Vuillaumes rose to take their departure.
-Pichon put on his hat. Every Sunday he saw them to the omnibus. Out of
-deference, he had got into the habit about the time of his marriage,
-and the Vuillaumes would have been deeply offended had he now tried to
-give it up. All three made for the Rue de Richelieu, then walked slowly
-up it, searching with a glance the Batignolles omnibuses which kept
-passing full, so that Pichon often went thus as far as Montmartre; for
-he would never have thought of leaving his father and mother-in-law
-before seeing them into an omnibus. As they could not walk fast, it
-took him close upon two hours to go there and back.
-
-They exchanged some friendly handshakes on the landing. Octave, on
-returning to the room with Marie, said quietly, “It rains; Jules will
-not get back before midnight.”
-
-And, as Lilitte had been put to bed early, he at once took Marie on his
-knees, and drank the rest of the coffee with her out of the same cup,
-like a husband glad at having got rid of his guests and at finding
-himself again in the quiet of his home, excited by a little family
-gathering, and able to kiss his wife at his case, with the doors
-closed. A pleasant warmth filled the narrow room, where some frosted
-eggs had left an odour of vanilla. He was gently kissing the young
-woman under the chin, when some one knocked. Marie did not even give a
-start of affright. It was young Josserand, he who was a bit cracked.
-Whenever he could escape from the apartment opposite, he would come in
-this way to chat with her, attracted by her gentleness; and they both
-got on well together, remaining ten minutes at a time without speaking,
-exchanging at distant intervals phrases which had no connection with
-each other. Octave, very much put out, remained silent.
-
-“They’ve some people there,” stuttered Saturnin. “I don’t care a hang
-for their not letting me dine with them! So I took the lock off and
-bolted. It serves them right.”
-
-“They will be anxious; you ought to go back,” said Marie, who noticed
-Octave’s impatience.
-
-But the idiot laughed with delight. Then, with his embarrassed speech,
-he related what took place in his home. He seemed to come each time for
-the sake of thus relieving his memory.
-
-“Papa worked all night again. Mamma slapped Berthe. I say, when people
-get married, does it hurt?”
-
-And, as Marie did not reply, becoming excited, he continued: “I won’t
-go to the country; I won’t. If they only touch her, I’ll strangle them;
-it’s easy to do in the night, when they’re asleep. The palm of her hand
-is as soft as note-paper. But, you know, the other is a beast of a
-girl—”
-
-He recommenced, got more muddled still, and did not succeed in
-expressing what he had come to say. Marie, at length, made him return
-to his parents, without his even having noticed Octave’s presence.
-
-Then the latter, through fear of being again disturbed, wanted to take
-the young woman into his own room. But she refused, her cheeks suddenly
-becoming scarlet He, not understanding this bashfulness, said that they
-would be sure to hear Jules coming up, and that she would have time to
-slip into her room; and as he drew her along, she became quite angry,
-with the indignation of a woman to whom violence is being offered.
-
-“No, not in your room, never! It would be too wrong. Let us remain
-here.”
-
-And she ran to the farthest end of her room. Octave was still on the
-landing, surprised at this unexpected resistance, when the sounds of a
-violent altercation ascended from the courtyard. Really, everything
-seemed to be against him, he would have done better to have gone off to
-bed. Such an uproar was so unusual at that late hour, that he ended by
-opening a window, to hear what was going on. Monsieur Gourd, down
-below, was shouting out:
-
-“I tell you, you shall not pass! The landlord has been sent for. He
-will come and turn you out himself.”
-
-“What! turn me out!” replied a thick voice. “Don’t I pay my rent? Pass,
-Amélie, and if the gentleman touches you, we’ll have something to laugh
-at!”
-
-It was the workman from upstairs, who had returned with the woman sent
-away in the morning. Octave leant out; but, in the black hole of the
-courtyard, he could only distinguish some big moving shadows in a ray
-of gaslight from the vestibule.
-
-“Monsieur Vabre! Monsieur Vabre!” called the doorkeeper in urgent
-tones, as the carpenter shoved him aside. “Quick, quick, she is coming
-in!”
-
-In spite of her poor legs, Madame Gourd had gone to fetch the landlord,
-who was just then at work on his great task. He was coming down. Octave
-could hear him furiously repeating:
-
-“It is scandalous! it is disgraceful! I will never allow such a thing
-in my house!”
-
-And, addressing the workman, whom his presence seemed at first to
-intimidate:
-
-“Send that woman away, at once, at once. You hear me! we will have no
-women brought to the house.”
-
-“But she’s my wife!” replied the workman in a scared way.
-
-“She is out at service, she comes once a month, when her people allow
-her to. What a fuss! It isn’t you who’ll prevent me sleeping with my
-wife, I suppose!”
-
-At these words, the doorkeeper and the landlord quite lost their heads.
-
-“I give you notice to quit,” stuttered Monsieur Vabre. “And, in the
-meantime, I forbid you to take my premises for what they are not.
-Gourd, turn that creature out on to the pavement. Yes, sir, I don’t
-like bad jokes. When a person is married, he should say so. Hold your
-tongue, do not give me any more of your rudeness!”
-
-The carpenter, who was a jolly fellow, and who had no doubt had a drop
-too much wine, ended by bursting out laughing.
-
-“It’s damned funny all the same. However, as the gentleman objects,
-you’d better return home, Amélie. We’ll wait till some other time. By
-Jove! I accept your notice with pleasure! I wouldn’t stop in such a
-hole on any account! There are some pretty goings-on in it, one comes
-across some rare filth. You won’t have women brought here, but you
-tolerate, on every floor, well-dressed strumpets who lead fine lives
-behind the doors! You set of muffs! you swells!”
-
-Amélie had gone off so as not to cause her old man any more annoyance;
-and he, jolly, and without anger, continued his chaff. During this
-time, Monsieur Gourd protected Monsieur Vabre’s retreat, permitting
-himself to make a few remarks out loud. What a dirty set the lower
-classes were! One workman in a house was sufficient to pollute it.
-
-Octave closed the window. But, just as he was returning to Marie, an
-individual who was lightly gliding along the passage, knocked up
-against him.
-
-“What! it’s you again!” said he recognising Trublot.
-
-The latter remained a second taken aback. Then, he wished to explain
-his presence.
-
-“Yes, it is I. I dined at the Josserands’, and I’m going—”
-
-Octave felt disgusted.
-
-“What, with that slut Adèle? You declared it was not so.”
-
-Then, Trublot assumed all his swagger, saying with an air of intense
-satisfaction:
-
-“I assure you, my dear fellow, it’s awfully fine. She has such a skin,
-you’ve no idea what a skin!”
-
-Then he railed against the workman, who had almost been the cause of
-his being caught on the servants’ staircase, and all his dirty fuss
-about women. He had been obliged to come round by the grand staircase.
-And, as he made off, he added:
-
-“Remember, it is next Thursday that I am going to take you to see
-Duveyrier’s mistress. We will dine together.”
-
-The house resumed it’s peacefulness, lapsing into that religious
-silence which seemed to issue from its chaste alcoves. Octave had
-rejoined Marie in the inner chamber at the side of the conjugal couch,
-where she was arranging the pillows. Upstairs, the chair being littered
-with the washhand basin and an old pair of shoes, Trublot sat down on
-Adèle’s narrow bed, and waited in his dress clothes and his white tie.
-When he recognised Julie’s step as she came up to bed, he held his
-breath, having a constant dread of women’s quarrels. At length Adèle
-appeared. She was in a temper, and went for him at once.
-
-“I say, you! you might treat me a bit better, when I wait at table!”
-
-“How, treat you better?”
-
-“Why of course you don’t even look at me, you never say if you please,
-when you ask for bread. For instance, this evening when I handed round
-the veal, you had a way of disowning me. I’ve had enough of it, look
-you! All the house badgers me with its nonsense. It’s too much, if
-you’re going to join the others!”
-
-Whilst this was taking place, the workman in the next room, not yet
-sobered, talked to himself in so loud a voice that every one on that
-landing could hear him.
-
-“Well! it’s funny all the same, that a fellow can’t sleep with his
-wife! No woman allowed in the house, you fussy old idiot! Just go now
-and poke your nose into all the rooms, and see what you’ll see?”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.
-
-
-For a fortnight past, with the view of getting uncle Bachelard to give
-Berthe a dowry, the Josserands had been inviting him to dinner almost
-every evening, in spite of his offensive habits.
-
-When the marriage was announced to him, he had contented himself with
-giving his niece a gentle pat on the cheek, saying:
-
-“What! you are going to get married! Ah! that’s very nice, little
-girl!”
-
-And he remained deaf to all allusions, exaggerating his air of a silly
-old boozer who got drunk on liquors, the moment money was mentioned
-before him.
-
-Madame Josserand had the idea to invite him one evening together with
-Auguste, the bridegroom elect. Perhaps the sight of the young man would
-decide him. The step was heroical, for the family did not like
-exhibiting the uncle, always fearing that he would give people a bad
-impression of them. He had, however, behaved pretty well; his waistcoat
-alone had a big syrup stain, which it had obtained no doubt in some
-café. But when his sister questioned him, after Auguste had taken his
-departure, and asked him what he thought of the young fellow, he
-answered without involving himself:
-
-“Charming, charming.”
-
-This would never do. It was a pressing matter. Therefore, Madame
-Josserand determined to plainly place the position of affairs before
-him.
-
-“As we are by ourselves,” resumed she, “we may as well take advantage
-of it. Leave us, my darlings; we want to have some talk with your
-uncle. You, Berthe, just look after Saturnin, and see that he does not
-take the lock off the door again.”
-
-Saturnin, ever since they had been busy about his sister’s marriage,
-hiding everything from him, had taken to wandering about the rooms, an
-anxious look in his eyes, and scenting that there was something up; and
-he imagined most diabolical things which gave the family awful frights.
-
-“I have obtained every information,” said the mother, when she had shut
-herself in with the father and the uncle. “This is the position of the
-Vabres.”
-
-And she went into long details of figures. Old Vabre had brought half a
-million with him from Versailles. If the house had cost him three
-hundred thousand francs, he had two hundred thousand left, which,
-during the twelve years that had past had been producing interest.
-Moreover, he received each year twenty-two thousand francs in rent;
-and, as he lived with the Duveyriers, scarcely spending anything at
-all, he must consequently be altogether worth five or six hundred
-thousand francs, besides the house. Thus, there were some very handsome
-expectations on that side.
-
-“Has he no vices, then?” asked uncle Bachelard. “I thought he
-speculated at the Bourse.”
-
-But Madame Josserand cried out. Such a quiet old gentleman, and
-occupied on a such a great task! That one, at least, had shown himself
-capable of putting a fortune by; and she smiled bitterly as she looked
-at her husband, who bowed his head.
-
-As for Monsieur Vabre’s three children, Auguste, Clotilde and
-Théophile, they had each had a hundred thousand francs on their
-mother’s death. Théophile, after some ruinous enterprises, was living
-as best he could on the crumbs of this inheritance. Clotilde, with no
-other passion than her piano, had probably invested her share. And
-Auguste had purchased the business on the ground floor and gone in for
-the silk trade with his hundred thousand francs, which he had long kept
-in reserve.
-
-“And the old fellow naturally gives nothing to his children when they
-marry,” observed the uncle.
-
-Well! he did not much like giving, that was a fact which was
-unfortunately indisputable.
-
-“Well!” declared Bachelard, “it is always hard on the parents. Dowries
-are never really paid.”
-
-“Let us return to Auguste,” continued Madame Josserand. “I have told
-you his expectations, and the only danger comes from the Duveyriers,
-whom Berthe will do well to watch very closely, if she enters the
-family. At the present moment, Auguste, after purchasing the business
-for sixty thousand francs, has started with the other forty thousand.
-Only, the sum is not sufficient; besides which, he is single, and
-requires a wife; that is why he wishes to marry. Berthe is pretty, he
-already sees her in his counting-house; and as for the dowry, fifty
-thousand francs are a respectable sum which has decided him.”
-
-Uncle Bachelard did not so much as blink his eyes. He ended by saying,
-in a tender-hearted way, that he had dreamed of something better. And
-he commenced to pick the future husband to pieces: a charming fellow,
-certainly; but too old, a great deal too old, thirty-three years and
-over; besides which, always ill, his face distorted by neuralgia; in
-short, a sorry object, not near lively enough for trade.
-
-“Have you another?” asked Madame Josserand, whose patience was wearing
-out. “I searched all Paris before finding him.”
-
-However, she did not deceive herself much. She too picked him to
-pieces.
-
-“Oh! he is not a phoenix, in fact I think him a bit of a fool. Besides
-which, I mistrust those men who have never had any youth and who do not
-risk a stride in life without thinking about it for years beforehand.
-On leaving college, where his headaches prevented him completing his
-studies, he remained for fifteen years a mere clerk before daring to
-touch his hundred thousand francs, the interest of which, it seems, his
-father was cheating him out of all the time. No, no, he is not up to
-much.”
-
-Monsieur Josserand, who until then had kept silent, ventured an
-observation.
-
-“But, my dear, why insist so obstinately on this marriage? If the young
-man’s health is so bad——”
-
-“Oh! it is not bad health that need prevent it,” interrupted Bachelard.
-“Berthe would find no difficulty in marrying again.”
-
-“However, if he is incapable,” resumed the father, “if he is likely to
-make our daughter unhappy——”
-
-“Unhappy!” cried Madame Josserand. “Say at once that I throw my child
-at the head of the first-comer! We are among ourselves, we discuss him:
-he is this, he is that, not young, not handsome, not intelligent. We
-just talk the matter over, do we not? it is but natural. Only, he is
-very well, we shall never find a better; and, shall I tell you? it is a
-most unexpected match for Berthe. I was about to give up all hope, on
-my word of honor!” She rose to her feet. Monsieur Josserand, reduced to
-silence, pushed back his chair.
-
-“I have only one fear,” continued she, making a resolute stand before
-her brother, “and that is that he may break it off if he is not paid
-the dowry on the day the contract is to be signed. It is easy to
-understand, he is in want of money——”
-
-But at this moment a hot breathing, which she heard behind her, caused
-her to turn round. Saturnin was there, passing his head round the
-partly opened door, his eyes glaring like a wolf’s as he listened to
-what was being said. And it created quite a panic, for he had stolen a
-spit from the kitchen, to spit the geese, said he. Uncle Bachelard,
-feeling very uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking, availed
-himself of the general alarm.
-
-“Don’t disturb yourselves,” cried he, from the ante-room. “I’m off,
-I’ve an appointment at midnight, with one of my customers, who’s come
-specially from Brazil.”
-
-When they had succeeded in getting Saturnin to bed, Madame Josserand,
-exasperated, declared that it was impossible to keep him any longer. He
-would end by doing some one an injury, if he was not shut up in a
-madhouse. Life was unbearable with him always to be kept in hiding. His
-sisters would never get married, so long as he was there to disgust and
-frighten people.
-
-“Wait a bit longer,” murmured Monsieur Josserand, whose heart bled at
-the thought of this separation.
-
-“No, no!” declared the mother, “I do not want him to spit me in the
-end! I had brought my brother to the point, I was about to get him to
-do something. Never mind! we will go with Berthe to-morrow to his own
-place, and we will see if he will have the cheek to escape from his
-promises. Besides, Berthe owes her godfather a visit. It is only
-proper.”
-
-On the morrow, all three, the mother, the father, and the daughter,
-paid an official visit to the uncle’s warehouses, which occupied the
-basement and the ground floor of an enormous house in the Rue
-d’Enghien.
-
-“Hallo! you here!” said he, greatly annoyed.
-
-And he received them in a little closet, from which he watched his men
-through a window.
-
-“I have brought Berthe to see you,” explained Madame Josserand. “She
-knows what she owes you.”
-
-Then, when the young girl, after kissing her uncle, had, on a glance
-from her mother, returned to look at the goods in the courtyard, the
-latter resolutely broached the subject.
-
-“Listen, Narcisse; this is how we are situated. Counting on your
-kindness of heart and on your promises, I have engaged to give a dowry
-of fifty thousand francs. If I do not give it, the marriage will be
-broken off. It would be a disgrace, things having gone as far as they
-have. You cannot leave us in such an embarrassing position.”
-
-But a vacant look had come into Bachelard’s eyes, and he stuttered, as
-though very drunk:
-
-“Eh? what? you’ve promised. You should never promise; it’s a bad thing
-to promise.”
-
-He pleaded poverty. For instance, he had bought a whole stock of
-horsehair, thinking that the price of horsehair would go up; but not at
-all; the price had fallen lower still, and he had been obliged to
-dispatch them at a loss. And he pounced on his books, opened his
-ledgers, and insisted on showing the invoices, it was ruination.
-
-“Nonsense!” Monsieur Josserand ended by saying, completely out of
-patience. “I know your business; you make no end of money, and you
-would be rolling in wealth if you did not squander it in the way you
-do. I ask you for nothing myself. It was Eléonore who persisted in
-applying to you. But allow me to tell you, Bachelard, that you have
-been fooling us. Every Saturday for fifteen years past, when I come to
-look over your books for you, you are forever promising me——”
-
-The uncle interrupted him, and violently slapped himself on the chest.
-
-“I promise? impossible! No, no; let me alone, you’ll see. I don’t like
-being asked, it annoys me—it makes me ill. You’ll see one day.”
-
-Madame Josserand herself could get nothing further out of him. He shook
-their hands, wiped away a tear, talked of his soul and of his love for
-the family, imploring them not to worry him any more, and swearing
-before heaven that they would never repent it. He knew his duty; he
-would perform it to the uttermost. Later on, Berthe would know how her
-uncle loved her.
-
-“And what about the dotal insurance,” asked he, in his natural tone of
-voice, “the fifty thousand francs you had insured the little one for?”
-
-Madame Josserand shrugged her shoulders.
-
-“It has been dead and buried for fourteen years past. You have been
-told twenty times already that when the fourth premium fell due, we
-were unable to pay the two thousand francs.”
-
-“That doesn’t matter,” murmured he, with a wink, “the thing is to talk
-of this insurance to the family, and then get time for paying the
-dowry. One never pays a dowry.”
-
-Monsieur Josserand rose indignantly.
-
-“What! that is all you can find to say?”
-
-But the uncle mistook his meaning, and went on to show that it was
-quite a usual thing.
-
-“Never, I tell you I One gives something on account, and then merely
-pays the interest. Look at Monsieur Vabre himself. Did our father ever
-pay you Eléonore’s dowry? why, no, of course not. Every one sticks to
-his money; its only natural!”
-
-“In short, you advise me to commit a most abominable action!” cried
-Monsieur Josserand. “I should lie; it would be a forgery to produce the
-policy of that insurance——”
-
-Madame Josserand stopped him. The idea suggested by her brother had
-rendered her grave. She was surprised she had not thought of it
-herself.
-
-“Dear me! how excited you become, my dear. Narcisse has not told you to
-forge anything.”
-
-“Of course not,” murmured the uncle. “There is no occasion to show any
-documents.”
-
-“It is simply a question of gaining time,” continued she. “Promise the
-dowry, we shall always manage to give it later on.”
-
-Then the worthy man’s conscience spoke out. No! he refused; he would
-not again venture on such a precipice. They were always taking
-advantage of his complacency, to get him to agree little by little to
-things which afterward made him ill, so deeply did they wound his
-feelings. As he had no dowry to give, he could not promise one.
-
-Bachelard was strumming on the little window with his fingers, and
-whistling a march, as though to show his great contempt for such
-scruples. Madame Josserand had listened to her husband, her face all
-pale with an anger which had been slowly rousing, and which suddenly
-exploded.
-
-“Well! sir, as this is how you look at it, this marriage shall take
-place. It was my daughter’s last chance. I will cut my hand off sooner
-than she will lose it. So much the worse for the others! One becomes
-capable of anything at last.”
-
-“So, madame, you would commit murder to get your daughter married?”
-
-She rose to her full height.
-
-“Yes!” said she furiously.
-
-Then she smiled. The uncle had to quell the storm. What was the use of
-wrangling? It was far better to agree together. And, still trembling
-from the quarrel, bewildered and worn out, Monsieur Josserand ended by
-promising to talk the matter over with Duveyrier, on whom everything
-depended, according to Madame Josserand. Only to get hold of the
-counselor when he was in good humor, the uncle offered to put his
-brother-in-law in the way of meeting him at a house where he could
-refuse nothing.
-
-“It is merely to be an interview,” declared Monsieur Josserand, still
-struggling. “I swear that I will not enter into any engagements.”
-
-“Of course, of course,” said Bachelard. “Eléonore does not wish you to
-do anything dishonorable.”
-
-Berthe just then returned. She had seen some boxes of preserved fruits,
-and, after some lively caresses, she tried to get one given her. But
-the uncle’s speech again became thick; impossible, they were counted,
-and had to leave that very evening for Saint-Petersburg. He slowly got
-them in the direction of the street, whilst his sister lingered before
-the activity of the vast warehouses, full to the rafters with every
-imaginable commodity, suffering from the sight of that fortune made by
-a man without any principles, and bitterly comparing it with her
-husband’s incapable honesty.
-
-“Well! to-morrow night, then, toward nine o’clock, at the Café de
-Mulhouse,” said Bachelard outside, as he shook Monsieur Josserand’s
-hand.
-
-It so happened that, on the morrow, Octave and Trublot, who had dined
-together before going to see Clarisse, Duveyrier’s mistress, entered
-the Café de Mulhouse, so as not to call too early, although she lived
-in the Rue de la Cerisaie, which was some distance off. It was scarcely
-eight o’clock. As they entered, the sound of a violent quarrel
-attracted them to a rather out-of-the-way room at the end. And there
-they beheld Bachelard already drunk, enormous in size, and his cheeks
-flaring red, having an altercation with a little gentleman, pale and
-quarrelsome.
-
-“You have again spat in my beer!” roared he in his voice of thunder.
-“I’ll not stand it, sir!”
-
-“Go to blazes, do you hear? or I’ll give you a thrashing!” said the
-little man, standing on the tips of his toes.
-
-Then Bachelard raised his voice very provokingly, without drawing back
-an inch.
-
-“If you think proper, sir! As you please!”
-
-And the other having with a blow knocked in his hat, which he always
-wore swaggeringly on the side of his head, even in the cafés, he
-repeated more energetically still:
-
-“As you please, sir! If you think proper!”
-
-Then, after picking up his hat, he sat himself down with a superb air,
-and called to the waiter:
-
-“Alfred, change my beer!”
-
-Octave and Trublot, greatly astonished, had caught sight of Gueulin
-seated at the uncle’s table, his back against the wall, smoking with a
-tranquillity amounting to indifference. As they questioned him on the
-cause of the quarrel.
-
-“I don’t know,” replied he, watching the smoke ascend from his cigar.
-“Always a lot of rot! Oh! a mania for getting his head punched! He
-never retreats.”
-
-Bachelard shook hands with the new-comers. He adored young people. When
-he heard that that they were going to call on Clarisse, he was
-delighted, for he himself was going there with Gueulin; only he had to
-wait for his brother-in-law, Josserand, whom he had an appointment
-with. And he filled the little room with the sounds of his voice,
-covering the table with every drink imaginable for the benefit of his
-young friends, with the insane prodigality of a man who does not care
-what he spends when out on pleasure. Illformed, with his teeth too new
-and his nose in a blaze beneath his short, snow-white hair, he talked
-familiarly to the waiters and thoroughly tired them out, and made
-himself unbearable to his neighbors to such a point that the landlord
-came twice to beg him to leave, if he could not keep quiet. The night
-before, he had been turned out of the Café de Madrid.
-
-But a girl having put in an appearance, and then gone away, after
-walking round the room with a wearied air, Octave began to talk of
-women. This set Bachelard off again. Women had cost him too much money;
-he flattered himself that he had had the best in Paris. In his
-business, one never bargained about such things; just to show that one
-had something to fall back upon. Now he was giving all that up, he
-wished to be loved. And, in presence of this bawler chucking bank notes
-about, Octave thought with surprise of the uncle who exaggerated his
-stuttering drunkenness to escape the family extortions.
-
-“Don’t boast, uncle,” said Gueulin. “One can always have more women
-than one wants.”
-
-“Then, you silly fool, why do you never have any?” asked Bachelard.
-
-Gueulin contemptuously shrugged his shoulders.
-
-“Why? Listen! Only yesterday I dined with a friend and his mistress.
-The mistress at once began to kick me under the table. It was an
-opportunity, wasn’t it? Well! when she asked me to see her home, I made
-off, and I haven’t been near her since. Oh! I don’t deny that, for the
-time being, it might have been very agreeable. But afterward,
-afterward, uncle! Perhaps one of those women a fellow can never get rid
-of. I’m not such a fool!”
-
-Trublot nodded his head approvingly, for he also had renounced women of
-society, through a dread of the troublesome morrows. And Gueulin,
-coming out of his shell, continued to give examples. One day in the
-train, a superb brunette, whom he did not know, had fallen asleep on
-his shoulder; but he had thought twice, what would he have done with
-her on arriving at the station? Another day, after a wedding, he had
-found a neighbor’s wife in his room, eh? that was rather cool; and he
-would have made a fool of himself had it not been for the idea that
-afterward she would have wanted him to keep her in boots.
-
-“Opportunities, uncle!” said he, coming to an end, “no one has such
-opportunities as I! But I keep myself in check. Every one, moreover,
-does the same; one is afraid of what may follow. Were it not for that,
-it would, of course, be very pleasant! Good morning! good evening! one
-would see nothing else in the streets.”
-
-Bachelard, becoming wrapped in thought, was no longer listening to him.
-His bluster had calmed down, his eyes were wet.
-
-“If you are very good,” said he suddenly, “I will show you something.”
-
-And, after paying, he led them out. Octave reminded him of old
-Josserand. That did not matter, they would come back for him.
-
-Then, after leaving the room, the uncle, casting a furious glance
-around, stole the sugar left by a customer on a neighboring table.
-
-“Follow me,” said he, when he was outside. “It’s close by.”
-
-He walked along, grave and thoughtful, without uttering a word. He drew
-up before a door in the Rue Saint-Marc. The three young men were about
-to follow him, when he appeared to give way to a sudden hesitation.
-
-“No, let us go off, I won’t.”
-
-But they cried out at this. Was he trying to make fools of them?
-
-“Well! Gueulin mustn’t come up, nor you either, Monsieur Trublot.
-You’re not nice enough, you respect nothing, you’d joke. Come, Monsieur
-Octave, you’re a serious sort of fellow.”
-
-He made Octave walk up before him, whilst the other two laughed, and
-called to him from the pavement to give their compliments to the
-ladies. On reaching the fourth floor, he knocked, and an old woman
-opened the door.
-
-“What! it’s you, Monsieur Narcisse? Fifi did not expect you this
-evening,” said she, with a smile.
-
-She was fat, with the calm, white face of a nun. In the narrow
-dining-room into which she ushered them, a tall, fair young girl,
-pretty and simple looking, was embroidering an altar cloth.
-
-“Good day, uncle,” said she, rising to offer her forehead to
-Bachelard’s thick, trembling lips.
-
-When the latter had introduced Monsieur Octave Mouret, a distinguished
-young man whom he counted amongst his friends, the two women curtesied
-in an old-fashioned way, and then they all seated themselves round the
-table, lighted by a petroleum lamp. It was like a quiet country home,
-two regulated existences, out of sight of all, and living upon next to
-nothing. As the room overlooked an inner courtyard, one could not even
-hear the sound of the passing vehicles.
-
-Whilst Bachelard paternally questioned the child on her feelings and
-her occupations since the night before, the aunt, Mademoiselle Menu, at
-once began to tell Octave their history, with the familiarity of a
-worthy woman who thinks she has nothing to hide.
-
-“Yes, sir, I came from Villeneuve, near Lille. I am well known to
-Messieurs Mardienne Frères, in the Rue Saint-Sulpice, where I worked as
-an embroiderer for thirty years. Then, a cousin having left me a house
-in our part of the country, I was lucky enough to let it as a life
-interest at a thousand francs a year, sir, to people who thought they
-would bury me on the morrow, and who are nicely punished for their
-wicked idea, for I am still alive, in spite of my seventy-five years.”
-
-She laughed, displaying teeth as white as a young girl’s.
-
-“I was doing nothing, my eyes being quite worn put,” continued she,
-“when my niece, Fanny, came to me. Her father, Captain Menu, had died
-without leaving a sou, and no other relation, sir. So, I at once took
-the child away from her school, and made an embroiderer out of her—a
-very unprofitable craft; but what could be done? whether that, or
-something else, women always have to starve. Fortunately, she met
-Monsieur Narcisse. Now, I can die happy.”
-
-And, her hands clasped on her stomach, in her inaction of an old
-workwoman who has sworn never again to touch a needle, she looked
-tenderly at Bachelard and Fifi with tearful eyes. The old man was just
-then saying to the child:
-
-“Really, you thought of me! And what did you think?”
-
-Fifi raised her limpid eyes, without ceasing to draw her golden thread.
-
-“Why, that you were a good friend, and that I loved you very much.”
-
-She had scarcely looked at Octave, as though indifferent to the youth
-of so handsome a fellow. Yet he smiled on her, surprised, and moved by
-her gracefulness, not knowing what to think; whilst the aunt, who had
-grown old in a celibacy and a chastity which had cost her nothing,
-continued, lowering her voice:
-
-“I might have married her, might I not? A workman would have beaten
-her, a clerk would have given her no end of children. It is better far
-that she should behave well with Monsieur Narcisse, who looks a very
-worthy man.”
-
-And, raising her voice:
-
-“Ah! Monsieur Narcisse, it will not have been my fault if she does not
-please you. I am always telling her: do all you can to please him, show
-yourself grateful. It is but natural, I am so thankful to know that she
-is at last provided for. It is so difficult to get a young girl settled
-in life, when one has no friends!”
-
-Then Octave abandoned himself to the happy simplicity of this home. In
-the still atmosphere of the room floated an odor of fruit. Fifi’s
-needle, as it pierced the silk, alone made a slight monotonous noise,
-like the ticking of a little clock, which might have regulated the
-placidity of the uncle’s amours. Moreover, the old maid was honesty
-itself; she lived on the thousand francs of her income, never touching
-Fifi’s money, which the latter spent as she chose. Her scruples yielded
-only to white wine and chestnuts, which her niece occasionally treated
-her to, after opening the money box in which she collected four sou
-pieces, given as medals by her good friend.
-
-“My little duck,” at length said Bachelard, rising, “we have business
-to attend to. Good-bye till to-morrow. Now, mind you are very good.”
-
-He kissed her on the forehead. Then, after looking at her with emotion,
-he said to Octave:
-
-“You may kiss her too, she is a mere child.”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-The young man pressed his lips to her fair skin. She smiled, she was
-very modest; however, it was merely like a family gathering, he had
-never seen such sober-minded people. The uncle was going off, when he
-re-entered the room, exclaiming:
-
-“I was forgetting, I’ve a little present.”
-
-And, turning out his pocket, he gave Fifi the sugar which he had just
-stolen at the café. She thanked him very heartily, and, as she crunched
-up a piece, she became quite red with pleasure. Then, becoming bolder,
-she asked:
-
-“Do you not happen to have some four sou pieces?”
-
-Bachelard searched his pockets without result. Octave had one, which
-the young girl accepted as a memorial. She did not accompany them to
-the door, no doubt out of propriety; and they heard her drawing her
-needle, having at once resumed her altar cloth, whilst Mademoiselle
-Menu saw them to the landing, with her good old woman’s amiability.
-
-“Eh? it’s worth seeing,” said uncle Bachelard, stopping on the stairs.
-“You know, it doesn’t cost me five louis a month. I’ve had enough of
-the hussies who almost devoured me. On my word! what I required was a
-heart.”
-
-But, as Octave laughed, he became mistrustful.
-
-“You’re a decent fellow; you won’t take advantage of what I have shown
-you. Not a word to Gueulin, you swear it on your honor? I am waiting
-till he is worthy of her to show her to him. An angel, my dear fellow!
-No matter what is said, virtue is good: it refreshes one. I have always
-gone in for the ideal.”
-
-His old drunkard’s voice trembled; tears swelled his heavy eyelids.
-Down below, Trublot chaffed, pretending to take the number of the
-house, whilst Gueulin shrugged his shoulders, asking Octave, who was
-astounded, what he thought of the little thing. Whenever the uncle’s
-feelings had been softened by a booze, he could not resist taking
-people to see these ladies, divided between the vanity of showing his
-treasure and the fear of having it stolen from him; then, on the
-morrow, he forgot all about it, and returned to the Rue-Saint-Marc with
-an air of mystery.
-
-“Everyone knows Fifi,” said Gueulin, quietly.
-
-Meanwhile, Bachelard was looking out for a cab, when Octave exclaimed:
-
-“And Monsieur Josserand, who is waiting at the café?”
-
-The others had forgotten him entirely. Monsieur Josserand, very annoyed
-at wasting his evening, was impatiently waiting at the entrance, for he
-never took anything but of doors. At length they started for the Rue de
-la Cerisaie. But they had to take two cabs; the commission agent and
-the cashier in the one, and the three young men in the other.
-
-Gueulin, his voice drowned by the jingling noise of the old vehicle, at
-first talked of the insurance company where he was employed. Insurance
-companies and stockbrokers were equally unpleasant, affirmed Trublot.
-Then the conversation turned to Duveyrier. Was it not unfortunate that
-a rich man, a magistrate, should let himself be fooled by women in that
-way? He always wanted them in out-of-the-way neighborhoods, right at
-the end of the omnibus routes; modest little ladies in their own
-apartments, playing the parts of widows; unknown milliners, having
-shops and no customers; girls picked out of the gutter, clothed and
-shut up, as though in a convent, whom he would go to see regularly once
-a week, like a clerk trudging to his office.
-
-Trublot, however, found excuses for him: to begin with, it was the
-fault of his constitution; then, it was impossible to put up with a
-confounded wife like his. On the very first night, so it was said, she
-could not bear him, affecting to be disgusted at his red blotches, so
-that she willingly allowed him to have mistresses, whose complacencies
-relieved her of him, though at times she accepted the abominable
-burden, with the resignation of a virtuous woman who makes a point of
-accomplishing all her duties.
-
-“Then, she is virtuous, is she?” asked Octave, interested.
-
-“Virtuous? Oh! yes, my dear fellow! Every good quality; pretty,
-serious, well brought up, learned, full of taste, chaste, and
-unbearable!”
-
-A block of vehicles at the bottom of the Rue Montmartre stopped the
-cab. The young men, who had let down the windows, could hear
-Bachelard’s voice, furiously abusing the coachman. Then, when the cab
-moved on again, Gueulin gave some information about Clarisse. Her name
-was Clarisse Bocquet, and she was the daughter of a former toy merchant
-in a small way, who now attended all the fairs with his wife and quite
-a troop of dirty children. Duveyrier had come across her one night when
-it was thawing, just as her lover had chucked her out. No doubt, this
-strapping wench answered to an ideal long sought after; for as early as
-the morrow he was hooked; he wept as he kissed her eyelids, all shaken
-by his need to cultivate the little blue flower of romance in his huge
-masculine appetites. Clarisse had consented to live in the Rue de la
-Cerisaie, so as not to expose him; but she led him a fine dance—had
-made him buy her twenty-five thousand francs’ worth of furniture, and
-was devouring him heartily, in company with some actors of the
-Montmartre Theater.
-
-“I don’t care a hang!” said Trublot, “so long as one amuses oneself at
-her place. Anyhow, she doesn’t make you sing, and she isn’t forever
-strumming away on a piano like the other. Oh! that piano! Listen, when
-one is deafened at home, when one has had the misfortune to marry a
-mechanical piano which frightens everybody away, one would be precious
-stupid not to arrange a pleasant little nest elsewhere, where one could
-receive one’s friends in their slippers.”
-
-“Last Sunday,” related Gueulin, “Clarisse wanted me to lunch alone with
-her. I declined. After those sort of lunches, one always does something
-foolish; and I was afraid of seeing her take up her quarters with me
-the day she left Duveyrier for good. You know, she detests him. Oh! her
-disgust almost makes her ill. Well, the girl doesn’t care much for
-pimples either. But she hasn’t the resource of sending him elsewhere
-like his wife has; otherwise, if she could pass him over to her maid, I
-assure you she’d get rid of the job precious quick.”
-
-The cab stopped. They alighted before a dark and silent house in the
-Rue de la Cerisaie. But they had to wait for the other cab fully ten
-minutes, Bachelard having taken his driver with him to drink a grog
-after the quarrel in the Rue Montmartre. On the staircase, as
-severe-looking as those of the middle classes, Monsieur Josserand again
-asked some questions respecting Duveyrier’s lady friend, but the uncle
-merely answered:
-
-“A woman of the world, a very decent girl. She won’t eat you.”
-
-It was a little maid, with a rosy complexion, who opened the door to
-them. She took the gentlemen’s coats with familiar and and tender
-smiles. For a moment, Trublot kept her in a corner of the ante-room,
-whispering things in her ear which almost made her choke, as though
-being tickled. But Bachelard had pushed open the drawing-room door, and
-he at once introduced Monsieur Josserand. The latter stood for a moment
-embarrassed, finding Clarisse ugly, and not understanding how the
-counselor could prefer this sort of creature—black and skinny, and with
-a head of hair like a poodle—to his wife, one of the most beautiful
-women of society. Clarisse, however, was charming. She had preserved
-the Parisian cackle, a superficial and borrowed wit, an itch of
-drollery caught by rubbing up against men, but was able to put on a
-grand lady sort of air when she chose.
-
-“Sir, I am charmed. All Alphonse’s friends are mine. Now you are one of
-us, the house is yours.”
-
-Duveyrier, warned by a note from Bachelard, also greeted Monsieur
-Josserand very amiably. Octave was surprised at the counselor’s
-youthful appearance. He was no longer the severe and ill-at-ease
-individual, who never seemed to be in his own home in the drawing-room
-of the Rue de Choiseul. The deep red blotches on his face were turning
-to a rosy hue, his oblique eyes shone with a childish delight, whilst
-Clarisse related in the midst of a group how he sometimes hastened to
-come and see her during a short adjournment of the court—just time to
-jump into a cab, to kiss her, and start back again. Then he complained
-of being overworked. Four sittings a week, from eleven to five; always
-the same skein of bickerings to unravel, it ended by destroying all
-feeling in one’s heart.
-
-“It is true,” said he, laughing, “one requires a few roses amongst all
-that. I feel better afterward.”
-
-However, he did not wear his bit of red ribbon, but always took it off
-when visiting his mistress; a last scruple, a delicate distinction,
-which his sense of decency obstinately persisted in. Clarisse, without
-wishing to say so, felt very much hurt at it.
-
-Octave, who had at once shook hands with the young woman like a
-comrade, listened and looked about him. Clarisse never received other
-women, out of decency, she said. When her acquaintances complained that
-her drawing-room was in want of a few ladies, she would answer with a
-laugh:
-
-“Well! and I—am I not enough?”
-
-She had arranged a decent home for Alphonse, very middle-class in the
-main, having a mania for what was proper all through the ups and downs
-of her existence. When she received she would not be addressed
-familiarly.
-
-The little maid handed round some glasses of punch, with her agreeable
-air. Octave took one, and, leaning toward his friend, whispered in his
-ear:
-
-“The servant is better than the mistress.”
-
-“Why, of course! always!” said Trublot, with a shrug of the shoulders,
-full of a disdainful conviction.
-
-Clarisse came and talked with them for a moment. She multiplied
-herself, going from one to another, casting a word here, a laugh or
-gesture there. As each new-comer lighted a cigar the drawing-room was
-soon full of smoke.
-
-“Oh! the horrid men!” exclaimed she, prettily, as she went and opened a
-window.
-
-Without losing any time, Bachelard made Monsieur Josserand comfortable
-in the recess of this window, to enable him to breathe, said he. Then,
-thanks to a masterly maneuver, he brought Duveyrier to an anchor there
-also, and quickly broached the affair. So the two families were about
-to be united by a close tie; he felt highly honored. Then he inquired
-what day the marriage contract was going to be signed, and that led him
-up to the matter in hand.
-
-“We intended calling on you to-morrow, Josserand and I, to settle
-everything, for we are aware that Monsieur Auguste would do nothing
-without you. It is with respect to the payment of the dowry; and,
-really, as we are so comfortable here——”
-
-Monsieur Josserand, again suffering the greatest anguish, looked out
-into the gloomy depths of the Rue de la Cerisaie, with its deserted
-pavements, and its dark façades. He regretted having come. They were
-again going to take advantage of his weakness and engage him in some
-disgraceful affair, which would cause him no end of suffering
-afterward. A feeling of revolt made him interrupt his brother-in-law.
-
-“Another time; this is not a fitting place, really.”
-
-“But why, pray?” exclaimed Duveyrier, very graciously. “We are better
-here than anywhere else. You were saying, sir?”
-
-“We give Berthe fifty thousand francs,” continued the uncle. “Only,
-these fifty thousand francs are represented by a dotal insurance at
-twenty years’ date, which Josserand took out for his daughter when she
-was four years old. She will, therefore, only receive the money in
-three years’ time——”
-
-“Allow me!” again interrupted the cashier, with a scared look.
-
-“No, let me finish; Monsieur Duveyrier understands perfectly. We do not
-wish the young couple to wait three years for money they may need at
-once, and we engage ourselves to pay the dowry in installments of ten
-thousand francs every six months, on the understanding that we repay
-ourselves later on with the insurance money.”
-
-A pause ensued. Monsieur Josserand, feeling frozen and choking, again
-looked into the dark street.
-
-“All that seems to me very reasonable,” said he, at length. “It is for
-us to thank you. It is very seldom that a dowry is paid at once in
-full.”
-
-“Never, sir!” affirmed the uncle, energetically. “Such a thing is never
-done.”
-
-And the three men shook hands as they arranged to meet on the Thursday
-at the notary’s. When Monsieur Josserand came back into the light, he
-was so pale that he was asked if he was unwell. As a matter of fact he
-did not feel very well, and he withdrew, without being willing to wait
-for his brother-in-law, who had just gone into the dining-room where
-the classic tea was represented by champagne.
-
-Gueulin, stretched on a sofa near the window, murmured:
-
-“That scoundrel of an uncle!”
-
-He had overheard some words about the insurance, and he chuckled as he
-confided the truth of the matter to Octave and Trublot. It had been
-done at his office; there was not a sou to receive, the Vabres were
-being taken in. Then, as the two others laughed at this good joke,
-holding their sides meanwhile, he added, with comical earnestness.
-
-“I want a hundred francs. If the uncle doesn’t give me a hundred
-francs, I’ll split.”
-
-The voices were becoming louder, the champagne was upsetting the good
-behavior established by Clarisse. In her drawing-room the conclusion of
-all the parties was invariably rather lively. She herself would make a
-mistake sometimes. Trublot drew Octave’s attention to her as she stood
-behind a door with her arms round the neck of a fellow with the build
-of a peasant, a stone carver just arrived from the South, and whom his
-native town wished to make an artist of. But, Duveyrier having pushed
-the door, she quickly removed her arms, and recommended the young man
-to him: Monsieur Payan, a sculptor with a very graceful talent; and
-Duveyrier, delighted, promised to obtain some work for him.
-
-“Work, work,” repeated Gueulin, in a low voice; “he has as much here as
-he can want, the big ninny!”
-
-Toward two o’clock, when the three young men and the uncle left the Rue
-de la Cerisaie, the latter was completely drunk.
-
-“Hang it all, uncle! keep yourself up! you’re breaking our arms!”
-
-He, with his throat full of sobs, had become very tender hearted and
-very moral.
-
-“Go away, Gueulin,” stuttered he; “go away! I won’t have you see your
-uncle in such a state. No, my boy, it’s not right; go away!”
-
-And as his nephew called him an old rogue:
-
-“Rogue! that’s nothing. One must make oneself respected. I esteem
-women—always decent women; and when there’s no feeling it disgusts me.
-Go away, Gueulin, you’re making your uncle blush. These gentlemen are
-sufficient.”
-
-“Then,” declared Gueulin, “you must give me a hundred francs. Really, I
-want them for my rent. They’re going to turn me out.”
-
-At this unexpected demand, Bachelard’s intoxication increased to such
-an extent that he had to be propped up against the shutters of a
-warehouse. He stuttered:
-
-“Eh! what! a hundred francs! Don’t search me. I’ve nothing but coppers.
-You want ’em to squander in bad places! No, I’ll never encourage you in
-your vices. I know my duty; your mother confided you to my care on her
-death-bed. You know, I’ll call out if I am searched.”
-
-He continued, his indignation increasing against the dissolute life led
-by youth, and returning to the necessity there was for the display of
-virtue.
-
-“I say,” Gueulin ended by saying, “I’ve not got to the point of taking
-families in. Ah! you know what I mean! If I were to talk, you’d soon
-give me my hundred francs!”
-
-But the uncle at once became deaf to everything. He went grunting and
-stumbling along. In the narrow street where they then were, behind the
-church of Saint-Gervaise, a white lantern alone burned with the palish
-glimmer of a night-light, displaying a gigantic number painted on its
-roughened glass. A stifled trepidation issued from the house, whilst
-the closed shutters emitted a tew narrow rays of light.
-
-“I’ve had enough of it,” declared Gueulin, abruptly. “Excuse me, uncle,
-I forgot my umbrella up there.”
-
-And he entered the house. Bachelard was indignant and full of disgust.
-He demanded at least a little respect for women. With such morals
-France was done for. On the Place de l’Hôtel-de-Ville, Octave and
-Trublot at length found a cab, inside which they shoved him like some
-bundle.
-
-“Rue d’Enghien,” said they to the driver. “You must pay yourself.
-Search him.”
-
-The marriage contract was signed on the Thursday before Maitre
-Renandin, notary in the Rue de Grammont. At the moment of starting,
-there had been another awful row at the Josserands’, the father having,
-in a supreme revolt, made the mother responsible for the lie they had
-forced him to countenance; and they had once more cast their families
-in each other’s teeth. How did they expect him to earn another ten
-thousand francs every six months? The obligation was driving him mad.
-Uncle Bachelard, who was there, kept placing his hand on his heart,
-full of fresh promises, now that he had so managed that he would not
-have to part with a sou, and overflowing with affection, and swearing
-that he would never leave his little Berthe in an awkward position. But
-the father, in his exasperation, had merely shrugged his shoulders,
-asking Bachelard if he really took him for a fool.
-
-On the evening of that day, a cab came to fetch Saturnin away. His
-mother had declared that it was too dangerous for him to be at the
-ceremony; one could not cast loose a madman who talked of spitting
-people in the midst of a wedding party; and, Monsieur Josserand,
-broken-hearted, had been obliged to apply for the admission of the poor
-fellow into the Asile des Moulineaux, kept by Doctor Chassagne. The cab
-was brought under the porch at twilight. Saturnin came down holding
-Berthe’s hand, and thinking he was going with her into the country. But
-when he was inside the cab, he struggled furiously, breaking the
-windows and thrusting his bloody fists through them. And Monsieur
-Josserand returned up-stairs weeping, all upset by this departure in
-the dark, his ears ringing with the wretched creature’s yells, mingled
-with the cracking of the whip and the gallop of the horse.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.
-
-
-The marriage before the mayor had taken place on the Thursday. On the
-Saturday morning, as early as a quarter past ten, some ladies were
-already waiting in the Josserands’ drawing-room, the religious ceremony
-being fixed for eleven o’clock, at Saint-Roch. There were Madame
-Juzeur, always in black silk; Madame Dambreville, tightly laced in a
-costume of the color of dead leaves; and Madame Duveyrier, dressed very
-simply in pale blue. All three were conversing in low tones amongst the
-scattered chairs; whilst Madame Josserand was finishing dressing Berthe
-in the adjoining room, assisted by the servant and the two bridesmaids,
-Hortense and little Campardon.
-
-“Oh! it is not that,” murmured Madame Duveyrier; “the family is
-honorable. But, I admit, I rather dreaded on my brother Auguste’s
-account the mother’s domineering spirit. One cannot be too careful, can
-one?”
-
-“No doubt,” said Madame Juzeur; “one not only marries the daughter, one
-often marries the mother as well, and it is very unpleasant when the
-latter interferes in the home.”
-
-This time Angèle and Hortense opened the folding doors wide so that the
-bride should not catch her dress in anything; and Berthe appeared in a
-white silk dress, all gay with white flowers, with a white wreath, a
-white bouquet, and a white garland, which crossed the skirt, and was
-lost in the train in a shower of little white buds. She looked charming
-amidst all this whiteness, with her fresh complexion, her golden hair,
-her laughing eyes, and her candid mouth of an already enlightened girl.
-
-“Oh! delicious!” exclaimed the ladies.
-
-They all embraced her with an air of ecstasy. The Josserands, at their
-wits’ end, not knowing where to obtain the two thousand francs which
-the wedding would cost them, five hundred francs for dress, and fifteen
-hundred francs for their share of the dinner and ball, had been obliged
-to send Berthe to Doctor Chassagne’s to see Saturnin, to whom an aunt
-had just left three thousand francs; and Berthe, having obtained
-permission to take her brother out for a drive, by way of amusing him,
-had smothered him with caresses in the cab, and had then gone with him
-for a minute to the notary, who was unaware of the poor creature’s
-condition, and who had everything ready for his signature. The silk
-dress and the abundance of flowers surprised the ladies, who were
-reckoning up the cost whilst giving vent to their admiration.
-
-“Perfect! in most exquisite taste!”
-
-Madame Josserand appeared, beaming, in a mauve dress of an unpleasant
-hue, which made her look taller and rounder than ever, with the majesty
-of a tower. She fumed about Monsieur Josserand, called to Hortense to
-find her shawl, and vehemently forbade Berthe to sit down.
-
-“Take care, you will crush your flowers!”
-
-“Do not worry yourself,” said Clothilde, in her calm voice. “We have
-plenty of time. Auguste is coming for us.”
-
-They were all waiting in the drawing-room, when Théophile abruptly
-burst in, his dress-coat askew, his white cravat tied like a piece of
-cord, and without his hat. His face, with its few hairs and bad teeth,
-was livid; his limbs, like an ailing child’s, were trembling with fury.
-
-“What is the matter with you?” asked his sister, in amazement.
-
-“The matter is—the matter is——”
-
-But a fit of coughing interrupted him, and he stood there for a minute,
-choking, spitting in his handkerchief, and enraged at being unable to
-give vent to his anger. Valérie looked at him, confused, and warned by
-a sort of instinct. At length, he shook his fist at her, without even
-noticing the bride and the other ladies around him.
-
-“Yes, whilst looking everywhere for my necktie, I found a letter in
-front of the wardrobe.”
-
-He crumpled a piece of paper between his febrile fingers. His wife had
-turned pale. She realized the situation; and, to avoid the scandal of a
-public explanation, she passed into the room that Berthe had just left.
-
-“Ah! well,” said she, simply, “I prefer to leave if he is going mad.”
-
-“Let me alone!” cried Théophile to Madame Duveyrier, who was trying to
-quiet him. “I intend to confound her. This time I have proof, and there
-is no doubt, oh, no! It shall not pass off like that, for I know him——”
-
-His sister had seized him by the arm, and squeezing it, shook him
-authoritatively.
-
-“Hold your tongue! don’t you see where you are? This is not the proper
-time, understand!”
-
-But he started off again:
-
-“It is the proper time! I don’t care a hang for the others. So much the
-worse that it happens to-day! It will serve as a lesson to every one.”
-
-However, he lowered his voice, his strength failing him, he had dropped
-onto a chair, ready to burst into tears. An uncomfortable feeling had
-invaded the drawing-room. Madame Dambreville and Madame Juzeur had
-politely gone to the other end of the apartment, and pretended not to
-understand. Madame Josserand, greatly annoyed at an adventure, the
-scandal of which would cast a gloom over the wedding, had passed into
-the bed-room to cheer up Valérie. As for Berthe, who was studying her
-wreath before the looking-glass, she had not heard anything. Therefore,
-she questioned Hortense in a low voice. They whispered together; the
-latter indicated Théophile with a glance, and added some explanations,
-while pretending to arrange the fall of the veil.
-
-“Ah!” simply said the bride, with a chaste and amused look, her eyes
-fixed on the husband, without the least sign of confusion in her halo
-of white flowers.
-
-Clotilde softly asked her brother for particulars. Madame Josserand
-reappeared, exchanged a few words with her, and then returned to the
-adjoining room. It was an exchange of diplomatic notes. The husband
-accused Octave, that counter-jumper, whom he would chastise in church,
-if he dared to come there. He swore he had seen him the previous day
-with his wife on the steps of Saint-Roch; he had had a doubt before,
-but now he was sure of it—everything tallied, the height, the walk.
-Yes, madame invented luncheons with lady friends, or else she went
-inside Saint-Roch with Camille, through the same door as every one, as
-though to say her prayers; then leaving the child with the woman who
-let out the chairs, she would make off with her gentleman by the old
-way, a dirty passage, where no one would have gone to look for her.
-However, Valérie had smiled on hearing Octave’s name mentioned; never
-with that one, she pledged her oath to Madame Josserand, with nobody at
-all for the matter of that, she added, but less with him than with any
-one else; and, this time, with truth on her side, she, in her turn,
-talked of confounding her husband, by proving to him that the note was
-no more in Octave’s handwriting than that Octave was the gentleman of
-Saint-Roch. Madame Josserand listened to her, studying her with her
-experienced glance, and solely preoccupied with finding some means of
-helping her to deceive Théophile. And she gave her the very best
-advice.
-
-“Leave all to me, don’t move in the matter. As he chooses, it shall he
-Monsieur Mouret, well! it shall be Monsieur Mouret. There is no harm in
-being seen on the steps of a church with Monsieur Mouret, is there? The
-letter alone is compromising. You will triumph when our young friend
-shows him a couple of lines of his own handwriting. Above all, say just
-the same as I say. You understand, I don’t intend to let him spoil such
-a day as this.”
-
-When she returned into the room with Valérie, who was greatly affected,
-Théophile, on his side, was saying to his sister in a choking voice:
-
-“I will do so for you, I promise not to disfigure her here, as you
-assure me it would scarcely be proper, on account of this wedding. But
-I cannot be answerable for what may take place at church. If the
-counter-jumper comes and beards me there, in the midst of my own
-family, I will exterminate them one after the other.”
-
-Auguste, looking very correct in his black dress-coat, his left eye
-shrunk up, suffering from a headache which he had been dreading for
-three days past, arrived at this moment, accompanied by his father and
-his brother-in-law, both looking very solemn, to fetch his bride. There
-was a little jostling, for they had ended by being late.
-
-At Saint-Roch the big double doors were opened wide. A red carpet
-covered the steps down to the pavement. It was raining; the May morning
-was very cold.
-
-“Thirteen steps,” said Madame Juzeur in a low voice to Valérie, when
-they had passed through the doorway. “It is not a good sign.”
-
-“Are you sure you have the ring?” inquired Madame Josserand of Auguste,
-who was seating himself with Berthe on the arm-chairs placed before the
-altar.
-
-He had a fright, fancying he had forgotten it, then felt it in his
-waistcoat pocket. She had, however, not waited for his answer. Ever
-since she entered, she had been standing on tip-toe, searching the
-company with her glance. There were Trublot and Gueulin, both best men;
-Uncle Bachelard and Campardon, the bride’s witnesses; Duveyrier and
-Doctor Juillerat, the bridegroom’s witnesses, and all the crowd of
-acquaintances of whom she was proud. But she had just caught sight of
-Octave, who was assiduously opening a passage for Madame Hédouin, and
-she drew him behind a pillar, where she spoke to him in low and rapid
-tones. The young man, a look of bewilderment on his face, did not
-appear to understand. However, he bowed with an air of amiable
-obedience.
-
-“It is settled,” whispered Madame Josserand in Valérie’s ear, returning
-and seating herself in one of the arm-chairs placed for the members of
-the family, behind those of Berthe and Auguste. Monsieur Josserand, the
-Vabres, and the Duveyriers were also there.
-
-The organs were now giving forth scales of clear little notes, broken
-by big pants. There was quite a crush; the choir was filling up, and
-men remained standing in the aisles. The Abbé Mauduit had reserved to
-himself the joy of blessing the union of one of his dear penitents.
-When he appeared in his surplice, he exchanged a friendly smile with
-the congregation, every face there being familiar to him. Some voices
-commenced the _Veni Creator_, the organs resumed their song of triumph,
-and it was at this moment that Théophile discovered Octave, to the left
-of the chancel, standing before the chapel of Saint-Joseph.
-
-His sister Clotilde tried to detain him.
-
-“I cannot,” stammered he; “I will never submit to it.”
-
-And he made Duveyrier follow him, to represent the family. The _Veni
-Creator_ continued. A few persons looked round.
-
-Théophile, who had talked of blows, was in such a state of agitation,
-when planting himself before Octave, that he was unable at first to say
-a word, vexed at being short, and raising himself up on tiptoe.
-
-“Sir,” said he at length, “I saw you yesterday with my wife——”
-
-But the _Veni Creator_ was just coming to an end, and he was quite
-scared on hearing the sound of his own voice. Moreover, Duveyrier, very
-much annoyed by the incident, tried to make him understand that the
-time was badly chosen for an explanation. The ceremony had now begun
-before the altar. After addressing an affecting exhortation to the
-bride and bridegroom, the priest took the wedding-ring to bless it.
-
-“_Benedic, Domine Deus noster, annulum nuptialem hunc, quem nos in tuo
-nomine benedieimus_——”
-
-Then Théophile plucked up courage to repeat his words in a low voice:
-
-“Sir, you were in this church yesterday with my wife.”
-
-Octave, still bewildered by what Madame Josserand had said to him, and
-without having thoroughly understood her, related the little story,
-however, in an easy sort of way.
-
-“Yes, I did indeed meet Madame Vabre, and we went and looked at the
-repairing of the Calvary which my friend Campardon is directing.”
-
-“You admit it,” stammered the husband, again overcome with fury, “you
-admit it——”
-
-Duveyrier was obliged to slap him on the shoulder to calm him. The
-shrill voice of one of the boy choristers was responding:
-
-“_Amen_.”
-
-“And you no doubt recognize this letter,” continued Théophile, offering
-a piece of paper to Octave.
-
-“Come, not here!” said the counselor, thoroughly scandalized. “You are
-going out of your mind, my dear fellow.”
-
-Octave unfolded the letter. The emotion had increased amongst the
-congregation. There were whisperings, and nudgings of elbows, and
-glancing over the tops of prayer-books; no one was now paying the least
-attention to the ceremony. The bride and bridegroom alone remained
-grave and stiff before the priest. Then Berthe, turning her head,
-caught sight of Théophile getting whiter and whiter as he addressed
-Octave; and, from that moment, her mind was absent—she kept casting
-bright side glances in the direction of the chapel of Saint-Joseph.
-
-Meanwhile, the young man was reading in a low voice:
-
-“My duck, what bliss yesterday! Tuesday next, in the confessional of
-the chapel of the Holy Angels.”
-
-The priest, after having obtained from the bridegroom the “yes” of a
-serious man who signs nothing without reading it, had turned toward the
-bride.
-
-“You promise and swear to be faithful to Monsieur Auguste Vabre in all
-things, like a true wife should be to her husband, in accordance with
-God’s commandment?”
-
-But Berthe, having seen the letter, and full of the thought of the
-blows she was expecting would be given, was not listening, but was
-following the scene from beneath her veil. There was an awkward
-silence. At length she became aware that they were waiting for her.
-
-“Yes, yes,” she hastily replied, in a happen-what-may manner.
-
-The abbé followed the direction of her glance with surprise; and,
-guessing that something unusual was taking place in one of the aisles,
-he in turn became singularly absent-minded. The story had now
-circulated; every one knew it. The ladies, pale and grave, did not
-withdraw their eyes from Octave. The men smiled in a discreetly waggish
-way. And, whilst Madame Josserand reassured Madame Duveyrier, with
-slight shrugs of her shoulders, Valérie alone seemed to give all her
-attention to the wedding, beholding nothing else, as though overcome by
-emotion.
-
-“My duck, what bliss yesterday—” Octave read again, affecting intense
-surprise.
-
-Then, returning the letter to the husband, he said:
-
-“I do not understand it, sir. The writing is not mine. See for
-yourself.”
-
-And taking from his pocket a note-book in which he wrote down his
-expenses, like the careful fellow he was, he showed it to Théophile.
-
-“What! not your writing!” stammered the latter. “You are making a fool
-of me; it must be your writing.”
-
-The priest had to make the sign of the cross on Berthe’s left hand. His
-eyes elsewhere, he mistook the hand and made it on the right one.
-
-“_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_.”
-
-“_Amen_,” responded the boy chorister, also raising himself up to see.
-
-In short, the scandal was prevented. Duveyrier proved to poor,
-bewildered Théophile that the letter could not have been written by
-Monsieur Mouret. It was almost a disappointment for the congregation.
-There were sighs, and a few hasty words exchanged. And when every one,
-still in a state of excitement, turned again toward the altar, Berthe
-and Auguste were man and wife, she without appearing to have been aware
-of what was going on, he not having missed a word the priest had
-uttered, giving his whole attention to the matter, only disturbed by
-his headache, which closed his left eye.
-
-“The dear children!” said Monsieur Josserand, absorbed in mind and his
-voice trembling, to Monsieur Vabre, who ever since the commencement of
-the ceremony had been busy counting the lighted tapers, always making a
-mistake, and beginning his calculations over again.
-
-“Admit nothing,” said Madame Josserand to Valérie, as the family moved
-toward the vestry after the mass.
-
-In the vestry the married couple and their witnesses first of all wrote
-their signatures. They were kept waiting, however, by Campardon, who
-had taken some ladies to inspect the works at the Calvary, at the end
-of the choir, behind a wooden hoarding. He at length arrived, and,
-apologizing, proceeded to cover the register with a big flourish. The
-Abbé Mauduit had wished to honor the two families by handing round the
-pen himself, and pointing out with his finger the place where each one
-was to sign; and he smiled with his air of amiable, worldly tolerance
-in the center of the grave apartment, the woodwork of which retained a
-continual odor of incense.
-
-“Well! mademoiselle,” said Campardon to Hortense, “does not all this
-make you long to do the same?”
-
-Then he regretted his want of tact. Hortense, who was the elder sister,
-bit her lips. She was expecting to have a decisive answer from Verdier
-that evening at the ball, for she had been pressing him to choose
-between her and his creature. Therefore she replied in an unpleasant
-tone of voice:
-
-“I have plenty of time. Whenever I think proper.”
-
-And, turning her back on the architect, she attacked her brother Léon,
-who had only just arrived, late as usual.
-
-“You are nice! papa and mamma are very pleased. Not even able to be in
-time when one of your sisters is being married! We were expecting you
-at least with Madame Dambreville.”
-
-“Madame Dambreville does what she pleases,” said the young man curtly,
-“and I do what I can.”
-
-A coolness had arisen between them. Léon considered that she was
-keeping him too long for her own use, and was weary of a connection the
-burden of which he had accepted in the sole hope of its leading to some
-grand marriage; and for a fortnight past he had been requesting her to
-keep her promises. Madame Dambreville, carried away by a passion of
-love, had even complained to Madame Josserand of what she termed her
-son’s crotchets.
-
-“Yet a marriage is so soon settled!” said Madame Dambreville, without
-thinking of her words, and bestowing on him an imploring look to soften
-him.
-
-“Not always!” retorted he, harshly.
-
-And he went and kissed Berthe, then shook his new brother-inlaw’s hand,
-whilst Madame Dambreville turned pale with anguish, drawing herself up
-in her costume of the color of dead leaves, and smiling vaguely toward
-the persons who entered.
-
-It was the procession of friends, of simple acquaintances, of all the
-guests gathered together in the church, which now passed through the
-vestry. The newly married couple, standing up, were continually
-distributing hand-shakes, and invariably with the same embarrassed and
-delighted air. The Josserands and the Duveyriers were not always able
-to go through the introductions. At times they looked at each other in
-surprise, for Bachelard had brought persons whom nobody knew, and who
-talked too loud. Little by little everything gave way to confusion;
-there was quite a crush, hands were held out over the heads, young
-girls squeezed between pot-bellied gentlemen, left pieces of their
-white skirts on the legs of these fathers, these brothers, these
-uncles, still sweating with some vice, enfranchised in a quiet
-neighborhood. Away from the crowd, Gueulin and Trublot were relating to
-Octave how Clarisse had almost been caught by Duveyrier the night
-before, and had now resigned herself to smothering him with caresses,
-so as to shut his eyes.
-
-“Hallo!” murmured Gueulin, “he is kissing the bride; it must smell
-nice.”
-
-Valérie, who kept Madame Juzeur near her to help her to keep her
-countenance, listened with emotion to the conciliatory words which the
-Abbé Mauduit also considered it his duty to address to her. Then, as
-they were at length leaving the church, she paused before the two
-fathers, to allow Berthe to pass on her husband’s arm.
-
-“You ought to be satisfied,” said she to Monsieur Josserand, wishing to
-show how free her mind was. “I congratulate you.”
-
-“Yes, yes,” declared Monsieur Vabre in his clammy voice, “it is a very
-great responsibility the less.”
-
-And, whilst Trublot and Gueulin rushed about seeing all the ladies to
-the carriages, Madame Josserand, whose shawl attracted quite a crowd,
-obstinately insisted on remaining the last on the pavement, publicly to
-display her maternal triumph.
-
-The repast that evening at the Hôtel du Louvre was likewise marred by
-Théophile’s unlucky affair. The latter was quite a plague, it had been
-the topic of conversation all the afternoon in the carriages during the
-drive in the Bois de Boulogne; and the ladies always came to this
-conclusion, that the husband ought at least to have waited until the
-morrow before finding the letter. None but the most intimate friends of
-both families sat down to table. The only lively episode was a speech
-from uncle Bachelard, whom the Josserands could not very well avoid
-inviting, in spite of their terror. He was drunk, indeed, as early as
-the roast: he raised his glass, and commenced with these words: “I am
-happy in the joy I feel,” which he kept repeating, unable to say
-anything further. The other guests smiled complacently. Auguste and
-Berthe, already worn out, looked at each other every now and then, with
-an air of surprise at seeing themselves opposite one another; and, when
-they remembered how this was, they gazed in their plates in a confused
-way.
-
-Nearly two hundred invitations had been issued for the ball. The guests
-began to arrive as early as half-past nine. Three chandeliers lit up
-the large red drawing-room, in which only some seats along the wall had
-been left, whilst at one end, in front of the fireplace, the little
-orchestra was installed; moreover, a bar had been placed at the
-farthest end of an adjoining room, and the two families also had a
-small apartment into which they could retire.
-
-As Madame Duveyrier and Madame Josserand were receiving the first
-arrivals, that poor Théophile, who had been watched ever since the
-morning, was guilty of a most regrettable piece of brutality. Campardon
-was asking Valérie to grant him the first waltz. She laughed, and the
-husband took it as a provocation.
-
-“You laugh! you laugh!” stammered he. “Tell me who the letter is from?
-it must be from somebody, that letter must.”
-
-He had taken the entire afternoon to disengage that one idea from the
-confusion into which Octave’s answers had plunged him. Now, he stuck to
-it: if it was not Monsieur Mouret, it was then some one else, and he
-demanded a name. As Valerie was walking off without answering him, he
-seized hold of her arm and twisted it spitefully, with the rage of an
-exasperated child, repeating the while:
-
-“I’ll break it. Tell me, who is the letter from?”
-
-The young woman, frightened, and stifling a cry of pain, had become
-quite white. Campardon felt her abandoning herself against his
-shoulder, succumbing to one of those nervous attacks which would shake
-her for hours together. He had scarcely time to lead her into the
-apartment reserved for the two families, where he laid her on a sofa.
-Some ladies had followed him—Madame Juzeur, Madame Dambreville—who
-unlaced her, whilst he discreetly retired.
-
-“Sir, I beg your pardon,” said Théophile, going up to Octave, whose
-eyes he had encountered when twisting his wife’s arm. “Every one in my
-place would have suspected you; is it not so? But I wish to shake hands
-with you, to prove to you that I admit myself to have been in the
-wrong.”
-
-He shook hands with him, and led him one side, tortured by a necessity
-to unbosom himself, to find a confidant for the outpourings of his
-heart.
-
-“Ah! sir, if I were to tell you——”
-
-And he talked for a long while of his wife. When a young girl, she was
-delicate, it was said jokingly that marriage would set her right. She
-had not sufficient air in her parents’ shop, where, every evening for
-three months, she had appeared to him very nice, obedient, of a rather
-sad disposition, but charming.
-
-“Well! sir, marriage did not set her right—far from it. After a few
-weeks she became terrible; we could no longer agree together. There
-were quarrels about nothing at all. Changes of temper at every
-minute—laughing, crying, without my knowing why. And absurd sentiments,
-ideas that would knock a person down, a perpetual mania for making
-people wild. In short, sir, my home has become a hell.”
-
-“It is very remarkable,” murmured Octave, who felt a necessity for
-saying something.
-
-Then, the husband, ghastly pale, and drawing himself up on his short
-legs, to override the ridiculous, came to what he called the wretched
-woman’s bad behavior. Twice he had suspected her; but he was too
-honorable; he could not retain such an idea in his head. This time,
-though, he was obliged to yield to evidence. It was not possible to
-doubt, was it? And, with his trembling fingers, he felt the pocket of
-his waistcoat which contained the letter.
-
-“If she did it for money, I might understand it,” added he. “But they
-never gave her any; I am sure of that; I should know it. Then, tell me
-what it can be that she has in her skin? I am very nice myself; she has
-everything at home. I cannot understand it. If you can understand it,
-sir, explain it to me, I beg of you.”
-
-“It is very curious, very curious,” repeated Octave, embarrassed by all
-these disclosures, and trying to make his escape.
-
-But the husband, in a state of fever, and tormented by a want of
-certitude, would not let him go. At this moment, Madame Juzeur,
-reappearing, went and whispered a word to Madame Josserand, who was
-greeting the arrival of a big jeweler of the Palais-Royal with a grand
-curtesy; and she, quite upset, hastened to follow her.
-
-“I think that your wife has a very violent attack,” observed Octave to
-Théophile.
-
-“Never mind her!” replied the latter in a fury, vexed at not being ill,
-so as to be coddled up also; “she is only to pleased to have an attack!
-It always puts every one on her side. My health is no better than hers,
-yet I have never deceived her!”
-
-Madame Josserand did not return. The rumor circulated among the
-intimate friends that Valérie was struggling in frightful convulsions.
-There should have been men present to hold her down; but, as they had
-been obliged to half undress her, they declined Trublot’s and Gueulin’s
-offers of assistance.
-
-“Doctor Juillerat! where is Doctor Juillerat?” asked Madame Josserand,
-rushing back into the room.
-
-The doctor had been invited, but no one had as yet seen him. Then she
-no longer strove to hide the slumbering rage which had been collecting
-within her since the morning. She spoke out before Octave and
-Campardon, without mincing her words.
-
-“I am beginning to have enough of it. It is not very pleasant for my
-daughter, all this cuckoldom paraded before us!”
-
-She looked about for Hortense, and at length caught sight of her
-talking to a gentleman, of whom she could only see the back, but whom
-she recognized by its breadth. It was Verdier. This increased her
-ill-humor. She sharply called the young girl to her, and, lowering her
-voice, told her that she would do better to remain at her mother’s
-disposal on such a day as that. Hortense did not listen to the
-reprimand. She was triumphant; Verdier had just fixed their marriage at
-two months from then, in June.
-
-“Shut up!” said the mother.
-
-“I assure you, mamma. He already sleeps out three nights a week so as
-to accustom the other to it, and in a fortnight he will stop away
-altogether. Then it will be all over, and I shall have him.”
-
-“Shut up! I have already had more than enough of your romance! You will
-just oblige me by waiting near the door for Doctor Juillerat, and by
-sending him to me the moment he arrives. And, above all, not a word of
-all this to your sister!”
-
-She returned to the adjoining room, leaving Hortense muttering that,
-thank goodness! she required no one’s approbation, and that they would
-all be nicely caught one day, when they saw her make a better marriage
-than the others. Yet, she went to the door, and watched for the
-doctor’s arrival.
-
-The orchestra was now playing a waltz. Berthe was dancing with one of
-her husband’s young cousins, so as to dispose of the relations in turn.
-All the guests had an air of amusing themselves immensely, and
-expatiated before them on the liveliness of the ball. It was, according
-to Campardon, a liveliness of a good standard.
-
-The architect, with an effusion of gallantry, concerned himself a great
-deal about Valérie’s condition, without, however, missing a dance. He
-had the idea to send his daughter Angèle for news in his name. The
-child, whose fourteen years had been burning with curiosity since the
-morning around the lady that every one was talking about, was delighted
-at being able to penetrate into the little room. And, as she did not
-return, the architect was obliged to take the liberty of slightly
-opening the door and thrusting his head in. He beheld his daughter
-standing up beside the sofa, deeply absorbed by the sight of Valérie,
-whose bosom, shaken by spasms, had escaped from the unhooked bodice.
-Protestations arose, the ladies called to him not to come in; and he
-withdrew, assuring them that he merely wished to know how she was
-getting on.
-
-“She is no better, she is no better,” said he, in a melancholy way to
-the persons who happened to be near the door. “There are four of them
-holding her. How strong a woman must be, to be able to bound about like
-that without hurting herself!”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-But Doctor Juillerat quickly crossed the ball-room, accompanied by
-Hortense, who was explaining matters to him. Madame Duveyrier followed
-them. Some persons showed their surprise, more rumors circulated.
-Scarcely had the doctor disappeared than Madame Josserand left the
-little room with Madame Dambreville. Her rage was increasing; she had
-just emptied two water bottles over Valerie’s head; never before had
-she seen a woman as nervous as that. Then she had decided to make the
-round of the ball-room, so as to stop all remarks by her presence.
-Only, she walked with such a terrible step, she distributed such sour
-smiles, that every one behind her was let into the secret.
-
-Madame Dambreville did not leave her. Ever since the morning she had
-been speaking to her of Léon, making vague complaints, trying to bring
-her to speak to her son, so as to patch up their connection. She drew
-her attention to him, as he was conducting a tall, scraggy girl back to
-her place, and to whom he made a show of being very assiduous.
-
-“He abandons us,” said she, with a slight laugh, trembling with
-suppressed tears. “Scold him now, for not so much as looking at us.”
-
-“Léon!” called Madame Josserand.
-
-When he came to her, she added roughly, not being in the temper to
-choose her words:
-
-“Why are you angry with madame? She bears you no ill-will. Make it up
-with her. It does no good to be ill-tempered.”
-
-And she left them embarrassed before each other. Madame Dambreville
-took Léon’s arm, and they went and conversed in the recess of a window;
-then they tenderly left the ball-room together. She had sworn to
-arrange his marriage in the autumn.
-
-Madame Josserand, who continued to distribute smiles, was overcome by
-emotion when she found herself before Berthe, who was out of breath at
-having danced so much, and looked quite rosy in her white dress, which
-was becoming rumpled. She clasped her in her arms, and almost fainted
-away at a vague association of ideas, recalling, no doubt, the other
-one, whose face was so frightfully convulsed:
-
-“My poor darling, my poor darling!” murmured she, giving her two big
-kisses.
-
-Then Berthe calmly asked:
-
-“How is she?”
-
-At this, Madame Josserand at once became very sour again. What! Berthe
-knew it! Why of course she knew it, every one knew it. Her husband
-alone, whom she pointed out conducting an old lady to the refreshment
-bar, was still ignorant of the story. She even intended to get some one
-to tell him everything, for it made him appear too stupid to be always
-behind every one else, and never to know anything.
-
-“And I, who have been slaving to hide the catastrophe” said Madame
-Josserand, beside herself. “Ah, well! I shall not put myself out any
-more, it must be put a stop to. I will not tolerate their making you
-ridiculous.”
-
-Every one did indeed know it. Only, so as not to cast a gloom over the
-ball, it was not talked about.
-
-“She is better,” Campardon, who had taken another peep, hastened to
-say. “One can go in.”
-
-A few male friends ventured to enter. Valerie was still lying down,
-only the attack was passing off; and, out of decency, they had covered
-her bosom with a napkin, found lying on a sideboard. Madame Juzeur and
-Madame Duveyrier were standing before the window listening to Doctor
-Juillerat, who was explaining that the attacks sometimes yielded to hot
-water applications to the neck.
-
-But the invalid, having seen Octave enter with Campardon, called him to
-her by a sign, and spoke a few incoherent words to him in a final
-hallucination. He had to sit down beside her, at the doctor’s express
-order, who was desirous above all not to thwart her; and thus the young
-man listened to her disclosures, he who, during the evening, had
-already heard the husband’s. She trembled with fright, she took him for
-her lover, and implored him to hide her. Then she recognized him, and
-burst into tears, thanking him for his lie of the morning during mass.
-Octave thought of that other attack, of which he had wished to take
-advantage, with the greedy desire of a school-boy. Now, he was her
-friend, and she would tell him everything, perhaps it would be better.
-
-At this moment, Théophile, who had continued to wander up and down
-before the door, wished to enter. Other men were there, so he could
-very well be there himself. But his appearance created a regular panic.
-On hearing his voice, Valérie was again seized with a fit of trembling,
-every one thought she was about to have another attack. He, imploring,
-and struggling amongst the ladies, whose arms thrust him back, kept
-obstinately repeating:
-
-“I only ask her for the name. Let her tell me the name.”
-
-Then, Madame Josserand, arriving, gave vent to her wrath. She drew
-Théophile into the little room, to hide the scandal; and said to him
-furiously:
-
-“Look here! will you shut up? Ever since this morning you have been
-badgering us with your stupidities. You have no tact, sir; yes, you
-have absolutely no tact at all! One should not harp on such things on a
-wedding day.”
-
-“Excuse me, madame,” murmured he, “this is my business, and does not
-concern you!”
-
-“What! it does not concern me? but I form part of your family now, sir,
-and do you think your affair amuses me on account of my daughter? Ah!
-you have given her a pretty wedding! Not another word, sir, you are
-deficient in tact!”
-
-This cry closed his mouth. He was so scared, so feeble looking, with
-his slender limbs, and his face like a girl’s, that the ladies smiled
-slightly. When one had not the facilities for making a woman happy, one
-ought not to marry. Hortense weighed him with a disdainful glance;
-little Angèle, whom they had forgotten, hovered round him, with her sly
-air, as though she had been looking for something; and he drew back
-embarrassed, and blushed when he saw them all, so big and plump,
-hemming him in with their sturdy hips. But they felt the necessity of
-patching up the matter. Valérie had started off sobbing again, whilst
-the doctor continued to bathe her temples. Then they understood one
-another with a glance, a common feeling of defense drew them together.
-They puzzled their brains, trying to explain the letter to the husband.
-
-“Pooh!” murmured Trublot, who had just rejoined Octave, “it is easy
-enough; they have only to say the letter was addressed to the servant.”
-
-Madame Josserand heard him. She turned round and looked at him with a
-glance full of admiration. Then, turning toward Théophile:
-
-“Does an innocent woman lower herself to give explanations, when
-accused with such brutality? Still, I may speak. The letter was dropped
-by Françoise, that maid whom your wife had to pack off on account of
-her bad conduct. There, are you satisfied? do you not blush with
-shame?”
-
-At first the husband shrugged his shoulders. But the ladies all
-remained serious, answering his objections with very strong reasoning.
-He was shaken, when, to complete his discomfiture, Madame Duveyrier got
-angry, telling him that his conduct had been abominable, and that she
-disowned him. Then, vanquished, and feeling a longing to be kissed, he
-threw his arms round Valérie’s neck, and begged her pardon. It was most
-touching. Even Madame Josserand was deeply affected.
-
-“It is always best to come to an understanding,” said she, with relief.
-“The day will not end so badly, after all.”
-
-When they had dressed Valérie again, and she appeared in the ball-room
-on Theophile’s arm, the joy seemed to be redoubled. It was close upon
-three o’clock, the guests were beginning to leave; but the orchestra
-continued to get through the quadrilles with great gusto. Some of the
-men smiled behind the backs of the reconciled couple. A medical remark
-of Campardon’s, respecting that poor Théophile, quite delighted Madame
-Juzeur. The young girls hastened to stare at Valérie; then they put on
-their stupid looks before their mothers’ scandalized glances. Berthe,
-who was at length dancing with her husband, must have whispered a word
-or two in his ear; for Auguste, made aware of what had been taking
-place, turned his head round, and, without getting out of step, looked
-at his brother Théophile with the surprise and the superiority of a man
-to whom such things cannot happen. There was a final galop, the guests
-were getting more free in the stifling heat and the reddish light of
-the candles, the vacillating flames of which caused the pendants of the
-chandeliers to sparkle.
-
-“You are very intimate with her?” asked Madame Hédouin, as she whirled
-round on Octave’s arm, having accepted his invitation to dance.
-
-The young man fancied he felt a slight quiver in her frame, so erect
-and so calm.
-
-“Not at all,” said he. “They mixed me up in the matter, which annoys me
-immensely. The poor devil swallowed everything.”
-
-“It is very wrong,” declared she, in her grave voice.
-
-No doubt Octave was mistaken. When he withdrew his arm from her waist,
-Madame Hédouin was not even panting, her eyes were clear, and her hair
-not the least disarranged. But a scandal upset the end of the ball.
-Uncle Bachelard, who had finished himself off at the refreshment bar,
-ventured on a lively idea. He had suddenly been seen dancing, a most
-indecent step before Gueulin. Some napkins rolled round and stuffed in
-front of his buttoned-up coat, gave him the bosom of a wet-nurse, and
-two big oranges placed on the napkins, behind the lapels, displayed
-their roundness, in the sanguineous redness of an excoriated skin. This
-time every one protested: though one may earn heaps of money, yet there
-are limits which a man who respects himself should never go beyond,
-especially before young persons. Monsieur Josserand, ashamed and in
-despair, drew his brother-in-law away. Duveyrier displayed the greatest
-disgust.
-
-At four o’clock the newly married couple returned to the Rue de
-Choiseul. They brought Théophile and Valérie back in their carriage. As
-they went up to the second floor, where an apartment had been prepared
-for them, they came across Octave, who was also retiring to rest. The
-young man wished to draw politely on one side, but Berthe made a
-similar movement, and they knocked up against each other.
-
-“Oh! excuse me, mademoiselle,” said he.
-
-The word “mademoiselle” amused them immensely. She looked at him, and
-he recalled the first glance exchanged between them on that same
-staircase, a glance of gayety and daring, the charming welcome of which
-he again beheld. They understood each other perhaps; she blushed,
-whilst he went up alone to his room, in the midst of the death-like
-peacefulness of the upper floors.
-
-Auguste, with his left eye closed up, half mad with the headache which
-had been clinging to him since the morning, was already in the
-apartment, where the other members of the family were arriving. Then,
-at the moment of quitting Berthe, Valérie yielded to a sudden fit of
-emotion, and pressing her in her arms, and completing the rumpling of
-her white dress, she kissed her, saying, in a low voice:
-
-“Ah! my dear, I wish you better luck than I have had!”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX.
-
-
-Two days later, toward seven o’clock, as Octave arrived at the
-Campardons’ for dinner, he found Rose by herself, dressed in a
-cream-color dressing-gown, trimmed with white lace.
-
-“Are you expecting any one?” asked he.
-
-“No,” replied she, rather confused. “We will have dinner directly
-Achille comes in.”
-
-The architect was abandoning his punctual habits; was never there at
-the proper time for his meals, arrived very red in the face, with a
-wild expression, and cursing business. Then he went off again every
-evening, on all kinds of pretexts, talking of appointments at cafés,
-inventing distant meetings. Octave, on these occasions, would often
-keep Rose company till eleven o’clock, for he had understood that the
-husband had him there to board to amuse his wife, and she would gently
-complain, and tell him her fears: ah! she left Achille very free, only
-she was so anxious when he came home after midnight!
-
-“Do you not think he has been rather sad lately?” asked she, in a
-tenderly frightened tone of voice.
-
-The young man had not noticed it.
-
-“I think he is rather worried, perhaps. The works at Saint-Roch cause
-him some anxiety.”
-
-But she shook her head, without saying anything further about it. Then
-she was very kind to Octave, questioning him with a motherly and
-sisterly affection as to how he had employed the day. During nearly
-nine months that he had been boarding with them, she had always treated
-him thus as a child of the house.
-
-At length the architect appeared.
-
-“Good evening, my pet; good evening, my duck,” said he, kissing her
-with his doting air of a good husband. “Another fool has been detaining
-me in the street!”
-
-Octave moved away, and he heard them exchange a few words in a low
-voice.
-
-“Will she come?”
-
-“No; what is the good? and, above all, do not worry yourself.”
-
-“You declared to me that she would come.”
-
-“Well! yes; she is coming. Are you pleased? It is for your sake that I
-have done it.”
-
-They took their seats at the table. During the whole of dinnertime they
-talked of the English language, which little Angèle had been learning
-for a fortnight past.
-
-They were taking their dessert, when a ring at the bell caused Madame
-Campardon to start.
-
-“It is madame’s cousin,” Lisa returned and said, in the wounded tone of
-a servant whom one has omitted to let into a family secret.
-
-And it was indeed Gasparine who entered. She wore a black woolen dress,
-looking very quiet, with her thin face, and her air of a poor
-shop-girl. Rose, tenderly enveloped in her dressing-gown of cream-color
-silk, and plump and fresh, rose up so moved that tears filled her eyes.
-
-“Ah! my dear,” murmured she, “you are good. We will forget everything;
-will we not?”
-
-She took her in her arms and gave her two hearty kisses. Octave
-discreetly wished to retire. But they grew angry: he could remain; he
-was one of the family. So he amused himself by looking on. Campardon,
-at first greatly embarrassed, turned his eyes away from the two women,
-puffing about, and looking for a cigar; whilst Lisa, who was roughly
-clearing the table, exchanged glances with surprised Angèle.
-
-“It is your cousin,” at length said the architect to his daughter. “You
-have heard us speak of her. Come, kiss her now.”
-
-She kissed her with her sullen air, troubled by the sort of governess
-glance with which Gasparine took stock of her, after asking some
-questions respecting her age and education. Then, when the others
-passed into the drawing-room, she preferred to follow Lisa, who slammed
-the door, saying, without even fearing that she might be heard:
-
-“Ah, well! it’ll become precious funny here now!”
-
-In the drawing-room, Campardon, still restless, began to excuse
-himself.
-
-“On my word of honor! the happy idea was not mine. It is Rose who
-wished to be reconciled. Every morning, for more than a week past, she
-has been saying to me: ‘Now, go and fetch her.’ So I ended by fetching
-you.”
-
-And, as though he had felt the necessity of convincing Octave, he took
-him up to the window.
-
-“Well! women are women. It bothered me, because I have a dread of rows.
-One on the right, the other on the left, there was no squabbling
-possible. But I had to give in. Rose says we shall be far happier thus.
-Anyhow, we will try. It depends on these two, now, to make my life
-comfortable.”
-
-Meanwhile Rose and Gasparine had seated themselves side by side on the
-sofa. They were talking of the past, of the days lived at Plassans,
-with good papa Domergue.
-
-“And your health?” asked she, in a low voice. “Achille spoke to me
-about it. Is it no better?”
-
-“No, no,” replied Rose, in a melancholy tone. “You see, I eat; I look
-very well. But it gets no better; it will never get any better.”
-
-As she began to cry, Gasparine, in her turn, took her in her arms and
-pressed her against her flat and ardent breast, whilst Campardon
-hastened to console them.
-
-“Why do you cry?” asked she maternally. “The main thing is that you do
-not suffer. What does it matter if you have always people about you to
-love you?”
-
-Rose was becoming calmer, and already smiling amidst her tears. Then
-the architect, carried away by his feelings, clasped them both in the
-same embrace, kissing them alternately, and stammering:
-
-[Illustration]
-
-“Yes, yes, we will love each other very much, we will love you such a
-deal, my poor little duck. You will see how well everything will go,
-now that we are united.”
-
-And, turning toward Octave, he added:
-
-“Ah! my dear fellow, people may talk, there is nothing, after all, like
-family ties!”
-
-The end of the evening was delightful. Campardon, who usually fell
-asleep on leaving the table if he remained at home, recovered all his
-artist’s gayety, the old jokes and the broad songs of the School of
-Fine Arts. When, toward eleven o’clock, Gasparine prepared to leave,
-Rose insisted on accompanying her to the door, in spite of the
-difficulty she experienced in walking that day: and, leaning over the
-balustrade, in the grave silence of the staircase, she called after
-her:
-
-“Come and see us often!”
-
-On the morrow, Octave, feeling interested, tried to make the cousin
-talk at “The Ladies’ Paradise,” whilst they were receiving a
-consignment of linen goods together. But she answered curtly, and he
-felt that she was hostile, annoyed at his having been a witness the
-evening before. Moreover, she did not like him; she even displayed a
-sort of rancor toward him in their business relations.
-
-Octave had given himself six months, and, though scarcely four had
-passed, he was becoming impatient. Every morning he asked himself
-whether he should not hurry matters forward, seeing the little progress
-he had made in the affections of this woman, always so icy and gentle.
-She had ended, however, by showing a real esteem for him, won over by
-his enlarged ideas, his dreams of vast modern warehouses discharging
-millions of merchandise into the streets of Paris. Often, when her
-husband was not there, and she opened the correspondence with the young
-man of a morning, she would detain him beside her and consult him,
-profiting a great deal by his advice, and a sort of commercial intimacy
-was thus gradually established between them. Their hands met amidst
-bundles of invoices, their breaths mingled as they added up columns of
-figures, and they yielded to moments of emotion before the open
-cash-box after some extra fortunate receipts. He even took advantage of
-these occasions, his tactics being now to reach her heart through her
-good trader’s nature, and to conquer her on a day of weakness, in the
-midst of the great emotion occasioned by some unexpected sale. So he
-remained on the watch for some surprising occurrence which should
-deliver her up to him.
-
-About this time, Monsieur Hédouin, having fallen ill, went to pass a
-season at Vichy to take the waters. Octave, to speak frankly, was
-delighted. Though as cold as marble, Madame Hédouin would become more
-tender-hearted during her enforced widowhood. But he fruitlessly
-awaited a quiver, a languidness of desire. Never had she been so
-active, her head so free, her eye so clear.
-
-At heart, though, the young man did not despair. At times he thought he
-had reached the goal, and was already arranging his mode of living for
-the near day when he would be the lover of his employer’s wife. He had
-kept up his connection with Marie to help him to wait patiently; only,
-though she was convenient and cost him nothing, she might perhaps one
-day become irksome, with her faithfulness of a beaten cur. Therefore,
-at the same time that he took her in his arms on the nights when he
-felt dull, he would be thinking of a way of breaking off with her. To
-do so abruptly seemed to him to be worse than foolish. One holiday
-morning, when about to rejoin his neighbor’s wife, the neighbor himself
-having gone out early, the idea had at length come to him of restoring
-Marie to Jules, of sending them in a loving way into each other’s arms,
-so that he might withdraw with a clear conscience. It was, moreover, a
-good action, the touching side of which relieved him of all remorse. He
-waited a while, however, not wishing to find himself without a female
-companion of some kind.
-
-At the Campardons’ another complication was occupying Octave’s mind. He
-felt that the moment was arriving when he would have to take his meals
-elsewhere. For three weeks past Gasparine had been making herself quite
-at home there, with an authority daily increasing. At first she had
-begun by coming every evening; then she had appeared at lunch: and, in
-spite of her work at the shop, she was commencing to take charge of
-everything, of Angèle’s education, and of the household affairs. Rose
-was ever repeating in Campardon’s presence:
-
-“Ah! if Gasparine only lived with us!”
-
-But each time the architect, blushing with conscientious scruples, and
-tormented with shame, cried out:
-
-“No, no; it cannot be. Besides, where would you put her to sleep?”
-
-And he explained that they would have to give his study as a bedroom to
-their cousin, whilst he would move his table and plans into the
-drawing-room. It would certainly not inconvenience him in the least; he
-would, perhaps, decide to make the alteration one day, for he had no
-need of a drawing-room, and his study was becoming too cramped for all
-the work he had in hand. Only, Gasparine might very well remain as she
-was. What need was there to live all in a heap?
-
-“When one is comfortable,” repeated he to Octave, “it is a mistake to
-wish to be better.”
-
-About that time he was obliged to go and spend two days at Evreux. He
-was worried about the work in hand at the bishop’s palace. He had
-yielded to the bishop’s desires without a credit having been opened for
-the purpose, and the construction of the range for the new kitchens and
-of the heating apparatus threatened to amount to a very large figure,
-which it would be impossible to include in the cost of repairs. Besides
-that, the pulpit, for which three thousand francs had been granted,
-would come to ten thousand at least. He wished to talk the matter over
-with the bishop, so as to take certain precautions.
-
-Rose was only expecting him to return on the Sunday night. He arrived
-in the middle of lunch, and his sudden entrance caused quite a scare.
-Gasparine was seated at the table, between Octave and Angèle. They
-pretended to be all at their ease; but there reigned a certain air of
-mystery. Lisa had closed the drawing-room door at a despairing gesture
-from her mistress, whilst the cousin kicked beneath the furniture some
-pieces of paper that were lying about.
-
-When Campardon talked of changing his things, they stopped him.
-
-“Wait a while. Have a cup of coffee, as you lunched at Evreux.”
-
-At length, as he noticed Rose’s embarrassment, she went and threw her
-arms around his neck.
-
-“My dear, you must not scold me. If you had not returned till this
-evening, you would have found everything straight.”
-
-She tremblingly opened the doors, and took him into the drawingroom and
-the study. A mahogany bedstead, brought that morning by a furniture
-dealer, occupied the place of the drawing-table, which had been moved
-into the middle of the adjoining room; but as yet nothing had been put
-straight; portfolios were knocking about amongst some of Gasparine’s
-clothes; the Virgin with the Bleeding Heart was lying against the wall,
-kept in position by a new wash-stand.
-
-“It was a surprise,” murmured Madame Campardon, her heart bursting, as
-she hid her face in her husband’s waistcoat.
-
-He, deeply moved, looked about him. He said nothing, and avoided
-encountering Octave’s eyes. Then, Gasparine asked, in her sharp voice:
-
-“Does it annoy you, cousin? It is Rose who pestered me. But, if you
-think I am in the way, it is not too late for me to leave.”
-
-“Oh! cousin!” at length exclaimed the architect. “All that Rose does is
-well done.”
-
-And, the latter having burst out sobbing on his breast, he added:
-
-“Come, my duck, how foolish of you to cry! I am very pleased. You wish
-to have your cousin with you; well! have your cousin with you.
-Everything suits me. Now, do not cry any more! See! I kiss you like I
-love you, so much! so much!”
-
-He devoured her with caresses. Then, Rose, who melted into tears for a
-word, but who smiled at once, in the midst of her sobs, was consoled.
-She kissed him in her turn, on his beard, saying to him, gently:
-
-“You were harsh. Kiss her also.”
-
-Campardon kissed Gasparine. They called Angèle, who had been looking on
-from the dining-room, her eyes bright and her mouth wide open; and she
-had to kiss her also. Octave had moved away, having arrived at the
-conclusion that they were becoming far too loving in that family. He
-had noticed with surprise Lisa’s respectful attitude and smiling
-attentiveness toward Gasparine. She was decidedly an intelligent girl,
-that hussy with the blue eyelids!
-
-Meanwhile, the architect had taken off his coat, and whistling and
-singing, as lively as a boy, he spent the afternoon in arranging the
-cousin’s room. Then Octave understood that his presence interfered with
-the free expansion of their hearts; he felt he was one too many in such
-a united family, so mentioned that he was going to dine out that
-evening. Moreover, he had made up his mind; on the morrow he would
-thank Madame Campardon for her kind hospitality, and invent some story
-for no longer trespassing upon it.
-
-Toward five o’clock, as he was regretting that he did not know where to
-find Trublot, he had the idea to go and ask the Pichons for some
-dinner, so as not to pass the evening alone. But, on entering their
-apartments, he found himself in the midst of a deplorable family scene.
-The Vuillaumes were there, trembling with rage and indignation.
-
-“It is disgraceful, sir!” the mother was saying, standing up with her
-arm thrust out toward her son-in-law, who was sitting in a chair in a
-state of collapse. “You gave me your word of honor.”
-
-“And you,” added the father, causing his daughter to draw back
-trembling as far as the sideboard, “do not try to defend him, you are
-quite as guilty. Do you wish to die of hunger!”
-
-Madame Vuillaume had put on her bonnet and shawl again.
-
-“Good-bye!” uttered she, in a solemn tone. “We will at least not
-encourage your dissoluteness by our presence. As you no longer pay the
-least attention to our wishes, we have nothing to detain us here.
-Good-bye!”
-
-And, as through force of habit her son-in-law rose to accompany them,
-she added:
-
-“Do not trouble yourself, we shall be able to find the omnibus very
-well without you. Pass first, Monsieur Vuillaume. Let them eat their
-dinner, and much good may it do them, for they won’t always have one!”
-
-Octave, thoroughly bewildered, drew on one side. When they had gone, he
-looked at Jules, who was still in a state of collapse on his chair, and
-at Marie leaning against the sideboard and looking very pale. Neither
-of them said a word.
-
-“What is the matter?” asked he.
-
-But, without answering him, the young woman commenced scolding her
-husband in a doleful voice.
-
-“I told you how it would be. You should have waited, and let them learn
-the thing by degrees. There was no hurry, it does not show as yet.”
-
-“What is the matter?” repeated Octave.
-
-Then, without even turning her head, she said bluntly, in the midst of
-her emotion!
-
-“I am in the family way.”
-
-“I have had enough of them!” cried Jules, rising indignantly. “I
-thought it right to tell them at once of this bother. I wonder if they
-think it amuses me! I am more taken in by it all than they are. More
-especially, by Jove! as it is through no fault of mine. Is it not true,
-Marie, that we have no idea how it has come about?”
-
-“That is so, indeed,” affirmed the young woman.
-
-It quite affected Octave; and he felt a violent desire to do something
-nice for the Pichons. Jules continued to grumble: they would receive
-the child all the same, only it would have done better to have remained
-where it was. On her side, Marie, generally so gentle, became angry,
-and ended by agreeing with her mother, who never forgave disobedience.
-And the couple were coming to a quarrel, throwing the youngster from
-one to the other, accusing each other of being the cause of it, when
-Octave gayly interfered.
-
-“It is no use quarreling, now that it is there. Come, we won’t dine
-here; it would be too sad. I will take you to a restaurant, if you are
-agreeable.”
-
-The young woman blushed. Dining at a restaurant was her delight. She
-spoke, however, of her little girl, who invariably prevented her from
-having any pleasure. But it was decided that, for this once, Lilitte
-should go too. And they spent a very pleasant evening. Octave took them
-to the “Bœuf à la Mode,” where they had a private room, to be more at
-their ease, as he said. There, he overwhelmed them with food, with an
-earnest prodigality, without thinking of the bill, happy at seeing them
-eat. He even, at dessert, when they had laid Lilitte down between two
-of the sofa cushions, called for champagne; and they sat there, their
-elbows on the table, their eyes dim, all three full of heart, and
-feeling languid from the suffocating heat of the room. At length, at
-eleven o’clock, they talked of going home; but they were red, and the
-fresh air of the street intoxicated them. Then, as the child, heavy
-with sleep, refused to walk, Octave, to do things handsomely until the
-end, insisted on hailing a cab, though the Rue de Choiseul was close
-by. In the cab, he was scrupulous to the point of not pressing Marie’s
-knees. Only, upstairs, whilst Jules was tucking Lilitte in, he
-imprinted a kiss on the young woman’s forehead, the farewell kiss of a
-father parting with his daughter to a son-in-law. Then, seeing them
-very loving and looking at each other in a drunken sort of way, he left
-them to themselves, wishing them a good-night and many pleasant dreams
-as he closed the door.
-
-“Well!” thought he, as he jumped all alone into bed, “it has cost me
-fifty francs, but I owed them quite that. After all, my only wish is
-that her husband may make her happy, poor little woman!”
-
-And, with his heart full of emotion, he resolved, before falling
-asleep, to make his grand attempt on the following evening.
-
-Every Monday, after dinner, Octave assisted Madame Hédouin to examine
-the orders of the week. For this purpose they both withdrew to the
-little closet at the back, a narrow apartment which merely contained a
-safe, a desk, two chairs and a sofa. But it so happened that on the
-Monday in question the Duveyriers were going to take Madame Hédouin to
-the Opéra-Comique. So, toward three o’clock, she sent for the young
-man. In spite of the bright sunshine, they were obliged to burn the
-gas, for the closet only received a pale light from an inner courtyard.
-He bolted the door, and, as she looked at him in surprise, he murmured:
-
-“No one can come and disturb us.”
-
-She nodded her head approvingly, and they set to work. The new summer
-goods were going splendidly, the business of the house continued
-increasing. That week especially the sale of the little woolens seemed
-so promising that she heaved a sigh.
-
-“Ah! if we only had enough room!”
-
-“But,” said he, commencing the attack, “it depends upon yourself. I
-have had an idea for some time past, which I wish to lay before you.”
-
-It was the stroke of audacity he had been waiting for. His idea was to
-purchase the adjoining house in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, to give
-notice to an umbrella-dealer and to a toy-merchant, and then to enlarge
-the warehouses, to which they could add several other vast departments.
-And he warmed up as he spoke, showing himself full of disdain for the
-old way of doing business in the depths of damp, dark shops, without
-any display, evoking a new commerce with a gesture, piling up in
-palaces of crystal all the luxury pertaining to woman, turning over
-millions in the light of day, and illuminating at night-time in a
-princely style.
-
-“You will crush the other drapers of the Saint-Roch neighborhood,” said
-he; “you will secure all the small customers.”
-
-Madame Hédouin listened to him, her elbow on a ledger, her beautiful,
-grave head buried in her hand. She was born at “The Ladies’ Paradise,”
-which had been founded by her father and her uncle. She loved the
-house; she could see it expanding, swallowing up the neighboring
-houses, and displaying a royal frontage, and this dream suited her
-active intelligence, her upright will, her woman’s delicate intuition
-of the new Paris.
-
-“Uncle Deleuze would never give his consent,” murmured she. “Besides,
-my husband is too unwell.”
-
-Then, seeing her wavering, Octave assumed his most seductive voice—an
-actor’s voice, soft and musical. At the same time he looked tenderly at
-her, with his eyes the color of old gold, which some women thought
-irresistible. But, though the gas-jet flared close to the nape of her
-neck, she remained as cool as ever; she merely fell into a revery, half
-stunned by the young man’s inexhaustible flow of words. He had come to
-studying the affair from the money point of view, already making an
-estimate with the impassioned air of a romantic page declaring a long
-pent up love. When she suddenly awoke from her reflections, she found
-herself in his arms. He was thinking that she was at length yielding.
-
-“Dear me! so this is what it all meant!” said she in a sad tone of
-voice, freeing herself from him as from some tiresome child.
-
-“Well! yes, I love you,” cried he. “Oh! do not repel me. With you I
-will do great things——”
-
-And he went on thus to the end of the tirade, which had a false ring
-about it. She did not interrupt him; she was standing up and again
-scanning the pages of the ledger. Then, when he had finished, she
-replied:
-
-“I know all that—I have already heard it before. But I thought you were
-more sensible than the others, Monsieur Octave. You grieve me, really
-you do, for I had counted upon you. However, all young men are foolish.
-We need a great deal of order in such a house as this, and you begin by
-desiring things which would disturb us from morning to night. I am not
-a woman here, I have too much to occupy me. Come, you who are so well
-organized, how is it you did not comprehend that it could never be,
-because in the first place it is stupid, in the second useless, and,
-moreover, luckily for me, I do not care the least about it!”
-
-He would have preferred her to have been indignantly angry, displaying
-grand sentiments. Her calm tone of voice, her quiet reasoning of a
-practical woman, sure of herself, disconcerted him. He felt himself
-becoming ridiculous.
-
-“Have pity, madame,” stammered he, before losing all hope. “See how I
-suffer.”
-
-“No, you do not suffer. Anyhow, you will get over it. Hark! there is
-some one knocking, you would do better to open the door.”
-
-Then he had to draw the bolt. It was Mademoiselle Gasparine, who wished
-to know if any lace-trimmed chemises were expected. The bolted door had
-surprised her. But she knew Madame Hédouin too well; and, when she saw
-her with her cold air standing in front of Octave, who was full of
-uneasiness, a slight mocking smile played about her lips as she looked
-at him. It exasperated him, and in his own mind he accused her of
-having been the cause of his ill-success.
-
-“Madame,” declared he, abruptly, when Gasparine had withdrawn, “I leave
-your employment this evening.”
-
-This was a surprise for Madame Hédouin. She looked at him.
-
-“Why so? I do not discharge you. Oh! it will not make any difference; I
-have no fear.”
-
-These words decided him. He would leave at once; he would not endure
-his martyrdom a minute longer.
-
-“Very good, Monsieur Octave,” resumed she as serenely as ever. “I will
-settle with you directly. However, the firm will regret you, for you
-were a good assistant.”
-
-Once out in the street, Octave perceived that he had behaved like a
-fool. Four o’clock was striking, the gay spring sun covered with a
-sheet of gold a whole corner of the Place Gaillon. And, angry with
-himself, he wandered at hap-hazard down the Rue Saint-Roch, discussing
-the way in which he ought to have acted. He would go and see if
-Campardon happened to be in the church, and take him to the café to
-have a glass of Madeira. It would help to divert his thoughts. He
-entered by the vestibule into which the vestry door opened, a dark,
-dirty passage such as is to be met with in houses of ill-repute.
-
-“You are perhaps looking for Monsieur Campardon?” said a voice close
-beside him, as he stood hesitating, scrutinizing the nave with his
-glance.
-
-It was the Abbé Mauduit, who had just recognized him. The architect
-being away, he insisted on showing the works, about which he was most
-enthusiastic, to the young man.
-
-“Walk in,” said the Abbé Mauduit, gathering up his cassock. “I will
-explain everything to you.”
-
-“Here we are,” continued the priest. “I had the idea of lighting the
-central group of the Calvary from above by means of an opening in the
-cupola. You can fancy what an effect it will have.”
-
-“Yes, yes,” murmured. Octave, whose thoughts were diverted by this
-stroll amidst building materials.
-
-The Abbé Mauduit, speaking in a loud voice, had the air of a
-stage-carpenter directing the placing of some gorgeous scenery.
-
-And he turned round to call out to a workman:
-
-“Move the Virgin on one side; you will be breaking her leg directly.”
-
-The workman called a comrade. Between them they got hold of the Virgin
-round the small of her back, and carried her to a place of safety, like
-some tall white girl who had fallen down under a nervous attack.
-
-“Be careful!” repeated the priest, following them through the rubbish,
-“her dress is already cracked. Wait a while!”
-
-He gave them a hand, seizing Mary round the waist, and then, all
-covered with plaster, withdrew from the embrace.
-
-“Then,” resumed he, returning to Octave, “just imagine that the two
-bays of the nave there before us are open, and go and stand in the
-chapel of the Virgin. Over the altar, and through the chapel of
-Perpetual Adoration, you will behold the Calvary right at the back.
-Just fancy the effect: these three enormous figures, this bare and
-simple drama in this tabernacle recess, beyond the dim, mysterious
-light of the stained-glass windows, the lamps and the gold candelabra.
-Eh? I think it will be irresistible!”
-
-He was waxing eloquent, and, proud of his idea, he laughed joyfully.
-
-“The most skeptical will be moved,” observed Octave, to please him.
-
-“That is what I think!” cried he. “I am impatient to see everything in
-place.”
-
-“I am going to see Monsieur Campardon this evening,” at length said the
-Abbe Mauduit. “Ask him to wait in for me. I wish to speak to him about
-an improvement without being disturbed.”
-
-And he bowed with his worldly air. Octave was calmed now. Saint-Roch,
-with its cool vaults, had unbraced his nerves. He looked curiously at
-this entrance to a church through a private house, at the doorkeeper’s
-room, from whence at night time the door was often opened for the cause
-of the faith, at all that corner of a convent lost amidst the black
-conglomeration of the neighborhood. Out in the street, he again raised
-his eyes; the house displayed its bare frontage, with its barred and
-curtainless windows; but boxes of flowers were fixed by iron supports
-to the windows of the fourth floor; and, down below, in the thick
-walls, were narrow shops, which helped to fill the coffers of the
-clergy—a cobbler’s, a clock-maker’s, an embroiderer’s, and even a wine
-shop, where the mutes congregated whenever there was a funeral. Octave,
-who, from his rebuff, was in a mood to renounce the world, regretted
-the quiet lives which the priests’ servants led up there in those rooms
-enlivened with verbenas and sweet peas.
-
-That evening, at half past six, as he entered the Campardons’
-apartments without ringing, he came suddenly upon the architect and
-Gasparine kissing each other in the ante-room. The latter, who had just
-come from the warehouse, had not even given herself time to close the
-door. Both stood stock-still.
-
-“My wife is combing her hair,” stammered the architect, for the sake of
-saying something. “Go in and see her.”
-
-Octave, feeling as embarrassed as themselves, hastened to knock at the
-door of Rose’s room, where he usually entered like a relation. He
-really could no longer continue to board there, now that he caught them
-behind the doors.
-
-“Come in!” cried Rose’s voice. “So it is you, Octave. Oh! there is no
-harm.”
-
-She had not, however, donned her dressing-gown, and her arms and
-shoulders, as white and delicate as milk, were bare. Sitting
-attentively before the looking-glass, she was rolling her golden hair
-in little curls.
-
-“So you are making yourself beautiful again to-night,” said Octave,
-smiling.
-
-“Yes, for it is the only amusement I have,” replied she. “It occupies
-me. You know I have never been a good housewife; and, now that
-Gasparine will be here—Eh? don’t you think that curl suits me? It
-consoles me a little when I am well dressed and I feel that I look
-pretty.”
-
-As the dinner was not ready, he told her of his having left “The
-Ladies’ Paradise.” He invented a story about some other situation he
-had long been on the look-out for; and thus reserved to himself a
-pretext for explaining his intention of taking his meals elsewhere. She
-was surprised that he could give up a berth which held out great
-promises for the future. But she was busy at her glass, and did not
-catch all he said.
-
-“Look at this red place behind my ear. Is it a pimple?”
-
-He had to examine the nape of her neck, which she held toward him with
-her grand tranquillity of a sacred woman.
-
-“It is nothing,” said he. “You must have dried yourself too roughly.”
-
-And, when he had assisted her to put on her dressing-gown of blue satin
-embroidered with silver, they passed into the diningroom. As early as
-the soup, Octave’s departure from the Hédouins’ was discussed.
-Campardon did not repress his surprise, whilst Gasparine smiled
-faintly; they were quite at their ease together.
-
-At dessert Gasparine sharply rated Lisa, who had answered her mistress
-rudely respecting a piece of cheese that was missing. The maid became
-very humble. Gasparine had already taken the household arrangements in
-hand, and had mastered the servants; with a word, she could make
-Victoire herself quake amongst her saucepans. So that Rose looked at
-her gratefully with moist eyes; she was respected, now that her cousin
-was there, and her longing was to get her also to leave “The Ladies’
-Paradise,” and take charge of Angèle’s education.
-
-“Come,” murmured she, caressingly, “there is quite enough to occupy you
-here. Angèle, implore your cousin, tell her how pleased you will be.”
-
-The young girl implored her cousin, whilst Lisa nodded her head
-approvingly. But Campardon and Gasparine remained grave; no, no, they
-must wait, one should not take a leap in life without having something
-to hold on to.
-
-The evenings in the drawing-room were now delightful. The architect had
-altogether given up going out. That evening he had arranged to hang
-some engravings, which had come back from the framer, in Gasparine’s
-room. Then Octave, finding himself alone with Rose, resumed his story,
-and explained that at the end of the month he would be obliged to take
-his meals away from them. She seemed surprised, but her thoughts were
-elsewhere; she returned at once to her husband and her cousin, whom she
-heard laughing.
-
-“Ah! how it amuses them to hang those pictures! What would you have!
-Achille no longer stays out; for a fortnight past he has not left me of
-an evening. No, no more going to the café, no more business meetings,
-no more appointments; and you remember how anxious I used to be, when
-he was out after midnight! Ah! it is a great ease to my mind now! I at
-least have him by me.”
-
-“No doubt, no doubt,” murmured Octave.
-
-And she continued speaking of the economy of the new arrangement.
-Everything went on better in the house, they laughed from morning to
-night.
-
-“When I see Achille pleased,” resumed she, “I am satisfied.” Then,
-returning to the young man’s affairs, she added:
-
-“So you are really going to leave us? You should stay, though, as we
-are all going to be so happy.”
-
-He recommenced his explanations. She comprehended, and lowered her
-eyes: the young fellow would indeed interfere with their family
-effusions, and she herself felt a certain relief at his departure, no
-longer requiring him, moreover, to keep her company of an evening. He
-had to promise to come and see her very often.
-
-“There you are, Mignon, supplicating Heaven!” cried Campardon joyously.
-“Wait a moment, cousin; I will help you down.”
-
-They heard him take her in his arms and place her somewhere. There was
-a short silence, and then a faint laugh. But the architect was already
-entering the drawing-room; and he held his hot cheek to his wife.
-
-“It is done, my duck. Kiss your old pet for working so well.” But the
-architect suddenly became virtuously indignant. He had just noticed
-that, instead of studying her Scripture history, the child was reading
-the “Gazette de France,” lying on the table.
-
-“Angèle,” said he, severely, “what are you doing? This morning, I
-crossed out that article with a red pencil. You know very well that you
-are not to read what is crossed out.”
-
-“I was reading beside it, papa,” replied the young girl.
-
-All the same, he took the paper away from her, complaining in low tones
-to Octave of the demoralization of the press. That number contained the
-report of another abominable crime. If families could no longer admit
-the “Gazette de France,” then what paper could they take in? And he was
-raising his eyes to heaven, when Lisa announced the Abbé Mauduit.
-
-“Ah! yes,” observed Octave, “he asked me to tell you he was coming.”
-
-The priest entered smiling. As the architect had forgotten to take off
-his paper cross, he stammered in the presence of that smile. The Abbé
-Mauduit happened to be the person whose name was kept a secret and who
-had the matter in hand.
-
-“The ladies did it,” murmured Campardon, preparing to take the cross
-off. “They are so fond of a joke.”
-
-“No, no, keep it,” exclaimed the priest, very amiably. “It is well
-where it is, and we will replace it by a more substantial one.”
-
-He at once asked after Rose’s health, and greatly approved Gasparine’s
-coming to live with one of her relations. Single young ladies ran so
-many risks in Paris! He said these things with all his good priest’s
-unction, though fully aware of the real state of affairs.
-
-When the Abbé Mauduit appeared, Octave had wished the Campardons good
-evening. As he crossed the ante-room, he heard Angèle’s voice in the
-now dark dining-room, she having also made her escape.
-
-“Was it about the butter that she was kicking up such a row?” asked
-she.
-
-“Of course,” answered another voice, which was Lisa’s. “She’s as
-spiteful as can be. You saw how she went on at me at dinner time. But I
-don’t care a fig! One must pretend to obey, with a person of that sort,
-but that doesn’t prevent our amusing ourselves all the same!”
-
-Then, Angèle must have thrown her arms round Lisa’s neck, for her voice
-was drowned in the servant’s bosom.
-
-“Yes, yes. And, afterward, so much the worse! it’s you I love!”
-
-Octave was going up to bed, when a desire for fresh air brought him
-down again. It was not more than ten o’clock, he would stroll as far as
-the Palais-Royal. Now, he was single again: both Valérie and Madame
-Hédouin had declined to have anything to do with his heart, and he had
-been too hasty in restoring Marie to Jules, the only woman he had
-succeeded in conquering, and without having done anything for it.
-
-As he was placing his foot on the pavement, a woman’s voice called to
-him; and he recognized Berthe at the door of the silk warehouse, the
-shutters of which were being put up by the porter.
-
-“Is it true, Monsieur Mouret?” asked she, “have you really left ‘The
-Ladies’ Paradise?’”
-
-He was surprised that it was already known in the neighborhood.
-
-The young woman had called her husband. As he intended speaking to
-Monsieur Mouret on the morrow, he might just as well do so then. And
-Auguste abruptly offered Octave in a sour way a berth in his employ.
-The young man, taken unawares, hesitated and was on the point of
-refusing, thinking of the small importance of the house. But he caught
-sight of Berthe’s pretty face, as she smiled at him with her air of
-welcome, with the gay glance he had already twice encountered, on the
-day of his arrival and the day of the wedding.
-
-“Well! yes,” said he resolutely.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X.
-
-
-THEN, Octave found himself brought into closer contact with the
-Duveyriers. Often, when Madame Duveyrier returned from a walk, she
-would come through her brother’s shop, and stop to talk a minute with
-Berthe; and, the first time that she saw the young man behind one of
-the counters, she amiably reproached him for not keeping his word,
-reminding him of his long-standing promise to come and see her one
-evening, and try his voice at the piano. She wished to give a second
-performance of the “Benediction of the Daggers,” at one of her first
-Saturdays at home of the coming winter, but with two extra tenors,
-something very complete.
-
-“If it does not interfere with your arrangements,” said Berthe one day
-to Octave, “you might go up to my sister-in-law’s after dinner. She is
-expecting you.”
-
-She maintained toward him the attitude of a mistress, simply polite.
-
-“The fact is,” he observed, “I intended arranging these shelves this
-evening.”
-
-“Do not trouble about them,” resumed she, “there are plenty of people
-here to do that. I give you your evening.”
-
-Toward nine o’clock, Octave found Madame Duveyrier awaiting him in her
-grand white and gold drawing-room. Everything was ready, the piano
-open, the candles lit. A lamp placed on a small round table beside the
-instrument only imperfectly lighted the room, one half of which
-remained in shadow. Seeing the young woman alone, he thought it proper
-to ask after Monsieur Duveyrier. She replied that he was very well; his
-colleagues had selected him to report on a very grave affair, and he
-had just gone out to obtain certain information respecting it.
-
-“You know; the affair of the Rue de Provence,” said she simply.
-
-“Ah! he has that in hand!” exclaimed Octave.
-
-It was a scandal which was the talk of all Paris, quite a clandestine
-prostitution, young girls of fourteen procured for high personages.
-Clotilde added:
-
-“Yes, it gives him a great deal of work. For a fortnight past all of
-his evenings have been taken up with it.”
-
-“No doubt! for he too has the cure of souls,” murmured he, embarrassed
-by her clear glance.
-
-“Well! sir, shall we begin?” resumed she. “You will excuse my
-importunity, will you not? And open your lungs, display all your
-powers, as Monsieur Duveyrier is not here. You, perhaps, heard him
-boast that he did not like music.”
-
-She put such contempt into the words, that he thought it right to risk
-a faint laugh. Moreover, it was the sole bitter feeling which at times
-escaped her before other people with respect to her husband, when
-exasperated by his jokes on her piano, she who was strong enough to
-hide the hatred and the physical repulsion with which he inspired her.
-
-“How can one help liking music?” remarked Octave with an air of
-ecstasy, so as to make himself agreeable.
-
-Then she seated herself on the music-stool. A collection of old tunes
-was open on the piano. She had already selected an air out of “Zémire
-and Azor,” by Grétry. As the young man could only just manage to read
-his notes, she made him go through it first in a low voice. Then she
-played the prelude, and he sang the first verse.
-
-“Perfect!” cried she with delight, “a tenor, there is not the least
-doubt of it, a tenor! Pray continue, sir.”
-
-Octave, feeling highly flattered, gave out the two other verses. She
-was beaming. For three years past she had been seeking for one! And she
-told him of all her vexations, Monsieur Trublot, for instance; for it
-was a fact, the causes of which were worth studying, that there were no
-longer any tenors among the young men of society: no doubt it was owing
-to tobacco.
-
-“Be careful, now!” resumed she, “we must put some expression into it.
-Begin it boldly.”
-
-Her cold face assumed a languid expression, her eyes turned toward him
-with an expiring air. Thinking that she was warming, he became more
-animated also, and considered her charming.
-
-“You will get along very well,” said she. “Only, accentuate the time
-more. See, like this.”
-
-And she herself sang, repeating quite twenty times: “More trembling
-than you,” bringing out the notes with the rigor of a sinless woman,
-whose passion for music was not more than skin deep in her mechanism.
-Her voice rose little by little, filling the room with shrill cries,
-when they both suddenly heard some one exclaiming loudly behind their
-backs:
-
-“Madame! madame!”
-
-She started, and, recognizing her maid Clémence, exclaimed:
-
-“Eh? what?”
-
-“Madame, your father has fallen with his face in his papers, and he
-doesn’t move. We are so frightened.”
-
-Then, without exactly understanding, and greatly surprised, she quitted
-the piano and followed Clémence. Octave, who was uncertain whether to
-accompany her, remained walking about the drawing-room. However, after
-a few minutes of hesitation and embarrassment, as he heard people
-rushing about and calling out distractedly, he made up his mind, and,
-crossing a room that was in darkness, he found himself in Monsieur
-Vabre’s bedchamber.
-
-“He is in a fit,” said Octave. “He must not be left there. We must get
-him onto his bed.”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-But Madame Duveyrier was losing her head. Emotion was little by little
-seizing upon her cold nature. She kept repeating:
-
-“Do you think so? do you think so? O good heavens! O my poor father!”
-
-Hippolyte, a prey to an uneasy feeling, to a visible repugnance to
-touch the old man, who might go off in his arms, did not hurry himself.
-Octave had to call to him to help. Between them they laid him on the
-bed.
-
-“Bring some warm water!” resumed the young man, addressing Julie. “Wipe
-his face.”
-
-Now, Clotilde became angry with her husband. Ought he to have been
-away? What would become of her if anything happened?
-
-“To leave me alone like this!” continued Clotilde. “I don’t know, but
-there must be all sorts of affairs to settle. O my poor father!”
-
-“Would you like me to inform the other members of the family?” asked
-Octave. “I can fetch your brothers. It would be prudent.” She did not
-answer. Two big tears swelled her eyes, whilst Julie and Clémence tried
-to undress the old man.
-
-“Madame,” observed Clémence, “one side of him is already quite cold.”
-
-This increased Madame Duveyrier’s anger. She no longer spoke, for fear
-of saying too much before the servants. Her husband did not,
-apparently, care a button for their interests! Had she only been
-acquainted with the law! And she could not remain still; she kept
-walking up and down before the bed. Octave, whose attention was
-diverted by the sight of the tickets, looked at the formidable
-apparatus which covered the table; it was a big oak box, filled with a
-series of cardboard tickets, scrupulously sorted, the stupid work of a
-lifetime. Just as he was reading on one of these tickets: “‘Isidore
-Charbotel;’ ‘Exhibition of 1857,’ ‘Atalanta;’ ‘Exhibition of 1859,’
-‘The Lion of Androcles;’ ‘Exhibition of 1861,’ ‘Portrait of Monsieur
-P——-,’” Clotilde went and stood before him and said resolutely, in a
-low voice:
-
-“Go and fetch him.”
-
-And, as he evinced his surprise, she seemed, with a shrug of her
-shoulders, to cast off the story about the report of the affair of the
-Rue de Provence, one of those eternal pretexts which she invented for
-her acquaintances. She let out everything in her emotion.
-
-“You know, Rue de la Cerisaie. All our friends know it.”
-
-He wished to protest.
-
-“I assure you, madame———-”
-
-“Do not stand up for him!” resumed she. “I am only too pleased; he can
-stay there. Ah! good heavens! if it were not for my poor father!”
-
-Octave bowed. Julie was wiping Monsieur Vabre’s eye with the corner of
-a towel; but the ink had dried, and the smudge remained in the skin,
-which was marked with livid streaks. Madame Duveyrier told her not to
-rub so hard; then she returned to the young man, who was already at the
-door.
-
-“Not a word to any one,” murmured she. “It is needless to upset the
-house. Take a cab, call there, and bring him back in spite of
-everything.”
-
-When he had gone, she sank onto a chair beside the patient’s pillow. He
-had not recovered consciousness; his breathing alone, a deep and
-painful breathing, troubled the mournful silence of the chamber. Then,
-the doctor not arriving, finding herself alone with the two servants,
-who stood by with frightened looks, she burst out into a terrible fit
-of sobbing, in a paroxysm of deep grief.
-
-It was at the Café Anglais that uncle Bachelard had invited Duveyrier
-to dine, without any one knowing why, perhaps for the pleasure of
-treating a counselor, and of showing him that tradespeople knew how to
-spend their money. He had also invited Trublot and Gueulin—four men and
-no women—for women do not know how to eat; they interfere with the
-truffles, and spoil digestion.
-
-“Drink away! drink away, sir!” he kept saying to Duveyrier; “when wines
-are good they never intoxicate. It’s the same with food; it never does
-one harm so long as it’s delicate.”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-He, however, was careful. On this occasion he was posing for the
-gentleman, shaved and brushed up, and with a rose in his buttonhole,
-restraining himself from breaking the crockery, which he was in the
-habit of doing. Trublot and Gueulin eat of everything. The uncle’s
-theory seemed the right one, for Duveyrier, who suffered a great deal
-from his stomach, had drank considerably, and had returned to the
-crayfish salad, without feeling the least indisposed, the red blotches
-on his face merely assuming a purple hue.
-
-Then, when the coffee had been served, with some liquors and cigars,
-and all the attendants had withdrawn, uncle Bachelard suddenly leaned
-back in his chair and heaved a sigh of satisfaction.
-
-“Ah!” declared he, “one is comfortable.”
-
-Trublot and Gueulin, also leaning back in their chairs, opened their
-arms.
-
-“Completely!” said the one.
-
-“Up to the eyes!” added the other.
-
-Duveyrier, who was puffing, nodded his head, and murmured:
-
-“Oh! the crayfish!”
-
-All four looked at each other and chuckled. Their skins were well-nigh
-bursting, and they were digesting in the slow and selfish way of four
-worthy citizens who had just had a tuckout away from the worries of
-their families. It had cost a great deal; no one had partaken of it
-with them; there was no girl there to take advantage of their emotion;
-and they unbuttoned their waistcoats, and laid their stomachs as it
-were on the table. With eyes half-closed, they even avoided speaking at
-first, each one absorbed in his solitary pleasure. Then, free and easy,
-and whilst congratulating themselves that there were no women present,
-they placed their elbows on the table, and, with their excited faces
-close together, they did nothing but talk incessantly of them.
-
-“As for myself, I am disabused,” declared uncle Bachelard. “It is after
-all far preferable to be virtuous.”
-
-This conversation tickled Duveyrier’s fancy. He was sipping kummel,
-whilst sharp twinges of sensuality kept shooting across his stiff,
-magisterial face.
-
-“For my part,” said he, “I cannot bear vice. It shocks me. Now, to be
-able to love a woman, one must esteem her, is it not so? Love could not
-have a nobler mission. In short, a virtuous mistress, you understand
-me? Then, I do not deny I might succumb.”
-
-“Virtuous mistresses! but I have had no end of them!” cried Bachelard.
-“They are a far greater nuisance than the others; and such sluts too!
-Wenches who, behind your back, lead a life fit to give you every
-possible ailment! Take, for instance, my last, a very
-respectable-looking little lady, whom I met at a church door. I set her
-up in business at Les Ternes as a milliner, just to give her a
-position. She never had a single customer, though. Well, sir, believe
-me or not as you like, but she had the whole street to sleep with her.”
-
-Gueulin was chuckling, whilst his carroty hair bristled more than
-usual, and his forehead was bathed in perspiration from the heat of the
-candles. He murmured, as he sucked his cigar:
-
-“And the other, the tall one at Passy, who had a sweet-stuff shop. And
-the other, she who had a room over there, with her outfits for orphan
-children. And the other, the captain’s widow, you surely remember her!
-she used to show the mark of a sword-thrust on her body. All, uncle,
-all of them played the fool with you! Now, I may tell you, may I not?
-Well! I had to defend myself one night against the one with the
-sword-thrust. She wanted to, but I was not such a fool! One never knows
-what such women may lead a man to!”
-
-Bachelard seemed annoyed. He recovered his good humor, however, and,
-blinking his heavy eyelids, said:
-
-“My little fellow, you can have them all; I have something far better.”
-
-And he refused to explain himself further, delighted at having awakened
-the others’ curiosity. Yet he was burning to be indiscreet, to let them
-imagine what a treasure he possessed.
-
-“A young girl,” said he at length, “and a genuine one, on my word of
-honor.”
-
-“Impossible!” cried Trublot, “Such things no longer exist.”
-
-“Of good family!” asked Duveyrier.
-
-“Of most excellent family,” affirmed the uncle. “Imagine something
-stupidly chaste. A mere chance. She submitted quite innocently. She has
-no idea of anything even now.”
-
-Gueulin listened to him in surprise; then, making a skeptical gesture,
-murmured:
-
-“Ah! yes, I know.”
-
-“What? you know!” said Bachelard angrily. “You know nothing at all, my
-little fellow; no one knows anything. She is for yours truly. She is
-neither to be seen nor touched. Hands off!” And, turning to Duveyrier,
-he added:
-
-“You will understand, sir, you who have feeling. It affects me so much
-going there, that when I come away I feel quite young again. In short,
-it is a cozy little nook for me, where I can recruit myself after all
-those hussies. And, if you only knew, she is so polite and so fresh,
-with a skin like a flower, and a figure not in the least thin, sir, but
-as round and firm as a peach!”
-
-The counselor’s red blotches were almost bleeding through the rush of
-blood to his face. Trublot and Gueulin looked at the uncle; and they
-felt a desire to slap him as they beheld him with his set of false
-teeth, which were too white, and at the corners of which the saliva
-trickled.
-
-Bachelard became quite tender-hearted, and resumed, licking the brim of
-his liquor glass with the tip of his tongue:
-
-“After all, my sole dream is to make the child happy! But there, my
-pot-belly tells me I am getting old; I’m like a father to her. I give
-you my word! if I found a very good young fellow, I’d give her to him,
-oh! in marriage, not otherwise.”
-
-“You would make two happy ones,” murmured Duveyrier sentimentally.
-
-It was almost stifling in the small apartment. A glass of chartreuse
-that had been upset had made the tablecloth all sticky, and it was also
-covered with cigar-ash. The gentlemen were in want of some fresh air.
-
-“Would you like to see her?” abruptly asked the uncle, rising from his
-seat.
-
-They consulted one another with a glance. Well, yes, they were willing,
-if it could afford him any pleasure; and their affected indifference
-hid a gluttonous satisfaction at the thought of going and finishing
-their dessert with the old fellow’s little one.
-
-“Let’s get along, uncle! Which is the way?”
-
-Bachelard became quite grave again, tortured by his ridiculously vain
-longing to exhibit Fifi, and by his terror of being robbed of her. For
-a moment he looked to the left, then to the right, in an anxious way.
-At length he boldly said:
-
-“Well! no, I won’t.”
-
-And he obstinately adhered to his determination, without caring a straw
-for Trublot’s chaff, nor even deigning to explain by some pretext his
-sudden change of mind. They therefore had to turn their steps in
-Clarisse’s direction. As it was a splendid evening, they decided to
-walk all the way, with the hygienic idea of hastening their digestion.
-Then they started off down the Rue de Richelieu, pretty steady on their
-legs, but so full that they considered the pavements far too narrow.
-
-The house in the Rue de la Cerisaie seemed asleep amidst the solitude
-and the silence of the street. Duveyrier was surprised at not seeing
-any lights in the third-floor windows. Trublot said, with a serious
-air, that Clarisse had no doubt gone to bed to wait for them; or
-perhaps, Gueulin added, she was playing a game of bézique in the
-kitchen with her maid. They knocked. The gas on the staircase was
-burning with the straight and immovable flame of a lamp in some chapel.
-Not a sound, not a breath. But, as the four men passed before the room
-of the doorkeeper, the latter hastily came out.
-
-“Sir, sir, the key!”
-
-Duveyrier stood stock-still on the first step.
-
-“Is madame not there, then?” asked he.
-
-“No, sir. And, wait a moment, you must take a candle with you.”
-
-As he handed him the candlestick, the doorkeeper allowed quite a
-chuckle of ferocious and vulgar jocosity to pierce through the
-exaggerated respect depicted on his pallid countenance. Neither of the
-two young men nor the uncle had said a word. It was in the midst of
-this silence, and with bent backs, that they ascended the stairs in
-single file, the interminable noise of their footsteps resounding up
-each mournful flight. At their head, Duveyrier, who was puzzling
-himself trying to understand, lifted his feet with the mechanical
-movement of a somnambulist; and the candle, which he held with a
-trembling hand, cast their four shadows on the wall, resembling in
-their strange ascent a procession of broken puppets.
-
-On the third floor, a faintness came over him, and he was quite unable
-to find the key-hole. Trublot did him the service of opening the door.
-The key turned in the lock with a sonorous and reverberating noise, as
-though beneath the vaulted roof of some cathedral.
-
-“Jupiter!” murmured he, “it doesn’t seem as if the place was
-inhabited.”
-
-“It sounds empty,” said Bachelard.
-
-“A little family vault,” added Gueulin.
-
-They entered. Duveyrier passed first, holding high the candle. The
-ante-room was empty, even the hat-pegs had disappeared. The
-drawing-room and the parlor were also empty: not a stick of furniture,
-not a curtain at the windows, not even a brass rod. Duveyrier stood as
-one petrified, first looking down at his feet, then raising his eyes to
-the ceiling, and then searchingly gazing at the walls, as though he had
-been seeking the hole through which everything had disappeared.
-
-“What a clear out!” Trublot could not help exclaiming.
-
-“Perhaps the place is going to be done up,” observed Gueulin, without
-as much as a smile. “Let us see the bed-room. The furniture may have
-been moved in there.”
-
-But the bed-room was also bare, with that ugly and chilly bareness of
-plaster walls from which the paper has been torn off. Where the
-bedstead had stood, the iron supports of the canopy, also removed, left
-gaping holes; and, one of the windows having been left partly open, the
-air from the street filled the apartment with the humidity and the
-unsavoriness of a public square.
-
-“My God! my God!” stuttered Duveyrier, at length able to weep, unnerved
-by the sight of the place where the friction of the mattresses had
-rubbed the paper off the wall.
-
-Uncle Bachelard became quite paternal.
-
-“Courage, sir!” he kept repeating. “The same thing happened to me, and
-I did not die of it. Honor is safe, damn it all!”
-
-The counselor shook his head, and went into the dressing-room, and then
-into the kitchen. The evidence of the disaster increased. The piece of
-American cloth behind the washstand in the dressing-room had been taken
-down, and the hooks had been removed from the kitchen.
-
-“No, that is too much, it is pure capriciousness!” said Gueulin, in
-amazement. “She might have left the hooks.”
-
-“I can’t stand this any longer, you know,” Trublot ended by declaring,
-as they visited the drawing-room for the third time.
-
-“Really! I would give ten sous for a chair.”
-
-All four came to a halt, standing.
-
-“When did you see her last?” asked Bachelard.
-
-“Yesterday, sir!” exclaimed Duveyrier.
-
-Gueulin wagged his head. By Jove! it had not taken long, it had been
-neatly done. But Trublot uttered an exclamation. He had just caught
-sight of a dirty collar and a damaged cigar on the mantelpiece.
-
-“Do not complain,” said he, laughing, “she has left you a keepsake. It
-is always something.”
-
-Duveyrier looked at the collar with sudden emotion. Then he murmured:
-
-“Twenty-five thousand francs’ worth of furniture, there was twenty-five
-thousand francs’ worth! Well! no, no, it is not that which I regret!”
-
-“You will not have the cigar?” interrupted Trublot. “Then, allow me to.
-It has a hole in it, but I can stick a cigarette paper over that.”
-
-He lighted it at the candle which the counselor was still holding, and,
-letting himself drop down against the wall, he added:
-
-“So much the worse! I must sit down a while on the floor. My legs will
-not bear me any longer.”
-
-“I beg of you,” at length said Duveyrier, “to explain to me where she
-can possibly be.”
-
-Bachelard and Gueulin looked at each other. It was a delicate matter.
-However, the uncle came to a manly decision, and he told the poor
-fellow everything, all Clarisse’s goings-on, her continual escapades,
-the lovers she picked up behind his back, at each of their parties. She
-had no doubt gone off with the last one, big Payan, that mason of whom
-a Southern town wished to make an artist. Duveyrier listened to the
-abominable story with an expression of horror. He allowed this cry of
-despair to escape him:
-
-“There is, then, no honesty left on earth!”
-
-And suddenly opening his heart, he told them all he had done for her.
-
-“Leave her alone!” exclaimed Bachelard, delighted with the counselor’s
-misfortune, “she will humbug you again. There is nothing like virtue,
-understand! It is far better to take a little one devoid of malice, as
-innocent as the child just born. Then, there is no danger, one may
-sleep in peace.”
-
-Trublot meanwhile was smoking, leaning against the wall with his legs
-stretched out. He was gravely reposing, the others had forgotten him.
-
-“If you particularly want it, I can find the address for you,” said he.
-“I know the maid.”
-
-Duveyrier turned round, surprised at that voice which seemed to issue
-from the boards; and, when he beheld him smoking all that remained of
-Clarisse, puffing big clouds of smoke, in which he fancied he beheld
-the twenty-five thousand francs’ worth of furniture evaporating, he
-made an angry gesture and replied:
-
-“No, she is unworthy of me. She must beg my pardon on her knees.”
-
-“Hallo! here she is coming back!” said Gueulin, listening.
-
-And some one was indeed walking in the ante-room, whilst a voice said:
-“Well! what’s up? is every one dead?” And Octave appeared. He was quite
-bewildered by the open doors and the empty rooms. But his amazement
-increased still more when he beheld the four men in the midst of the
-denuded drawing-room, one sitting on the floor, and the other three
-standing up, and only lighted by the meager candle which the counselor
-was holding, like a taper at church. A few words sufficed to inform him
-of what had occurred.
-
-“It isn’t possible!” cried he.
-
-“Did they not tell you anything, then, down-stairs?” asked Gueulin.
-
-“No, nothing at all; the doorkeeper quietly watched me come up. Ah! so
-she’s gone! It does not surprise me. She had such queer hair and eyes!”
-
-He asked some particulars, and stood talking a minute, forgetful of the
-sad news which he had brought. Then, turning abruptly toward Duveyrier,
-he said:
-
-“By the way, it’s your wife who sent me to fetch you. Your
-father-in-law is dying.”
-
-“Ah!” simply observed the counselor.
-
-“Old Vabre!” murmured Bachelard. “I expected as much.”
-
-“Pooh! when one gets to the end of one’s reel!” remarked Gueulin,
-philosophically.
-
-“Yes, it’s best to take one’s departure,” added Trublot, in the act of
-sticking a second cigarette paper round his cigar.
-
-The gentlemen at length decided to leave the empty apartment. Octave
-repeated he had given his word of honor that he would bring Duveyrier
-back with him at once, no matter what state he was in. The latter
-carefully shut the door, as though he had left his dead affections
-there; but, down-stairs, he was overcome with shame, and Trublot had to
-return the key to the doorkeeper. Then, outside on the pavement, there
-was a silent exchange of hearty hand-shakes; and, directly the cab had
-driven off with Octave and Duveyrier, Uncle Bachelard said to Gueulin
-and Trublot, as they stood in the deserted street:
-
-“Jove’s thunder! I must show her to you.”
-
-For a minute past he had been stamping about, greatly excited by the
-despair of that big noodle of a counselor, bursting with his own
-happiness, with that happiness which he considered due to his own deep
-malice, and which he could no longer contain.
-
-“You know, uncle,” said Gueulin, “if it’s only to take us as far as the
-door again, and then to leave us——”
-
-“No, Jove’s thunder! you shall see her. It will please me. True, it’s
-nearly midnight, but she shall get up if she’s in bed. You know, she’s
-the daughter of a captain, Captain Menu, and she has a very respectable
-aunt, born at Villeneuve, near Lille, on my word of honor! Messieurs
-Mardienne Brothers, of the Rue Saint-Sulpice, will give her a
-character. Ah! Jove’s thunder! we’re in need of it; you’ll see what
-virtue is!”
-
-And he took hold of their arms, Gueulin on his right, Trublot on his
-left, putting his best foot forward as he started off in quest of a
-cab, to arrive there the sooner.
-
-Meanwhile Octave briefly related to the counselor all he knew of
-Monsieur Vabre’s attack, without hiding that Madame Duveyrier was
-acquainted with the address of the Rue de la Cerraise. After a pause,
-the counselor asked, in a doleful voice:
-
-“Do you think she will forgive me?”
-
-Octave remained silent. The cab continued to roll along, in the
-obscurity lighted up every now and then by a ray from a gas-lamp. Just
-as they were reaching their destination Duveyrier, tortured with
-anxiety, put another question:
-
-“The best thing for me to do for the present is to make it up with my
-wife; do you not think so?”
-
-“It would, perhaps, be wise,” replied the young man, obliged to answer.
-
-Then, Duveyrier felt the necessity of regretting his father-in-law. He
-was a man of great intelligence, with an incredible capacity for work.
-However, they would, very likely, be able to set him on his legs again.
-In the Rue de Choiseul, they found the street-door open, and quite a
-group gathered before Monsieur Gourd’s room. But they held their
-tongues, directly they caught sight of Duveyrier.
-
-“Well?” inquired the latter.
-
-“The doctor is applying mustard poultices to Monsieur Vabre,” replied
-Hippolyte. “Oh! I had such difficulty to find him!”
-
-Up-stairs in the drawing-room, Madame Duveyrier came forward to meet
-them. She had cried a great deal, her eyes sparkled beneath the swollen
-lids. The counselor, full of embarrassment, opened his arms; and he
-embraced her as he murmured:
-
-“My poor Clotilde!”
-
-Surprised at this unusual display of affection, she drew back. Octave
-had kept behind; but he heard the husband add, in a low voice:
-
-“Forgive me, let us forget our grievances on this said occasion. You
-see, I have come back to you, and for always. Ah! I am well punished!”
-
-She did not reply, but disengaged herself. Then, resuming in Octave’s
-presence her attitude of a woman who desires to ignore everything, she
-said:
-
-“I should not have disturbed you, my dear, for I know how important
-that inquiry respect the Rue de Provence is. But I was all alone, I
-felt that your presence was necessary. My poor father is lost. Go and
-see him: you will find the doctor there.”
-
-When Duveyrier had gone into the next room, she drew near to Octave,
-who, so as not to appear to be listening to them, was standing in front
-of the piano.
-
-“Was he there?” asked she briefly.
-
-“Yes, madame.”
-
-“Then, what has happened? what is the matter with him?”
-
-“The person has left him, madame, and taken all the furniture away with
-her. I found him with nothing but a candle between the bare walls.”
-
-Clothilde made a gesture of despair. She understood. An expression of
-repugnance and discouragement appeared on her beautiful face. It was
-not enough that she had lost her father, it seemed as though this
-misfortune was also to serve as a pretext for a reconciliation with her
-husband! She knew him well, he would be forever after her, now that
-there would be nothing elsewhere to protect her; and, in her respect
-for every duty, she trembled at the thought that she would be unable to
-refuse to submit to the abominable service. For an instant, she looked
-at the piano. Bitter tears came to her eyes, as she simply said to
-Octave:
-
-“Thank you, sir.”
-
-They both passed in turn into Monsieur Vabre’s bed-chamber. Duveyrier,
-looking very pale, was listening to Doctor Juillerat, who was giving
-him some explanations in a low voice. It was an attack of serous
-apoplexy; the patient might last till the morrow, but there was not the
-slightest hope of his recovery. Clotilde just at that moment entered
-the room; she heard this giving over of the patient, and dropped into a
-chair, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, already soaked with
-tears, and twisted up, and almost reduced to a pulp. She, however,
-found strength to ask the doctor if her poor father would recover
-consciousness. The doctor had his doubts; and, as though he had
-penetrated the object of the question, he expressed the hope that
-Monsieur Vabre had long since put his affairs in order.
-
-“I presume the family knows what has happened,” said Doctor Juillerat.
-
-“Well! no,” murmured Clotilde. “I received such a shock! My first
-thought was to send Monsieur Mouret for my husband.”
-
-Duveyrier gave her another glance. Now they understood each other. He
-slowly approached the bed, and examined Monsieur Vabre, stretched out
-in his corpse-like stiffness, and whose immovable face was streaked
-with yellow blotches. One o’clock struck. The doctor talked of
-withdrawing, for he had tried all the usual remedies, and could do
-nothing more. He would call again early on the morrow. At length, he
-was going off with Octave, when Madame Duveyrier called the latter
-back.
-
-“We will wait till to-morrow,” said she, “you can send Berthe to me
-under some pretext; I will also get Valérie to come, and they shall
-break the news to my brothers. Ah! poor things, let them sleep in peace
-this night! There is quite enough with our having to watch in tears.”
-
-And she and her husband remained alone with the old man, whose death
-rattle chilled the chamber.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI.
-
-
-When Octave went down on the morrow at eight o’clock, he was greatly
-surprised to find the entire house acquainted with the attack of the
-night before, and the desperate condition of the landlord. The house,
-however, was not concerned about the patient: it was solely interested
-in what he would leave behind him.
-
-The Pichons were seated before some basins of chocolate in their little
-dining-room. Jules called Octave in.
-
-“I say, what a fuss there will be if he dies like that! We shall see
-something funny. Do you know if he has made a will?”
-
-The young man, without answering, asked them where they had heard the
-news. Marie had learnt it at the baker’s; moreover, it crept from story
-to story, and even to the end of the street by means of the servants.
-Then, after slapping Lilitte, who was soaking her fingers in her
-chocolate, the young woman observed in her turn:
-
-“Ah! all that money! If he only thought of leaving us as many sous as
-there are five franc pieces. But there is no fear of that!”
-
-And, as Octave took his departure, she added:
-
-“I have finished your books, Monsieur Mouret. Will you please take them
-when convenient?”
-
-He was hastening down-stairs, feeling anxious, as he recollected having
-promised Madame Duveyrier to send Berthe to her before anything was
-known of the matter, when, on the third floor, he came in contact with
-Campardon, who was going out.
-
-“Well!” said the latter, “so your employer is coming in for something.
-I have heard that the old fellow has close upon six hundred thousand
-francs, besides this property. You see, he spent nothing at the
-Duveyriers’, and he had a good deal left of what he brought from
-Versailles, without counting the twenty and odd thousand francs
-received in rent from the house. Eh? it is a fine cake to share, when
-there are only three to partake of it!”
-
-Whilst talking thus, he continued to go down behind Octave. But, on the
-second floor, they met Madame Juzeur, who was returning from seeing
-what her little maid, Louise, could be doing of a morning, taking over
-an hour to fetch four sous’ worth of milk. She entered naturally into
-the conversation, being very well informed.
-
-“It is not known how he has settled his affairs,” murmured she in her
-gentle way. “There will perhaps be some bother.”
-
-“Ah, well!” said the architect, gayly, “I should like to be in their
-shoes. It would not take long. One makes three equal shares, each takes
-his own, and there you are!”
-
-Madame Juzeur leant over the balusters, then raised her head, and made
-sure that no one else was on the stairs. At length, lowering her voice,
-she observed:
-
-“And if they did not find what they expected? There are rumors about.”
-
-The architect opened his eyes wide with amazement. Then he shrugged his
-shoulders. Pooh! mere gossip! Old Vabre was a miser who hid his savings
-in worsted stockings. And he went off, as he had an appointment at
-Saint-Roch with the Abbé Mauduit.
-
-“My wife complains of you,” said he to Octave, looking back, after
-going down three stairs. “Call in and have a chat with her now and
-then.”
-
-Madame Juzeur detained the young man a moment.
-
-“And I, how you neglect me! I thought you loved me a little. When you
-come, I will let you taste a liquor from the West Indies, oh! something
-delicious!”
-
-Octave at length entered the warehouse. The first person he beheld,
-seated at the cashier’s desk, was Madame Josserand under arms, polished
-up and laced, and her hair already done. Close beside her, Berthe, who
-had no doubt come down in haste, in the charming deshabille of a
-dressing-gown, appeared to be very excited. But they stopped talking on
-catching sight of him, and the mother looked at him with a terrible
-eye.
-
-“So, sir,” said she, “it is thus that you love the firm? You enter into
-the plots of my daughter’s enemies.”
-
-He wished to defend himself, and state the facts of the case. But she
-prevented him from speaking, she accused him of having spent the night
-with the Duveyriers, looking for the will, to insert all sorts of
-things in it. And, as he laughed, asking what interest he could have
-had in doing such a thing, she resumed:
-
-“Your own interest, your own interest. In short! sir, you should have
-hastened to inform us, as God was good enough to make you a witness of
-the occurrence. When one thinks that, had it not been for me, my
-daughter might still have been in ignorance of it! Yes, she would have
-been despoiled, had I not run down-stairs the moment I heard the news.
-Eh! your interest, your interest, sir, who knows? Though Madame
-Duveyrier is very faded, yet some people, not over particular, may
-still find her good enough, perhaps.”
-
-“Oh! mamma!” said Berthe, “Clotilde, who is so virtuous!” But Madame
-Josserand shrugged her shoulders pityingly.
-
-“Pooh! you know very well people will do anything for money!” Octave
-was obliged to relate to them all the circumstances of the attack. They
-exchanged glances: as the mother said, there had evidently been
-maneuvers. Clotilde was really too kind to wish to spare her relations’
-emotions! However, they let the young man start on his work, though
-still having their doubts as to his conduct in the matter. Their lively
-explanation continued:
-
-“And who will pay the fifty thousand francs agreed upon in the
-contract?” said Madame Josserand. “We are not likely to see a single
-one of them when he is dead and buried.”
-
-“Oh! the fifty thousand francs!” murmured Berthe, in an embarrassed
-way. “You know he only agreed, as we did, to pay ten thousand francs
-every six months. The time is not up yet; the best thing is to wait.”
-
-“Wait! wait till he comes back and brings them to you, I suppose! You
-great blockhead, do you want to be robbed? No, no! you must demand them
-at once out of the estate. As for us, we are still alive, thank
-goodness! It is not known whether we shall pay or not; but with him it
-is another thing; as he is dead, he must pay.”
-
-And she made her daughter swear not to yield, for she had never given
-any one the right to take her for a fool.
-
-“Go up too!” she ended by exclaiming, in a cry from her heart: “Auguste
-is too weak; they are sure to be taking him in again!” Then Berthe went
-off up-stairs. Octave, who was arranging the display in the window, had
-listened to what they said. When he found himself alone with Madame
-Josserand, and saw her moving in the direction of the door, he asked
-her, in the hope of a holiday, whether it would not be proper to close
-the warehouse.
-
-“Whatever for?” inquired she. “Wait till he is dead. It is not worth
-while losing a day’s sale.”
-
-Then, as he folded a remnant of poppy-colored silk, she added, to
-soften the harshness of her words:
-
-“Only, you may as well, I think, not put any red in the window.”
-
-Up on the first floor, Berthe found Auguste with his father. The room
-had in no way changed since the day before; it was still dampish and
-silent, save for the same long and painful death-rattle. The old man on
-the bed continued perfectly rigid, in a complete annihilation of all
-feeling and movement.
-
-“Ah! my dear, what a frightful visitation!” said Clotilde, going up to
-and embracing Berthe.
-
-“Why not have informed us of it?” asked the latter, with her mother’s
-affected pout. “We were there to help you to bear it.” Auguste, with a
-glance, begged her to keep silent. The moment for quarreling had not
-arrived. They could wait. Doctor Juillerat, who had already been once,
-was to call again; but he still gave no hope; the patient would not
-live through the day. Auguste was informing his wife of this, when
-Théophile and Valérie entered in their turn. Clotilde at once advanced
-to meet them, and repeated, as she embraced Valérie:
-
-“What a frightful visitation, my dear!”
-
-But Théophile was in a state of great excitement. “So, now,” said he,
-without even lowering his voice, “when one’s father is dying one only
-hears of it through the charcoal dealer. Did you, then, require time to
-rifle his pockets?”
-
-Duveyrier rose up indignantly. But Clotilde motioned him aside, whilst
-she answered her brother very gently:
-
-“Unhappy man! is our father’s death agony not even sacred to you? Look
-at him; behold your work! yes, it is you who have brought him to this,
-by refusing to pay your overdue rent.”
-
-Valérie burst out laughing.
-
-“Come,” said she, “you are not speaking seriously.”
-
-“What! not speaking seriously!” resumed Clotilde, filled with
-indignation. “You know how much he liked to collect his rents. Had you
-really wished to kill him, you could not have acted in a better way.”
-
-And they came to high words; they reciprocally accused one another of
-wishing to lay hands on the estate, when Auguste, still sullen and
-calm, requested them to recollect where they were.
-
-“Keep quiet! You have plenty of time. It is not decent at such a
-moment.”
-
-Then the others, admitting the justice of this observation, settled
-themselves around the bed. A deep silence ensued; again nothing but the
-death rattle was heard in the moist atmosphere of the room. Berthe and
-Auguste were at the dying man’s feet; Valérie and Théophile, being the
-last comers, had been obliged to seat themselves at the table, some
-distance off; whilst Clotilde was at the head of the bed, with her
-husband behind her; and she had pushed her son Gustave, whom the old
-man adored, close up against the edge of the mattresses. They now all
-looked at one another, without exchanging a word. But the bright eyes,
-the tightly-compressed lips, told of the hidden thoughts, the surmises
-full of anxiety and irritation, which were passing in the pale-faced
-heads of those next-of-kin, with their red and swollen eyelids. The
-sight of the collegian, so close to the bed, especially exasperated the
-two young couples; for it was self-evident that the Duveyriers were
-counting on Gustave’s presence to influence the grandfather’s
-affections if he recovered consciousness.
-
-Moreover, this maneuver was a proof that in all probability no will
-existed; and the Vabres glanced covertly at the old iron safe which the
-retired notary had brought with him from Versailles and had had fixed
-in the wall of his bed-chamber. He had a mania for shutting up all
-sorts of things inside it. No doubt the Duveyriers had hastened to
-ransack this safe during the night. Théophile had the idea of laying a
-trap for them to compel them to speak.
-
-“I say,” he at length went and whispered in the counselor’s ear,
-“suppose we send for the notary. Papa may wish to alter his will.”
-
-Duveyrier did not at first hear. As he felt excessively bored in that
-room, he had allowed his thoughts all through the night to revert to
-Clarisse. The wisest thing would decidedly be to make it up with his
-wife; but then the other was so funny, when she threw her chemise over
-her head, with the gesture of a street-arab; and with his vague glance
-fixed on the dying man, he still had visions of her, and would have
-given everything to have had her with him again. Théophile was obliged
-to repeat his question.
-
-“I have questioned Monsieur Renandin,” at length answered the counselor
-in a bewildered way. “There is no will.”
-
-“But here?”
-
-“No more here than at the notary’s.”
-
-Théophile looked at Auguste; was it not sufficiently evident? the
-Duveyriers had searched everything. Clotilde saw the glance, and was
-greatly irritated with her husband. What was the matter with him? was
-grief sending him to sleep? And she added:
-
-“Papa has no doubt done what he thought right. We shall learn it only
-too soon, heaven knows!”
-
-Meanwhile, the hours passed away. At eleven o’clock they had a
-diversion, Doctor Juillerat again calling. The patient’s condition was
-becoming worse and worse, it was now even doubtful whether he would be
-able to recognize his children before dying. And the sobbing started
-afresh when Clémence announced the Abbe Mand-uit. Clotilde, who rose to
-meet him, was the first to receive his consolations. He appeared to be
-deeply affected by the family visitation; he had an encouraging word
-for each. Then, with much tact, he talked of the rites of religion,
-insinuating that they should not let that soul pass away without the
-succor of the Church.
-
-“I had thought of it,” murmured Clotilde.
-
-But Théophile raised objections. The father was not at all religious;
-he had at one time very advanced ideas, for he was a reader of
-Voltaire’s works; in short, the best thing was to do nothing, as they
-were unable to consult him. In the heat of the discussion, he even
-added:
-
-“It is as though you brought the sacrament to that piece of furniture.”
-
-The three women compelled him to leave off. They were all trembling
-with emotion, and said that the priest was right, whilst they excused
-themselves for not having sent for him before, through the confusion in
-which the catastrophe had plunged them. Monsieur Vabre would certainly
-have consented had he been able to speak, for he had a horror of acting
-different to other people. Moreover, the ladies would take the
-responsibility on their own shoulders.
-
-“It should be done, if only on account of the neighbors,” repeated
-Clotilde.
-
-“No doubt,” said the Abbé Mauduit, who hastened to give his approval.
-“A man of your father’s position should set a good example.”
-
-Auguste had no opinion either way. But Duveyrier, aroused from his
-recollections of Clarisse, whose way of putting on her stockings with
-one leg in the air he was just then thinking of, energetically demanded
-the sacraments. They were absolutely necessary; not a member of the
-family should die without them. Doctor Juillerat, who had discreetly
-moved on one side, hiding his freethinker’s disdain, then went up to
-the priest, and said familiarly to him, in a whisper, the same as to a
-colleague often encountered under similar circumstances:
-
-“Be quick; you have no time to lose.”
-
-The priest hastened to take his departure. He announced that he would
-bring the sacrament and the extreme unction, so as to be prepared for
-every emergency. And Théophile, in his obstinacy, murmured:
-
-“Ah, well! so dying people are now made to receive the communion in
-spite of themselves!”
-
-But they all at once experienced a great emotion. On regaining her
-place, Clotilde had found the dying man with his eyes wide open. She
-could not repress a faint cry; the others hastened to the bedside; and
-the old fellow’s glance slowly wandered round the circle, without the
-least movement of his head. Doctor Juillerat, with an air of surprise,
-came and bent over his patient, to follow this last crisis.
-
-“Father, it is us; do you know us?” asked Clotilde.
-
-Monsieur Vabre looked at her fixedly; then his lips moved, but not a
-sound came from them. They were all pushing one another, wishing to
-secure his last word. Valérie, who found herself right at the rear, and
-obliged therefore to stand on tip-toe, said, harshly:
-
-“You are stifling him. Do move away from him. If he desired anything,
-no one would be able to know.”
-
-The others had to draw on one side. And Monsieur Vabre’s eyes were
-indeed looking round the room.
-
-“He wants something, that is certain,” murmured Berthe.
-
-“Here’s Gustave,” said Clotilde. “You see him, do you not? He has come
-expressly from school to embrace you. Kiss your grandfather, my child.”
-
-As the youngster drew back, frightened, she kept him there with her
-arm, whilst she waited a smile on the dying man’s distorted features.
-But Auguste, who had been watching his eyes, declared that he was
-looking at the table; no doubt he wished to write. This caused quite a
-shock. All tried to be first. They brought the table to the bedside,
-and fetched some paper, an inkstand, and a pen. Then they raised him,
-propping him up with three pillows. The doctor gave his consent to all
-this with a simple blink of the eyes.
-
-“Give him the pen,” said Clotilde, quivering, and without leaving go of
-Gustave, whom she continued to hold toward him.
-
-Then came a solemn moment. The relations, pressed round the bed,
-awaited anxiously. Monsieur Vabre, who did not appear to recognize any
-one, had let the penholder drop from his fingers. For a moment his eyes
-wandered over the table, on which was the oak box full of tickets.
-Then, slipping from off his pillows, and falling forward like a piece
-of rag, he stretched out his arm in a final effort, and, plunging his
-hand among the tickets, he dabbled about in the happy manner of a baby
-playing with something dirty. He brightened up, and wished to speak,
-but he could only lisp one syllable, ever the same, one of those
-syllables into which brats in swaddling-clothes put a whole host of
-sensations.
-
-“Ga—ga—ga—ga——-”
-
-It was to the work of his life, to his great statistical study, that he
-was bidding good-bye. Suddenly his head rolled over. He was dead.
-
-“I expected as much,” murmured the doctor, who, seeing how scared the
-relations were, carefully laid him out, and closed his eyes.
-
-Was it possible? Auguste had removed the table; they all remained
-chilled and dumb. Soon their sobs burst forth. Well! as there was
-nothing more to hope for, they would manage all the same to share the
-fortune. And Clotilde, after hastening to send Gustave away, to spare
-him the frightful spectacle, gave free vent to her tears, her head
-leaning against Berthe, who was sobbing the same as Valérie. Standing
-at the window, Théophile and Auguste were roughly rubbing their eyes.
-But Duveyrier, especially, exhibited a most extraordinary amount of
-grief, stifling heart-rending sobs in his handkerchief. No, really, he
-could not live without Clarisse; he would rather die at once, like the
-other one there; and the loss of his mistress, coming in the midst of
-all this mourning, caused him immense bitterness.
-
-“Madame,” announced Clémence, “here are the sacraments.”
-
-Abbé Mauduit appeared on the threshold. Behind his shoulder, one caught
-a glimpse of the face full of curiosity of a boy chorister. On
-beholding the display of grief, the priest questioned the doctor with a
-glance, whilst the latter extended his arms, as though to say it was
-not his fault. So, after mumbling a few prayers, Abbé Mauduit withdrew
-with an air of embarrassment, taking his paraphernalia along with him.
-
-“It is a bad sign,” said Clémence to the other servants, standing in a
-group at the door of the ante-room. “The sacraments are not to be
-brought for nothing. You will see they will be back in the house before
-another year goes by.”
-
-Monsieur Vabre’s funeral did not take place till the day after the
-morrow. Duveyrier, all the same, had inserted in the circulars
-announcing his demise, the words, “provided with the sacraments of the
-Church.”
-
-As the warehouse did not open on that day, Octave was free. This
-holiday delighted him, as, for a long time past, he had wished to put
-his room straight, alter the position of some of the furniture, and
-arrange his few books in a little bookcase he had bought second-hand.
-He had risen earlier than usual, and was just finishing what he was
-about toward eight o’clock on the morning of the funeral, when Marie
-knocked at the door. She had brought him back a heap of books.
-
-“As you do not come for them,” said she, “I am delighted to take the
-trouble to return them to you.”
-
-But she blushingly refused to enter, shocked at the idea of being in a
-young man’s room. Their intimate relations had, moreover, completely
-ceased, in quite a natural manner, because he had not returned to her.
-And she remained quite as affectionate with him, always greeting him
-with a smile whenever they met.
-
-Octave was very merry that morning. He wished to tease her.
-
-“So it is Jules who won’t let you come into my room?” he kept saying.
-“How do you get on with Jules now? Is he amiable? Yes, you know what I
-mean. Answer now!”
-
-She laughed, and was not at all scandalized.
-
-“Why, of course! whenever you take him out, you treat him to vermouth,
-and tell him things which send him home like a madman. Oh I he is too
-amiable. You know, I don’t ask for so much. Still, I prefer it should
-take place at home than elsewhere, that’s very certain.”
-
-She became serious again, and added:
-
-“Here, I have brought you back your Balzac, I was not able to finish
-it. It’s too sad. That gentleman has nothing but disagreeable things to
-tell one!”
-
-When Octave was dressed, he remembered his promise to go and see Madame
-Campardon. He had two good hours to while away, the funeral being timed
-for eleven o’clock, and he thought of utilizing his morning in making a
-few calls in the house. Rose received him in bed: he apologized,
-fearing that he disturbed her; but she herself called him in. They saw
-so little of him, and she was so delighted at having some one to talk
-to.
-
-“Ah! my dear child,” declared she at once, “it is I who ought to be
-below, nailed up between four planks!”
-
-Yes, the landlord was very lucky, he had finished with existence. And
-Octave, surprised at finding her a prey to such melancholy, asked her
-if she felt worse.
-
-“No, thank you. It is always the same. Only there are times when I have
-had enough of it. Achille has been obliged to have a bed put up in his
-work-room, because it annoyed me whenever he moved in the night. And
-you know that Gasparine has yielded to our entreaties, and has left the
-drapery establishment. I am very grateful to her, she nurses me so
-tenderly! Ah! I could no longer live were it not for all these kind
-affections around me!”
-
-Just then, Gasparine, with her submissive air of a poor relation,
-fallen to the rank of a servant, brought her a cup of coffee and some
-bread and butter. She helped her to raise herself, propped her up
-against some cushions, and served her on a little tray covered with a
-napkin. And Rose, dressed in a little loose embroidered jacket, ate
-with a hearty appetite, amidst the linen, edged with lace. She was
-quite fresh, looking younger than ever, and very pretty, with her white
-skin, and short, fair, curly hair.
-
-“Oh! the stomach is all right, it is not the stomach that is ailing,”
-she kept saying, as she soaked her slices of bread and butter.
-
-Two tears dropped into her coffee. Then Gasparine scolded her.
-
-“If you cry, I shall call Achille. Are you not pleased? are you not
-sitting there like a queen?”
-
-When Madame Campardon had finished, and she again found herself alone
-with Octave, she was quite consoled. Out of coquetry, she again
-returned to the subject of death, but with the gentle gayety of a woman
-idling away the morning between her warm sheets. Well! she would go off
-all the same, when her turn came; only, they were right, she was not
-unhappy, she could let herself live; for, in point of fact, they spared
-her all the main cares of life.
-
-Then, as the young man rose to leave, she added:
-
-“Now, do try and come oftener? Amuse yourself well, don’t let the
-funeral make you too sad. One dies a trifle every day, the thing is to
-get used to it.”
-
-It was the little maid Louise who opened the door to Octave at Madame
-Juzeur’s, on the same landing. She ushered him into the drawing-room,
-looked at him a moment as she laughed in her bewildered sort of way,
-and then ended by stating that her mistress was just finishing
-dressing. Madame Juzeur appeared almost at once, dressed in black, and
-looking gentler and more refined than ever in her mourning.
-
-“I felt sure you would call this morning,” sighed she with a weary air.
-“All night long I have been dreaming and seeing you. It is impossible
-to sleep, you understand, with that corpse in the house!”
-
-And she admitted that she had got up three times in the night to look
-under the furniture.
-
-“But you should have called me!” said the young man, gallantly. “Two in
-a bed are never frightened.”
-
-She assumed a charming air of shame.
-
-“Hold your tongue, it’s naughty!”
-
-And she held her open hand over his lips. He was naturally obliged to
-kiss it. Then she spread the fingers out, laughing the while as though
-being tickled. But he, excited by this play, sought to push matters
-farther. He had caught hold of her, and was pressing her against his
-breast, without her making the least attempt to free herself.
-
-In her determination there was a sort of jesuitical reserve, a fear of
-the confessional, a certainty of having her minor sins forgiven, whilst
-the great one would cause her no end of unpleasantness with her
-spiritual director. Then, there were other unavowed sentiments, her
-honor and self-esteem blended together, the coquetry of always having
-the advantage of men by never satisfying them, and a shrewd personal
-enjoyment in being smothered with kisses, without any after
-consequences. She liked this better, and she stuck to it; not a man
-could flatter himself of having succeeded with her, since her husband’s
-cowardly desertion. And she was a respectable woman!
-
-“No, sir; not one! Ah! I can hold up my head, I can! What a number of
-wretched women, in my position, would have misconducted themselves!”
-
-She pushed him gently aside, and rose from the sofa.
-
-“Leave me. It worries me so much, does that corpse downstairs. It seems
-to me that the whole house smells of it.”
-
-Meanwhile the time for the funeral was approaching. She wished to be at
-the church beforehand, so as not to see all the funeral trappings. But,
-while escorting him to the door, she recollected having mentioned her
-liquor; she therefore made him come in again, and fetched the bottle
-and a couple of glasses herself. It was a very sweet cream, with a
-perfume of flowers. When she had drank of it, a greediness, like that
-of a little girl, gave an air of languid delight to her face. She could
-have lived on sugar; vanilla and rose-scented sweeties had the same
-effect on her as an amorous caress.
-
-“It will sustain us,” said she.
-
-And, when he kissed her on the mouth in the ante-room, she closed her
-eyes. Their sugary lips seemed to be melting like sweetmeats.
-
-It was close upon eleven o’clock. The coffin had not been brought down
-for exhibition, as the undertaker’s men; after wasting their time at a
-neighboring wine shop, had not finished putting up the hangings. Octave
-went to have a look out of curiosity. The porch was already closed in
-at the back by a large black curtain, but the men had still to fix the
-hangings over the door. And outside on the pavement a group of
-maid-servants were gossiping with their noses in the air; whilst
-Hippolyte, dressed in deep mourning, hastened on the work with a
-dignified air.
-
-Then Madame Gourd, who had remained in her arm-chair on account of her
-poor legs, rose painfully on her feet. As she was quite unable to get
-even as far as the church, Monsieur Gourd had told her to be sure and
-salute the landlord’s corpse when it passed their room. It was a matter
-of duty. She went to the door with a mourning cap on her head, and
-curtesied as the coffin went by.
-
-At Saint-Roch, Doctor Juillerat made a show of not going inside during
-the ceremony. There was, however, a tremendous crowd, and quite a group
-of men preferred to remain on the steps. The weather was very mild—a
-superb June day. And, as they were unable to smoke, their conversation
-turned upon politics. The principal door was left open, and at moments
-the sound of the organs issued from the church, which was draped in
-black and filled with lighted tapers, looking like so many stars.
-
-“You know that Monsieur Thiers will stand for our district next year,”
-announced Léon Josserand, in his grave way.
-
-“Ah!” said the doctor. “Of course you will not vote for him—you are a
-Republican?”
-
-The young man, whose opinions cooled down the more Madame Dambreville
-introduced him into good society, curtly answered:
-
-“Why not? He is the declared adversary of the Empire.”
-
-Then a heated discussion ensued. Léon talked of tactics, whilst Doctor
-Juillerat stuck to principles. According to the latter, the middle
-classes had had their day; they were an obstacle in the road of the
-Revolution; now that they had acquired property, they barred the future
-with greater obstinacy and blindness than the old nobility.
-
-“You are afraid of everything; you go in for the very worst reaction
-the moment you fancy yourself threatened!”
-
-At this Campardon flew into a passion.
-
-“I, sir, have been a Jacobin and an atheist like you. But, thank
-heaven! reason came to me. No, I will not even stoop to your Monsieur
-Thiers. A blunderhead—a man who amuses himself with chimeras!”
-
-However, all the Liberals present—Monsieur Josserand, Octave, Trublot
-even, who did not care a straw, declared that they would vote for
-Monsieur Thiers. The official candidate was a great chocolate
-manufacturer of the Rue Saint-Honoré, Monsieur Dewinck, whom they
-chaffed immensely. This Monsieur Dewinck had not even the support of
-the clergy, who were uneasy at his relations with the Tuileries.
-Campardon, decidedly gone over to the priests, greeted his name with
-reserve. Then, suddenly changing the subject, he exclaimed:
-
-“Look here! the bullet which wounded your Garibaldi in the foot ought
-to have pierced his heart!”
-
-And, so as not to be seen any longer in the company of these gentlemen,
-he entered the church, where the Abbé Mauduit’s shrill voice was
-responding to the lamentations of the chanters.
-
-“He sleeps there now,” murmured the doctor, shrugging his shoulders.
-“Ah! what a clean sweep ought to be made of it all!” The Roman question
-interested him immensely. Then, as Léon reminded them of the words of
-the Cabinet Minister to the Senate that the Empire had sprung from the
-Revolution, only in order to keep it within bounds, they returned to
-the coming elections. All were agreed upon the necessity of giving the
-Emperor a lesson; but they were beginning to be troubled with anxiety,
-they were already divided respecting the candidates, whose names gave
-rise to visions of the red specter at night time. Close to them
-Monsieur Gourd, dressed as correctly as a diplomatist, listened with
-supreme contempt to what they were saying; he was for the powers that
-be, pure and simple.
-
-The service was drawing to a close; a long, melancholy wail which
-issued from the depths of the church, silenced them.
-
-“_Requiescat in pace!_”
-
-“_Amen!_”
-
-Whilst the body was being lowered into the grave at the Père-Lachaise
-cemetery, Trublot, who had not let go of Octave’s arm, saw him exchange
-another smile with Madame Juzeur.
-
-“Ah! yes,” murmured he, “the very unhappy little woman. Anything you
-like except that!”
-
-Octave started. What! Trublot also! The latter made a gesture of
-disdain: no, not he, one of his friends. And, moreover, everybody who
-cared for that kind of thing.
-
-“Excuse me,” added he. “As the old fellow’s now stowed away, I will go
-and render Duveyrier an account of something which I undertook to see
-after for him.”
-
-The relations were retiring, silent and doleful. Then Trublot detained
-the counselor behind the others, to tell him that he had seen
-Clarisse’s maid; but he did not know the new address, the maid having
-left Clarisse the day before she moved out, after a battle royal. It
-was the last hope which had flown. Duveyrier buried his face in his
-handkerchief, and rejoined the other relations.
-
-That very evening quarrels commenced, The family found itself in the
-presence of a disaster. Monsieur Vabre, with that skeptical
-carelessness which notaries occasionally display, had not left any
-will. All the furniture was ransacked in vain, and the worst was that
-there was not a rap of the expected six or seven hundred thousand
-francs, neither money, title-deeds nor shares; they discovered merely
-seven hundred and thirty-four francs in ten-sou pieces, the hoard of a
-silly, paralytic old man. And undeniable traces, a note-book covered
-with figures, letters from stockbrokers, opened the eyes of the
-next-of-kin, pale with passion, to the old fellow’s secret vice, an
-ungovernable passion for gambling, an unskillful and desperate craving
-for stock-jobbing, which he hid behind the innocent mania for his great
-statistical work. All had been engulfed, the money he had saved at
-Versailles, the rents of his house, even the sous he had sneaked from
-his children; and, during the latter years, he had gone to the point of
-mortgaging the house for one hundred and fifty thousand francs, at
-three different periods. The family stood thunder-stricken before the
-famous safe, in which it thought the fortune was locked up, but which
-simply contained a host of singular things, broken scraps picked up in
-the various rooms, pieces of old iron, fragments of glass, ends of
-ribbon, jumbled amidst wrecked toys stolen from young Gustave in bygone
-days.
-
-Then the most violent recriminations were indulged in. They called the
-old fellow a swindler. It was disgraceful to fritter away his money
-thus, like a sly person who does not care a straw for any one, and who
-acts an infamous comedy in order to get people to continue to coddle
-him. The Duveyriers were inconsolable at having boarded him for twelve
-years, without once asking him for the eighty thousand francs of
-Clotilde’s dowry, of which they had only had ten thousand francs. It
-was always ten thousand francs, rejoined Théophile, who had not had a
-sou of the fifty thousand promised him at the time of his marriage. But
-Auguste, in his turn, complained more bitterly still, reproaching his
-brother with having at least secured the interest of the money during
-three months; whilst he would never have a shadow of the fifty thousand
-francs inserted in his contract. And Berthe, incited by her mother,
-said some very unpleasant things with an indignant air at having
-entered a dishonest family. And Valérie, bemoaning the rent she had so
-long been stupid enough to pay the old chap, for fear of being
-disinherited, could not stomach it, regretting the money as though it
-had been used for an immoral purpose, employed in supporting
-debauchery.
-
-For fully a fortnight all these stories formed an exciting topic of
-conversation to the occupants of the house. The long and short of it
-was that there remained nothing but the building, estimated to be worth
-three hundred thousand francs; when the mortgage had been paid off,
-there would be about half that sum to divide between Monsieur Vabre’s
-three children. It was fifty thousand francs for each; a meager
-consolation, but they would have to make the most of it. Théophile and
-Auguste had already decided what they would do with their shares. It
-was settled that the building should be sold. Duveyrier undertook all
-the arrangements in his wife’s name. Then, on the day of the sale,
-after five or six bids, Maître Renandin abruptly knocked the house down
-to Duveyrier for the sum of one hundred and forty-nine thousand francs.
-There was not even sufficient to pay the mortgage. It was the final
-blow.
-
-One never knew the particulars of the terrible scene which was enacted
-that same evening at the Duveyriers’. The solemn walls of the house
-stifled the sounds. Théophile most probably called his brother-in-law a
-scoundrel: he publicly accused him of having fought over the notary, by
-promising to get him appointed a justice of the peace. As for Auguste,
-he simply talked of the assize-court, where he wished to drag Maître
-Renandin, whose rogueries were the talk of the neighborhood. But,
-though one always ignored how it was that the relatives got to the
-point of knocking each other about, as rumor said they did, one heard
-the last words exchanged on the threshold, words which had an
-unpleasant ring in the respectable severity of the staircase.
-
-“Dirty scoundrel!” shouted Auguste. “You sentence people to penal
-servitude who have not done nearly so much!”
-
-Théophile, who came out last, held the door, whilst he almost choked
-with rage and coughing. .
-
-“Robber! robber! Yes, robber! And you, too, Clotilde; do you hear?
-robber!”
-
-He swung the door to so roughly that all the other doors on the
-staircase shook. Monsieur Gourd, who was listening, was quite alarmed.
-He darted a searching glance at the different floors, but he merely
-caught sight of Madame Juzeur’s sharp profile. Arching his back, he
-returned on tiptoe to his room, where he resumed his dignified
-demeanor. One could deny everything. He, delighted, considered the new
-landlord in the right.
-
-A few days later there was a reconciliation between Auguste and his
-sister. The whole house was amazed. Octave had been seen to go to the
-Duveyriers. The counselor, feeling anxious, had agreed not to charge
-any rent for the warehouse for five years, thus shutting one of the
-grumbler’s mouths. When Théophile learnt this, he went with his wife
-and had another row, this time with his brother. So he had sold
-himself; he had gone over to the bandits! But Madame Josserand happened
-to be in the shop, and he was soon shut up. She plainly advised Valérie
-not to sell herself any more than her daughter had sold herself. And
-Valérie had to beat a retreat, exclaiming:
-
-“Then, we’re the only ones who get nothing? May the devil take me if I
-pay my rent! I’ve a lease. The convict won’t dare to turn us out. And
-as for you, my little Berthe, we’ll see one day what it’ll cost to have
-you!”
-
-The doors banged again. The two families were sworn enemies for life.
-Octave, who had rendered some services, was present, and entered into
-the private affairs of the family. Berthe almost fainted in his arms,
-whilst Auguste was ascertaining whether the customers had overheard
-anything. Even Madame Josserand confided in the young man. She,
-moreover, continued to judge the Duveyriers very severely.
-
-“The rent is something,” said she. “But I want the fifty thousand
-francs.”
-
-“Of course, if you paid yours,” Berthe ventured to observe.
-
-The mother did not appear to understand.
-
-“You hear me, I want them! No, no; he must be laughing too much in his
-grave, that old scoundrel Vabre. I will not let him boast of having
-taken me in. What rascals there are in the world! to promise money one
-does not possess! Oh! they will pay you, my daughter, or I will dig him
-up again and spit in his face!”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XII.
-
-
-One morning that Berthe happened to be at her mother’s, Adèle came and
-said with a scared look that Monsieur Saturnin was there with a man.
-Doctor Chassagne, the director of the Asile des Moulineaux, had already
-warned the parents several times that he would he unable to keep their
-son, for he did not consider him sufficiently mad. And, hearing of the
-signature which Berthe had obtained from her brother for the three
-thousand francs, dreading being compromised in the matter, he suddenly
-sent him home to his family.
-
-It created quite a scare. Madame Josserand, who was afraid of being
-strangled, wished to argue with the man. But all she could get out of
-him was:
-
-“The director told me to inform you that when one is sufficiently
-sensible to give money to one’s parents, one is sensible enough to live
-with them.”
-
-“But he is mad, sir! he will murder us.”
-
-“Anyhow, he is not too mad to sign his name!” answered the man, going
-off.
-
-However, Saturnin came home very quietly, with his hands in his
-pockets, just as though he had returned from a stroll in the Tuileries
-gardens. He did not even allude to where he had been staying. He
-embraced his father, who was crying, and likewise heartily kissed his
-mother and his sister Hortense, whilst they both trembled tremendously.
-Then, when he caught sight of Berthe, he was indeed delighted, and
-caressed her with all the pretty ways of a little boy. She at once took
-advantage of his affected and confused condition to inform him of her
-marriage. He displayed no anger, not appearing at first to understand,
-as though he had forgotten his former fits of passion. But when she
-wished to return to her home down-stairs, he began to howl; he did not
-mind whether she was married or not, so long as she remained where she
-was, always with him and close to him. Then, seeing her mother’s
-frightened looks as she ran and locked herself in another room, it
-occurred to Berthe to take Saturnin to live with her. They would be
-able to find him something to do in the basement of the warehouse,
-though it were only to tie up parcels.
-
-That same evening, Auguste, in spite of his evident repugnance, acceded
-to Berthe’s desire. They had scarcely been married three months and a
-secret disunion was already cropping up between them; it was the
-collision of two different constitutions and educations, a surly,
-fastidious and passionless husband, and a lively woman who had been
-reared in the hot-house of false Parisian luxury, who played fast and
-loose with existence, so as to enjoy it all alone like a spoiled and
-selfish child.
-
-The husband’s main revolts were on account of these too glaring
-costumes, the usefulness of which he was unable to see. Why dress
-himself thus above one’s means and position in life? What need was
-there to spend in such a manner the money that was so necessary for his
-business? He generally said that when one sold silks to other women,
-one should wear woolens oneself.
-
-As a result of matrimony, Berthe was gradually acquiring her mother’s
-build. She was growing fatter, and resembled her more than she had ever
-done before. She was no longer the girl who did not seem to care about
-anything and who quietly submitted to the maternal cuffs; she had grown
-into a woman, who was rapidly becoming more obstinate every day, and
-who had formed the intention of making everything bow to her pleasure.
-Auguste looked at her at times, astounded at such a sudden change. At
-first, she had felt a vain joy in throning herself at the cashier’s
-desk, in a studied costume of elegant simplicity. Then she had soon
-wearied of trade, suffering from constant want of exercise, threatening
-to fall ill, yet resigning herself to it all the same, but with the
-attitude of a victim who sacrifices her life to the prosperity of her
-home. And, from that moment, a struggle at every hour of the day had
-commenced between her and her husband. She shrugged her shoulders
-behind his back, the same as her mother did behind her father’s; she
-went again through all the family quarrels which had disturbed her
-youth, treating her husband as the gentleman who had simply got to pay,
-overwhelming him with that contempt for the male sex which was, so to
-say, the basis of her education.
-
-“Ah! mamma was right!” she would exclaim after each of their quarrels.
-
-Yet, in the early days, Auguste had tried to please her. He liked
-peace, he longed for a quiet little home, he already had his whims like
-an old man, and had got thoroughly into the habits of his chaste and
-economical bachelor life. His old lodging on the “entresol” no longer
-sufficing, he had taken the suite of apartments on the second floor,
-overlooking the courtyard, and thought himself sufficiently insane in
-spending five thousand francs on furniture. Berthe, at first delighted
-with her room upholstered in thuja and blue silk, had shown the
-greatest contempt for it after visiting a friend who had just married a
-banker. Then quarrels arose with respect to the servants. The young
-woman, used to the waiting of poor semi-idiotic girls, who had their
-bread even cut for them, insisted on their doing things which set them
-crying in their kitchens for afternoons together. Auguste, not
-particularly tender-hearted as a rule, having imprudently gone and
-consoled one, had to turn her out of the place an hour later on account
-of madame’s tears, and her request that he should, choose between her
-and that creature.
-
-Afterward a wench had come who appeared to have made up her mind to
-stop. Her name was Rachel, and she was probably a Jewess, but she
-denied it, and let no one know whence she had sprung. She was about
-twenty-five years old, with harsh features, a large nose, and very
-black hair. At first, Berthe declared that she would not allow her to
-stop two days; then, in presence of her dumb obedience, her air of
-understanding and saying nothing, she had little by little allowed
-herself to be satisfied, as though she had yielded in her turn, and was
-keeping her for her good qualities, and also through an unavowed fear.
-Rachel, who submitted without a murmur to the hardest tasks,
-accompanied by dry bread, took possession of the establishment, with
-her eyes open and her mouth shut, like a servant of foresight biding
-the fatal and foreseen hour when her mistress would be able to refuse
-her nothing.
-
-Meanwhile, from the ground floor of the house to the servants’ story, a
-great calm had succeeded to the emotions caused by Monsieur Vabre’s
-sudden death. The staircase had again become as peaceful as a church;
-not a breath issued from behind the mahogany doors, which were forever
-closed upon the profound respectability of the various homes. There was
-a rumor that Duveyrier had become reconciled with his wife. As for
-Valérie and Théophile, they spoke to no one, but passed by stiff and
-dignified. Never before had the house exhaled a more strict severity of
-principles. Monsieur Gourd, in his cap and slippers, wandered about it
-with the air of a solemn beadle.
-
-One evening, toward eleven o’clock, Auguste continued going to the door
-of the warehouse, stretching his head out, and glancing up and down the
-street. An impatience which had increased little by little was
-agitating him. Berthe, whom her mother and sister had fetched away
-during dinner, without even giving her time to finish her dessert, had
-not returned home after an absence of more than three hours, and in
-spite of her distinct promise to be back by closing time.
-
-“Ah! good heavens! good heavens!” he ended by saying, clasping his
-hands together, and making his fingers crack.
-
-And he stood still before Octave, who was ticketing some remnants of
-silk on a counter. At that late hour of the evening, no customer ever
-appeared in that out-of-the-way end of the Rue de Choiseul. The shop
-was merely kept open to put things straight.
-
-“Surely you know where the ladies have gone?” inquired Auguste of the
-young man.
-
-The latter raised his eyes with an innocent and surprised air.
-
-“But, sir, they told you. To a lecture.”
-
-“A lecture, a lecture,” grumbled the husband. “Their lecture was over
-at ten o’clock. Respectable women should be home at this hour!”
-
-Then he resumed his walk, casting side glances at his assistant, whom
-he suspected of being an accomplice of the ladies, or at least of
-excusing them. Octave, also feeling anxious, slyly observed him. He had
-never before seen him so nervously excited. What was it all about? And,
-as he turned his head, he caught sight of Saturnin at the other end of
-the shop cleaning a looking-glass with a sponge dipped in spirit.
-Little by little, the family set the madman to do housework, so that he
-might at least earn his food. But that evening Saturnin’s eyes sparkled
-strangely. He crept behind Octave, and said, in a very low voice:
-
-“Beware of him. He has found a paper. Yes, he has a paper in his
-pocket. Look out, if it’s anything of yours!”
-
-And he quickly resumed rubbing his glass. Octave did not understand.
-For some time past the madman had been displaying a singular affection
-for him, like the caress of an animal yielding to an instinct. Why did
-he speak to him of a paper? He had written no letter to Berthe; as yet
-he only ventured to look at her with tender glances, watching for an
-opportunity of making her some trifling present. It was a tactic he had
-adopted after deep reflection.
-
-“Ten minutes past eleven!—damnation! damnation!” suddenly exclaimed
-Auguste, who never swore.
-
-But at that very moment the ladies returned. Berthe had on a delicious
-dress, of pink silk, embroidered over with white jet, whilst her
-sister, always in blue, and her mother, always in mauve, still wore
-their glaring and laboriously obtained costumes, altered every season.
-Madame Josserand, broad and imposing, entered first, so as at once to
-nip in the bud the reproaches which all three had just foreseen, at a
-council held at the end of the street, her son-in-law would begin to
-make. She even deigned to explain that they were late through having
-loitered before the shop-windows. But Auguste, who was very pale, did
-not utter a single complaint; he answered curtly; it was evident he was
-keeping it in and waiting. For a moment longer, the mother, who felt
-the coming storm through her great knowledge of domestic broils, tried
-to intimidate him; then she was obliged to go up-stairs, merely adding:
-
-“Good night, my child. And sleep well, you know, if you wish to live
-long.”
-
-Directly she had gone, Auguste, losing all patience, forgetting that
-Octave and Saturnin were present, withdrew a crumpled paper from his
-pocket, and thrust it under Berthe’s nose, whilst he stammered out:
-
-“What’s that?”
-
-Berthe had not even had time to take her bonnet off. She turned very
-red.
-
-“That?” said she; “why, it’s a bill!”
-
-“Yes, a bill! and for false hair, too! Is it possible? for hair! as
-though you had none left on your head! But that’s not all. You’ve paid
-the bill; tell me, what did you pay it with?”
-
-The young woman, becoming more and more confused, ended by replying:
-
-“With my own money, of course!”
-
-“Your money! but you haven’t any. Some one must have given you some, or
-else you have taken it from here. And, listen! I know all; you’re in
-debt. I will tolerate what you like; but no debts, understand me, no
-debts!—never!”
-
-And he put into these words all the horror of a prudent fellow, all his
-commercial integrity, which consisted in never owing anything. For a
-long while he relieved his pent-up feelings, reproaching his wife with
-her constant goings-out, her visits all over Paris, her dresses, her
-luxury, which he could not provide for. Was it sensible for people in
-their position to stop out till eleven o’clock at night, with pink silk
-dresses embroidered with white jet? When one had such tastes as those,
-one should bring five hundred thousand francs as a marriage portion.
-Moreover, he knew who was the guilty one; it was the silly mother who
-brought up her daughters to squander fortunes, without even being able
-to give them so much as a chemise on their wedding-day.
-
-“Don’t say a word against mamma!” cried Berthe, raising her head and
-thoroughly exasperated at last. “No one can reproach her with anything;
-she has done her duty. And your family—it’s a nice one! People who
-killed their father!”
-
-Octave had buried himself in his tickets, and pretended not to hear.
-But he followed the quarrel from out of the corner of his eye, and
-especially watched Saturnin, who was all in a tremble, and had left off
-rubbing the glass, his fists clenched, his eyes glaring, ready to
-spring at the husband’s throat.
-
-“Let us leave our families alone,” resumed the latter. “We have quite
-enough with our own home. Listen! you must alter your ways, for I will
-not give another sou for all this tomfoolery. Oh! I have quite made up
-my mind. Your place is here at the till, in a quiet dress, like a woman
-who has some respect for herself. And if you incur any more debts,
-we’ll see.”
-
-Berthe was almost stifling, in presence of that brutal husband’s foot
-set down upon her habits, her pleasures, and her dresses. It was the
-extinction of all she loved, of all she had dreamed of when marrying.
-But, with a woman’s tactics, she hid the wound from which her heart was
-bleeding; she gave a pretext to the passion which was swelling her
-face, and repeated more violently than ever:
-
-“I will not permit you to insult mamma!”
-
-Auguste shrugged his shoulders.
-
-“Your mother! Listen? you’re like her, you’re quite ugly, when you put
-yourself in that state. Yes, I scarcely know you; it is she herself. On
-my word, it quite frightens me!”
-
-At this, Berthe calmed down, and, looking him full in the face,
-exclaimed:
-
-“Only go and tell mamma what you were saying just now, and see how
-quickly she’ll show you the door.”
-
-“Ah! she’ll show me the door!” yelled the husband, in a fury. “Well,
-then! I’ll go up and tell her at once.”
-
-And he did indeed move toward the door. It was time he went, for
-Saturnin, with his wolf-like eyes, was treacherously advancing to
-strangle him from behind. The young woman had dropped into a chair,
-where she was murmuring, in a low voice:
-
-“Ah! good heavens! I’d take care not to marry him, if I had my choice
-over again!”
-
-Up-stairs, Monsieur Josserand, greatly surprised, answered the door,
-Adèle having just gone up to bed. As he was then preparing to pass the
-night in addressing wrappers, in spite of the ill-health he had been
-lately complaining of, it was with a certain embarrassment, a shame at
-being found out, that he ushered his son-in-law into the dining-room;
-and he spoke of some pressing work, a copy of the last inventory of the
-Saint Joseph glass factory. But, when Auguste deliberately accused his
-daughter, reproaching her with running into debt, relating all the
-quarrel brought about by the matter of the false hair, the poor old
-man’s hands were seized with a nervous trembling. Struck to the heart,
-he could only manage to stammer out a few words, whilst his eyes filled
-with tears. His daughter in debt, living as he had lived himself, in
-the midst of constant matrimonial squabbles! All the unhappiness of his
-life was then going to be gone through again in the person of his
-daughter! And another fear almost froze him on his chair: he dreaded
-every minute to hear his son-in-law broach the money question, demand
-the dowry, and call him a thief. No doubt the young man knew
-everything, as he burst in upon them at past eleven o’clock at night.
-
-“My wife is going to bed,” stammered he, his head in a whirl. “It is
-useless to disturb her, is it not? I am really amazed at the things you
-have told me! Poor Berthe is not wicked, though, I assure you. Be
-indulgent. I will speak to her. As for ourselves, my dear Auguste, we
-have done nothing, I think, which can displease you.”
-
-And he sounded him, so to speak, with his glance, already reassured, as
-he saw that he could know nothing as yet, when Madame Josserand
-appeared on the threshold of the bed-room. She was in her night-gown,
-all white and terrible. Auguste, though greatly excited, drew back. No
-doubt she had been listening at the door, for she commenced with a
-direct thrust.
-
-“It’s not your ten thousand francs you’ve come for, I suppose? There
-are still two months before the time they become due. And in two
-months’ time we will pay them to you, sir. We don’t die to get out of
-our engagements.”
-
-This superb assurance completely overwhelmed Monsieur Josserand.
-However, Madame Josserand continued dumbfounding her son-in-law by the
-most extraordinary declarations, without allowing him time to speak.
-
-“You’re by no means smart, sir. When you’ve made Berthe ill, you’ll
-have to call in the doctor, and that will occasion some expense at the
-chemist’s, and it will still be you who’ll have to pay. A little while
-ago, I went off, when I saw that you were bent on making a fool of
-yourself. Do as you like! Beat your wife, my maternal heart is easy,
-for God is watching, and retribution is never long in coming!”
-
-At length Auguste was able to state his grievances. He returned to the
-constant goings-out, the dresses, and was even so bold as to condemn
-the way in which Berthe had been brought up. Madame Josserand listened
-to him with an air of supreme contempt. Then, when he had finished, she
-retorted:
-
-“What you say is so absurd that it does not deserve an answer, my dear
-fellow! I’ve my conscience, and that suffices me. A man to whom I
-confided an angel! I’ll have nothing more to do with the matter, as I’m
-insulted. Settle it between yourselves.”
-
-“But your daughter will end by deceiving me, madame!” exclaimed
-Auguste, again overcome with passion.
-
-Madame Josserand, who was going off, turned round, and looked him full
-in the face.
-
-“You’re doing all you can to bring such a thing about, sir.”
-
-And she retired into her room with the dignity of a colossal
-triple-breasted Ceres draped in white.
-
-The father kept Auguste a few minutes longer. He was conciliatory,
-giving him to understand that with women it was best to put up with
-everything, and finally sent him off calmed and resolved to forgive.
-But when the poor old man found himself alone again in the dining-room,
-seated in front of his little lamp, he burst into tears. It was all
-over; there was no longer any happiness; he would never have time
-enough of a night to address sufficient wrappers to enable him to
-assist his daughter clandestinely. The thought that his child might run
-into debt crushed him like some personal fault. And he felt ill; he had
-just received another blow; strength would fail him one of those
-nights. At length, restraining his tears, he painfully recommenced his
-work.
-
-Down-stairs in the shop, her face buried in her hands, Berthe had
-remained for a while immovable. After putting up the shutters, the
-porter had returned to the basement. Then Octave thought he might
-approach the young woman. Ever since the husband’s departure, Saturnin
-had been making signs to him over his sister’s head, as though inviting
-him to console her. Now he was beaming and multiplied his winks;
-fearing that he was not understood, he emphasized his advice by blowing
-kisses into space, with a child’s overflowing effusion.
-
-“What! you want me to kiss her?” asked Octave by signs.
-
-“Yes, yes,” replied the madman, with an enthusiastic nod of the head.
-
-And, when he beheld the young man smiling before his sister, who had
-noticed nothing, he seated himself on the floor, behind a counter,
-hiding, so as not to be in their way. In the profound silence of the
-closed warehouse the gas-jets were still burning with tall flames.
-There reigned a death-like peacefulness, a closeness of atmosphere
-mingled with the unsavory odor of the dressed silk.
-
-“Do not take it so much to heart, madame, I beg of you,” said Octave,
-in his caressing tones.
-
-She started at finding him so close to her.
-
-“Excuse me, Monsieur Octave. It is not my fault that you assisted at
-this painful scene. And I must ask you to excuse my husband, for he
-could not have been very well this evening. You know that in all
-families there are little unpleasantnesses——”
-
-Sobs choked her utterance. The mere idea of extenuating her husband’s
-faults before the world had brought on a copious flood of tears, which
-quite unnerved her. Saturnin raised his anxious face on a level with
-the counter; but he dived down again directly he saw Octave take hold
-of his sister’s hand.
-
-“I beg of you, madame, summon up a little courage,” said the assistant.
-
-“No, I cannot help it,” stammered she. “You were there—you heard
-everything. For ninety-five francs’ worth of hair! As though all women
-did not wear false hair now! But he knows nothing—he understands
-nothing. He knows no more about women than the Grand Turk; he has never
-had anything to do with them, no never, Monsieur Octave! Ah! I am very
-miserable!”
-
-She said all this in her feverish spite. A man whom she pretended she
-had married for love, and who would soon allow her to go without a
-chemise! Did she not fulfill her duties? Had he the least negligence to
-reproach her with? If he had not flown into a passion on the day when
-she asked him for some hair, she would never have been reduced to the
-necessity of paying for it out of her own pocket! And for the least
-thing there was the same story over again; she could never express a
-wish, desire the most insignificant article of dress, without coming
-into contact with his ferocious sullenness. She naturally had her
-pride, so she no longer asked for anything, preferring to go without
-necessaries rather than to humiliate herself to no purpose. Thus, for a
-fortnight past, she had been ardently longing for a fancy set of
-ornaments which she had seen with her mother in a jeweler’s window in
-the Palais-Royal.
-
-“You know, three stars in paste for the hair. Oh! a mere trifle—a
-hundred francs, I think. Well! although I spoke of them from morning
-till night, don’t imagine that my husband understood!”
-
-Octave would never have dared to hope for such an opportunity. He
-hastened matters.
-
-“Yes, yes, I know. You mentioned the subject several times in my
-presence. And, dear me! madame, your parents received me so well; you
-yourself have welcomed me so kindly, that I thought I might venture——”
-
-As he spoke he withdrew from his pocket an oblong box, in which the
-three stars were sparkling on some cotton wool. Berthe had risen from
-her seat, deeply affected.
-
-“But it is impossible, sir. I will not—you were very wrong indeed.”
-
-He pretended to be very simple, inventing various pretexts. In the
-South such things were done constantly. And, besides, the ornaments
-were of no value whatever. She had turned quite rosy, and was no longer
-weeping, whilst her eyes, fixed on the box, acquired a fresh luster
-from the sparkling of the imitation gems.
-
-“I beg of you, madame. Just to show me that you are satisfied with my
-work.”
-
-“No, really, Monsieur Octave; do not insist. You pain me.”
-
-Saturnin had reappeared, and he looked at the jewels in ecstasy, as
-though he were beholding some reliquary. But his sharp ear heard
-Auguste’s returning footsteps. He warned Berthe by making a slight
-noise with his tongue. Then the latter came to a decision just as her
-husband was about to enter.
-
-“Well! listen,” murmured she rapidly, popping the box into her pocket,
-“I’ll say that my sister Hortense made me a present of them.”
-
-Auguste gave orders for the gas to be turned out, and then went up with
-her to bed, without saying a word about the quarrel, delighted at heart
-at finding her all right again and very lively, as though nothing had
-taken place between them. The warehouse became wrapped in intense
-darkness; and, just as Octave was also retiring, he felt hot hands
-squeezing his own almost sufficient to crush them in the obscurity. It
-was Saturnin, who slept in the basement.
-
-“Friend—friend—friend,” repeated the madman, with an outburst of wild
-tenderness.
-
-Disconcerted in his expectations, Octave little by little became seized
-with a young and passionate desire for Berthe. If he had at first been
-merely following his old plan, his wish to succeed by the aid of women,
-he now no longer beheld in her the employer simply, whose possession
-would place the whole establishment in his hands; he desired above all
-the Parisian, that adorable creature of luxury and grace, which he had
-never had an opportunity of tasting at Marseilles; he felt a sudden
-hunger for her little gloved hands, her tiny feet encased in
-high-heeled boots, her delicate neck hidden by gewgaws, even for the
-questionable unseen, the make-shifts which, he suspected, were covered
-by her gorgeous costumes; and this sudden attack of passion went so far
-as to get the better of his shrewd economical nature to the extent of
-causing him to squander in presents and all sorts of other expenses the
-five thousand francs which he had brought with him from the South, and
-had already doubled by financial operations which he never mentioned to
-anybody.
-
-On the morrow of the quarrel, Octave, delighted at having prevailed on
-the young woman to accept his present, thought that it would be well
-for him to ingratiate himself with the husband. Therefore, as he took
-his meals at his employer’s table—the latter being in the habit of
-feeding his assistants, so as always to have them at hand—he showed him
-the utmost attention, listened to him at desserts and warmly approved
-all he said. He even went so far in private as to appear to sympathize
-with his complaints against his wife, pretending, too, to watch her,
-and making him little reports. Auguste felt greatly touched; he
-admitted one night to the young man that he had been on the point of
-discharging him, under the idea that he was conniving with his
-mother-in-law.
-
-“You understand me, you do!” he would say to the young man. “I merely
-want peace. Beyond that I don’t care a hang, virtue excepted, of
-course, and providing my wife doesn’t carry off the cash-box. Eh? am I
-not reasonable? I don’t ask her for anything extraordinary?”
-
-And Octave lauded his wisdom, and they celebrated together the
-sweetness of an uneventful existence, year after year, always the same,
-passed in measuring off silk. One evening he had alarmed Auguste by
-reverting to his dream of vast modern bazars, and by advising him, as
-he had advised Madame Hédouin, to purchase the adjoining house, so as
-to enlarge his premises. Auguste, whose head was already splitting
-between his four counters, had looked at him with the frightened air of
-a tradesman accustomed to dividing farthings into four, that he had
-hastened to withdraw his suggestion and to go into raptures over the
-honest security of small dealings.
-
-Days passed by; Octave was making his little nest in the place, a cozy
-nest lined with wool which would keep him nice and warm. The husband
-esteemed him; Madame Josserand herself, with whom, however, he avoided
-being too polite, looked at him encouragingly. As for Berthe, she was
-becoming charmingly familiar with him. But his great friend was
-Saturnin, whose dumb affection he felt was increasing daily—a faithful
-dog’s devotion which grew as his longing for the young woman became
-more intense. Toward every one else the madman displayed a gloomy
-jealousy; a man could not approach his sister without his becoming at
-once uneasy, curling up his lips, and preparing to bite. But if, on the
-contrary, Octave leant freely toward her, and caused her to laugh with
-the soft and tender laughter of a happy mistress, he laughed himself
-with delight, and his face reflected a little of their sensual joy. The
-poor creature seemed to feel a gratitude full of happiness for the
-chosen lover. He would detain the latter in all the corners, casting
-mistrustful glances about; then, if he found they were alone, he would
-speak to him of her, always repeating the same stories in broken
-phrases.
-
-“When she was little, she had tiny limbs as large as that; and already
-plump, and quite rosy, and so gay; then, she used to sprawl about on
-the floor. It amused me; I would go down on my knees and watch her.
-Then, bang! bang! bang! she would kick me in the stomach, and I would
-be so pleased, oh! so pleased!”
-
-Octave thus learnt all about Berthe’s childhood, with its little
-ailments, its playthings, its growth of a charming, uncontrolled little
-creature.
-
-His eyes lighted up; he laughed and cried, just as though these events
-had occurred the day before. From his broken sentences the history of
-this strange affection could be spun together: his poor, half-witted
-devotion at the little patient’s bedside, when she had been given up by
-the doctors, his heart and body devoted to the dying darling, whom he
-nursed in her nudity with all the tenderness of a mother; his affection
-and his desires had been arrested there, checked forevermore by this
-drama of suffering, from the shock of which he never recovered; and,
-from that time, in spite of the ingratitude which followed the
-recovery, Berthe remained everything to him, a mistress before whom he
-trembled, a child and a sister whom he had saved from death, an idol
-which he worshiped with a jealous adoration. So that he pursued the
-husband with the furious hatred of a displeased lover, never at a loss
-for ill-natured remarks as he opened his heart to Octave.
-
-“He’s got his eye bunged up again. His headache’s becoming a
-nuisance!—You heard him dragging his feet about yesterday—Look, there
-he is squinting into the street. Eh? isn’t he a fool?—Dirty beast,
-dirty beast!”
-
-And Auguste could scarcely move without angering the madman. Then would
-come the disquieting proposals.
-
-“If you like, we’ll bleed him like a pig between us.”
-
-Octave would calm him. Then, on his quiet days, Saturnin would go from
-Octave to the young woman, with an air of delight, repeating what one
-had said about the other, doing their errands, and acting like a
-continual bond of tenderness between them. He would have thrown himself
-on the floor at their feet, to serve them as a carpet.
-
-Berthe had not again alluded to the present. She did not seem to notice
-Octave’s trembling attentions, but treated him as a friend, without the
-least confusion. He had never before been so careful in his dress, and
-he was ever caressing her with his eyes of the color of old gold, and
-whose velvety softness he deemed irresistible.
-
-One day, however, she experienced a great emotion. On returning from a
-dog-show, Octave beckoned to her to descend to the basement; and there
-handed her a bill, amounting to sixty-two francs, for some embroidered
-stockings which had been brought during her absence. She turned quite
-pale, and in a cry that came from her heart, at once asked:
-
-“Good heavens! has my husband seen this?”
-
-He hastened to set her mind at rest, telling her what trouble he had
-had to get hold of the bill under Auguste’s very nose. Then, in an
-embarrassed way, he was obliged to add in a low voice:
-
-“I paid it.”
-
-Then she made a show of feeling in her pockets, and, finding nothing,
-said simply:
-
-“I will pay you back. Ah! what thanks I owe you, Monsieur Octave! It
-would have killed me if Auguste had seen this.”
-
-And, this time, she took hold of both his hands, and for a moment held
-them pressed between her own. But the sixty-two francs were never again
-mentioned.
-
-Thus, little by little, the breach between the couple widened, in spite
-of the husband’s efforts, he being desirous of having no disturbance in
-his existence. He desperately defended his desire for a somnolent and
-idiotic peacefulness, he closed his eyes to small faults, and even
-stomached some big ones, with the constant dread of discovering
-something abominable which would drive him into a furious passion. He
-therefore tolerated Berthe’s lies, by which she attributed to her
-sister’s or her mother’s affection a host of little things, the
-purchase of which she could not have otherwise explained; he even no
-longer grumbled overmuch when she went out of an evening, thus enabling
-Octave to take her twice privately to the theater, accompanied by
-Madame Josserand and Hortense; delightful outings, after which these
-ladies agreed together that the young man knew how to live.
-
-It was on a Saturday that a frightful quarrel occurred between the
-husband and wife, with respect to twenty sous which were deficient in
-Rachel’s accounts. While Berthe was balancing up the book, Auguste
-brought, according to his custom, the money necessary for the household
-expenses of the ensuing week. The Josserands were to dine there that
-evening, and the kitchen was littered with things—a rabbit, a leg of
-mutton, and some cauliflowers. Saturnin, squatting on the tiled floor
-beside the sink, was blacking his sister’s shoes and his
-brother-in-law’s boots. The quarrel began with long arguments
-respecting the twenty sou piece. What had become of it? How could one
-mislay twenty sous? Auguste would go over all the additions again.
-During this time, Rachel, always pliant in spite of her harsh looks,
-her mouth closed but her eyes on the watch, was quietly spitting the
-leg of mutton. At length he gave fifty francs, and was on the point of
-going down-stairs again, when he returned, worried by the thought of
-the missing coin.
-
-“It must be found, though,” said he. “Perhaps you borrowed it of
-Rachel, and have forgotten doing so.”
-
-Berthe felt greatly hurt at this.
-
-“Accuse me of cooking the accounts! Ah! you are nice!”
-
-Everything started from that, and they soon came to high words.
-Auguste, in spite of his desire to purchase peace at a dear price,
-became aggressive, excited by the sight of the rabbit, the leg of
-mutton and the cauliflowers, beside himself before the pile of food,
-which she was going to thrust all at once under her parents’ noses. He
-looked through the account book, expressing astonishment at almost
-every item. It was incredible! She must be in league with the servant
-to make something on the marketing.
-
-“I! I!” exclaimed the young woman, thoroughly exasperated; “I in league
-with the servant! But it’s you, sir, who pay her to spy upon me! Yes, I
-am forever feeling her about me; I can’t move a step without
-encountering her eyes. Ah! she may watch me through the key-hole, when
-I’m changing my under-linen. I do no harm, and I don’t care a straw for
-your system of police. Only, don’t you dare to reproach me with being
-in league with her.”
-
-This unexpected attack quite dumbfounded the husband for a moment.
-Rachel turned round, still holding the leg of mutton; and, placing her
-hand upon her heart, she protested.
-
-“Oh! madame, how can you think so? I who respect madame so much!”
-
-“She’s mad!” said Auguste, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t take the
-trouble to defend yourself, my girl. She’s mad!”
-
-But a noise behind his back caused him some anxiety. It was Saturnin,
-who had violently thrown down one of the half-polished shoes to fly to
-his sister’s assistance. With a terrible expression in his face and his
-fists clenched, he stuttered out that he would strangle the dirty
-rascal if he again called her mad. Thoroughly frightened, Auguste
-sought refuge behind the filter, calling out:
-
-“It’s really become unbearable; I can no longer make a remark to you
-without his thrusting himself in between us! I allowed him to come
-here, but he must leave me alone! He’s another nice present of your
-mother’s! She was frightened to death of him, and so she saddled him on
-me, preferring to see me murdered in her stead. Thanks for nothing!
-He’s got a knife now. Do make him desist!”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-Berthe disarmed her brother, and calmed him with a look, whilst
-Auguste, who had turned very pale, continued to mumble angry words.
-Always knives being caught up! An injury is so soon done; and, with a
-madman, one could do nothing; justice would even refuse to avenge it!
-In short, it was not proper to make a bodyguard of such a brother,
-rendering a husband powerless, even in circumstances of the most
-legitimate indignation, going as far as forcing him to submit to his
-shame.
-
-“You’ve no tact, sir,” declared Berthe, disdainfully. “A gentleman
-would not discuss such matters in a kitchen.”
-
-And she withdrew to her room, slamming the doors behind her. Rachel had
-returned to the roaster, as though no longer hearing the quarrel
-between her master and mistress.
-
-“Do understand, my dear,” said Auguste to Berthe, whom he had rejoined
-in the bed-room, “it was not in reference to you that I spoke, it was
-for that girl who robs us. Those twenty sous ought certainly to be
-found.”
-
-The young woman trembled nervously with exasperation. She looked him
-full in the face, very pale and resolute.
-
-“Will you leave off bothering me about your twenty sous? It’s not
-twenty sous I want, it’s five hundred francs a month. Yes, five hundred
-francs for my dress. Ah! you discuss money matters in the kitchen,
-before the servant! Well! that has decided me to discuss them also!
-I’ve been restraining myself for a long time past. I want five hundred
-francs.”
-
-He stood aghast at such a demand. And she commenced the grand quarrel
-which, during twenty years, her mother had picked with her father,
-regularly every fortnight. Did he expect to see her walk about
-barefoot? When one married a woman, one should at least arrange to
-clothe and feed her decently. She would sooner beg than resign herself
-to such a pauper existence! It was not her fault if he proved incapable
-of managing his business properly; oh! yes, incapable, without ideas or
-initiative, only knowing how to split farthings into four. A man who
-ought to have made it his glory to acquire a fortune quickly, so as to
-dress her like a queen, and make the people of The “Ladies’ Paradise”
-die with rage! But no! with such a poor head as his, bankruptcy was
-sure to come sooner or later. And from this flow of words emerged the
-respect, the furious appetite for money, all that worship of wealth,
-the adoration of which she had learnt in her family, when beholding the
-mean tricks to which one stoops, merely to appear to possess it.
-
-“Five hundred francs!” said Auguste at length. “I would sooner shut up
-the shop.”
-
-She looked at him coldly.
-
-“You refuse. Very well, I will run up bills.”
-
-“More debts, you wretched woman!”
-
-In a sudden violent movement, he seized her by the arms, and pushed her
-against the wall. Then, without a cry, choking with passion, she ran
-and opened the window, as though to throw herself out; but she retraced
-her steps, and pushing him in her turn toward the door, turned him out
-of the room gasping:
-
-“Go away, or I shall do you an injury!”
-
-And she noisily pushed the bolt behind his back. For a moment he
-listened and hesitated. Then he hastened to go down to the warehouse,
-again seized with terror, as he beheld Saturnin’s eyes gleaming in the
-shadow, the noise of the short struggle having brought him from the
-kitchen.
-
-Down-stairs, Octave, who was selling silk handkerchiefs to an old lady,
-at once noticed his agitated appearance. The assistant looked at him
-out of the corner of his eye as he feverishly paced up and down before
-the counters. When the customer had gone, Auguste’s heart quite
-overflowed. “My dear fellow, she’s going mad,” said he without naming
-his wife. “She has shut herself in. You ought to oblige me by going up
-and speaking to her. I fear an accident, on my word of honor, I do!”
-
-The young man pretended to hesitate. It was such a delicate matter!
-Finally, he agreed to do so out of pure devotion. Up-stairs, he found
-Saturnin keeping guard before Berthe’s door. On hearing footsteps, the
-madman uttered a menacing grunt. But when he recognized the assistant,
-his face brightened.
-
-“Ah! yes, you,” murmured he. “You’re all right. She mustn’t cry. Be
-nice, say something to her. And you know, stop there. There’s no
-danger. I’m here. If the servant tries to peep, I’ll settle her.”
-
-And he squatted down on the floor, guarding the door. As he still held
-one of his brother-in-law’s boots, he commenced to polish it, to pass
-away the time.
-
-Octave made up his mind to knock. No answer, not a sound.
-
-Then he gave his name. The bolt was at once drawn. And, opening the
-door slightly, Berthe begged him to enter. Then she closed and bolted
-it again with a nervous hand.
-
-“I don’t mind you,” said she; “but I won’t have him!”
-
-She paced the room, carried away by passion, going from the bedstead to
-the window, which still remained open. And she muttered disconnected
-sentences: he might entertain her parents at dinner, if he liked; yes,
-he could account to them for her absence, for she would not appear at
-the table; she would sooner die! Besides, she preferred to go to bed.
-With her feverish hands, she already began to tear off the quilt, shake
-up the pillows, and turn down the sheet, forgetful of Octave’s presence
-to the extent that she was about to unhook her dress. Then she jumped
-to another idea.
-
-“Just fancy! He beat me, beat me, beat me! And only because, ashamed of
-always going about in rags, I asked him for five hundred francs!”
-
-Octave, standing up in the middle of the room, tried to find some
-conciliating words. She was wrong to allow it to upset her so much.
-Everything would come right again. And he ended by timidly offering her
-assistance.
-
-“If you are worried about any bill, why not apply to your friends? I
-should be so pleased! Oh! simply a loan. You could return it to me some
-other time.”
-
-She looked at him. After a pause, she replied:
-
-“Never! it cannot be. What would people think, Monsieur Octave?”
-
-Her refusal was so decided that there was no further question of money.
-But her anger seemed to have left her. She breathed heavily, and bathed
-her face; and she looked quite pale, very calm, rather wearied, with
-large, resolute eyes. Standing before her, he felt himself overcome by
-that timidity of love, which he held in such contempt. Never before had
-he loved so ardently; the strength of his desire communicated an
-awkwardness to his charms of a handsome assistant. Whilst continuing to
-advise a reconciliation in vague phrases, he was reasoning clearly in
-his own mind, asking himself if he ought not to take her in his arms;
-but the fear of being again repulsed made him hesitate. She, without
-uttering a word, continued to look at him with her decided air, her
-forehead contracted by a faint wrinkle.
-
-“Really!” he stammeringly continued, “you must be patient. Your husband
-is not a bad fellow. If you only go the right way to work with him, he
-will give you whatever you ask for.”
-
-And beneath the emptiness of these words, they both felt the same
-thought take possession of them. They were alone, free, safe from all
-surprise, with the door bolted. This security, the close warmth of the
-room, exercised its influence on them. Yet he did not dare; the
-feminine side of his nature, his womanly feeling, refined him in that
-moment of passion to the point of making him the woman in their
-encounter. Then, as though recollecting one of her former lessons,
-Berthe dropped her handkerchief.
-
-“Oh! thank you,” said she to the young man, who picked it up. Their
-fingers touched, they were drawn closer together by that momentary
-contact. Now she smiled tenderly, and gave an easy suppleness to her
-form, as she recollected that men detest sticks. It would never do to
-act the simpleton, one must permit a little playfulness without seeming
-to do so, if one would hook one’s fish.
-
-“Night is coming on,” resumed she, going and pushing the window to.
-
-He followed her, and there, in the shadow of the curtains, she allowed
-him to take her hand. She laughed louder, bewildering him with her
-ringing tones, enveloping him with her pretty gestures; and, as he at
-length became bolder, she threw back her head, displaying her neck, her
-young and delicate neck all quivering with her gayety. Distracted by
-the sight, he kissed her under the chin.
-
-“Oh! Monsieur Octave!” said she in confusion, making a pretense of
-prettily putting him back into his place.
-
-His moment of triumph had come, but it was no sooner over than all the
-ferocious disdain of woman which was hidden beneath his air of
-wheedling adoration, returned. And when Berthe rose up, without
-strength in her wrists, and her face contracted by a pang, her utter
-contempt for man was thrown into the dark glance which she cast upon
-him. The room was wrapped in complete silence. One only heard Saturnin,
-on the other side of the door, polishing her husband’s boot with a
-regular movement of the brush.
-
-Octave’s thoughts reverted to Valérie and Madame Hédouin. At last he
-was something more than little Pichon’s lover! It seemed like a
-rehabilitation in his own eyes. Then, encountering Berthe’s uneasy
-glance, he experienced a slight sense of shame, and kissed her with
-extreme gentleness. She was resuming her air of resolute recklessness,
-and, with a gesture, seemed to say: “What’s done can’t be undone.” But
-she afterward experienced the necessity of giving expression to a
-melancholy thought.
-
-“Ah! If you had only married me!” murmured she.
-
-He felt surprised, almost uneasy; but this did not prevent him from
-replying, as he kissed her again:
-
-“Oh! yes, how nice it would have been!”
-
-That evening the dinner with the Josserands was most delightful, Berthe
-had never shown herself so gentle. She did not say a word of the
-quarrel to her parents, she received her husband with an air of
-submission. The latter, delighted, took Octave aside to thank him; and
-he imparted so much warmth into the proceeding, pressing his hands and
-displaying such a lively gratitude, that the young man felt quite
-embarrassed. Moreover, they one and all overwhelmed him with marks of
-their affection. Saturnin, who behaved very well at table, looked at
-him with approving eyes. Hortense on her part deigned to listen to him,
-whilst Madame Josserand, full of maternal encouragement, kept filling
-his glass.
-
-“Dear me! yes,” said Berthe at dessert, “I intend to resume my
-painting. For a long time past I have been wanting to decorate a cup
-for Auguste.”
-
-The latter was deeply moved at this loving conjugal thought. Ever since
-the soup, Octave had kept his foot on the young woman’s under the
-table; it was like a taking of possession in the midst of this little
-middle-class gathering. Yet Berthe was not without a secret uneasiness
-before Rachel, whose eyes she always found looking her through and
-through. Was it, then, visible? The girl was decidedly one to be sent
-away or else to be bought over.
-
-Monsieur Josserand, who was near his daughter, finished soothing her by
-passing her nineteen francs done up in paper under the tablecloth. He
-bent down and whispered in her ear:
-
-“You know, they come from my little work. If you owe anything, you must
-pay it.”
-
-Then, between her father, who nudged her knee, and her lover, who
-gently rubbed her boot, she felt quite happy. Life would now be
-delightful. And they united in throwing aside all reserve, enjoying the
-pleasure of a family gathering unmarred by a single quarrel. In truth,
-it was hardly natural, something must have brought them luck. Auguste,
-alone, had his eyes half closed, suffering from a headache, which he
-had moreover expected after so many emotions. Toward nine o’clock he
-was even obliged to retire to bed.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIII.
-
-
-For some time past, Monsieur Gourd had been prowling about with an
-uneasy and mysterious air. He was met gliding noiselessly along, his
-eyes open, his ears pricked up, continually ascending the two
-staircases, where lodgers had even encountered him going his rounds in
-the dead of night. The morality of the house was certainly worrying
-him; he felt a kind of breath of shameful things which troubled the
-cold nakedness of the courtyard, the calm peacefulness of the
-vestibule, the beautiful domestic virtues of the different stories.
-
-One evening, Octave had found the doorkeeper standing motionless and
-without a light at the end of his passage, close to the door which
-opened onto the servants’ staircase. Greatly surprised, he questioned
-him.
-
-“I wish to ascertain something, Monsieur Mouret,” simply answered
-Monsieur Gourd, deciding to go off to bed.
-
-The young man was very much frightened. Did the doorkeeper suspect his
-relations with Berthe? He was perhaps watching them. Their attachment
-encountered continual obstacles in that house, where there was always
-some one prying about and the inmates of which professed the most
-strict principles.
-
-It happened to be a Tuesday night when Octave discovered Monsieur Gourd
-watching close to his room. This increased his uneasiness. For a week
-past, he had been imploring Berthe to come up and join him in his
-apartment, when all the house would be asleep. Had the doorkeeper
-guessed this? Octave went back to his room dissatisfied, tormented with
-fear and desire.
-
-The night was a close one, and, overcome by the heat, Octave had dozed
-off in an easy-chair, when toward midnight he was roused by a gentle
-knocking.
-
-“It’s I,” faintly whispered a woman’s voice.
-
-It was Berthe. He opened the door and clasped her in his arms in the
-obscurity. When he had lighted his candle, he saw that she was deeply
-troubled about something. The day before, not having sufficient money
-in his pocket, he had been unable to pay for the bonnet at the time:
-and as in her delight she had so far forgotten herself as to give her
-name, they had sent her the bill that evening. Then, trembling at the
-thought that they might call on the morrow when her husband was there,
-she had dared to come up, gathering courage from the great silence of
-the house, and confident that Rachel was asleep.
-
-“To-morrow morning, you will be sure to pay it to-morrow morning, won’t
-you?” implored she, trying to escape.
-
-But he again clasped her in his arms.
-
-“Stay!”
-
-She remained. The clock slowly struck the hours in the voluptuous
-warmth of the room; and, at each sound of the bell, he begged her so
-tenderly to stay, that her strength seemed to desert her and she
-yielded to his entreaties. Then, toward four o’clock, just as she had
-at length determined to go, they both dropped off to sleep locked in
-each other’s arms. When they again opened their eyes, the bright
-daylight was entering at the window, it was nine o’clock. Berthe
-uttered a cry.
-
-“Good heavens! I’m lost!”
-
-Then ensued a moment of confusion. With her eyes half closed with sleep
-and fatigue, feeling vaguely about with her hands scarcely able to
-distinguish anything, she gave vent to stifled exclamations of regret.
-He, seized with a similar despair, had thrown himself before the door,
-to prevent her from going out at such an hour. Was she mad? people
-might meet her on the stairs, it was too risky; they must think the
-matter over, and devise a way for her to go down without being noticed.
-But she was obstinate, simply wishing to get away; and she again made
-for the door, which he defended. Then he thought of the servants’
-staircase. Nothing could be more convenient; she could go quickly
-through her own kitchen into her apartment. Only, as Marie Pichon was
-always in the passage of a morning, Octave considered it prudent to
-divert her attention, whilst the other young woman made her escape.
-
-He went out in his ordinary quiet way, and was surprised to find
-Saturnin making himself at home at Marie’s, and calmly watching her do
-her housework. The madman loved thus to seek refuge beside her as in
-former days, delighted with the manner in which she left him to
-himself, and certain of not being jostled. Moreover, he was not in her
-way, and she willingly tolerated him, though his conversational powers
-were not great. It was company all the same, and she would still sing
-her ballad in a low and expiring voice.
-
-“Hallo! so you’re with your lover?” said Octave, maneuvering so as to
-keep the door shut behind his back.
-
-Marie turned crimson. Oh! that poor Monsieur Saturnin! Was it possible?
-He who seemed to suffer even when any one touched his hand by accident!
-And the madman also got angry. He would not be any one’s lover—never,
-never! Whoever told his sister such a lie would have him to deal with.
-Octave, amazed at his sudden irritation, felt it necessary to calm him.
-
-Meanwhile Berthe made her way to the servants’ staircase. She had two
-flights to descend. At the first step a shrill laugh, issuing from
-Madame Juzeur’s kitchen below, caused her to stop; and she tremblingly
-stood against the landing window, opened wide onto the narrow
-courtyard.
-
-
-Suddenly a voice exclaimed:
-
-“Here’s master coming for his hot water!”
-
-And windows were quickly closed, and doors slammed. The silence of
-death ensued, yet Berthe did not at first dare to move. When she at
-length went down, the thought came to her that Rachel was probably in
-the kitchen, waiting for her. This caused her fresh anguish. She now
-dreaded to enter, she would have preferred to reach the street and fly
-away in the distance forever. She nevertheless pushed the door ajar,
-and felt relieved on beholding that the servant was not there. Then,
-seized with a childish joy on finding herself at home again and safe,
-she hurried to her room. But there was Rachel standing before the bed,
-which had not even been opened. She looked at the bed, and then at her
-mistress with her expressionless face. In her first moment of fright,
-the young woman lost her head to the point of trying to excuse herself,
-and talked of an illness of her sister’s. She stammered out the words,
-and then, frightened at the poorness of her lie, understanding that
-denial was utterly useless, she suddenly burst into tears. Dropping
-onto a chair, she continued crying.
-
-This lasted a good while. Not a word was exchanged, sobs alone
-disturbed the perfect quiet of the room. Rachel, exaggerating her
-habitual discretion, maintaining her cold manner of a girl who knows
-everything, but who says nothing, had turned her back, and was making a
-pretence of beating up the pillows, as though she was just finishing
-arranging the bed. At length, when madame, more and more upset by this
-silence, was giving too loud a vent to her despair, the maid, who was
-then dusting, said simply, in a respectful tone of voice:
-
-“Madame is wrong to take on so, master is not so very pleasant.”
-
-Berthe left off crying. She would pay the girl, that was all Without
-waiting further she gave her twenty francs. Then, not thinking that
-sufficient, and already feeling uneasy, having fancied she saw her curl
-her lips disdainfully, she rejoined her in the kitchen, and brought her
-back to make her a present of an almost new dress.
-
-At the same moment, Octave, on his part, was again in a state of alarm,
-on account of Monsieur Gourd. On leaving the Pichons’, he had found him
-standing immovable, the same as the night before, listening behind the
-door communicating with the servants’ staircase. He followed him
-without even daring to speak to him. The doorkeeper gravely went back
-again down the grand staircase. On the floor below he took a key from
-his pocket and entered the room which was let to the distinguished
-individual, who came there to work one night every week. And through
-the door, which remained open for a moment, Octave obtained a clear
-view of that room which was always kept as closely shut as a tomb. It
-was in a terrible state of disorder that morning, the gentleman having
-no doubt worked there the night before. A huge bed, with the sheets
-stripped off, a wardrobe with a glass door, empty, save for the
-remnants of a lobster and two partly filled bottles, two dirty
-hand-basins lying about, one beside the bed and the other on a chair.
-Monsieur Gourd, with his calm air of a retired judge, at once occupied
-himself with emptying and rinsing out the basins.
-
-As he hurried to the Passage de la Madeleine to pay for the bonnet, the
-young man was tormented by a painful uncertainty. Finally, he
-determined to engage the doorkeepers in conversation on his return.
-Madame Gourd, reclining in her commodious armchair, was getting a
-breath of fresh air between the two pots of flowers, at the open window
-of their room. Standing up beside the door, old mother Pérou was
-waiting in a humble and frightened manner.
-
-“Have you a letter for me?” asked Octave, as a commencement.
-
-Monsieur Gourd just then came down from the room on the third floor.
-Seeing after that was the only work that he now condescended to do in
-the house; and he showed himself highly flattered by the confidence of
-the gentleman, who paid him well on condition that his basins should
-not pass through any other hands.
-
-“No, Monsieur Mouret, nothing at all,” answered he.
-
-He had seen old mother Pérou perfectly well, but he pretended not to be
-aware of her presence. The day before he had got into such a rage with
-her for upsetting a pail of water in the middle of the vestibule, that
-he had sent her about her business on the spot. And she had called for
-her money, but the mere sight of him made her tremble, and she almost
-sank into the ground with humility.
-
-However, as Octave remained some time doing the amiable with Madame
-Gourd, the doorkeeper roughly turned toward the poor old woman.
-
-“So, you want to be paid. What’s owing to you?”
-
-But Madame Gourd interrupted him.
-
-“Look, darling, there’s that girl again with her horrible little
-beast.”
-
-It was Lisa, who, a few days before, had found a spaniel in the street.
-And this occasioned continual disputes with the doorkeepers. The
-landlord would not allow any animals in the house. No, no animals, and
-no women! The little dog was even forbidden to go into the courtyard;
-the street was quite good enough for him. As it had been raining that
-morning, and the little beast’s paws were sopping wet, Monsieur Gourd
-rushed forward, exclaiming:
-
-“I will not have him walk up the stairs, you hear me! Carry him in your
-arms.”
-
-“So that he shall make me all in a mess!” said Lisa, insolently. “What
-a great misfortune it’ll be if he wets the servants’ staircase a bit!
-Up you go, doggie.”
-
-Monsieur Gourd tried to seize hold of her, and almost slipped, so he
-fell to abusing those sluts of servants. He was always at war with
-them, tormented with the rage of a former servant who wishes to be
-waited on in his turn. But Lisa turned upon him, and with the verbosity
-of a girl who had grown up in the gutters of Montmartre, she shouted
-out:
-
-“Eh! just you leave me alone, you miserable old flunkey! Go and empty
-the duke’s jerries!”
-
-It was the only insult capable of silencing Monsieur Gourd, and the
-servants all took advantage of it. He returned to his room quivering
-with rage and mumbling to himself, saying that he was certainly very
-proud of having been in service at the duke’s, and that she would not
-have staid there two hours even, the baggage! Then he assailed mother
-Pérou, who almost jumped out of her skin.
-
-“Well! what is it you’re owed? Eh! you say twelve francs sixty-five
-centimes. But it isn’t possible? Sixty-three hours at twenty centimes
-the hour. Ah! you charge a quarter of an hour. Never! I warned you, I
-only pay the hours that are completed.”
-
-And he did not even give her her money then, he left her perfectly
-terrified, and joined in the conversation between his wife and Octave.
-The latter was cunningly alluding to all the worries that such a house
-must cause them, hoping thus to get them to talk about the lodgers.
-Such strange things must sometimes take place behind the doors! Then
-the doorkeeper chimed in, as grave as ever:
-
-“What concerns us, concerns us, Monsieur Mouret, and what doesn’t
-concern us, doesn’t concern us. Over there, for instance, is something
-which quite puts me beside myself. Look at it, look at it!”
-
-And, stretching out his arm, he pointed to the boot-stitcher, that
-tall, pale girl who had arrived at the house in the middle of the
-funeral. She walked with difficulty; she was evidently in the family
-way, and her condition was exaggerated by the sickly skinniness of her
-neck and legs.
-
-“On my word of honor! sir, if this sort of thing was likely to
-continue, we would prefer to retire to our home at Mort-la-Ville; would
-we not, Madame Gourd? for, thank heaven! we have sufficient to live on,
-we are dependent on no one. A house like this to be made the talk of
-the place by such a creature! for so it is, sir!”
-
-“She seems very ill,” said Octave, following her with his eyes, not
-daring to pity her too much. “I always see her looking so sad, so pale,
-so forlorn. But, of course, she has a lover.”
-
-At this, Monsieur Gourd gave a violent start.
-
-“Now we have it! Do you hear, Madame Gourd? Monsieur Mouret is also of
-opinion that she has a lover. It’s clear, such things don’t come of
-themselves. Well, sir! for two months past I’ve been on the watch, and
-I’ve not yet seen the shadow of a man. How full of vice she must be!
-Ah! if I only found her chap, how I would chuck him out! But I can’t
-find him, and it’s that which worries me.”
-
-“Perhaps no one comes,” Octave ventured to observe.
-
-The doorkeeper looked at him with surprise.
-
-“That would not be natural. Oh! I’m determined I’ll catch him. I’ve
-still six weeks before me, for I got the landlord to give her notice to
-quit in October. Just fancy her being confined here!” and, with his arm
-still thrust out, he pointed to the young woman, who was painfully
-wending her way up the servants’ staircase. Madame Gourd was obliged to
-calm him: he took the respectability of the house too much to heart; he
-would end by making himself ill. Then, mother Pérou having dared to
-manifest her presence by a discreet cough, he returned to her, and
-coolly deducted the sou she had charged for the odd quarter of an hour.
-She was at length going off with her twelve francs sixty centimes, when
-he offered to take her back, but at three sous an hour only. She burst
-into tears, and accepted.
-
-“I shall always be able to get some one,” said he. “You’re no longer
-strong enough; you don’t even do two sous’ worth.”
-
-Octave felt his mind relieved as he returned to his room for a minute.
-On the third floor he caught up Madame Juzeur, who was also going to
-her apartments. She was obliged now to run down every morning after
-Louise, who loitered at the different shops.
-
-“How proud you are becoming,” said she, with her sharp smile. “One can
-see very well that you are being spoilt elsewhere.”
-
-These words once more aroused all the young man’s anxiety. He followed
-her into her drawing-room, pretending to joke with her the while. Only
-one of the curtains was slightly drawn back, and the carpet and the
-hangings before the doors subdued still more this alcove-like light;
-and the noise of the street did not penetrate more than to the extent
-of a faint buzz, in this room as soft as down. She made him seat
-himself beside her on the low, wide sofa. But, as he did not take her
-hand and kiss it, she asked him archly:
-
-“Do you, then, no longer love me?”
-
-He blushed, and protested that he adored her. Then she gave him her
-hand of her own accord, with a little stifled laugh; and he was obliged
-to raise it to his lips, so as to dispel her suspicions, if she had
-any. But she almost immediately withdrew it again.
-
-“No, no; though you pretend to excite yourself, it gives you no
-pleasure. Oh, I feel it does not, and, besides, it is only natural!”
-What? what did she mean? He seized her round the waist, and pressed her
-with questions, but she would not answer; she abandoned herself to his
-embrace, and kept shaking her head. At length, to oblige her to speak,
-he commenced tickling her.
-
-“Well, you see,” she ended by murmuring, “you love another.” She named
-Valérie, and reminded him of the evening at the Josserands when he
-devoured her with his eyes. Then, as he declared that Valérie was
-nothing to him, she retorted, with another laugh, that she knew that
-very well, and had been only teasing him. Only, there was another, and
-this time she named Madame Hédouin, laughing more than ever, and amused
-at his protestations, which were very energetic. Who, then? Was it
-Marie Pichon? Ah! he could not deny that one. Yet he did do so, but she
-shook her head. She assured him that her little finger never told
-stories. And to draw each of these women’s names from her, he was
-obliged to redouble his caresses.
-
-But she had not named Berthe. He was loosening his hold of her, when
-she resumed:
-
-“Now, there’s the last one.”
-
-“What last one?” inquired he, anxiously.
-
-Screwing up her mouth, she again obstinately refused to say anything
-more, so long as he had not opened her lips with a kiss.
-
-He continued to hold her reclining in his arms. She languishingly
-alluded to the cruel being who had deserted her after having only been
-married a week. A miserable woman like her knew too much of the
-tempests of the heart! For a longtime past she had guessed what she
-styled Octave’s “little games;” for not a kiss could be exchanged in
-the house without her hearing it. And, in the depths of the wide sofa,
-they had quite a cozy little chat, interrupted now and then with all
-sorts of delightful caresses.
-
-When Octave left her he felt more at ease. She had restored his good
-humor, and she amused him with her complicated principles of virtue.
-Down-stairs, directly he entered the warehouse, he reassured Berthe
-with a sign, as her eyes questioned him with reference to the bonnet.
-Then all the terrible adventure of the morning was forgotten. When
-Auguste returned, a little before lunch-time, he found them both
-looking the same as usual, Berthe very much bored at the pay-desk, and
-Octave gallantly measuring off some silk for a lady.
-
-But, after that day, the lovers’ private meetings became rarer still.
-As a practical fellow, he ended by thinking it stupid to be always
-paying, when she, on her side, only gave him her foot under the table.
-Paris had decidedly brought him ill-luck; at first, repulses, and then
-this silly passion, which was fast emptying his purse. He could
-certainly not be accused of succeeding through women. He now found a
-certain honor in it by way of consolation, in his secret rage at the
-failure of his plan so clumsily carried out up till then.
-
-Yet Auguste was not much in their way. Ever since the bad turn affairs
-had taken at Lyons, he had suffered more than ever with his headaches.
-On the first of the month, Berthe had experienced a sudden joy on
-seeing him, in the evening, place three hundred francs under the
-bed-room timepiece for her dress; and, in spite of the reduction on the
-amount which she had demanded, as she had given up all hope of ever
-seeing a sou of it, she threw herself into his arms, all warm with
-gratitude. On this occasion the husband had a night of hugging such as
-the lover never experienced.
-
-September passed away in this manner, in the great calm of the house
-emptied of its occupants by the summer months. The people of the second
-floor had gone to the seaside in Spain, which caused Monsieur Gourd,
-full of pity, to shrug his shoulders: what a fuss! as though the most
-distinguished people were not satisfied with Trouville! The Duveyriers,
-since the beginning of Gustave’s holidays, had been at their country
-house at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. Even the Josserands went and spent a
-fortnight at a friend’s, near Pontoise, spreading a rumor beforehand
-that they were going to some watering-place.
-
-This clearance, these deserted apartments, the staircase slumbering in
-a greater silence than ever, seemed to Octave to offer less danger; and
-he argued and so wearied Berthe that she at last received him in her
-room one evening whilst Auguste was away at Lyons. But this meeting
-also nearly took a bad turn. Madame Josserand, who had returned home
-two days before, was seized with such an attack of indigestion after
-dining out, that Hortense, filled with anxiety, went down-stairs for
-her sister. Fortunately, Rachel was just finishing scouring her
-saucepans, and she was able to let the young man out by the servants’
-staircase. On the following days, Berthe availed herself of that alarm
-to again refuse him everything.
-
-Besides, they were so foolish as not to reward the servant. She
-attended to them in her cold way, and with her superior respect of a
-girl who hears and sees nothing; only, as madame was forever crying
-after money, and as Monsieur Octave already spent too much in presents,
-she curled her lip more and more in that wretched establishment, where
-the mistress’ lover did not even present her with ten sous when he
-stayed there.
-
-Meanwhile, Madame Juzeur wept with that lovesick darling who could only
-gaze on his mistress from a distance; and she gave him the very best
-advice. Octave’s passion reached such a pitch that he thought one day
-of imploring her to lend him her apartment; no doubt she would not have
-refused, but he feared rousing Berthe’s indignation by his
-indiscretion. He also had the idea of utilizing Saturnin; perhaps the
-madman would watch over them like a faithful dog in some out-of-the-way
-room; only, he displayed such a fantastical humor, at one time
-overwhelming his sister’s lover with the most awkward caresses, at
-another, sulking with him and casting suspicious glances gleaming with
-a sudden hatred. One could almost have thought him jealous, with the
-nervous and violent jealousy of a woman.
-
-Just as September was drawing to a close, and the lodgers were on the
-point of returning home, a wild idea came to Octave in the midst of his
-torment. Rachel had asked her permission to sleep out on one of the
-Tuesdays that her master would be at Lyons, in order to enable her to
-attend the wedding of one of her sisters in the country; and it was
-merely a question of passing the night in the servant’s room, where no
-one in the world would think of seeking them. Berthe, feeling deeply
-hurt at the suggestion, at first displayed the greatest repugnance; but
-he implored her with tears in his eyes; he talked of leaving Paris,
-where he suffered too much; he confused and wearied her with such a
-number of arguments, that, scarcely knowing what she did, she ended by
-consenting. All was settled. The Tuesday evening, after dinner, they
-took a cup of tea at the Josserands’, so as to dispel any suspicions.
-Trublot, Gueulin, and uncle Bachelard were there; and, very late in the
-evening, Duveyrier, who occasionally came to sleep at the Rue de
-Choiseul, on account of business which he pretended he had to attend to
-early in the morning, even put in an appearance. Octave made a show of
-joining freely in the conversation of these gentlemen; then, when
-midnight struck, he withdrew, and went and locked himself in Rachel’s
-room, where Berthe was to join him an hour later when all the house was
-asleep.
-
-Upstairs, the arrangement of the room occupied him during the first
-half-hour. He had provided himself with clean bed linen, and he
-proceeded to remake the bed, awkwardly, and occupying a long while over
-it, through fear of being overheard. Then, like Trublot, he sat down on
-a box and tried to wait patiently. The servants came up to bed, one by
-one; and through the thin partitions the sounds of women undressing
-themselves could be heard. One o’clock struck, then the quarter, then
-the half hour past. He began to feel anxious; why was Berthe so long in
-coming? She must have left the Josserands’ about one o’clock at the
-latest; and it could not take her more than ten minutes to go to her
-rooms and come out again by the servants’ staircase. When two o’clock
-struck, he imagined all sorts of catastrophes. At length, he heaved a
-sigh of relief, on fancying he recognized her footstep. And he opened
-the door, in order to light her. But surprise rooted him to the spot.
-Opposite Adèle’s door, Trublot, bent almost double, was looking through
-the key-hole, and jumped up, frightened by that sudden light.
-
-“What! it’s you again!” murmured Octave, with annoyance.
-
-Trublot began to laugh, without appearing the least surprised at
-finding him there at such a time of night.
-
-“Just fancy,” explained he, very softly, “that fool Adèle hasn’t given
-me her key, and she has gone and joined Duveyrier in his room. Eh?
-what’s the matter with you? Ah! you didn’t know Duveyrier slept with
-her. It is so, my dear fellow. He really is reconciled with his wife,
-who, however, only resigns herself to him now and then; so he falls
-back upon Adèle. It’s convenient, whenever he comes to Paris.”
-
-He interrupted himself, and stooped down again, then added, between his
-clenched teeth.
-
-“What a confounded brainless girl that Adèle is! If she had only given
-me her key, I could have made myself comfortable here.”
-
-Then he returned to the loft where he had been, previously waiting,
-taking Octave with him, who, moreover, desired to question him
-respecting the finish of the evening at the Josserands’. But, for some
-time, Trublot would not allow him to open his mouth.
-
-Octave was at length able to question him as to the wind-up of the
-party. It seemed that Berthe had left her mother’s shortly after
-midnight, looking very composed. No doubt, she was now in Rachel’s
-room. But Trublot, delighted at the meeting, would not let him go.
-
-“It’s idiotic, keeping me waiting so long,” continued he. “Besides, I’m
-almost asleep as it is. My governor has put me into the liquidation
-department, and I’m up all night three times a week, my dear fellow. If
-Julie were only there, she would make room for me. But Duveyrier only
-brings Hippolyte up from the country. And, by the way, you know
-Hippolyte, that tall, ugly chap! Well! I just saw him going to join
-Louise, that frightened brat of a foundling, whose soul Madame Juzeur
-wished to save. Eh? it’s a fine success for Madame! ‘Anything you like
-except that.’”
-
-That night, Trublot, who was greatly bored, was full of philosophical
-reflections. He added, almost in a whisper:
-
-“Well, you know! like master, like man. When landlords set the example,
-it’s scarcely surprising if the servants’ tastes are not exactly
-refined. Ah! everything’s decidedly going to the dogs in France!”
-
-“Good-bye,” said Octave; “I’m off.”
-
-But Trublot still detained him, enumerating the servants’ rooms where
-he might have slept, as the summer had emptied nearly the whole of
-them; only the worst was that they all double-locked their doors, even
-when they were merely going to the end of the passage, they had such a
-fear of being robbed by each other.
-
-At length Octave was able to get free. He was on the point of leaving
-Trublot in the profound obscurity of the loft, when the latter suddenly
-expressed his surprise.
-
-“But you, what are you doing amongst the maids? Ah! rascal, you come
-here too!”
-
-And he laughed with delight, and promising to keep Octave’s secret,
-sent him off, wishing him a pleasant night of it.
-
-When Octave found himself back in Rachel’s room, he experienced a fresh
-deception. Berthe was not there. Anger got the better of him now:
-Berthe had humbugged him, she had promised him merely to get rid of his
-importunities. Whilst he was chafing there, she was sleeping, happy at
-being alone, occupying the whole breadth of the conjugal couch. Then,
-instead of returning to his room and going to sleep himself, he
-obstinately waited, throwing himself all dressed as he was on the bed,
-and passing the night in forming projects of revenge. Three o’clock
-chimed out in the distance. The snores of robust maid-servants arose on
-his left; while on his right there was a continual wail, a woman
-moaning with pain in the fever of a sleepless night. He ended by
-recognizing the boot-stitcher’s voice. The wretched woman was lying
-suffering all alone in one of those poverty-stricken closets next to
-the roof.
-
-Just as day was breaking, Octave fell asleep. A profound silence
-reigned; even the boot-stitcher no longer moaned, but lay like one
-dead. The sun was peering through the narrow window, when the door
-opening abruptly awoke the young man.
-
-It was Berthe, who, urged by an irresistible desire, had come up to see
-if he was still there; she had at first scouted the idea, then she had
-furnished herself with pretexts, the need for going to the room and
-putting everything straight, in case he had left it anyhow in his rage.
-Moreover, she no longer expected to find him there. When she beheld him
-rise from the little iron bedstead, ghastly pale and menacing, she
-stood dumbfounded; and she listened with bowed head to his furious
-reproaches. He pressed her to answer, to give him at least some
-explanation. At length she murmured:
-
-“At the last moment I could not do it. It was too indelicate. I love
-you, oh! I swear it. But not here, not here!”
-
-And, seeing him approach her, she drew back, afraid that he might wish
-to take advantage of the opportunity. Eight o’clock was striking, the
-servants had all gone down, even Trublot had departed. Then, as he
-tried to take hold of her hands, saying that, when one loves a person,
-one accepts everything, she complained that the closeness of the room
-made her feel unwell, and she slightly opened the window. But he again
-tried to draw her toward him, overpowering her with his importunities.
-At this moment a turbid torrent of foul words ascended from the inner
-courtyard.
-
-“Pig! slut! have you done? Your dish-cloth’s again fallen on my head.”
-
-Berthe, turning ghastly pale, and quivering from head to foot, released
-herself, murmuring:
-
-“Do you hear those girls? They make me shiver all over. The other day,
-I thought I should have been ill. No, leave me alone, and I promise to
-see you, on Tuesday next, in your room.”
-
-The two lovers, standing up and not daring to move, were compelled to
-hear everything.
-
-“Show yourself a moment,” continued Lisa, who was furious, “so that I
-may shy it back in your ugly face!”
-
-Then Adèle went and leant out of her kitchen window.
-
-“There’s a fuss about a bit of rag! To begin with, I only used it for
-washing up with yesterday. And then it fell out by accident.” They made
-peace together, and Lisa asked her what they had had for dinner at her
-place the day before. Another stew! What misers! She would have ordered
-chops for herself, if she had been in such a hole! She was forever
-inciting Adèle to sneak the sugar, the meat, the candles, just to show
-that she could do as she liked; as for herself, never being hungry, she
-left Victoire to rob the Campardons, without even taking her share.
-
-“Oh!” said Adèle, who was gradually becoming corrupted, “the other
-night I hid some potatoes in my pocket. They quite burnt my leg. It was
-jolly, it was jolly! And, you know, I like vinegar, I do. I don’t care,
-I drink it out of the cruet now.”
-
-Victoire came and leant out in her turn, as she finished drinking some
-cassis mixed with brandy, which Lisa treated her to now and then of a
-morning, to pay her for concealing her day and night escapades. And, as
-Louise thrust out her tongue at them from the depths of Madame Juzeur’s
-kitchen, Victoire was at once down upon her.
-
-“Wait a bit! you street foundling; I’ll shove your tongue somewhere for
-you!”
-
-“Come along, then, old swiller!” retorted the little one. “I saw you
-yesterday bringing it all up again in your plate.”
-
-At this, the rush of foul words again rebounded from wall to wall of
-the pestiferous hole. Adèle herself, who was mastering the Paris gift
-of the gab, called Louise a filthy drab, whilst Lisa yelled out:
-
-“I’ll make her shut up if she bothers us. Yes, yes, little strumpet,
-I’ll tell Clémence. She’ll settle you. But, hush! here’s the man. He’s
-a nice, dirty beast, he is!”
-
-Hippolyte, just then appeared at the Duveyriers’ window, blacking his
-master’s boots. The other servants, in spite of everything, were polite
-to him, for he belonged to the aristocracy, and he despised Lisa, who,
-in her turn, despised Adèle, with more haughtiness than rich masters
-show to masters in difficulties. They asked him for news of
-Mademoiselle Clémence and Mademoiselle Julie. Well! really, they were
-almost bored to death there, but they were pretty well. Then, jumping
-to another subject, he asked:
-
-“Did you hear that girl last night, wriggling about with her
-stomach-ache? Wasn’t it annoying? Luckily she’s going to leave soon. I
-had half a mind to call out to her.”
-
-This allusion to the boot-stitcher’s condition caused them to pass all
-the ladies of the house in review.
-
-At first they talked of Madame Campardon, who at least had nothing more
-to fear; then of Madame Juzeur, who took her precautions; next of
-Madame Duveyrier, who was disgusted with her husband; and of Madame
-Valérie, who went and got her children away from home. And at each
-recital bursts of laughter arose in blasts from the squalid hole.
-
-Berthe had again turned pale. She waited, no longer even daring to
-leave the room, her eyes cast down with shame, like one to whom
-violence was being offered in Octave’s presence. He, exasperated with
-the servants, felt that they were becoming too filthy, and that he
-could not again take her in his arms; his desire was giving place to a
-weariness and a great sadness. But suddenly the young woman started.
-Lisa had just uttered her name.
-
-“Talking of enjoying oneself, there’s one who seems to me to go in for
-a rare dose of it! Eh! Adèle, isn’t it true that your Mademoiselle
-Berthe was up to all manner of tricks at the time you used to wash her
-petticoats?”
-
-“And now,” said Victoire, “she gets her husband’s assistant to give her
-a dusting!”
-
-“Hush!” exclaimed Hippolyte softly.
-
-“What for? Her jade of a servant isn’t there to-day. A sly hussy who’d
-eat you, when one speaks of her mistress! You know she’s a Jewess, and
-she murdered some one once. Perhaps the handsome Octave dusts her also,
-in the corners. The governor must have engaged him just to increase the
-family, the big ninny!”
-
-Then Berthe, suffering indescribable anguish, raised her eyes to her
-lover. And, cast down, imploring some aid, she stammered, in a painful
-voice:
-
-“My God! my God!”
-
-Octave took her hand and squeezed it tightly; he was choking with
-impotent rage. What was to be done? he could not show himself and force
-those women to leave off. The foul words continued, words which the
-young woman had never heard before, all the overflow of a sewer which
-every morning found an outlet there, close to her, and of which she had
-never had the least suspicion. Their love, so carefully hidden as they
-thought, was now being dragged amidst the vegetable parings and the
-kitchen slops. These women knew all, without any one having spoken.
-Lisa related how Saturnin held the candle. Victoire was highly amused
-by the husband’s headaches, and said that he would do well to get
-himself another eye and have it placed somewhere; even Adèle had a
-fling at her mistress’ young lady, whose ailments, private habits, and
-toilet secrets she ruthlessly exposed. And a filthy chaff soiled all
-that remained that was good and tender in their love.
-
-“Look out below!” suddenly exclaimed Victoire; “here’s some of
-yesterday’s carrots which stink enough to poison one! They’ll do for
-that crapulous old Gourd!”
-
-The servants, out of spite, threw all the filth they could into the
-inner courtyard, so that the doorkeeper should have it to sweep up.
-
-“And here’s a bit of moldy kidney!” said Adèle in her turn.
-
-All the scrapings of the saucepans, all the muck from the washing-up
-basins, found their way there, whilst Lisa continued to pull Berthe and
-Octave to pieces. The pair remained standing, hand-in-hand, face to
-face, unable to turn away their eyes; and their hands became as cold as
-ice, and their looks acknowledged the impurity of their intimacy. This
-was what their love had come to, this fornication beneath a downpour of
-putrid meat and stale vegetables!
-
-“And you know,” said Hippolyte, “the young gentleman doesn’t care for
-the missis. He merely took her to help him along in the world. Oh! he’s
-a miser at heart in spite of his airs, an unscrupulous fellow, who,
-with his pretensions of loving women, is not above slapping them!”
-
-Berthe, her eyes on Octave, saw him turn pale, his face so upset, so
-changed, that he frightened her.
-
-“On my word! the two make a nice pair,” resumed Lisa. “I wouldn’t give
-much for her skin either. Badly brought up, with a heart as hard as a
-stone, caring for nothing except her own pleasure, and sleeping with
-fellows for the sake of their money, yes, for their money! for I know
-the sort of woman.”
-
-The tears streamed from Berthe’s eyes. Octave beheld her features all
-distorted. It was as if they had been flayed before each other, laid
-utterly bare, without any possibility of protesting. Then the young
-woman, suffocated by this open cesspool which discharged its
-exhalations full in her face, wished to fly. He did not detain her, for
-disgust with themselves made their presence a torture, and they longed
-for the relief of no longer seeing each other.
-
-“You promise to come, next Tuesday, to my room?”
-
-“Yes, yes.”
-
-And she hurried away, quite distracted. Left alone, he walked about the
-room, fumbling with his hands, putting the linen he had brought, into a
-bundle. He was no longer listening to the servants, when their last
-words attracted his attention.
-
-“I tell you that Monsieur Hédouin died last night. If handsome Octave
-had foreseen that, he would have continued to cultivate Madame Hédouin,
-who’s worth a lot.”
-
-This news, learnt there, amidst those surroundings, re-echoed in the
-innermost recesses of his being. Monsieur Hédouin was dead! And he was
-seized with an immense regret. He thought out loud, he could not
-restrain himself from saying:
-
-“Ah! yes, by Jove! I’ve been a fool!”
-
-When Octave at length went down, with his bundle, he met Rachel coming
-up to her room. Had she been a few minutes sooner, she would have
-caught them there. Down-stairs, she had again found her mistress in
-tears; but, this time, she had not got anything out of her, neither an
-avowal, nor a sou. And furious, understanding that they took advantage
-of her absence to see each other and thus to do her out of her little
-profits, she stared at the young man with a look black with menace. A
-singular schoolboy timidity prevented Octave from giving her ten
-francs; and, desirous of displaying perfect ease of mind, he went in to
-joke with Marie a while, when a grunt proceeding from a corner caused
-him to turn round: it was Saturnin, who rose up saying, in one of his
-jealous fits:
-
-“Take care! we’re mortal enemies!”
-
-That morning was the 8th of October, and the boot-stitcher had to clear
-out before noon. For a week past, Monsieur Gourd had been watching her
-with a dread that increased hourly.
-
-The boot-stitcher had implored the landlord to let her stay a few days
-longer, so as to get over her confinement, but had met with an
-indignant refusal. Pains were seizing her at every moment; during the
-last night, she had fancied she would be brought to bed all alone.
-Then, toward nine o’clock, she had begun her moving, helping the
-youngster whose little truck was in the courtyard, leaning against the
-furniture or sitting down on the stairs, whenever a formidable spasm
-doubled her up.
-
-Monsieur Gourd, however, had discovered nothing. Not a man! He had been
-regularly humbugged. So that, all the morning, he prowled about in a
-cold rage. Octave, who met him, shuddered at the thought that he also
-must know of their intimacy.
-
-At a quarter to twelve, the work-girl appeared, with her wax-like face,
-her perpetual sadness, her mournful despondency. She could scarcely
-move along. Monsieur Gourd trembled until she was safe out in the
-street. Just as she handed him her key, Duveyrier issued from the
-vestibule, so heated by his night’s work that the red blotches on his
-forehead seemed almost bleeding. He put on a haughty air, an implacable
-moral severity, when the creature passed before him. Ashamed and
-resigned, she bowed her head; and, following the little truck, she went
-off with the same despairing step as she had come, the day when she had
-been engulfed by the undertaker’s black hangings.
-
-Then, only, did Monsieur Gourd triumph. As though this woman had
-carried off with her all the uneasiness of the house, the disreputable
-things with which the very walls shuddered, he called out to the
-landlord:
-
-“A good riddance, sir! One will be able to breathe now, for, on my word
-of honor! it was becoming disgusting. It has lifted a hundred weight
-from off my chest. No, sir; you see, in a house which is to be
-respected, there should be no single women, and especially none of
-those women who work!”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIV.
-
-
-On the following Tuesday Berthe did not keep her promise to Octave.
-This time she had warned him not to expect her, in a rapid explanation
-they had had that evening, after the warehouse closed; and she sobbed;
-she had been to confession the day before, feeling a want of religious
-comfort, and was still quite upset by Abbé Mauduit’s grievous
-exhortations. Since her marriage she had thrown aside all religion,
-but, after the foul words with which the servants had sullied her, she
-had suddenly felt so sad, so abandoned, so unclean, that she had
-returned for an hour to the belief of her childhood, inflamed with a
-hope of purification and salvation. On her return, the priest having
-wept with her, her sin quite horrified her. Octave, impotent and
-furious, shrugged his shoulders.
-
-Then, three days later, she again promised for the following Tuesday.
-At a meeting with her lover, in the Passage des Panoramas, she had seen
-some Chantilly lace shawls, and she was incessantly alluding to them,
-whilst her eyes were filled with desire. So that, on the Monday
-morning, the young man laughingly said to her, in order to soften the
-brutal nature of the bargain, that, if she at last kept her word, she
-would find a little surprise for herself up in his room. She understood
-him, and again burst into tears. No! no! she would not go now; he had
-spoilt all the pleasure she had anticipated from their being together.
-She had spoken of the shawl thoughtlessly; she no longer wanted it; she
-would throw it on the fire if he gave it her. However, on the morrow,
-they made all their arrangements: she was to knock three times at his
-door very softly half an hour after midnight.
-
-That day, when Auguste started for Lyons, he struck Berthe as being
-rather peculiar. She had caught him whispering with Rachel behind the
-kitchen door; besides which, he was quite yellow, and shivering, with
-one eye closed up; but, as he complained a good deal of his headache,
-she thought he was ill, and told him that the journey would do him
-good. Directly he had left, she returned to the kitchen, still feeling
-slightly uneasy, and tried to sound the servant. The girl continued to
-be discreet and respectful, and maintained the stiff attitude of her
-early days. The young woman, however, felt that she was vaguely
-dissatisfied, and she thought that she had been very foolish to give
-her twenty francs and a dress, and then to stop all further gratuities,
-although compelled to do so, for she was forever in want of a five
-franc piece herself.
-
-“My poor girl,” said she to her, “I have not been very generous, have
-I? But it is not my fault. I have not forgotten you, and I shall
-recompense you by-and-by.”
-
-“Madame owes me nothing,” answered Rachel, in her cold way.
-
-Then Berthe went and fetched two of her old chemises, wishing at least
-to show her good nature. But the servant, on receiving them, observed
-that they would do for rags for the kitchen.
-
-“Thank you, madame; calico irritates my skin; I only wear linen.”
-
-Berthe, however, found her so polite, that she became more easy. She
-made herself very familiar with her, told her she was going to sleep
-out, and even asked her to leave a lamp alight, in case she required
-it. The door leading on to the grand staircase could be bolted, and she
-would go out by way of the kitchen, the key of which she would take
-with her. The servant received these instructions as coolly as if it
-had been a question of cooking a piece of beef for the morrow’s dinner.
-
-By a refinement of discretion, as his mistress was to dine with her
-parents that evening, Octave accepted an invitation to the Campardons’.
-He counted on staying there till ten o’clock, and then going and
-shutting himself up in his room, and waiting for half-past twelve with
-as much patience as possible.
-
-The dinner at the Campardons’ was quite patriarchal. The architect,
-seated between his wife and her cousin, lingered over the
-dishes—regular family dishes—abundant and wholesome, as he described
-them.
-
-“Eat away,” cried the architect to Octave; “you may be eaten yourself
-some day.”
-
-Madame Campardon, bending toward the young man’s ear, was once more
-congratulating herself on the happiness which the cousin had brought
-the household; an economy of quite cent. per cent., the servants made
-to be respectful; Angèle looked after properly, and receiving good
-examples.
-
-“In short,” murmured she, “Achille continues to be as happy as a fish
-in water, and, as for me, I have absolutely nothing whatever left to
-do, absolutely nothing. Listen! she even washes me now. I can live
-without moving either arms or legs; she has taken all the cares of the
-household on her own shoulders.”
-
-Then the architect related how “he had settled those jokers of the
-Ministry of Public Instruction.”
-
-“Just fancy, my dear fellow, they made no end of a fuss about the work
-I’ve done at Evreux, You see, I wished, above all, to please the
-bishop. Only, the range for the new kitchens and the heating apparatus
-have come to more than twenty thousand francs. No credit was voted for
-them, and it is not easy to get twenty thousand francs out of the small
-sum allowed for repairs.”
-
-They laughed all round the table, without the least respect for the
-Ministry, of which they spoke with disdain, their mouths full of rice.
-Rose declared that it was best to be on the side of religion. Ever
-since the works at Saint-Roch, Achille was overwhelmed with orders; the
-greatest families would employ no one else; it was impossible for him
-to attend to them all; he would have to work all night as well as all
-day. God wished them well, most decidedly, and the family returned
-thanks to Him, both night and morning.
-
-They were having dessert, when Campardon exclaimed:
-
-“By the way, my dear fellow, you know that Duveyrier has found ————”
-
-He was about to name Clarisse. But he recollected that Angèle was
-present, so, casting a side glance toward his daughter, he added:
-
-“He has found his relative, you know.”
-
-And, biting his lip and winking his eye, he at length made himself
-understood by Octave, who at first did not in the least catch what he
-meant.
-
-“Yes, Trublot, whom I met, told me so. The day before yesterday, when
-it was pouring in torrents, Duveyrier stood up inside a doorway, and
-who do you think he saw there? why, his relative shaking out her
-umbrella. Trublot had been seeking her for a week past, so as to
-restore her to him.”
-
-Angèle had modestly lowered her eyes onto her plate, and began
-swallowing enormous mouthfuls. The family rigorously excluded all
-indecent words from their conversation.
-
-“Is she good looking?” asked Rose of Octave.
-
-“That’s a matter of taste,” replied the latter. “Some people may think
-so.”
-
-“She had the audacity to come to the shop one day,” said Gasparine,
-who, in spite of her own skinniness, detested thin people. “She was
-pointed out to me. A regular bean-stalk.”
-
-“All the same,” concluded the architect, “Duveyrier’s hooked again. His
-poor wife———”
-
-He intended saying that Clotilde was probably relieved and delighted.
-Only, he remembered a second time that Angèle was present, and put on a
-doleful air to declare:
-
-“Relations do not always agree together. Yes! every family has its
-worries.”
-
-Lisa, on the other side of the table, with a napkin on her arm, looked
-at Angèle, and the latter, seized with a mad fit of laughter, hastened
-to take a long drink, and hide her face in her glass.
-
-A little before ten o’clock, Octave pretended to be very fatigued, and
-retired to his room. In spite of Rose’s affectionate ways, he was ill
-at ease in that family circle, where he felt Gasparine’s hostility to
-him to be ever on the increase. Yet, he had never done anything to her.
-She detested him for being a handsome man, she suspected him of having
-overcome all the women of the house, and that exasperated her, though
-she did not desire him the least in the world, but merely yielded, at
-the thought of his happiness, to the instinctive anger of a woman whose
-beauty had faded too soon.
-
-Directly he had left, the family talked of retiring for the night.
-Before getting into bed, Rose spent an hour in her dressing-room every
-evening. She proceeded to wash and scent herself all over, then did her
-hair, examined her eyes, her mouth, her ears, and even placed a tiny
-patch under her chin. At night-time, she replaced her luxury of
-dressing-gowns by a luxury of night-caps and chemises.
-
-On that occasion she selected a chemise and a cap trimmed with
-Valenciennes lace. Gasparine had assisted her, handing her the basins,
-wiping up the water she spilt, drying her with a soft towel, little
-things which she did far better than Lisa.
-
-“Ah! I do feel comfortable!” said Rose at length, stretched out in her
-bed, whilst the cousin tucked in the sheets and raised the bolster.
-
-And she laughed with delight, all alone in the middle of the big bed.
-With her soft, delicate, and spotless body, reclining amidst the lace,
-she looked like some beautiful creature awaiting the idol of her heart.
-When she felt herself pretty, she slept better, she used to say.
-Besides, it was the only pleasure left her.
-
-“Is it all right?” asked Campardon, entering the room. “Well!
-good-night, little duck.”
-
-He pretended he had some work to do. He would have to sit up a little
-longer. But she grew angry, she wished him to take some rest; it was
-foolish to work himself to death like that!
-
-“You hear me, now go to bed. Gasparine, promise me to make him go to
-bed.”
-
-The cousin, who had just placed a glass of sugar and water, and one of
-Dickens’ novels on the night table, looked at her. Without answering,
-she bent over and said:
-
-“You are so nice, this evening!”
-
-And she kissed her on both cheeks, with her dry lips and bitter mouth,
-in the resigned manner of a poor and ugly relation. Campardon, his face
-very red, and suffering from a difficult digestion, also looked at his
-wife. His mustache quivered slightly as he kissed her in his turn.
-
-“Good night, my little duck.”
-
-“Good night, my darling. Now, mind you go to bed at once.”
-
-“Never fear!” said Gasparine. “If he’s not in bed asleep at eleven
-o’clock, I’ll get up and put his lamp out.”
-
-Toward eleven o’clock, Campardon, who was yawning over a Swiss cottage,
-the fancy of a tailor of the Rue Rameau, rose from his seat and
-undressed himself slowly, thinking of Rose, so pretty and so clean;
-then, after opening his bed, on account of the servants, he went and
-joined Gasparine in hers. It was so narrow that they slept very
-uncomfortably in it, and their elbows were constantly digging into each
-other’s ribs. He especially always had one leg quite stiff in the
-morning, through his efforts to balance himself on the edge of the
-mattress.
-
-At the same time, as Victoire had gone to her room, having finished her
-washing up, Lisa came, in accordance with her usual custom, to see if
-mademoiselle required anything more. Angèle was waiting for her
-comfortably in her bed; and thus, every evening, unknown to the
-parents, they had endless games at cards, on a corner of the
-counterpane, which they spread out for the purpose. They played at
-beggar-my-neighbor, while abusing cousin Gasparine, a dirty creature,
-whom the maid coarsely pulled to pieces before the child. They both
-avenged themselves for their hypocritical submission during the day,
-and Lisa took a low delight in this corruption of Angèle, and in
-satisfying the curiosity of this sickly girl, agitated by the crisis of
-her thirteen years. That night they were furious with Gasparine, who,
-for two days past, had taken to locking up the sugar, with which the
-maid filled her pockets, to empty them afterward on the child’s bed.
-What a bear she was! now they were not even able to get a lump of sugar
-to suck when going to sleep!
-
-“Yet, your papa gives her plenty of sugar!” said Lisa, with a sensual
-laugh.
-
-“Oh! yes!” murmured Angèle, laughing also.
-
-“What does your papa do to her? Come, show me.”
-
-Then the child caught the maid round the neck, pressed her in her bare
-arms, and kissed her violently on the mouth, saying as she did so:
-
-“See! like this. See! like this.”
-
-Midnight struck. Campardon and Gasparine were moaning in their
-over-narrow bed, whilst Rose, stretching herself out in the middle of
-hers, and extending her limbs, was reading Dickens, with tears of
-emotion. A profound silence followed; the chaste night cast its shadow
-over the respectability of the family.
-
-On going up to his room, Octave found that the Pichons had company.
-Jules called him in, and persisted on his taking a glass of something.
-Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume were there, having made it up with the
-young people, on the occasion of Marie’s churching, she having been
-confined in September. They had even agreed to come to dinner one
-Tuesday, to celebrate the young woman’s recovery, which only fully
-dated from the day before. Anxious to pacify her mother, whom the sight
-of the child, another girl, annoyed, she had sent it out to nurse, not
-far from Paris. Lilitte was sleeping on the table, overcome by a glass
-of pure wine, which her parents had forced her to drink to her little
-sister’s health.
-
-“Well! two may still be put up with!” said Madame Vuillaume, after
-clinking glasses with Octave. “Only, don’t do it again, son-in-law.”
-
-The others all laughed. But the old woman remained perfectly grave.
-
-“There is nothing laughable in that,” she continued. “We accept this
-child, but I swear to you that if another were to come——”
-
-“Oh! if another came,” finished Monsieur Vuillaume, “you would have
-neither heart nor brains. Dash it all! one must be serious in life, one
-should restrain oneself, when one has not got hundreds and thousands to
-spend in pleasures.”
-
-And, turning toward Octave, he added:
-
-“You see, sir, I am decorated. Well! I may tell you that, so as not to
-dirty too many ribbons, I don’t wear my decoration at home. Therefore,
-if I deprive my wife and myself of the pleasure of being decorated in
-our own home, our children can certainly deprive themselves of the
-pleasure of having daughters. No, sir, there are no little economies.”
-
-But the Pichons assured him of their obedience. They were not likely to
-be caught at that game again!
-
-“To suffer what I’ve suffered!” said Marie, still quite pale.
-
-“I would sooner cut my leg off,” declared Jules.
-
-The Vuillaumes nodded their heads with a satisfied air. They had their
-word, so they forgave them that time. And, as ten was striking by the
-clock, they tenderly embraced all round; and Jules put on his hat to
-see them to the omnibus. This resumption of the old ways affected them
-so much that they embraced a second time on the landing. When they had
-taken their departure, Marie, who stood watching them go down, leaning
-over the balustrade, beside Octave, took the latter back to the
-dining-room, saying:
-
-“Ah! mamma is not unkind, and she is quite right: children are no
-joke!”
-
-She had shut the door, and was clearing the table of the glasses which
-still lay about. The narrow room, with its smoky lamp, was quite warm
-from the little family jollification. Lilitte continued to slumber on a
-corner of the American cloth.
-
-“I’m off to bed,” murmured Octave.
-
-But he sat down, feeling very comfortable there.
-
-“What! going to bed already!” resumed the young woman. “You don’t often
-keep such good hours. Have you something to see to, then, early
-to-morrow?”
-
-“No,” answered he. “I feel sleepy, that is all. Oh! I can very well
-stay another ten minutes or so.”
-
-He just then thought of Berthe. She would not be coming up till
-half-past twelve: he had plenty of time. And this thought, the hope of
-having her with him for a whole night, which had been consuming him for
-weeks past, no longer had the same effect on him. The fever of the day,
-the torment of his desire counting the minutes, evoking the continual
-image of approaching bliss, gave way beneath the fatigue of waiting.
-
-“Will you have another small glass of brandy?” asked Marie.
-
-“Well! yes, I don’t mind.”
-
-He thought that it would set him up a bit. When she had taken the glass
-from him, he caught hold of her hands, and held them in his, whilst she
-smiled, without the least alarm. He thought her charming, with her
-paleness of a woman who had recently gone through a deal of suffering.
-All the hidden tenderness with which he felt himself again invaded,
-ascended with sudden violence to his throat, and to his lips. He had
-one evening restored her to her husband, after placing a father’s kiss
-upon her brow, and now he felt a necessity to take her back again, an
-acute and immediate longing, in which all desire for Berthe vanished,
-like something too distant to dwell upon.
-
-“You are not afraid, then, to-day?” asked he, squeezing her hands
-tighter.
-
-“No, since it has now become impossible. Oh! we shall always be good
-friends!”
-
-And she gave him to understand that she knew everything. Saturnin must
-have spoken. Moreover, she always noticed when Octave received a
-certain person in his room. As he turned pale with anxiety, she
-hastened to ease his mind: she would never say a word to any one, she
-was not angry, on the contrary she wished him much happiness.
-
-“Come,” repeated she, “I’m married, so I can’t bear you any ill will.”
-
-He took her on his knees, and exclaimed:
-
-“But it’s you who I love!”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-And he spoke truly. At that moment he loved her and only her, and with
-an absolute and infinite passion. All his new intrigue, the two months
-spent in pursuing another, were as naught. He again beheld himself in
-that narrow room, coming and kissing Marie on the neck, behind Jule’s
-back, ever finding her willing, with her passive gentleness. This was
-true happiness, how was it that he had disdained it? Regret almost
-broke his heart. He still wished for her, and he felt that, if he had
-her no more, he would be eternally miserable.
-
-“Let me be,” murmured she, trying to release herself. “You are not
-reasonable, you will end by grieving me. Now that you love another,
-what is the use of continuing to torment me?”
-
-She defended herself thus, in her gentle and irresolute way, merely
-feeling a certain repugnance for what did not amuse her much. But he
-was getting crazy, he squeezed her tighter, he kissed her throat
-through the coarse material of her woolen dress.
-
-“It’s you who I love, you cannot understand—Listen! on what I hold most
-sacred, I swear to you I do not lie. Tear my heart open and see. Oh! I
-implore you, be kind!”
-
-Marie, paralyzed by the will of this man, made a movement as though to
-take slumbering Lilitte into the next apartment; but he prevented her,
-fearing that she would awaken the child. The peacefulness of the house,
-at that hour of the night, filled the little room with a sort of
-buzzing silence. Suddenly the lamp went down, and they were about to
-find themselves in the dark, when Marie, rising, was just in time to
-wind it up again.
-
-Tears filled her eyes, and she remained sad, though still without
-anger. When he left her, he felt dissatisfied, he would have liked to
-have gone to sleep. But the other one would be there shortly, he must
-wait for her, and this thought weighed terribly on him; after having
-spent feverish nights in concocting extravagant plans for getting her
-to visit him in his room, he longed for something to happen which would
-prevent her from coming up. Perhaps she would once again fail to keep
-her word. It was a hope with which he scarcely dared delude himself.
-
-Midnight struck. Octave, quite tired out, stood listening, fearing to
-hear the rustling of her skirts along the narrow passage. At half past
-twelve, he was seized with real anxiety; at one o’clock, he thought
-himself saved, but a secret irritation mingled with his relief, the
-annoyance of a man made a fool of by a woman. But, just as he made up
-his mind to undress himself, yawning for want of sleep, there came
-three gentle taps at the door. It was Berthe. He felt both annoyed and
-flattered, and advanced to meet her with open arms, when she motioned
-him aside, and stood trembling and listening against the door, which
-she had hastily shut after her.
-
-“What is the matter?” asked he, in a low voice.
-
-“I don’t know, I was frightened,” stammered she. “It is so dark on the
-stairs, I thought that somebody was following me. Dear me! how stupid
-all this is! Some harm is sure to happen to us.”
-
-This chilled them both. They did not even kiss each other.
-
-“I am going back,” said she, without leaving her chair.
-
-“What, you are going?”
-
-“Do you think I sell myself? You are always hurting my feelings; you
-have again spoilt all my pleasure to-night. Why did you buy it, when I
-forbade you to do so?”
-
-She got up, and at length consented to look at it. But, when she opened
-the box, she experienced such a disappointment, that she could not
-restrain this indignant exclamation:
-
-“What! it is not Chantilly at all, it is llama!”
-
-Octave, who was reducing his presents, had yielded to a miserly idea.
-He tried to explain to her that there was some superb llama, quite
-equal to Chantilly; and he praised up the article, just as though he
-had been behind his counter, making her feel the lace, and swearing
-that it would last her forever. But she shook her head, and silenced
-him by observing contemptuously.
-
-“The long and short of it is, this costs one hundred francs, whereas
-the other would have cost three hundred.”
-
-And, seeing him turn pale, she added, so as to soften her words: “You
-are very kind all the same, and I am much obliged to you. It is not the
-value which makes the present, when one’s intention is good.”
-
-She sat down again, and a pause ensued. She was still quite upset by
-her silly fright on the stairs! And she returned to her misgivings with
-respect to Rachel, relating how she had found Auguste whispering with
-the maid behind the door. Yet, it would have been so easy to have
-bought the girl over by giving her a five franc piece from time to
-time. But to do this, it was necessary to have some five franc pieces;
-she never had one, she had nothing. Her voice became harsh, the llama
-shawl, which she no longer alluded to, was working her up to such a
-pitch of rancor and despair, that she ended by picking the quarrel with
-her lover which had already existed so long between her and her
-husband.
-
-“Come, now, is it a life worth living? never a sou, always at any one’s
-mercy for the least thing! Oh! I’ve had enough of it, I’ve had enough
-of it!”
-
-Octave, who was pacing the room, stopped short to ask her:
-
-“But why do you tell me all this?”
-
-“Eh? sir, why? But there are things which delicacy alone ought to tell
-you, without my being made to blush by having to discuss such matters
-with you. Ought you not, long ere now, and without having to be told,
-to have made me easy by bringing this girl to our feet?”
-
-She paused, then she added, in a tone of disdainful irony:
-
-“It would not have ruined you.”
-
-There was another silence. The young man, who was again pacing the
-room, at length replied:
-
-“I am not rich, and I regret it for your sake.”
-
-Then matters went from bad to worse, the quarrel assumed quite conjugal
-violence.
-
-“Say that I love you for your money!” cried she, with all the bluntness
-of her mother, whose very words seemed to come to her lips. “I am a
-money-loving woman, am I not? Well! yes, I am a money-loving woman,
-because I am a sensible woman. It is no use pretending the contrary;
-money will ever be money in spite of everything. As for me, whenever I
-have had twenty sous, I have always pretended that I had forty, for it
-is better to create envy than pity.”
-
-He interrupted her to say, in a weary voice, like a man who only
-desires peace.
-
-“Listen, if it annoys you so much that it’s a llama shawl, I will give
-you one in Chantilly.”
-
-“Your shawl!” continued she, in a regular fury, “why, I’ve already
-forgotten all about your shawl! The other things are what exasperate
-me, understand! Oh! moreover, you’re just like my husband. You wouldn’t
-care a bit if I hadn’t a pair of boots to go out in. Yet, when one
-loves a woman, good nature alone should prompt one to feed and dress
-her. But no man will ever understand that. Why, between the two of you,
-you would soon let me go out with nothing on but my chemise, if I was
-agreeable!”
-
-Octave, tired out by this domestic squabble, decided not to answer,
-having noticed that Auguste sometimes got rid of her in that way. He
-let pass the flow of words, and thought of the ill-luck of his amours.
-Yet, he had ardently desired this one, even to the point of upsetting
-all his calculations; and, now that she was in his room, it was to
-quarrel with him, to make him pass a sleepless night, as though they
-had already left six months of married life behind them.
-
-And full of conciliation, without desire, but polite, he tried to kiss
-her. She pushed him away, and burst into tears.
-
-“Go on, reproach me also with my outings,” stammered she in the midst
-of her sobs. “Accuse me of being too great an expense to you. Oh! I see
-clearly now; it’s all on account of that wretched present. If you could
-shut me up in a box, you would do so. I have lady friends; I go to call
-on them; that is no crime. And as for mamma——”
-
-“For heaven’s sake leave your mamma alone,” interrupted Octave; “and
-allow me to tell you that she has given you a precious bad temper.”
-
-She mechanically commenced to undress herself, and becoming more and
-more excited, she raised her voice.
-
-“Mamma has always done her duty. It’s not for you to speak of her here.
-I forbid you to mention her name. It only remained for you to attack my
-family!”
-
-Finding a difficulty in undoing the string of her petticoat, she broke
-it. Then, seating herself on the edge of the bed, her bosom heaving
-with anger in the midst of the surrounding lace of her chemise, she
-continued:
-
-“Ah! how I regret my weakness, sir! how one would reflect, if one could
-only foresee everything!”
-
-Octave, who had made a show of lying with his face to the wall,
-suddenly bounced round, exclaiming:
-
-“What! you regret having loved me?”
-
-“Most certainly, a man incapable of understanding a woman’s heart!”
-
-And they looked at each other close together, with hardened faces,
-quite devoid of love.
-
-“Ah! good heavens! if it were only to come over again!” added she.
-
-“You would take another, wouldn’t you?” said he, brutally and in a very
-low voice.
-
-She was about to answer fin the same exasperated tone, when there came
-a sudden hammering at the door. Not understanding at first what it
-meant, they remained immovable, and their blood seemed to freeze in
-their veins. A hollow voice said:
-
-“Open the door, I can hear you at your dirty tricks. Open, or I will
-burst it in!”
-
-It was the husband’s voice. Still the lovers did not move, their heads
-were filled with such a buzzing that they could think of nothing; and
-they felt very cold, just like corpses. Berthe at length jumped from
-the bed, with an instinctive desire to fly from her lover, whilst, on
-the other side of the door, Auguste repeated:
-
-“Open! open, I say!”
-
-Then ensued a terrible confusion, an inexpressible anguish. Berthe
-turned about the room in a state of distraction, seeking for some
-outlet, with a fear of death which made her turn ghastly pale. Octave,
-whose heart jumped to his mouth at each blow, had gone and mechanically
-leant against the door, as though to strengthen it. The noise was
-becoming unbearable, the fool would wake the whole house up, he would
-have to open the door. But, when she understood his determination, she
-hung onto his arms, imploring him with terrified eyes; no, no, mercy!
-the other would rush upon them with a pistol or a knife. He, as pale as
-herself, and partly overcome by her fright, slipped on his trousers,
-and beseeched her to dress herself. Still bewildered, she only managed
-to put on her stockings. All this time the husband continued his
-uproar.
-
-“You won’t; you don’t answer. Very well, you’ll see.”
-
-Every since he had last paid his rent, Octave had been asking his
-landlord for some slight repairs—two new screws in the staple of his
-lock, which scarcely held to the wood. Suddenly the door cracked, the
-staple yielded, and Auguste, unable to stop himself, rolled into the
-middle of the room.
-
-“Damnation!” swore he.
-
-He simply held a key in his hand, which was bleeding through becoming
-grazed in his fall. When he got up, livid, and filled with rage and
-shame at the thought of his ridiculous entry, he hit out into space,
-and wished to spring upon Octave. But the latter, in spite of the
-awkwardness of being barefooted and having his trousers all awry,
-seized him by the wrists, and, being the stronger of the two, mastered
-him, at the same time exclaiming:
-
-“Sir, you are violating my domicile. It is disgraceful; you should act
-like a gentleman.”
-
-And he almost beat him. During their short struggle, Berthe had made
-off in her chemise by the door which had remained wide open; she
-fancied she beheld a kitchen knife in her husband’s bleeding fist, and
-she seemed to feel the cold steel between her shoulders. As she rushed
-along the dark passage, she thought she heard the sound of blows,
-without being able to make out who had dealt them, or who received
-them. Voices, which she no longer recognized, were saying:
-
-“I am at your service whenever you please.”
-
-“Very well, you will hear from me.”
-
-With a bound she gained the servants’ staircase. But when she had
-rushed down the two flights, as though there had been the flames of a
-conflagration behind her, she found the kitchen door locked, and
-remembered she had left the key up-stairs in the pocket of her
-dressing-gown. Moreover, there was no lamp; not the least glimmer of a
-light beneath the door; it was evidently the servant who had sold them.
-Without stopping to take breath, she tore up-stairs again, passing once
-more before the passage leading to Octave’s room, where the two men’s
-voices still continued in violent altercation.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-They were going on abusing each other; she would have time, perhaps.
-And she rapidly descended the grand staircase, with the hope that her
-husband had left their outer door open. She would bolt herself in her
-room, and open to nobody. But there, for the second time, she
-encountered a locked door. Then, shut out from her home, with scarcely
-a covering to her body, she lost her head, and scampered from floor to
-floor, like some hunted animal which knows not where to take earth. She
-would never have the courage to knock at her parents’ door. At one
-moment she thought of taking refuge with the doorkeepers, but shame
-drove her up-stairs again. She listened, raised her head, bent over the
-hand-rail, her ears deafened by the beating of her heart in the
-profound silence, her eyes blinded by lights which seemed to shoot out
-from the dense obscurity. And it was always the knife, the knife in
-Auguste’s bleeding fist, the icy cold point of which was about to
-pierce her. Suddenly there was a noise; she fancied he was coming, and
-she shivered to her very marrow; and, as she was opposite Campardons’
-door, she rang desperately, furiously, almost breaking the bell.
-
-“Good heavens! is the house on fire?” asked an agitated voice inside.
-
-The door opened at once. It was Lisa, who was only then leaving
-mademoiselle, walking softly, and with a candlestick in her hand. The
-mad ringing of the bell had made her start, just as she was crossing
-the ante-room. When she caught sight of Berthe in her chemise, she
-stood rooted to the spot.
-
-“What’s the matter?” asked she.
-
-The young woman had entered, violently slamming the door behind her;
-and, panting and leaning against the wall, she stammered out:
-
-“Hush! keep quiet! He wants to kill me.”
-
-Lisa was trying to get a sensible explanation from her, when Campardon
-appeared, looking very anxious. This incomprehensible uproar had
-disturbed Gasparine and him in their narrow bed. He had simply slipped
-on his trousers, and his fat face was swollen and covered with
-perspiration, whilst his yellow beard was quite flaccid and full of the
-white down of the pillow. He was all out of breath, and endeavoring to
-assume the assurance of a husband who sleeps alone.
-
-“Is that you, Lisa?” called he from the drawing-room. “It’s absurd! How
-is it you’re not up-stairs?”
-
-“I was afraid I had not fastened the door properly, sir; I could not
-sleep for thinking of it, so I came down to make sure. But it’s
-madame——”
-
-The architect, seeing Berthe leaning against the wall of his anteroom
-with nothing but her chemise on, stood lost in amazement also. Berthe
-forgot how scantily she was clad.
-
-“Oh! sir, keep me here,” repeated she. “He wants to kill me.”
-
-“Who does?” asked he.
-
-“My husband.”
-
-The cousin now put in an appearance behind the architect. She had taken
-time to don a dress, and, her hair untidy and also full of down, her
-breast flat and hanging, her bones almost protruding through her
-garment, she brought with her the rancor arising from her interrupted
-repose. The sight of the young woman, of her plump and delicate nudity,
-only increased her ill-humor.
-
-“Whatever have you done, then, to your husband?” she asked.
-
-At this simple question Berthe was overcome by a great shame. She
-remembered she was half-naked, and blushed from head to foot. In this
-long thrill of shame, she crossed her arms over her bosom, as though to
-escape the glances directed at her. And she stammered out:
-
-“He found me—he caught me——”
-
-The two others understood, and looked at each other with indignation in
-their eyes. Lisa, whose candle lighted up the scene, pretended to share
-her master’s reprehension. At this moment, however, the explanation was
-interrupted by Angèle also hastening to the spot; and she pretended to
-have just woke up, rubbing her eyes heavy with sleep. The sight of the
-lady with nothing on her but a chemise suddenly brought her to a
-standstill, with a jerk, a quivering of her precocious young girl’s
-slender body.
-
-“Oh!” she simply exclaimed.
-
-“It’s nothing; go back to bed!” cried her father.
-
-Then, understanding that some sort of story was necessary, he related
-the first that came into his head, but it was really too ludicrous.
-
-“Madame sprained her ankle coming down-stairs, so she’s come here for
-assistance. Go back to bed; you’ll catch cold!”
-
-Lisa choked back a laugh on encountering Angèle’s wide-open eyes, as
-the latter returned to her bed, all rosy, and quite delighted at having
-seen such a sight. For some minutes past Madame Campardon had been
-calling from her room. She had not put her light out, being so
-interested in her Dickens, and she wished to know what had happened.
-What did it all mean? who was there? why did not some one come to set
-her mind at rest?
-
-“Come, madame,” said the architect, taking Berthe with him. “And you,
-Lisa, wait a minute.”
-
-In the bed-room, Rose was still spread out in the middle of the big
-bed. She throned there with her queenly luxury, her quiet serenity of
-an idol. She was deeply affected by what she had read, and she had
-placed the book on her breast, with the heavings of which it gently
-rose and fell. When the cousin in a few words had made her acquainted
-with what had taken place, she also appeared to be scandalized. How
-could one go with a man who was not one’s husband? and she was filled
-with disgust for that which was denied to her. But the architect now
-cast confused glances at the young woman, and this ended by making
-Gasparine blush.
-
-“It is shocking!” cried she. “Cover yourself up, madame, for it is
-really shocking! Pray cover yourself up!”
-
-And she herself threw a shawl of Rose’s over Berthe’s shoulders, a
-large knitted woolen shawl which was lying about. It did not reach to
-her knees, however, and in spite of himself the architect’s eyes
-wandered over the young woman’s person.
-
-Berthe was still trembling. Though she was in safety, she kept starting
-and looking toward the door. Her eyes were full of tears, and she
-beseeched this lady, who seemed so calm and comfortable as she lay in
-bed:
-
-“Oh! madame, keep me, save me. He wants to kill me.”
-
-A pause ensued. The three were consulting one another with their eyes,
-without hiding their disapproval of such culpable conduct. Besides, it
-was not proper to come in a state of nudity and wake people up after
-midnight, and perhaps put them to great inconvenience. No, such a thing
-was not right; it showed a want of discretion, besides placing them in
-a very awkward position.
-
-“We have a young girl here,” said Gasparine at length. “Think of our
-responsibility, madame.”
-
-“You would be better with your parents,” insinuated the architect, “and
-if you will allow me to see you to their door——”
-
-Berthe was again seized with terror.
-
-“No, no! He is on the stairs; he would kill me.”
-
-And she implored him to let her remain: a chair was all she needed to
-wait on till morning; on the morrow, she would go quietly away. The
-architect and his wife would have consented; he won over by such tender
-charms; she interested by the drama of this surprise in the middle of
-the night. But Gasparine remained inflexible. Yet she had her curiosity
-to satisfy, and she ended by asking:
-
-“Wherever were you?”
-
-“Up-stairs, in the room at the end of the passage, you know.”
-
-At this, Campardon held up his arms and exclaimed:
-
-“What! with Octave! it isn’t possible!”
-
-With Octave, with that bean-stalk, such a pretty, plump little woman!
-He was annoyed. Rose, also, felt vexed, and was now inclined to be
-severe. As for Gasparine, she was quite beside herself, stung to the
-heart by her instinctive hatred of the young man. He again! she knew
-very well that he had them all; but she was certainly not going to be
-so stupid as to keep them warm for him in her home.
-
-“Put yourself in our place,” resumed she, harshly. “I tell you again we
-have a young girl here.”
-
-“Besides,” said Campardon, in his turn, “there is the house to be
-considered; there is your husband, with whom I have always been on the
-best of terms. He would have a right to be surprised. It will never do
-for us to appear to publicly approve your conduct, madame, oh! a
-conduct which I do not permit myself to judge, but which is rather—what
-shall I say?—rather indiscreet, is it not?”
-
-“We are certainly not going to cast stones at you,” continued Rose.
-“Only, the world is so wicked! People will say that you had your
-meetings here. And, you know, my husband works for some very
-strait-laced people. At the least stain on his morality, he would lose
-everything. But, allow me to ask you, madame, how is it you were not
-restrained by religion? The Abbé Mauduit was talking to us of you quite
-paternally, only the day before yesterday.”
-
-Berthe turned her head about between the three of them, looking at the
-one who spoke, in a bewildered sort of way. In the midst of her fright,
-she was beginning to understand; she felt surprised at being there. Why
-had she rang; what was she doing amongst these people whom she
-disturbed? She saw them clearly now—the wife occupying the whole width
-of the bed, the husband in his drawers, and the cousin in a thin skirt,
-the pair of them white with the feathers of the same pillow. They were
-right; it was not proper to tumble amongst people in that way. And, as
-the architect pushed her gently toward the ante-room, she went off
-without even answering Rose’s religious regrets.
-
-“Shall I accompany you as far as your parents’ door?” asked Campardon.
-“Your place is with them.”
-
-She refused, with a terrified gesture.
-
-“Then, wait a moment; I will take a look up and down the stairs, for I
-should deeply regret if the least harm happened to you.”
-
-Lisa had remained in the middle of the ante-room, with her candle. He
-took it, went out onto the landing, and returned almost immediately.
-
-“I assure you there is no one. Run up quick.”
-
-Then Berthe, who had not again opened her lips, hastily took off the
-woolen shawl, and threw it on the floor, saying:
-
-“Here! this is yours. It’s no use keeping it, as he’s going to kill
-me!”
-
-And she went out into the darkness, with nothing on but her chemise,
-the same as when she came. Campardon double locked the door in a fury,
-murmuring the while:
-
-“Eh! go and get tumbled elsewhere!”
-
-Then, as Lisa burst out laughing behind him, he added:
-
-“It’s true, they’d be coming every night, if one received them. Every
-one for himself. I would have given her a hundred francs: but my
-reputation! no, by Jove!”
-
-In the bed-room, Rose and Gasparine were recovering themselves. Had any
-one ever seen such a shameless creature? to walk about the staircase
-with nothing on! Really! there were women who respected nothing, at
-certain times! But it was close upon two o’clock; they must get to
-sleep. And they embraced again: good night, my darling—good night, my
-duck. Eh! was it not nice to love each other, and to always agree
-together, when one beheld such catastrophes occurring in other
-families? Rose again took up her Dickens; he supplied all her
-requirements; she would read a few more pages, then let the book slip
-into the bed, the same as she did every night, and fall off asleep,
-weary with emotion. Campardon followed Gasparine, made her get into bed
-first, and then laid himself down beside her. They both grumbled; the
-sheets had become cold again; they were not at all comfortable; it
-would take them another half-hour to get warm.
-
-And Lisa, who, before going up-stairs, had returned to Angèle’s room,
-was saying to her:
-
-“The lady has sprained her ankle. Come, show me how she sprained it.”
-
-“Why! like this!” replied the child, throwing herself on the maid’s
-neck, and kissing her on her lips.
-
-Berthe was on the stairs shivering. It was cold, the heating apparatus
-was not lighted till the beginning of November. Her fright had at
-length abated. She had gone down and listened at her door: nothing, not
-a sound. Then she had gone up, not daring to venture as far as Octave’s
-room, but listening from a distance: there was a death-like silence,
-unbroken by a murmur.
-
-Suddenly, a noise affrighted her, causing her to jump up, and she was
-about to hammer with both her fists on her mother’s door, when some one
-calling out stopped her.
-
-It was a voice almost as faint as a zephyr.
-
-“Madame—madame—”
-
-She looked down-stairs, but saw nothing.
-
-“Madame—madame—it’s I.”
-
-And Marie showed herself in her chemise also. She had heard all the
-disturbance, and had slipped out of bed, leaving Jules asleep, whilst
-she remained listening in her little dining-room without a light.
-
-“Come in. You are in trouble. I am a friend.”
-
-She gently reassured her, and told her all that had taken place. The
-men had not hurt each other: he had cursed and swore, and pushed the
-chest of drawers up against his door, to shut himself in; whilst the
-other had gone down-stairs with a bundle in his hand, the things she
-had left behind, her shoes and petticoat, which he must have rolled up
-mechanically in her dressing-gown, on seeing them lying about. In
-short, it was all over. It would be easy enough to prevent them
-fighting on the morrow.
-
-But Berthe remained standing on the threshold with a remnant of fear
-and shame at thus entering the abode of a lady whom she did not
-habitually frequent. Marie was obliged to lead her in by the hand.
-
-“You will sleep there, on that sofa. I will lend you a shawl, and I
-will go and see your mother. Good heavens! what a misfortune! When one
-is in love, one does not stop to think.”
-
-“Ah! for the little pleasure we had!” said Berthe, with a sigh, which
-was full of the cruelty and stupidity of her unprofitable night. “He
-does right to swear. If he’s like me, he’s had more than enough of it!”
-
-They were on the point of speaking of Octave. They said nothing
-further, but suddenly fell sobbing into each other’s arms in the dark.
-Their limbs clasped with a convulsive passion, their bosoms, hot with
-tears, were pressed close together beneath their crumpled chemises. It
-was a final weariness, an immense sadness, the end of everything. They
-did not say another word, whilst their tears flowed, flowed without
-ceasing, in the midst of the darkness and of the profound slumber of
-that house so full of decency.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XV.
-
-
-That morning the house awoke with a great middle-class dignity. Nothing
-of the staircase preserved a trace of the scandals of the night,
-neither the imitation marble which had reflected that gallop of a woman
-in her chemise, nor the Wilton carpet from which all the odor of her
-semi-nudity had evaporated. Monsieur Gourd alone, when he went
-up-stairs toward seven o’clock to give his look round, sniffed at the
-walls; but what did not concern him, did not concern him; and as, on
-going down-stairs again, he saw two of the servants in the courtyard,
-Lisa and Julie, who were no doubt discussing the catastrophe, for they
-seemed deeply interested, he stared at them so fixedly that they at
-once separated. Then he went outside to make sure of the tranquillity
-of the street. It was calm. Only, the servants must already have been
-talking, for some of the neighbors’ wives stopped, tradespeople came to
-their shop doors, looking up in the air, examining and searching the
-different floors, in the gaping way in which the crowd scrutinizes
-houses where a crime has been committed. In the presence of the rich
-frontage, however, people held their tongues and politely passed on.
-
-At half-past seven, Madame Juzeur appeared in a dressing-gown, to look
-after Louise, she said. Her eyes sparkled, and her hands were
-feverishly hot. She stopped Marie, who was going up with her milk, and
-endeavored to get her to talk; but she could draw nothing out of her,
-and did not even learn how the mother had received her guilty daughter.
-Then, under the pretense of waiting a minute for the postman, she
-entered the Gourds’ room, and ended by asking why Monsieur Octave did
-not come down; perhaps he was ill. The doorkeeper replied that he did
-not know; moreover, Monsieur Octave never came down before ten minutes
-past eight. At this moment, the other Madame Campardon, pale and erect,
-passed by; every one bowed to her. And Madame Juzeur, obliged to go
-up-stairs again, had the luck, on reaching the landing, to meet the
-architect just starting off and putting on his gloves. At first they
-both looked at each other in a dejected sort of way; then he shrugged
-his shoulders.
-
-“Poor things!” murmured she.
-
-“No, no, it serves them right!” said he ferociously. “An example must
-be made of them. A fellow whom I introduce into a respectable house,
-beseeching him not to bring any women there, and who, to humbug me,
-goes and sleeps with the landlord’s sister-in-law! I look like a fool
-in it all!”
-
-No more was said. Madame Juzeur entered her apartments, whilst
-Campardon continued on his way down-stairs in such a state of fury that
-he tore one of his gloves.
-
-Just as eight o’clock was striking, Auguste, looking very dejected, his
-features contracted by an atrocious headache, crossed the courtyard to
-go to his warehouse. Filled with shame, and dreading to meet any one,
-he had come down by way of the servants’ staircase. However, he could
-not leave his business to take care of itself. When in the midst of his
-counters, and before the pay-desk where Berthe usually sat, his emotion
-almost choked him. The porter was taking down the shutters, and Auguste
-was giving the orders for the day, when the abrupt appearance of
-Saturnin coming up from the basement gave him an awful fright. The
-madman’s eyes were like flames of fire, his white teeth resembled a
-famished wolf’s. He went straight up to the husband, clenching his
-fists.
-
-“Where is she? If you touch her, I’ll bleed you to death like a pig!”
-
-Auguste drew back, exasperated.
-
-“Here’s this one, now!”
-
-“Shut up, or I’ll bleed you!” repeated Saturnin, making a rush at him.
-
-Then the husband preferred to beat a retreat. He had a horror of
-madmen; one could not reason with such people. But, as he went out into
-the porch, calling to the porter to shut Saturnin up in the basement,
-he found himself face to face with Valérie and Théophile. The latter,
-who had caught a frightful cold, was wrapped up in a big red comforter,
-and coughed and moaned. They must both have known everything, for they
-stopped before Auguste with an air of condolence. Since the quarrel
-about the inheritance, the two couples had been sworn enemies, and were
-no longer on speaking terms.
-
-“You still have a brother,” said Théophile, shaking him by the hand,
-when he had finished coughing. “I wish you to remember it in your
-misfortune.”
-
-“Yes,” added Valérie, “this ought to avenge me, for she said some
-filthy things to me, did she not? But we pity you all the same, for we
-are not quite heartless.”
-
-Auguste, deeply touched by their kind manner, led them to the end of
-his warehouse, keeping an eye on Saturnin, who was prowling about. And,
-there, their reconciliation became complete. Berthe’s name was not
-mentioned; only, Valérie allowed it to be understood that all the
-unpleasantness arose from that woman, for there never had been a
-disagreeable word said in the family till she had entered it to
-dishonor them. Auguste, his eyes cast on the ground, listened and
-nodded his head approvingly. And a certain gayety gleamed beneath
-Théophile’s commiseration, for he was delighted at no longer being the
-only one, and he examined his brother’s face to see how a person looks
-when in that awkward position.
-
-“Now, what have you decided to do?” inquired he.
-
-“To challenge him, of course!” firmly replied the husband.
-
-Théophile’s joy was spoilt. His wife and he became cooler, in the
-presence of Auguste’s courage. The latter related to them the frightful
-scene of the night—how, having been foolish enough to hesitate
-purchasing a pistol, he had been forced to content himself with merely
-slapping the gentleman’s face; and to tell the truth, the gentleman had
-done the same to him, but that did not prevent his having received a
-pretty good hiding! A scoundrel who had been making a fool of him for
-six months past by pretending to take his part against his wife, and
-whose impudence had gone as far as making reports respecting her on the
-days she went out! As for her, the creature, as she had gone to her
-parents, she could remain with them; he would never take her back.
-
-“Would you believe that last month I allowed her three hundred francs
-for her dress!” cried he. “I who am so kind, so tolerant, who had
-decided to put up with everything sooner than make myself ill! But one
-cannot put up with that—no! no! one cannot!”
-
-Théophile was thinking of death. He trembled feverishly, and almost
-choked as he said:
-
-“It’s absurd, you will get spitted. I would not fight.”
-
-And, as Valérie looked at him, he added, in an embarrassed manner:
-
-“If such a thing happened to me.”
-
-“Ah! the wretched woman!” then murmured his wife, “when one thinks that
-two men are going to kill each other on account of her! In her place I
-could never sleep again.”
-
-Auguste remained firm. He would fight. Moreover, his plans were
-settled. As he particularly wished Duveyrier to be second, he was going
-up to inform him of what had taken place, and to send him at once to
-Octave. Valérie, who was most obliging to Auguste, ended by offering to
-attend at the pay-desk, to give him time to find a suitable person.
-
-“Only,” added she, “I must take Camille to the Tuileries gardens toward
-two o’clock.”
-
-“Oh! it does not matter for once in a way!” said her husband. “It’s
-raining, too.”
-
-“No, no, the child wants air. I must go out.”
-
-At length the two brothers went up to the Duveyriers’. But an
-abominable fit of coughing obliged Théophile to stop on the very first
-stair. He held on the hand-rail, and, when he was able to speak, though
-still with a slight rattle in his throat, he stammered:
-
-“You know, I’m very happy now; I’m quite sure of her, No; I’ve not the
-least thing to reproach her with, and she has given me proofs.”
-
-Auguste stared at him without comprehending, and saw how yellow and
-half dead he looked, with the scanty hairs of his beard drying up in
-his flabby flesh. The look completed Théophile’s annoyance, whilst he
-felt quite embarrassed by his brother’s valor.
-
-“I am speaking of my wife,” he resumed. “Ah! poor old fellow, I pity
-you with all my heart! You recollect my stupidity on your wedding day.
-But with you there can be no mistake, as you saw them.”
-
-“Bah!” said Auguste, doing the brave, “I’ll spit him like a lark. On my
-word, I shouldn’t care a hang if I hadn’t such a headache!”
-
-Just as they rang at the Duveyriers’ door, Théophile suddenly thought
-that very likely the counselor would not be in, for since the day he
-had found Clarisse, he had been drifting into bad habits, and had now
-even got to the point of sleeping out. Hippolyte, who opened the door
-to them, avoided answering with respect to his master; but he said that
-the gentlemen would find madame playing her scales. They entered.
-Clotilde, tightly laced up from the moment she got out of bed, was
-seated at her piano, practicing with a regular and continuous movement
-of her hands; and, as she went in for this kind of exercise for two
-hours every day, so as not to lose the lightness of her touch, she
-occupied her mind in another way, by reading the “Revue des deux
-Mondes,” which stood open on the piano before her, without the agility
-of her fingers being in any way hampered.
-
-“Why! it’s you!” said she, when her brothers had drawn her from the
-volley of notes, which isolated and enveloped her like a storm of hail.
-
-And she did not even show her surprise when she caught sight of
-Théophile. The latter, moreover, kept himself very stiff, like a man
-who had come on another’s account. Auguste, filled with shame at the
-thought of telling his sister of his misfortune, and afraid of
-terrifying her with his duel, had a story all ready. But she did not
-give him time to lie, she questioned him in her quiet way, after
-looking at him intently.
-
-“What do you intend doing now?”
-
-He started and blushed. So every one knew it, then? and he answered in
-the brave tone which had already closed Théophile’s mouth:
-
-“Why, fight, of course!”
-
-“Ah!” said she, greatly surprised this time.
-
-However, she did not disapprove. It would increase the scandal, but yet
-honor had to be satisfied. She contented herself with recalling that
-she had at first opposed the marriage. One could expect nothing of a
-young girl who appeared to be ignorant of all a woman’s duties. Then,
-as Auguste asked her where her husband was:
-
-“He is traveling,” answered she, without the least hesitation.
-
-Then he was quite distressed, for he did not wish to do anything before
-consulting Duveyrier. She listened to him, without mentioning the new
-address, unwilling to acquaint her family with her home troubles. At
-length she hit on an expedient: she advised him to go to Monsieur
-Bachelard, in the Rue d’Enghien; perhaps he would be able to tell him
-something. And she returned to her piano.
-
-“It’s Auguste who asked me to come up,” Théophile, who had not spoken
-until then, thought it necessary to declare. “Will you let me kiss you,
-Clotilde? We are all in trouble.”
-
-She presented her cold cheek, and said:
-
-“My poor fellow, only those are in trouble who choose to be. As for me,
-I forgive every one. And take care of yourself, you seem to me to have
-a very had cough.”
-
-Then, calling to Auguste, she added:
-
-“If the matter does not get settled, let me know, for I shall then be
-very anxious.”
-
-The storm of notes recommenced, enveloping and drowning her; and,
-whilst her nimble fingers practiced the scales in every key, she
-gravely resumed her reading of the “Revue des deux Mondes,” in the
-midst of it all.
-
-Down-stairs, Auguste for a moment discussed the question whether he
-should go to Bachelard’s or not. How could he say to him: “Your niece
-has deceived me?” At length, he decided to obtain Duveyrier’s address
-from the uncle, and to tell him nothing. Everything was settled:
-Valérie would look after the warehouse, whilst Théophile would watch
-the home, until his brother’s return. The latter had sent for a cab,
-and he was just going off, when Saturnin, who had disappeared a moment
-before, came up from the basement with a big kitchen knife, which he
-flourished about, as he cried:
-
-“I’ll bleed him! I’ll bleed him!”
-
-This created another scare. Auguste, turning very pale, jumped
-precipitately into the cab, and pulled the door to, saying:
-
-“He’s got another knife! Wherever does he find all those knives? I
-beseech you, Théophile, send him away, try and arrange that he shall no
-longer be here when I come back. As though what has already happened
-were not bad enough for me!”
-
-The porter had hold of the madman by his shoulders. Valérie told the
-driver the address. But he, a fat and filthy looking man, with a face
-the color of bullock’s blood, and still drunk from the night before,
-did not hurry himself, but took his time to gather up the reins and
-make himself comfortable on the box.
-
-“By distance, governor?” asked he, in a hoarse voice.
-
-“No, by the hour, and quickly please. There will be something handsome
-for yourself.”
-
-In the Rue d’Enghein, he met with another vexation. To begin with, the
-commission agent’s doorway was so blocked up with vans that he almost
-got crushed; then he found himself in the courtyard with the glass
-roof, amidst a crowd of packers all violently nailing up cases, and not
-one of whom could tell him where Bachelard was. The hammering seemed to
-split his skull. He was, however, making up his mind to wait for the
-uncle, when an apprentice, pitying his suffering look, came and
-whispered an address in his ear: Mademoiselle Fifi, Rue Saint-Marc,
-third floor. Old Bachelard was most likely there.
-
-“Where do you say?” asked the driver, who had fallen asleep.
-
-“Rue Saint-Marc, and a little faster, if it’s possible.”
-
-The cab resumed its funereal crawl. On the boulevards, the wheel caught
-in an omnibus. The panels cracked, the springs uttered plaintive cries,
-a gloomy melancholy more and more overcame the husband in his search of
-his second. However, they at last reached the Rue Saint-Marc.
-
-On the third floor, the door was opened by a little old woman, plump
-and white. She seemed suffering from some strong emotion, and she
-admitted Auguste directly he asked for Monsieur Bachelard.
-
-“Ah! sir, you are one of his friends, surely. Pray try to calm him.
-Something happened to vex him a little while ago, the poor dear man.
-You know me, no doubt, he must have spoken to you of me: I am
-Mademoiselle Menu.”
-
-Auguste, feeling quite scared, found himself in a narrow room
-overlooking the courtyard, and as clean and peaceful as a country home.
-One could almost detect the odor of order and work, the purity of the
-happy existence of people in a quiet way. Seated before an embroidery
-frame, on which a priest’s stole was stretched, a fair young girl,
-pretty and having a candid air, was weeping bitterly; whilst uncle
-Bachelard, standing up, his nose inflamed, his eyes bloodshot, was
-driveling with rage and despair. He was so upset that Auguste’s entry
-did not appear to surprise him in the least. He immediately called upon
-him to bear witness, and the scene continued.
-
-“Come now, Monsieur Vabre, who are an honest man, what would you say in
-my place? I arrived here this morning a little earlier than usual. I
-entered her room with the sugar from the café and three four-sou
-pieces, just for a surprise for her, and I find her with that pig
-Gueulin! No, there, frankly what would you say?”
-
-Auguste, greatly embarrassed, turned very red. He at first thought that
-the uncle knew of his misfortune and was making a fool of him. But the
-other added, without even waiting for a reply:
-
-“Ah! listen, mademoiselle, you don’t know what it is you have done! I
-who was becoming young again, who felt so delighted at having found a
-nice quiet little nook, where I was once more beginning to believe in
-happiness! Yes, you were an angel, a flower, in short something fresh
-which helped me to forget a lot of dirty women.”
-
-A genuine emotion contracted his throat, his voice choked in accents of
-profound suffering. Everything was crumbling away, and he wept for the
-loss of the ideal, with the hiccoughs of a remnant of drunkenness.
-
-“I did not know uncle,” stammered Fifi, whose sobs redoubled in
-presence of this pitiful spectacle; “no, I did not know it would cause
-you so much grief.”
-
-And indeed she did not look as if she did know. She retained her
-ingenuous eyes, her odor of chastity, the naivete of a little girl
-unable as yet to distinguish a gentleman from a lady. Aunt Menu,
-moreover, swore that at heart she was innocent.
-
-“Do be calm, Monsieur Narcisse. She loves you well all the same. I felt
-that it would not be very agreeable to you. I said to her: ‘If Monsieur
-Narcisse learns this, he will be annoyed.’ But she has scarcely lived
-as yet, has she? She does not know what pleases, nor what does not
-please. Do not weep any more, as her heart is always for you.”
-
-As neither the child nor the uncle listened to her, she turned toward
-Auguste, she told him how much more anxious such an adventure made her
-feel for her niece’s future.
-
-“Perhaps you know Villeneuve, near Lille?” said she in conclusion. “I
-come from there. It is a pretty large town———”
-
-But Auguste’s patience was at an end. He shook himself free of the
-aunt, and turned toward Bachelard, whose noisy despair was calming
-down.
-
-“I came to ask you for Duveyrier’s new address. I suppose you know it.”
-
-“Duveyrier’s address, Duveyrier’s address,” stammered the uncle. “You
-mean Clarisse’s address. Wait a moment.”
-
-And he went and opened the door of Fifi’s bed-room. Auguste was greatly
-surprised on seeing Gueulin, whom the old man had locked in, come
-forth. He had wished to give him time to dress himself, and also to
-detain him, so as to decide afterward what he would do with him. The
-sight of the young man looking all upset, his hair still unbrushed,
-revived his anger.
-
-“What! wretch! it’s you, my nephew, who dishonors me! You soil your
-family, you drag my white hairs in the mire! Ah! you’ll end badly, we
-shall see you one of these days in the dock of the assize-court!”
-
-Gueulin listened with bowed head, feeling at once both embarrassed and
-furious.
-
-“I say, uncle, you’re going too far,” murmured he. “There’s a limit to
-everything. I don’t think it funny either. Why did you bring me to see
-mademoiselle? I never asked you. You dragged me here. You drag
-everybody here.”
-
-But Bachelard, again overcome with tears, continued:
-
-“You’ve taken everything from me; I had only her left. You’ll be the
-cause of my death, and I won’t leave you a sou, not a sou!”
-
-Then Gueulin, quite beside himself, burst out:
-
-“Go to the deuce! I’ve had enough of it! Ah! it’s as I’ve always told
-you! here they come, here they come, the annoyances of the morrow! See
-how it succeeds with me, when for once in a way I’ve been fool enough
-to take advantage of an opportunity. Of course! the night was very
-pleasant; but, afterward, go to blazes! one will be blubbering like a
-calf for the rest of one’s life.”
-
-“I am in a great hurry,” Auguste ventured to observe. “Please give me
-the address, just the name of the street and the number, I require
-nothing further.”
-
-“The address,” said the uncle, “wait a bit, directly.”
-
-And, carried away by his feelings, which were overflowing, he caught
-hold of Gueulin’s hands.
-
-“You ungrateful fellow, I was keeping her for you, on my word of honor!
-I said to myself: If he’s good, I’ll give her to him. Oh! in a proper
-manner, with a dowry of fifty thousand francs. And, you dirty beast!
-you can’t wait, you go and take her like that, all on a sudden!”
-
-“No, let me be!” said Gueulin, affected by the old chap’s kindness of
-heart. “I see very well that the annoyances are going to continue.”
-
-But Bachelard dragged him before the young girl and asked her:
-
-“Come now, Fifi, look at him, would you have loved him?”
-
-“If it would have pleased you, uncle,” answered she.
-
-This kind reply quite broke his heart. He wiped his eyes, blew his
-nose, and almost choked. Well! he would see. He had always wished to
-make her happy. And he suddenly sent Gueulin off about his business.
-
-“Be off. I will think about it.”
-
-Just as Gueulin was leaving, Bachelard called him back.
-
-“Kiss her on the forehead; I permit it.”
-
-
-And then he went himself and put him outside the door, after which he
-returned to Auguste, and, placing his hand on his heart, he said:
-
-“It’s no joke; I give you my word of honor that I intended giving her
-to him, later on.”
-
-“And the address?” asked the other, losing all patience.
-
-The uncle appeared surprised, as though he had answered him before.
-
-“Eh? what? Clarisse’s address? Why, I don’t know it.”
-
-Auguste made an angry gesture. Everything was going wrong: there seemed
-to be a regular plot to render him ridiculous! Seeing him so upset,
-Bachelard made a suggestion. No doubt, Trublot knew the address, and
-they might find him at his employer’s—the stockbroker, Desmarquay. And
-the uncle, with the obliging manner of one accustomed to knock about,
-offered to accompany his young friend. The latter accepted.
-
-“Listen!” said the uncle to Fifi, after kissing her in his turn on the
-forehead: “here’s the sugar from the café, all the same, and three
-four-sou bits for your money-box. Behave well whilst awaiting my
-orders.”
-
-The young girl, looking very modest, continued drawing her needle with
-exemplary application. A ray of sunshine, coming from over a
-neighboring roof, enlivened the little room, gilded this nook of
-innocence, into which the noise of the passing vehicles did not even
-penetrate. All the poetry of Bachelard’s nature was stirred.
-
-“May God bless you, Monsieur Narcisse!” said aunt Menu to him as she
-saw him to the door. “I am more easy now. Only listen to the dictates
-of your heart, for it will inspire you.”
-
-The driver had again fallen asleep, and he grumbled when the uncle gave
-him Monsieur Desmarquay’s address in the Rue Saint-Lazare. No doubt the
-horse was asleep also, for it required quite a hail of blows to get him
-to move. At length the cab rolled painfully along.
-
-“It’s hard all the same,” resumed the uncle, after a pause. “You can’t
-imagine the effect it had on me when I saw Gueulin in his shirt. No;
-one must have gone through such a thing to understand it.”
-
-And he went on, entering into every detail, without noticing Auguste’s
-increasing uneasiness. At length the latter, feeling his position
-becoming falser and falser, told him why he was in such a hurry to find
-Duveyrier.
-
-“Berthe with that counter-jumper!” cried the uncle. “You astonish me,
-sir!”
-
-And it seemed that his astonishment was especially on account of his
-niece’s choice. However, after a little reflection, he became very
-indignant. His sister Eléonore had a great deal to reproach herself
-with. He would have nothing more to do with the family. Of course, he
-was not going to mix himself up with the duel; but he considered it
-indispensable.
-
-“Thus, just now, when I saw Fifi with a man, my first thought was to
-murder every one. If the same thing should ever happen to you——-”
-
-A painful start of Auguste’s caused him to interrupt himself.
-
-“Ah! true, I was forgetting. My story does not interest you.”
-
-Another pause ensued, whilst the cab swayed in a melancholy fashion.
-
-“I told you Rue Saint-Lazare,” called out the uncle to the driver. “It
-isn’t at Chaillot. Turn to the left.”
-
-At length the cab stopped. Out of prudence they sent up for Trublot,
-who came down bareheaded to talk to them in the doorway.
-
-“You know Clarisse’s address?” asked Bachelard.
-
-“Clarisse’s address?”
-
-“Why, of course! Rue d’Assas.”
-
-They thanked him, and were about to re-enter their cab, when Auguste
-asked in his turn:
-
-“What’s the number?”
-
-“The number! Ah! I don’t know the number.”
-
-At this, the husband declared that he preferred to give up seeing
-Duveyrier altogether. Trublot did all he could to try and remember. He
-had dined there once, it was just behind the Luxembourg; but he could
-not recollect whether it was at the end of the street, or on the right
-or the left, But he knew the door well; oh! he could have said at once,
-“That’s it.” Then the uncle had another idea; he begged him to
-accompany them in spite of Auguste’s protestations, and his talking of
-returning home and not wishing to disturb any one any further. Trublot,
-however, refused in a constrained manner. No, he would not trust
-himself in that hole again.
-
-“Well, I’m off, as Monsieur Trublot can’t come,” said Auguste, whose
-worries were increased by all these stories.
-
-But Trublot then declared that he would accompany them all the same;
-only, he would not go up; he would merely show them the door. And,
-after fetching his hat, and giving a pretext for going out, he joined
-them in the cab. “Rue d’Assas,” said he to the driver. “Straight down
-the street; I’ll tell you when to stop.”
-
-The driver swore. Rue d’Assas, by Jove! there were people who liked
-going about. However, they would get there when they did get there. The
-big white horse steamed away without making hardly any progress, his
-neck dislocated in a painful bow at every step.
-
-Bachelard was already relating his misfortune to Trublot. Such things
-always made him talkative. Yes, with that pig Gueulin, a most delicious
-little thing! But at this point of his story he recollected Auguste,
-who, gloomy and doleful, was sitting in a heap in a corner of the cab.
-
-“Ah! true; I beg your pardon!” murmured he; “I keep forgetting.”
-
-And, addressing Trublot, he added:
-
-“Our friend has met with a misfortune in his home also, and that is why
-we are trying to find Duveyrier. Yes, he found his wife last night—”
-
-He finished with a gesture, then added simply:
-
-“Octave, you know.”
-
-Trublot, always plain-spoken, was about to say that it did not surprise
-him. Only, he caught back his words, and replaced them by others, full
-of disdainful anger, and the explanation of which the husband did not
-dare to ask him for:
-
-“What an idiot that Octave is!” said he.
-
-At this appreciation of adultery there ensued another pause. Each of
-the three men was buried in his own reflections. The cab scarcely moved
-at all. It seemed to have been rolling for hours over a bridge, when
-Trublot, who was the first to emerge from his thoughts, ventured on
-making this judicious remark:
-
-“This cab doesn’t get along very fast.”
-
-But nothing could increase the horse’s pace. It was eleven o’clock when
-they reached the Rue d’Assas. And there they wasted nearly another
-quarter of an hour, for, in spite of Trublot’s boasts, he could not
-find the door. At first he allowed the driver to go along the street to
-the very end without stopping him; then he made him drive up and down
-three times over. And, on his precise indications, Auguste kept
-entering every tenth house; but the doorkeepers all answered that they
-knew no one of the name. At length a green-grocer pointed out the door
-to him. He went in with Bachelard, leaving Trublot in the cab.
-
-It was the big rascal of a brother who admitted them. He had a
-cigarette stuck between his lips, and blew the smoke into their faces
-as he showed them into the drawing-room. When they asked for Monsieur
-Duveyrier, he stood looking at them in a jocular manner without
-answering. Then he disappeared, perhaps to fetch him. In the middle of
-the blue satin drawing-room, all luxuriously new, yet already stained
-with grease, one of the sisters, the youngest, was seated on the carpet
-scouring out a saucepan which she had brought from the kitchen; whilst
-the other, the eldest, was hammering with her clenched fists on a
-magnificent piano, the key of which she had just found. On seeing the
-gentlemen enter, they had both raised their heads; neither, however,
-left off her occupation, but continued on the contrary hammering and
-scouring more energetically than ever. Five minutes passed, yet no one
-came. The visitors, feeling almost deafened, stood looking at each,
-when some yells, issuing from a neighboring room, completely terrified
-them; it was the invalid aunt being washed.
-
-At length an old woman, Madame Bocquet, Clarisse’s mother, passed her
-head through a partly opened door, not daring to show any more of her
-person, because of the filthy dress she had on.
-
-“What do you gentlemen desire?” asked she.
-
-“Why, Monsieur Duveyrier!” exclaimed the uncle, losing patience. “We
-have already told the servant. Let him know that Monsieur Auguste Vabre
-and Monsieur Narcisse Bachelard wish to see him.”
-
-Madame Bocquet shut the door again. The eldest of the sisters was now
-mounted on the music stool, and was hammering with her elbows, whilst
-the youngest was scraping the saucepan with an iron fork, so as to get
-all she could out of it. Another five minutes passed by. Then, in the
-midst of the uproar, which did not seem to disturb her in the least,
-Clarisse appeared.
-
-“Ah! it’s you!” said she to Bachelard, without even looking at Auguste.
-
-“You know, my old fellow,” added she, “if you’ve come to tipple, you
-may as well get out at once. The old life’s done with. I now intend to
-be respected.”
-
-“We haven’t called on your account,” replied Bachelard, recovering
-himself, used as he was to the lively receptions of such ladies. “We
-must speak to Duveyrier.”
-
-Then Clarisse looked ar the other gentleman. She took him for a
-bailiff, knowing that Alphonse was already in a mess.
-
-“Oh! after all, I don’t care,” said she. “You can take him and keep him
-if you like. It’s not so very pleasant to have to dress his pimples!”
-
-She no longer even took the trouble to conceal her disgust, certain,
-moreover, that all her cruelties only attached him to her the more.
-
-And opening a door, she added:
-
-“Here! come along, as these gentlemen persist in seeing you.”
-
-Duveyrier, who seemed to have been waiting behind the door, entered and
-shook their hands, trying to conjure up a smile. He no longer had the
-youthful air of bygone days, when he used to spend the evening at her
-rooms in the Rue de la Cerisaie; he looked overcome with weariness, he
-was mournful and much thinner, starting at every moment, as though he
-were uneasy about something behind him.
-
-Clarisse remained to listen. Bachelard, who did not intend to speak
-before her, invited the counselor to lunch.
-
-“Now, do accept, Monsieur Vabre wants you. Madame will be kind enough
-to excuse——”
-
-But the latter had at length caught sight of her sister hammering on
-the piano, and she slapped her and turned her out of the room, taking
-the same opportunity to cuff and drive away the little one with her
-saucepan. There was a most infernal uproar. The invalid aunt in the
-next room again started off yelling, thinking they were coming to beat
-her.
-
-“Do you hear, my darling?” murmured Duveyrier, “these gentlemen have
-invited me to lunch.”
-
-But she was not listening to him, she was trying the instrument with
-frightened tenderness. For a month past, she had been learning to play
-the piano. It was the secret dream of her whole life, a far-away
-ambition the realization of which could alone stamp her a woman of
-society. Having satisfied herself that there was nothing broken, she
-was about to prevent her lover from going, simply to annoy him, when
-Madame Bocquet once more bobbed her head in at the door, again hiding
-her skirt.
-
-“Your music-master,” said she.
-
-At this Clarisse changed her mind, and called to Duveyrier:
-
-“That’s it, be off! I’ll lunch with Théodore. We don’t want you.”
-
-After kissing her on the hair, he discreetly withdrew, leaving her with
-Théodore. In the ante-room, the big rascal of a brother asked him in
-his jocular way for a franc for tobacco. Then, as they wont
-down-stairs, Bachelard expressed surprise at his conversion to the
-charms of the piano, and he swore he had never disliked it; he talked
-of the ideal, saying how much Clarisse’s simple scales stirred his
-soul, yielding to his continual mania for having a bright side to his
-coarse masculine appetites.
-
-Down below, Trublot had given the driver a cigar, and was listening to
-his history with the liveliest interest. The uncle insisted on lunching
-at Foyot’s; it was the proper time, and they could talk better whilst
-eating. Then, when the cab had managed to start off again, he told
-everything to Duveyrier, who became very grave.
-
-Auguste’s uneasiness seemed to have increased at Clarisse’s, where he
-had not opened his mouth; and now, worn out by this interminable drive,
-his head entirely a prey to a violent aching, he abandoned himself.
-
-When the counselor questioned him as to what he intended doing, he
-opened his eyes, and remained a moment filled with anguish; then he
-repeated his former phrase:
-
-“Why, fight, of course!”
-
-Only, his voice was weaker, and he added, as he closed his eyes, as
-though to ask to be left alone:
-
-“Unless you have anything else to suggest.”
-
-Then the gentlemen held a grand council in the midst of the laborious
-jolts of the vehicle. Duveyrier, the same as Bachelard, considered the
-duel indispensable; and he was deeply affected by it, on account of the
-blood likely to be spilt, a long black stream of which he pictured
-soiling the stairs of his property; but honor demanded it, and one
-cannot compound with honor. Trublot had broader views: it was too
-stupid to place one’s honor in what out of decency he termed a woman’s
-frailty. And Auguste approved what he said by a weary blink of his
-eyelids, thoroughly incensed at last by the bellicose rage of the two
-others, whose duty it was on the contrary to have been conciliatory. In
-spite of his fatigue, he was obliged to relate once more the scene of
-the night before, the blow he had given and the blow he had received;
-and soon the fact of the adultery was lost sight of, the discussion
-bore solely upon these two blows: they were commented upon, and
-analyzed, as a satisfactory solution was sought for.
-
-“What refinement!” Trublot ended by contemptuously saying. “If they hit
-each other, well! they’re quits.”
-
-Duveyrier and Bachelard looked at one another, evidently shaken in
-their opinions. But just then they arrived at the restaurant, and the
-uncle declared that they would first of all have a good lunch. It would
-help to clear their ideas. He stood treat, ordering a copious meal,
-with costly dishes and wines, which kept them three hours in a private
-room. The duel was not even once mentioned. From the very beginning,
-the conversation had necessarily turned on the question of women; Fifi
-and Clarisse were during the whole time explained, turned inside out,
-and pulled to pieces. Bachelard now admitted himself to have been in
-the wrong, so as not to appear to the counselor as having been vilely
-chucked over; whilst the latter, taking his revenge for the evening
-when the uncle had seen him weep in the middle of the empty rooms in
-the Rue de la Cerisaie, lied about his happiness, to the point of
-believing in it and being affected by it himself. Seated before them,
-Auguste, prevented by his neuralgia both from eating and drinking,
-appeared to be listening, an elbow on the table, and a confused look in
-his eyes. At dessert, Trublot recollected the driver, who had been
-forgotten outside: and, full of sympathy, he sent him the remnants of
-the dishes and what was left in the bottles; for, said he, from certain
-things he had let drop, he had a suspicion the man was an ex-priest.
-Three o’clock struck. Duveyrier complained of being assessor at the
-next sitting of the assizes; Bachelard, who was now very drunk, spat
-sideways onto Trublot’s trousers, without the latter noticing it; and
-the day would have been finished there, amidst the liquors, if Auguste
-had not suddenly roused himself with a start.
-
-“Well, what’s going to be done?” asked he.
-
-“Well! young ’un,” replied the uncle, speaking most familiarly, “if you
-like, we’ll settle matters nicely for you. It’s stupid to fight.”
-
-No one appeared surprised at this conclusion. Duveyrier signified his
-approval with a nod of the head. The uncle continued:
-
-“I’ll go with Monsieur Duveyrier and see the fellow, and he shall
-apologize, or my name isn’t Bachelard. The mere sight of me will make
-him cave in, just because I shall have no business there. I don’t care
-a hang for anyone!”
-
-Auguste shook him by the hand; but he did not seem to feel relieved,
-the pain in his head had become so unbearable. At length they left the
-private room. Down in the street, the driver was still at lunch, inside
-the cab; and, completely intoxicated, he had to shake the crumbs out,
-digging Trublot fraternally in the stomach. Only the horse, which had
-had nothing at all, refused to walk, with a despairing wag of the head.
-They pushed him, and he ended by going down the Rue de Tournon, as
-though he were rolling along. Four o’clock had struck, when the animal
-at length stopped in the Rue de Choiseul. Auguste had had the cab seven
-hours. Trublot, who remained inside, engaged it for himself, and
-declared that he would wait there for Bachelard, whom he wished to
-invite to dinner.
-
-“Well! you have been a time,” said Théophile to his brother, as he
-hastened to meet him. “I thought you were dead.”
-
-And directly the gentlemen had entered the warehouse, he related how
-the day had passed. He had been watching the house ever since nine
-o’clock. But nothing particular had occurred. At two o’clock, Valérie
-had gone to the Tuileries gardens with their son Camille. Then, toward
-half past three, he had seen Octave go out. And that was all. Nothing
-moved, not even at the Josserands’. Saturnin, who had been seeking his
-sister under the furniture, having gone up to ask for her, Madame
-Josserand had shut the door in his face, doubtless to get rid of him,
-saying that Berthe was not there. Since then, the madman had been
-prowling about with clenched teeth.
-
-“Very well,” said Bachelard, “we’ll wait for the gentleman. We shall
-see him come in from here.”
-
-Auguste, whose head was in a whirl, was making great efforts to keep on
-his legs. Then Duveyrier advised him to go to bed. There was no other
-cure for headache.
-
-“Go up now, we no longer require you. We will inform you of the result.
-My dear fellow, you know you should avoid all emotions.”
-
-And the husband went up to lie down.
-
-At five o’clock, the two others were still waiting for Octave. The
-latter, without any definite object, simply desirous of having some
-fresh air and of forgetting the events of the night, had at first
-passed before “The Ladies’ Paradise,” where he had stopped to wish
-Madame Hédouin good-day, as she stood in the doorway, dressed in deep
-mourning; and as he informed her of his having left the Vabres’, she
-had quietly asked him why he did not return to her.
-
-Opposite to him, Valérie was taking leave of a bearded gentleman, at
-the door of a low lodging-house in the darkest corner. She blushed and
-hastened away, pushing open the padded door of the church; then, seeing
-that the young man was following her and smiling, she preferred to
-await him under the porch, where they conversed together very
-cordially.
-
-“You run away from me,” said he. “Are you, then, angry with me?”
-
-“Angry?” repeated she, “why should I be angry? Ah! they may quarrel and
-eat each other up if they like, it doesn’t matter to me!”
-
-She was speaking of her relations. And she at once gave vent to her old
-rancor against Berthe, making at first simply allusions so as to sound
-the young man; then, when she felt he was secretly weary of his
-mistress, being still exasperated with the night’s proceedings, she no
-longer restrained herself, but poured out her heart. To think that that
-woman had accused her of selling herself—she, who never accepted a sou,
-not even a present! Yes, though, a few flowers at times, some bunches
-of violets. And now everybody knew which of the two was the one to sell
-herself. She had prophesied that one day it would be known how much she
-could be bought for.
-
-“It cost you more than a bunch of violets, did it not?” asked she.
-
-“Yes, yes,” murmured he basely.
-
-In his turn he let out some disagreeable things about Berthe, saying
-that she was spiteful, and even making her out to be too fat, as though
-seeking to avenge himself for the worry she was causing him. He had
-been waiting all day for her husband’s seconds, and he was then
-returning home to see if any one had called. It was a most stupid
-adventure; she might very well have prevented this duel taking place.
-He ended by relating all that had occurred at their ridiculous
-meeting—their quarrel, then Auguste’s arrival on the scene, before they
-had even exchanged a caress.
-
-“On all I hold most sacred,” said he, “I had not even touched her.”
-
-Valérie laughed, and was getting quite excited. She gradually yielded
-to the tender intimacy of this exchange of confidences, drawing nearer
-to Octave as though to some female friend who knew all. At times, a
-devotee coming from the church disturbed them; then the door generally
-closed to again, and they once more found themselves alone in the drum,
-hung with green baize, as though in the innermost recesses of some
-discreet and religious asylum.
-
-“I scarcely know why I live with such people,” resumed she, returning
-to the subject of her relations. “Oh! no doubt, I am not free from
-reproach on my side. But, frankly, I cannot feel any remorse, they
-affect me so little. And yet if I were to tell you how much love bores
-me!”
-
-“Come now, not so much as all that!” said Octave gayly. “People are not
-always as silly as we were yesterday. There are blissful moments.”
-
-Then she confessed herself. It was not entirely the hatred she felt for
-her husband, the continual fever which shook his frame, his impotence,
-nor yet his perpetual blubbering like a little boy, which had caused
-her to misbehave herself six months after her marriage; no, she often
-did it involuntarily, solely because her head got filled with things of
-which she was unable to explain the why and the wherefore. Everything
-gave way; she became quite ill, and could almost kill herself. Then, as
-there was nothing to restrain her, she might as well take that leap as
-another.
-
-“But really now, do you never have a nice time of it?” again asked
-Octave.
-
-“Well, never like people describe,” replied she.
-
-He looked at her full of a pitying sympathy. All for nothing, and
-without the least pleasure. It was certainly not worth the trouble she
-gave herself, in her continual fear of being caught. And he especially
-felt a certain relief to his pride, for he had always suffered a little
-at heart from her old disdain. He recalled the circumstance to her.
-
-“You remember, after one of your attacks?”
-
-“Oh! yes, I remember. Still, I did not dislike you; but listen! it is
-far better as it is, we should be detesting each other now.”
-
-She gave him her little gloved hand. He squeezed it, as he repeated:
-
-“You are right; it is better as it is. Really, one only cares for the
-women one has had nothing to do with.”
-
-It was quite a blissful moment. They stood for a while hand in hand,
-deeply affected. Then, without another word, they pushed open the
-padded door of the church, inside which she had left her son Camille in
-care of the woman who let out the chairs. The child had fallen asleep.
-She made him kneel down, and did the same herself for a minute, burying
-her face in her hands, as though in the midst of a fervent prayer. And
-she was rising to her feet when Abbé Mauduit, who was coming from a
-confessional, greeted her with a paternal smile.
-
-Octave had simply passed through the church. When he returned home
-every one was on the alert. In the doorway, as Octave passed, Lisa, who
-was gossiping with Adèle, had to content herself with merely staring at
-him; and both resumed their complaints of the dear price of poultry
-beneath the stern look of Monsieur Gourd, who bowed to the young man.
-As the latter was going up to his room, Madame Juzeur, who had been on
-the watch ever since the morning, slightly opened her door, and,
-seizing hold of his hands, drew him into her ante-room, where she
-kissed him on the forehead and murmured:
-
-“Poor child! There, I won’t keep you. Come back and talk with me when
-it’s all over.”
-
-And he had scarcely reached his own apartment when Duveyrier and
-Bachelard called. At first, amazed at seeing the uncle, he wished to
-give them the names of two of his friends. But these gentlemen, without
-answering, spoke of their age, and preached him a sermon on his
-misconduct. Then, as in the course of conversation he announced his
-intention of leaving the house at the earliest possible moment, they
-both solemnly declared that that proof of his discretion was quite
-sufficient. There had been more than enough scandal; the time had come
-when respectable people had the right to expect them to make the
-sacrifice of their passions. Duveyrier accepted Octave’s notice to quit
-on the spot, and withdrew, whilst, behind his back, Bachelard invited
-the young man to dine with him that evening.
-
-“Mind, I count upon you. We’re on the spree; Trublot is waiting below.
-I don’t care a button for Eléonore. But I don’t wish to see her, and
-I’ll go down first, so that no one shall meet us together.”
-
-He took his departure, and, five minutes later, Octave, delighted with
-the issue of affairs, joined him below. He slipped into the cab, and
-the melancholy horse, which had been dragging the husband about for
-seven hours, limped along with them to a restaurant near the Halles,
-where some marvelous tripe was to be obtained.
-
-Duveyrier had gone back to Théophile in the warehouse. Valérie also had
-just come in, and all three were talking together when Clotilde herself
-returned from a concert. She had gone there, moreover, with a mind
-perfectly at ease, certain, said she, that some arrangement
-satisfactory to every one would be arrived at. Then ensued a pause, a
-momentary embarrassment between the two families. Théophile, seized
-with an abominable fit of coughing, was almost spitting his teeth out.
-As it was to their mutual interest to be reconciled, they ended by
-taking advantage of the emotion into which the new family troubles had
-plunged them. The two women embraced; Duveyrier swore to Théophile that
-the Vabre inheritance was ruining him, yet he promised to indemnify him
-by remitting his rent for three years.
-
-“I must go and tranquilize poor Auguste,” at length observed the
-counselor.
-
-He was ascending the stairs, when some terrible cries, resembling those
-of an animal being butchered, issued from the bed-room. It was
-Saturnin, who, armed with his kitchen knife, had noiselessly crept as
-far as the alcove; and there, his eyes as red as flaming coals, his
-mouth covered with foam, he had rushed upon Auguste.
-
-“Tell me! where have you put her?” cried he. “Give her back to me, or
-I’ll bleed you like a pig!”
-
-The husband, suddenly roused from his painful slumber, tried to fly.
-But the madman, with the strength of his fixed idea, had caught him by
-the tail of his shirt, and, pushing him back on the mattress, placing
-his neck on the edge of the bed, over a basin which happened to be
-there, he held him in the position of an animal at the slaughter-house.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-“Ah! it’s all right this time. I’m going to bleed you—I’m going to
-bleed you like a pig!”
-
-Fortunately, the others arrived and were able to release the victim.
-But Saturnin, who was raving mad, had to be shut up: and, two hours
-later, the commissary of police having been sent for, he was taken for
-the second time to the Asile des Moulineaux, with the consent of the
-family. Poor Auguste lay trembling. He said to Duveyrier, who informed
-him of the arrangement that had been come to with Octave:
-
-“No, I should have preferred to have fought the duel. One cannot defend
-oneself against a madman. Why has he such a mania for wishing to bleed
-me, the brigand? because his sister has made a cuckold of me? Ah! I’ve
-had enough of it, my friend, I’ve had enough of it, on my word of
-honor!”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVI.
-
-
-On the Wednesday morning, when Marie brought Berthe to Madame
-Josserand, the latter, bursting with anger at the thought of an
-adventure which she felt was a sad blow to her pride, became quite pale
-and unable to utter a word.
-
-She caught hold of her daughter’s hand with the roughness of a teacher
-dragging a refractory scholar to the black-hole, and, leading her to
-Hortense’s room, she pushed her inside, saying at length:
-
-“Hide yourself, never show yourself again. You will kill your father if
-you do.”
-
-“What’s up? Whatever have you done?” asked her sister, whose
-astonishment increased on seeing her wrapped in an old shawl which
-Marie had lent her. “Has poor Auguste fallen ill at Lyons?”
-
-But Berthe would not answer. No, later on; there were things she could
-not speak about; and she beseeched Hortense to go away, to let her have
-the room to herself, so that she could at least weep there in peace.
-The day passed thus. Monsieur Josserand had gone off to his office,
-without having the faintest idea of what had occurred; then, when he
-returned home in the evening, Berthe still remained in hiding. As she
-had refused all food, she ended by ravenously devouring the little
-dinner which Adèle brought to her in secret. The maid remained watching
-her, and, in presence of her appetite, said:
-
-“Don’t worry yourself so much, pick up your strength. The house is
-quite quiet. And as for any one being killed or wounded, there’s nobody
-hurt at all.”
-
-“Ah!” said the young woman.
-
-She questioned Adèle, who gave her a long account of how the day had
-passed; the duel which had not come off; what Monsieur Auguste had
-said, and what the Duveyriers and the Vabres had done. She listened to
-her, and seemed to live again, gobbling everything up, and asking for
-more bread. In all truth it was foolish of her to take the matter so
-much to heart when the others seemed to be already consoled!
-
-“So you won’t tell me?” asked Hortense again.
-
-“But, my darling,” answered Berthe, “you’re not married. I really
-can’t. It’s a quarrel I’ve had with Auguste. He came back, you know——”
-
-And as she interrupted herself, her sister resumed, impatiently:
-
-“Get along with you! What a fuss! Good heavens! at my age, I’m quite
-old enough to know!”
-
-Then Berthe confessed herself, at first choosing her words, then
-letting out everything, talking of Octave and talking of Auguste.
-Hortense listened as she lay on her back in the dark, and merely
-uttered a few words to question her sister or to give an opinion: “What
-did he say to you then? And you, how did you feel? Well, that’s funny;
-I shouldn’t like that! Ah! really! so that’s the way!” Midnight, one
-o’clock, then two struck; still they went on with the story, their
-limbs little by little irritated by the sheets, and themselves
-gradually becoming drowsy.
-
-“Oh! as for me, with Verdier, it will be very simple,” declared
-Hortense, abruptly. “I shall do just as he wishes.”
-
-At the mention of Verdier’s name Berthe gave a movement of surprise.
-She thought the marriage was broken off, for the woman with whom he had
-been living for fifteen years past had just had a child, at the very
-moment that he intended leaving her.
-
-“Do you, then, expect to marry him all the same?” asked she. “Well land
-why not? I was stupid enough to wait too long. But the child will die.
-It’s a girl, and all scrofulous.”
-
-“Poor woman!” Berthe was unable to help exclaiming.
-
-“How, poor woman!” cried Hortense, sourly. “It’s easy to see that you
-also have things to reproach yourself with!”
-
-She at once regretted her cruelty, and, taking her sister in her arms,
-kissed her, and swore that she did not mean it. Then they were silent.
-But still they could not sleep, so continued the story, their eyes wide
-open in the darkness.
-
-The next morning, Monsieur Josserand did not feel very well. Up till
-two o’clock, he had persisted in addressing wrappers, in spite of a
-lowness of spirits, and of a gradual loss of strength, of which he had
-been complaining for some time. He got up, however, and dressed
-himself; but, when he was on the point of starting for his office, he
-felt so feeble that he sent a messenger with a letter to inform the
-brothers Bernheim of his indisposition.
-
-The family were about to have their breakfast. On seeing her husband
-remain, Madame Josserand decided not to hide Berthe any longer; she was
-already sick of all the mystery, and was, moreover, expecting every
-minute to see Auguste come up and create a disturbance.
-
-“What! you’re going to breakfast with us! whatever is the matter?”
-asked the father in great surprise, on beholding his daughter, her eyes
-heavy with sleep, her bosom half-bursting through Hortense’s too tight
-dressing-gown.
-
-“My husband has written to say that he is obliged to stay at Lyons,”
-answered she, “so I thought of spending the day with you.”
-
-“Is it really true? You are not hiding anything from me?” murmured he.
-
-“What an idea! why should I hide anything from you?”
-
-Madame Josserand merely allowed herself to shrug her shoulders. What
-was the use of all those precautions? to gain an hour, perhaps; it was
-not worth while; the father would always have to receive the blow in
-the end. The breakfast, however, passed off most pleasantly.
-
-But a regrettable scene spoilt the end of the breakfast. All on a
-sudden, Madame Josserand addressed the servant:
-
-“Whatever are you eating?”
-
-For some little while past she had been watching her. Adèle, dragging
-her shoes after her, turned clumsily round the table.
-
-“Nothing, madame,” replied she.
-
-“How! nothing! You’re chewing; I’m not blind. See! you’ve got your
-mouth full of it. Oh! it’s no use drawing in your cheeks; it’s easy to
-see in spite of that. And you’ve got some in your pocket, haven’t you?”
-
-Adèle became confused, and tried to draw back. But Madame Josserand
-caught hold of her by the skirt.
-
-“For a quarter of an hour past, I’ve been watching you take something
-out of there and thrust it under your nose, after hiding it in your
-hand. It must be something very good. Let me see what it is.”
-
-She dived into the pocket in her turn, and withdrew a handful of cooked
-prunes. The juice was still trickling from them.
-
-“What is this?” cried she furiously.
-
-“Prunes, madame,” said the servant, who, seeing herself caught, became
-insolent.
-
-“Ah! you eat my prunes! So that’s why they go so quickly and never
-again appear on the table! I could never have believed it possible;
-prunes! in a pocket!”
-
-And she also accused her of drinking her vinegar. Everything
-disappeared; one could not even have a potato about without being
-certain of never seeing it again.
-
-“You’re a regular gulf, my girl.”
-
-“Give me sufficient to eat,” retorted Adèle boldly, “and then I won’t
-touch your potatoes.”
-
-This was too much. Madame Josserand rose from her seat, majestic and
-terrible.
-
-“Hold your tongue, and don’t answer me! Oh! I know, it’s the other
-servants who’ve spoilt you. Directly a simpleton arrives in a house
-from the country, all the hussies in the place at once put her up to
-all sorts of horrors. You no longer go to mass, and now you steal!”
-
-Adèle, who had indeed been worked up by Lisa and Julie, did not yield.
-
-“When I was a simpleton, as you say, you should not have taken
-advantage of me. It’s ended now.”
-
-“Leave the room, I discharge you!” cried Madame Josserand, pointing to
-the door with a tragical gesture.
-
-She sat down quite shaken, whilst the maid, without hurrying herself,
-dragged her shoes after her, and swallowed another prune before
-returning to the kitchen.
-
-The breakfast, however, finished in the most affectionate intimacy.
-Monsieur Josserand, deeply moved, spoke of poor Saturnin, who had had
-to be taken away the day before during his absence from home; and, as
-he believed, in a sudden fit of raving madness, with which his son had
-been seized in the middle of the shop, for such was the story that had
-been told him.
-
-“How is the marriage getting on?” asked Monsieur Josserand, discreetly.
-
-At first the mother replied in well-chosen phrases, on account of
-Hortense. Now, she was at the feet of her son, a young fellow who was
-sure to succeed; and she would even throw his name in the father’s face
-at times, saying that, thank goodness! he took after her, and would
-never leave his wife without a pair of shoes. She little by little
-warmed with her subject.
-
-“In short, he’s had enough of it! It was all very well for a while, and
-did him no harm. But, if the aunt doesn’t give him the niece, good
-night! he’ll cut off all supplies. I think he is quite right.”
-
-Hortense, out of decency, sipped her coffee, making a show of
-obliterating herself behind the cup; whilst Berthe, who for the future
-might hear anything, gave a slight pout of repugnance at her brother’s
-successes. The family were about to rise from table, and Monsieur
-Josserand, who was more cheerful and feeling much better, was talking
-of going to his office all the same, when Adèle brought in a card. The
-person was waiting in the drawingroom.
-
-“What, it’s her! and at this hour of the morning!” exclaimed Madame
-Josserand. “And I who haven’t got my stays on! So much the worse! it’s
-time I gave her a piece of my mind!”
-
-The visitor was Madame Dambreville. The father and his two daughters
-remained talking in the dining-room, whilst the mother directed her
-steps to the drawing-room. But she stopped at the door before opening
-it, and anxiously examined her old green silk dress, trying to button
-it up, picking off the threads gathered from the floors, and driving in
-her immense bosom with a tap.
-
-“Excuse me, dear madame,” said the visitor, with a smile. “I was
-passing, so could not resist calling to see how you were.”
-
-She was all laced up, and had her hair done in the most correct style,
-while she conversed in the easy way of an amiable woman who had just
-come up to wish a friend good-day. Only, her smile, trembled, and
-behind her society graces one could detect a frightful anguish, with
-which her whole frame quivered. She at first talked of all sorts of
-things, avoiding any mention of Léon’s name, but at length she took
-from her pocket a letter which she had just received from him.
-
-“Oh! such a letter, such a letter,” murmured she, in an altered voice,
-half-broken with sobs. “Whatever is it he has to complain of, dear
-madame? He says he will never come to our house again!”
-
-And her feverish hand held out the letter, which quite shook as she
-offered it to Madame Josserand. The latter read it coldly. It was a
-breaking off of the acquaintance in three lines of most cruel
-conciseness.
-
-“Really!” said she, as she returned the letter, “Léon is not perhaps
-altogether wrong——”
-
-But Madame Dambreville at once began to praise up the widow—a woman
-scarcely thirty-five years old, most accomplished and sufficiently
-rich, who would make a Minister of her husband, she was so active. In
-short, she had kept her promises, she had found a fine match for Léon;
-whatever had he to be angry about? And, without waiting for a reply,
-making up her mind with a nervous start, she named Raymonde, her niece.
-Really, now, was it possible? a chit of sixteen, a young savage who
-knew nothing of life!
-
-“Why not?” Madame Josserand kept repeating at each interrogation, “why
-not, if he loves her?”
-
-No! no! he did not love her—he could not love her! Madame Dambreville
-struggled, and gradually abandoned herself.
-
-“Come,” cried she, “I only ask him for a little gratitude. It’s I who
-have made him, it’s thanks to me that he is an auditor, and he will
-receive a higher appointment on his wedding day. Madame, I implore you,
-tell him to return to me, tell him to do me that pleasure. I appeal to
-his heart, to your motherly heart, yes, to all that is noble in your
-nature——”
-
-She clasped her hands, her words became inarticulate. A pause ensued,
-during which they were standing face to face. Then suddenly she burst
-out into the most bitter sobs, vanquished, and no longer mistress of
-herself.
-
-“Not with Raymonde,” stuttered she, “oh! no, not with Raymonde!”
-
-“Keep quiet, my dear, you make me quite ashamed,” replied Madame
-Josserand, angrily. “I have daughters who might hear you. I know
-nothing, and I don’t wish to know anything. If you have affairs with my
-son, you must settle them together. I will never place myself in a
-questionable position.”
-
-Yet she loaded her with advice. At her age, one should resign oneself
-to the inevitable.
-
-“Just think, dear friend, he is not yet thirty. I should be grieved to
-appear unkind, but you might be his mother. Oh, he knows what he owes
-you, and I myself am filled with gratitude. You will remain his
-guardian angel. Only, when a thing is ended, it is ended. You could not
-possibly have hoped to have kept him always!”
-
-And as the wretched woman refused to listen to reason, wishing simply
-to have him back, and at once, the mother grew quite angry.
-
-“Do have done, madame! It is kind on my part to be so obliging. The boy
-will have no more of it! it is easily to be understood. Look at
-yourself, pray! It is I now who would call him back to his duty, if he
-submitted again to your exactions; for, I ask you, what good can there
-be in it for both of you in future? It so happens that he is coming
-here, and if you have counted on me——”
-
-Of all these words, Madame Dambreville only heard the last phrase. For
-a week past she had been running about after Léon, without succeeding
-in seeing him. Her face brightened up; she uttered this cry from her
-heart:
-
-“As he is coming, I shall stay!”
-
-From that moment she made herself at home, seating herself like a heavy
-mass in an arm-chair, her eyes fixed on vacancy, declining any further
-questioning with the obstinacy of an animal which will not yield, even
-when beaten. Madame Josserand, bitterly regretting having said too
-much, exasperated with this sort of mile-stone which had become a
-fixture in her drawing-room, yet not daring to turn her out, ended by
-leaving her to herself. Moreover, some sounds coming from the
-dining-room made her feel uneasy. She fancied she recognized Auguste’s
-voice.
-
-“On my word of honor! madame, one never heard of such a thing before!”
-said she, violently slamming the door. “It is most indiscreet!”
-
-It was indeed Auguste, who had come up to have the explanation with his
-wife’s parents which he had been meditating since the day before.
-Monsieur Josserand, feeling jollier still, and more inclined for a
-little enjoyment than for office duties, was proposing a walk to his
-daughters, when Adèle came and announced Madame Berthe’s husband. It
-created quite a scare. The young woman turned pale.
-
-“What! your husband?” said the father. “But he was at Lyons! Ah! you
-were not speaking the truth. There is some misfortune; for two days
-past I have seemed to feel it.”
-
-And, as she rose from her seat, he detained her.
-
-“Tell me, have you been quarreling again? about money, is it not? Eh?
-perhaps because of the dowry, of the ten thousand francs we have not
-paid him?”
-
-“Yes, yes, that’s it,” stammered Berthe, who released herself and fled.
-
-Hortense also had risen. She ran after her sister, and both took refuge
-in her room.
-
-“Come in, come in, my dear Auguste,” said he, in a choking tone of
-voice. “Berthe has just told me of your quarrel. I’m not very well, and
-they’ve been spoiling me. I regret immensely not being able to give you
-that money. I did wrong in promising, I know—”
-
-“Yes, sir, I know all. You completely took me in with your lies. I
-don’t mind so much not having the money; but it’s the hypocrisy of the
-thing which exasperates me! Why all that nonsense about an assurance
-which did not exist? Why give yourself such airs of tenderness and
-affection, by offering to advance sums which, according to you, you
-would not be entitled to receive till three years later? And you were
-not even blessed with a sou! Such behavior has only one name in every
-country.”
-
-Monsieur Josserand opened his mouth to exclaim: “It is not I; it is
-them!” But he was ashamed to accuse the family; he bowed his head, thus
-accepting the responsibility of the disgraceful action. Auguste
-continued:
-
-“Moreover, every one was against me, even that Duveyrier behaved like a
-rascal, with his scoundrel of a notary; for I asked to have the
-assurance mentioned in the contract, as a guarantee, and I was made to
-shut up. Had I insisted, though, you would have been guilty of
-swindling. Yes, sir, swindling!”
-
-At this accusation, the father, who was very pale, rose to his feet,
-and he was about to answer, to offer his labor, to purchase his
-daughter’s happiness with all of his existence that remained to him,
-when Madame Josserand, quite beside herself through Madame
-Dambreville’s obstinacy, no longer thinking of her old green silk
-dress, now splitting, through the heaving of her angry bosom, entered
-like a blast of wind.
-
-“Eh? what?” cried she; “who talks of swindling? Is it you, sir? You
-would do better, sir, to go first to Père-Lachaise cemetery to see if
-it’s your father’s pay-day!”
-
-Auguste had expected this, but he was all the same horribly annoyed.
-She went on, with head erect, and quite crushing in her audacity:
-
-“We’ve got them, your ten thousand francs. Yes, they’re there in a
-drawer. But we will only give them to you when Monsieur Vabre returns
-to give you the others. What a family! a gambler of a father who lets
-us all in, and a thief of a brother-in-law who pops the inheritance
-into his own pocket!”
-
-“Thief! thief!” stammered Auguste, unable to contain himself any
-longer; “the thieves are here, madame!”
-
-They both stood with heated countenances in front of each other.
-Monsieur Josserand, quite upset by all this wrangling, separated them.
-He beseeched them to be calm; and, trembling all over, he was obliged
-to sit down again.
-
-“Anyhow,” resumed the son-in-law, after a pause, “I won’t have any
-strumpet in my house. Keep your money and keep your daughter That is
-what I came up to tell you.”
-
-“You are changing the subject,” quietly observed the mother. “Very
-well, we will discuss the fresh one.”
-
-“I told you she would deceive me!” cried Auguste, with an air of
-indignant triumph.
-
-“And I answered that you were doing everything to lead to such a
-result!” declared Madame Josserand, victoriously. “Oh! I do not pretend
-that Berthe is right; what she has done is simply idiotic; and she
-won’t lose anything by waiting. I shall let her know what I think of
-it. But, however, as she is not present, I can state the fact—you alone
-are guilty.”
-
-“What! I guilty?”
-
-“Undoubtedly, my dear fellow. You don’t know how to deal with women.
-Here’s an instance! Do you even deign to come to my Tuesday receptions?
-No; you perhaps put in an appearance three times during the season, and
-then only stay half-an-hour Though one may have headaches, one should
-be polite. Oh! of course, it’s no great crime; anyhow, it judges you;
-you don’t know how to live.”
-
-Her voice hissed with a slowly gathered rancor; for, on marrying her
-daughter, she had above all counted on her son-in-law to fill her
-drawing-room. And he brought no one; he did not even come himself; it
-was the end of one of her dreams; she would never be able to struggle
-against the Duveyriers’ choruses.
-
-“However,” added she, ironically. “I force no one to come and amuse
-himself in my home.”
-
-“The truth is, it is not very amusing there,” replied he, out of all
-patience.
-
-This threw her into a towering rage.
-
-“That’s it, insult away! Learn, sir, that I might have all the high
-life of Paris if I wished, and that I was not looking to you to help me
-to keep my rank in society!”
-
-There was no longer any question of Berthe; the adultery had
-disappeared before this personal quarrel. Monsieur Josserand continued
-to listen to them, as though he were tossing about in the midst of some
-nightmare. It was not possible; his daughter could not have caused him
-this grief; and he ended by painfully rising again from his seat and
-going, without saying a word, in search of Berthe. Directly she was
-there, she would throw herself into Auguste’s arms, and then everything
-would be explained and forgotten. He found her in the midst of a
-quarrel with Hortense, who was urging her to implore her husband’s
-forgiveness, having already had enough of her, and being unwilling to
-share her room any longer. The young woman resisted, yet she ended by
-following her father. As they returned to the dining-room, where the
-breakfast cups were still scattered over the table, Madame Josserand
-was exclaiming:
-
-“No, on my word of honor! I don’t pity you.”
-
-On catching sight of Berthe she stopped speaking, and again retired
-into her stern majesty. When his wife appeared before him, Auguste made
-a gesture of protest, as though to remove her from his path.
-
-“Come,” said Monsieur Josserand, in his gentle and trembling voice,
-“what is the matter with you all? I can’t make it out; you will drive
-me mad with all your quarreling. Your husband is mistaken, is he not,
-my child? You will explain things to him. You must have a little
-consideration for your old parents. Embrace each other; now, come, do
-it for my sake.”
-
-Berthe, who would all the same have kissed Auguste, stood there
-awkwardly, and half-choked by her dressing-gown, on seeing him draw
-back with an air of tragical repugnance.
-
-“What! you refuse to, my darling?” continued the father. “You should
-take the first step, and you, my dear boy, encourage her; be
-indulgent.”
-
-The husband at length gave free vent to his anger.
-
-“Encourage her, not if I know it! I found her in her chemise, sir! and
-with that man! Do you take me for a fool, that you wish me to kiss her!
-In her chemise, sir!”
-
-Monsieur Josserand stood lost in amazement. Then he caught hold of
-Berthe’s arm.
-
-“You say nothing; can it be true? On your knees, then!”
-
-But Auguste had reached the door. He was hastening away. “Your comedies
-are useless! they don’t take me in! Don’t try to shove her on my
-shoulders again; I’ve had her once too often. You hear me; never again!
-I would sooner go to law about it. Pass her on to some one else, if
-she’s in your way. And, besides, you’re no better than she is!”
-
-He waited till he was in the ante-room, and then further relieved
-himself by shouting out these last words:
-
-“Yes, when one makes a strumpet of one’s daughter, one should not push
-her into a respectable man’s arms!”
-
-The outer door banged, and a profound silence ensued. Berthe had
-mechanically gone back to her seat at the table, lowering her eyes, and
-looking at the coffee dregs in the bottom of her cup; whilst her mother
-sharply walked about, carried away by the tempest of her violent
-emotions. The father, utterly worn out, and with a face as white as
-that of a corpse, had sat down all by himself at the other end of the
-room, against the wall. An odor of rancid butter—butter of inferior
-quality purposely bought at the Halles—quite infected the apartment.
-
-“Now that that vulgar person has gone,” said Madame Josserand, “one may
-be able to hear oneself speak. Ah! sir, these are the results of your
-incapacity. Do you at length acknowledge your errors? think you that
-such quarrels would be picked with either of the brothers Bernheim,
-with one of the owners of the Saint-Joseph glass works?”
-
-Monsieur Josserand, with a lifeless look in his eyes, had not even
-stirred. She had stopped before him, with an enraged desire for a row;
-then, seeing he did not move, she continued to pace the room.
-
-“Yes, yes, be disdainful. You know it will not affect me much. And we
-will see if you will again dare to speak ill of my relations after all
-that yours have done. Uncle Bachelard is quite a star! my sister is
-most polite! Listen; do you wish to know my opinion? Well! it is that
-if my father had not died, you would have killed him. As for your
-father——”
-
-Monsieur Josserand’s face became whiter than ever as he remarked:
-
-“I beseech you, Eléonore. I abandon my father to you, and also all my
-relations. Only, I beseech you, let me be. I do not feel well.”
-
-Berthe, taking pity on him, raised her head.
-
-“Do leave him alone, mamma,” said she.
-
-So, turning toward her daughter, Madame Josserand resumed more
-violently than ever:
-
-“I’ve been keeping you for the last; you won’t lose by waiting! Yes,
-ever since yesterday I’ve been bottling it up. But, I warn you, I can
-no longer keep it in—I can no longer keep it in. With that
-counter-jumper; I can scarcely believe it! Have you, then, lost all
-pride? I thought that you were making use of him, that you were just
-sufficiently amiable to cause him to interest himself in the business
-down-stairs; and I assisted you, I encouraged him. In short, tell me
-what advantage you saw in it all?”
-
-“None whatever,” stammered the young woman.
-
-“Then, why did you take up with him? It was even more stupid than
-wicked.”
-
-“How absurd you are, mamma: one can never explain such things.”
-
-Madame Josserand was again walking about.
-
-“Ah! you can’t explain! Well! but you ought to be able to! There is not
-the slightest shadow of sense in misbehaving oneself like that, and it
-is this which exasperates me! Did I ever tell you to deceive your
-husband? did I ever deceive your father? He is here; ask him. Let him
-say if he ever caught me with any other man.”
-
-Her pace slackened and became quite majestic, and she slapped herself
-on her green bodice, driving her breasts back under her arms.
-
-“Nothing; not a fault, not the least forgetfulness, even in thought. My
-life has been a chaste one. Yet God knows what I have had to put up
-with from your father! I have had every excuse; many women would have
-avenged themselves. But I had some sense, and that saved me. Before
-heaven!” said she, “I swear I would have restrained myself, even if the
-Emperor had pestered me! One loses too much.”
-
-She took a few steps in silence, apparently reflecting, and then added:
-
-“Moreover, it is the greatest possible shame.”
-
-Monsieur Josserand looked at her, looked at his daughter, and his lips
-moved, though no sound came from them; and his whole suffering being
-conjured them to put an end to this cruel explanation. But Berthe, who
-bent before violence, was wounded by her mother’s lesson. She at length
-rebelled, for she was quite unconscious of her fault, thanks to the old
-education which she had received when a girl in search of a husband.
-
-“Well!” said she, boldly planting her elbows on the table, “you should
-not have made me marry a man I did not love. Now I hate him, and I have
-taken another.”
-
-“In short, he bores me, and I bore him,” declared she. “It’s not my
-fault, we don’t understand one another. As early as the morrow of our
-wedding-day, he looked as though he thought we had taken him in; yes,
-he was cold and put out, just like when he has a bad day’s sale. For my
-part, I did not amuse myself particularly with him. Really! I don’t
-think much of marriage if it offers no more pleasure than that! And
-that’s how it all began. So much the worse! it was bound to come; I’m
-not the most guilty.”
-
-She left off speaking, but shortly added, with an air of profound
-conviction:
-
-“Ah! mamma, how well I understand you now! You remember, when you told
-us you had had more than enough of it.”
-
-Madame Josserand, standing up before her, had been listening for a
-minute with indignant amazement.
-
-“Eh? I said that!” cried she.
-
-But Berthe, warming with her subject, would not stop.
-
-“You have said so twenty times. And, besides, I should have liked to
-have seen you in my place. Auguste is not kind like papa. You would
-have been fighting together about money matters before a week had
-passed. He would precious soon have made you say that men are only good
-to be taken in!”
-
-“Eh? I said that!” repeated the mother, quite beside herself.
-
-She advanced so menacingly toward her daughter, that the father held
-out his hands in a suppliant gesture imploring mercy. The sounds of the
-two women’s voices struck him to the heart unceasingly; and, at each
-shock, he felt the wound extend. Tears gushed from his eyes as he
-stammered:
-
-“Do leave off, spare me.”
-
-“No, it is dreadful!” resumed Madame Josserand, in louder tones than
-ever. “This wretched creature now pretends I am the cause of her
-shamelessness! You will see she will soon make out that it is I who
-have deceived her husband. So, it’s my fault! for that is what you seem
-to mean. It’s my fault!”
-
-Berthe remained with her elbows on the table, very pale, but resolute.
-
-“It’s very certain that, if you had brought me up differently——”
-
-She did not finish. Her mother gave her a clout with all her might, and
-such a hard one that it hanged Berthe’s head down onto the table-cover.
-Her hand had been itching to give it, ever since the day before; it had
-been making her fingers tingle, the same as in those far-off days when
-the child used to oversleep herself.
-
-“There!” cried she, “that’s for your education! Your husband ought to
-have beaten you to a jelly.”
-
-The young woman did not rise, but sat there sobbing, her cheek pressed
-against her arm. She forgot her twenty-four years, this clout brought
-her back to the slaps of other times, to a whole past of timorous
-hypocrisy. All her resolution of an emancipated grownup person melted
-away in the great sorrow of a little girl.
-
-But, on hearing her weep so bitterly, the father was seized with a
-terrible emotion. He at length got up, quite distracted, and he pushed
-the mother away, saying:
-
-“You wish, then, to kill me between you? Tell me, must I go on my knees
-to you?”
-
-Madame Josserand, having relieved her feelings, and having nothing to
-add, was withdrawing in a royal silence, when she found Hortense
-listening behind the door as she suddenly opened it. This caused a
-fresh outburst.
-
-“Ah! so you were listening to all this filth? The one does the most
-horrible things, and the other takes a delight in hearing about them;
-the two make the pair. But, good heavens! whoever was it that brought
-you up?”
-
-Hortense, without being in the least moved, entered the room.
-
-“It was not necessary to listen, one can even hear you in the kitchen.
-The servant is wriggling with laughter. Besides, I’m old enough to be
-married; there is no harm in my knowing.”
-
-“Verdier, eh?” resumed the mother bitterly. “That’s all the
-satisfaction you give me. Now, you are waiting for the death of a brat.
-You may wait, she’s big and plump, so I’ve been told. It serves you
-right.”
-
-A rush of bile gave a yellow hue to the young girl’s skinny
-countenance. And, with clenched teeth, she replied:
-
-“Though she’s big and plump, Verdier can leave her. And I will make him
-leave her sooner than you think, just to spite you all. Yes, yes, I
-will get married without any one else’s assistance. They’re far too
-solid, the marriages you put together!”
-
-Then, as her mother was advancing toward her, she added:
-
-“Ah! you know, I don’t intend to be slapped! Take care.” They looked
-each other straight in the eyes, and Madame Josserand was the first to
-yield, hiding her retreat beneath an air of scornful domination. But
-the father thought the battle was going to begin again. In the midst of
-his sobs, he kept repeating:
-
-“I can bear it no longer—I can bear it no longer—”
-
-The dining-room became once more wrapped in silence. Berthe, her cheek
-on her arm, and still heaving long, nervous sighs, was growing calmer.
-Hortense had quietly seated herself at the other end of the table, and
-was buttering the remainder of a roll, so as to pull herself together
-again. Well! butter at twenty-two sous could only be poison. And, as it
-left a stinking deposit at the bottom of the saucepans, Adèle was
-explaining that it was not even economical, when a dull thud, a distant
-shake of the floor, suddenly caused them to listen intently.
-
-Berthe, all anxiety, at length raised her head.
-
-“What’s that!” asked she.
-
-“It’s perhaps madame and the other lady, in the drawing-room,” said
-Adèle.
-
-Madame Josserand had started with surprise, as she crossed the
-drawing-room. A woman was there all alone.
-
-“What? you again?” cried she, when she had recognized Madame
-Dambreville, whom she had forgotten.
-
-The latter did not stir. The family quarrels, the noisy voices, the
-slamming of doors, seemed to have passed over her without her having
-felt the least breath of them. She remained immovable, looking into
-vacancy, buried in a heap in her love-sick mania. But there was
-something at work within her, the advice of Léon’s mother had upset
-her, and was deciding her to dearly purchase a few remnants of
-happiness.
-
-“Come,” resumed Madame Josserand, roughly, “you can’t, you know, sleep
-here. I have had a note from my son, he is not coming.”
-
-Then Madame Dambreville spoke, her mouth all clammy from her long
-silence, as though she were just waking up.
-
-“I am going, pray excuse me. And tell him from me that I have
-reflected. I consent. Yes, I will reflect still further, and perhaps I
-may help him to marry that girl, as he insists upon it. But it is I who
-give her to him, and I wish him to ask me for her, me alone, you
-understand! Oh! he must come back, he must come back!”
-
-Her ardent voice became quite beseeching. She added, in a lower tone,
-in the obstinate way of a woman who, after sacrificing everything,
-clings to a last satisfaction.
-
-“He shall marry her, but he must live with us. Otherwise nothing will
-be done. I would sooner lose him.”
-
-And she went off. Madame Josserand was most charming again. In the
-ante-room, she said all sorts of consoling things, she promised to send
-her son submissive and tender, that very evening, affirming that he
-would be delighted to live at his aunt-in-law’s. Then, when she had
-shut the door behind Madame Dambreville’s back, filled with a pitying
-tenderness, she thought:
-
-“Poor boy! what a price she will make him pay for it!”
-
-But, at this moment, she also heard the dull thud, which caused the
-boards to tremble. Well? what was it? was the servant smashing all the
-crockery, now? She hastened to the dining-room, and questioned her
-daughters.
-
-“What is it? Is the sugar-basin broken?”
-
-“No, mamma. We don’t know.”
-
-She turned round, looking for Adèle, when she beheld her listening at
-the door of the bed-room.
-
-“Whatever are you doing?” cried she. “Everything is being smashed in
-your kitchen, and your’re there spying on your master. Yes, yes, one
-begins with prunes, and one ends with something else. For some time
-past, you have had a way about you which greatly displeases me; you
-smell of men, my girl——-”
-
-The servant stood looking at her with wide-open eyes. At length she
-interrupted her.
-
-“That’s not what’s the matter. I think master has fallen down in
-there.”
-
-“Good heavens! she’s right,” said Berthe, turning pale, “it was just
-like some one falling.”
-
-They entered the room. Monsieur Josserand, seized with a fainting fit,
-was lying on the floor before the bed; his head had come in contact
-with a chair, and a little stream of blood was issuing from the right
-ear. The mother, the two daughters and the servant surrounded and
-examined him. Berthe, alone, wept, again seized with the bitter sobs
-which the blow had called forth. And, when the four of them raised him
-to place him on the bed, they heard him murmur:
-
-“It’s all over. They’ve killed me.”
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVII.
-
-
-Months passed by, and spring had come again. At the house in the Rue de
-Choiseul, every one was talking of the approaching marriage of Octave
-and Madame Hédouin.
-
-Matters, however, were not so far advanced. Octave was again in his old
-place at “The Ladies’ Paradise,” the business of which developed daily.
-Since her husband’s death, Madame Hédouin was unable to attend properly
-to the incessantly growing concern by herself. Her uncle, old Deleuze,
-nailed to his easy-chair by rheumatism, troubled himself about nothing;
-and, naturally, the young man, who was very active and a constant prey
-to the mania for doing business on a large scale, had in a little while
-reached a position of decisive importance in the house.
-
-From this moment their relations became most intimate. They would shut
-themselves for hours together in the small room right at the back. In
-former days, when he had sworn to himself to seduce her, he had pursued
-certain tactics there, trying to take advantage of her commercial
-emotions, whispering figures close to her neck, watching for the days
-of heavy takings to profit by her enthusiasm. Now, he was simply
-good-natured, having no other aim but to push the business. He no
-longer even desired her, though he retained the recollection of her
-gentle quiver when waltzing with him on Berthe’s wedding night. Perhaps
-she had loved. In any case it was best to remain as they were; for, as
-she justly said, the business demanded a great amount of order, and it
-would be impolitic to wish for things which would disturb them from
-morning till night.
-
-Seated together at the narrow desk, they would often forget themselves,
-after going through the books and settling the orders. He would then
-return to his dreams of enlargement. He had sounded the owner of the
-next house, and had found him willing to sell. They would give notice
-to the second-hand dealer and to the umbrella man, and then establish a
-special department for silk. She, very grave, would listen, not daring
-to venture yet.
-
-At length, as they sat side by side one evening examining some invoices
-beneath the scorching flame of a gas-jet, she said slowly:
-
-“I have spoken to my uncle, Monsieur Octave. He consents, so we will
-buy the house. Only——”
-
-He interrupted her joyfully to exclaim:
-
-“Then, the Vabres are done for!”
-
-She smiled, and murmured reproachfully:
-
-“Do you detest them, then? It is not proper on your part; you are the
-last who should wish them ill.”
-
-She had never spoken to him of his relations with Berthe. This sudden
-allusion embarrassed him immensely, without his exactly knowing why. He
-blushed and tried to stammer out some explanation.
-
-“No, no, it does not concern me,” resumed she, still smiling and very
-calm. “Excuse me, it quite escaped me; I never intended to speak to you
-on the subject. You are young. So much the worse for those who are
-willing, is it not so? It is the place of the husbands to guard their
-wives when the latter are unable to guard themselves.”
-
-He experienced a sensation of relief, on understanding she was not
-angry. He had often dreaded a coldness on her part if she came to know
-of his former connection.
-
-“You interrupted me, Monsieur Octave,” resumed she, gravely. “I was
-about to add that if I purchase the next house, and thus double the
-importance of my business, it will be impossible for me to remain
-single. I shall be obliged to marry again.”
-
-Octave sat lost in astonishment. What! she already had a husband in
-view, and he was in ignorance of it! He at once felt that his position
-there was compromised.
-
-“My uncle,” continued she, “told me so himself. Oh, there is no hurry
-just yet. I have only been eight months in mourning; I shall wait till
-the autumn. Only, in trade one must put one’s heart on one side, and
-consider the necessities of the situation. A man is absolutely
-necessary here.”
-
-She discussed all this calmly, like a matter of business, and he gazed
-on her regular and healthy beauty, on her pure complexion beneath her
-neatly arranged black hair. Then he regretted not having, since her
-widowhood, renewed the effort to become her lover.
-
-“It is always a very serious matter,” stammered he; “it requires
-reflection.”
-
-No doubt, she was quite of that opinion. And she spoke of her age.
-
-“I am already old; I am five years older than you, Monsieur Octave—”
-
-Deeply agitated, yet thinking he understood, he interrupted her, and
-seizing hold of her hands, he repeated:
-
-“Oh, madame! oh, madame!”
-
-But she rose from her seat and released herself. Then she turned down
-the gas.
-
-“No, that’s enough for to-day. You have some very good ideas, and it is
-natural I should think of you to put them into execution. Only there
-will be a deal of worry; we must thoroughly study the project. I know
-that at heart you are very serious. Think the matter over on your side,
-and I will think it over on mine. That is why I have named it to you.
-We can talk about it again later on.”
-
-And things remained thus for weeks. The establishment continued just
-the same as usual. As Madame Hédouin always maintained her smiling
-serenity when in Octave’s company, without an allusion to the slightest
-tender feeling, he affected on his side a similar peace of mind, and he
-ended by becoming like her, healthfully happy, placing his confidence
-in the logic of things. She often repeated that sensible things always
-happened of themselves. Therefore she was never in a hurry. The gossip
-which commenced to circulate respecting her intimacy with the young man
-did not in the least affect her. They waited.
-
-In the Rue de Choiseul, therefore, the entire house vowed that the
-marriage was as good as accomplished. Octave had given up his room to
-lodge in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, near “The Ladies’ Paradise.” He
-no longer visited any one—neither the Campardons nor the Duveyriers,
-who were quite shocked at the scandal of his amours. Monsieur Gourd
-himself, whenever he saw him, pretended not to recognize him, so as to
-avoid having to bow. Only Marie and Madame Juzuer, on the mornings when
-they met him in the neighborhood, went and stood a moment in some
-doorway to have a chat with him. Madame Juzeur, who passionately
-questioned him respecting Madame Hédouin, tried to persuade him to call
-upon her, so as to be able to talk the matter over nicely; and Marie,
-who was greatly distressed, complaining of again being in the family
-way, and who told him of Jules’ amazement and of her parents’ terrible
-anger. Then, when the rumor of his marriage became more persistent,
-Octave was surprised to receive a low bow from Monsieur Gourd.
-Campardon, without exactly making friends again, gave him a cordial nod
-across the street, whilst Duveyrier, calling one evening to buy some
-gloves, showed himself most amiable. The entire house was beginning to
-pardon him.
-
-However, the uneasiness caused by the adulterous act was still there,
-imperceptible to uneducated people, but most disagreeable to those of
-refined morals. Auguste obstinately persisted in not taking his wife
-back, and, so long as Berthe lived with her parents, the scandal would
-not be effaced—there would ever linger a material vestige of it.
-
-It was Duveyrier especially who, as landlord, carried the burden of
-this persistent and unmerited misfortune. For some time past Clarisse
-had been torturing him to such a pitch that he would at times come home
-to his wife to weep. But the scandal of the adultery had struck him to
-the heart; he saw, said he, the passer-by look at his house from top to
-bottom—that house which his father-in-law and he had striven to
-decorate with every domestic virtue; and, as this sort of thing could
-not be allowed to last, he talked of purifying the building for his
-personal honor. Therefore he urged Auguste, in the name of public
-decency, to become reconciled with his wife. Unfortunately, Auguste
-resisted, backed up in his rage by Théophile and Valérie, who had
-definitely installed themselves at the pay-desk, and who were delighted
-with the existing discord. Then, as matters were going badly at Lyons,
-and the silk warehouse was in jeopardy for want of capital, Duveyrier
-conceived a practical idea. The Josserands were probably longing to get
-rid of their daughter; the thing to do was to offer to take her back,
-but only on condition that they paid the dowry of fifty thousand
-francs. Perhaps uncle Bachelard would yield to their entreaties and
-give the money. At first, Auguste violently refused to be a party to
-any such arrangement; even were the sum a hundred thousand francs, he
-would not think it sufficient. Then, becoming very anxious as his April
-payments drew near, he had given in to the counselor’s arguments, as
-the latter pleaded the cause of morality and spoke merely of a good
-action to be done.
-
-When they were agreed, Clotilde selected the Abbé Mauduit for
-negotiator. It was a delicate matter; only a priest could interfere in
-it without compromising himself. It so happened that the reverend man
-was deeply grieved by the deplorable catastrophes which had befallen
-one of the most interesting households of his parish; and he had
-already offered his advice, his experience and his authority to put an
-end to a scandal at which the enemies of religion might take delight.
-However, when Clotilde spoke to him of the dowry, asking him to be the
-bearer of Auguste’s conditions to the Josserands, he bowed his head,
-and maintained a painful silence.
-
-“It is money due that my brother asks for,” repeated she. “It is no
-bargain, understand. Moreover, my brother insists upon it.”
-
-“It is necessary, and I will go,” said the priest, at length.
-
-The Josserands had been expecting the proposal for days. Valérie must
-have spoken of it, all the tenants were discussing the affair: were
-they so hard up as to be forced to keep their daughter? would they be
-able to obtain the fifty thousand francs to get rid of her? Since the
-question had reached this point, Madame Josserand had been in a
-constant rage. What! after having had such trouble to marry Berthe at
-first, she now had to marry her a second time! Everything was upset,
-the dowry was again demanded, all the money worries were going to
-commence afresh! Never before had a mother had such a task to go
-through twice over. And all owing to the fault of that silly fool,
-whose stupidity went so far as to make her forget her duty.
-
-The house was becoming a hell upon earth; Berthe suffered a continual
-torture, for even her sister Hortense, furious at no longer sleeping
-alone, never uttered a sentence without introducing some insulting
-allusion into it. She was even reproached with the food she ate. When
-one had a husband somewhere, it was all the same very funny that one
-should go and share one’s parents’ meals, which were already too
-sparing. Then the young woman, in despair, would sob in corners,
-accusing herself of being a coward, but unable to pick up sufficient
-courage to go down-stairs and throw herself at Auguste’s feet, and say:
-
-“Here! beat me, I cannot be more unhappy than I am.”
-
-Monsieur Josserand alone showed some affection for his child. But that
-child’s faults and tears were killing him; he was dying through the
-cruelties of the family, with an unlimited holiday from business, spent
-mostly in bed. Doctor Juillerat, who attended him, talked of a
-decomposition of the blood: it was a dissolution of the entire system,
-during which each organ was attacked, one after the other.
-
-“When you have made your father die of grief, perhaps you will be
-satisfied!” cried the mother.
-
-And Berthe scarcely dared enter the invalid’s room. Directly the father
-and daughter met, they wept together, and did each other a great deal
-of harm.
-
-At length, Madame Josserand came to a grand decision: she invited uncle
-Bachelard, resolved to humiliate herself once more. She would have
-given the fifty thousand francs out of her own pocket, if she had
-possessed them, so as not to have to keep that big married girl, whose
-presence dishonored her Tuesday receptions. But she had learnt some
-shocking things about the uncle, and, if he did not do as she wished,
-she intended, once for all, to give him a bit of her mind.
-
-During dinner, Bachelard behaved in a most abominable manner. He had
-arrived in an advanced state of intoxication; for, since he had left
-Fifi, he had fallen into the lowest depths of vice.
-
-“Narcisse,” said Madame Josserand, “the situation is a grave one——”
-
-And, slowly and solemnly, she explained this situation, her daughter’s
-regrettable misfortune, the husband’s revolting venality, the painful
-resolution she had been obliged to come to of giving the fifty thousand
-francs, so as to put a stop to the scandal which covered the family
-with shame. Then she severely continued:
-
-“Remember what you promised, Narcisse. On the evening of the signing of
-the marriage contract, you again slapped your chest and swore that
-Berthe might rely on her uncle’s affections. Well! where is this
-affection? the moment has arrived to display it. Monsieur Josserand,
-join me in showing him his duty, if your weak state of health will
-allow you to do so.”
-
-In spite of his great repugnance, the father murmured, out of love for
-his daughter:
-
-“It is true; you promised, Bachelard. Come, before I leave you forever,
-do me the pleasure of behaving as you should.”
-
-But Berthe and Hortense, in the hope of working upon the uncle’s
-feelings, had filled his glass once too often. He was in such a fuddled
-condition, that one could not even take advantage of him.
-
-“Eh? what?” stuttered he, without having the least necessity for
-exaggerating his intoxication. “Never promise—Don’t understand—Tell me
-again, Eléonore.”
-
-The latter recommenced her story, made weeping Berthe embrace him,
-besought him for the sake of her husband’s health, and proved to him
-that in giving the fifty thousand francs, he would be fulfilling a
-sacred duty. Then, as he began to doze off again, without appearing to
-be in the least affected by the sight of the invalid or of the chamber
-of sickness, she abruptly broke out into the most violent language.
-
-“Listen! Narcisse, this sort of thing has been lasting too long—you’re
-a scoundrel! I know of all your beastly goings-on. You’ve just married
-your mistress to Gueulin, and you’ve given them fifty thousand francs,
-the very amount you promised us. Ah! it’s decent; little Gueulin plays
-a pretty part in it all! And you, you’re worse still, you take the
-bread from our mouth, you prostitute your fortune, yes! you prostitute
-it, by robbing us of money which was ours for the sake of that harlot!”
-
-Never before had she relieved her feelings to such an extent. Hortense
-busied herself with her father’s medicine, so as not to show her
-embarrassment. Monsieur Josserand, who was made far worse by this
-scene, tossed about on his pillow, and murmured in a trembling voice:
-
-“I beseech you, Eléonore, do be quiet; he will give nothing. If you
-wish to say such things to him, take him away that I may not hear you.”
-
-Berthe, on her side, sobbed louder than ever, and joined her father in
-his entreaties.
-
-“Enough, mamma, do as papa asks. Good heavens! how miserable I am to be
-the cause of all these quarrels! I would sooner leave you all, and go
-and die somewhere.”
-
-Then Madame Josserand deliberately put the question to the uncle.
-
-“Will you, yes or no, give the fifty thousand francs, so that your
-niece may hold her head up?”
-
-Regularly scared, he tried to go into explanations.
-
-“Listen a moment. I found Gueulin and Fifi together. What could I do? I
-was obliged to marry them. It wasn’t my fault.”
-
-“Will you, yes or no, give the dowry you promised?” repeated she
-furiously.
-
-He wavered, his intoxication increased to such a pitch that he could
-scarcely find words to utter:
-
-“Can’t, word of honor!—Completely ruined. Otherwise, at once—Candidly
-you know——”
-
-She interrupted him with a terrible gesture, and declared:
-
-“Good, then I shall call a family council and have you declared
-incapable of managing your affairs. When uncles become driveling, it’s
-time to send them to an asylum.”
-
-At this, the uncle was seized with intense emotion. He glanced about
-him, and found the room had a sinister aspect with its feeble light; he
-looked at the dying man, who, held up by his daughters, was swallowing
-a spoonful of some black liquid; and his heart overflowed, he sobbed as
-he accused his sister of never having under stood him. Yet, he had
-already been made unhappy enough by Gueulin’s treachery. They knew he
-was very sensitive, and they did wrong to invite him to dinner, to make
-him sad afterward. In short, in place of the fifty thousand francs, he
-offered all the blood in his veins.
-
-Madame Josserand, who was quite worn out, had decided to leave him to
-himself, when the servant announced Doctor Juillerat and the Abbé
-Mauduit. They had met on the landing, and entered together. The doctor
-found Monsieur Josserand much worse, he was still suffering from the
-shock occasioned by the scene in which he had been forced to play a
-part. When, on his side, the priest wished to take Madame Josserand
-into the drawing-room, having, he said, a communication to make to her,
-the latter guessed on what subject he had called, and answered
-majestically that she was with her family and prepared to hear
-everything there; the doctor himself would not be in the way, for a
-physician was also a confessor.
-
-“Madame,” then said the priest, with slightly embarrassed gentleness,
-“you behold in the step I am taking an ardent desire to reconcile two
-families——”
-
-“My dear Abbé Mauduit, allow me to interrupt you,” said Madame
-Josserand. “We are deeply moved by your efforts. But never, you
-understand me! never will we traffic in our daughter’s honor. People
-who have already become reconciled over this child’s back! Oh! I know
-all; they were at daggers drawn, and now they are inseparable, reviling
-us from morning till night. No; such a bargain would be a disgrace—-”
-
-“It seems to me, though, madame—” ventured the priest.
-
-But she drowned his voice, as she superbly continued:
-
-“See! my brother is here. You can question him. He was again saying to
-me only a little while ago: ‘Here are the fifty thousand francs,
-Eléonore; settle this miserable matter!’ Well! ask him what reply I
-made. Get up, Narcisse. Tell the truth.” The uncle had already again
-fallen asleep in an arm-chair, at the end of the room. He moved, and
-uttered a few disconnected words. Then, as his sister insisted, he
-placed his hand on his heart, and stammered:
-
-“When duty speaks, one must obey. The family comes before everything.”
-
-“You hear him?” cried Madame Josserand, with a triumphant air. “No
-money; it’s disgraceful! Tell those people from us that we don’t die to
-avoid having to pay. The dowry is here; we would have given it; but,
-now that it’s exacted as the price of our daughter, the matter becomes
-too disgusting. Let Auguste take Berthe back first, and then we will
-see later on.”
-
-She had raised her voice, and the doctor, who was examining his
-patient, was obliged to make her leave off.
-
-“Speak lower, madame!” said he; “your husband suffers.”
-
-Then the Abbé Mauduit, whose embarrassment had increased, went up to
-the bedside, and found some kind words to say. And he afterward
-withdrew, without again referring to the matter, hiding the confusion
-of having failed beneath his amiable smile, with a curl of grief and
-disgust on his lips. As the doctor went off in his turn, he roughly
-informed Madame Josserand that there was no hope for the invalid: the
-greatest precautions must be taken, for the least emotion might carry
-him off. She was thunderstruck, and returned to the dining-room, where
-her two daughters and their uncle had already withdrawn, to let
-Monsieur Josserand rest, as he seemed disposed to go to sleep.
-
-“Berthe,” murmured she, “you have killed your father. The doctor has
-just said so.”
-
-And they all three, seated round the table, gave way to their grief,
-whilst Uncle Bachelard, also in tears, mixed himself a glass of grog.
-
-When Auguste learned the Josserands’ answer, his rage against his wife
-knew no bounds, and he swore he would kick her away the day she came to
-ask for forgiveness. Yet, in reality, he wanted her; there was a
-voidness in his life; he seemed to be out of his element, amidst the
-new worries of his abandonment, quite as grave as those of his married
-life.
-
-Besides all this, another more serious anxiety bothered him: “The
-Ladies’ Paradise” was prospering, and already menaced his business,
-which decreased daily. He certainly did not regret that miserable
-Octave, yet he was just, and recognized that the fellow possessed very
-great abilities. How swimmingly everything would have gone had they
-only got on better together! He was seized with the most tender
-regrets; there were hours when, sick of his loneliness, feeling life
-giving way beneath him, he felt inclined to go up to the Josserands and
-ask them to give Berthe back to him for nothing.
-
-Duveyrier, too, moreover, did not yield, and, more and more cut up by
-the moral disfavor into which such an affair threw his building, he was
-forever urging his brother-in-law to a reconciliation.
-
-Each day life became more and more cruel for Duveyrier at this
-mistress’, where he encountered all the worries of his own home again,
-but this time in the midst of a regular hell. The whole tribe of
-hawkers—the mother, the big blackguard of a brother, the two little
-sisters, even the invalid aunt—impudently robbed him, lived on him
-openly, to the point of emptying his pockets during the nights he slept
-there. His position was also becoming a serious one in another respect;
-he had got to the end of his money; he trembled at the thought of being
-compromised on his judicial bench; he could certainly not be removed,
-only, the young barristers were beginning to look at him in a saucy
-kind of way, which made it awkward for him to administer justice. And,
-when driven away by the filth and the uproar, seized with disgust of
-himself, he flew from the Rue d’Assas and sought refuge in the Rue de
-Choiseul, his wife’s malignant coldness completed the crushing of him.
-Then he would lose his head; he would look at the Seine on his way to
-the court, with thoughts of jumping in some evening when a final
-suffering should impart to him the requisite courage.
-
-Clotilde had noticed her husband’s emotion, and felt anxious and
-irritated with that mistress of his who did not even make a man happy
-in his misconduct. But, for her part, she was greatly annoyed by a most
-deplorable adventure, the consequences of which quite revolutionized
-the house. On going up-stairs one morning for a handkerchief, Clémence
-had caught Hippolyte with Louise, and, since then, she had taken to
-slapping him in the kitchen for the least thing, which of course
-greatly interfered with the attendance. The worst was that madame could
-no longer close her eyes to the illicit connection existing between her
-maid and her footman; the other servants laughed, the scandal was
-reported amongst the tradespeople; it was absolutely necessary to
-oblige them to get married if she wished to retain them, and, as she
-continued to be very well satisfied with Clémence, she thought of
-nothing but this marriage.
-
-To negotiate between lovers who were forever fighting with each other
-seemed such a delicate affair that she decided on employing the Abbé
-Mauduit, whose moralizing character seemed specially suited to the
-occasion. Her servants, moreover, had been causing her a great deal of
-trouble for some time past. When down in the country, she had noticed
-the intimacy of her big, hobbledehoy Gustave with Julie; she had at one
-moment thought of sending the latter about her business, though
-regretfully, for she liked her cooking; then, after sound reflection,
-she had decided to keep her, preferring that the youngster should have
-a mistress at home, a clean girl who would never be any trouble. There
-is no knowing what a youth may get hold of outside, when he begins too
-young. She was watching them, therefore, without saying a word, and now
-the other two must needs worry her with their affair.
-
-It so happened that, one morning, as Madame Duveyrier was preparing to
-call on the priest, Clémence came, and announced that the Abbé Mauduit
-was taking the extreme unction up to Monsieur Josserand. After meeting
-him on the staircase, the maid had returned to the kitchen, exclaiming:
-
-“I said that he would come again this year!”
-
-And, alluding to the catastrophes which had befallen the house, she
-added:
-
-“It has brought ill-luck to every one.”
-
-This time the priest did not arrive too late, and that was an excellent
-sign for the future. Madame Duveyrier hastened to Saint-Roch, where she
-awaited the Abbé Mauduit’s return. He listened to her, and for a while
-maintained a sad silence; then he was unable to refuse to enlighten the
-maid and the footman on the immorality of their position. Moreover, the
-other matter would have obliged him to return shortly to the Rue de
-Choiseul, for poor Monsieur Josserand would certainly not last through
-the night; and he mentioned that he saw in this circumstance a cruel
-but happy opportunity for reconciling Auguste and Berthe. He would try
-and arrange the two affairs simultaneously. It was high time that
-Heaven consented to bless their efforts.
-
-“I have prayed, madame,” said the priest. “The Almighty will triumph.”
-
-And, indeed, that evening, at seven o’clock, Monsieur Josserand’s death
-agony began. The entire family was there, excepting uncle Bachelard,
-who had been sought for in vain in all the cafés, and Saturnin, who was
-still confined at the Asile des Moulineaux. Léon, whose marriage was
-most unfortunately postponed through his father’s illness, displayed a
-dignified grief. Madame Josserand and Hortense showed some courage.
-Berthe alone sobbed so loudly that, so as not to affect the invalid,
-she had gone and stowed herself away in the kitchen, where Adèle,
-taking advantage of the general confusion, was drinking some mulled
-wine. Monsieur Josserand expired in the quietest fashion; it was his
-honesty which finished him. He had passed a useless life, and he went
-off like a worthy man tired of the wicked things of the world,
-heart-broken by the quiet indifference of the only beings he had ever
-loved. At eight o’clock he stammered out Saturnin’s name, turned his
-face to the wall, and expired. No one thought him dead, for all had
-dreaded a terrible agony. They sat patiently for some time, letting
-him, as they thought, sleep. When they found he was already becoming
-cold, Madame Josserand, in the midst of the general wailing, flew into
-a passion with Hortense, whom she had instructed to fetch Auguste,
-counting on restoring Berthe to the latter’s arms amidst the great
-grief of her husband’s last moments.
-
-“You think of nothing!” said she, wiping her eyes.
-
-“But, mamma,” replied the girl, in tears, “no one thought papa would go
-off so suddenly! You told me not to go for Auguste till nine o’clock,
-so as to be sure of keeping him till the end.”
-
-The sorely afflicted family found some distraction in this quarrel.
-
-It was another matter gone wrong; they never succeeded in anything.
-Fortunately, there was still the funeral to take advantage of to bring
-the husband and wife together.
-
-The funeral was a pretty decent one, though it was not so grand as
-Monsieur Vabre’s. Moreover, it did not give rise to nearly the same
-excitement in the house and the neighborhood, for the deceased was not
-a landlord; he was merely a quiet-going body, whose demise did not even
-disturb Madame Juzeur’s slumbers.
-
-Madame Josserand and her daughters had to be supported to their coach.
-Léon, assisted by uncle Bachelard, was most attentive, whilst Auguste
-followed behind in an embarrassed way. He got into another coach with
-Duveyrier and Théophile. Clotilde detained the Abbé Mauduit, who had
-not officiated, but who had gone to the cemetery, wishing to give the
-family a proof of his sympathy. The horses started on the homeward
-journey more gayly, and she at once asked the priest to return to the
-house with them, for she felt that the time was favorable. He
-consented.
-
-The three mourning coaches silently drew up in the Rue de Choiseul with
-the relations. Théophile at once rejoined Valérie, who had remained
-behind to superintend a general cleaning, the warehouse being closed.
-
-“You may pack up!” cried he, furiously. “They’re all at him. I bet
-he’ll end by begging her pardon.”
-
-They all, indeed, felt a pressing necessity for putting an end to the
-unpleasantness. Misfortune should at least be good for something.
-Auguste, in the midst of them, understood very well what they wanted;
-and he was alone, without strength to resist, and filled with shame.
-The relations slowly walked in under the porch hung with black. No one
-spoke. On the stairs, the silence continued—a silence full of deep
-thought—whilst the crape skirts, soft and sad, ascended higher and
-higher. Auguste, seized with a final feeling of revolt, had taken the
-lead, with the intention of quickly shutting himself up in his own
-apartments; but, as he opened, the door, Clotilde and the priest, who
-had followed close behind, stopped him. Directly after them, Berthe,
-dressed in deep mourning, appeared on the landing, accompanied by her
-mother and her sister. They all three had red eyes; Madame Josserand,
-especially, was quite painful to behold.
-
-“Come, my friend,” simply said the priest, overcome by tears.
-
-And that was sufficient. Auguste gave in at once, seeing that it was
-better to make his peace at that honorable opportunity. His wife wept,
-and he wept also, as he stammered:
-
-“Come in. We will try not to do it again.”
-
-Then the relations kissed all around. Clotilde congratulated her
-brother; she had had full confidence in his heart. Madame Josserand
-showed a broken-hearted satisfaction, like a widow who is no longer the
-least affected by the most unhoped-for happiness. She associated her
-poor husband with the general joy.
-
-“You are doing your duty, my dear son-in-law. He who is now in Heaven
-thanks you.”
-
-“Come in,” repeated Auguste, quite upset.
-
-But Rachel, attracted by the noise, now appeared in the anteroom; and
-Berthe hesitated a moment in presence of the speechless exasperation
-which caused the maid to turn ghastly pale. Then she sternly entered,
-and disappeared with her black mourning in the shadow of the apartment.
-Auguste followed her, and the door closed behind them.
-
-A deep sigh of relief ascended the staircase, and filled the house with
-joy. The ladies pressed the hands of the priest, whose prayers had been
-granted. Just as Clotilde was taking him off to settle the other
-matter, Duveyrier, who had lagged behind with Léon and Bachelard,
-arrived, walking painfully. The happy result had all to be explained to
-him; but he, who had been desiring it for months past, scarcely seemed
-to understand, a strange expression overspreading his face, and his
-mind a prey to a fixed idea, the torture of which quite absorbed him.
-Whilst the Josserands regained their apartments, he returned to his
-own, behind his wife and the priest. And they had just reached the
-ante-room, when some stifled cries caused them to start.
-
-“Do not be uneasy, madame. It is the little lady up-stairs in labor,”
-Hippolyte complacently explained. “I saw Dr. Juillerat run up just
-now.”
-
-Then, when he was alone, he added philosophically:
-
-“One goes, another comes.”
-
-Clotilde made the Abbé Mauduit comfortable in the drawingroom, saying
-that she would first of all send him Clémence; and, to help him to
-while away the time, she gave him the “Revue des Deux Mondes,” which
-contained some really charming verses. She wished to prepare her maid
-for the interview. But, on entering her dressing-room, she found her
-husband seated on a chair.
-
-Ever since the morning, Duveyrier had been in a state of agony. For the
-third time he had caught Clarisse with Théodore; and, as he complained,
-the whole family of hawkers, the mother, the brother, the sisters, had
-fallen upon him, and driven him down-stairs with kicks and blows;
-whilst Clarisse had called him a poverty-stricken wretch, and furiously
-threatened him with the police if he ever dared to show himself there
-again. It was all over; down below the doorkeeper had told him that for
-a week past a very rich old fellow had been anxious to provide for
-madame. Then, driven away, and no longer having a warm nook to nestle
-in, Duveyrier, after wandering about the streets, had entered an
-out-of-the-way shop and purchased a pocket revolver. Life was becoming
-too sad; he could at least put an end to it, as soon as he had found a
-suitable place for doing so. This selection of a quiet corner was
-occupying his mind, as he mechanically returned to the Rue de Choiseul
-to assist at Monsieur Josserand’s funeral. Then, when following the
-corpse, he had had a sudden idea of killing himself at the cemetery; he
-would go to the furthest end and hide behind a tombstone. This
-flattered his taste for the romantic, the necessity for a tender ideal,
-which was wrecking his life, beneath his rigid middle-class attitude.
-But, as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, he began to
-tremble, seized with an earthly chill. The spot would decidedly not do;
-he would have to seek elsewhere. And, having returned in a worse state
-than ever, entirely a prey to this one idea, he sat thinking on a chair
-in the dressing-room, trying to decide which was the most suitable
-place in the house—perhaps the bed-room, beside the bed, or simply just
-where he was, without moving.
-
-“Will you have the kindness to leave me to myself?” said Clotilde to
-him.
-
-He already had his hand on the revolver in his pocket.
-
-“Why?” asked he, with an effort.
-
-“Because I wish to be alone.”
-
-He thought that she wanted to change her dress, and that she would not
-even let him see her bare arms, so repugnant he felt was he to her. For
-an instant he looked at her with his dim eyes, and beheld her so tall,
-so beautiful, with a complexion clear as marble, her hair gathered up
-in deep, golden tresses. Ah! if she had only consented, how everything
-might have been arranged! He rose stumblingly from his chair, and,
-opening his arms, tried to take hold of her.
-
-“What, now?” murmured she, greatly surprised. “What’s the matter with
-you? Not here, surely. Have you the other one no longer, then? It is
-going to begin again, that abomination?”
-
-And she exhibited such utter disgust, that he drew back. Without a
-word, he left her, stopping in the ante-room as he hesitated for a
-moment; then, as there was a door facing him, the door of the closet,
-he pushed it open; and, without the slightest hurry, he sat down. It
-was a quiet spot, no one would come and disturb him there. He placed
-the barrel of the little revolver in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
-
-Meanwhile, Clotilde, who had been struck since the morning by his
-strange manner, had listened to ascertain if he were obliging her by
-returning to Clarisse. On learning where he had gone, by a creak
-peculiar to that door, she no longer bothered herself about him, and
-was at length in the act of ringing for Clémence, when the dull report
-of a fire-arm filled her with surprise. Whatever was it? it was just,
-like the noise a saloon rifle would make. She hastened to the
-ante-room, not daring at first to question him; then, as a strange
-sound issued from where he was, she called him, and, on receiving no
-answer, opened the door. The bolt had not even been fastened.
-Duveyrier, stunned by fright more than by the injury he had received,
-remained squatting, in a most lugubrious posture, his eyes wide open,
-and his face streaming with blood. He had missed his object. After
-grazing his jaw, the bullet had passed out again through the left
-cheek. And he no longer had the courage to fire a second time.
-
-“What! that is what you come to do here?” cried Clotilde quite beside
-herself. “Just go and kill yourself outside!”
-
-She was most indignant. Instead of softening her, this spectacle threw
-her into a supreme exasperation. She bullied him, and raised him up
-without the least precaution, wishing to carry him away so that no one
-should see him in such a place. In that closet! and to miss killing
-himself too! It was too much.
-
-Then, whilst she supported him to lead him to the bed-room, Duveyrier,
-who had his throat filled with blood, and whose teeth were dropping
-out, stuttered between two rattles:
-
-“You never loved me!”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-And he burst into sobs, he bewailed the death of poetry, that little
-blue flower which it had been denied him to pluck. When Clotilde had
-put him to bed, she at length became softened, seized with a nervous
-emotion in the midst of her anger. The worst of it was that Clémence
-and Hippolyte were coming in answer to the bell. She at first talked to
-them of an accident; their master had fallen on his chin: then she was
-obliged to abandon this fable, for, on going to wipe up the blood, the
-footman had found the revolver. The wounded man was still losing a
-great deal of blood, when the maid remembered that Dr. Juillerat was
-up-stairs attending to Madame Pichon, and she hastened to him, meeting
-him on the staircase, on his way home, after a most successful
-delivery. The doctor immediately reassured Clotilde; perhaps the jaw
-would be slightly out of its place, but her husband’s life was not in
-the least danger. He was proceeding to dress the wound, in the midst of
-basins of water and red stained rags, when the Abbé Mauduit, uneasy at
-all this commotion, ventured to enter the room.
-
-“Whatever has happened?” asked he.
-
-This question completed upsetting Madame Duveyrier. She burst into
-tears at the first words of explanation. The priest, fully aware of the
-hidden miseries of his flock, had moreover quite understood matters.
-Already, whilst waiting in the drawing-room, he had been taken with a
-feeling of uneasiness, and almost regretted the success which had
-attended his efforts, that wretched young woman whom he had once more
-united to her husband without her showing the slightest remorse. He was
-filled with a terrible doubt, perhaps God was not with him. And his
-anguish still further increased as he beheld the counselor’s fractured
-jaw. He went up to him, bent upon energetically condemning suicide. But
-the doctor, who was very busy, thrust him aside.
-
-“After me, my dear Abbé Mauduit. By-and-by. You can see very well that
-he has fainted.”
-
-And indeed, directly the doctor touched him, Duveyrier had lost
-consciousness. Then Clotilde, to get rid of the servants who were no
-longer needed, and whose staring eyes embarrassed her very much,
-murmured, as she wiped her eyes:
-
-“Go into the drawing-room. Abbé Mauduit has something to say to you.”
-
-The priest was obliged to take them there. It was another unpleasant
-piece of business. Hippolyte and Clémence followed him in profound
-surprise. When they were alone together, he began preaching them a
-rather confused sermon: Heaven rewarded good behavior, whereas a single
-sin led one to hell; moreover, it was time to put a stop to scandal and
-to think of one’s salvation. Whilst he spoke thus, their surprise
-turned to bewilderment; with their hands hanging down beside them, she
-with her slender limbs and tiny mouth, he with his flat face and his
-big bones like a gendarme, they exchanged anxious glances! Had madame
-found some of her napkins up-stairs in a trunk? or was it because of
-the bottle of wine they took up with them every evening?
-
-“My children,” the priest ended by saying, “you set a bad example. The
-greatest of crimes is to pervert one’s neighbor, and to bring the house
-where one lives into disrepute. Yes, you live in a disorderly way,
-whieh, unfortunately, is no longer a secret to any one, for you have
-been fighting together for a week past.”
-
-He blushed; a modest hesitation caused him to choose his words.
-
-Meanwhile the two servants had sighed with relief. They smiled now and
-strutted about in quite a happy manner. It was only that! really, there
-was no occasion to be so frightened!
-
-“But it’s all over, sir,” declared Clémence, glancing at Hippolyte in
-the fondest manner. “We have made it up. Yes, he explained everything
-to me.”
-
-The priest in his turn exhibited an astonishment full of sadness.
-
-“You do not understand me, my children. You cannot continue to live
-together; you sin against God and man. You must get married.”
-
-At this, their amazement returned. Get married! whatever for?
-
-“I don’t want to,” said Clémence. “I’ve quite another idea.”
-
-Then the Abbé Mauduit tried to convince Hippolyte.
-
-“Come, my fine fellow, you who are a man, use your influence with her,
-talk to her of her honor. It will change nothing in your mode of
-living. Be married.”
-
-The footman grinned in a jocular and embarrassed manner. At length he
-declared, as he looked down at the toes of his boots:
-
-“I daresay, I don’t say the contrary; but I’m already married.”
-
-This answer put a stop to all the priest’s moral preaching. Without
-adding a word, he folded up his arguments, and put religion, now become
-useless, back into his pocket, deeply regretting ever having risked it
-in such a disgraceful matter. Clotilde, who rejoined him at this
-moment, had heard everything; and she gave vent to her indignation in a
-furious gesture. At her order, the footman and the maid left the room,
-one behind the other, looking very serious, but in reality feeling
-highly amused. After a short pause, Abbé Mauduit complained bitterly:
-why expose him in that manner? why stir up things it was far better to
-let rest? The condition of affairs had now become most disgraceful. But
-Clotilde repeated her gesture: so much the worse! she had far greater
-worries. Moreover, she would certainly not send the servants away, for
-fear the whole neighborhood learnt the story of the attempted suicide
-that very evening. She would decide what to do later on.
-
-“You will not forget, will you? the most complete repose,” urged the
-doctor, coming from the bed-room. “He will get over it perfectly, but
-all fatigue must be avoided. Take courage, madame.”
-
-And, turning toward the priest, he added:
-
-“You can preach him a sermon later on, my dear friend. I do not give
-him up to you yet. If you are returning to Saint-Roch, I will accompany
-you; we can walk together.”
-
-Then they left the house, and slowly followed the Rue
-Neuve-Saint-Augustin. As they raised their heads, on arriving at the
-end of the street, they beheld Madame Hédouin smiling at them, at the
-door of “The Ladies’ Paradise.” Standing behind her was Octave, also
-laughing. That very morning they had settled on their marriage, after a
-serious conversation. They would wait till the autumn. And they were
-both full of joy at having at length arranged the matter.
-
-“Good day, my dear Abbé Mauduit!” said Madame Hédouin, gayly. “And you,
-doctor, always paying visits?”
-
-And, as the latter congratulated her on her good looks, she added:
-
-“Oh! if there were only me, you might give up business at once.” They
-stood conversing a moment. The doctor having mentioned Marie’s
-confinement, Octave seemed delighted to hear of his former neighbor’s
-happy delivery. But, when he learnt that it was a third daughter, he
-exclaimed:
-
-“Can’t her husband manage a boy, then? She thought she might still get
-Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume to put up with a boy; but they’ll never
-stomach another girl.”
-
-“I should think not,” said the doctor. “They have both taken to their
-bed, the news of their daughter’s pregnancy upset them so much. And
-they sent for a notary, so that their son-in-law should not even
-inherit their furniture.”
-
-There was a little chaff. The priest alone remained silent, with his
-eyes cast on the ground. Madame Hédouin asked him if he was unwell.
-Yes, he felt very tired, he was going to take a little rest. And, after
-a cordial exchange of good wishes, he went down the Rue Saint-Roch,
-still accompanied by the doctor. On arriving before the church, the
-latter abruptly said:
-
-“A bad customer, eh?”
-
-“Who is?” asked the priest in surprise.
-
-“That lady who sells linen. She does not care a pin for either of us.
-No need for religion, nor for medicine. All the same, when one is
-always so well, it is no longer interesting.”
-
-And he went on his way, whilst the priest entered the church. Abbé
-Mauduit intended to go up to his room. But a great agitation, a violent
-necessity, had forced him to enter the church and kept him there. It
-seemed to him that God was calling him, with a confused and far-off
-voice, the orders proceeding from which he was unable to catch. He
-slowly crossed the church, and was trying to read within himself, to
-quiet his alarms, when, suddenly, as he passed behind the choir, a
-superhuman spectacle shook his entire frame.
-
-It was beyond the marble chapel of the Virgin, as white as a lily,
-beyond the gold and silver plate of the chapel of the Adoration, with
-its seven golden lamps, its golden candelabra, and its golden altar
-shining in the tawny shadow of the aureate stained windows; it was in
-the depths of this mysterious night, past this tabernacle background, a
-tragical apparition, a simple yet harrowing drama: Christ nailed to the
-cross, between the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen, weeping at his feet;
-and the white statues, which an invisible light coming from above
-caused to stand out from against the bare wall, seemed to advance and
-increase in size, making the bleeding humanity of this death, and these
-tears, the divine symbol of eternal woe.
-
-The priest, thoroughly distracted, fell on his knees. He had whitened
-that plaster, arranged that mode of lighting, prepared that phenomenon;
-and, now that the boarding was removed, the architect and the workmen
-gone, he was the first to be thunderstruck at the sight. From the
-terrible severity of the Calvary came a breath which overpowered him.
-He fancied the Almighty passing over him; he bent beneath this breath,
-filled with misgivings, tortured by the thought that he was perhaps a
-bad priest.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVIII.
-
-
-In December, the eighth month of her morning, Madame Josserand for the
-first time accepted an invitation to dine out. It was merely at the
-Duveyriers’, almost a family gathering, with which Clotilde opened her
-Saturday receptions of the new winter. The day before, Adèle had been
-told that she would have to help Julie with the washing-up. The ladies
-were in the habit of thus lending their servants to each other on the
-days when they gave parties.
-
-“And above all, try and put a little more go into yourself,” said
-Madame Josserand to her maid-of-all-work. “I don’t know what you’ve got
-in your body now, you’re as limp as rags. Yet you’re fat and plump.”
-
-Adèle was simply nine months gone in the family way. For a long time
-she had thought she was merely growing stouter, which greatly surprised
-her however; and she would get into a perfect rage, with her ever
-hungry empty stomach, on the days when madame triumphantly showed her
-to her guests; ah, well! those who accused her of weighing her
-servant’s bread might come and look at that great glutton, it was not
-likely she got so fat by merely licking the walls! When, in her
-stupidity, Adèle at length became aware of her misfortune, she
-restrained herself twenty times from telling the truth to her mistress,
-who was really taking advantage of her condition to make the
-neighborhood think that she was at length feeding her.
-
-But, from this moment, terror stultified her entirely. Her village
-ideas once more took possession of her obtuse skull. She thought
-herself damned, she fancied that the gendarmes would come and take her,
-if she admitted her pregnancy. Then all her low cunning was made use of
-to hide it. She concealed the feelings of sickness, twice she thought
-she would drop down dead before her kitchen fire, whilst stirring some
-sauces. The pain that she had endured for the two last months with the
-obstinacy of an heroic silence was indeed frightful.
-
-Adèle went up to bed that night about eleven o’clock. The thought of
-to-morrow evening terrified her; more drudgery, more bullying by Julie!
-and she could scarcely move about.
-
-During the night she was seized with labor pains, and a desire came
-over her to move about, so as to walk them off. She therefore lighted
-the candle and began to wander round the room, her tongue dried up,
-tormented with a burning thirst, and her cheeks on fire. Hours passed
-in this cruel wandering, without her daring to put on her shoes, for
-fear of making a noise, whilst she was only protected against the cold
-by an old shawl thrown across her shoulders. Two o’clock struck, then
-three o’clock.
-
-Not a soul stirred in the adjoining rooms, every one was snoring; she
-could hear Julie’s sonorous hum, whilst Lisa made a kind of hissing
-noise like the shrill notes of a fife. Four o’clock had just struck,
-when, seized with a violent pain, she felt that the end was
-approaching, and could not restrain uttering a loud cry.
-
-At this the occupants of the other rooms began to rouse up. Voices
-thick with sleep were heard saying: “Well! what? who’s being
-murdered?—Some one’s being taken by force!—Don’t dream out loud like
-that!” Dreadfully frightened, she drew the bedclothes over the new-born
-child, which was uttering plaintive cries like a little kitten. But she
-soon heard Julie snoring again, after turning over; whilst Lisa, once
-more asleep, no longer uttered a sound. Then she experienced an immense
-relief, an infinite comfort of calm and repose, and lay as one dead.
-
-She must have dozed thus for the best part of an hour. When six o’clock
-struck, the consciousness of her position awoke her again. Time was
-flying, she rose up painfully, and did whatever things came into her
-head, without deciding on them beforehand. A frosty moon shone full
-into the room. After dressing herself, she wrapped the infant up in
-some old rags, and then folded a couple of newspapers around it. It
-uttered no cry now, yet its little heart was beating.
-
-Not one of the servants was about as yet, and, after getting slumbering
-Monsieur Gourd to unfasten the door from his room, she was able to go
-out and lay her bundle in the Passage Choiseul, the gates of which had
-just been opened, and then quietly returned up-stairs. She met no one.
-For once in her lifetime, luck was on her side!
-
-She immediately set about tidying her room, after which, utterly worn
-out, and as white as wax, she again lay down. It was thus that Madame
-Josserand found her, when she had made up her mind to go up-stairs
-toward nine o’clock, greatly surprised at not seeing Adèle come down.
-The servant having complained of a violent attack of diarrhoea which
-had kept her awake all night, madame exclaimed:
-
-“Of course! you must have eaten too much again! You think of nothing
-else but stuffing yourself.”
-
-The girl’s paleness, however, made her uneasy, and she talked of
-sending for the doctor; but she was glad to save the three francs, when
-Adèle vowed that she merely needed rest. Since her husband’s death,
-Madame Josserand had been living with her daughter Hortense, on an
-allowance made her by the brothers Bernheim, but which did not prevent
-her from bitterly alluding to them as persons who lived on the brains
-of others; and she spent less than ever on food, so as not to descend
-to a lower level of society by quitting her apartments and giving up
-her Tuesday receptions.
-
-“That’s right; sleep,” said she. “There is some cold beef left which
-will do for this morning, and to-night we dine out. If you cannot come
-down to help Julie, she will have to do without you.”
-
-The dinner that evening at the Duveyriers’ was a very cordial one. All
-the family was there: the two Vabres and their wives, Madame Josserand,
-Hortense, Léon, and even uncle Bachelard, who behaved well. Moreover,
-they had invited Trublot to fill a vacant place, and Madame
-Dambreville, so as not to separate her from Léon. The latter, after his
-marriage with the niece, had once again fallen into the arms of the
-aunt, who was still necessary to him. They were seen to arrive together
-in all the drawing-rooms, and they would apologize for the young wife,
-whom a cold or a feeling of idleness, said they, kept at home. That
-evening the whole table complained of scarce knowing her: they loved
-her so much, she was so beautiful! Then they talked of the chorus which
-Clotilde was to give at the end of the evening; it was the “Blessing of
-the Daggers” again, but this time with five tenors, something complete
-and magisterial. For two months past, Duveyrier himself, who had become
-quite charming, had been looking up the friends of the house, and
-saying to every one he met: “You are quite a stranger, come and see us;
-my wife is going to give her choruses again.” Therefore, half through
-the dinner, they talked of nothing but music. The happiest good-nature
-and the most free-hearted gayety prevailed throughout.
-
-Then, after the coffee, and whilst the ladies sat round the
-drawing-room fire, the gentlemen formed a group in the parlor and began
-to exchange some grave ideas. The other guests were now arriving. And
-among the earliest were Campardon, Abbé Mauduit, and Doctor Juillerat,
-without including the diners, with the exception of Trublot, who had
-disappeared on leaving the table. They almost immediately commenced
-talking politics. The debates in the Chamber deeply interested the
-gentlemen, and they had not yet given over discussing the success of
-the opposition candidates for Paris, all of whom had been returned at
-the May elections. This triumph of the dissatisfied portion of the
-middle classes made them feel anxious at heart, in spite of their
-apparent delight.
-
-“Dear me!” declared Léon, “Monsieur Thiers is certainly a most talented
-man. But he puts so much acrimony into his speeches on the Mexican
-expedition that he quite spoils their effect.”
-
-He had just been named to a higher appointment, through Madame
-Dambreville’s influence, and had at once joined the government party.
-The only thing that remained in him of the famished demagogue, was an
-unbearable intolerance of all doctrines.
-
-“Not long ago you were accusing the government of every sin,” said the
-doctor, smiling. “I hope you at least voted for Monsieur Thiers.”
-
-The young man avoided answering. Théophile, whose stomach was no longer
-able to digest his food, and who was worried with fresh doubts as to
-his wife’s constancy, exclaimed:
-
-“I voted for him. When men refuse to live as brothers, so much the
-worse for them!”
-
-“And so much the worse for you, as well, eh?” remarked Duveyrier, who,
-speaking but little, uttered some very profound observations.
-
-Théophile, greatly scared, looked at him. Auguste no longer dared admit
-that he had also voted for Monsieur Thiers. Then every one was very
-much surprised to hear uncle Bachelard utter a legitimist profession of
-faith: he thought it the most genteel. Campardon seconded him warmly;
-he had abstained from voting himself, because the official candidate,
-Monsieur Dewinck, did not offer sufficient guarantees as regards
-religion; and he furiously declaimed against Renan’s “Life of Jesus,”
-which had recently made its appearance.
-
-“It is not the book that should be burnt; it is the author,” repeated
-he.
-
-“You are, perhaps, too radical, my friend,” interrupted the priest, in
-a conciliatory tone. “But, indeed, the symptoms are becoming terrible.
-There is some talk of driving away the pope, the revolution has invaded
-parliament. We are walking on the edge of a precipice.”
-
-“So much the better!” said Doctor Juillerat, simply.
-
-Then the others all protested. He renewed his attacks against the
-middle classes, prophesying that there would be a clean sweep the day
-when the masses wished to enjoy power in their turn; and the others
-loudly interrupted him, exclaiming that the middle classes represented
-the virtue, the industry, and the thrift of the nation. Duveyrier was
-at length able to make himself heard. He owned it before all: he had
-voted for Monsieur Dewinck, not that Monsieur Dewinck exactly
-represented his opinions, but because he was the symbol of order. Yes,
-the saturnalia of the Reign of Terror might one day return. Monsieur
-Rouher, that remarkable statesman who had just succeeded Monsieur
-Billault, had formally prophesied it in the Chamber. He concluded with
-these striking words:
-
-“The triumph of the opposition is the preliminary subsidence of the
-structure. Take care that it does not crush you in falling!”
-
-The other gentlemen held their peace, with the unavowed fear of having
-allowed themselves to be carried away even to compromising their
-personal safety. They beheld workmen begrimed with powder and blood,
-entering their homes, violating their maidservants and drinking their
-wine. No doubt, the Emperor deserved a lesson; only, they were
-beginning to regret having given him so severe a one.
-
-“Be easy!” concluded the doctor, scoffingly. “We will manage to save
-you from the bullets.”
-
-But he was going too far, they set him down as an original. It was,
-moreover, thanks to this reputation for originality, that he did not
-lose his connection. He continued, by resuming with Abbé Mauduit their
-eternal quarrel respecting the approaching downfall of the Church. Léon
-now sided with the priest: he talked of Providence, and, on Sundays,
-accompanied Madame Dambreville to nine o’clock mass.
-
-Meanwhile, the guests continued to arrive, the drawing-room was
-becoming quite filled with ladies. Valérie and Berthe were exchanging
-little secrets, like two good friends. The other Madame Campardon, whom
-the architect had brought no doubt in place of poor Rose, who was
-already in bed up-stairs and reading Dickens, was giving Madame
-Josserand an economical recipe for washing clothes without soap; whilst
-Hortense, seated all by herself and expecting Verdier, did not take her
-eyes off the door. But suddenly Clotilde, while conversing with Madame
-Dambreville, rose up and held out her hands. Her friend, Madame Octave
-Mouret, had just entered the room. The marriage had taken place early
-in November, at the end of her mourning.
-
-“And your husband?” asked the hostess. “He is not going to disappoint
-me, I hope?”
-
-“No, no,” answered Caroline, with a smile. “He will be here directly;
-something detained him at the last moment.”
-
-There was some whispering, glances full of curiosity were directed
-toward her, so calm and so lovely, ever the same, with the pleasant
-assurance of a woman who succeeds in everything she undertakes. Madame
-Josserand pressed her hand, as though she were delighted to see her
-again. Berthe and Valérie left off talking and examined her at their
-ease, studying her costume, a straw-color dress covered with lace. But,
-in the midst of this quiet forgetfulness of the past, Auguste, whom the
-political discussion had left quite cool, was giving signs of indignant
-amazement as he stood near the parlor door. What! his sister was going
-to receive the family of his wife’s former lover! And, in his marital
-rancor, there was a touch of the jealous anger of the tradesman ruined
-by a triumphant competition; for “The Ladies’ Paradise,” by extending
-its business and creating a special department for silk, had so drained
-his resources that he had been obliged to take a partner. He drew near,
-and, whilst every one was making much of Madame Mouret, he whispered to
-Clotilde:
-
-“You know, I will never put up with it.”
-
-“Put up with what?” asked she, greatly surprised.
-
-“I do not mind the wife so much, she has not done me any harm. But if
-the husband comes, I shall take hold of Berthe by the arm, and leave
-the room in the presence of everybody.”
-
-She looked at him, and then shrugged her shoulders. Caroline was her
-oldest friend, she was certainly not going to give up seeing her, just
-to satisfy his caprices. As though any one even recollected the matter.
-He would do far better not to rake up things forgotten by everybody but
-himself. And as, deeply affected, he looked to Berthe for support,
-expecting that she would get up and follow him at once, she calmed him
-with a frown; was he mad? did he wish to make himself more ridiculous
-than he had ever been before?
-
-“But it is in order that I may not appear ridiculous!” replied he, in
-despair.
-
-Then Madame Josserand inclined toward him, and, said in a severe tone
-of voice:
-
-“It is becoming quite indecent; every one is looking at you. Do behave
-yourself for once in a way.”
-
-He held his tongue, but without submitting. From this moment a certain
-uneasiness existed among the ladies. The only one who preserved her
-smiling tranquillity was Madame Mouret, now sitting beside Clotilde and
-opposite Berthe. They watched Auguste, who had retired to the window
-recess where his marriage had been decided, not so very long before.
-His anger was bringing on a headache, and he now and again pressed his
-forehead against the icy-cold panes.
-
-Octave did not arrive till very late. As he reached the landing, he met
-Madame Juzeur, who had just come down, wrapped in a shawl. She
-complained of her chest, and had got up on purpose not to disappoint
-the Duveyriers. Her languid state did not prevent her falling into the
-young man’s arms, as she congratulated him on his marriage.
-
-“How delighted I am with such a splendid result, my friend! Really! I
-was quite in despair about you, I never thought you would have
-succeeded. Tell me, you rascal, how did you manage to get over her?”
-
-Octave smiled and kissed her fingers. But some one who was bounding
-up-stairs with the agility of a goat, disturbed them; and, greatly
-surprised, they fancied they recognized Saturnin. It was indeed
-Saturnin, who a week before had left the Asile des Moulineaux, where
-for a second time Doctor Chassagne declined to detain him any longer,
-still considering him not sufficiently mad. No doubt he was going to
-spend the evening with Marie Pichon, just as in former days, when his
-parents had company. And those bygone times were suddenly evoked.
-Octave could hear an expiring voice coming from above, singing the
-ballad with which Marie whiled away her vacant hours; he beheld her
-once more eternally alone, beside the crib in which Lilitte slumbered,
-and awaiting Jules’ return with all the complacency of a gentle and
-useless woman.
-
-“I wish you every happiness with your wife,” repeated Madame Juzeur,
-tenderly squeezing Octave’s hands.
-
-In order not to enter the drawing-room with her, he was purposely
-occupying some time in removing his overcoat, when Trublot, in his
-dress clothes, bareheaded, and looking quite upset, came from the
-passage leading to the kitchen.
-
-“You know she’s not at all well!” murmured he, whilst Hippolyte
-announced Madame Juzeur.
-
-“Who isn’t?” asked Octave.
-
-“Why Adèle, the servant up-stairs.”
-
-Hearing there was something the matter with her, he had gone up quite
-paternally, on leaving the dinner-table. It must have been a very
-severe attack of cholerine; a good glass of mulled wine was what she
-ought to have, and she had not even a lump of sugar. Then, as he
-noticed that his friend smiled in an indifferent sort of way, he added:
-
-“Hallo! I forgot you’re married, you joker! This sort of thing no
-longer interests you. I never thought of that when I found you with
-madame. Anything you like except that!”
-
-They entered together. The ladies were just then speaking of their
-servants, and were taking such interest in the conversation, that they
-did not notice them at first. All were complacently approving Madame
-Duveyrier, who was trying to explain, in an embarrassed way, why she
-continued to keep Clémence and Hippolyte: he was rough, but she dressed
-her so well that one could not help shutting one’s eyes to other
-matters. Neither Valérie nor Berthe could succeed in securing a decent
-girl; they had given it up in despair, after trying every registry
-office, the good-for-nothing servants from which had done no more than
-pass through their kitchens. Madame Josserand violently abused Adèle,
-of whom she related some fresh abominable and stupid doings of
-extraordinary character; and yet she did not send her about her
-business. As for the other Madame Campardon, she was quite enthusiastic
-in her praises of Lisa: a pearl, not a thing to reproach her with; in
-short, one of those deserving domestics to whom one gives prizes.
-
-“She is quite one of the family now,” said she. “Our little Angèle is
-attending some lectures at the Hôtel de Ville, and Lisa accompanies
-her. Oh! they might remain out together for days; we should not be in
-the least anxious.”
-
-It was at this moment that the ladies caught sight of Octave. He was
-advancing to wish Clotilde good-evening. Berthe looked at him; then,
-without the least affectation, she resumed her conversation with
-Valérie, who had exchanged with him the affectionate glance of
-disinterested friendship. The others—Madame Josserand, Madame
-Dambreville—without throwing themselves at him, surveyed him with
-sympathetic interest.
-
-“So here you are at last!” said Clotilde, who was most amiable. “I was
-beginning to tremble for the chorus.”
-
-And, as Madame Mouret gently scolded her husband for being so late, he
-made some excuses.
-
-“But, my dear, I was unable to come sooner. I am most sorry, madame.
-However, I am now entirely at your disposal.” Meanwhile, the ladies
-were anxiously watching the window recess into which Auguste had
-retired. They received a momentary fright when they beheld him turn
-round at the sound of Octave’s voice. His headache was no doubt worse;
-he had a restless look about the eyes, which seemed full of the
-darkness of the street. He at length appeared to make up his mind, and,
-returning to his former position beside his sister’s chair, he said.
-
-“Send them away, or else we will leave.”
-
-Clotilde again shrugged her shoulders. Then Auguste seemed disposed to
-give her time to consider: he would wait a few minutes longer, more
-especially as Trublot had taken Octave into the parlor. The other
-ladies were still uneasy, for they had heard the husband whisper in his
-wife’s ear:
-
-“If he comes back here, you must get up and follow me. Otherwise, you
-may return to your mother’s.”
-
-In the parlor, the gentlemen greeted Octave quite as cordially. If Léon
-made a point of showing a little coolness, Uncle Bachelard, and even
-Théophile, seemed to declare, as they held out their hands to Octave,
-that the family forgot everything. He congratulated Campardon, who,
-decorated two days previously, now wore a broad red ribbon; and the
-beaming architect scolded him for never calling now and then to pass an
-hour with his wife: though one got married, it was scarcely nice to
-forget friends of fifteen years’ standing. But the young man felt quite
-surprised and anxious as he stood before Duveyrier. He had not seen him
-since his recovery. He looked uneasily at his jaw, all out of place,
-dropping too much on the left side, and which now gave a horrid
-squinting expression to his countenance. Then, when the counselor
-spoke, he had another surprise: his voice had lowered two tones; it had
-become quite sepulchral.
-
-“Don’t you think him much better thus?” said Trublot to Octave, as they
-returned to the drawing-room door. “It positively gives him a certain
-majestic air. I saw him presiding at the assizes, the day before
-yesterday—Listen! they are talking of it.”
-
-And indeed the gentlemen had abandoned politics to take up morality.
-They were listening to Duveyrier as he gave some details of an affair
-in which his attitude had been particularly noticed. He was even about
-to be named a president and an officer of the Legion of Honor. It was
-respecting an infanticide already a year old. The unnatural mother, a
-regular savage, as he said, happened to be the boot-stitcher, his
-former tenant, that tall, pale and friendless girl, whose pregnant
-condition had roused Monsieur Gourd’s indignation so much. And besides
-that, she was altogether stupid! for, without reflecting that her
-appearance would betray her, she had gone and cut her child in two and
-kept it at the bottom of a bonnet-box. She had naturally told the jury
-quite a ridiculous romance: a seducer who had deserted her; misery,
-hunger, and then a fit of mad despair on seeing herself unable to
-supply the little one’s wants: in a word, the same story they all told.
-But it was necessary to make an example. Duveyrier congratulated
-himself on having summed up with that lucidity which often decided a
-jury’s verdict.
-
-“And what was your sentence?” asked the doctor.
-
-“Five years,” replied the counselor in his new voice, which seemed both
-hoarse and sepulchral. “It is time to oppose a dyke to the debauchery
-which threatens to submerge Paris.”
-
-Trublot nudged Octave’s elbow; they were both acquainted with the facts
-of the attempt at suicide.
-
-“Eh? you hear him?” murmured he. “Without joking, it improves his
-voice: it stirs one more, does it not? it goes straight to the heart
-now. Ah! if you had only seen him, standing up, draped in his long red
-robes, with his mug all askew! On my word! he quite frightened me; he
-was extraordinary; oh! you know! a style in his majesty enough to make
-your flesh creep!”
-
-But he left off speaking, and listened to the ladies in the
-drawingroom, who were again on the subject of servants. That very
-morning, Madame Duveyrier had given Julie a week’s notice; she had
-nothing certainly to say against the girl’s cooking; only, good
-behavior came before everything in her eyes. The truth was that, warned
-by Doctor Juillerat, and anxious for the health of her son, whose
-little goings-on she tolerated at home, so as to keep them under
-control, she had had an explanation with Julie, who had been unwell for
-some time past; and the latter, like a genteel cook, whose style was
-not to quarrel with her employers, had accepted her week’s notice.
-Madame Josserand at once shared Clotilde’s indignation; yes, one should
-be very strict on the question of morality; for instance, if she kept
-that slut Adèle in spite of her dirty ways, and her stupidity, it was
-because the girl was virtuous. Oh! on that point, she had nothing
-whatever to reproach her with!
-
-“Poor Adèle! when one only thinks!” murmured Trublot, again affected at
-the thought of the wretched creature, half frozen upstairs beneath her
-thin blanket.
-
-Then, bending toward Octave’s ear, he added with a chuckle:
-
-“I say, Duveyrier might at least take her up a bottle of claret!”
-
-“Yes, gentlemen,” the counselor was continuing, “statistics will bear
-me out, the crime of infanticide is increasing in the most frightful
-proportions. Sentiment prevails to too great an extent in the present
-day, and far too much consideration is shown to science, to your
-pretended physiology, all of which will end by there soon being neither
-good nor evil. One cannot cure debauchery; the thing is to destroy it
-at its root.”
-
-This refutation was addressed above all to Doctor Juillerat, who had
-wished to give a medical explanation of the boot-stitcher’s case.
-
-The other gentlemen also exhibited great severity and disgust.
-Campardon could not understand vice, uncle Bachelard defended infancy,
-Théophile demanded an inquiry, Léon discussed the question of
-prostitution in its relations with the state; whilst Trublot, in answer
-to an inquiry of Octave’s, talked of Duveyrier’s new mistress, who was
-a decent sort of a woman this time, rather mature, but romantic, with a
-soul expanded by that ideal which the counselor required to purify
-love; in short, a worthy person who gave him a peaceful home, imposing
-upon him as much as she liked and sleeping with his friends, without
-making any unnecessary fuss. And the Abbé Mauduit alone remained
-silent, his eyes fixed on the ground, his mind sorely troubled, and
-full of an infinite sadness.
-
-They were now about to sing the “Blessing of the Daggers.” The
-drawing-room had filled up, a flood of rich dresses was crushing in the
-brilliant light from the chandelier and the lamps, whilst gay bursts of
-laughter ran along the rows of chairs; and, in the midst of the buzz,
-Clotilde in a low voice roughly chided Auguste, who, on seeing Octave
-enter with the other gentlemen of the chorus, had caught hold of
-Berthe’s arm to make her leave her seat. But he was already beginning
-to yield, feeling more and more embarrassed in the presence of the
-ladies’ dumb disapproval, whilst his head had become entirely the prey
-of triumphant neuralgia. Madame Dambreville’s stern looks quite drove
-him to despair, and even the other Madame Campardon was against him. It
-was reserved to Madame Josserand to finish him off. She abruptly
-interfered, threatening to take back her daughter and never to pay him
-the fifty thousand francs dowry; for she was always promising this
-dowry with the greatest coolness imaginable. Then, turning toward uncle
-Bachelard, seated behind her, and next to Madame Juzeur, she made him
-renew his promises. The uncle placed his hand on his heart; he knew his
-duty, the family before everything! Auguste, repulsed on all sides,
-beat a retreat, and again sought refuge in the window recess, where he
-once more pressed his burning forehead against the icy-cold panes.
-
-Then Octave experienced a singular sensation as though his Paris life
-was beginning over again. It was as though the two years he had lived
-in the Rue de Choiseul had been a blank. His wife was there, smiling at
-him, and yet nothing seemed to have passed in his existence; to-day was
-the same as yesterday, there was neither pause nor ending. Trublot
-showed him the new partner standing beside Berthe, a little fair fellow
-very neat in his ways, who gave her, it was said, no end of presents.
-Uncle Bachelard, who was now going in for poetry, was revealing himself
-in a sentimental light to Madame Juzeur, whom he quite affected with
-some intimate details respecting Fifi and Gueulin. Théophile, devoured
-by doubts, doubled up by violent fits of coughing, was imploring Doctor
-Juillerat in an out-of-the-way corner to give his wife something to
-quiet her. Campardon, his eyes fixed on cousin Gasparine, was talking
-of the diocese of Evreux, and jumping from that to the great works of
-the new Rue du Dix Décembre, defending God and art, sending the world
-about its business, for at heart he did not care a hang for it, he was
-an artist! And behind a flower-stand there could even be seen the back
-of a gentleman, whom all the marriageable girls contemplated with an
-air of profound curiosity; it was Verdier, who was talking with
-Hortense, the pair of them having an acrimonious explanation, again
-putting off their marriage till the spring, so as not to turn the woman
-and her child into the street in the depth of winter.
-
-Then the chorus was sung afresh. The architect, with his mouth wide
-open, gave out the first line. Clotilde struck a chord, and uttered her
-cry. And the other voices burst forth, the uproar increased little by
-little, and spread with a violence that scared the candles and caused
-the ladies to turn pale. Trublot, having been found wanting among the
-basses, was being tried a second time as a baritone. The five tenors
-were much noticed, Octave especially, to whom Clotilde regretted being
-unable to give a solo. When the voices fell, and she had applied the
-soft pedal, imitating the cadenced and distant footsteps of a departing
-patrol, the applause was deafening, and she, together with the
-gentlemen, had every praise showered upon them. And at the farthest end
-of the adjoining room, right behind a triple row of men in evening
-dress, one beheld Duveyrier clenching his teeth so as not to cry aloud
-with anguish, with his mouth all on one side, and his festering
-eruptions almost bleeding.
-
-The tea coming next, unrolled the same procession, distributed the same
-cups and the same sandwiches. For a moment, the Abbé Mauduit found
-himself once more in the middle of the deserted drawing-room. He looked
-through the wide-open door, on the crush of guests; and, vanquished, he
-smiled, he again cast the mantle of religion over this corrupt
-middle-class society, like a master in the ceremonies draping the
-canker, to stave off the final decomposition. He must save the Church,
-as Heaven had not answered his cry of misery and despair.
-
-At length, the same as on every Saturday, when midnight struck, the
-guests began to withdraw. Campardon was among the first to leave, with
-the other Madame Campardon. Léon and Madame Dambreville were not long
-in maritally following them. Verdier’s back had long ago disappeared,
-when Madame Josserand went off with Hortense, bullying her for what she
-called her romantic obstinacy. Uncle Bachelard, very drunk from the
-punch he had taken, detained Madame Juzeur a moment at the door,
-finding her advice full of experience quite refreshing. Trublot, who
-had stolen some sugar for Adèle, was making for the passage leading to
-the kitchen, when the presence of Berthe and Auguste in the anteroom
-embarrassed him, and he pretended to be looking for his hat.
-
-But, just at this minute, Octave and his wife, escorted by Clotilde,
-also came out and asked for their wraps. There ensued a few seconds of
-embarrassment, The ante-room was not large, Berthe and Madame Mouret
-were pressed against each other, whilst Hippolyte was searching for
-their things. They both smiled. Then, when the door was opened, the two
-men, Octave and Auguste, brought face to face, did the polite, each
-stepping aside. At length, Berthe consented to pass out first, after an
-exchange of bows. And Valérie, who was leaving in her turn with
-Théophile, again looked at Octave in the affectionate way of a
-disinterested friend. He and she alone might have told each other
-everything.
-
-“Good-bye,” repeated Clotilde graciously to the two families, before
-returning to the drawing-room.
-
-Octave stopped short. He had just caught sight on the next floor of the
-partner, the neat little fair fellow, taking his departure like the
-rest, and whose hands Saturnin, who had just left Marie, was pressing
-in an outburst of savage tenderness, stuttering the while:
-“Friend—friend—friend—” A singular feeling of jealousy at first darted
-through him. Then he smiled. It was the past; and he again recalled his
-amours, all his campaign of Paris, the complacencies of that good
-little Pichon, the repulse he received from Valérie, of whom he
-preserved a pleasant recollection, his stupid connection with Berthe,
-which he regretted as pure waste of time. Now he had transacted his
-business, Paris was conquered; and he gallantly followed her whom in
-his heart he still styled Madame Hédouin, every now and then stooping
-to see that the train of her dress did not catch in the stair-rods.
-
-The house had once more resumed its grand air of middle-class dignity.
-He fancied he could hear Marie’s distant and expiring ballad. Beneath
-the porch he met Jules coming in: Madame Vuillaume was at death’s door,
-and refused to see her daughter. Then, that was all, the doctor and the
-priest retired last and still arguing; Trublot had shyly gone up to
-Adèle to attend to her; and the deserted staircase slumbered in a heavy
-warmth with its chaste doors inclosing respectable alcoves. One o’clock
-was striking, when Monsieur Gourd, whom Madame Gourd was snugly
-awaiting in bed, turned out the gas. Then the whole house lapsed into
-silent darkness, as though annihilated by the decency of its sleep.
-Nothing remained, life resumed its level of indifference and stupidity.
-
-On the following morning, Adèle dragged herself down to her kitchen, so
-as to allay suspicion. A thaw had set in during the night, and she
-opened the window, feeling stifled, when Hippolyte’s voice rose
-furiously from the depths of the narrow courtyard.
-
-“You dirty hussies! Who has been emptying her slops out of the window
-again? Madame’s dress is quite spoilt!”
-
-He had hung out one of Madame Duveyrier’s dresses given him to brush,
-and he found it all spattered with sour broth. Then, from the top to
-the bottom, the servants appeared at their windows and violently
-exculpated themselves. The sluice was open and a rush of the most
-abominable words flowed from the foul spot. In times of thaw, the walls
-were steeped with humidity, and quite a pestilence ascended from the
-obscure little courtyard, all the hidden corruptions of the different
-floors seeming to melt and ooze out by this common sewer of the house.
-
-“It wasn’t me,” said Adèle, leaning out. “I’ve only just come.” Lisa
-abruptly raised her head.
-
-“Hallo! so you’re on your legs again. Well, what was the matter? Is it
-true that you almost croaked?”
-
-“Oh! yes, I had such colics, and not at all funny, I can tell you!”
-This put a stop to the quarrel. Valérie and Berthe’s new servants, a
-big camel and a little jade, as they were termed, looked curiously at
-Adèle’s pale face. Victoire and Julie also wished to see her, and
-stretched their necks, and leant their heads back. They all had an idea
-that there was something wrong, for it was unnatural to have such
-gripes and yell out as she did.
-
-“Perhaps you’ve had something which didn’t agree with you,” said Lisa.
-
-The others burst out laughing, another rush of foul language
-overflowed, whilst the wretched creature, awfully frightened,
-stammered:
-
-“Hold your tongues, with your nasty words! I’m quite ill enough as it
-is. You don’t want to finish me off, do you?”
-
-No, of course not. She was as stupid as stupid could be, and dirty
-enough to disgust a whole neighborhood; but they all held too closely
-together to bring her into any trouble. And they naturally turned to
-abusing their masters and mistresses; they criticised the party of the
-previous evening with looks of profound repugnance.
-
-“So they’ve all made it up again now?” asked Victoire as she sipped her
-glass of syrup and brandy.
-
-Hippolyte, who was wiping madame’s dress, replied:
-
-“They’ve no more heart than my shoes. When they’ve spat in one
-another’s faces, they wash themselves with it, to make one believe
-they’re clean.”
-
-“They must manage to agree somehow or other,” said Lisa.
-
-“Otherwise it wouldn’t take long before our turn came.”
-
-But there was a moment of panic. A door opened, and the servants were
-already diving back into their kitchens, when Lisa announced that it
-was only little Angèle: there was nothing to fear with her, she
-understood. And, from the foul spout, there again arose all the rancor
-of the domestics, in the midst of the poisonous stench caused by the
-thaw. There was a grand spreading out of all the dirty linen of the
-last two years. It was quite consoling not to be ladies and gentlemen,
-when one beheld the masters and mistresses living in the midst of it
-all, and apparently enjoying it, as they were preparing to go through
-it all again.
-
-“Eh! I say, you, up there!” suddenly shouted Victoire, “was it with
-Mug-askew that you had what didn’t agree with you?”
-
-At this, a ferocious yell of delight quite shook the stinking cesspool.
-Hippolyte actually tore madame’s dress; but he did not care, it was far
-too good for her as it was! The big camel and the little jade were bent
-over the hand-rails of their windows, wriggling in a mad burst of
-laughter. Adèle, however, who was quite scared, and who was half asleep
-through weakness, started, and she retorted in the midst of the jeers:
-
-“You’re all of you heartless things. When you’re dying, I’ll come and
-dance at your bedsides.”
-
-“Ah! mademoiselle,” resumed Lisa, leaning out to speak to Julie, “how
-happy you must feel at leaving such a wretched house in a week! On my
-word, one becomes wicked here in spite of oneself. I wish you a better
-home in your next place.”
-
-Julie, her arms bare, and dripping with the blood from a turbot she had
-been just cleaning for that evening’s dinner, returned to the window
-beside the footman. She shrugged her shoulders, and concluded with this
-philosophical reply:
-
-“Dear me! mademoiselle, here or there, they’re all alike. In the
-present day, whoever has been in the one has been in the other. It’s
-all Filth and Company.”
-
-THE END.
-
-
-
-
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-<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Piping Hot!, by Émile Zola</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
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-</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Piping Hot!<br />
-Pot-Bouille, A Realistic Novel</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Émile Zola</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Commentator: George Moore</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Georges Bellenger</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 8, 2017 [eBook #54686]<br />
-[Most recently updated: August 7, 2021]</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
-<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Widger</div>
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPING HOT! ***</div>
-
-<h1>
-PIPING HOT!
-</h1>
-
-<h3>
-(<i>POT-BOUILLE</i>)
-</h3>
-
-<h3>
-A Realistic Novel
-</h3>
-
-<h2 class="no-break">
-By Émile Zola.
-</h2>
-
-<h4>
-Translated From The 63rd French Edition.
-</h4>
-
-<h4>
-<i>Illustrated With Sixteen Page Engravings</i>
-</h4>
-
-<h3>
-From Designs By Georges Bellenger
-</h3>
-
-<h4>
-London: Vizetelly &amp; Co.
-</h4>
-
-<h3>
-1887.
-</h3>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0010.jpg" alt="0010 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0015.jpg" alt="0015 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<hr />
-
-<p>
-<b>CONTENTS</b>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>PIPING-HOT!</b> </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>
-</p>
-
-<hr />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a>
-PREFACE.
-</h2>
-
-<p>
-One day, in the middle of a long literary conversation, Théodore Duret
-said to me: &ldquo;I have known in my life two men of supreme intelligence. I
-knew of both before the world knew of either. Never did I doubt, nor was
-it possible to doubt, but that they would one day or other gain the
-highest distinctions&mdash;those men were Léon Gambetta and Émile Zola.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Of Zola I am able to speak, and I can thoroughly realise how interesting
-it must have been to have watched him, at that time, when he was poor and
-unknown, obtaining acceptance of his articles with difficulty, and
-surrounded by the feeble and trivial in spirit, who, out of inborn
-ignorance and acquired idiocy, look with ridicule on those who believe
-that there is still a new word to say, still a new cry to cry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-I did not know Émile Zola in those days, but he must have been then as he
-is now, and I should find it difficult to understand how any man of
-average discrimination could speak with him for half-an-hour without
-recognising that he was one of those mighty monumental intelligences, the
-statues of a century, that remain and are gazed upon through the long
-pages of the world&rsquo;s history. This, at least, is the impression Émile Zola
-has always produced upon me. I have seen him in company, and company of no
-mean order, and when pitted against his compeers, the contrast has only
-made him appear grander, greater, nobler. The witty, the clever Alphonse
-Daudet, ever as ready for a supper party as a literary discussion, with
-all his splendid gifts, can do no more when Zola speaks than shelter
-himself behind an epigram; Edmond De Goncourt, aristocratic, dignified,
-seated amid his Japanese watercolours, bronzes, and Louis XV. furniture,
-bitterly admits, if not that there is a greater naturalistic god than he,
-at least that there is a colossus whose strength he is unable to oppose.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This is the position Émile Zola takes amid his contemporaries.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-By some strange power of assimilation, he appropriates and makes his own
-of all things; ideas that before were spattered, dislocated, are suddenly
-united, fitted into their places. In speaking, as in writing, he always
-appears greater than his subject, and, Titan-like, grasps it as a whole;
-in speaking, as in writing, the strength and beauty of his style is an
-unfailing use of the right word; each phrase is a solid piece of masonry,
-and as he talks an edifice of thought rises architecturally perfect and
-complete in design.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And it is of this side of Émile Zola&rsquo;s genius that I wish particularly to
-speak&mdash;a side that has never been taken sufficiently into
-consideration, but which, nevertheless, is its ever-guiding and
-determinating quality. Émile Zola is to me a great epic poet, and he may
-be, I think, not inappropriately termed the Homer of modern life. For he,
-more than any other writer, it seems, possesses the power of seeing a
-subject as a whole, can divest it at will of all side issues, can seize
-with a firm, logical comprehension on the main lines of its construction,
-and that without losing sight of the remotest causes or the furthest
-consequences of its existence. It is here that his strength lies, and his
-is the strength which has conquered the world. Of his realism a great
-deal, of course, has been said, but only because it is the most obvious,
-not the most dominant quality of his work. The mistletoe invariably hides
-the oak from the eyes of the vulgar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That Émile Zola has done well to characterise his creations with the vivid
-sentiment of modern life rather than the pale dream which reveals to us
-the past, that he was able to bend, to model, to make serviceable to his
-purpose the ephemeral habits and customs of our day, few will now deny.
-But this was only the off-shoot of his genius. That the colour of the
-nineteenth century with which he clothes the bodies of his heroes and
-heroines is not always exact, that none other has attempted to spin these
-garments before, I do not dispute. They will grow threadbare and fall to
-dust, even as the hide of the megatharium, of which only the colossal
-bones now remain to us wherewith to construct the fabric of the primeval
-world. And, in like manner, when the dream of the socialist is realized,
-when the burden of pleasure and work is proportioned out equally to all,
-and men live on a more strictly regulated plan than do either the ant or
-the bee, I believe that the gigantic skeleton of the Rougon-Macquart
-family will still continue to resist the ravages of time, and that western
-scientists will refer to it when disputing about the idiosyncrasies of a
-past civilization.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the preceding paragraph, I have said neither more nor less than my
-meaning, for I am convinced that the living history of no age has been as
-well written as the last half of the nineteenth century is in the
-Rougon-Maequart series. I pass over the question whether, in describing
-Renée&rsquo;s dress, a mistake was made in the price of lace, also whether the
-author was wrong in permitting himself the anachronism of describing a
-fête in the opera-house a couple of years before the building was
-completed. Errors of this kind do not appear to me to be worth
-considering. What I maintain is, that what Émile Zola has done, and what
-he alone has done&mdash;and I do not make an exception even in the case of
-the mighty Balzac&mdash;is to have conceived and constructed the
-frame-work of a complex civilization like ours, in all its worse
-ramifications. Never, it seems to me, was the existence of the epic
-faculty more amply demonstrated than by the genealogical tree of this now
-celebrated family.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The grandeur, the amplitude of this scheme will be seen at once. Adélaïde
-Fouque, a mad woman confined in a lunatic asylum at Plassans, is the first
-ancestor; she is the transmitter of the original neurosis, which,
-regulated by his or her physical constitution, assumes various forms in
-each individual member of the family, and is developed according to the
-surroundings in whieh he or she lives. By Rougon this woman had two
-children; by Macquart, with whom she cohabited on the death of her
-husband, she had three. Ursule Macquart married a man named Mouret, and
-their children are therefore cousins of the Rougon-Macquarts. This family
-has some forty or fifty members, who are distributed through the different
-grades of our social system. Some have attained the highest positions, as,
-Son Excellence Eugène Rougon, others have sunk to the lowest depths, as
-Gervaise in &ldquo;L&rsquo;Assommoir,&rdquo; but all are tainted with the hereditary malady.
-By it Nana is invincibly driven to prostitution; by it Etienne Lantier, in
-&ldquo;Germinal,&rdquo; will be driven to crime; by it his brother, Claude, will be
-made a great painter. Protean-like is this disease. Sometimes it skips
-over a generation, sometimes lies almost latent, and the balance of the
-intelligence is but slightly disturbed, as in the instance of Octave in
-&ldquo;Pot-Bouille,&rdquo; and Lazare in &ldquo;La Joie de Vivre.&rdquo; But the mind of the
-latter is more distorted than is Octave&rsquo;s. Lazare lives in a perpetual
-fear of death, and is prevented from realizing any of his magnificent
-projects by his vacillating temperament; in him we have an example how a
-splendid intelligence may be drained away like water through an
-imperceptible crack in the vase, and how what might have been the fruit of
-a life withers like the flowers from which the nourishing liquid has been
-withdrawn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And so in the Rougon-Macquart series we have instances of all kinds of
-psychical development and decay; and with an overt and an intuitive
-reading of character truly wonderful, Émile Zola makes us feel that as the
-north and south poles and torrid zones are hemmed about with a girdle of
-air, so an ever varying but ever recognisable kinship unites, sometimes,
-indeed, by an almost imperceptible thread, the ends the most opposed of
-this remarkable race, and is diffused through the different variation each
-individual member successively presents. Can we not trace a mysterious
-physical resemblance between Octave Mouret in &ldquo;Le Bonheur des Dames&rdquo; and
-Maxime in &ldquo;La Curée?&rdquo; Is not the moral something by which Claude Lantier
-in &ldquo;Le Ventre de Paris&rdquo; escapes the fate of Lazare made apparent? Then,
-again, does not the inherited neurosis that makes of Octave a millionaire,
-of Lazare a wretched hypochondriac, of Claude Lantier a genius, of Maxime
-a symbol of ephemeral vice, reappear in a new and more deadly form in
-Jeanne, the hysterical child, in that most beautiful of beautiful books,
-&ldquo;Une Page d&rsquo;Amour?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As beasts at a fair are urged on by the goads of their drivers, so certain
-fate pushes this wretched family forward into irrevocable death that is
-awaiting it. At each generation they grow more nervous, more worn out,
-more ready to succumb beneath the ravages of the horrible disease that in
-a hundred different ways is sweeping them into the night of the grave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Even from this imperfect outline, what majesty, what grandeur there is in
-this dark design! Does not the great idea of fate receive a new and more
-terrible signification? Is not the horror and gloom of the tragedy
-increased by the fact that the thought was born in the study of the
-scientist, and not in the cloud-palace of the dreamer? What poet ever
-conceived an idea more vast! and if further proof of the epic faculty with
-which I have credited Émile Zola be wanting, I have only to refer to
-Pascal Rougon. Noah survived the deluge. Pascal Rougon, by some miracle,
-escapes the inherited stain&mdash;he, and he alone, is completely free
-from it He is a doctor, an advanced scientist, and he, in the twentieth
-volume, will analyse the terrible neurosis that has devastated his family.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the upbuilding of this enormous edifice, Émile Zola shows the same
-constructive talent as he did in its conception. The energy he displays is
-marvellous. Every year a wing, courtyard, cupola, or tower is added, and
-each is as varied as the most imaginative could desire. Without looking
-further back than &ldquo;L&rsquo;Assommoir,&rdquo; let us consider what has been done. In
-this work, we have a study of the life of the working people in Paris,
-written, for the sake of preserving the &ldquo;milieu,&rdquo; for the most part in
-their own language. It shows how the workers of our great social machine
-live, and must live, in ignorance and misery; it shows, as never was shown
-before, what the accident of birth means; it shows in a new way, and, to
-my mind, in as grand a way as did the laments of the chorus in the Greek
-play, the irrevocability of fate. &ldquo;L&rsquo;Assommoir&rdquo; was followed by &ldquo;Une Page
-d&rsquo;Amour,&rdquo; a beautiful Parisian idyl. Here we see the &ldquo;bourgeois&rdquo; at their
-best. We have seven descriptions of Paris seen from a distance of which
-Turner might be proud; we have a picture of a children&rsquo;s costume ball
-which Meissonier might fall down and worship; we have the portrait of a
-beautiful and virtuous woman with her love story told, as it were, over
-the dying head of Jeanne (her little girl), the child whose nervous
-sensibilities are so delicate that she trembles with jealousy when she
-suspects that behind her back her mother is looking at the doctor. After
-&ldquo;Une Page d&rsquo;Amour&rdquo; comes &ldquo;Nana,&rdquo; and with her we are transported to a
-world of pleasure-seekers; vicious men and women who have no thought but
-the killing of time and the gratification of their lusts. Nana is the
-Messaline of modern days, and, obeying the epic tendency of his genius,
-Émile Zola has instituted a comparison between the death of the &ldquo;gilded
-fly,&rdquo; conceived in drunkenness and debauchery, and the harlot city of the
-third Emperor, which, rotten with vice, falls before the victorious arms
-of the Germans.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nana&rdquo; and &ldquo;Une Page d&rsquo;Amour&rdquo; are psychological and philological studies
-of two radically different types of women; in both works, and likewise in
-&ldquo;L&rsquo;Assommoir,&rdquo; there is much descriptive writing, and, doubtless, Émile
-Zola had this fact present in his mind when he set himself to write
-&ldquo;Pot-Bouille,&rdquo; that terrible satire on the &ldquo;bourgeoisie.&rdquo; He must have
-said, as his plan formulated itself in his mind, &ldquo;this is a novel dealing
-with the home-life of the middle-classes; if I wish to avoid repeating
-myself, this book must contain a vast number of characters, and the
-descriptions must be reduced to a bare sufficiency, no more than will
-allow my readers to form an exact impression of the surroundings through
-which, the action passes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pot-Bouille,&rdquo; or &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; as the present translation is called, is,
-therefore, an inquiry into the private lives of a number of individuals,
-who, while they follow different occupations, belong to the same class and
-live under the same roof. The house in the Rue de Choiseul is one of those
-immense &ldquo;maisons bourgeoises,&rdquo; in which, apparently, an infinite number of
-people live. On the first floor, we find Monsieur Duveyrier, an &ldquo;avocat de
-la cour,&rdquo; with his musical wife, Clotilde, and her father, Monsieur Vabre,
-a retired notary and proprietor of the house, who is absorbed in the
-preparation of an important statistical work; on the fourth floor are
-Madame Josserand, her two daughters, whom she is always trying to marry,
-her crazy son Saturnin, and her husband who spends his nights addressing
-advertising circulars at three francs a thousand, in order to eke out an
-additional something to help his family to ape an appearance of easy
-circumstances. On the third floor is an architect, Monsieur Campardon,
-with his ailing, yet blooming, wife Rose, and her cousin, &ldquo;l&rsquo;autre Madame
-Campardon.&rdquo; There is also one of Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s sons, and &ldquo;a
-distinguished gentleman who comes one night a week to work.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-These are the principal &ldquo;locataires&rdquo; but, in various odd corners, &ldquo;des
-petits appartements qui donnent sur la cour,&rdquo; we find all sorts and
-conditions of people. First on the list is the government clerk Jules and
-his wife Marie. She is a weak-minded little thing who commits adultery
-without affection, without desire, and the frequency of her confinements
-excites the ire of her mother and father. Then come two young men, Octave
-and Trublot. The former plays a part similar to that of a tenor in an
-opera; he is the accepted lover of the ladies. The latter is equally
-beloved by the maids. From the frequency of his visits, he may almost be
-said to live in the house; he is constantly asked to dine by one or other
-of the inmates, and in the morning he is generally found hiding behind the
-door of one of the servants&rsquo; rooms, waiting for an opportunity of
-descending the staircase unperceived by the terrible &ldquo;concierge,&rdquo; the
-moral guardian of the house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Other visitors who figure prominently in the story are Madame Josserand&rsquo;s
-brother, Uncle Bachelard, a dissipated widower, and his nephew Gueulin;
-the Abbé Mouret, ever ready to throw the mantle of religion over the
-back-slidings of his flock, and Madame Hédouin, the frigid directress of
-&ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo; where Octave is originally engaged. The remaining
-&ldquo;locataires&rdquo; are Madame Juzeur, a lady who only reads poetry, and who was
-deserted by her husband after a single week of matrimonial, bliss; a
-workwoman who has a garret under the slates; and last, but not least, an
-author who lives on the second floor. He is rarely ever seen, he makes no
-one&rsquo;s acquaintance, and thereby excites the enmity of everyone.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All these, the author of course excepted, pass and repass before the
-reader, and each is at once individual and representative; even the
-maid-servants&mdash;who only answer &ldquo;yes&rdquo; and &ldquo;no&rdquo; to their masters and
-mistresses&mdash;are adroitly characterised. We see them in their kitchens
-engaged in their daily occupations: while peeling onions and gutting
-rabbits and fish they call to and abuse each other from window to window.
-There is Julie, the belle of the attics, of whose perfume and pomatum
-Trublot makes liberal use when he honours her with a visit; there is fat
-Adèle whose dirty habits and slovenly ways make of her a butt whereat is
-levelled the ridicule and scorn of her fellow-servants; there are the
-lovers, Hippolyte and Clémence, whose carnal intercourse affords to Madame
-Duveyrier much ground for uneasiness, and in the end necessitates the
-intervention of the Abbé. Never were the manners and morals of servants so
-thoroughly sifted before, never was the relationship which their lives
-bear to those of their masters and mistresses so cunningly contrasted. The
-courtyard of the house echoes with their quarrelling voices, and it is
-there, in a scene of which Swift might be proud, that is spoken the last
-and terrible word of scorn which Émile Zola flings against the
-&ldquo;bourgeoisie.&rdquo; From her kitchen window a fellow-servant of Julie&rsquo;s is
-congratulating her on being about to leave, and wishing that she may find
-a better place. To which Julie replies, &ldquo;Toutes les baraques se
-ressemblent. Au jour d&rsquo;aujourd&rsquo;hui, qui a fait l&rsquo;une a fait l&rsquo;autre. C&rsquo;est
-cochon et compagnie.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-I do not know to what other work to go to find so much successful
-sketching of character. I had better, I think, explain the meaning I
-attach to this phrase, &ldquo;sketching of character,&rdquo; for it is too common an
-error to associate the idea of superficiality with the word &ldquo;sketch.&rdquo; The
-true artist never allows anything to leave his studio that he deems
-superficial, or even unfinished. The word unfinished is not found in his
-vocabulary; to him a sketch is as complete as a finished picture. In the
-former he has painted broadly and freely, wishing to render the vividness,
-the vitality of a first impression; in the latter he is anxious to render
-the subtlety of a more intellectual and consequently a less sensual
-emotion. The portrait of Madame Josserand is a case in point, it is
-certainly less minute than that of Hélène Mouret, but is not for that less
-finished. In both, the artist has achieved, and perfectly, the task he set
-himself. &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; cannot be better defined than as a portrait album
-in which many of our French neighbours may be readily recognized.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This merit will not fail to strike any intelligent reader; but the
-marvellous way the almost insurmountable difficulties of binding together
-the stories of the lives of the different inhabitants of the house in the
-Rue de Choiseul are overcome, none but a fellow-worker will be able to
-appreciate at their full value. Up and down the famous staircase we go,
-from one household to another, interested equally in each, disgusted
-equally with all. And this sentence leads us right up to the enemies&rsquo;
-guns, brings us face to face with the two batteries from which the critics
-have directed their fire. The first is the truthfulness of the picture,
-the second is the coarseness with which it is painted. I will attempt to
-reply to both.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-M. Albert Wolff in the &ldquo;Figaro&rdquo; declared that in a &ldquo;maison bourgeoise&rdquo; so
-far were &ldquo;locataires&rdquo; from being all on visiting terms, that it was of
-constant occurrence that the people on one floor not only did not know by
-sight but were ignorant of the names of those living above and below them;
-that the spectacle of a &ldquo;maison bourgeoise,&rdquo; with the lodgers running up
-and down stairs in and out of each other&rsquo;s apartments at all hours of the
-night and day, was absolutely false; had never existed in Paris, and was
-an invention of the writer. Without a word of parley I admit the truth of
-this indictment. I will admit that no house could be found in Paris where
-from basement to attic the inhabitants are on such terms of intimacy as
-they are in the house in the Rue de Choiseul; but at the same time I deny
-that the extreme isolation described by M. Wolff could be found or is even
-possible in any house inhabited over a term of years by the same people.
-Émile Zola has then done no more than to exaggerate, to draw the strings
-that attach the different parts a little tighter than they would be in
-nature. Art, let there be no mistake on this point, be it romantic or
-naturalistic, is a perpetual concession; and the character of the artist
-is determined by the selection he makes amid the mass of conflicting
-issues that, all clamouring equally to be chosen, present themselves to
-his mind. In the case of Émile Zola, the epic faculty which has been
-already mentioned as the dominant trait of his genius naturally impelled
-him to make too perfect a whole of the heterogeneous mass of material that
-he had determined to construct from. The flaw is more obvious than in his
-other works, but in &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; he has only done what he has done since
-he first put pen to paper, what he will continue to do till he ceases to
-write. We will admit that to make all the people living in the house in
-the Rue de Choiseul on visiting terms was a trick of composition&mdash;<i>et
-puis?</i>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This was the point from which the critics who pretended to be guided by
-artistic considerations attacked the book; the others entrenched
-themselves behind the good old earthworks of morality, and primed their
-rusty popguns. Now there was a time, and a very good time it must have
-been, when a book was judged on its literary merits; but of late years a
-new school of criticism has come into fashion. Its manners are very
-summary indeed. &ldquo;Would you or would you not give that book to your sister
-of sixteen to read?&rdquo; If you hesitate you are lost; for then the question
-is dismissed with a smile and you are voted out of court. It would be vain
-to suggest that there are other people in the world besides your sister of
-sixteen summers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-I do not intend putting forward any well known paradox, that art is
-morals, and morals are art. That there are great and eternal moral laws
-which must be acted up to in art as in life I am more than ready to admit;
-but these are very different from the wretched conventionalities which
-have been arbitrarily imposed upon us in England. To begin with, it must
-be clear to the meanest intelligence that it would never do to judge the
-dead by the same standard as the living. If that were done, all the
-dramatists of the sixteenth century would have to go; those of the
-Restoration would follow. To burn Swift somebody lower in the social scale
-than Mr. Binns would have to be found, although he might do to commit
-Sterne to the flames. Byron, Shelley, yes, even Landor would have to go
-the same way. What would happen then, it is hard to-say; but it is not
-unfair to hint that if the burning were argued to its logical conclusion,
-some of the extra good people would find it difficult to show reason, if
-the intention of the author were not taken into account, why their most
-favourite reading should be saved from the general destruction.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Many writers have lately been trying to put their readers in the
-possession of infallible recipes for the production of good fiction; they
-would, to my mind, have employed their time and talents to far more
-purpose had they come boldly to the point and stated that the overflow of
-bad fiction with which we are inundated is owing to the influence of the
-circulating library, which, on one side, sustains a quantity of worthless
-writers who on their own merits would not sell a dozen copies of their
-books; and, on the other, deprives those who have something to say and are
-eager to say it of the liberty of doing so. It may be a sad fact, but it
-is nevertheless a fact, that literature and young girls are irreconcilable
-elements, and the sooner we leave off trying to reconcile them the better.
-At this vain endeavour the circulating library has been at work for the
-last twenty years, and what has been the result? A literature of
-bandboxes. Were Pope, Addison, Johnson, Fielding, Smollet, suddenly raised
-from their graves and started on reviewing &ldquo;three vols.,&rdquo; think you that
-they would not all cry together, &ldquo;This is a literature of bandboxes?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-We judge a pudding by the eating, and I judge Messrs. Mudie and Smith by
-what they have produced; for they, not the ladies and gentlemen who place
-their names on the title pages, are the authors of our fiction. And what a
-terrible brood to admit the parentage of! Let those who doubt put aside
-pre-conceived opinions, and forgetting the bolstered up reputation of the
-authors, read the volumes by the light of a little common sense. Cast a
-glance at those that lie in Miss Rhoda Broughton&rsquo;s lap. What a wheezing,
-drivelling lot of bairns they are! They have not a virtue amongst them,
-and their pinafore pages are sticky with childish sensualities.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And here we touch the keynote of the whole system. For, mark you, you can
-say what you like provided you speak according to rule. Everything is
-agreed according to precedent. I could give a hundred instances, but one
-will suffice. On the publication of &ldquo;Adam Bede&rdquo; a howl was raised, but the
-book was alive; it finished by being accepted, and the libraries were
-obliged to give way. The employment of seduction in the fabulation of a
-story was therefore established. This would have been a great point
-gained, if Mr. Mudie had not succeeded in forcing on all succeeding
-writers George Eliot&rsquo;s manner of conducting her story. In &ldquo;Adam Bede&rdquo; we
-have Hetty described as an extremely fascinating dairymaid and Arthur as a
-noble-minded young man. After a good deal of flirtation they are shown to
-us walking through a wood together, and three months after we hear that
-Hetty is <i>enceinte</i>. Now, ever since the success of this book was
-assured, we have had numberless novels dealing with seductions, but
-invariably an interval of three months is allowed wherein the reader&rsquo;s
-fancy may disport until the truth be told.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Not being a select librarian I will not undertake to say that the cause of
-morality is advanced by leaving the occurrence of the offence unmarked by
-a no more precise date than that of three months, but being a writer who
-loves and believes in his art, I fearlessly declare that such quibblery is
-not worthy of the consideration of serious men; and it was to break
-through this puerile conventionality that I was daring enough in my
-&ldquo;Mummer&rsquo;s Wife&rdquo; to write that Dick dragged Kate into the room and that the
-door was slammed behind her. And it is on this passage that the select
-circulating libraries base a refusal to take the book. And it is such
-illiterate censorship that has thrown English fiction into the abyss of
-nonsense in which it lies; it is for this reason and no other that the
-writers of the present day have ceased even to try to produce good work,
-and have resigned themselves to the task of turning out their humdrum
-stories of sentimental misunderstanding. Yet, strange to say, in every
-other department of art, an unceasing intellectual activity prevails. Our
-poetry, our histories, our biographies, our newspapers are strong and
-vigorous, pregnant with thought, trenchant in style; it is not until we
-turn to the novel that we find a wearisome absence of everything but
-drivel.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Though much that I would like to have said is still unsaid, the exigencies
-of space compel me to bring this notice to a close. However, this one
-thing I hope I have made clear: that it is my firm opinion that if fiction
-is to exist at all, the right to speak as he pleases on politics, morals,
-and religion must be granted to the writer, and that he on his side must
-take cognizance of other readers than sentimental young girls, who require
-to be provided with harmless occupation until something fresh turns up in
-the matrimonial market. Therefore the great literary battle of our day is
-not to be fought for either realism or romanticism, but for freedom of
-speech; and until that battle be gained I, for one, will continue
-fearlessly to hold out a hand of welcome to all comers who dare to attack
-the sovereignty of the circulating library.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The first of these is &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; and, I think, the pungent odour of
-life it exhales, as well as its scorching satire on the middle-classes,
-will be relished by all who prefer the fortifying brutalities of truth to
-the soft platitudes of lies. As a satire &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; must be read; and
-as a satire it will rank with Juvenal, Voltaire, Pope, and Swift.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-George Moore.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
-PIPING-HOT!
-</h2>
-
-<h3>
-(<i>POT-BOUILLE</i>)
-</h3>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
-CHAPTER I.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the Rue
-Neuve-Saint-Augustin, a block of vehicles arrested the cab which was
-bringing Octave Mouret and his three trunks from the Lyons railway
-station. The young man lowered one of the windows, in spite of the already
-intense cold of that dull November afternoon. He was surprised at the
-abrupt approach of twilight in this neighbourhood of narrow streets, all
-swarming with a busy crowd. The oaths of the drivers as they lashed their
-snorting horses, the endless jostlings on the foot-pavements, the serried
-line of shops swarming with attendants and customers, bewildered him; for,
-though he had dreamed of a cleaner Paris than the one he beheld, he had
-never hoped to find it so eager for trade, and he felt that it was
-publicly open to the appetites of energetic young fellows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The driver leant towards him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the Passage Choiseul you want, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, the Rue de Choiseul. A new house, I think.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the cab only had to turn the corner. The house was the second one in
-the street: a big house four storeys high, the stonework of which was
-scarcely discoloured, in the midst of the dirty stucco of the adjoining
-old frontages. Octave, who had alighted on to the pavement, measured it
-and studied it with a mechanical glance, from the silk warehouse on the
-ground floor to the projecting windows on the fourth floor opening on to a
-narrow terrace. On the first floor, carved female heads supported a highly
-elaborate cast-iron balcony. The windows were surrounded with complicated
-frames, roughly chiselled in the soft stone; and, lower down, above the
-tall doorway, two cupids were unrolling a scroll bearing the number, which
-at night-time was lighted up by a jet of gas from the inside.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A stout fair gentleman, who was coming out of the vestibule, stopped short
-on catching sight of Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! you here!&rdquo; exclaimed he. &ldquo;Why, I was not expecting you till
-to-morrow!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The truth is,&rdquo; replied the young man, &ldquo;I left Hassans a day earlier than
-I originally intended. Isn&rsquo;t the room ready?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, yes. I took it a fortnight ago, and I furnished it at once in the way
-you desired. Wait a bit, I will take you to it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He re-entered the house, though Octave begged he would not give himself
-the trouble. The driver had got the three trunks off the cab. Inside the
-doorkeeper&rsquo;s room, a dignified-looking man with a long face, clean-shaven
-like a diplomatist, was standing up gravely reading the &ldquo;Moniteur.&rdquo; He
-deigned, however, to interest himself about these trunks which were being
-deposited in his doorway; and, taking a few steps forward, he asked his
-tenant, the architect of the third floor as he called him:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is this the person, Monsieur Campardon?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, Monsieur Gourd, this is Monsieur Octave Mouret, for whom I have
-taken the room on the fourth floor. He will sleep there and take his meals
-with us. Monsieur Mouret is a friend of my wife&rsquo;s relations, and I beg you
-will show him every attention.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was examining the entrance with its panels of imitation marble and
-its vaulted ceiling decorated with rosettes. The courtyard at the end was
-paved and cemented, and had a grand air of cold cleanliness; the only
-occupant was a coachman engaged in polishing a bit with a chamois leather
-at the entrance to the stables. There were no signs of the sun ever
-shining there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Monsieur Gourd was inspecting the trunks. He pushed them with
-his foot, and, their weight filling him with respect, he talked of
-fetching a porter to carry them up the servants&rsquo; staircase.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame Gourd, I&rsquo;m going out,&rdquo; cried he, just putting his head inside his
-room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was like a drawing-room, with bright looking-glasses, a red flowered
-Wilton carpet and violet ebony furniture; and, through a partly opened
-door, one caught a glimpse of the bed-chamber with a bedstead hung with
-garnet rep. Madame Gourd, a very fat woman with yellow ribbons in her
-hair, was stretehed out in an easy-chair with her hands clasped, and doing
-nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! let&rsquo;s go up,&rdquo; said the architect.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And seeing how impressed the young man seemed to be by Monsieur Gourd&rsquo;s
-black velvet cap and sky blue slippers, he added, as he pushed open the
-mahogany door of the vestibule:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know he was formerly the Duke de Vaugelade&rsquo;s valet.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; simply ejaculated Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s as I tell you, and he married the widow of a little bailiff of
-Mort-la-Ville. They even own a house there. But they are waiting until
-they have three thousand francs a year before going there to live. Oh!
-they are most respectable doorkeepers!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The decorations of the vestibule and the staircase were gaudily luxurious.
-At the foot of the stairs was the figure of a woman, a kind of gilded
-Neapolitan, supporting on her head an amphora from which issued three
-gas-jets protected by ground glass globes. The panels of imitation white
-marble with pink borders succeeded each other at regular intervals up the
-wall of the staircase, whilst the cast-iron balustrade with its mahogany
-hand-rail was in imitation of old silver with clusters of golden leaves. A
-red carpet, secured with brass rods, covered the stairs. But what
-especially struck Octave on entering was a green-house temperature, a warm
-breath which seemed to be puffed from some mouth into his face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo!&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;the staircase is warmed.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; replied Campardon. &ldquo;All landlords who have the least
-self-respect go to that expense now. The house is a very fine one, very
-fine.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He looked about him as though he were sounding the walls with his
-architect&rsquo;s eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear fellow, you will see, it is a most comfortable place, and
-inhabited solely by highly respectable people!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, slowly ascending, he mentioned the names of the different tenants.
-On each floor were two separate suites of apartments, one looking on to
-the street, the other on to the courtyard, and the polished mahogany doors
-of which faeed eaeh other. He began by saying a few words respecting
-Monsieur Auguste Vabre; he was the landlord&rsquo;s eldest son; since the spring
-he had rented the silk warehouse on the ground floor, and he also occupied
-the whole of the &ldquo;entresol&rdquo; above. Then, on the first floor the landlord&rsquo;s
-other son, Monsieur Théophile Vabre and his wife, resided in the apartment
-overlooking the courtyard; and in the one overlooking the street lived the
-landlord himself, formerly a notary at Versailles, but who was now lodging
-with his son-in-law, Monsieur Duveyrier, a judge at the Court of Appeal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A fellow who is not yet forty-five,&rdquo; said Campardon, stopping short.
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s something remarkable, is it not?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He ascended two steps, and then suddenly turning round, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Water and gas on every floor.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Beneath the tall window on each landing, the panes of which, bordered with
-fretwork, lit up the staircase with a white light, was placed a narrow
-velvet covered bench. The architect observed that elderly persons could
-sit down and rest. Then, as he passed the second floor without naming the
-tenants.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And there?&rdquo; asked Octave, pointing to the door of the principal suite.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! there,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;persons whom one never sees, whom no one knows. The
-house could well do without them. Blemishes, you know, are to be found
-everywhere.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He gave a little snort of contempt.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The gentleman writes books, I believe.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But on the third floor his smile of satisfaction reappeared. The
-apartments looking on to the courtyard were divided into two suites; they
-were occupied by Madame Juzeur, a little woman who was most unhappy, and a
-very distinguished gentleman who had taken a room to which he came once a
-week on business matters. Whilst giving these particulars, Campardon
-opened the door on the other side of the landing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And this is where I live,&rdquo; resumed he. &ldquo;Wait a moment, I must get your
-key. We will first go up to your room; you can see my wife afterwards.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-During the two minutes he was left alone, Octave felt penetrated by the
-grave silence of the staircase. He leant over the balustrade, in the warm
-air which ascended from the vestibule; he raised his head, listening if
-any noise came from above. It was the death-like peacefulness of a
-middle-class drawing-room, carefully shut in and not admitting a breath
-from outside. Behind the beautiful shining mahogany doors there seemed to
-be unfathomable depths of respectability.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will have some excellent neighbours,&rdquo; said Campardon, reappearing
-with the key; &ldquo;on the street side there are the Josserands, quite a
-family, the father who is cashier at the Saint-Joseph glass works, and
-also two marriageable daughters; and next to you the Pichons, the husband
-is a clerk; they are not rolling in wealth, but they are educated people.
-Everything has to be let, has it not? even in a house like this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From the third landing, the red carpet ceased and was replaced by a simple
-grey holland. Octave&rsquo;s vanity was slightly ruffled. The staircase had,
-little by little, filled him with respect; he was deeply moved at
-inhabiting such a fine house as the architect termed it. As, following the
-latter, he turned into the passage leading to his room, he caught sight
-through a partly open door of a young woman standing up before a cradle.
-She raised her head at the noise. She was fair, with clear and vacant
-eyes; and all he carried away was this very distinct look, for the young
-woman, suddenly blushing, pushed the door to in the shame-faced way of a
-person taken by surprise.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Campardon turned round to repeat:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Water and gas on every floor, my dear fellow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he pointed out a door which opened on to the servants&rsquo; staircase.
-Their rooms were up above. And stopping at the end of the passage, he
-added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here we are at last.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The room, which was square, pretty large, and hung with a grey wall-paper
-with blue flowers, was furnished very simply. Close to the alcove was a
-little dressing-closet with just room enough to wash one&rsquo;s hands. Octave
-went straight to the window, which admitted a greenish light. Below was
-the courtyard looking sad and clean, with its regular pavement, and the
-shining brass tap of its cistern. And still not a human being, nor even a
-noise; nothing but the uniform windows, without a bird-cage, without a
-flower-pot, displaying the monotony of their white curtains. To hide the
-big bare wall of the house on the left hand side, which shut in the square
-of the courtyard, the windows had been repeated, imitation windows in
-paint, with shutters eternally closed, behind which the walled-in life of
-the neighbouring apartments appeared to continue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But I shall be very comfortable here!&rdquo; cried Octave delighted.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I thought so,&rdquo; said Campardon. &ldquo;Well! I did everything as though it had
-been for myself; and, moreover, I carried out the instructions contained
-in your letters. So the furniture pleases you? It is all that is necessary
-for a young man. Later on, you can make any changes you like.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as Octave shook his hand, thanking him, and apologising for having
-given him so much trouble, he resumed in a serious tone of voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only, my boy, no rows here, and above all no women! On my word of honour,
-if you were to bring a woman here it would revolutionize the whole house!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be easy!&rdquo; murmured the young man, feeling rather anxious.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, let me tell you, for it is I who would be compromised. You have seen
-the house. All middle-class people, and of extreme morality! between
-ourselves, they affect it rather too much. Never a word, never more noise
-than you have heard just now. Ah, well! Monsieur Gourd would at once fetch
-Monsieur Vabre, and we should both be in a nice pickle! My dear fellow, I
-ask it of you for my own peace of mind: respect the house.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, overpowered by so much virtue and respectability, swore to do so.
-Then, Campardon, casting a mistrustful glance around, and lowering his
-voice as though some one might have heard him, added with sparkling eyes:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Outside it concerns nobody. Paris is big enough, is it not? there is
-plenty of room. As for myself, I am at heart an artist, therefore I think
-nothing of it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A porter carried up the trunks. When everything was straight, the
-architect assisted paternally at Octave&rsquo;s toilet. Then, rising to his feet
-he said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now we will go and see my wife.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Down on the third floor the maid, a slim, dark, and coquettish looking
-girl, said that madame was busy. Campardon, with a view of putting his
-young friend at ease, showed him over the rooms: first of all, there was
-the huge white and gold drawingroom, highly decorated with artificial
-mouldings, and situated between a green parlour which the architect had
-turned into a workroom and the bedroom, into which they could not enter,
-but the narrow shape of which, and the mauve wall-paper, he described. As
-he next ushered him into the dining-room, all in imitation wood, with an
-extraordinary complication of baguettes and coffers, Octave, enchanted,
-exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is very handsome!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the ceiling, two big cracks cut right through the coffers, and, in a
-corner, the paint had peeled off and displayed the plaster.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it creates an effect,&rdquo; slowly observed the architect, his eyes fixed
-on the ceiling. &ldquo;You see, these kind of houses are built to create effect.
-Only, the walls will not bear much looking into. It is not twelve years
-old yet, and it is already cracking. One builds the frontage of handsome
-stone, with a lot of sculpture about it; one gives three coats of varnish
-to the walls of the staircase; one paints and gilds the rooms; and all
-that flatters people, and inspires respect. Oh! it is still solid, it will
-certainly last as long as we shall!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He led him again across the ante-room, which was lighted by a window of
-ground glass. To the left, looking on to the courtyard, there was a second
-bed-chamber where his daughter Angèle slept, and which, all in white,
-looked on this November afternoon as sad as a tomb. Then at the end of the
-passage, came the kitchen, into which he insisted on conducting Octave,
-saying that it was necessary to see everything.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Walk in,&rdquo; repeated he, pushing open the door.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A terrible uproar issued from it. In spite of the cold, the window was
-wide open. With their elbows on the rail, the dark maid and a fat cook, a
-dissolute looking old party, were leaning out into the narrow well of an
-inner courtyard, which lighted the kitchens of each floor, placed opposite
-to each other. They were both yelling with their backs bent, whilst, from
-the depths of this hole, arose the sounds of vulgar voices, mingled with
-oaths and bursts of laughter. It was like the overflow of some sewer: all
-the domestics of the house were there, easing their minds. Octave&rsquo;s
-thoughts reverted to the peaceful majesty of the grand staircase.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just then the two women, warned by some instinct, turned round. They
-remained thunderstruck on beholding their master with a gentleman. There
-was a gentle whistle, windows were shut, and all was once more as silent
-as death.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the matter, Lisa?&rdquo; asked Campardon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; replied the maid, greatly excited, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s that filthy Adèle again.
-She has thrown a rabbit&rsquo;s guts out of the window. You should speak to
-Monsieur Josserand, sir.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Campardon became very grave, anxious not to make any promise. He returned
-to his workroom, saying to Octave:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You have seen all. On each floor, the rooms are arranged the same. I pay
-a rent of two thousand five hundred francs, and on a third floor, too!
-Rents are rising every day. Monsieur Vabre must make about twenty-two
-thousand francs a year from his house. And it will increase still more,
-for there is a question of opening a wide thoroughfare from the Place de
-la Bourse to the new Opera-house. And he had the ground this is built upon
-almost for nothing, twelve years ago, after that great fire caused by a
-druggist&rsquo;s servant!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As they entered, Octave observed, hanging above a drawing-table, and in
-the full light from the window, a richly framed picture of a Virgin,
-displaying in her opened breast an enormous flaming heart. He could not
-repress a movement of surprise; he looked at Campardon, whom he had known
-to be a rather wild fellow at Plassans.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! I forgot to tell you,&rdquo; resumed the latter slightly colouring, &ldquo;I have
-been appointed diocesan architect, yes, at Evreux. Oh! a mere bagatelle as
-regards money, in all barely two thousand francs a year. But there is
-scarcely anything to do, a journey now and again; for the rest I have an
-inspector there. And, you see, it is a great deal, when one can print on
-one&rsquo;s cards: &lsquo;government architect.&rsquo; You can have no idea what an amount
-of work that procures me in the highest society.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whilst speaking, he looked at the Virgin with the flaming heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;After all,&rdquo; continued he in a sudden fit of frankness, &ldquo;I do not care a
-button for their paraphernalia!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, on Octave bursting out laughing, the architect was seized with fear.
-Why confide in that young man? He gave a side glance, and, putting on an
-air of compunction, he tried to smooth over what he had said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I do not care and yet I do care. Well! yes, I am becoming like that. You
-will see, you will see, my friend: when you have lived a little longer,
-you will do as every one else.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he spoke of his forty-two years, of the emptiness of life, posing for
-being very melancholy, which his robust health belied. In the artist&rsquo;s
-head which he had fashioned for himself, with flowing hair and beard
-trimmed in the Henri IV. style, one found the flat skull and square jaw of
-a middle-class man of limited intelligence and voracious appetites. When
-younger, he had a fatiguing gaiety.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave&rsquo;s eyes became fixed on a number of the &ldquo;Gazette de France,&rdquo; which
-was lying amongst some plans. Then, Campardon, more and more ill at ease,
-rang for the maid to know if madame was at length disengaged. Yes, the
-doctor was just leaving, madame would be there directly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is Madame Campardon unwell?&rdquo; asked the young man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, she is the same as usual,&rdquo; said the architect in a bored tone of
-voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! and what is the matter with her?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Again embarrassed, he did not give a straightforward answer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know, there is always something going wrong with women. She has been
-in this state for the last thirteen years, ever since her confinement.
-Otherwise, she is as well as can be. You will even find her stouter.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave asked no further questions. Just then, Lisa returned, bringing a
-card; and the architect, begging to be excused, hastened to the
-drawing-room, telling the young man as he disappeared to talk to his wife
-and have patience. Octave had caught sight, on the door being quickly
-opened and closed, of the black mass of a cassock in the centre of the
-large white and gold apartment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the same moment, Madame Campardon entered from the ante-room. He
-scarcely knew her again. In other days, when a youngster, he had known her
-at Plassans, at her father&rsquo;s, Monsieur Domergue, government clerk of the
-works, she was thin and ugly, as puny-looking as a young girl suffering
-from the crisis of her puberty; and now he beheld her plump, with the
-clear and placid complexion of a nun, soft eyes, dimples, and a general
-appearance of an overfed she-cat. If she had not been able to grow pretty,
-she had ripened towards thirty, gaining a sweet savour and a nice fresh
-odour of autumn fruit. He remarked, however, that she walked with
-difficulty, her whole body wrapped, in a mignonette coloured silk
-dressing-gown, moving; which gave her a languid air.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But you are a man, now!&rdquo; said she gaily, holding out her hands. &ldquo;How you
-have grown, since our last journey to the country!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she gazed at him: tall, dark, handsome, with his well kept moustache
-and beard. When he told her his age, twenty-two, she scarcely believed it:
-he looked twenty-five at least. He, whom the presence of a woman, even
-though she were the lowest of servants, filled with rapture, laughed
-melodiously, enveloping her with his eyes of the colour of old gold, and
-of the softness of velvet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes,&rdquo; repeated he gently, &ldquo;I have grown, I have grown. Do you
-recollect, when your cousin Gasparine used to buy me marbles?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, he gave her news of her parents. Monsieur and Madame Domergue were
-living happily, in the house to which they had retired; they merely
-complained of being very lonely, bearing Campardon a grudge for having
-taken their little Rose from them, during a stay he had made at Plassans
-on business. Then, the young man tried to bring the conversation round to
-cousin Gasparine, having a precocious youngster&rsquo;s old curiosity to
-satisfy, in the matter of an hitherto unexplained adventure: the
-architect&rsquo;s mad passion for Gasparine, a tall lovely girl, but poor, and
-his sudden marriage with skinny Rose who had a dowry of thirty thousand
-francs, and quite a tearful scene, and a quarrel, and the flight of the
-abandoned one to Paris, to an aunt who was a dressmaker. But Madame
-Campardon, whose placid complexion preserved a rosy paleness, did not
-appear to understand. He was unable to draw a single particular from her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And your parents?&rdquo; inquired she in her turn. &ldquo;How are Monsienr and Madame
-Mouret?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well, thank you,&rdquo; replied he. &ldquo;My mother scarcely leaves her garden.
-You would find the house in the Rue de la Banne, just as you left it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Campardon, who seemed unable to remain standing for long without
-feeling tired, had seated herself on a high drawing-chair, her legs
-stretched out in her dressing-gown; and he, taking a low chair beside her,
-raised his head when speaking, with his air of habitual adoration. With
-his large shoulders, he was like a woman, he had a woman&rsquo;s feeling which
-at once admitted him to their hearts. So that, at the end of ten minutes,
-they were both talking like two lady friends of long standing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now I am your boarder,&rdquo; said he, passing a handsome hand with neatly
-trimmed nails over his beard. &ldquo;We shall get on well together, you will
-see. How charming it was of you to remember the Plassans youngster and to
-busy yourself about everything, at the first word!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she protested.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, do not thank me. I am a great deal too lazy, I never move. It was
-Achille who arranged everything. And, besides, was it not sufficient that
-my mother mentioned to us your desire to board in some family, for us to
-think at once of opening our doors to you? You will not be with strangers,
-and will be company for us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, he told her of his own affairs. After having obtained a bachelor&rsquo;s
-diploma, to please his family, he had just passed three years at
-Marseilles, in a big calico print warehouse, which had a factory in the
-neighbourhood of Plassans. He had a passion for trade, the trade in
-women&rsquo;s luxuries, into which enters a seduction, a slow possession by
-gilded words and adulatory glances. And he related, laughing victoriously,
-how he had made the five thousand francs, without which he would never
-have ventured on coming to Paris, for he had the prudence of a Jew beneath
-the exterior of an amiable giddy-headed fellow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just fancy, they had a Pompadour calico, an old design, something
-marvellous. No one would bite at it; it had been stowed away in the
-cellars for two years past. Then, as I was about to travel through the
-departments of the Var and the Basses-Alpes, it occurred to me to purchase
-the whole of the stock and to sell it on my own account. Oh! such a
-success! an amazing success! The women quarrelled for the remnants; and
-to-day, there is not one there who is not wearing some of my calico. I
-must say that I talked them over so nicely! They were all with me, I might
-have done as I pleased with them.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he laughed, whilst Madame Campardon, charmed, and troubled by thought
-of that Pompadour calico, questioned him: &ldquo;Little bouquets on an
-unbleached ground, was it not?&rdquo; She had been trying to obtain the same
-thing everywhere for a summer dressing-gown.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have travelled for two years, which is enough,&rdquo; resumed he. &ldquo;Besides,
-there is Paris to conquer. I must immediately look out for something.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What!&rdquo; exclaimed she, &ldquo;has not Achille told you? But he has a berth for
-you, and close by, too!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He uttered his thanks, as surprised as though he were in fairy land,
-asking, by way of a joke, whether he would not find a wife and a hundred
-thousand francs a-year in his room that evening, when a young girl of
-fourteen, tall and ugly, with fair insipid-looking hair, pushed open the
-door, and gave a slight cry of fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come in and don&rsquo;t be afraid,&rdquo; said Madame Campardon. &ldquo;It is Monsieur
-Octave Mouret, whom you have heard us speak of.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, turning towards the latter, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My daughter, Angèle. We did not bring her with us at our last journey.
-She was so delicate! But she is getting stouter now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Angèle, with the awkwardness of girls in the ungrateful age, went and
-placed herself behind her mother, and cast glances at the smiling young
-man. Almost immediately, Campardon reappeared, looking excited; and he
-could not contain himself, but told his wife in a few words of his good
-fortune: the Abbé Mauduit, Vicar of Saint-Roch, had called about some
-work, merely some repairs, but which might lead to many other things.
-Then, annoyed at having spoken before Octave, and still quivering, he
-rapped one hand in the other, saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! well! what are we going to do?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, you were going out,&rdquo; said Octave. &ldquo;Do not let me disturb you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Achille,&rdquo; murmured Madame Campardon, &ldquo;that berth, at the Hédouins&rsquo;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, of course! I was forgetting,&rdquo; exclaimed the architect. &ldquo;My dear
-fellow, a place of first clerk at a large linen-draper&rsquo;s. I know some one
-there who has said a word for you. You are expected. It is not yet four
-o&rsquo;clock; shall I introduce you now?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave hesitated, anxious about the bow of his necktie, flurried by his
-mania for being neatly dressed. However, he decided to go, when Madame
-Campardon assured him that he looked very well. With a languid movement,
-she offered her forehead to her husband, who kissed her with a great show
-of tenderness, repeating:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good-bye, my darling&mdash;good-bye, my pet.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not forget that we dine at seven,&rdquo; said she, accompanying them across
-the drawing-room, where they had left their hats.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Angèle followed them without the slightest grace. But her music-master was
-waiting for her, and she at once commenced to strum on the instrument with
-her bony fingers. Octave, who was lingering in the ante-room, repeating
-his thanks, was unable to make himself heard. And, as he went downstairs,
-the sound of the piano seemed to follow him: in the midst of the warm
-silence other pianos&mdash;from Madame Juzeur&rsquo;s, the Vabres&rsquo;, and
-Duveyriers&rsquo;&mdash;were answering, playing on eaeh floor other airs, whieh
-issued, distantly and religiously, from the calm solemnity of the doors.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On reaching the street, Campardon turned into the Rue
-Neuve-Saint-Augustin. He remained silent, with the absorbed air of a man
-seeking for an opportunity to broach a subject.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you remember Mademoiselle Gasparine?&rdquo; asked he, at length. &ldquo;She is
-first lady assistant at the Hédouins&rsquo;. You will see her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave thought this a good time for satisfying his curiosity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Does she live with you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No! no!&rdquo; exelaimed the architect, hastily, and as though feeling hurt at
-the bare idea.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, as the young man appeared surprised at his vehemence, he gently
-continued, speaking in an embarrassed way:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No; she and my wife no longer see each other. You know, in families&mdash;
-Well, I met her, and I could not refuse to shake hands, could I? more
-especially as she is not very well off, poor girl. So that, now, they have
-news of each other through me. In these old quarrels, one must leave the
-task of healing the wounds to time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was about to question him plainly on the subject of his marriage,
-when the architect suddenly put an end to the conversation by saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here we are!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a large linen-drapers, opening on to the narrow triangle of the
-Place Gaillon, at the corner of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin and the Rue
-de la Michodière. Across two windows immediately above the shop was a
-signboard, with the words, &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise, founded in 1822,&rdquo; in
-faded gilt letters, whilst on the shop windows was inscribed, in red, the
-name of the firm, &ldquo;Deleuze, Hédouin, &amp; Co.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It has not the modern style, but it is honest and solid,&rdquo; rapidly
-explained Campardon. &ldquo;Monsieur Hédouin, formerly a clerk, married the
-daughter of the elder Deleuze, who died a couple of years ago; so that the
-business is now managed by the young couple&mdash;the old Deleuze and
-another partner, I think, both keep out of it. You will see Madame
-Hédouin. Oh! a woman with brains! Let us go in.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It so happened that Monsieur Hédouin was at Lille buying some linen;
-therefore Madame Hédouin received them. She was standing up, a penholder
-behind her ear, giving orders to two shopmen who were putting away some
-pieces of stuff on the shelves; and she appeared to him so tall, so
-admirably lovely, with her regular features and her tidy hair, so gravely
-smiling, in her black dress, with a turn-down collar and a man&rsquo;s tie, that
-Octave, not usually timid, could only stammer out a few observations.
-Everything was settled without any waste of words.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said she, in her quiet way, and with her tradeswoman&rsquo;s accustomed
-gracefulness, &ldquo;you may as well look over the place, as you are not
-engaged.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She called one of her clerks, and put Octave under his guidance; then,
-after having politely replied to a question of Campardon&rsquo;s that
-Mademoiselle Gasparine was out on an errand, she turned her back and
-resumed her work, continuing to give her orders in her gentle and concise
-voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not there, Alexandre. Put the silks up at the top. Be careful, those are
-not the same make!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Campardon, after hesitating, at length said to Octave that he would call
-again for him to take him back to dinner. Then, during two hours, the
-young man went over the warehouse. He found it badly lighted, small,
-encumbered with stock, which, overflowing from the basement, became heaped
-up in the corners, leaving only narrow passages between high walls of
-bales. On several different occasions he ran against Madame Hédouin, busy,
-and scuttling along the narrowest passages without ever catching her dress
-in anything. She seemed the very life and soul of the establishment, all
-the assistants belonging to which obeyed the slightest sign of her white
-hands. Octave felt hurt that she did not take more notice of him. Towards
-a quarter to seven, as he was coming up a last time from the basement, he
-was told that Campardon was on the first floor with Mademoiselle
-Gasparine. Up there was the hosiery department, which that young lady
-looked after. But, at the top of the winding staircase, the young man
-stopped abruptly behind a pyramid of pieces of calico systematically
-arranged, on hearing the architect talking most familiarly to Gasparine.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I swear to you it is not so!&rdquo; cried he, forgetting himself so far as to
-raise his voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A slight pause ensued.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How is she now?&rdquo; at length inquired the young woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! always the same. It comes and goes. She feels that it is all over
-now. She will never get right again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gasparine resumed, in compassionate tones:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My poor friend, it is you who are to be pitied. However, as you have been
-able to manage in another way, tell her how sorry I am to hear that she is
-still unwell&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Campardon, without letting her finish, seized hold of her by the shoulders
-and kissed her roughly on the lips, in the gas-heated air already becoming
-heavy beneath the low ceiling. She returned his kiss, murmuring:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-morrow morning, if you can, at six o&rsquo;clock; I will remain in bed.
-Knock three times.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, bewildered, and beginning to understand, coughed, and showed
-himself. Another surprise awaited him. Cousin Gasparine had become dried
-up, thin and angular, with her jaw projecting, and her hair coarse; and
-all she had preserved of her former self were her large superb eyes, in a
-face that had now become cadaverous. With her jealous forehead, her ardent
-and obstinate mouth, she troubled him as much as Rose had charmed him by
-her tardy expansion of an indolent blonde.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gasparine was polite, without effusiveness. She remembered Plassans&mdash;she
-talked to the young man of the old times. When they went off, Campardon
-and he, she shook their hands. Downstairs, Madame Hédouin simply said to
-Octave:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-morrow, then, sir.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Out in the street the young man, deafened by the cabs, jostled by the
-passers-by, eould not help remarking that this lady was very beautiful,
-but that she did not seem particularly amiable. On the black and muddy
-pavement, the bright windows of freshly-painted shops, flaring with gas,
-east broad rays of vivid light; whilst the old shops, with their sombre
-displays, lit up in the interior only by smoking lamps, which burnt like
-distant stars, saddened the streets with masses of shadow. In the Rue
-Neuve-Saint-Augustin, just before turning into the Rue do Choiseul, the
-architect bowed on passing before one of these establishments.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A young woman, slim and elegant, dressed in a silk mantlet, was standing
-in the doorway, drawing a little boy of three towards her, so that he
-might not get run over. She was talking to an old bareheaded lady, the
-shopkeeper, no doubt, whom she addressed in a familiar manner. Octave
-eould not distinguish her features in that dim light, beneath the dancing
-reflections of the neighbouring gas-jets; she seemed to him to be pretty,
-he only saw two bright eyes, whieh were fixed a moment upon him like two
-flames. Behind her yawned the shop, damp like a cellar, and emitting an
-odour of saltpetre.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That is Madame Vabre, the wife of Monsieur Théophile Vabre, the
-landlord&rsquo;s younger son. You know the people who live on the first floor,&rdquo;
-resumed Campardon, when he had gone a few steps. &ldquo;Oh! a most charming
-lady! She was born in that shop, one of the best paying haberdashers of
-the neighbourhood, which her parents, Monsieur and Madame Louhette, still
-manage, for the sake of having something to occupy them. They have made
-some money there, I will warrant!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Octave did not understand trade of that sort, in those holes of old
-Paris, where at one time a piece of stuff was sufficient sign. He swore
-that nothing in the world would ever make him consent to live in such a
-den. One surely caught some rare aches and pains there!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whilst talking, they had reached the top of the stairs. They were being
-waited for. Madame Campardon had put on a grey silk dress, had arranged
-her hair coquettishly, and looked very neat and prim. Campardon kissed her
-on the neck, with the emotion of a good husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good evening, my darling; good evening, my pet.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And they passed into the dining-room. The dinner was delightful. Madame
-Campardon at first talked of the Deleuzes and the Hédouins&mdash;families
-respected throughout the neighbourhood, and whose member&rsquo;s were well
-known; a cousin who was a stationer in the Rue Gaillon, an uncle who had
-an umbrella shop in the Passage Choiseul, and nephews and nieces in
-business all round about. Then the conversation turned, and they talked of
-Angèle, who was sitting stiffly on her chair, and eating with inert
-gestures. Her mother was bringing her up at home, it was preferable; and,
-not wishing to say more, she blinked her eyes, to convey that young girls
-learnt very naughty things at boarding-schools. The child had slyly
-balanced her plate on her knife. Lisa, who was clearing the cloth, missed
-breaking it, and exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was your fault, mademoiselle!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A mad laugh, violently restrained, passed over Angèle&rsquo;s face. &lsquo;Madame
-Campardon contented herself with shaking her head; and, when Lisa had left
-the room to fetch the dessert, she sang her praises&mdash;very
-intelligent, very active, a regular Paris girl, always knowing which way
-to turn. They might very well do without Victoire, the cook, who was no
-longer very clean, on account of her great age; but she had seen her
-master born at his father&rsquo;s&mdash;she was a family ruin which they
-respected. Then as the maid returned with some baked apples:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Conduct irreproachable,&rdquo; continued Madame Campardon in Octave&rsquo;s ear. &ldquo;I
-have discovered nothing against her as yet. One holiday a month to go and
-embrace her old aunt, who lives some distance off.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave observed Lisa. Seeing her nervous, flat-chested, blear-eyed, the
-thought came to him that she must go in for a precious fling, when at her
-old aunt&rsquo;s. However, he greatly approved what the mother said, as she
-continued to give him her views on education&mdash;a young girl is such a
-heavy responsibility, it is necessary to keep her clear even of the
-breaths of the street And, during this, Angèle, each time Lisa leant over
-near her chair to remove a plate, pinched her in a friendly way, whilst
-they both maintained their composite, without even moving an eyelid.
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0010.jpg" alt="0010 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;One should be virtuous for one&rsquo;s own sake,&rdquo; said the architect learnedly,
-as though by way of conclusion to thoughts he had not expressed. &ldquo;I do not
-care a button for public opinion; I am an artist!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After dinner, they remained in the drawing-room until midnight. It was a
-little jollification to celebrate Octave&rsquo;s arrival. Madame Campardon
-appeared to be very tired; little by little she abandoned herself, leaning
-back on the sofa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Are you suffering, my darling?&rdquo; asked her husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied she in a low voice. &ldquo;It is always the same thing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked at him, and then gently asked:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Did you see her at the Hédouins&rsquo;?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes. She asked after you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tears came to Rose&rsquo;s eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She is in good health, she is!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come, come,&rdquo; said the architect, showering little kisses on her hair,
-forgetting they were not alone. &ldquo;You will make yourself worse again. You
-know very well that I love you all the same, my poor pet!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, who had discreetly retired to the window, under the pretence of
-looking into the street, returned to study Madame Campardon&rsquo;s countenance,
-his curiosity again awakened, and wondering if she knew. But she had
-resumed her amiable and doleful expression, and was curled up in the
-depths of the sofa, like a woman who has to find her pleasure in herself,
-and who is forcibly resigned to receiving the caresses that fall to her
-share.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length Octave wished them good-night. With his candlestick in his hand,
-he was still on the landing, when he heard the sound of silk dresses
-rustling over the stairs. He politely stood on one side. It was evidently
-the ladies of the fourth floor, Madame Josserand and her two daughters,
-returning from some party. As they passed, the mother, a superb and
-corpulent woman, stared in his face; whilst the elder of the young ladies
-kept at a distance with a sour air, and the younger, giddily looked at him
-and laughed, in the full light of the candle. She was charming, this one,
-with her irregular but agreeable features, her clear complexion, and her
-auburn hair gilded with light reflections; and she had a bold grace, the
-free gait of a young bride returning from a ball in a complicated costume
-of ribbons and lace, like unmarried girls do not wear. The trains
-disappeared along the balustrade: a door closed. Octave lingered a moment,
-greatly amused by the gaiety of her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He slowly ascended in his turn. A single gas-jet was burning, the
-staircase was slumbering in a heavy warmth. It seemed to him more wrapped
-up in itself than ever, with its chaste doors, its doors of rich mahogany,
-closing the entrances to virtuous alcoves. Not a sigh passed along, it was
-the silence of well-mannered people who hold their breath. Presently a
-slight noise was heard; Octave leant over and beheld Monsieur Gourd, in
-his cap and slippers, turning out the last gas-jet. Then all subsided, the
-house became enveloped by the solemnity of darkness, as though annihilated
-in the distinction and decency of its slumbers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, nevertheless, had great difficulty in getting to sleep. He kept
-feverishly turning over, his brain occupied with the new faces he had
-seen. Why the devil were the Campardons so amiable? Were they dreaming of
-marrying their daughter to him later on? Perhaps, too, the husband took
-him to board with them so that he might amuse and enliven the wife? And
-that poor lady, what peculiar complaint could she be suffering from? Then
-his ideas got more mixed; he saw shadows pass&mdash;? little Madame
-Pichon, his neighbour, with her clear empty glances; beautiful Madame
-Hédouin, correct and grave in her black dress; and Madame Vabre&rsquo;s ardent
-eyes, and Mademoiselle Josserand&rsquo;s gay laugh. How they swarmed in a few
-hours in the streets of Paris! It had always been his dream, ladies who
-would take him by the hand and help him in his affairs. But these kept
-returning and mingling with fatiguing obstinacy. He knew not which to
-choose; he tried to keep his voice soft, his gestures cajoling. And
-suddenly, worn-out, exasperated, he yielded to his brutal inner nature, to
-the ferocious disdain in which he held woman, beneath his air of amorous
-adoration.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Are they going to let me sleep at all?&rdquo; said he out loud, turning
-violently on to his back. &ldquo;The first who likes, it is the same to me, and
-all together if it pleases them! To sleep now, it will be daylight
-to-morrow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
-CHAPTER II.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Madame
-Josserand, preceded by her young ladies, left the evening party given by
-Madame Dambreville, who resided on a fourth floor in the Rue de Rivoli, at
-the corner of the Rue de l&rsquo;Oratoire, she roughly slammed the street door,
-in the sudden outburst of a passion she had been keeping under for the
-past two hours. Berthe, her younger daughter, had again just gone and
-missed a husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! what are you doing there?&rdquo; said she angrily to the young girls, who
-were standing under the arcade and watching the cabs pass by. &ldquo;Walk on!
-don&rsquo;t have any idea we are going to ride! To waste another two francs,
-eh?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And as Hortense, the elder, murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It will be pleasant, with this mud. My shoes will never recover it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Walk on!&rdquo; resumed the mother, all beside herself. &ldquo;When you have no more
-shoes, you can stop in bed, that&rsquo;s all. A deal of good it is, taking you
-out!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe and Hortense bowed their heads and turned into the Rue de
-l&rsquo;Oratoire. They held their long skirts up as high as they could over
-their crinolines, squeezing their shoulders together and shivering under
-their thin opera-cloaks. Madame Josserand followed behind, wrapped in an
-old fur cloak made of Calabar skins, looking as shabby as cats&rsquo;. All
-three, without bonnets, had their hair enveloped in lace wraps,
-head-dresses which caused the last passers-by to look back, surprised at
-seeing them glide along the houses, one by one, with bent backs, and their
-eyes fixed on the puddles. And the mother&rsquo;s exasperation increased still
-more at the recollection of many similar returns home, for three winters
-past, hampered by their gay dresses, amidst the black mud of the streets
-and the jeers of belated blackguards. No, decidedly, she had had enough of
-dragging her young ladies about to the four corners of Paris, without
-daring to venture on the luxury of a cab, for fear of having to omit a
-dish from the morrow&rsquo;s dinner!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And she makes marriages!&rdquo; said she out loud, returning to Madame
-Dambreville, and talking alone to ease herself, without even addressing
-her daughters, who had turned down the Rue Saint-Honoré. &ldquo;They are pretty,
-her marriages! A lot of impertinent minxes, who come from no one knows
-where! Ah! if one was not obliged! It&rsquo;s like her last success, that bride
-whom she brought out, to show us that it did not always fail; a fine
-specimen! a wretched child who had to be sent back to her convent for six
-months, after a little mistake, to be re-whitewashed!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young girls were crossing the Place du Palais-Royal, when a shower
-came on. It was a regular rout. They stopped, slipping, splashing, looking
-again at the vehicles passing empty along.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Walk on!&rdquo; cried the mother, pitilessly. &ldquo;We are too near now; it is not
-worth two francs. And your brother Léon, who refused to leave with us for
-fear of having to pay for the cab! So much the better for him if he gets
-what he wants at that lady&rsquo;s, but we can say that it is not at all decent.
-A woman who is over fifty and who only receives young men! An old
-nothing-much whom a high personage married to that fool Dambreville,
-appointing him head clerk!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hortense and Berthe trotted along in the rain, one before the other,
-without seeming to hear. When their mother thus eased herself, letting
-everything out, and forgetting the wholesome strictness with which she
-kept them, it was agreed that they should be deaf. Berthe, however,
-revolted on entering the gloomy and deserted Rue de l&rsquo;Echelle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, dear!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;the heel of my shoe is coming off. I cannot go a
-step further!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand&rsquo;s wrath became terrible.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just walk on! Do I complain? Is it my place to be out in the street at
-such a time and in such weather? It would be different if you had a father
-like others! But no, the fine gentleman stays at home taking his ease. It
-is always my turn to drag you about; he would never accept the burden.
-Well! I declare to you that I have had enough of it. Your father may take
-you out in future if he likes; may the devil have me if ever again I
-accompany you to houses where I am plagued like that! A man who deceived
-me as to his capacities, and who has never yet procured me the least
-pleasure! Ah! good heavens! there is one I would not marry now, if it were
-to come over again!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young ladies no longer protested. They were already acquainted with
-this inexhaustible chapter of their mother&rsquo;s blighted hopes. With their
-lace wraps drawn over their faces, their shoes sopping wet, they rapidly
-followed the Rue Sainte-Anne. But, in the Rue de Choiseul, at the very
-door of her house, a last humiliation awaited Madame Josserand: the
-Duveyriers&rsquo; carriage splashed her as it passed in.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the stairs, the mother and the young ladies, worn out and enraged,
-recovered their gracefulness when they had to pass before Octave. Only, as
-soon as ever their door was closed behind them, they rushed through the
-dark apartment, knocking up against the furniture, and tumbled into the
-dining-room, where Monsieur Josserand was writing by the feeble light of a
-little lamp.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Failed!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand, letting herself fall on to a chair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, with a rough gesture, she tore the lace wrap from her head, threw her
-fur cloak on to the back of her chair, and appeared in a flaring dress
-trimmed with black satin and cut very low in the neck, looking enormous,
-her shoulders still beautiful, and resembling a mare&rsquo;s shining flanks. Her
-square face, with its drooping cheeks and too big nose, expressed the
-tragic fury of a queen restraining herself from descending to the use of
-coarse, vulgar expressions.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said Monsieur Josserand simply, bewildered by this violent entrance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He kept blinking his eyes and was seized with uneasiness. His wife
-positively crushed him when she displayed that giant throat, the full
-weight of which he seemed to feel on the nape of his neck. Dressed in an
-old thread-bare frock-coat which he was finishing to wear out at home, his
-face looking as though tempered and expunged by thirty-five years spent at
-an office desk, he watched her for a moment with his big lifeless blue
-eyes. Then, after thrusting his grey locks behind his ears, feeling very
-embarrassed and unable to find a word to say, he attempted to resume his
-work.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But you do not seem to understand!&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand in a shrill
-voice. &ldquo;I tell you that there is another marriage knocked on the head, and
-it is the fourth!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, I know, the fourth,&rdquo; murmured he. &ldquo;It is annoying, very
-annoying.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, to escape from his wife&rsquo;s terrifying nudity, he turned towards his.
-daughters with a good-natured smile. They also were removing their lace
-wraps and their opera-cloaks; the elder one was in blue and the younger in
-pink; their dresses, too, free in cut and over-trimmed, were like a
-provocation. Hortense, with her sallow complexion, and her face spoilt by
-a nose like her mother&rsquo;s, which gave her an air of disdainful obstinacy,
-had just turned twenty-three and looked twenty-eight; whilst Berthe, two
-years younger, retained all a child&rsquo;s gracefulness, having, however, the
-same features, but more delicate and dazzlingly white, and only menaced
-with the coarse family mask after she entered the fifties.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It will do no good if you go on looking at us for ever!&rdquo; cried Madame
-Josserand. &ldquo;And, for God&rsquo;s sake, put your writing away; it worries my
-nerves!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But, my dear,&rdquo; said he peacefully, &ldquo;I am addressing wrappers.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes, your wrappers at three francs a thousand! Is it with those three
-francs that you hope to marry your daughters?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Beneath the feeble light of the little lamp, the table was indeed covered
-with large sheets of coarse paper, printed wrappers, the blanks of which
-Monsieur Josserand filled in for a largo publisher who had several
-periodicals. As his salary as cashier did not suffice, he passed whole
-nights at this unprofitable labour, working in secret, and seized with
-shame at the idea that any one might discover their penury.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Three francs are three francs,&rdquo; replied he in his slow, tired voice.
-&ldquo;Those three francs will enable you to add ribbons to your dresses, and to
-offer some pastry to your guests on your Tuesdays at home.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He regretted his words as soon as he had uttered them; for he felt that
-they struck Madame Josserand full in the heart, in the most sensitive part
-of her wounded pride. A rush of blood purpled her shoulders; she seemed on
-the point of breaking out into revengeful utterances; then, by an effort
-of dignity, she merely stammered, &ldquo;Ah! good heavens! ah! good heavens!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she looked at her daughters; she magisterially crushed her husband
-beneath a shrug of her terrible shoulders, as much as to say, &ldquo;Eh! you
-hear him? what an idiot!&rdquo; The daughters nodded their heads. Then, seeing
-himself beaten, and laying down his pen with regret, the father opened the
-&ldquo;Temps&rdquo; newspaper, which he brought home every evening from his office.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is Saturnin asleep?&rdquo; sharply inquired Madame Josserand, speaking of her
-younger son.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, long ago,&rdquo; replied he. &ldquo;I also sent Adèle to bed. And Léon, did you
-see him at the Dambrevilles&rsquo;?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course! he sleeps there!&rdquo; she let out in a cry of rancour which she
-was unable to restrain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The father, surprised, naively added,
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! you think so?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hortense and Berthe had become deaf again. They faintly smiled, however,
-affecting to be busy with their shoes, which were in a pitiful state. To
-create a diversion, Madame Josserand tried to pick another quarrel with
-Monsieur Josserand; she begged him to take his newspaper away every
-morning, not to leave it lying about in the room all day, as he had done
-with the previous number, for instance, a number containing the report of
-an abominable trial, which his daughters might have read. She well
-recognised there his want of morality.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, are we going to bed?&rdquo; asked Hortense. &ldquo;I am hungry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! and I too!&rdquo; said Berthe. &ldquo;I am famishing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! you are hungry!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand beside herself. &ldquo;Did you
-not eat any cake there, then? What a couple of geese! You should have
-eaten some! I did.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young ladies resisted. They were hungry, they were feeling quite ill.
-So the mother accompanied them to the kitchen, to see if they could
-discover anything. The father at once returned stealthily to his wrappers.
-He well knew that, without them, every little luxury in the home would
-have disappeared; and that was why, in spite of the scorn and unjust
-quarrels, he obstinately remained till daybreak engaged in this secret
-work, happy like the worthy man he was whenever he fancied that an extra
-piece of lace would hook a rich husband. As they were already stinting the
-food, without managing to save sufficient for the dresses and the Tuesday
-receptions, he resigned himself to his martyr-like labour, dressed in
-rags, whilst the mother and daughters wandered from drawing-room to
-drawing-room with flowers in their hair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What a stench there is here!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand on entering the
-kitchen. &ldquo;To think that I can never get that slut Adèle to leave the
-window slightly open! She pretends that the room is so very cold in the
-morning.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She went and opened the window, and from the narrow courtyard separating
-the kitchens there rose an icy dampness, the unsavoury odour of a musty
-cellar. The candle which Berthe had lighted caused colossal shadows of
-naked shoulders to dance upon the wall.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And what a state the place is in!&rdquo; continued Madame Josserand, sniffing
-about, and poking her nose into all the dirty corners. &ldquo;She has not
-scrubbed her table for a fortnight. Here are plates which have been
-waiting to be washed since the day before yesterday. On my word, it is
-disgusting! And her sink, just look! smell it now, smell her sink!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her rage was lashing itself. She tumbled the crockery about with her arms
-white with rice powder and bedecked with gold bangles; she trailed her
-flaring dress amidst the grease stains, catching it in cooking utensils
-thrown under the tables, risking her hardly earned luxury amongst the
-vegetable parings. At last, the discovery of a notched knife made her
-anger break all bounds.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I will turn her into the street to-morrow morning!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will be no better off,&rdquo; quietly remarked Hortense. &ldquo;We are never able
-to keep anyone. This is the first who has stayed three months. The moment
-they begin to get a little decent and know how to make melted butter, off
-they go.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand bit her lips. As a matter of fact, Adèle alone, stupid
-and lousy, and only lately arrived from her native Brittany, could put up
-with the ridiculously vain penury of these middle-class people, who took
-advantage of her ignorance and her slovenliness to half starve her. Twenty
-times already, on account of a comb found on the bread or of some
-abominable stew which gave them all the colic, they had talked of sending
-her about her business; then, they had resigned themselves to putting up
-with her, in the presence of the difficulty of replacing her, for the
-pilferers themselves declined to be engaged, to enter that hole, where
-even the lumps of sugar were counted.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t discover anything!&rdquo; murmured Berthe, who was rummaging a
-cupboard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The shelves had the melancholy emptiness and the false luxury of families
-where inferior meat is purchased, so as to be able to put flowers on the
-table. All that was lying about were some white and gold porcelain plates,
-perfectly empty, a crumb-brush, the silver-plated handle of which was all
-tarnished, and some cruets without a drain of oil or vinegar in them;
-there was not a forgotten crust, not a morsel of dessert, not a fruit, nor
-a sweet, nor a remnant of cheese. One could feel that Adèle&rsquo;s hunger never
-satisfied, lapped up the rare dribblets of sauce which her betters left at
-the bottoms of the dishes, to the extent of rubbing the gilt off.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But she has gone and eaten all the rabbit!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;True,&rdquo; said Hortense, &ldquo;there was the tail piece. Ah! no, here it is. It
-would have surprised me if she had dared. I shall stick to it, you know.
-It is cold, but it is better than nothing!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, on her side, was rummaging about, but without result. At length
-her hand encountered a bottle, in which her mother had diluted the
-contents of an old pot of jam, so as to manufacture some red currant syrup
-for her evening parties. She poured herself out half a glass, saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! an idea! I will soak some bread in this, as it is all there is!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Madame Josserand, all anxiety, looked at her sternly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pray, don&rsquo;t restrain yourself, fill your glass whilst you are about it.
-It will be quite sufficient if I offer water to the ladies and gentlemen
-to-morrow, will it not?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fortunately, the discovery of another of Adèle&rsquo;s evil doings interrupted
-her reprimand. She was still turning about, searching for crimes, when she
-caught sight of a volume on the table; and then occurred a supreme
-explosion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! the beast! she has again brought my Lamartine into the kitchen!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a copy of &ldquo;Jocelyn.&rdquo; She took it up and rubbed it hard, as though
-dusting it; and she kept repeating that she had twenty times forbidden her
-to leave it lying about in that way, to write her accounts upon. Berthe
-and Hortense, meanwhile, had shared the little piece of bread which
-remained; then carrying their suppers away with them, they said that they
-would undress first. The mother gave the icy cold stove a last glance, and
-returned to the dining-room, tightly holding her Lamartine beneath the
-massive flesh of her arm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand continued writing. He trusted that his wife would be
-satisfied with crushing him with a glance of contempt as she crossed the
-room to go to bed. But she again dropped on to a chair, facing him, and
-looked at him fixedly without speaking. He felt this look, and was seized
-with such uneasiness, that his pen kept sputtering on the flimsy wrapper
-paper.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So it was you who prevented Adèle making a cream for tomorrow evening?&rdquo;
-said she at length.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He raised his head in amazement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I, my dear!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! you will again deny it, as you always do. Then, why has she not made
-the cream I ordered? You know very well that before our party to-morrow
-Uncle Bachelard is coming to dinner, it is his saint&rsquo;s-day, which is very
-awkward, happening as it does on my reception day. If there is no cream,
-we must have an ice, and that will be another five francs squandered!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He did not attempt to exculpate himself. Not daring to resume his work, he
-began to play with his penholder. There was a brief pause.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-morrow morning,&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand, &ldquo;you will oblige me by
-calling on the Campardons and reminding them very politely, if you can,
-that we are expecting to see them in the evening. Their young man arrived
-this afternoon. Ask them to bring him with them. Do you understand? I wish
-him to come.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What young man?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A young man; it would take too long to explain everything to you. I have
-obtained all necessary information about him. I am obliged to try
-everything, as you leave your daughters entirely to me, like a bundle of
-rubbish, without occupying yourself about marrying them any more than
-about marrying the Grand Turk.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The thought revived her anger.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You see, I contain myself, but it is more, oh! it is more than I can
-stand! Say nothing, sir, say nothing, or really my anger will get the
-better of me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He said nothing, but she vented her wrath upon him all the same.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It has become unbearable! I warn you, that one of these mornings I shall
-go off, and leave you here with your two idiotic daughters. Was I born to
-live such a skinflint life as this? Always cutting farthings into four,
-never even having a decent pair of boots, and not being able to receive my
-friends decently! And all that through your fault! Ah! do not shake your
-head, do not exasperate me more than I am already! Yes, your fault! You
-deceived me, sir, basely deceived me. One should not marry a woman, when
-one is decided to let her want for everything. You played the boaster, you
-pretended you had a fine future before you, you were the friend of your
-employer&rsquo;s sons, of those brothers Bemheim, who, since, have merely made a
-fool of you. What! You dare to pretend that they have not made a fool of
-you! But you ought to be their partner by now? It is you who made their
-business what it is, one of the first glass-houses in Paris, and you have
-remained their cashier, a subordinate, a hireling. Really! you have no
-spirit; hold your tongue.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I get eight thousand francs a year,&rdquo; murmured the cashier. &ldquo;It is a very
-good berth.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A good berth, after more than thirty years&rsquo; labour?&rdquo; resumed Madame
-Josserand. &ldquo;They grind you down, and you are delighted. Do you know what I
-would have done, had I been in your place? well! I would have put the
-business into my pocket twenty times over. It was so easy. I saw it when I
-married you, and since then I have never ceased advising you to do so. But
-it required some initiative and intelligence; it was a question of not
-going to sleep on your leather-covered stool, like a blockhead.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; interrupted Monsieur Josserand, &ldquo;are you going to reproach me now
-with being honest?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She jumped up, and advanced towards him, flourishing her Lamartine.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Honest! in what way do you mean? Begin by being honest towards me. Others
-do not count till afterwards, I hope! And I repeat, sir, it is not honest
-to take a young girl in, pretending to be ambitious to become rich some
-day, and then to end by losing what little wits you had in looking after
-somebody else&rsquo;s cashbox. On my word, I was nicely swindled! Ah! if it were
-to happen over again, and if I had only known your family!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was walking violently about. He could not restrain a slight sign of
-impatience, in spite of his great desire for peace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You would do better to go to bed, Eléonore,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It is past one
-o&rsquo;clock, and I assure you this work is pressing. My family has done you no
-harm, so do not speak of it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! and why, pray? Your family is no more sacred than another, I suppose.
-Every one at Clermont knows that your father, after selling his business
-of solicitor, let himself be ruined by a servant. You might have seen your
-daughters married long ago, had he not taken up with a strumpet when over
-seventy. There is another who has swindled me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand turned pale. He replied in a trembling voice, which
-rose higher as he went on:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen, do not let us throw our relations at each other&rsquo;s heads. Your
-father never paid me your dowry, the thirty thousand francs he promised.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? what? thirty thousand francs!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Exactly; don&rsquo;t pretend to be surprised. And if my father met with
-misfortunes, yours behaved in a most disgraceful way towards us. I was
-never able to find out clearly what he left. There were all sorts of
-underhand dealings, so that the school in the Rue des Fossés-Saint-Victor
-should remain with your sister&rsquo;s husband, that shabby usher who no longer
-recognises us now. We were robbed as though in a wood.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand, now ghastly white, was choking with rage before her
-husband&rsquo;s inconceivable revolt.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not say a word against papa! For forty years he was a credit to
-instruction. Go and talk of the Bachelard Academy in the neighbourhood of
-the Panthéon! And as for my sister and my brother-in-law, they are what
-they are. They have robbed me, I know; but it is not for you to say so. I
-will not permit it, understand that! Do I speak to you of your sister, who
-eloped with an officer? Oh! you have indeed some nice relations!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;An officer who married her, madame. There is uncle Bachelard, too, your
-brother, a man totally destitute of all morality&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But you are becoming cracked, sir! He is rich, he earns what he pleases
-as a commission merchant, and he has promised to provide Berthe&rsquo;s dowry.
-Do you then respect nothing?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes, provide Berthe&rsquo;s dowry! Will you bet that he will give a sou,
-and that we shall not have had to put up with his nasty habits for
-nothing? He makes me feel ashamed of him every time he comes here. A liar,
-a rake, a person who takes advantage of the situation, who for fifteen
-years past, seeing us all on our knees before his fortune, has been taking
-me every Saturday to spend two hours in his office, to go over his books!
-It saves him five francs. We have never yet been favoured with a single
-present from him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand, catching her breath, was wrapped for a moment in
-thought. Then she uttered this last cry:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And you have a nephew in the police, sir!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A fresh pause ensued. The light from the little lamp was becoming dimmer,
-wrappers were flying about beneath Monsieur Josserand&rsquo;s feverish gestures;
-and he looked his wife full in the face&mdash;his wife in her low neck
-dress&mdash;determined to say everything, and quivering with courage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With eight thousand francs a year one can do many things,&rdquo; resumed he.
-&ldquo;You are always complaining. But you should not have arranged your
-housekeeping on a footing superior to our means. It is your mania for
-receiving and for paying visits, of having your at homes, of giving tea
-and pastry&mdash;&ldquo;?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She did not let him finish.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now we have come to it! Shut me up in a box at once. Reproach me for not
-walking out as naked as my hand. And your daughters, sir, who will marry
-them if we never see any one? We don&rsquo;t see many people as it is. It does
-well to sacrifice oneself, to be judged afterwards with such meanness of
-heart!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We have all of us, madame, sacrificed ourselves. Léon had to make way for
-his sisters; and he left the house to earn his own living without any
-assistance from us. As for Saturnin, poor child, he does not even know how
-to read. And I deny myself everything; I pass my nights&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why did you have daughters then, sir? You are surely not going to
-reproach them with their education, I hope? Any other man in your place
-would be proud of Hortense&rsquo;s diploma and of Berthe&rsquo;s talents. The dear
-child again delighted every one this evening with her waltz, the &lsquo;Banks of
-the Oise,&rsquo; and her last painting will certainly enchant our guests
-to-morrow. But you, sir, you are not even a father; you would have sent
-your children to take cows to grass, instead of sending them to school.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! I took out an assurance for Berthe&rsquo;s benefit Was it not you,
-madame, who, when the fourth payment became due, made use of the money to
-cover the drawing-room furniture? And, since then, you have even
-negotiated the premiums that had been paid.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course! as you leave us to die of hunger. Ah! you may indeed bite your
-fingers, if your daughters become old maids.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Bite my fingers! But, Jove&rsquo;s thunder! it is you who frighten the likely
-men away, with your dresses and your ridiculous parties!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Never before had Monsieur Josserand gone so far. Madame Josserand,
-suffocating, stammered forth the words: &ldquo;I&mdash;I ridiculous!&rdquo; when the
-door opened. Hortense and Berthe were returning, in their petticoats and
-little calico jackets, their hair let down, and their feet in old
-slippers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah, well! it is too cold in our room!&rdquo; said Berthe shivering. &ldquo;The food
-freezes in your mouth. Here, at least, there has been a fire this
-evening.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And both dragging their chairs along the floor, seated themselves close to
-the stove, which still retained a little warmth. Hortense held her rabbit
-bone in the tips of her fingers, and was skilfully picking it. Berthe
-dipped pieces of bread in her glass of syrup. The parents, however, were
-so excited that they did not even appear to notice their arrival. They
-continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ridiculous&mdash;ridiculous, sir! I shall not be ridiculous again! Let my
-head be cut off if I wear out another pair of gloves in trying to get them
-husbands. It is your turn now! And try not to be more ridiculous than I
-have been!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I daresay, madame, now that you have exhibited them and compromised them
-everywhere! Whether you marry them or whether you don&rsquo;t, I don&rsquo;t care a
-button!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And I care less, Monsieur Josserand! I care so little that I will bundle
-them out into the street if you aggravate me much more. And if you have a
-mind to, you can follow them, the door is open. Ah, heavens! what a good
-riddance!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young ladies quietly listened, used to these lively recriminations.
-They were still eating, their little jackets dropping from their
-shoulders, and their bare skin gently rubbing against the lukewarm
-earthenware of the stove; and they looked charming in this undress, with
-their youth and their hearty appetites and their eyes heavy with sleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are very foolish to quarrel,&rdquo; at length observed Hortense, with her
-mouth full. &ldquo;Mamma only spoils her temper, and papa will be ill again
-to-morrow at his office. It seems to me that we are old enough to be able
-to find husbands for ourselves.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This created a diversion. The father, thoroughly exhausted, made a feint
-of returning to his wrappers; and he sat with his nose over the paper,
-unable to write, his hands trembling violently. The mother, who had been
-moving about the room like an escaped lioness, went and planted herself in
-front of Hortense.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you are speaking for yourself,&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;you are a great ninny!
-Your Verdier will never marry you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That is my business,&rdquo; boldly replied the young girl.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After having contemptuously refused five or six suitors, a little clerk,
-the son of a tailor, and other young fellows whose prospects she did not
-consider good enough, she had ended by setting her cap at a barrister,
-whom she had met at the Dambrevilles&rsquo;, and who was already turned forty.
-She considered him very clever, and destined to make a name in the world.
-But the misfortune was that for fifteen years past Verdier had been living
-with a mistress, who in the neighbourhood even passed for his wife. She
-knew of this, though, and by no means let it trouble her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My child,&rdquo; said the father, raising his head once more, &ldquo;I begged you not
-to think of this marriage. You know the situation.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She stopped sucking her bone, and said with an air of impatience:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What of it? Verdier has promised me he will leave her. She is a fool.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are wrong, Hortense, to speak in that way. And if he should also
-leave you one day to return to her whom you would have caused him to
-abandon?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That is my business,&rdquo; sharply retorted the young woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe listened, fully acquainted with this matter, the contingencies of
-which she discussed daily with her sister. She was, besides, like her
-father, all in favour of the poor woman, whom it was proposed to turn out
-into the street, after having performed a wife&rsquo;s duties for fifteen years.
-But Madame Josserand intervened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Leave off, do! those wretched women always end by returning to the
-gutter. Only, it is Verdier who will never bring himself to leave her. He
-is fooling you, my dear. In your place, I would not wait a second for him;
-I would try and find some one else.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hortense&rsquo;s voice became sourer still, whilst two livid spots appeared on
-her cheeks.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, you know how I am. I want him, and I will have him. I will never
-marry any one else, even though he kept me waiting a hundred years.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The mother shrugged her shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And you call others fools!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the young girl rose up, quivering with rage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here! don&rsquo;t go pitching into me!&rdquo; cried she. &ldquo;I have finished my rabbit.
-I prefer to go to bed. As you are unable to find us husbands, you must let
-us find them in our own way.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she withdrew, violently slamming the door behind her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand turned majestically towards her husband, and uttered this
-profound remark:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That, sir, is the result of your bringing up!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand did not protest; he was occupied in dotting his thumb
-nail with ink, whilst waiting till they allowed him to resume his writing.
-Berthe, who had eaten her bread, dipped a finger in the glass to finish up
-her syrup. She felt comfortable, with her back nice and warm, and did not
-hurry herself, being undesirous of encountering her sister&rsquo;s quarrelsome
-temper in their bedroom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! and that is the reward!&rdquo; continued Madame Josserand, resuming her
-walk to and fro across the dining-room. &ldquo;For twenty years one wears
-oneself out for these young ladies, one goes in want of everything in
-order to make them accomplished women, and they will not even let one have
-the satisfaction of seeing them married according to one&rsquo;s own fancy. It
-would be different, if they had ever been refused a single thing! But I
-have never kept a sou for myself, and have even gone without clothes to
-dress them as though we had an income of fifty thousand francs. No, really,
-it is too absurd! When those hussies have had a careful education, have
-got just as much religion as is necessary, and the airs of rich girls,
-they leave you in the lurch, they talk of marrying barristers,
-adventurers, who lead lives of debauchery!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She stopped before Berthe, and, menacing her with her finger, said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;As for you, if you follow your sister&rsquo;s example, you will have me to deal
-with.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she recommenced stamping round the room, speaking to herself, jumping
-from one idea to another, contradicting herself with the brazenness of a
-woman who will always be in the right.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I did what I ought to do, and were it to be done over again I should do
-the same. In life, it is only the most shamefaced who lose. Money is
-money; when one has none, one may as well retire. Whenever I had twenty
-sous, I always said I had forty; for that is real wisdom, it is better to
-be envied than pitied. It is no use having a good education if one has not
-good clothes to wear, for then people despise you. It is not just, but it
-is so. I would sooner wear dirty petticoats than a cotton dress. Feed on
-potatoes, but have a chicken when you have any one to dinner. And only
-fools would say the contrary!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked fixedly at her husband, to whom these last reflections were
-addressed. The latter, worn out, and declining another battle, had the
-cowardice to declare:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is true; money is everything in our days.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You hear,&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand, returning towards her daughter. &ldquo;Go
-straight ahead and try to give us satisfaction. How is it you let this
-marriage fall through?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe understood that her turn had come.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, mamma,&rdquo; murmured she &ldquo;A second head-clerk in a government
-office,&rdquo; continued the mother; &ldquo;not yet thirty, with a splendid future
-before him. Every month he would be bringing you his money; it is
-something substantial that, there is nothing like it. You have been up to
-some tomfoolery again, just the same as with the others.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have not, mamma, I assure you. He must have obtained some information&mdash;have
-heard that I had no money.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Madame Josserand cried out at this.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And the dowry that your uncle is going to give you! Every one knows about
-that dowry. No, there is something else; he withdrew too abruptly. When
-dancing you passed into the parlour.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe became confused.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, mamma. And, as we were alone, he even tried to do some naughty
-things; he kissed me, seizing hold of me like that. Then I was frightened;
-I pushed him up against the furniture&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her mother, again overcome with rage, interrupted her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pushed him up against the furniture, ah! the wretched girl pushed him up
-against the furniture!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But, mamma, he held me&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What of it? He held you, that was nothing! A fat lot of good it is
-sending such fools to school! Whatever did they teach you, eh?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A rush of colour rose to the young girl&rsquo;s cheeks and shoulders. Tears
-filled her eyes, whilst she looked as confused as a violated virgin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was not my fault; he looked so wicked. I did not know what to do.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Did not know what to do! she did not know what to do! Have I not told you
-a hundred times that your fears are ridiculous? It is your lot to live in
-society. When a man is rough, it is because he loves you, and there is
-always a way of keeping him in his place in a nice manner. For a kiss
-behind a door! in truth now, ought you to mention such a thing to us, your
-parents? And you push people against the furniture, and you drive away
-your suitors!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She assumed a doctoral air as she continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is ended; I despair of doing anything with you, you are too stupid, my
-girl. One would have to coach you in everything, and that would be
-awkward. As you have no fortune, understand at least that you must hook
-the men by some other means. One should be amiable, have loving eyes,
-abandon one&rsquo;s hand occasionally, allow a little playfulness, without
-seeming to do so; in short, one should angle for a husband. You make a
-great mistake, if you think it improves your eyes to cry like a fool!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe was sobbing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You aggravate me&mdash;leave off crying. Monsienr Josserand, just tell
-your daughter not to spoil her face by crying in that way. It will be too
-much if she becomes ugly!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My child,&rdquo; said the father, &ldquo;be reasonable; listen to your mother&rsquo;s good
-advice. You must not spoil your good looks, my darling.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And what irritates me is that she is not so bad when she likes,&rdquo; resumed
-Madame Josserand. &ldquo;Come, wipe your eyes, look at me as if I was a
-gentleman courting you. You smile, you drop your fan, so that the
-gentleman, in picking it up, slightly touches your fingers. That is not
-the way. You are holding you head up too stiffly, you look like a sick
-hen. Lean back more, show your neck; it is too young to be hidden.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, like this, mamma?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, that is better. And never be stiff, be supple. Men do not care for
-planks. And, above all, if they go too far do not play the simpleton. A
-man who goes too far is done for, my dear.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The drawing-room clock struck two; and, in the excitement of that
-prolonged vigil, in her desire now become furious for an immediate
-marriage, the mother forgot herself in thinking out loud, making her
-daughter turn about like a papier-mache doll. The latter, without spirit
-or will, abandoned herself; but she felt very heavy at heart, fear and
-shame brought a lump to her throat. Suddenly, in the midst of a silvery
-laugh which her mother was forcing her to attempt, she burst into sobs,
-her face all upset:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No! no! it pains me!&rdquo; stammered she,
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For a second, Madame Josserand remained incensed and amazed. Ever since
-she left the Dambrevilles&rsquo;, her hand had been itching, there were slaps in
-the air. Then, she landed Berthe a clout with all her might.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Take that! you are too aggravating! What a fool! On my word, the men are
-right!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the shock, her Lamartine, which she had kept under her arm, fell to the
-floor. She picked it up, wiped it, and without adding another word, she
-retired into the bedroom, royally drawing her ball-dress around her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was bound to end thus,&rdquo; murmured Monsieur Josserand, not daring to
-detain his daughter, who went off also, holding her cheek and crying
-louder than ever.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, as Berthe felt her way across the ante-room, she found her brother
-Saturnin up, barefooted and listening. Saturnin was a big, ill-formed
-fellow of twenty-five, with wild-looking eyes, and who had remained
-childish after an attack of brain-fever. Without being mad, he terrified
-the household by attacks of blind violence, whenever he was thwarted.
-Berthe, alone, was able to subdue him with a look. He had nursed her when
-she was still quite a child, through a long illness, obedient as a dog to
-her little invalid girl&rsquo;s caprices; and, ever since he had saved her, he
-was seized with an adoration for her, into which entered every kind of
-love.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Has she been beating you again?&rdquo; asked he in a low and ardent voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, uneasy at finding him there, tried to send him away.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go to bed, it is nothing to do with you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it is. I will not have her beat you! She woke me up, she was
-shouting so. She had better not try it on again, or I will strike her!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, she seized him by the wrists, and spoke to him as to a disobedient
-animal. He submitted at once, and stuttered, crying like a little boy:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It hurts you very much, does it not? Where is the sore place, that I may
-kiss it?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, having found her cheek in the dark, he kissed it, wetting it with his
-tears, as he repeated:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is well, now, it is well, now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, left alone, had laid down his pen, his
-heart was so full of grief. At the end of a few minutes, he got up gently
-to go and listen at the doors. Madame Josserand was snoring. No sounds of
-crying issued from his daughters&rsquo; room. All was dark and peaceful. Then he
-returned, feeling slightly relieved. He saw to the lamp which was smoking,
-and mechanically resumed his writing. Two big tears, unfelt by him,
-dropped on to the wrappers, in the solemn silence of the slumbering house.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
-CHAPTER III.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>o soon as the fish
-was served, skate of doubtful freshness with black butter, which that
-bungler Adèle had drowned in a flood of vinegar, Hortense and Berthe,
-seated on the right and left of uncle Bachelard, incited him to drink,
-filling his glass one after the other, and repeating:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your saint&rsquo;s-day, drink now, drink! Here&rsquo;s your health, uncle!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They had plotted together to make him give them twenty francs. Every year,
-their provident mother placed them thus on either side of her brother,
-abandoning him to them. But it was a difficult task, and required all the
-greediness of two girls prompted by dreams of Louis XV. shoes and five
-button gloves. To get him to give the twenty francs, it was necessary to
-make the uncle completely drunk. He was ferociously miserly whenever he
-found himself amongst his relations, though out of doors he squandered in
-crapulous boozes the eighty thousand francs he made each year out of his
-commission business. Fortunately, that evening, he was already half
-fuddled when he arrived, having passed the afternoon with the wife of a
-dyer of the Faubourg Montmartre, who kept a stock of Marseilles vermouth
-expressly for him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Your health, my little ducks!&rdquo; replied he each time, with his thick husky
-voice, as he emptied his glass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Covered with jewellery, a rose in his button-hole, enormous in build, he
-filled the middle of the table, with his broad shoulders of a boozing and
-brawling tradesman, who has wallowed in every vice. His false teeth lit up
-with too harsh a whiteness his ravaged face, the big red nose of which
-blazed beneath the snowy crest of his short cropped hair; and, now and
-again, his eyelids dropped of themselves over his pale and misty eyes.
-Gueulin, the son of one of his wife&rsquo;s sisters, affirmed that his uncle had
-not been sober during the ten years he had been a widower.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Narcisse, a little skate, I can recommend it,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand,
-smiling at her brother&rsquo;s tipsy condition, though at heart it made her feel
-rather disgusted.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was sitting opposite to him, having little Gueulin on her left, and
-another young man on her right, Hector Trublot, to whom she was desirous
-of showing some politeness. She usually took advantage of family
-gatherings like the present to get rid of certain invitations she had to
-return; and it was thus that a lady living in the house, Madame Juzeur,
-was also present, seated next to Monsieur Josserand. As the uncle behaved
-very badly at table, and it was the expectation of his fortune alone which
-enabled them to put up with him without absolute disgust, she only had
-intimate acquaintances to meet him or else persons whom she thought it was
-no longer worth while trying to dazzle. For instance, she had at one time
-thought of finding a son-in-law in young Trublot, who was employed at a
-stockbroker&rsquo;s, whilst waiting till his father, a wealthy man, purchased
-him a share in the business; but, Trublot having professed a determined
-objection to matrimony, she no longer stood upon ceremony with him, even
-placing him next to Saturnin, who had never known how to eat decently.
-Berthe, who always had a seat beside her brother, was commissioned to
-subdue him with a look, whenever he put his fingers too much into the
-gravy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After the fish came a meat pie, and the young ladies thought the moment
-arrived to commence their attack.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Take another glass, uncle!&rdquo; said Hortense. &ldquo;It is your saint&rsquo;s day. Don&rsquo;t
-you give anything when it&rsquo;s your saint&rsquo;s-day?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me! why of course,&rdquo; added Berthe naively. &ldquo;People always give
-something on their saint&rsquo;s-day. You must give us twenty francs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On hearing them speak of money, Bachelard at once exaggerated his tipsy
-condition. It was his usual dodge; his eyelids dropped, and he became
-quite idiotic.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? what?&rdquo; stuttered he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Twenty francs. You know very well what twenty francs are, it is no use
-your pretending you don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; resumed Berthe. &ldquo;Give us twenty francs, and we
-will love you, oh! we will love you so much!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They threw their arms round his neck, called him the most endearing names,
-and kissed his inflamed face without the least repugnance for the horrid
-odour of debauchery which he exhaled. Monsieur Josserand, whom these
-continual fumes of absinthe, tobacco and musk upset, had a feeling of
-disgust on seeing his daughters&rsquo; virgin charms rubbing up against those
-infamies gathered in the vilest places.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Leave him alone!&rdquo; cried he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Madame Josserand, giving her husband a terrible look. &ldquo;They
-are amusing themselves. If Narcisse wishes to give them twenty francs, he
-is quite at liberty to do so.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Monsieur Bachelard is so good to them!&rdquo; complacently murmured little
-Madame Juzeur.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the uncle struggled, becoming more idiotic than ever, and repeating,
-with his mouth full of saliva:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s funny. I don&rsquo;t know, word of honour! I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Hortense and Berthe, exchanging a glance, released him. No doubt he
-had not had enough to drink. And they again resorted to filling his glass,
-laughing like courtesans who intend robbing a man. Their bare arms, of an
-adorable youthful plumpness, kept passing every minute under the uncle&rsquo;s
-big flaming nose.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Trublot, like a quiet fellow who takes his pleasures alone, was
-watching Adèle as she turned heavily round the table. Being very
-short-sighted he thought her pretty, with her pronounced Breton features
-and her hair the colour of dirty hemp. When she brought in the roast, a
-piece of veal, she leant right over his shoulder, to reach the centre of
-the table; and he, pretending to pick up his napkin, gave her a good pinch
-on the calf of her leg. The servant, not understanding, looked at him, as
-though he had asked her for some bread.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; said Madame Josserand. &ldquo;Did she knock against you, sir? Oh!
-that girl! she is so awkward! But, you know, she is quite new to the work;
-she will be better when she has had a little training.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No doubt, there is no harm done,&rdquo; replied Trublot, stroking his bushy
-black beard with the serenity of a young Indian god.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The conversation was becoming more animated in the diningroom, at first
-icy cold, and now gradually warming with the fumes of the dishes. Madame
-Juzeur was once more confiding to Monsieur Josserand the dreariness of her
-thirty years of solitary existence. She raised her eyes to heaven, and
-contented herself with this discreet allusion to the drama of her life:
-her husband had left her after ten days of married bliss, and no one knew
-why; she said nothing more. Now, she lived by herself in a lodging that
-was as soft as down and always closed, and which was frequented by
-priests.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is so sad, at my age!&rdquo; murmured she languishingly, cutting up her veal
-with delicate gestures.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A very unfortunate little woman,&rdquo; whispered Madame Josserand in Trublot&rsquo;s
-ear, with an air of profound sympathy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Trublot glanced indifferently at this clear-eyed devotee, so full of
-reserve and hidden meanings. She was not his style.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then there was a regular panic. Saturnin, whom Berthe was not watching so
-closely, being too busy with her uncle, had amused himself by cutting up
-his meat into various designs on his plate. This poor creature exasperated
-his mother, who was both afraid and ashamed of him; she did not know how
-to get rid of him, not daring through pride to make a workman of him,
-after having sacrificed him to his sisters by having removed him from the
-school where his slumbering intelligence was too long awakening; and,
-during the years he had been hanging about the house, useless and stinted,
-she was in a constant state of fright whenever she had to let him appear
-before company. Her pride suffered cruelly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Saturnin!&rdquo; cried she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Saturnin began to chuckle, delighted with the mess he had made in his
-plate. He did not respect his mother, but called her roundly a great liar
-and a horrid nuisance, with the perspicacity of madmen who think out loud.
-Things certainly seemed to be going wrong. He would have thrown his plate
-at her head, if Berthe, reminded of her duties, had not looked him
-straight in the face. He tried to resist; then the fire in his eyes died
-out; he remained gloomy and depressed on his chair, as though in a dream,
-until the end of the meal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I hope, Gueulin, that you have brought your flute?&rdquo; asked Madame
-Josserand, trying to dispel her guests&rsquo; uneasiness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin was an amateur flute-player, but solely in the houses where he was
-treated without ceremony.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My flute! Of course I have,&rdquo; replied he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was absent-minded, his carroty hair and whiskers were more bristly than
-usual, as he watched with deep interest the young ladies&rsquo; manoeuvres
-around their uncle. Employed at an assurance office, he would go straight
-to Bachelard on leaving off work, and stick to him, visiting the same
-cafés and the same disreputable places. Behind the big, ill-shaped body of
-the one, the little pale face of the other was sure always to be seen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Cheerily, there! stick to him!&rdquo; said he, suddenly, like a true sportsman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The uncle was indeed losing ground. When, after the vegetables, French
-beans swimming in water, Adèle placed a vanilla and currant ice on the
-table, it caused unexpected delight amongst the guests; and the young
-ladies took advantage of the situation to make the uncle drink half of the
-bottle of champagne, which Madame Josserand had bought for three francs of
-a neighbouring grocer. He was becoming quite affectionate, and forgetting
-his pretended idiocy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh, twenty francs! Why twenty francs? Ah! you want twenty francs! But I
-have not got them, really now. Ask Gueulin. Is it not true, Gueulin, that
-I forgot my purse, and that you had to pay at the café? If I had them, my
-little ducks, I would give them to you, you are so nice.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin was laughing in his cool way, making a noise like a pulley that
-required greasing. And he murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The old swindler!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, suddenly, unable to restrain himself, he cried:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Search him!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-So Hortense and Berthe again threw themselves on the uncle, this time
-without the least restraint. The desire for the twenty francs, which their
-good education had hitherto kept within bounds, bereft them of their
-senses in the end, and they forgot everything else. The one, with both
-hands, examined his waistcoat pockets, whilst the other buried her fingers
-inside the pockets of his frock-coat. The uncle, however, pressed back on
-his chair, still struggled; but he gradually burst out into a laugh&mdash;a
-laugh broken by drunken hiccoughs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;On my word of honour, I haven&rsquo;t a sou! Leave off, do; you&rsquo;re tickling
-me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0073.jpg" alt="0073 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In the trousers!&rdquo; energetically exclaimed Gueulin, excited by the
-spectacle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Berthe resolutely searched one of the trouser pockets.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Their hands trembled; they were both becoming exceedingly rough, and could
-have smacked the uncle. But Berthe uttered a cry of victory: from the
-depths of the pocket she brought forth a handful of money, which she
-spread out in a plate; and there, amongst a heap of coppers and pieces of
-silver, was a twenty-franc piece.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have it!&rdquo; said she, her face all red, her hair undone, as she tossed
-the coin in the air and caught it again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was a general clapping of hands, every one thought it very funny. It
-created quite a hubbub, and was the success of the dinner. Madame
-Josserand looked at her daughters with a mother&rsquo;s tender smile. The uncle,
-who was gathering up his money, sententiously observed that, when one
-wanted twenty francs, one should earn them. And the young ladies, worn out
-and satisfied, were panting on his right and left, their lips still
-trembling in the enervation of their desire.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A bell was heard to ring. They had been eating slowly, and the other
-guests were already arriving. Monsieur Josserand, who had decided to laugh
-like his wife, enjoyed singing some of Béranger&rsquo;s songs at table; but as
-this outraged his better half&rsquo;s poetic tastes, she compelled him to keep
-quiet. She got the dessert over as quickly as possible, more especially
-as, since the forced present of the twenty francs, the uncle had been
-trying to pick a quarrel, complaining that his nephew, Léon, had not
-deigned to put himself out to come and wish him many happy returns of the
-day. Léon was only coming to the evening party. At length, as they were
-rising from table, Adèle said that the architect from the floor below and
-a young man were in the drawing-room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes, that young man,&rdquo; murmured Madame Juzeur, accepting Monsieur
-Josserand&rsquo;s arm. &ldquo;So you have invited him? I saw him to-day talking to the
-doorkeeper. He is very good-looking.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand was taking Trublot&rsquo;s arm, when Saturnin, who had been
-left by himself at the tableland who had not been roused from slumbering
-with his eyes open by all the uproar about the twenty francs, kicked back
-his chair, in a sudden outburst of fury, shouting:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have it, damnation! I won&rsquo;t have it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the very thing his mother always dreaded. She signalled to Monsieur
-Josserand to take Madame Juzeur away. Then she freed herself from Trublot,
-who understood, and disappeared; but he probably made a mistake, for he
-went off in the direction of the kitchen, close upon Adèle&rsquo;s heels.
-Bachelard and Gueulin, without troubling themselves about the maniac, as
-they called him, chuckled in a corner, whilst playfully slapping one
-another.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He was so peculiar, I felt there would be something this evening,&rdquo;
-murmured Madame Josserand, uneasily. &ldquo;Berthe, come quick!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Berthe was showing the twenty-franc piece to Hortense. Saturnin had
-caught up a knife. He repeated:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Damnation! I won&rsquo;t have it! I&rsquo;ll rip their stomachs open!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Berthe!&rdquo; called her mother in despair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, when the young girl hastened to the spot, she only just had time to
-seize him by the hand and prevent him from entering the drawing-room. She
-shook him angrily, whilst he tried to explain, with his madman&rsquo;s logic.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let me be, I must settle them. I tell you it&rsquo;s best. I&rsquo;ve had enough of
-their dirty ways. They&rsquo;ll sell the whole lot of us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! this is too much!&rdquo; eried Berthe. &ldquo;What is the matter with you? what
-are you talking about?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He looked at her in a bewildered way, trembling with a gloomy rage, and
-stuttered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They&rsquo;re going to marry you again. Never, you hear! I won&rsquo;t have you
-hurt.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young girl eould not help laughing. Where had he got the idea from
-that they were going to marry her? But he nodded his head: he knew it, he
-felt it. And as his mother intervened to try and calm him, he grasped his
-knife so tightly that she drew back. However, she trembled for fear he
-should be overheard, and hastily told Berthe to take him away and lock him
-in his room; whilst he, becoming crazier than ever, raised his voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have you married, I won&rsquo;t have you hurt. If they marry you, I&rsquo;ll
-rip their stomachs open.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Berthe put her hands on his shoulders, and looked him straight in the
-face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;keep quiet, or I will not love you any more.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He staggered, despair softened the expression of his face, his eyes filled
-with tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t love me any more, you won&rsquo;t love me any more. Don&rsquo;t say that.
-Oh! I implore you, say that you will love me still, say that you will love
-me always, and that you will never love any one else.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had seized him by the wrist, and she led him away as gentle as a
-child.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the drawing-room Madame Josserand, exaggerating her intimacy, called
-Campardon her dear neighbour. Why had Madame Campardon not done her the
-great pleasure of coming also? and on the architect replying that his wife
-still continued poorly, she exelaimed that they would have been delighted
-to have received her in her dressing-gown and her slippers. But her smile
-never left Octave, who was conversing with Monsieur Josserand; all her
-amiability was directed towards him, over Campardon&rsquo;s shoulder. When her
-husband introduced the young man to her, her cordiality was so great that
-the latter felt quite uncomfortable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Other guests were arriving; stout mothers with skinny daughters, fathers
-and uncles scarcely roused from their office drowsiness, pushing before
-them flocks of marriageable young ladies. Two lamps, with pink paper
-shades, lit up the drawingroom with a pale light, which only faintly
-displayed the old, worn, yellow velvet covered furniture, the scratched
-piano, and the three smoky Swiss views, which looked like black stains on
-the cold, bare, white and gold panels. And, in this miserly light, the
-guests&mdash;poor, and, so to say, worn-out figures, without resignation,
-and whose attire was the cause of much pinching and saving&mdash;seemed to
-become obliterated. Madame Josserand wore her fiery costume of the day
-before; only, with a view of throwing dust in people&rsquo;s eyes, she had
-passed the day in sewing sleeves on to the body, and in making herself a
-lace tippet to cover her shoulders; whilst her two daughters, seated
-beside her in their dirty cotton jackets, vigorously plied their needles,
-rearranging with new trimmings their only presentable dresses, which they
-had been thus altering bit by bit ever since the previous winter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After each ring at the bell, the sound of whispering issued from the
-ante-chamber. They conversed in low tones in the gloomy drawing-room,
-where the forced laugh of some young lady jarred at times like a false
-note. Behind little Madame Juzeur, Bachelard and Gueulin were nudging each
-other, and making smutty remarks; and Madame Josserand watched them with
-an alarmed look, for she dreaded her brother&rsquo;s vulgar behaviour. But
-Madame Juzeur might hear anything; her lips quivered, and she smiled with
-angelic sweetness as she listened to the naughty stories. Uncle Bachelard
-had the reputation of being a dangerous man. His nephew, on the contrary,
-was chaste. No matter how splendid the opportunities were, Gueulin
-declined to have anything to do with women upon principle, not that he
-disdained them, but because he dreaded the morrows of bliss: always very
-unpleasant, he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe at length appeared, and went hurriedly up to her mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah, well! I have had a deal of trouble!&rdquo; whispered she in her ear. &ldquo;He
-would not go to bed, so I double-locked the door. But I am afraid he will
-break everything in the room.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand violently tugged at her dress. Octave, who was close to
-them, had turned his head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My daughter, Berthe, Monsieur Mouret,&rdquo; said she, in her most gracious
-manner, as she introduced them. &ldquo;Monsieur Octave Mouret, my darling.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she looked at her daughter. The latter was well acquainted with this
-look, which was like an order to clear for action, and which recalled to
-her the lessons of the night before. She at once obeyed, with the
-complaisance and the indifference of a girl who no longer stops to examine
-the person she is to marry. She prettily recited her little part with the
-easy grace of a Parisian already weary of the world, and acquainted with
-every subject, and she talked enthusiastically of the South, where she had
-never been. Octave, used to the stiffness of provincial virgins, was
-delighted with this little woman&rsquo;s cackle and her sociable manner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Presently, Trublot, who had not been seen since dinner was over, entered
-stealthily from the dining-room; and Berthe, catching sight of him, asked
-thoughtlessly where he had been. He remained silent, at which she felt
-very confused; then, to put an end to the awkward pause which ensued, she
-introduced the two young men to each other. Her mother had not taken her
-eyes off her; she had assumed the attitude of a commander-in-chief, and
-directed the campaign from the easy-chair in which she had settled
-herself. When she judged that the first engagement had given all the
-result that could have been expected from it, she recalled her daughter
-with a sign, and said to her, in a low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wait till the Vabre&rsquo;s are here before commencing your music. And play
-loud.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, left alone with Trublot, began to engage him in conversation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A charming person.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, not bad.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The young lady in blue is her elder sister, is she not? She is not so
-good-looking.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course not; she is thinner!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot, who looked without seeing with his near-sighted eyes, had the
-broad shoulders of a solid male, obstinate in his tastes. He had come back
-from the kitchen perfectly satisfied, crunching little black things which
-Octave recognised with surprise to be coffee berries.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; asked he abruptly, &ldquo;the women are plump in the South, are they
-not?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave smiled, and at once became on an excellent footing with Trublot.
-They had many ideas in common which brought them closer together. They
-exchanged confidences on an out-of-the-way sofa; the one talked of his
-employer at &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo; Madame Hédouin, a confoundedly fine
-woman, but too cold; the other said that he had been put on to the
-correspondence, from nine to five, at his stockbroker&rsquo;s, Monsieur
-Desmarquay, where there was a stunning maid servant. Just then the
-drawing-room door opened, and three persons entered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They are the Vabres,&rdquo; murmured Trublot, bending over towards his new
-friend. &ldquo;Auguste, the tall one, he who has a face like a sick sheep, is
-the landlord&rsquo;s eldest son&mdash;thirty-three years old, ever suffering
-from headaches which make his eyes start from his head, and which, some
-years ago, prevented him from continuing to learn Latin; a sullen fellow
-who has gone in for trade. The other, Théophile, that abortion with
-carroty hair and thin beard, that little old-looking man of twenty-eight,
-ever shaking with fits of coughing and of rage, tried a dozen different
-trades, and then married the young woman who leads the way, Madame Valérie&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have already seen her,&rdquo; interrupted Octave. &ldquo;She is the daughter of a
-haberdasher of the neighbourhood, is she not? But how those veils deceive
-one! I thought her pretty. She is only peculiar, with her shrivelled face
-and her leaden complexion.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She is another who is not my ideal,&rdquo; sententiously resumed Trublot. &ldquo;She
-has superb eyes, and that is enough for some men. But she&rsquo;s a thin piece
-of goods.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand had risen to shake Valérie&rsquo;s hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How is it,&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;that Monsieur Vabre is not with you? and that
-neither Monsieur nor Madame Duveyrier have done us the honour of coming?
-They promised us though. Ah! it is very wrong of them!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman made excuses for her father-in-law, whose age kept him at
-home, and who, moreover, preferred to work of an evening. As for her
-brother and sister-in-law, they had asked her to apologise for them, they
-having received an invitation to an official party, which they were
-obliged to attend. Madame Josserand bit her lips. She never missed one of
-the Saturdays at home of those stuck-up people on the first floor, who
-would have thought themselves dishonoured had they ascended, one Tuesday,
-to the fourth. No doubt her modest tea was not equal to their grand
-orchestral concerts. But, patience! when her two daughters were married,
-and she had two sons-in-law and their relations to fill her drawing-room,
-she also would go in for choruses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Get yourself ready,&rdquo; whispered she in Berthe&rsquo;s ear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They were about thirty, and rather tightly packed, for the parlour, having
-been turned into a bedroom for the young ladies, was not thrown open. The
-new arrivals distributed handshakes round. Valérie seated herself beside
-Madame Juzeur, whilst Bachelard and Gueulin made unpleasant remarks out
-loud about Théophile Vabre, whom they thought it funny to call &ldquo;good for
-nothing.&rdquo; Monsieur Josserand&mdash;who in his own home kept himself so
-much in the background that one would have taken him for a guest, and whom
-one would fail to find when wanted, even though he were standing close by&mdash;was
-in a corner listening in a bewildered way to a story related by one of his
-old friends, Bonnaud. He knew Bonnaud, who was formerly the general
-accountant of the Northern railway, and whose daughter had married in the
-previous spring? Well! Bonnaud had just discovered that his son-in-law, a
-very respectable-looking man, was an ex-clown, who had lived for ten years
-at the expense of a female circus-rider.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Silence! silence!&rdquo; murmured some good-natured voices. Berthe had opened
-the piano.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really!&rdquo; explained Madame Josserand, &ldquo;it is merely an unpretentious
-piece, a simple reverie. Monsieur Mouret, you like music, I think. Come
-nearer then. My daughter plays pretty fairly&mdash;oh! purely as an
-amateur, but with expression; yes, with a great deal of expression.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Caught!&rdquo; said Trublot in a low voice. &ldquo;The sonata stroke.&rdquo; Octave was
-obliged to leave his seat and stand up beside the piano. To see the
-caressing attentions which Madame Josserand showered upon him, it seemed
-as though she were making Berthe play solely for him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;&lsquo;The Banks of the Oise,&rsquo;&rdquo; resumed she. &ldquo;It is really very pretty. Come
-begin, my love, and do not be confused. Monsieur Mouret will be
-indulgent.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young girl commenced the piece without being in the least confused.
-Besides, her mother kept her eyes upon her like a sergeant ready to punish
-with a blow the least theoretical mistake. Her great regret was that the
-instrument, worn-out by fifteen years of daily scales, did not possess the
-sonorous tones of the Duveyriers&rsquo; grand piano; and her daughter never
-played loud enough in her opinion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After the sixth bar, Octave, looking thoughtful and nodding his head at
-each spirited passage, no longer listened. He looked at the audience, the
-politely absent-minded attention of the men, and the affected delight of
-the women, all that relaxation of persons for a moment at rest, but soon
-again to be harassed by the cares of every hour, the shadows of which,
-before long, would be once more reflected on their weary faces. Mothers
-were visibly dreaming that they were marrying their daughters, whilst a
-smile hovered about their mouths, revealing their fierce-looking teeth in
-their unconscious abandonment; it was the mania of this drawing-room, a
-furious appetite for sons-in-law, which consumed these worthy middle-class
-mothers to the asthmatic sounds of the piano.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The daughters, who were very weary, were falling asleep, with their heads
-dropping on to their shoulders, forgetting to sit up erect. Octave, who
-had a certain contempt for young ladies, was more interested in Valerie&mdash;she
-looked decidedly ugly in her peculiar yellow silk dress, trimmed with
-black satin&mdash;and feeling ill at ease, yet attracted all the same, his
-gaze kept returning to her; whilst she, with a vague look in her eyes, and
-unnerved by the discordant music, was smiling like a crazy person.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this moment quite a catastrophe occurred. A ring at the bell was heard,
-and a gentleman entered the room without the least regard for what was
-taking place.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! doctor!&rdquo; said Madame Josserand angrily.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Doctor Juillerat made a gesture of apology, and stood stockstill. Berthe,
-at this moment, was executing a little passage with a slow and dreamy
-fingering, which the guests greeted with flattering murmurs. Ah!
-delightful! delicious! Madame Juzeur was almost swooning away, as though
-being tickled. Hortense, who was standing beside her sister, turning the
-pages, was sulkily listening for a ring at the bell amidst the avalanche
-of notes; and, when the doctor entered, she made such a gesture of
-disappointment that she tore one of the pages on the stand. But, suddenly,
-the piano trembled beneath Berthe&rsquo;s weal: fingers, thrumming away like
-hammers; it was the end of the reverie, amidst a deafening uproar of
-clangorous chords.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was a moment of hesitation. The audience was waking up again.. Was
-it finished? Then the compliments burst out on all sides. Adorable! a
-superior talent!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mademoiselle is really a first-rate musician,&rdquo; said Octave, interrupted
-in his observations. &ldquo;No one has ever given me such pleasure.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you really mean it, sir?&rdquo; exclaimed Madame Josserand delighted. &ldquo;She
-does not play badly, I must admit. Well! we have never refused the child
-anything; she is our treasure! She possesses every talent she wished for.
-Ah! sir, if you only knew her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A confused murmur of voices again filled the drawing-room. Berthe very
-calmly received the praise showered upon her, and did not leave the piano,
-but sat waiting till her mother relieved her from fatigue-duty. The latter
-was already speaking to Octave of the surprising manner in which her
-daughter dashed off &ldquo;The Harvesters,&rdquo; a brilliant gallop, when some dull
-and distant thuds created a stir amongst the guests. For several moments
-past there had been violent shocks, as though some one was trying to burst
-a door open. Everybody left off talking, and looked about inquiringly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; Valérie ventured to ask. &ldquo;I heard it before, during the
-finish of the piece.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand had turned quite pale. She had recognised Saturnin&rsquo;s
-blows. Ah! the wretched lunatic! and in her mind&rsquo;s eye she beheld him
-tumbling in amongst the guests. If he continued hammering like that, it
-would be another marriage done for!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is the kitchen door slamming,&rdquo; said she with a constrained smile.
-&ldquo;Adèle never will shut it. Go and sec, Berthe.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young girl had also understood. She rose and disappeared. The noise
-ceased at once, but she did not return immediately. Uncle Bachelard, who
-had scandalously disturbed &ldquo;The Banks of the Oise&rdquo; with reflections
-uttered out loud, finished putting his sister out of countenance by
-calling to Gueulin that he felt awfully bored and was going to have a
-grog. They both returned to the dining-room, banging the door behind them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That dear old Narcisse, he is always original!&rdquo; said Madame Josserand to
-Madame Juzeur and Valérie, between whom she had gone and seated herself.
-&ldquo;His business occupies him so much! You know, he has made almost a hundred
-thousand francs this year!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, at length free, had hastened to rejoin Trublot, who was half
-asleep on the sofa. Near them, a group surrounded Doctor Juillerat, the
-old medical man of the neighbourhood, not over brilliant, but who had
-become in course of time a good practitioner, and who had delivered all
-the mothers in their confinements and had attended all the daughters. He
-made a speciality of women&rsquo;s ailments, which caused him to be in great
-demand of an evening, the husbands all trying to obtain a gratuitous
-consultation in some corner of the drawing-room. Just then, Théophile was
-telling him that Valérie had had another attack the day before; she was
-for ever having a choking fit and complaining of a lump rising in her
-throat; and he, too, was not very well, but his complaint was not the
-same. Then he did nothing but speak of himself, and relate his vexations:
-he had commenced to read for the law, had engaged in manufactures at a
-foundry, and had tried office management at the Mont-de-Piété; then he had
-busied himself with photography, and thought he had found a means of
-making vehicles supply their own motive power; meanwhile, out of kindness,
-he was travelling some piano-flutes, an invention of one of his friends.
-And he complained of his wife: it was her fault if nothing went right at
-home; she was killing him with her perpetual nervous attacks.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do pray give her something, doctor!&rdquo; implored he, coughing and moaning,
-his eyes lit up with hatred, in the querulous rage of his impotency.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot watched him, full of contempt; and he laughed silently as he
-glanced at Octave. Doctor Juillerat uttered vague and calming words: no
-doubt, they would relieve her, the dear lady. At fourteen, she was already
-stifling, in the shop of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin; he had attended her
-for vertigo which always ended by bleeding at the nose; and, as Théophile
-recalled with despair her languid gentleness when a young girl, whilst
-now, fantastic and her temper changing twenty times in a day, she
-absolutely tortured him, the doctor merely shook his head. Marriage did
-not succeed with all women.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; murmured Trublot, &ldquo;a father who has gone off his chump by
-passing thirty years of his life in selling needles and thread, a mother
-who has always had her face covered with pimples, and that in an airless
-hole of old Paris, no one can expect such people to have daughters like
-other folks!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was surprised. He was losing some of his respect for that
-drawing-room which he had entered with a provincial&rsquo;s emotion. Curiosity
-was awakened within him, when he observed Campardon consulting the doctor
-in his turn, but in whispers, like a sedate person desirous of letting no
-one become acquainted with his family mishaps.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;By the way, as you appear to know everything,&rdquo; said Octave to Trublot,
-&ldquo;tell me what it is that Madame Campardon is suffering from. Every one
-puts on a very sad face whenever it is mentioned.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, my dear fellow,&rdquo; replied the young man, &ldquo;she has&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he whispered in Octave&rsquo;s ear. Whilst he listened, the latter&rsquo;s face
-first assumed a smile, and then became very long with a look of profound
-astonishment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is not possible!&rdquo; said he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Trublot gave his word of honour. He knew another lady in the same
-state.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; resumed he, &ldquo;it sometimes happens after a confinement that&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he began to whisper again. Octave, convinced, became quite sad. He who
-had fancied all sorts of things, who had imagined quite a romance, the
-architect occupied elsewhere and drawing him towards his wife to amuse
-her! In any case he now knew that she was well guarded. The young men
-pressed up against each other, in the excitement caused by these feminine
-secrets which they were stirring up, forgetting that they might be
-overheard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Juzeur was just then confiding to Madame Josser-and her impressions
-of Octave. She thought him very becoming, no doubt, but she preferred
-Monsieur Auguste Vabre The latter, standing up in a corner of the
-drawing-room, remained silent, in his insignificance and with his usual
-evening headache.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What surprises me, dear madame, is that you have not thought of him for
-your Berthe. A young man set up in business, who is prudence itself. And
-he is in want of a wife, I know that he is desirous of getting married.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand listened, surprised. She would never herself have thought
-of the linendraper. Madame Juzeur, however, insisted, for in her
-misfortune, she had the mania of working for the happiness of other women,
-which caused her to busy herself with everything relating to the tender
-passions of the house. She affirmed that Auguste never took his eyes off
-Berthe. In short, she invoked her experience of men: Monsieur Mouret would
-never let himself be caught, whilst that good Monsieur Vabre would be very
-easy and very advantageous. But Madame Josserand, weighing the latter with
-a glance, came decidedly to the conclusion that such a son-in-law would
-not be of much use in filling her drawing-room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My daughter detests him,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and I would never oppose the
-dictates of her heart.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A tall thin young lady had just played a fantasia on the &ldquo;Dame Blanche.&rdquo;
-As uncle Bachelard had fallen asleep in the dining-room, Gueulin
-reappeared and imitated the nightingale on his flute. No one listened,
-however, for the story about Bonnaud had spread. Monsieur Josserand was
-quite upset, the fathers held up their arms, the mothers were stifling.
-What! Bonnaud&rsquo;s son-in-law was a clown! Then who could one believe in now?
-and the parents, in their appetites for marriages, suffered regular
-nightmares, like so many distinguished convicts in evening dress. The fact
-was, that Bonnaud had been so delighted at the opportunity of getting rid
-of his daughter that he had not troubled much about references, in spite
-of his rigid prudence of an over-scrupulous general accountant.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma, the tea is served,&rdquo; said Berthe, as she and Adèle opened the
-folding doors.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, whilst the company passed slowly into the dining-room, she went up to
-her mother and murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have had enough of it! He wants me to stay and tell him stories, or he
-threatens to smash everything!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On a grey cloth which was too narrow, was served one of those teas
-laboriously got together, a cake bought at a neighbouring baker&rsquo;s, with
-some mixed sweet biscuits, and some sandwiches on either side. At either
-end of the table quite a luxury of flowers, superb and costly roses,
-withdrew attention from the ancient dust on the biscuits, and the poor
-quality of the butter. The sight caused a commotion, and jealousies were
-kindled: really those Josserands were ruining themselves in trying to
-marry off their daughters. And the guests, having but poorly dined, and
-only thinking of going to bed with their bellies full, casting side
-glances at the bouquets, gorged themselves with weak tea and imprudently
-devoured the hard stale biscuits and the heavy cake. For those persons who
-did not like tea, Adèle handed round some glasses of red currant syrup. It
-was pronounced excellent.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, the uncle was asleep in a corner. They did not wake him, they
-even politely pretended not to see him. A lady talked of the fatigues of
-business. Berthe went from one to another, offering sandwiches, handing
-cups of tea, and asking the men if they would like any more sugar. But she
-was unable to attend to every one, and Madame Josserand was looking for
-her daughter Hortense, when she caught sight of her standing in the middle
-of the deserted drawing-room, talking to a gentleman, of whom one could
-only see the back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes! he has come at last,&rdquo; she permitted, in her anger, to escape
-her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was some whispering. It was that Verdier, who had been living with a
-woman for fifteen years past, whilst waiting to marry Hortense. Every one
-knew the story, the young ladies exchanged glances; but they bit their
-lips, and avoided speaking of it, out of propriety. Octave, being made
-acquainted with it, examined the gentleman&rsquo;s back with interest. Trublot
-knew the mistress, a good girl, a reformed streetwalker, who was better
-now, said he, than the best of wives, taking care of her man, and looking
-after his clothes; and he was full of a fraternal sympathy for her. Whilst
-they were being watched from the dining-room, Hortense was scolding
-Verdier with all the sulkiness of a badly brought up virgin for having
-come so late.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo! red currant syrup!&rdquo; said Trublot, seeing Adèle standing before
-him, a tray in her hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He sniffed it and declined. But, as the servant turned round, a stout
-lady&rsquo;s elbow pushed her against him, and he pinched her back. She smiled,
-and returned to him with the tray.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, thanks,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;By-and-by.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0086.jpg" alt="0086 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-Women were seated round the table, whilst the men were eating, standing up
-behind them. Exclamations were, heard, an enthusiasm, which died away as
-the mouths were filled with food. The gentlemen were appealed to. Madame
-Josserand cried:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes, I was forgetting. Come and look, Monsieur Mouret, you who love
-the arts.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Take care, the water-colour stroke!&rdquo; murmured Trublot, who knew the
-house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was better than a water-colour. As though by chance, a porcelain bowl
-was standing on the table; right at the very bottom of it, surrounded by
-the brand new varnished bronze mounting, Greuze&rsquo;s &ldquo;Young girl with the
-broken Pitcher&rdquo; was painted in light colours, passing from pale lilac to
-faint blue. Berthe smiled in the midst of the praise.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mademoiselle possesses every talent,&rdquo; said Octave with his good-natured
-grace. &ldquo;Oh! the colours are so well blended, and it is very accurate, very
-accurate!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can guarantee that the design is!&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand,
-triumphantly. &ldquo;There is not a hair too many or few. Berthe copied it here,
-from an engraving. There are really such a number of nude subjects at the
-Louvre, and the people there are at times so mixed!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had lowered her voice when giving this last piece of information,
-desirous of letting the young man know that, though her daughter was an
-artist, she did not let that carry her beyond the limits of propriety. She
-probably, however, thought Octave rather cold, she felt that the bowl had
-not met with the success she had anticipated, and she watched him with an
-anxious look, whilst Valérie and Madame Juzeur, who were drinking their
-fourth cup of tea, examined the painting and gave vent to little cries of
-admiration.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are looking at her again,&rdquo; said Trublot to Octave, on seeing him with
-his eyes fixed on Valérie.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; replied he, slightly confused. &ldquo;It is funny, she looks pretty
-just at this moment. A warm woman, evidently. I say, do you think one
-might venture?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Warm, one never knows. It is a peculiar fancy! Anyhow, it would be better
-than marrying the girl.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What girl?&rdquo; exclaimed Octave, forgetting himself. &ldquo;What! you think I am
-going to let myself be hooked&rsquo; Never! My dear fellow, we don&rsquo;t marry at
-Marseilles!&rdquo; Madame Josserand had drawn near. The words came upon her like
-a stab in the heart. Another fruitless campaign, another evening party
-wasted! The blow was such, that she was obliged to lean against a chair,
-as she looked with despair at the now despoiled table, where all that
-remained was a burnt piece of the cake. She had given up counting her
-defeats, but this one should be the last; she took a frightful oath,
-swearing that she would no longer feed persons who came to see her solely
-to gorge. And, upset and exasperated, she glanced round the dining-room,
-seeking into what man&rsquo;s arms she could throw her daughter, when she caught
-sight of Auguste resignedly standing against the wall and not having
-partaken of anything.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just then, Berthe, with a smile on her face, was moving towards Octave,
-with a cup of tea in her hand. She was continuing the campaign, obedient
-to her mother&rsquo;s wishes. But the latter caught her by the arm and called
-her a silly fool under her breath.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Take that cup to Monsieur Vabre, who has been waiting for an hour past,&rdquo;
-said she, graciously and very loud.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, whispering again in her daughter&rsquo;s ear, and giving her another of
-her warlike looks, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be amiable, or you will have me to deal with!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, for a moment put out of countenance, soon recovered herself. It
-often changed thus three times in an evening. She carried the cup to
-Auguste, with the smile which she had commenced for Octave; she was
-amiable, talked of Lyons silks, and did the engaging young person who
-would look very well behind a counter. Auguste&rsquo;s hands trembled a little,
-and he was very red, as he was suffering a good deal from his head that
-evening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Out of politeness, a few persons returned and sat down for some moments in
-the drawing-room. Having fed, they were all going off. When they looked
-for Verdier, he had already taken his departure; and some young ladies,
-greatly put out, only carried away an indistinct view of his back.
-Campardon, without waiting for Octave, retired with the doctor, whom he
-detained on the landing, to ask him if there was really no more hope.
-During the tea, one of the lamps had gone out, emitting a stench of rancid
-oil, and the other lamp, the wick of which was all charred, lit up the
-room with so poor a light that the Vabres themselves rose to leave in
-spite of the attentions with which Madame Josserand overwhelmed them.
-Octave had preceded them into the ante-room, where he had a surprise:
-Trublot, who was looking for his hat, suddenly disappeared. He could only
-have gone off by the passage leading to the kitchen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! wherever has he got to? does he leave by the servants&rsquo; staircase?&rdquo;
-murmured the young man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he did not seek to clear up the mystery. Valérie was there, looking
-for a lace neckerchief. The two brothers, Théophile and Auguste, were
-going downstairs, without troubling themselves about her. Octave, having
-found the neckerchief, handed it to her, with the air of admiration he put
-on when serving the pretty lady customers of &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise.&rdquo; She
-looked at him, and he felt certain that her eyes, on fixing themselves on
-his, had flashed forth flames.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are too kind, sir,&rdquo; said she, simply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Juzeur, who was the last to leave, enveloped them both in a tender
-and discreet smile. And when Octave, highly excited, had reached his cold
-chamber, he looked at himself for an instant in the glass, and he thought
-it worth while to make the attempt!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Madame Josserand was wandering about the deserted room, without
-saying a word, and as though carried away by some gale of wind. She had
-violently closed the piano and turned out the last lamp; then, passing
-into the diningroom, she began to blow out the candles so vigorously that
-the chandelier quite shook. The sight of the despoiled table covered with
-dirty plates and empty cups, increased her rage; and she turned round it,
-casting terrible glances at her daughter Hortense, who, quietly sitting
-down, was devouring the piece of burnt cake.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are putting yourself in a fine state again, mamma,&rdquo; said the latter.
-&ldquo;Is it not going on all right, then? For myself, I am satisfied. He is
-purchasing some chemises for her to enable her to leave.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The mother shrugged her shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? you say that this proves nothing. Very good, only steer your ship as
-well as I steer mine. Here now is a cake which may flatter itself it is a
-precious bad one! They must be a wretched lot to swallow such stuff.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand, who was always worn out by his wife&rsquo;s parties, was
-reposing on a chair; but he was in dread of an encounter, he feared that
-Madame Josserand might drive him before her in her furious promenade; and
-he drew close to Bachelard and Gueulin, who were seated at the table in
-front of Hortense. The uncle, on awaking, had discovered a decanter of
-rum. He was emptying it, and bitterly alluding to the twenty francs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is not for the money,&rdquo; he kept repeating to his nephew, &ldquo;it is the way
-the thing was done. You know how I behave to women: I would give them the
-shirt off my back, but I do not like them to ask me for anything. The
-moment they begin to ask, it annoys me, and I don&rsquo;t even chuck them a
-radish.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as his sister was about to remind him of his promises: &ldquo;Be quiet,
-Eléonore! I know what I have to do for the child. But, you see, when a
-woman asks, it is more than I can stand. I have never been able to keep
-friends with one, have I now, Gueulin? And besides, there is really such
-little respect shown me! Léon has not even deigned to wish me many happy
-returns of the day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand resumed her walk, clinching her fists. It was true, there
-was Léon too, who promised and then disappointed her like the others.
-There was one who would not sacrifice an evening to help to marry off his
-sisters! She had just discovered a sweet biscuit, fallen behind one of the
-flower vases, and was locking it up in a drawer when Berthe, who had gone
-to release Saturnin, brought him back with her. She was quieting him,
-whilst he, haggard and with a mistrustful look in his eyes, was searching
-the corners, with the feverish excitement of a dog that has been long shut
-up.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How stupid he is!&rdquo; said Berthe, &ldquo;he thinks that I have just been married.
-And he is seeking for the husband! Ah! my poor Saturnin, you may seek. I
-tell you that it has come to nothing! You know very well that it never
-comes to anything.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Madame Josserand&rsquo;s rage burst all bounds.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! I swear to you that it sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t come to nothing next time, even if I
-have to tie him to you myself! There is one who shall pay for all the
-others. Yes, yes, Monsieur Josserand, you may stare at me, as though you
-did not understand: the wedding shall take place, and without you, if it
-does not please you. You hear, Berthe! you have only to pick that one up!&rdquo;
-Saturnin appeared not to hear. He was looking under the table. The young
-girl pointed to him; but Madame Josserand made a gesture which seemed to
-imply that he would be got out of the way. And Berthe murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So then it is decidedly to be Monsieur Vabre? Oh! it is all the same to
-me. To think though that not a single sandwich has been saved for me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
-CHAPTER IV.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>S early as the
-morrow, Octave commenced to occupy himself about Valérie. He studied her
-habits, and ascertained the hour when he would have a chance of meeting
-her on the stairs; and he arranged matters so that he could frequently go
-up to his room, taking advantage of his coming home to lunch at the
-Campardons&rsquo;, and leaving &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise&rdquo; for a few minutes under
-some pretext or other. He soon noticed that, every day towards two
-o&rsquo;clock, the young woman, who took her child to the Tuileries gardens,
-passed along the Rue Gaillon. Then he would stand at the door, wait till
-she came, and greet her with one of his handsome shopman&rsquo;s smiles. At each
-of their meetings, Valérie politely inclined her head and passed on; but
-he perceived her dark glance to be full of passionate fire; he found
-encouragement in her ravaged complexion and in the supple swing of her
-gait.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His plan was already formed, the bold plan of a seducer used to cavalierly
-overcoming the virtue of shop-girls. It was simply a question of luring
-Valérie inside his room on the fourth floor; the staircase was always
-silent and deserted, no one would discover them up there; and he laughed
-at the thought of the architect&rsquo;s moral admonitions; for taking a woman
-belonging to the house was not the same as bringing one into it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One thing, however, made Octave uneasy. The passage separated the Pichons&rsquo;
-kitchen from their dining-room, and this obliged them to constantly have
-their door open. At nine o&rsquo;clock in the morning, the husband started off
-for his office, and did not return home until about five in the evening;
-and, on alternate days of the week, he went out again after his dinner to
-do some bookkeeping, from eight to midnight. Besides this, though, the
-young woman, who was very reserved&mdash;almost wildly timid&mdash;would
-push her door to, directly she heard Octave&rsquo;s footsteps. He never caught
-sight of more than her back, which always seemed to be flying away, with
-her light hair done up into a scanty chignon. Through that door kept
-discreetly ajar, he had, up till then, only beheld a small portion of the
-room: sad and clean looking furniture, linen of a dull whiteness in the
-grey light admitted through a window which he could not see, and the
-corner of a child&rsquo;s crib inside an inner room; all the monotonous solitude
-of a wife occupied from morning to night with the recurring cares of a
-clerk&rsquo;s home. Moreover, there was never a sound; the child seemed dumb and
-worn-out like the mother; one scarcely distinguished at times the soft
-murmur of some ballad which the latter would hum for hours together in an
-expiring voice. But Octave was none the less furious with the disdainful
-creature as he called her. She was playing the spy upon him perhaps. In
-any case, Valérie could never come up to him if the Pichons&rsquo; door was thus
-being continually opened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was just beginning to think that things were taking the right course.
-One Sunday when the husband was absent, he had manoeuvred in such a way as
-to be on the first-floor landing at the moment the young woman, wrapped in
-her dressing-gown, was leaving her sister-in-law&rsquo;s to return to her own
-apartments; and she being obliged to speak to him, they had stood some
-minutes exchanging polite remarks. So he was hoping that next time she
-would ask him in. With a woman with such a temperament the rest would
-follow as a matter of course. That evening during dinner, there was some
-talk about Valérie at the Campardons&rsquo;. Octave tried to draw the others
-out. But as Angèle was listening and casting sly glances at Lisa, who was
-handing round some leg of mutton and looking very serious, the parents at
-first did nothing but sing the young woman&rsquo;s praises. Moreover, the
-architect always stood up for the respectability of the house, with the
-vain conviction of a tenant who seemed to obtain from it a regular
-certificate of his own gentility.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! my dear fellow, most respectable people. You saw them at the
-Josserands&rsquo;. The husband is no fool; he is full of ideas, he will end by
-discovering something very grand. As for the wife, she has some style
-about her, as we artists say.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Campardon, who had been rather worse since the day before, and who
-was half reclining, though her illness did not prevent her eating thick
-underdone slices of meat, languidly murmured in her turn:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That poor Monsieur Théophile, he is like me, he drags along. Ah! great
-praise is due to Valérie, for it is not lively always having by one a man
-trembling with fever, and whose infirmity usually makes him quarrelsome
-and unjust.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-During dessert, Octave, seated between the architect and his wife learnt
-more than he asked. They forgot Angèle, they spoke in hints, with glances
-which underlined the double meanings of the words; and, when they were at
-a loss for an expression, they bent towards him one after the other, and
-coarsely whispered the rest of the disclosure in his ear. In short, that
-Théophile was a stupid and impotent person, who deserved to be what his
-wife made him. As for Valérie, she was not worth much, she would have
-behaved just as badly even if her husband had been different, for with
-her, nature had so much the mastery. Moreover, no one was ignorant of the
-fact that, two months after her marriage, in despair at recognising that
-she would never have a child by her husband, and fearing she would lose
-her share of old Vabre&rsquo;s fortune if Théophile happened to die, she had her
-little Camille got for her by a butcher&rsquo;s man of the Rue Sainte-Anne.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Campardon bent down and whispered a last time in Octave&rsquo;s ear:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! you know, my dear fellow, a hysterical woman!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he put into the word all the middle-class wantonness of an indelicacy
-combined with the blobber-lipped smile of a father of a family whose
-imagination, abruptly let loose, revels in licentiousness. The
-conversation then took a different turn, they were speaking of the
-Pichons, and words of praise were not stinted.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! they are indeed worthy people!&rdquo; repeated Madame Campardon.
-&ldquo;Sometimes, when Marie takes her little Lilitte out, I also let her take
-Angèle. And I assure you, Monsieur Mouret, I do not trust my daughter to
-everyone; I must be absolutely certain of the person&rsquo;s morality. You love
-Marie very much, do you not, Angèle?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, mamma,&rdquo; answered the child.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The details continued. It was impossible to find a woman better brought
-up, or according to severer principles. And it was a pleasure to see how
-happy the husband was! Such a nice little home, and so clean, and a couple
-that adored each other, who never said one word louder than another!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Besides, they would not be allowed to remain in the house, if they did
-not behave themselves properly,&rdquo; said the architect gravely, forgetting
-his disclosures about Valérie. &ldquo;We will only have respectable people here.
-On my word of honour! I would give notice, the day that my daughter ran
-the risk of meeting disreputable women on the stairs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That evening, he had secretly arranged to take cousin Gasparine to the
-Opéra-Comique. He therefore went and fetched his hat at once, talking of a
-business matter which would keep him out till very late. Rose though
-probably knew of the arrangement, for Octave heard her murmur, in her
-resigned and maternal voice, when her husband came to kiss her with his
-habitual effusive tenderness:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Amuse yourself well, and do not catch cold on coming out.&rdquo; On the morrow,
-Octave had an idea: it was to become acquainted with Madame Pichon, by
-rendering her a few neighbourly services; in this way, if she ever caught
-Valeric, she would keep her eyes shut. And an opportunity occurred that
-very day. Madame Pichon was in the habit of taking Lilitte, then eighteen
-months old, out in a little basket-work perambulator, which raised
-Monsieur Gourd&rsquo;s ire; the doorkeeper would never permit it to be carried
-up the principal staircase, so that she had to take it up the servants&rsquo;;
-and as the door of her apartment was too narrow, she had to remove the
-wheels every time, which was quite a job. It so happened that that day
-Octave was returning home, just as his neighbour, incommoded by her
-gloves, was giving herself a great deal of trouble to get the nuts off.
-When she felt him standing up behind her, waiting till the passage was
-clear, she quite lost her head, and her hands trembled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But, madame, why do you take all that trouble?&rdquo; asked he at length. &ldquo;It
-would be far simpler to put the perambulator at the end of the passage,
-behind my door.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She did not reply, her excessive timidity kept her squatting there,
-without strength to rise; and, beneath the curtain of her bonnet, he
-beheld a hot blush invade the nape of her neck and her ears. Then he
-insisted:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I assure you, madame, it will not inconvenience me in the least.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Without waiting, he lifted up the perambulator and carried it in his easy
-way. She was obliged to follow him; but she remained so confused, so
-frightened by this important adventure in her uneventful every-day life,
-that she looked on, only able to stutter fragments of sentences.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me! sir, it is too much trouble&mdash;I feel quite ashamed&mdash;you
-will find it very awkward. My husband will be very pleased&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she entered her room and locked herself in, this time hermetically,
-with a sort of shame. Octave thought that she was stupid. The perambulator
-was a great deal in his way for it prevented him opening his door wide,
-and he had to slip into his room sideways. But his neighbour seemed to be
-won over, more especially as Monsieur Gourd consented to authorize the
-obstruction at that end of the passage, thanks to Campardon&rsquo;s influence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Every Sunday, Marie&rsquo;s parents, Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume, came to
-spend the day. On the Sunday following, as Octave was going out, he beheld
-all the family seated taking their coffee, and he was discreetly hastening
-by, when the young woman, whispering quickly in her husband&rsquo;s ear, the
-latter jumped up, saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Excuse me, sir, I am always out, I have not yet had an opportunity of
-thanking you. But I wish to tell you how pleased I was&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave protested. At length he was obliged to give in. Though he had
-already had his coffee, they made him accept another cup. They gave him
-the place of honour, between Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume. Opposite to
-him, on the other side of the round table, Marie was again thrown into one
-of those confused conditions which at any minute, without apparent cause,
-brought all the blood from her heart to her face. He watched her, never
-having seen her at his ease. But, as Trublot said, she was not his fancy:
-she seemed to him wretched and washed out, with her flat face and her thin
-hair, though her features were refined and pretty. When she recovered
-herself a little, she laughed lightly as she again talked of the
-perambulator, about which she found a great deal to say.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Jules, if you had only seen Monsieur Mouret carry it in his arms. Ah
-well! it did not take long!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Pichon again uttered his thanks. He was tall and thin, with a doleful look
-about him, already subdued to the routine of office life, his dull eyes
-full of the apathetic resignation displayed by circus horses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pray say no more about it!&rdquo; Octave ended by observing, &ldquo;it is really not
-worth while. Madame, your coffee is exquisite. I have never drunk any like
-it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She blushed again, and so much that her hands even became quite rosy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not spoil her, sir,&rdquo; said Monsieur Vuillaume gravely, &ldquo;Her coffee is
-good, but there is better. And you see how proud she has become at once!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pride is worth nothing,&rdquo; declared Madame Vuillaume. &ldquo;We have always
-taught her to be modest.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They were both of them little and dried up, very old, and with
-dark-looking countenances; the wife wore a tight black dress, and the
-husband a thin frock-coat, on which only the mark of a big red ribbon was
-to be seen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; resumed the latter, &ldquo;I was decorated at the age of sixty, on the
-day I was pensioned off, after having been for thirty-nine years employed
-at the Ministry of Public Instruction. Well! sir, on that day I dined the
-same as on other days, and did not let pride interfere with any of my
-habits. The Cross was due to me, I knew it. I was simply filled with
-gratitude.&rdquo; His life was perfectly clear, he wished every one to know it.
-After twenty-five years&rsquo; service, he had been promoted to four thousand
-francs. His pension, therefore, was two thousand. But he had had to
-re-engage himself in a subordinate position at fifteen hundred francs, as
-they had had their little Marie late in life when Madame Vuillaume was no
-longer expecting either son or daughter. Now that the child was
-established in life, they were living on the pension, by pinching
-themselves, in the Rue Durantin at Montmartre, where things were cheaper.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am sixty-three,&rdquo; said he, in conclusion, &ldquo;and that is all about it, and
-that is all about it, son-in-law!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Pichon looked at him in a silent and weary way, his eyes fixed on his red
-ribbon. Yes, it would be his own story if luck favoured him. He was the
-last born of a greengrocer who had spent the entire worth of her shop in
-her anxiety to make her son take a degree, just because all the
-neighbourhood said he was very intelligent; and she had died bankrupt
-eight days before his triumph at the Sorbonne. After three years of
-hardships at his uncle&rsquo;s, he had had the unexpected luck of getting a
-berth at the Ministry, which was to lead him to everything, and on the
-strength of which he had already married.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;When one does one&rsquo;s duty, the government does the same,&rdquo; murmured he,
-mechanically reckoning that he still had thirty-six years to wait before
-obtaining the right to wear a piece of red ribbon and to enjoy a pension
-of two thousand francs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he turned towards Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You see, sir, it is the children who are such a heavy weight.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said Madame Vuillaume. &ldquo;If we had had another we should never
-have made both ends meet. Therefore, remember Jules, what I insisted upon
-when I gave you Marie: one child and no more, or else we shall quarrel! It
-is only workpeople who have children like fowls lay eggs, without
-troubling themselves as to what it will cost them. It is true that they
-turn the youngsters out on to the streets, like flocks of animals, which
-make me feel sick when I pass by.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave had looked at Marie, thinking that this delicate subject would make
-her cheeks crimson; but she remained pale, approving her mother&rsquo;s words
-with ingenuous serenity. He was feeling awfully bored, and did not know
-how to retire. In the little cold dining-room these people thus spent
-their afternoon, slowly muttering a few words every five minutes, and
-always about their own affairs. Even dominoes disturbed them too much.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Vuillaume now explained her notions. At the end of a long silence,
-which left all four of them in no way embarrassed as though they had felt
-the necessity of rearranging their ideas, she resumed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You have no child, sir? It will come in time. Ah! it is a responsibility,
-especially for a mother! When my little one was born I was forty-nine,
-sir, an age when luckily one knows how to behave. A boy will get on
-anyhow, but a girl! And I have the consolation of knowing that I have done
-my duty, oh, yes!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, she explained her plan of education, in short sentences. Honesty
-first. No playing on the stairs, the little one always kept at home and
-watched closely, for children think of nothing but evil. The doors and
-windows shut, never any draughts, which bring the wicked things of the
-street with them. Out of doors, never leave go of the child&rsquo;s hand, teach
-it to keep its eyes lowered to avoid seeing anything wrong. With regard to
-religion, it should not be overdone, just sufficient as a moral restraint.
-Then, when she has grown up, engage teachers instead of sending her to
-school, where the innocent ones are corrupted; and assist also at the
-lessons, see that she does not learn what she should not know, hide all
-newspapers of course, and keep the bookcase locked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A young person always knows too much,&rdquo; declared the old lady coming to an
-end.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whilst her mother spoke, Marie kept her eyes vaguely fixed on space. She
-once more beheld the little convent-like lodging, those narrow rooms in
-the Rue Durantin, where she was not even allowed to lean out of a window.
-It was one prolonged childhood, all sorts of prohibitions which she did
-not understand, lines which her mother inked out on their fashion paper,
-the black marks of which made her blush, lessons purified to such an
-extent that even her teachers were embarrassed when she questioned them. A
-very gentle childhood, however, the soft warm growth of a greenhouse, a
-waking dream in which the words uttered by the tongue, and the facts of
-every day life acquired ridiculous meanings. And, even at that hour as she
-gazed vacantly, and was filled with these recollections, a childish smile
-hovered about her lips, as though she had remained in ignorance spite even
-of her marriage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will believe me if you like, sir,&rdquo; said Monsieur Vuillaume, &ldquo;but my
-daughter had not read a single novel when she was past eighteen. Is it not
-true, Marie?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, papa.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have George Sand&rsquo;s works very handsomely bound,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;and in
-spite of her mother&rsquo;s fears I decided, a few months before her marriage,
-to permit her to read &lsquo;André,&rsquo; a perfectly innocent work, full of
-imagination, and which elevates the soul. I am for a liberal education.
-Literature has certainly its rights. The book produced an extraordinary
-effect upon her, sir. She cried all night in her sleep: which proves that
-there is nothing like a pure imagination to understand genius.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is so beautiful!&rdquo; murmured the young woman, her eyes sparkling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Pichon having enunciated this theory: no novels before marriage, and
-as many as one likes afterwards&mdash;Madame Vuillaume shook her head. She
-never read, and was none the worse for it. Then, Marie gently spoke of her
-loneliness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! I sometimes take up a book. Jules chooses them for me at the
-library in the Passage Choiseul. If I only played the piano!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For some time past, Octave had felt the necessity of saying something.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! madame,&rdquo; exclaimed he, &ldquo;you do not play!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A slight awkwardness ensued. The parents talked of a succession of
-unfortunate circumstances, not wishing to admit that they had not been
-willing to incur the expense. Madame Vuillaume, moreover, affirmed, that
-Marie sang in tune from her birth; when she was a child she knew all sorts
-of very pretty ballads, she had only to hear the tunes once to remember
-them; and the mother spoke of a song about Spain, the story of a captive
-weeping for her lover, which the child gave out with an expression that
-would draw tears from the hardest hearts. But Marie remained disconsolate.
-She let this cry escape her, as she extended her hand in the direction of
-the inner room, where her little one was sleeping:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! I swear that Lilitte shall learn to play the piano, even though I
-have to make the greatest sacrifices!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Think first of bringing her up as we brought you up,&rdquo; said Madame
-Vuillaume, severely. &ldquo;I certainly do not condemn music, it develops one&rsquo;s
-feelings. But, above all, watch over your daughter, keep every foul breath
-from her, strive that she may preserve her innocence.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She started off again, giving even more weight to religion, settling the
-number of times to go to confess each month, naming the masses that it was
-absolutely necessary to attend, all from the point of view of propriety.
-Then Octave, unable to bear any more of it, talked of an appointment which
-obliged him to go out. He had a singing in his ears, he felt that this
-conversation would continue in a like manner until the evening. And he
-hastened away, leaving the Vuillaumes and the Pichons telling one another,
-around the same cups of coffee slowly emptied, what they told each other
-every Sunday. As he was bowing a last time, Marie, suddenly and without
-any reason, became scarlet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Ever since that afternoon, Octave hastened past the Pichons&rsquo; door whenever
-he heard the slow tones of Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume on a Sunday.
-Moreover, he was entirely absorbed in his conquest of Valérie. In spite of
-the fiery glances of which he thought himself the object, she maintained
-an inexplicable reserve; and in that he fancied he saw the play of a
-coquette. He even met her one day, as though by chance, in the Tuileries
-gardens, when she quietly began to talk of a storm of the day before;
-which finally convinced him that she was devilish smart. And he was
-constantly on the staircase, watching for an opportunity of entering her
-apartments, decided if necessary upon being positively rude.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Now, every time that he passed her, Marie smiled and blushed. They
-exchanged the greetings of good neighbours. One morning, at lunch-time, as
-he brought her up a letter, which Monsieur Gourd had given him, to avoid
-having to go up the four flights of stairs himself, he found her in a sad
-way: she had seated Lilitte in her chemise on the round table, and was
-trying to dress her again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; asked the young man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, this child!&rdquo; replied she. &ldquo;I foolishly took her things off, because
-she was complaining. And now I don&rsquo;t know what to do, I don&rsquo;t know what to
-do!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He looked at her in surprise. She was turning a skirt over and over,
-looking for the hooks. Then, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You see, her father always helps me to dress her in the morning before he
-goes out. I can never manage it by myself. It bothers me, it annoys me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The child, meanwhile, tired of being in her chemise and frightened by the
-sight of Octave, was struggling and tumbling about on the table.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Take care!&rdquo; cried he, &ldquo;she will fall.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was quite a catastrophe. Marie looked as though she dare not touch her
-child&rsquo;s naked limbs. She continued contemplating her, with the surprise of
-a virgin, amazed at having been able to produce such a thing. However,
-assisted by Octave, who quieted the little one, she succeeded in dressing
-her again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How will you manage when you have a dozen?&rdquo; asked he, laughing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But we shall never have any more!&rdquo; answered she in a fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, he joked: she was wrong to be so sure, a child comes so easily?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No! no!&rdquo; repeated she obstinately. &ldquo;You heard what mamma said, the other
-day. She forbade Jules to have any more. You do not know her; it would
-lead to endless quarrels, if another came.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was amused by the quiet way in which she discussed this question.
-He drew her out, without, however, succeeding in embarrassing her. She,
-moreover, did as her husband wished. No doubt, she loved children; had she
-been allowed to desire others, she would not have said no. And, beneath
-this complacency, which was restricted to her mother&rsquo;s commands, the
-indifference of a woman whose maternity was still slumbering could be
-recognized. Lilitte occupied her like her home, which she looked after
-through duty. When she had washed up the breakfast things and taken the
-child for her walk, she continued her former young girl&rsquo;s existence, of a
-somnolent emptiness, lulled by the vague expectation of a joy which never
-came. Octave having remarked that she must feel very dull, being always
-alone, she seemed surprised: no, she was never dull, the days passed
-somehow or other, without her knowing, when she went to bed, how she had
-employed her time. Then, on Sundays, she sometimes went out with her
-husband; or her parents called, or else she read. If reading did not give
-her headaches, she would have read from morning till night, now that she
-was allowed to read everything.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is really annoying,&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;is that they have scarcely
-anything at the library in the Passage Choiseul. For instance, I wanted
-&lsquo;André,&rsquo; to read it again, because it made me cry so much the other time.
-Well! their copy has been stolen. Besides that, my father refuses to lend
-me his, because Lilitte might tear the pictures.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But,&rdquo; said Octave, &ldquo;my friend Campardon has all George Sand&rsquo;s works. I
-will ask him to lend me &lsquo;André&rsquo; for you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She blushed, and her eyes sparkled. He was really too kind! And, when he
-left her, she stood before Lilitte, her arms hanging down by her sides,
-without an idea in her head, in the attitude which she maintained for
-whole afternoons together. She detested sewing, she did crochet work,
-always the same piece, which she left lying about the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave brought her the book on the morrow, a Sunday. Pichon had had to go
-out, to leave his card on one of his superiors. And, as the young man
-found her dressed for walking, she having just been on some errand in the
-neighbourhood, he asked her out of curiosity whether she had been to
-church, having the idea that she was religious. She answered no. Before
-marrying her off, her mother used to take her regularly to mass. During
-the six first months of her married life, she continued going through
-force of habit, with the constant fear of being too late. Then, she
-scarcely knew why, after missing a few times, she left off going
-altogether. Her husband detested priests, and her mother never even
-mentioned them now. Octave&rsquo;s question, however, disturbed her, as though
-it had awakened within her things that had been long buried beneath the
-idleness of her existence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I must go to Saint-Roch one of these mornings,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;An occupation
-gone always leaves a void behind it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, on the pale face of this late child, born of parents too old, there
-appeared the unhealthy regret of another existence, dreamed of once upon a
-time, in the land of chimeras. She could conceal nothing, everything was
-reflected in her face, beneath her skin, which had the softness and the
-transparency accompanying an attack of chlorosis. Then, she gave way to
-her feelings, and caught hold of Octave&rsquo;s hands with a familiar gesture.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! let me thank you for having brought me this book! Come to-morrow
-after lunch. I will return it to you and tell you the effect that it
-produced on me. It will be amusing, will it not?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On leaving her, Octave thought that she was funny all the same. She was
-beginning to interest him, he contemplated speaking to Pichon so as to
-make him rouse her up a bit; for the little woman, most decidedly, only
-wanted a shaking. It so happened that on the morrow he came across the
-clerk just as he was going off, and he accompanied him part of the way, at
-the risk of being late himself at &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise.&rdquo; But Pichon
-seemed to him to be even more benumbed than his wife, full of manias in
-their early stage, and entirely occupied with the dread of getting mud on
-his shoes in wet weather. He walked on his toes, and continually talked of
-the second head-clerk of his office. Octave, who was only animated by
-fraternal intentions in the matter, ended by leaving him in the Rue
-Saint-Honoré, after advising him to take Marie to the theatre frequently.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Whatever for?&rdquo; asked Pichon in amazement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Because it is good for women. It makes them nicer.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! you really think so?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He promised to give the matter his attention, and crossed the street,
-eyeing the cabs with terror, the only thing in life which worried him
-being the fear of getting splashed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At lunch-time, Octave knocked at the Pichons&rsquo; door for the book. Marie was
-reading, her elbows on the table, her hands buried in her dishevelled
-hair. She had just eaten an egg cooked in a tin pan which was lying in the
-centre of the hastily laid table without any cloth. Lilitte, forgotten on
-the floor, was sleeping with her nose on the pieces of a plate which she
-had no doubt broken.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Marie did not answer at once. She was still wrapped in her morning
-dressing-gown, which, from the buttons being torn off, displayed her
-throat, in all the disorder of a woman just risen from her bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have scarcely read a hundred pages,&rdquo; she ended by saying. &ldquo;My parents
-came yesterday.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she spoke in a painful tone of voice, with a sourness about her mouth.
-When she was younger, she longed to live in the midst of the woods. She
-was for ever dreaming that she met a huntsman who was sounding his horn.
-He approached her and knelt down. This took place in a copse, very far
-away, where roses were blooming like in a park. Then, suddenly, they had
-been married, and afterwards lived there, wandering about till eternity.
-She, very happy, wished for nothing more; he, as tender and submissive as
-a slave, was continually at her feet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I had a talk with your husband this morning,&rdquo; said Octave. &ldquo;You do not go
-out enough, and I have persuaded him to take you to the theatre.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she shook her head, turning pale and shivering. A silence ensued. She
-again beheld the narrow dining-room with its cold light. Jules&rsquo;s image,
-sullen and correct, had suddenly cast a shadow over the huntsman of the
-romance whom she had been imagining, and the sound of whose horn in the
-distance again rang in her ears. Every now and then she listened: perhaps
-he was coming. Her husband had never taken her feet in his hands to kiss
-them; he had never either knelt beside her to tell her he adored her. Yet,
-she loved him well; but she was surprised that love did not contain more
-sweetness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What stifles me, you know,&rdquo; resumed she, returning to the book, &ldquo;is when
-there are passages in novels about the characters telling one another of
-their love.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave then sat down. He wished to laugh, not caring for such sentimental
-trifling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I detest a lot of phrases,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;When two persons adore each other,
-the best thing is to prove it at once.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she did not seem to understand, her eyes remained undimmed. He
-stretched out his hand, slightly touching hers, and leant over so close to
-her to observe a passage in the book that his breath warmed her shoulder
-through the open dressing-gown; yet she remained insensible. Then, he rose
-up, full of a contempt mingled with pity. As he was leaving, she said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I read very slowly, I shall not have finished it before tomorrow. It will
-be amusing to-morrow! Look in during the evening.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He certainly had no designs upon her, and yet he felt indignant. He
-conceived a singular friendship for this young couple who exasperated him,
-they seemed to take life so stupidly. And the idea came to him of
-rendering them a service in spite of them; he would take them out to
-dinner, make them tipsy, and then amuse himself by pushing them into each
-other&rsquo;s arms. When such fits of kindness got hold of him, he, who would
-not have lent ten francs, delighted in flinging his money out of the
-window, to bring two lovers together and give them joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Little Madame Pichon&rsquo;s coldness, however, brought Octave back to the
-ardent Valérie. This one, certainly, would not require to be breathed upon
-twice on the back of her neck. He was advancing in her favour: one day
-that she was going upstairs before him, he had ventured to compliment her
-on her ankle, without her appearing displeased.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length the opportunity so long watched for presented itself. It was the
-evening that Marie had made him promise to look in; they would be alone to
-talk about the novel, as her husband was not to be home till very late.
-But the young man had preferred to go out, seized with fright at the
-thought of this literary treat. However, he had decided to venture upon
-it, towards ten o&rsquo;clock, when he met Valérie&rsquo;s maid on the first-floor
-landing with a scared look on her face, and who said to him:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame has gone into hysterics, my master is out, and every one opposite
-has gone to the theatre. Pray come in. I am all alone, I don&rsquo;t know what
-to do.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Valérie was stretched out in an easy-chair in her bedroom, her limbs
-rigid. The maid had unlaced her stays, and her bosom was heaving. The
-attack subsided almost immediately. She opened her eyes, was surprised to
-see Octave there, and acted moreover as she might have done in the
-presence of a doctor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I must ask you to excuse me, sir,&rdquo; murmured she, her voice still choking.
-&ldquo;I have only had this girl since yesterday, and she lost her head.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her perfect coolness in adjusting her stays and fastening up her dress
-again, embarrassed the young man. He remained standing, swearing not to
-depart thus, yet not daring to sit down. She had sent away the maid, the
-sight of whom seemed to irritate her; then she went to the window to
-breathe the cool outdoor air in long nervous inspirations, her mouth wide
-open. After a short silence, they commenced talking. She had first
-suffered from these attacks when fourteen years old; Doctor Juillerat was
-tired of prescribing for her; sometimes they seized her in the arms,
-sometimes in the loins. However, she was getting used to them; she might
-as well have them as anything else, as no one was really perfectly well.
-And, whilst she talked, with scarcely any life in her limbs, he excited
-himself with looking at her, he thought her provoking in the midst of her
-disorder, with her leaden complexion, her face upset by the attack as
-though by a whole night of love. Behind the black mass of her loose hair,
-which hung over her shoulders, he fancied he beheld the husband&rsquo;s poor and
-beardless head. Then, stretching out his hands, with the unrestrained
-gesture with which he would have seized some harlot, he tried to take hold
-of her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! what now?&rdquo; asked she, in a voice full of surprise.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In her turn she looked at him, whilst her eyes were so cold, her flesh so
-calm, that he felt frozen and let his hands fall with an awkward slowness,
-fully aware of the ridiculousness of his gesture. Then, in a last nervous
-gape which she stifled, she slowly added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! my dear sir, if you only knew!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she shrugged her shoulders, without getting angry, as though crushed
-beneath her contempt for man and her weariness of him. Octave thought she
-was about to have him turned out when he saw her move towards a bell-pull,
-dragging her loosely fastened skirts along with her. But she merely
-required some tea; and she ordered it to be very weak and very hot.
-Altogether nonplussed, he muttered some excuses and made for the door,
-whilst she again reclined in the depths of her easy-chair, with the air of
-a chilly woman greatly in want of sleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the stairs, Octave stopped at each landing. She did not like that then?
-He had just seen how indifferent she was, without desire as without
-indignation, as difficult to deal with as his employer, Madame Hédouin.
-Why did Campardon say she was hysterical? it was absurd to take him in by
-telling him such humbug; for had it not been for the architect&rsquo;s lie, he
-would never have risked such an adventure. And he remained quite
-bewildered by the result, his ideas of hysteria altogether upset, and
-thinking of the different stories that were going about. He recalled
-Trublot&rsquo;s words: one never knows what to expect, with those crazy sort of
-people whose eyes shine like balls of fire.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Up on his landing Octave, annoyed with all women, walked as softly as he
-could. But the Pichons&rsquo; door opened, and he had to resign himself. Marie
-awaited him, standing in the narrow room, which the charred wick of the
-lamp but imperfectly lighted. She had drawn the crib close to the table,
-and Lilitte was sleeping there in the circle of the yellow light. The
-lunch things had probably also served for the dinner, for the closed book
-was lying beside a dirty plate full of radish ends.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Have you finished it?&rdquo; asked Octave, surprised at the young woman&rsquo;s
-silence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She seemed intoxicated, her face was swollen as though she had just
-awakened from a too heavy sleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said she, with an effort. &ldquo;Oh! I have passed the day, my head
-in my hands, buried in it. When the fit takes one, one no longer knows
-where one is. I have such a stiff neck.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, feeling pains all over her, she did not speak any more of the book,
-but was so full of her emotion and of confused dreams engendered by her
-reading, that she was choking. Her ears rang with the distant calls of the
-horn, blown by the huntsman of her romances, in the blue background of
-ideal loves. Then, without the least reason, she said that she had been to
-Saint-Roch that morning to hear the nine o&rsquo;clock mass. She had wept a
-great deal, religion replaced everything.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! I feel better,&rdquo; resumed she, heaving a deep sigh and standing still
-in front of Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A pause ensued. She smiled at him with her candid eyes. He had never
-thought her so useless, with her scanty hair and her washed-out features.
-But as she continued looking at him, she became very pale and almost
-stumbled; and he was obliged to put out his hands to support her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good heavens! good heavens!&rdquo; stuttered she, sobbing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He continued to hold her, feeling considerably embarrassed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You should take a little infusion. You have been reading too much.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it upset me, when on closing the book I found myself alone. How kind
-you are, Monsieur Mouret! I might have hurt myself, had it not been for
-you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He looked for a chair on which to seat her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Shall I light a fire?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, thank you, it would dirty your hands. I have noticed that you always
-wear gloves.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And choking again at the idea, and suddenly feeling faint, she launched an
-awkward kiss into space as though in a dream, a kiss which slightly
-touched the young man&rsquo;s ear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave received this kiss with amazement. The young woman&rsquo;s lips were as
-cold as ice. Then, when she had sank upon his breast in an abandonment of
-her whole frame, he was seized with a sudden desire, and sought to bear
-her into the inner room. But this brusque wooing roused Marie; her womanly
-instinct revolted; she struggled and called upon her mother, forgetting
-her husband, who was shortly to return; and her daughter who was sleeping
-near her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, oh! no, no. It is wrong.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he kept ardently repeating:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No one will ever know&mdash;I shall never tell.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, Monsieur Octave. Do not spoil the happiness I have in knowing you. It
-will do no good I assure you, and I had dreamed things&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he left off speaking, having a revenge to take on woman-kind, and
-saying coarsely to himself: &ldquo;You, at any rate, shall succumb!&rdquo; The door
-had not even been shut, the solemnity of the staircase seemed to ascend in
-the midst of the silence. Lilitte was peacefully sleeping on the pillow of
-her crib.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Marie and Octave rose up, they could find nothing to say to each
-other. She, mechanically, went and looked at her daughter, took up the
-plate, and then laid it down again. He remained silent, a prey to similar
-uneasiness, the adventure had been so unexpected; and he recalled to mind
-how he had fraternally planned to restore the young woman to her husband&rsquo;s
-arms. Feeling the necessity of breaking that intolerable silence he ended
-by murmuring:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You did not shut the door, then?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She glanced out on to the landing, and stammered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That is true, it was open.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her face wore an expression of disgust. The young man too was now thinking
-that after all there was nothing the least funny in this adventure with a
-helpless woman, in the midst of that solitude.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me! the book has fallen on the floor!&rdquo; she continued, picking the
-volume up.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A corner of the cover was broken. That drew them together, and afforded
-some relief. Speech returned to them. Marie appeared quite distressed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was not my fault. You see, I had covered it with paper for fear of
-soiling it. We must have knocked it over, without doing so on purpose.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Was it there then?&rdquo; asked Octave. &ldquo;I did not notice it. Oh! for myself, I
-don&rsquo;t care a bit! But Campardon thinks so much of his books!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They kept passing it from one to the other, trying to put the corner
-straight again. Their fingers touched without a quiver. As they inflected
-on the consequences, they were quite dismayed at the accident which had
-happened to that handsome volume of George Sand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was bound to end badly,&rdquo; concluded Marie, with tears in her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was obliged to console her. He would invent some story, Campardon
-would not eat him. And their uneasiness returned, at the moment of
-separation. They would have liked at least to have said something amiable
-to eaeh other; but the words choked them. Fortunately, a step was heard,
-it was the husband coming upstairs. Octave silently took her in his arms
-again and kissed her in his turn on the mouth. She once more complaisantly
-submitted, her lips iey cold as before. When he had noiselessly regained
-his room, he asked himself, as he took off his overcoat, whatever was it
-that she wanted? Women, he said, were decidedly very peculiar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the morrow, at the Cam pardons&rsquo;, just as lunch was finished, Octave was
-once more explaining that he had clumsily knocked the book over, when
-Marie entered the room. She was going to take Lilitte to the Tuileries
-gardens, and she had called to ask if they would allow Angèle to accompany
-her. And she smiled at Octave, without the least confusion, and glanced in
-her innocent way at the book lying on a chair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, I shall be only too pleased!&rdquo; said Madame Campardon. &ldquo;Angèle, go and
-put your hat on. I have no fear in trusting her with you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Marie, looking very modest, in a simple dress of dark woollen stuff,
-talked of her husband, who had caught a cold the night before, and of the
-price of meat, which would soon prevent people buying it at all. Then,
-when she had left with Angèle, they all leant out of the windows to see
-them depart. Marie gently pushed Lilitte&rsquo;s perambulator along the pavement
-with her gloved hands; whilst Angèle, knowing that they were looking at
-her, walked beside her friend, with her eyes fixed on the ground.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How respectable she looks!&rdquo; exclaimed Madame Campardon. &ldquo;And so gentle!
-so decorous!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, slapping Octave on the shoulder, the architect said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Education is everything in a family, my dear fellow; there is nothing
-like it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0115.jpg" alt="0115 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
-CHAPTER V.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hat evening, there
-was a reception and concert at the Duveyriers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Towards nine o&rsquo;clock, Octave, who had been invited for the first time, was
-just finishing dressing. He was grave, and felt irritated with himself.
-Why had he missed fire with Valérie, a woman so well connected? And Berthe
-Josserand, ought he not to have reflected before refusing her? At the
-moment he was tying his white tie, the thought of Marie Pichon had become
-unbearable to him: five months in Paris, and nothing but that wretched
-adventure! It was as painful to him as a disgrace, for he well saw the
-emptiness and the uselessness of such a connection. And he vowed to
-himself, as he took up his gloves, that he would no longer waste his time
-in such a manner. He was decided to act, as he had at length got into
-society, where opportunities were certainly not wanting.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, at the end of the passage, Marie was watching for him. Pichon not
-being there, he was obliged to go in for a moment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How smart you are!&rdquo; murmured she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They had never been invited to the Duveyriers&rsquo;, and that filled her with
-respect for the first floor drawing-room. Besides, she was jealous of no
-one, she had neither the strength nor the will to be so.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I shall wait for you,&rdquo; resumed she holding up her forehead. &ldquo;D° not come
-up too late; you can tell me how you amused yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave had to deposit a kiss on her hair. Though relations were
-established between them, according to his fancy, whenever a desire or
-want of something to do drew him to her, they did not as yet address each
-other very familiarly. He at length went downstairs; and she, leaning over
-the balustrade, followed him with her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the same minute, quite a drama was enacting at the Josserands&rsquo;. In the
-mind of the mother, the Duveyriers&rsquo; party to which they were going, was to
-decide the question of a marriage between Berthe and Auguste Vabre. The
-latter, who had been vigorously attacked for a fortnight past, still
-hesitated, evidently entertaining doubts with respect to the dowry. So
-Madame Josserand, for the purpose of striking a decisive blow, had written
-to her brother, informing him of the contemplated marriage and reminding
-him of his promises, with the hope that, in his answer, he might say
-something that she could turn to account. And all the family were awaiting
-nine o&rsquo;clock before the dining-room stove, dressed ready to go down, when
-Monsieur Gourd brought up a letter from uncle Bachelard which had been
-forgotten under Madame Gourd&rsquo;s snuff-box since the last delivery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! at last!&rdquo; said Madame Josserand, tearing open the envelope.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The father and the two daughters watched her anxiously as she read. Adèle,
-who had had to dress the ladies, was moving heavily about, clearing the
-table still covered with the dirty crockery from the dinner. But Madame
-Josserand turned ghastly pale.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing! nothing!&rdquo; stuttered she, &ldquo;not a clear sentence! He will see
-later on, at the time of the marriage. And he adds that he loves us very
-much all the same. What a confounded scoundrel!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand in his evening dress sank into a chair. Hortense and
-Berthe also sat down, their legs feeling worn out; and they remained
-there, the one in blue, the other in pink, in their eternal costumes,
-altered once again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have always said,&rdquo; murmured the father, &ldquo;that Bachelard is imposing
-upon us. He will never give a sou.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Standing up in her flaring dress, Madame Josserand was reading the letter
-over again. Then, her anger burst out, &ldquo;Ah! men! men! That one, one would
-think him an idiot, he leads such a life. Well! not a bit of it! Though he
-never seems to be in his right mind, he opens his eye the moment any one
-speaks to him of money. Ah! men! men!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She turned towards her daughters, to whom this lesson was addressed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It has come to the point, you see, that I ask myself why it is you have
-such a mania for getting married. Ah! if you had been worried out of your
-lives by it as I have! Not a fellow who loves you for yourselves and who
-would bring you a fortune without haggling! Millionaire uncles who, after
-having been fed for twenty years, will not even give their nieces a dowry!
-Husbands who are quite incompetent, oh! yes, sir, incompetent!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand bowed his head. Adèle, who was not even listening, was
-quietly finishing clearing the table. But Madame Josserand suddenly turned
-angrily upon her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What are you doing there, spying upon us? Go into your kitchen and see if
-I am there!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she wound up by saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In short, everything for those wretched beings, the men; and for us, not
-even enough to satisfy our hunger. Listen! they are only fit for being
-taken in! Remember my words!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hortense and Berthe nodded their heads, as though deeply penetrated by
-what their mother had been saying. For a long time past she had completely
-convinced them of man&rsquo;s utter inferiority, his unique part in life being
-to marry and to pay. A long silence ensued in the smoky dining-room, where
-the remainder of the things left on the table by Adèle emitted a stuffy
-smell of food. The Josserands, gorgeously arrayed, scattered on different
-chairs and overwhelmed, were forgetting the Duveyriers&rsquo; concert as they
-reflected on the continual deceptions of life From the depths of the
-adjoining chamber, one could hear the snoring of Saturnin, whom they had
-sent to bed early.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length, Berthe spoke:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So it is all up. Shall we take our things off?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, at this, Madame Josserand&rsquo;s energy at once returned to her. Eh? what?
-take their things off! and why pray! were they not respectable people, was
-not an alliance with their family as good as with any other? The marriage
-should take place all the same, she would die rather. And she rapidly
-distributed their parts to each: the two young ladies were instructed to
-be very amiable to Auguste, and not to leave him until he had taken the
-leap; the father received the mission of overcoming old Vabre and
-Duveyrier, by agreeing with everything they said, if his intelligence was
-sufficient to enable him to do such a thing; as for herself, desirous of
-neglecting nothing, she undertook the women, she would know how to get
-them all on her side. Then, collecting her thoughts and casting a last
-glance round the dining-room, as though to make sure that no weapon had
-been forgotten, she put on the terrible look of a man of war about to lead
-his daughters to massacre, and uttered these words in a powerful voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let us go down!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And down they went. In the solemnity of the staircase, Monsieur Josserand
-was full of uneasiness, for he foresaw many disagreeable things for the
-too narrow conscience of a worthy man like himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When they entered, there was already a crush at the Duveyriers&rsquo;.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The enormous grand piano occupied one entire end of the drawing-room, the
-ladies being seated in front of it on rows of chairs, like at the theatre;
-and two dense masses of black coats filled up the doorways leading to the
-dining-room and the parlour. The chandelier and the candelabra, and the
-six lamps standing on side-tables, lit up with a blinding light the white
-and gold room in which the red silk of the furniture and of the hangings
-showed up vividly. It was very warm, the fans produced a breeze at regular
-intervals, impregnated with the penetrating odours of bodices and bare
-shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just at that moment, Madame Duveyrier was taking her seat at the piano.
-With a gesture, Madame Josserand smilingly begged she would not disturb
-herself; and she left her daughters in the midst of the men, as she
-accepted a chair for herself between Valérie and Madame Juzeur. Monsieur
-Josserand had made for the parlour, where the landlord, Monsieur Vabre,
-was dozing at his usual place, in the corner of a sofa. There were also
-Campardon, Théophile and Auguste Vabre, Doctor Juillerat and the Abbé
-Mauduit, forming a group; whilst Trublot and Octave, who had rejoined each
-other, had flown from the music to the end of the dining-room. Near them,
-and behind the stream of black coats, Duveyrier, thin and tall of stature,
-was looking fixedly at his wife seated at the piano waiting for silence.
-In the button-hole of his coat he wore the ribbon of the Legion of Honour
-in a neat little rosette.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hush! hush! silence!&rdquo; murmured some friendly voices.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Clotilde Duveyrier commenced one of Chopin&rsquo;s most difficult
-serenades. Tall and handsome, with magnificent red hair, she had a long
-face, as pale and cold as snow; and, in her grey eyes, music alone kindled
-a flame, an exaggerated passion on which she existed without any other
-desire either of the flesh or the spirit. Duveyrier continued watching
-her; then, after the first bars, a nervous exasperation contracted his
-lips, he drew aside and kept himself at the farthest end of the
-dining-room. On his clean-shaven face, with its pointed chin and eyes all
-askew, large red blotches indicated a bad blood, quite a pollution
-festering just beneath the skin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot, who was examining him, quietly observed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He does not like music.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nor I either,&rdquo; replied Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! the unpleasantness is not the same for you. A man, my dear fellow,
-who was always lucky. Not a whit more intelligent than another, but who
-was helped along by every one. Belonging to an old middle-class family,
-the father an ex-presiding judge, called to the bar the moment he had
-completed his studies, then appointed, deputy judge at Reims, from whence
-he was removed to Paris and made judge of the Court of First Instance,
-decorated, and now a counsellor before he is forty-five years of age. It&rsquo;s
-stiff, isn&rsquo;t it? But he does not like music, that piano has been the bane
-of his life. One cannot have everything.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Clotilde was knocking off the difficult passages with
-extraordinary composure. She handled her piano like a circus-rider her
-horse. Octave&rsquo;s attention was solely occupied with the furious working of
-her hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just look at her fingers,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;it is astonishing! A quarter of an
-hour of that must hurt her immensely.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And they both fell to talking of women without troubling themselves any
-further with what she was playing. Octave felt rather embarrassed on
-catching sight of Valérie: what line of conduct should he pursue? ought he
-to speak to her or pretend not to see her? Trublot affected a great
-disdain: there was still not one to take his fancy; and, as his companion
-protested, looking about, and saying that there was surely one amongst the
-number who would suit him, he learnedly declared:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! take your choice, and you will see afterwards, when the gloss is
-off. Eh? not the one with the feathers over there; nor the blonde in the
-mauve dress; nor that old party, though she at least has the merit of
-being fat. I tell you, my dear fellow, it is absurd to seek for anything
-of the kind in society. Plenty of airs, but not a particle of pleasure!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave smiled. He had to make his position in the world; he could not
-afford merely to consider his taste, like Trublot, whose father was so
-rich. The sight of those rows of women set him musing, he asked himself
-which among them he would have chosen for his fortune and his pleasure, if
-he had been allowed to take one of them away. As he was weighing them with
-a glance, one after the other, he suddenly exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo! my employer&rsquo;s wife! She visits here then?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Did you not know it?&rdquo; asked Trublot. &ldquo;In spite of the difference in their
-ages, Madame Hédouin and Madame Duveyrier are two school friends. They
-used to be inseparable, and were called the polar bears, because they were
-always fully twenty degrees below freezing point. They are some more of
-the ornamental class! Duveyrier would be in a sad plight if he had not
-some other hot water-bottle for his feet in winter time!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Octave had now become serious. For the first time, he beheld Madame
-Hédouin in a low neck dress, her shoulders and arms bare, with her black
-hair plaited in front; and she appeared in the ardent light as the
-realisation of his desires: a superb woman, extremely healthy and calmly
-beautiful, who would be a benefit in every way to a man. Complicated plans
-were already absorbing him, when an awful din awoke him from his dream.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What a relief! it is finished!&rdquo; said Trublot.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Compliments were being showered upon Clotilde. Madame Josserand, who had
-hastened to her, was pressing her hands; whilst the men resumed their
-conversation, and the ladies fanned themselves more vigorously. Duveyrier
-then ventured back into the parlour, where Trublot and Octave followed
-him. Whilst in the midst of the skirts, the former whispered into the
-latter&rsquo;s ear:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Look on your right. The angling has commenced.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was Madame Josserand who was setting Berthe on to Auguste. He had
-imprudently gone up to the ladies to wish them good evening. His head was
-not bothering him so much just then; he merely felt a touch of neuralgia
-in his left eye; but he dreaded the end of the party, for there was going
-to be singing, and nothing was worse for him than this.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Berthe,&rdquo; said the mother, &ldquo;tell Monsieur Vabre of the remedy you copied
-for him out of that book. Oh! it is a sovereign cure for headaches!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, having started the affair, she left them standing beside a window.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;By Jove! they are going in for chemistry!&rdquo; murmured Trublot.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the parlour, Monsieur Josserand, desirous of pleasing his wife, had
-remained seated before Monsieur Vabre, feeling very embarrassed, for the
-old gentleman was asleep, and he did not dare awake him to do the amiable.
-But, when the music ceased, Monsieur Vabre raised his eye-lids. Short and
-stout, and completely bald, save for two tufts of white hair over his
-ears, he had a ruddy face, with thick lips, and round eyes almost at the
-top of his head. Monsieur Josserand having politely inquired after his
-health, the conversation began. The retired notary, whose four or five
-ideas always followed the same order, commenced by making an observation
-about Versailles, where he had practiced during forty years; then, he
-talked of his sons, once more regretting that neither the one nor the
-other had shown himself capable of carrying on the practice, so that he
-had decided to sell it and inhabit Paris; after which, he came to the
-history of his house, the building of which was the romance of his life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have buried three hundred thousand francs in it, sir. A superb
-speculation, my architect said. But to-day I have great difficulty in
-getting the value of my money; more especially as all my children have
-come to live here, with the idea of not paying me, and I should never have
-a quarter&rsquo;s rent, if I did not apply for it myself on the fifteenth.
-Fortunately, I have work to console me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you still work much?&rdquo; asked Monsieur Josserand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Always, always, sir!&rdquo; replied the old gentleman with the energy of
-despair. &ldquo;Work is life to me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he explained his great task. For ten years past, he had every year
-waded through the official catalogue of the exhibition of paintings,
-writing on tickets each painter&rsquo;s name, and the paintings exhibited. He
-spoke of it with an air of weariness and anguish; the whole year scarcely
-gave him sufficient time, the task was often so arduous, that it sometimes
-proved too much for him; for instance, when a lady artist married, and
-then exhibited under her husband&rsquo;s name, how was he to see his way
-clearly?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My work will never be complete, it is that which is killing me,&rdquo; murmured
-he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You take a great interest in art, do you not?&rdquo; resumed Monsieur
-Josserand, to flatter him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Vabre looked at him, full of surprise.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, I do not require to see the paintings. It is merely a matter of
-statistics. There now! I had better go to bed, my head will be all the
-clearer to-morrow. Good-night, sir.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He leant on a walking-stick, which he used even in the house, and
-withdrew, walking painfully, the lower part of his back already succumbing
-to paralysis. Monsieur Josserand felt perplexed: he had not understood
-very clearly, he feared he had not spoken of the tickets with sufficient
-enthusiasm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But a slight hubbub coming from the drawing-room, attracted
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot and Octave again to the door. They saw a lady of about fifty
-enter, very stout, and still handsome, followed by a young man, correctly
-attired, and with a serious air about him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! they arrive together!&rdquo; murmured Trublot. &ldquo;Well! I never!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The new-comers were Madame Dambreville and Léon Josserand. She had
-undertaken to find him a wife; then, whilst waiting, she had kept him for
-her own personal use; and they were now in their full honeymoon,
-attracting general attention in the middle-class drawing-rooms. There were
-whisperings amongst the mothers who had daughters to marry. But Madame
-Duveyrier was advancing to meet Madame Dambreville, who supplied her with
-young men for her choruses. Madame Josserand at once supplanted her, and
-overwhelmed her son&rsquo;s friend with all sorts of attentions, reflecting that
-she might have need of her. Léon coldly exchanged a few words with his
-mother; yet, she was now beginning to think that he would after all be
-able to do something for himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Berthe does not see you,&rdquo; said she to Madame Dambreville. &ldquo;Excuse her,
-she is telling Monsieur Auguste of some remedy.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But they are very well together, we must leave them alone,&rdquo; replied the
-lady, understanding at a glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They both watched Berthe maternally. She had ended by pushing Auguste into
-the recess caused by the window, and was keeping him there with her pretty
-gestures. He was becoming animated, and running the risk of a bad
-headache.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, a group of grave men were talking politics in the parlour.
-There had been a stormy sitting of the Senate the day before, where they
-were discussing the address respecting the Roman question; and Doctor
-Juillerat, whose opinions were atheistical and revolutionary, was
-maintaining that Rome ought to be given to the king of Italy; whilst the
-Abbé Mauduit, one of the heads of the Ultramontane party prophesied the
-most awful catastrophes, if Frenchmen did not shed the last drop of their
-blood in supporting the temporal power of the pope.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps some <i>modus vivendi</i> may be found which will prove
-acceptable to both parties,&rdquo; observed Léon Josserand arriving.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was just then the secretary of a celebrated barrister, one of the
-deputies of the left. During two years, having nothing to expect from his
-parents, whose mediocrity moreover exasperated him, he had frequented the
-students&rsquo; quarter in the guise of a ferocious demagogue. But, since his
-acquaintance with the Dambrevilles, at whose expense he was satisfying his
-first appetites, he was calming down, and drifting into the learned
-Republican.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no agreement is possible,&rdquo; said the priest. &ldquo;The Church could not
-make terms.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, it shall vanish!&rdquo; exclaimed the doctor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, though great friends, having met at the bedsides of all the departing
-souls of the Saint-Roch district, they seemed irreconcilable, the doctor
-thin and nervous, the priest fat and affable. The latter preserved a
-polite smile, even when making his most absolute statements, like a man of
-the world, tolerant for the shortcomings of existence, but also like a
-Catholic who did not intend to abandon any of his religions belief.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The Church vanish, pooh!&rdquo; said Campardon with a furious air, just to be
-well with the priest, from whom he was expecting a large order.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Besides, it was the opinion of almost all the gentlemen: it could not
-vanish. Théophile Vabre, who, coughing and spitting, and shaking with
-fever, dreamed of universal happiness through the organization of a
-humanitarian republic, alone maintained that, perhaps, it would be
-transformed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The priest resumed in his gentle voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The Empire is committing suicide. You will see it is so, next year, when
-the elections come on.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! as for the Empire, we permit you to rid us of it,&rdquo; said the doctor
-boldly. &ldquo;You will be rendering us a precious service.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Duveyrier, who seemed listening profoundly, shook his head. He
-belonged to an Orleanist family; but he owed everything to the Empire and
-considered he ought to defend it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Believe me,&rdquo; he at length declared severely, &ldquo;do not shake the
-foundations of society, or everything will collapse. It is we, as sure as
-fate, who suffer from every catastrophe.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very true!&rdquo; observed Monsieur Josserand, who entertained no opinion, but
-remembered his wife&rsquo;s instructions.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All spoke at once. None of them liked the Empire. Doctor Juillerat
-condemned the Mexican expedition, the Abbé Mauduit blamed the recognition
-of the kingdom of Italy. Yet, Théophile Vabre and even Léon felt anxious
-when Duveyrier threatened them with another &rsquo;93. What was the use of those
-continual revolutions? had not liberty been obtained? and the hatred of
-new ideas, the fear of the people wishing their share, calmed the
-liberalism of those satisfied middle-class men. They all declared,
-however, that they would vote against the Emperor, for he was in need of a
-lesson.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! how they bore me!&rdquo; said Trublot, who had been trying to understand
-for some minutes past.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave persuaded him to return to the ladies. In the recess of the window,
-Berthe was deafening Auguste with her laughter. This big fellow, with his
-pale blood, was forgetting his fear of women, and was becoming quite red,
-beneath the attacks of the lovely girl, whose breath warmed his face.
-Madame Josserand, however, probably considered that the affair was
-dragging, for she looked fixedly at Hortense; and the latter obediently
-went and gave her sister her assistance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Are you quite recovered, madame?&rdquo; Octave dared to ask Valérie. &ldquo;Quite,
-sir, thank you,&rdquo; replied she coolly, as though she remembered nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Juzeur spoke to the young man about some old lace which she wished
-to show him, to have his opinion of it; and he had to promise to look in
-on her for a moment on the morrow. Then, as the Abbé Mauduit re-entered
-the drawing-room, she called him and made him sit beside her with an air
-of rapture.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The conversation had again resumed. The ladies were discussing their
-servants.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! yes,&rdquo; continued Madame Duveyrier, &ldquo;I am satisfied with Clémenee,
-she is a very clean and very active girl.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And your Hippolyte,&rdquo; asked Madamo Josserand, &ldquo;had you not the intention
-of discharging him?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just then, Hippolyte, the footman, was handing round some ices. When he
-had withdrawn, tall, strong, and with a florid complexion, Clotilde
-answered in an embarrassed way:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We have decided to keep him. It is so unpleasant changing! You know,
-servants get used to one another, and I should not like to part with
-Clémence.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand hastened to agree with her, feeling that they were on
-delicate ground. There was some hope of marrying the two together, some
-day; and the Abbé Mauduit, whom the Duveyriers&rsquo; had consulted in the
-matter, slowly wagged his head, as though to dissemble a state of affairs
-known to all the house, but of which no one ever spoke. All the ladies now
-opened their hearts: Valérie had sent another servant about her business
-that very morning, and that made three in a week; Madamo Juzeur had
-decided to take a young girl of fifteen from the foundling hospital so as
-to teach her herself; as for Madame Josserand, her complaints of Adèle
-seemed never likely to cease, a slut, a good-for-nothing, whose goings-on
-were most extraordinary. And they all, feeling languid in the blaze of the
-candles and the perfume of the flowers, sank deeper into these ante-room
-stories, wading through greasy account-books, and taking a delight in
-relating the insolence of a coachman or of a scullery-maid.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Have you seen Julie?&rdquo; abruptly asked Trublot of Octave, in a mysterious
-tone of voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as the other looked at him in amazement, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear fellow, she is stunning. Go and see her. Just pretend you want to
-go somewhere, and then slip into the kitchen. She is stunning!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was speaking of the Duveyriers&rsquo; cook. The ladies&rsquo; conversation was
-taking a turn: Madame Josserand was describing, with overflowing
-admiration, a very modest estate which the Duveyriers had near
-Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and which she had merely caught a glimpse of
-from the train, one day when she was going to Fontainebleau. But Clotilde
-did not like the country, she lived there as little as possible, merely
-during the holidays of her son, Gustave, who was then studying rhetoric at
-the Lycée Bonaparte.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Caroline is right in not wishing to have any children,&rdquo; declared she,
-turning towards Madame Hédouin, seated two chairs away from her. &ldquo;The
-little things interfere with all your habits!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Hédouin said that she liked them a good deal. But she was much too
-busy; her husband was constantly away, and she had everything to look
-after.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, standing up behind her chair, searched with a side glance the
-little curly hairs, as black as ink, on the nape of her neck, and the
-snowy whiteness of her bosom, which&mdash;her dress being open very low&mdash;disappeared
-in a mass of lace. She ended by completely confusing him, as she sat there
-so calm, speaking but rarely and with a continuous smile on her handsome
-face; he had never before seen so superb a creature, even at Marseilles.
-Decidedly, it was worth trying, though it would be a long task.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Having children robs women of their good looks so quickly!&rdquo; said he in
-her ear, leaning over, feeling an absolute necessity to speak to her, and
-yet finding nothing else to say.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She slowly raised her large eyes, and then replied with the simple air
-with which she would give him an order at the warehouse.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! no, Monsieur Octave; with me it is not for that. One must have the
-time, that is all.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Madame Duveyrier intervened. She had merely greeted the young man with
-a slight bow, when Campardon had introduced him to her; and now she was
-examining him, and listening to him, without seeking to hide a sudden
-interest. When she heard him conversing with her friend, she could not
-help asking:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pray, excuse me, sir. What voice have you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He did not understand immediately; but he ended by saying that his was a
-tenor voice. Then, Clotilde became quite enthusiastic: a tenor voice,
-really! what a piece of luck, tenor voices were becoming so rare! For
-instance, for the &ldquo;Blessing of the Daggers,&rdquo; which they were going to sing
-by-and-by, she had never been able to find more than three tenors among
-her acquaintances, when at least five were required. And, suddenly
-excited, her eyes sparkling, she had to restrain herself from going at
-once to the piano to try his voice. He was obliged to promise to come one
-evening for the purpose. Trublot, who was behind him, kept nudging him
-with his elbow, ferociously enjoying himself in his impassibility.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! so you are in for it too!&rdquo; murmured he, when she had moved away. &ldquo;For
-myself, my dear fellow, she first of all thought I had a barytone voice;
-then, seeing that I did not get on all right, she tried me as a tenor; but
-as I went no better, she has decided to use me to-night as bass. I am one
-of the monks.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he had to leave Octave as Madame Duveyrier was just then calling him;
-they were about to sing the chorus, the great piece of the evening. There
-was quite a commotion. Some fifteen men, all amateurs, and all recruited
-among the guests of the house, painfully opened a passage for themselves
-through the groups of ladies, to form in front of the piano. They were
-constantly brought to a standstill, and asked to be excused, in voices
-drowned by the hum of conversations; whilst the fans were moved more
-rapidly in the increasing heat. At length, Madame Duveyrier counted them;
-they were all there, and she distributed them their parts, which she had
-copied out herself. Campardon took the part of Saint-Bris; a young auditor
-attached to the Council of State was intrusted with De Nevers&rsquo;s few bars;
-then came eight nobles, four aldermen, and three monks, represented by
-barristers, clerks, and simple householders. She, who accompanied, had
-also reserved herself the part of Valentine, passionate cries which she
-uttered whilst striking chords; for she would have no lady amongst the
-gentlemen, the resigned troop of whom she directed with all the severity
-of a conductor of an orchestra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The conversations continued, an intolerable noise issued from the parlour
-especially, where the political discussions were evidently entering on a
-disagreeable phase. Then Clotilde, taking a key from her pocket, tapped
-gently with it on the piano. A murmur ran through the room, the voices
-dropped, two streams of black coats again flowed to the doors; and,
-looking over the heads, one beheld for a moment Duveyrier&rsquo;s red spotted
-face wearing an agonised expression. Octave had remained standing behind
-Madame Hédouin, the glances from his lowered eyes losing themselves, in
-the shadows of her bosom, in the depths of the lace. But when the silence
-was almost complete, there was a burst of laughter, and he raised his
-head. It was Berthe, who was amused at some joke of Auguste&rsquo;s; she had
-heated his poor blood to such a point that he was becoming quite jovial.
-Every person in the drawing-room looked at them, mothers became grave,
-members of the family exchanged a glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She has such spirits!&rdquo; murmured Madame Josserand tenderly, in such a way
-as to be heard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hortense, close to her sister, was assisting her with complaisant
-abnegation, joining in her laughter, and pushing her up against the young
-man; whilst the breeze which entered through the partly open window behind
-them gently swelled the big crimson silk curtains.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But a sepulchral voice resounded, all the heads turned towards the piano.
-Campardon, his mouth wide open, his beard spread out in a lyrical blast,
-was giving the first line:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-&ldquo;Yes, we are here assembled by the queen&rsquo;s command.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clotilde at once ran up a scale and down again; then, her eyes fixed on
-the ceiling, a look of fright on her face, she uttered the cry:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-&ldquo;I tremble!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the whole thing followed, the eight barristers, clerks and
-householders, their noses on their parts, in the postures of schoolboys
-humming and hawing over a page of Greek, swore that they were ready to
-deliver France. This opening was a surprise, for the voices were stifled
-beneath the low ceiling, one was unable to catch more than a sort of hum,
-like a noise of passing carts full of paving stones causing the windows to
-rattle. But when Saint-Bris&rsquo;s melodious line: &ldquo;For this holy cause&mdash;&rdquo;
-unrolled the principal theme, some of the ladies recognised it and nodded
-their heads knowingly. All were warming to the work, the nobles shouted
-out at random: &ldquo;We swear it!&mdash;We will follow you!&rdquo; and, each time, it
-was like an explosion which caught the guests full in the chest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They sing too loud,&rdquo; murmured Octave in Madame Hédouin&rsquo;s ear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She did not move. Then, as De Nevers&rsquo;s and Valentine&rsquo;s explanations bored
-him, more especially as the auditor attached to the Council of State was a
-false barytone, he corresponded by signs with Trublot who, whilst awaiting
-the entrance of the monks, drew his attention with a wink to the window
-where Berthe was continuing to keep Auguste imprisoned. Now, they were
-alone, in the fresh breeze from outside; whilst, with her ear pricked up,
-Hortense stood before them, leaning against the curtain and mechanically
-twisting the loop. No one was watching them now, even Madame Josserand and
-Madame Dambreville were looking away, after an instinctive exchange of
-glances.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Clotilde, her fingers on the keys, carried away and unable to
-risk a gesture, stretehed her neck and addressed to the music stand this
-oath intended for De Nevers:
-</p>
-
-<p class="poem">
-&ldquo;Ah! from to-day all my blood is yours!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The aldermen had made their entrance, a substitute, two attorneys, and a
-notary. The quartette was well delivered, the line: &ldquo;For this holy cause&mdash;&rdquo;
-returned, spread out, supported by half the chorus, in a continuous
-expansion. Cam pardon, his mouth opened wider and wider, gave the orders
-for the combat, with a terrible roll of syllables. And, suddenly, the
-chant of the monks burst forth: Trublot sang from his stomach, so as to
-reach the low notes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, having had the curiosity to wateh him singing, was struck with
-surprise, when he again cast his eyes in the direction of the window. As
-though carried away by the chorus, Hortense had unfastened the loop, by a
-movement which might have been unintentional; and, in falling, the big
-crimson silk curtain had completely hidden Auguste and Berthe. They were
-there behind it, leaning against the window bar, without a movement
-betraying their presence. Octave no longer troubled himself about Trublot,
-who was just then blessing the daggers: &ldquo;Holy daggers, by us be blessed.&rdquo;
-Whatever could they be doing behind that curtain? The fugue was
-commencing; to the deep tones of the monks, the chorus replied: &ldquo;Death!
-death! death!&rdquo; And still they did not move; perhaps, feeling the heat too
-much, they were simply watching the cabs pass. But Saint-Bris&rsquo;s melodious
-line had again returned, by degrees all the voices uttered it with the
-whole strength of their lungs, progressively and in a final outburst of
-extraordinary force. It was like a gust of wind burying itself in the
-farthest corners of the too narrow room, scaring the candles, making the
-guests turn pale and their ears bleed. Clotilde furiously strummed away on
-the piano, carrying the gentlemen along with her with a glance; then the
-voices quieted down, almost whispering: &ldquo;At midnight, let there be not a
-sound!&rdquo; and she continued on alone, using the soft pedal, and imitating
-the cadenced and distant footsteps of some departing patrol.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, suddenly, in the midst of this expiring music, of this relief after
-so much uproar, one heard a voice exclaim:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are hurting me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0127.jpg" alt="0127 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-All the heads again turned towards the window. Madame Dambreville kindly
-made herself useful, by going and pulling the curtain aside. And the whole
-drawing-room beheld Auguste looking very confused and Berthe very red,
-still leaning against the bar of the window.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the matter, my treasure?&rdquo; asked Madame Josserand earnestly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing, mamma. Monsieur Auguste knocked my arm with the window. I was so
-warm!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She turned redder still. There were, affected smiles and scandalized
-pouts. Madame Duveyrier, who, for a month past, had been trying to keep
-her brother out of Berthe&rsquo;s way, turned quite pale, more especially as the
-incident had spoilt the effect of her chorus. However, after the first
-moment of surprise, the applause burst forth, she was congratulated, and
-some amiable things were said about the gentlemen. How delightfully they
-had sung! what pains she must have taken to get them to sing so well in
-time! Really, it could not have been rendered better at a theatre. But,
-beneath all this praise, she could not fail to hear the whispering which
-went round the drawing-room: the young girl was too much compromised, a
-marriage had become inevitable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! he is hooked!&rdquo; observed Trublot as he rejoined Octave. &ldquo;What a
-ninny! as though he could not have pinched her whilst we were all
-bellowing! I thought all the while that he was taking advantage of it. You
-know, in drawing-rooms where they go in for singing, one pinches a lady,
-and if she cries out it does not matter, no one hears!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, now very calm, was again laughing, whilst Hortense looked at
-Auguste with her crabbed air of a girl who had taken a diploma; and, in
-their triumph, the mother&rsquo;s lessons reappeared, the undisguised contempt
-for man. All the gentlemen had now invaded the drawing-room, mingling with
-the ladies, and raising their voices. Monsieur Josserand, feeling sick at
-heart through Berthe&rsquo;s adventure, had drawn near his wife. He listened
-uneasily as she thanked Madame Dambreville for all her kindness to their
-son Léon, whom she had most decidedly changed to his advantage. But his
-uneasiness increased when he heard her again refer to her daughters. She
-pretended to converse in low tones with Madame Juzeur, though speaking all
-the while for Valérie and Clotilde, who were standing up close beside her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, yes! her uncle mentioned it in a letter again to-day; Berthe will
-have fifty thousand francs. It is not much, no doubt, but when the money
-is there, and as safe as the bank too!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This lie roused his indignation. He could not help stealthily touching her
-shoulder. She looked at him, forcing him to lower his eyes before the
-resolute expression of her face. Then, as Madame Duveyrier turned round
-quite amiably, she asked her with great concern for news of her father.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! papa has probably gone to bed,&rdquo; replied the young woman, quite won
-over. &ldquo;He works so hard!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand said that Monsieur Vabre had indeed retired, so as to
-have his ideas clear on the morrow. And he mumbled a few words: a most
-remarkable mind, extraordinary faculties; asking himself at the same time
-where he would get that dowry from, and thinking what a figure he would
-cut, the day the marriage contract had to be signed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A great noise of chairs being moved now filled the drawingroom. The ladies
-passed into the dining-room, where the tea was ready served. Madame
-Josserand sailed victoriously in, surrounded by her daughters and the
-Vabre family. Soon only the group of serious men remained amidst the
-vacant chairs. Campardon had button-holed the Abbé Mauduit: there was a
-question of some repairs to the calvary at Saint-Roch. The architect said
-he was quite free, for the diocese of Evreux gave him very little to do.
-All he had in hand there were a pulpit and a heating apparatus, and also
-some new ranges to be placed in the bishop&rsquo;s kitchen, which work his
-inspector was quite competent to see after. Then, the priest promised to
-have the matter definitely settled at the next meeting of the vestry. And
-they both joined the group where Duveyrier was being complimented on a
-judgment, of which he admitted himself to be the author; the presiding
-judge, who was his friend, reserved certain easy and brilliant tasks for
-him, so as to bring him to the fore.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Have you read this last novel?&rdquo; asked Léon, looking through a number of
-the &ldquo;Revue des Deux Mondes,&rdquo; lying on a table. &ldquo;It is well written; but
-there is another adultery, it is really becoming wearisome!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the conversation turned upon morality. Campardon said that there were
-some very virtuous women. All the others agreed with him. Moreover,
-according to the architect, one could always live peacefully at home, if
-one only went the right way about it. Théophile Vabre observed that it
-depended on the woman, without explaining himself farther. They wished to
-have Doctor Juillerat&rsquo;s opinion, but he smiled and begged to be excused:
-he considered virtue was a question of health. During this, Duveyrier had
-remained wrapped in thought.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; murmured he at length, &ldquo;these authors exaggerate; adultery is
-very rare amongst educated people. A woman who comes from a good family,
-has in her soul a flower&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was for grand sentiments, he uttered the word &ldquo;ideal&rdquo; with an emotion
-which brought a mist to his eyes. And he said that the Abbé Mauduit was
-right when the latter spoke of the necessity for the wife and mother
-having some religious belief. The conversation was thus brought back to
-religion and politics, at the point where these gentlemen had previously
-left it. The Church would never disappear, because it was the foundation
-of all families, the same as it was the natural support of governments.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;As a sort of police, perhaps it is,&rdquo; murmured the doctor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier, however, did not like politics being discussed in his house,
-and he contented himself with severely declaring, as he glanced into the
-dining-room where Berthe and Hortense were stuffing Auguste with
-sandwiches:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is one fact, gentlemen, which settles everything: religion
-moralizes marriage.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the same moment, Trublot, seated on a sofa beside Octave, was bending
-towards the latter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;By the way,&rdquo; asked he, &ldquo;would you like me to get you invited to a lady&rsquo;s
-where there is plenty of amusement?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And as his companion desired to know what kind of a lady, he added,
-indicating the counsellor by a sign:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;His mistress.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; said Octave in amazement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot slowly opened and closed his eyes. It was so. When one married a
-woman who was disobliging and disgusted with one&rsquo;s little ailments, and
-who strummed on her piano to the point of making all the dogs of the
-neighbourhood ill, one had to go elsewhere and be made a fool of!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let us moralize marriage, gentlemen, let us moralize marriage,&rdquo; repeated
-Duveyrier in his rigid way, with his inflamed face, where Octave now
-distinguished the foul blood of secret vices.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The gentlemen were being called into the dining-room. The Abbé Mauduit,
-left for a moment alone in the middle of the empty drawing-room, looked
-from a distance at the crush of guests. His fat shrewd face bore an
-expression of sadness. He who heard all those ladies, both old and young,
-at confession, knew them all in the flesh, the same as Doctor Juillerat,
-and he had had to end by merely watching over appearances, like a master
-of the ceremonies throwing the mantle of religion over the corruption of
-the middle classes, trembling at the certainty of a final downfall, the
-day when the canker would appear in all its hideousness. At times, in his
-ardent and sincere faith of a priest, his indignation would overcome him.
-But his smile returned; he took the cup of tea which Berthe came and
-offered him, and conversed a minute with her so as to cover, as it were,
-the scandal of the window, with his sacred character; and he again became
-the man of the world, resigned to merely insisting upon a decent behaviour
-from those sinners, who were escaping him, and who would have compromised
-providence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, these are fine goings-on!&rdquo; murmured Octave, whose respect for the
-house had received another shock.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And seeing Madame Hédouin move towards the ante-room, he wished to reach
-there before her, and followed Trublot, who was also leaving. His
-intention was to see her home. She refused; it was scarcely midnight, and
-she lived so near. Then, a rose having fallen from the bouquet at her
-breast, he picked it up in spite and made a pretence of keeping it. The
-young woman&rsquo;s beautiful eyebrows contracted; then, she said in her quiet
-way:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pray open the door for me, Monsieur Octave. Thank you.&rdquo; When she had
-departed, the young man, who was rather confused, looked for Trublot. But
-Trublot had disappeared, the same as he had done at the Josserands&rsquo;. This
-time also he must have slipped along the passage leading to the kitchen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, greatly put out, went off to his room, his rose in his hand.
-Upstairs, he beheld Marie leaning over the balustrade, at the place where
-he had left her; she had been listening for his footstep, and had hastened
-to see him come up. And when she had made him enter her room, she said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Jules has not yet come home. Did you enjoy yourself? Were there any
-pretty dresses?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she did not give him time to answer. She had caught sight of the rose,
-and was seized with a childish delight. &ldquo;Is that flower for me? You have
-thought of me? Ah! how nice of you! how nice of you!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And her eyes filled with tears, she became quite confused and very red.
-Then Octave, suddenly moved, kissed her tenderly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Towards one o&rsquo;clock, the Josserands withdrew in their turn. Adèle always
-left a candle and some matches on a chair. When the members of the family,
-who had not exchanged a word coming upstairs, had entered the dining-room,
-from whence they had gone down in despair, they suddenly yielded to a mad
-delirious joy, holding each others&rsquo; hands, and dancing like savages round
-the table; the father himself gave way to the contagion, the mother cut
-capers, and the daughters uttered little inarticulate cries; whilst the
-candle in the middle of them showed up their huge shadows careering along
-the walls.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;At last, it is settled!&rdquo; said Madame Josserand, out of breath, dropping
-on to a chair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she jumped up again at once, in a fit of maternal affection, and ran
-and imprinted two big kisses on Berthe&rsquo;s cheeks.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am very pleased, very pleased indeed with you, my darling. You have
-just rewarded me for all my efforts. My poor girl, my poor girl it is true
-then, this time!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her voice was choking, her heart was in her mouth. She succumbed in her
-flaring dress, beneath the weight of a deep and sincere emotion, suddenly
-overwhelmed in the hour of her triumph by the fatigues of her terrible
-campaign which had lasted three winters. Berthe had to swear that she was
-not ill, for her mother thought she looked ill, and was full of little
-attentions, almost insisting on making her a cup of infusion. When the
-young girl was in bed, she went barefooted and carefully tucked her in,
-like in the already distant days of her childhood.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, his head on his pillow, awaited her. She
-blew out the light, and stepped over him, to reach the side of the bed
-nearest the wall. He was wrapped in thought, his uneasiness having
-returned, his conscience all upset by that promise of a dowry of fifty
-thousand francs. And he ventured to mention his scruples aloud. Why make a
-promise, when one has a doubt of being able to keep it? It was not honest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not honest!&rdquo; exclaimed Madame Josserand in the dark, her voice resuming
-its ferocious tone. &ldquo;It is not honest to let your daughters become old
-maids, sir; yes, old maids, such was perhaps your dream! We have plenty of
-time to turn about, we can talk the matter over, we will end by persuading
-her uncle. And understand, sir, that in my family, we have always been
-honest!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
-CHAPTER VI.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the morrow,
-which was a Sunday, Octave with his eyes open lay thinking for an hour in
-the warmth of the sheets. He awoke happy, full of the lucidity of the
-morning laziness. What need was there to hurry? He was very comfortable at
-&ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo; he was there losing all his provincial ways, and
-he had an absolute and profound conviction of one day possessing Madame
-Hédouin, who would make his fortune; but it was an affair that required
-prudence, a long series of gallant tactics, which his voluptuous passion
-for women was already enjoying by anticipation. As he was dozing off
-again, forming his plans, allowing himself six months to succeed in, Marie
-Pichon&rsquo;s image resulted in calming his impatience. A woman like that was a
-real boon; he had merely to stretch out his arm, when he required her, and
-she did not cost him a sou. Whilst awaiting the other, he could certainly
-not hope for anything better. In his half-slumber, this bargain and this
-convenience ended by making him quite tender-hearted: she appeared to him
-very nice and pretty with all her good-nature, and he promised himself he
-would behave better to her in future.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hang it! nine o&rsquo;clock!&rdquo; said he thoroughly roused by his clock striking.
-&ldquo;I must get up.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A fine rain was falling. Then, he made up his mind not to go out all day.
-He would accept an invitation to dine with the Pichons, which he had been
-refusing for some time past, dreading another meeting with the Vuillaumes;
-it would please Marie, he would find opportunities of kissing her behind
-the doors; and, as she was always asking for books, he even thought of
-giving her the surprise of a quantity which he had, stowed away in one of
-his boxes in the loft. When he was dressed, he went down to Monsieur Gourd
-to get the key of this common loft, where all the tenants got rid of
-whatever things were in their way, or which they had no present use for.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Down below, on that damp morning, it was quite stifling in the heated
-staircase, the imitation marble, the tall looking-glasses, and the
-mahogany doors of which were covered with steam. Under the porch, a poorly
-clad woman, mother Pérou, to whom the Gourds paid four sons an hour for
-doing the heavy work of the house, was washing the pavement with plenty of
-water, in face of the icy-cold blast blowing from the courtyard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh! I say old &rsquo;un, just rub that a bit better, that I may not find a spot
-on it!&rdquo; called out Monsieur Gourd, warmly covered up, standing on the
-threshold of his apartment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, Octave arriving, he talked to him of mother Pérou with the brutal
-domineering spirit, the mad mania for revenge, of former servants who were
-being served in their turn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A lazy creature that I can do nothing with! I should like to have seen
-her at the duke&rsquo;s! Ah well! they stood no nonsense there! I&rsquo;ll send her to
-the right about, if she doesn&rsquo;t give me my money&rsquo;s worth! That&rsquo;s all I
-care about. But, excuse me, what is it you require, Monsieur Mouret?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave asked for the key. Then the doorkeeper, without hurrying himself,
-continued to explain to him that, if they had chosen, Madame Gourd and he,
-they might have lived respectably in their own house, at Mort-la-Ville;
-only, Madame Gourd adored Paris, in spite of her swollen legs which
-prevented her getting as far as the pavement; and they were waiting until
-they had made their income into a round sum, their hearts almost breaking
-moreover and drawing back, each time that they felt a desire to go and
-live at last upon the little fortune which they had got together sou by
-sou.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No one had better bother me,&rdquo; concluded he, drawing himself up to the
-full height of his handsome figure. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m no longer working for a living.
-The key of the loft you said, did you not, Monsieur Mouret? Wherever have
-we put the key of the loft, my dear?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Gourd, tenderly seated before a wood fire, the flames of which
-enlivened the big light room, was drinking her coffee and milk out of a
-silver cup. She had no idea; perhaps in one of the drawers. And, whilst
-soaking her toast, she did not take her eyes off the door of the servants&rsquo;
-staircase, at the other end of the courtyard, looking barer and severer
-than ever in the rain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Look out! here she is!&rdquo; said she suddenly, as a woman appeared in the
-doorway.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Gourd at once went and placed himself before his room, so as to
-prevent the woman from passing, whilst she slackened her footsteps with an
-air of anxiety.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We have been on the look-out for her since the first thing this morning,
-Monsieur Mouret,&rdquo; resumed he, in a low voice. &ldquo;Last night we saw her pass.
-You know she comes from that carpenter, upstairs, the only workman we have
-in the house, thank goodness! And if the landlord only listened to me, he
-would let the room remain empty, a servant&rsquo;s room which does not go with
-the other apartments. For one hundred and thirty francs a year, it is
-really not worth while having such a scum in the place&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He interrupted himself, to ask the woman roughly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where do you come from?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;From upstairs, of course!&rdquo; answered she, walking on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, he exploded.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have no women here, understand! The man who brings you has already
-been told so. If you return here to sleep, I&rsquo;ll fetch a policeman, that&rsquo;s
-what I&rsquo;ll do! and we&rsquo;ll see if you&rsquo;ll continue your goings-on in a
-respectable house!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! don&rsquo;t bother me!&rdquo; said the woman. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a right here; I shall come if
-I choose.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she went off, followed by Monsieur Gourd&rsquo;s indignation, as he talked
-of going up to fetch the landlord. Had any one ever heard the like! such a
-creature amongst respectable people, who did not tolerate the least
-immorality! And it seemed as though that little room occupied by a workman
-was the abomination of the house, a bad place, the supervision of which
-offended the doorkeeper&rsquo;s delicacy and spoilt his rest at night.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And that key!&rdquo; Octave ventured to observe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the doorkeeper, furious at a tenant&rsquo;s having been able to see his
-authority disputed, fell on mother Pérou, wishing to show that he knew how
-to make himself obeyed. Did she take him for a fool? She had again
-splashed the door of his room with her broom. If he paid her out of his
-own pocket, it was to save him from dirtying his hands, and yet he
-continually had to clean up after her. Might the devil take him if he was
-ever again charitable enough to have anything more to do with her! she
-could go and croak. Without answering, and bent double by the fatigue of
-this task so much above her strength, the old body continued to scrub with
-her skinny arms, struggling to keep back her tears, so great was the
-respectful fright that broad shouldered gentleman in cap and slippers
-caused her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I remember, my darling,&rdquo; called Madame Gourd from her easy chair in which
-she passed the day, warming her fat person. &ldquo;It was I who hid the key
-under the shirts, so that the servants should not be always going into the
-loft. Come, give it to Monsieur Mouret.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They&rsquo;re a nice lot, too, those servants!&rdquo; murmured Monsieur Gourd, who,
-from his many years in service, had preserved a hatred for menials. &ldquo;Here
-is the key, sir; but I must ask you to bring it me back, for no place can
-be left open, without the servants getting in there and misconducting
-themselves.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-To save crossing the wet courtyard, Octave went back up the principal
-staircase. It was not till he had reached the fourth floor that he gained
-the servants&rsquo; staircase, by taking the door of communication that was
-close to his room. Up above, a long passage was intersected twice at right
-angles, it was painted pale yellow with a dado of darker ochre; and the
-doors of the servants&rsquo; rooms, also yellow, were uniform and placed at
-equal distances, the same as in the corridor of a hospital. An icy chill
-came from the zinc roof. All was bare and clean, with that unsavoury odour
-of the lodgings of the poor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The loft overlooking the courtyard was in the right wing, at the further
-end. But Octave, who had not been there since the day of his arrival, was
-going along the left wing, when, suddenly, a spectacle which he beheld
-inside one of the rooms, by the partly open door, brought him to a
-standstill and filled him with amazement. A gentleman was standing in his
-shirt sleeves before a little looking-glass, tying his white cravat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! you here?&rdquo; said he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was Trublot. He also, at first, stood as one petrified. No one ever
-came near there at that hour. Octave, who had walked in, looked at him in
-that room with its narrow iron bedstead, and its washstand on which a
-little bundle of woman&rsquo;s hair was floating on the soapy water; and,
-perceiving the black dress coat hanging up amongst some aprons, he could
-not restrain himself from saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So you sleep with the cook?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not at all!&rdquo; replied Trublot, in a fright.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, recognising the stupidity of this lie, he began to laugh in his
-convinced and satisfied way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh! she is amusing! I assure you, my dear fellow, it is awfully fine!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whenever he dined out, he escaped from the drawing-room to go and pinch
-the cook before her stove; and when she was willing to trust him with her
-key, he would take his departure before midnight, and go and wait
-patiently for her in her room, seated on a trunk, in his black dress coat
-and white tie. On the morrow, he would leave by the principal staircase
-towards ten o&rsquo;clock, and pass before the doorkeeper as though he had been
-making an early call on one of the tenants. So long as he was pretty
-punctual at the stockbroker&rsquo;s, his father was satisfied. Moreover, he was
-now employed in attending the Bourse from twelve to three. It would
-sometimes happen that on a Sunday he would spend the whole day in some
-servant&rsquo;s bed, happy, lost, his nose buried in the pillow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You, who are going to be so rich some day!&rdquo; said Octave, his face
-retaining an expression of disgust.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Trublot learnedly declared:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear fellow, you don&rsquo;t know what it is; don&rsquo;t speak about it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he stood up for Julie, a tall Burgundian of forty, with her big face
-pitted with small-pox, but who had the body of a superb woman. One might
-disrobe the ladies of the house; they were all sticks, not one would come
-up to her knee. Besides that, she was a girl very well to do; and to prove
-it he opened her drawers, displayed a bonnet, some jewellery, and some
-chemises trimmed with lace, no doubt stolen from Madame Duveyrier. Octave,
-indeed, now noticed a certain coquettishness about the room, some gilded
-cardboard boxes on the drawers, a chintz curtain hung over the skirts, all
-the accessaries of a cook aping the grand lady.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is no denying, you see, that one may own to this one,&rdquo; repeated
-Trublot. &ldquo;If they were only all like her!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this moment a noise came from the servants&rsquo; staircase. It was Adèle
-coming up to wash her ears, Madame Josserand having furiously forbidden
-her to proceed with her work until she had cleaned them with soap. Trublot
-peeped out and recognised her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Shut the door quick!&rdquo; said he very anxiously. &ldquo;Hush! don&rsquo;t say a word!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He pricked up his ear, and listened to Adèle&rsquo;s heavy footstep along the
-passage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You sleep with her too, then?&rdquo; asked Octave, surprised at his paleness,
-and guessing that he dreaded a scene.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But this time Trublot was coward enough to deny.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! no indeed! not with that slut! Whoever do you take me for, my dear
-fellow!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had seated himself on the edge of the bed, and while waiting to finish
-dressing, begged Octave not to move; and both remained perfectly still,
-whilst that filthy Adèle scoured out her ears, which took at least ten
-good minutes. They heard the tempest in her washhand basin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is, however, a room between this one and hers,&rdquo; softly explained
-Trublot, &ldquo;a room that is let to a workman, a carpenter who stinks the
-place out with his onion soup. &lsquo;This morning again, it almost made me
-sick. And you know, in all houses, the partitions of the servants&rsquo; rooms
-are now almost as thin as sheets of paper. I don&rsquo;t understand the
-landlords. It is not very decent, one can scarcely turn in one&rsquo;s bed. I
-think it very inconvenient.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Adèle had gone down again, he resumed his swagger and finished
-dressing himself, making free use of Julie&rsquo;s combs and pomatum. Octave
-having spoken of the loft, he insisted on taking him there, for he knew
-the most out-of-the-way corner of that floor. And, as he passed the doors,
-he familiarly mentioned the servants&rsquo; names: in this bit of a passage,
-after Adèle came Lisa, the Campardons&rsquo; maid, a wench who took her
-pleasures outside; then, Victoire, their cook, a stranded whale, seventy
-years old, the only one he respected; then, Françoise, who had entered
-Madame Valerie&rsquo;s service the day before, and whose trunk would perhaps
-only remain twenty-four hours behind the meagre bed upon whieh such a
-gallop of maids passed, that it was always necessary to make inquiries
-before going there and waiting in the warmth of the blanket; then, a quiet
-couple, in the service of the people on the second floor; then, these
-people&rsquo;s coachman, a strapping fellow of whom he spoke with the jealousy
-of a handsome man, suspecting him of going from door to door and
-noiselessly doing some very fine work; finally, at the other end of the
-passage, there were Clémenee, the Duveyriers&rsquo; maid, whom her neighbour
-Hippolyte, the butler, rejoined matrimonially every night, and little
-Louise, the orphan whom Madame Juzeur had taken on trial, a chit of
-fifteen, who must hear some very strange things in the small hours, if she
-were a light sleeper.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear fellow, don&rsquo;t lock the door, do this to oblige me,&rdquo; said he to
-Octave, when he had helped him to take the books from the box. &ldquo;You see,
-when the loft is open, one can hide there and wait.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, having consented to deceive Monsieur Gourd, returned with Trublot
-to Julie&rsquo;s room. The young man had left his overcoat there. Then it was
-his gloves that he could not find; he shook the skirts, overturned the
-bed-clothes, raised such a dust and such an odour of soiled linen, that
-his companion, half-suffocated, opened the window. It looked on to the
-narrow inner courtyard, which gave light to all the kitchens. And he was
-stretching out his head over this damp well, which exhaled the greasy
-odours of dirty sinks, when a sound of voices made him hastily withdraw.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The little morning gossip,&rdquo; said Trublot on all fours under the bed,
-still searching. &ldquo;Just listen to it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was Lisa, who was leaning out of the window of the Campardons&rsquo; kitchen
-to speak to Julie, two storeys below her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So it&rsquo;s come off then this time?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It seems so,&rdquo; replied Julie, raising her head. &ldquo;You see, she did all she
-could to catch him. Hippolyte came from the drawing-room so disgusted,
-that he almost had an attack of indigestion.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If we were only to do a quarter as much!&rdquo; resumed Lisa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she disappeared a moment, to drink some broth that Victoire brought
-her. They got on well together, nursing each other&rsquo;s vices, the maid
-hiding the cook&rsquo;s drunkenness, and the cook facilitating the maid&rsquo;s
-outings, from which the latter returned quite worn out, her limbs aching,
-her eyelids blue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! my children,&rdquo; said Victoire leaning out in her turn, her elbows
-touching Lisa&rsquo;s, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re young. When you&rsquo;ve seen what I&rsquo;ve seen! At old
-Campardon&rsquo;s, there was a niece who had been well brought up, and who used
-to go and look at the men through the key-hole.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pretty goings-on!&rdquo; murmured Julie with the horrified air of a lady. &ldquo;Had
-I been in the place of the little one of the fourth floor, I&rsquo;d have boxed
-Monsieur Auguste&rsquo;s ears, if he&rsquo;d touched me in the drawing-room! He&rsquo;s a
-fine fellow!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At these words, a shrill laugh issued from Madame Juzeur&rsquo;s kitchen. Lisa,
-who was opposite, searched the room with a glance, and caught sight of
-Louise, whose precocious fifteen years took a delight in listening to the
-other servants.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s spying on us from morning to night, the chit,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;How
-stupid it is to thrust a child upon us! We sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t be able to talk at all
-soon.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She did not finish. The sound of a suddenly opened window chased them
-away. A profound silence ensued. But they ventured to look out again. Eh!
-what! what was the matter? They had thought that Madame Valérie or Madame
-Josserand was going to catch them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No fear!&rdquo; resumed Lisa. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re all soaking in their washhand basins.
-They&rsquo;re too busy with their skins, to think of bothering us. It&rsquo;s the only
-moment in all the day when one can breathe freely.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So it still goes on the same at your place?&rdquo; asked Julie, who was paring
-a carrot.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Still the same,&rdquo; replied Victoire. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all over, she&rsquo;s no more use.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But your big noodle of an architect, what does he do then?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Takes up with the cousin, of course!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They were laughing louder than ever, when they beheld the new servant,
-Françoise, in Madame Valérie&rsquo;s kitchen. It was she who had caused the
-alarm, by opening the window. At first there was an exchange of
-politeness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! it&rsquo;s you, mademoiselle.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, yes, mademoiselle. I am trying to make myself at home, but this
-kitchen is so filthy!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then came scraps of abominable information.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will be more than constant, if you remain there long. The last one
-had her arms all scratched by the child, and madame worked her so hard,
-that we could hear her crying from here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah well! that won&rsquo;t last long with me,&rdquo; said Françoise. &ldquo;Thanks all the
-same, mademoiselle.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is she, your missus?&rdquo; asked Victoire curiously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s just gone off to lunch with a lady.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lisa and Julie stretched their necks, to exchange a glance. They knew her
-well, the lady. A funny sort of lunch, with her head down and her feet in
-the air! Was it possible, to lie to that extent! They did not pity the
-husband, for he deserved more than that; only, it was a disgrace to
-humanity, that a woman should not behave herself better.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There&rsquo;s Dish-cloth!&rdquo; interrupted Lisa, discovering the Josserands&rsquo;
-servant overhead.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then a host of vulgar expressions were bawled from the depths of this
-hole, as obscure and infected as a sewer. All, with their faces raised,
-violently yelled at Adèle, who was their butt, the dirty awkward creature
-on whom the entire household vented their spite.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo! she&rsquo;s washed herself, it&rsquo;s evident!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just throw your fish bones into the yard again, and I&rsquo;ll come up and rub
-&rsquo;em in your face!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Thoroughly bewildered, Adèle looked down upon them from above, her body
-half out of the window. She ended by answering:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Leave me alone, can&rsquo;t you? or I&rsquo;ll water you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the yells and the laughter increased.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You married your young mistress, last night, didn&rsquo;t you! Eh! it&rsquo;s you,
-perhaps, who teach her how to hook the men?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! the heartless thing! she stops in a place where they don&rsquo;t give you
-enough to eat! On my word, it&rsquo;s that which exasperates me against her!
-You&rsquo;re such a fool, you should send &rsquo;em to blazes!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Adèle&rsquo;s eyes filled with tear&rsquo;s.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You can only talk nonsense,&rdquo; stammered she. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not my fault if I don&rsquo;t
-get enough to eat.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the voices swelled, unpleasant words commenced to be exchanged between
-Lisa and the new servant, Françoise, who stuck up for Adèle, when the
-latter, forgetting the abuse heaped upon her, and yielding to party
-instinct, called out: &ldquo;Look out! here&rsquo;s madame!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The silence of the tomb ensued. They all immediately plunged back into
-their kitchens; and from the dark chasm of the narrow courtyard all that
-ascended was the stench of the dirty sinks, like the exhalation of the
-hidden abominations of the families, stirred up there by the spite of the
-hirelings. It was the sewer of the house, the shames of which it carried
-off, whilst the masters were still lounging in their slippers, and the
-grand staircase unfolded the solemnity of its flights, in the silent
-suffocation of the hot air stove. Octave recalled the blast of uproar he
-received full in the face, when entering the Campardons&rsquo; kitchen, the day
-of his arrival.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They are very nice,&rdquo; said he simply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, leaning out in his turn, he looked at the walls, as though annoyed at
-not having at once read through them, behind the imitation marble and the
-mouldings bright with gilding.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where the devil has she stowed them away?&rdquo; repeated Trublot who had
-searched everywhere for his white kid gloves.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length, he discovered them at the bottom of the bed itself, flattened
-out and quite warm. He gave a last glance in the glass, went and hid the
-key in the place agreed upon, right at the end of the passage, underneath
-an old sideboard left behind by some lodger, and led the way downstairs,
-accompanied by Octave. After passing the Josserands&rsquo; door, on the grand
-staircase, he recovered all his assurance, with his overcoat buttoned up
-to the neck to hide his dress clothes and white tie.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good-bye, my dear fellow,&rdquo; said he raising his voice. &ldquo;I felt anxious, so
-I just looked in to hear how the ladies were. They passed a very good
-night. Good-bye.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave watched him with a smile as he went downstairs. Then, as it was
-almost lunch time, he decided to return the key of the loft later on.
-During lunch, at the Campardons&rsquo;, he particularly watched Lisa, who waited
-at table. She had her usual clean and agreeable look; but, in his mind, he
-could still hear her defiling her lips with the most abominable words. His
-knowledge of women had not deceived him with respect to that girl with the
-flat chest. Madame Campardon continued to be enchanted with her, surprised
-that she did not steal anything, which was a fact, for her vice was of a
-different kind. Moreover, the girl seemed very kind to Angèle, and the
-mother entirely trusted her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It so happened, that on that day Angèle disappeared when the dessert was
-placed on the table, and she could be heard laughing in the kitchen.
-Octave ventured to make an observation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are perhaps wrong, to let her be so free with the servants.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! there is not much harm in it,&rdquo; replied Madame Campardon, in her
-languid way. &ldquo;Victoire saw my husband born, and I am so sure of Lisa.
-Besides, how can I help it? the child gives me a headache. I should go
-crazy, if I heard her jumping about me all day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The architect gravely chewed the end of his cigar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is I,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;who make Angèle pass two hours in the kitchen, every
-afternoon. I wish her to become a good housewife. It teaches her a great
-deal. She never goes out, my dear fellow, she is continually under our
-sheltering wing. You will see what a jewel we shall make of her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave said no more. On certain days, Campardon appeared to him to be very
-stupid; and as the architect pressed him to go and hear a great preacher
-at Saint-Roch, he refused, obstinately persisting in remaining indoors.
-After telling Madame Campardon that he would not dine with them that
-evening, he was returning to his room, when he felt the key of the loft in
-his pocket. He preferred to go down and return it at once. But on the
-landing an unexpected sight attracted his attention. The door of the room
-let to the highly distinguished gentleman, whose name was never mentioned,
-happened to be open; and this was quite an event, for it was invariably
-shut, as though barred by the silence of the tomb. His surprise increased:
-he was looking for the gentleman&rsquo;s work-table, and in its stead had
-discovered the corner of a big bedstead, when he beheld a slim lady
-dressed in black, her face hidden behind a thick veil, come out of the
-room, whilst the door closed noiselessly behind her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, his curiosity being roused, he followed the lady downstairs, to find
-out if she were pretty. But she hastened along with an anxious nimbleness,
-scarcely touching the Wilton carpet with her tiny boots, and leaving no
-trace in the house, save a faint odour of verbena. As he reached the
-vestibule, she disappeared, and he only beheld Monsieur Gourd standing
-under the porch, cap in hand and bowing very low to her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the young man had returned the doorkeeper his key, he tried to make
-him talk.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She looks very lady-like,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Who is she?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A lady,&rdquo; answered Monsieur Gourd.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he would add nothing further. But he was more communicative regarding
-the gentleman on the third floor. Oh! a man belonging to the very best
-society, who had taken that room to come and work there quietly, one night
-a week.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! he works!&rdquo; interrupted Octave. &ldquo;What at, pray!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He was kind enough to ask me to keep his room tidy for him,&rdquo; continued
-Monsieur Gourd, without appearing to have heard the question. &ldquo;And, you
-know, he pays money down. Ah! sir, when one waits on people, one soon
-knows whether they are decent He is everything that is most respectable:
-it is easily seen by his clothes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was obliged to jump on one side, and Octave himself had to enter the
-doorkeepers&rsquo; room for a moment, in order to let the carriage of the second
-floor people, who were going to the Bois, pass. The horses pawed the
-ground, held back by the coachman the reins high; and, when the big closed
-landau rolled under the vaulted roof, one beheld through the windows two
-handsome children, whose smiling faces almost hid the vague profiles of
-the father and mother. Monsieur Gourd drew himself up, polite, but cold.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They don&rsquo;t make much noise in the house,&rdquo; observed Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No one makes any noise,&rdquo; said the doorkeeper, curtly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eaeh one lives as he thinks best, that&rsquo;s all. There are people who know
-how to live, and there are people who don&rsquo;t know how to live.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The second floor tenants were judged severely, because they associated
-with no one. They appeared to be well off, however; but the husband wrote
-books, and Monsieur Gourd mistrusted him, curling his lip with contempt;
-more especially as no knew what the family was up to in there, with its
-air of requiring nobody, and being always perfectly happy. It did not seem
-to him natural.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was opening the vestibule door, when Valérie returned. He drew
-politely on one side, to allow her to pass before him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Are you quite well, madame?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, sir, thank you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was out of breath; and as she went upstairs he looked at her muddy
-boots, thinking of that lunch, with her head down and her feet in the air,
-which the servants had spoken of. She had no doubt walked home, not having
-been able to find a cab. A hot unsavoury odour came from her damp skirts.
-Fatigue, a placid weariness of all her flesh, made her at times, in spite
-of herself, place her hand on the balustrade.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What a disagreeable day, is it not, madame?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Frightful, sir. And, with that, the atmosphere is very close.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had reached the first-floor landing, and they bowed to each other.
-But, with a glance, he had seen her haggard face, her eyelids heavy with
-sleep, her unkempt hair beneath the bonnet tied on in haste; and as he
-continued on his way upstairs, he reflected, annoyed and angry. Then, why
-not with him? He was neither more stupid nor uglier than the others.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When before Madame Juzeur&rsquo;s door, on the third floor, his promise of the
-evening before recurred to him. He felt curious about that little woman,
-so discreet and with eyes like periwinkles. He rang. It was Madame Juzeur
-herself who answered the door.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! dear sir, how kind of you! Pray walk in.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was a softness about the lodging which smelt a bit stuffy: carpets
-and hangings everywhere, seats as yielding as down, with the warm
-unruffled atmosphere of a chest padded with old rainbow coloured satin. In
-the drawing-room, to which the double curtains imparted the peacefulness
-of a church, Octave was invited to seat himself on a broad and very low
-sofa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here is the lace,&rdquo; resumed Madame Juzeur, reappearing with a sandal-wood
-box full of finery. &ldquo;I am going to make a present of it to some one, and I
-am curious to know its value.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a piece of very fine old Brussels. Octave examined it carefully,
-and ended by valuing it at three hundred francs. Then, without waiting
-further, as their hands were both handling the lace, he bent forward and
-kissed her fingers, fingers as delicate as a little girl&rsquo;s.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! Monsieur Octave, at my age! you cannot think what you are doing!&rdquo;
-murmured Madame Juzeur, prettily, without getting angry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was thirty-two, and pretended she was quite old. And she made her
-usual allusion to her misfortunes; good heavens! yes, after ten days of
-married bliss, the cruel man had gone off one morning and had not
-returned, nobody had ever discovered why.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You can understand,&rdquo; continued she, gazing up at the ceiling, &ldquo;that all
-is over for the woman who has gone through this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave had kept hold of her little warm hand which seemed to mould itself
-to his, and he continued kissing it lightly, on the fingers. She turned
-her eyes towards him, and gazed upon him with a vague and tender look;
-then, in a maternal way, she uttered this single word:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Child!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Thinking himself encouraged, he wished to take her round the waist, and
-draw her on to the sofa; but she freed herself without any violence, and
-slipped from his arms, laughing, and with an air of thinking that he was
-merely playing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, leave me alone, do not touch me, if you wish that we should remain
-good friends.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, no?&rdquo; asked he in a low voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What, no? What do you mean? Oh! my hand, as much as you like!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had again taken hold of her hand. But, this time, he opened it, kissing
-it on the palm; and, her eyes half closed, treating the little game as a
-joke, she opened her fingers like a cat spreads out its claws to be
-tickled inside its paw. She did not let him go farther than the wrist. The
-first day, a sacred line was drawn there, where harm began.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The priest is coming upstairs,&rdquo; Louise suddenly entered and said, on
-returning from some errand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The orphan had the yellow complexion, and the squashed features of girls
-forgotten on doorsteps. She burst into an idiotic laugh on beholding the
-gentleman eating, as she thought, out of her mistress&rsquo;s hand. But at a
-glance from the latter, she hastened away.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I greatly fear I shall never be able to do anything with her,&rdquo; resumed
-Madame Juzeur. &ldquo;However, it is only right to try and put one of those poor
-souls into the straight path. Come this way, if you please, Monsieur
-Mouret.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She conducted him to the dining-room, so as to leave the drawing-room to
-the priest, whom Louise ushered in. She invited Octave to come again and
-have a chat. It would be a little company for her; she was always so sad
-and so lonely! Happily, religion consoled her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That evening, towards five o&rsquo;clock, Octave experienced a real relief in
-making himself comfortable at the Pichons&rsquo; whilst waiting for dinner. The
-house bewildered him somewhat; after having allowed himself to be
-impressed with a provincial&rsquo;s respect, in the face of the rich solemnity
-of the staircase, he was gliding to an exaggerated contempt for what he
-thought he could guess took place behind the high mahogany doors. He was
-quite at sea; it seemed to him now that those middle-class women, whose
-virtue had frozen him at first, should yield at a sign; and, when one of
-them resisted, he was filled with surprise and rancour.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Marie blushed with joy on seeing him place the pile of books which he had
-fetched for her in the morning on the sideboard. She kept saying, &ldquo;How
-nice of you, Monsieur Octave! Oh! thank you, thank you! And how kind to
-come early! Will you have a glass of sugar and water with some cognac? It
-assists the appetite.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He accepted, just to please her. Everything appeared pleasant to him, even
-Pichon and the Vuillaumes, who conversed round the table, slowly mumbling
-over again their usual Sunday conversation. Marie, now and again, ran to
-the kitchen, where she was cooking a boned shoulder of mutton; and he
-dared in a chaffing way to follow her, seizing hold of her before the
-stove, and kissing her on the nape of her neck. She, without a cry and
-without a start, turned round and kissed him in her turn on the mouth,
-with lips which were always cold. This coolness seemed delicious to the
-young man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, and your new Minister?&rdquo; asked he of Pichon, on returning into the
-room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the clerk gave a start. Ah! there was going to be a new Minister of
-Public Instruction! He knew nothing of it; no one ever troubled about that
-at the Ministry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The weather is so bad!&rdquo; he abruptly remarked. &ldquo;It is quite impossible to
-keep one&rsquo;s trousers clean!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Vuillaume talked of a girl at Batignolles who had gone to the bad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will scarcely believe me, sir,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;She had been exceedingly
-well brought up; but she felt so bored at her parents&rsquo;, that she had twice
-tried to throw herself into the street. It is incredible!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They should have put bars on the windows,&rdquo; said Monsieur Vuillaume
-simply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The dinner was delightful. This kind of conversation lasted all the time
-around the modest board lighted by a little lamp. Pichon and Monsieur
-Vuillaume, having got on to the staff of the Ministry, did nothing but
-talk of head-clerks and second head-clerks; the father-in-law obstinately
-alluded to those of his time, then recollected that they were dead;
-whilst, on his side, the son-in-law continued to speak of the new ones, in
-the midst of an inextricable confusion of names. The two men, however, as
-well as Madame Vuillaume, agreed on one point: fat Chavignat, he who had
-such an ugly wife, had gone in for a great deal too many children. It was
-absurd for a man of his position. And Octave smiled, feeling happy and at
-his ease; he had not spent such an agreeable evening for a long time; he
-even ended by blaming Chavignat with conviction. Marie quieted him with
-her clear, innocent look, devoid of emotion at seeing him seated beside
-her husband, helping them both according to their tastes, with her rather
-tired air of passive obedience.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Punctually at ten o&rsquo;clock, the Vuillaumes rose to take their departure.
-Pichon put on his hat. Every Sunday he saw them to the omnibus. Out of
-deference, he had got into the habit about the time of his marriage, and
-the Vuillaumes would have been deeply offended had he now tried to give it
-up. All three made for the Rue de Richelieu, then walked slowly up it,
-searching with a glance the Batignolles omnibuses which kept passing full,
-so that Pichon often went thus as far as Montmartre; for he would never
-have thought of leaving his father and mother-in-law before seeing them
-into an omnibus. As they could not walk fast, it took him close upon two
-hours to go there and back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They exchanged some friendly handshakes on the landing. Octave, on
-returning to the room with Marie, said quietly, &ldquo;It rains; Jules will not
-get back before midnight.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as Lilitte had been put to bed early, he at once took Marie on his
-knees, and drank the rest of the coffee with her out of the same cup, like
-a husband glad at having got rid of his guests and at finding himself
-again in the quiet of his home, excited by a little family gathering, and
-able to kiss his wife at his case, with the doors closed. A pleasant
-warmth filled the narrow room, where some frosted eggs had left an odour
-of vanilla. He was gently kissing the young woman under the chin, when
-some one knocked. Marie did not even give a start of affright. It was
-young Josserand, he who was a bit cracked. Whenever he could escape from
-the apartment opposite, he would come in this way to chat with her,
-attracted by her gentleness; and they both got on well together, remaining
-ten minutes at a time without speaking, exchanging at distant intervals
-phrases which had no connection with each other. Octave, very much put
-out, remained silent.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve some people there,&rdquo; stuttered Saturnin. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care a hang for
-their not letting me dine with them! So I took the lock off and bolted. It
-serves them right.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They will be anxious; you ought to go back,&rdquo; said Marie, who noticed
-Octave&rsquo;s impatience.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the idiot laughed with delight. Then, with his embarrassed speech, he
-related what took place in his home. He seemed to come each time for the
-sake of thus relieving his memory.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Papa worked all night again. Mamma slapped Berthe. I say, when people get
-married, does it hurt?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as Marie did not reply, becoming excited, he continued: &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t go
-to the country; I won&rsquo;t. If they only touch her, I&rsquo;ll strangle them; it&rsquo;s
-easy to do in the night, when they&rsquo;re asleep. The palm of her hand is as
-soft as note-paper. But, you know, the other is a beast of a girl&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He recommenced, got more muddled still, and did not succeed in expressing
-what he had come to say. Marie, at length, made him return to his parents,
-without his even having noticed Octave&rsquo;s presence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the latter, through fear of being again disturbed, wanted to take the
-young woman into his own room. But she refused, her cheeks suddenly
-becoming scarlet He, not understanding this bashfulness, said that they
-would be sure to hear Jules coming up, and that she would have time to
-slip into her room; and as he drew her along, she became quite angry, with
-the indignation of a woman to whom violence is being offered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, not in your room, never! It would be too wrong. Let us remain here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she ran to the farthest end of her room. Octave was still on the
-landing, surprised at this unexpected resistance, when the sounds of a
-violent altercation ascended from the courtyard. Really, everything seemed
-to be against him, he would have done better to have gone off to bed. Such
-an uproar was so unusual at that late hour, that he ended by opening a
-window, to hear what was going on. Monsieur Gourd, down below, was
-shouting out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I tell you, you shall not pass! The landlord has been sent for. He will
-come and turn you out himself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! turn me out!&rdquo; replied a thick voice. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t I pay my rent? Pass,
-Amélie, and if the gentleman touches you, we&rsquo;ll have something to laugh
-at!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the workman from upstairs, who had returned with the woman sent
-away in the morning. Octave leant out; but, in the black hole of the
-courtyard, he could only distinguish some big moving shadows in a ray of
-gaslight from the vestibule.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Monsieur Vabre! Monsieur Vabre!&rdquo; called the doorkeeper in urgent tones,
-as the carpenter shoved him aside. &ldquo;Quick, quick, she is coming in!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In spite of her poor legs, Madame Gourd had gone to fetch the landlord,
-who was just then at work on his great task. He was coming down. Octave
-could hear him furiously repeating:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is scandalous! it is disgraceful! I will never allow such a thing in
-my house!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, addressing the workman, whom his presence seemed at first to
-intimidate:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Send that woman away, at once, at once. You hear me! we will have no
-women brought to the house.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But she&rsquo;s my wife!&rdquo; replied the workman in a scared way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She is out at service, she comes once a month, when her people allow her
-to. What a fuss! It isn&rsquo;t you who&rsquo;ll prevent me sleeping with my wife, I
-suppose!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At these words, the doorkeeper and the landlord quite lost their heads.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I give you notice to quit,&rdquo; stuttered Monsieur Vabre. &ldquo;And, in the
-meantime, I forbid you to take my premises for what they are not. Gourd,
-turn that creature out on to the pavement. Yes, sir, I don&rsquo;t like bad
-jokes. When a person is married, he should say so. Hold your tongue, do
-not give me any more of your rudeness!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The carpenter, who was a jolly fellow, and who had no doubt had a drop too
-much wine, ended by bursting out laughing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s damned funny all the same. However, as the gentleman objects, you&rsquo;d
-better return home, Amélie. We&rsquo;ll wait till some other time. By Jove! I
-accept your notice with pleasure! I wouldn&rsquo;t stop in such a hole on any
-account! There are some pretty goings-on in it, one comes across some rare
-filth. You won&rsquo;t have women brought here, but you tolerate, on every
-floor, well-dressed strumpets who lead fine lives behind the doors! You
-set of muffs! you swells!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Amélie had gone off so as not to cause her old man any more annoyance; and
-he, jolly, and without anger, continued his chaff. During this time,
-Monsieur Gourd protected Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s retreat, permitting himself to
-make a few remarks out loud. What a dirty set the lower classes were! One
-workman in a house was sufficient to pollute it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave closed the window. But, just as he was returning to Marie, an
-individual who was lightly gliding along the passage, knocked up against
-him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! it&rsquo;s you again!&rdquo; said he recognising Trublot.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The latter remained a second taken aback. Then, he wished to explain his
-presence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it is I. I dined at the Josserands&rsquo;, and I&rsquo;m going&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave felt disgusted.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What, with that slut Adèle? You declared it was not so.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Trublot assumed all his swagger, saying with an air of intense
-satisfaction:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I assure you, my dear fellow, it&rsquo;s awfully fine. She has such a skin,
-you&rsquo;ve no idea what a skin!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he railed against the workman, who had almost been the cause of his
-being caught on the servants&rsquo; staircase, and all his dirty fuss about
-women. He had been obliged to come round by the grand staircase. And, as
-he made off, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Remember, it is next Thursday that I am going to take you to see
-Duveyrier&rsquo;s mistress. We will dine together.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The house resumed it&rsquo;s peacefulness, lapsing into that religious silence
-which seemed to issue from its chaste alcoves. Octave had rejoined Marie
-in the inner chamber at the side of the conjugal couch, where she was
-arranging the pillows. Upstairs, the chair being littered with the
-washhand basin and an old pair of shoes, Trublot sat down on Adèle&rsquo;s
-narrow bed, and waited in his dress clothes and his white tie. When he
-recognised Julie&rsquo;s step as she came up to bed, he held his breath, having
-a constant dread of women&rsquo;s quarrels. At length Adèle appeared. She was in
-a temper, and went for him at once.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I say, you! you might treat me a bit better, when I wait at table!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How, treat you better?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why of course you don&rsquo;t even look at me, you never say if you please,
-when you ask for bread. For instance, this evening when I handed round the
-veal, you had a way of disowning me. I&rsquo;ve had enough of it, look you! All
-the house badgers me with its nonsense. It&rsquo;s too much, if you&rsquo;re going to
-join the others!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whilst this was taking place, the workman in the next room, not yet
-sobered, talked to himself in so loud a voice that every one on that
-landing could hear him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! it&rsquo;s funny all the same, that a fellow can&rsquo;t sleep with his wife!
-No woman allowed in the house, you fussy old idiot! Just go now and poke
-your nose into all the rooms, and see what you&rsquo;ll see?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
-CHAPTER VII.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or a fortnight
-past, with the view of getting uncle Bachelard to give Berthe a dowry, the
-Josserands had been inviting him to dinner almost every evening, in spite
-of his offensive habits.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the marriage was announced to him, he had contented himself with
-giving his niece a gentle pat on the cheek, saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! you are going to get married! Ah! that&rsquo;s very nice, little girl!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he remained deaf to all allusions, exaggerating his air of a silly old
-boozer who got drunk on liquors, the moment money was mentioned before
-him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand had the idea to invite him one evening together with
-Auguste, the bridegroom elect. Perhaps the sight of the young man would
-decide him. The step was heroical, for the family did not like exhibiting
-the uncle, always fearing that he would give people a bad impression of
-them. He had, however, behaved pretty well; his waistcoat alone had a big
-syrup stain, which it had obtained no doubt in some café. But when his
-sister questioned him, after Auguste had taken his departure, and asked
-him what he thought of the young fellow, he answered without involving
-himself:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Charming, charming.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This would never do. It was a pressing matter. Therefore, Madame Josserand
-determined to plainly place the position of affairs before him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;As we are by ourselves,&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;we may as well take advantage of
-it. Leave us, my darlings; we want to have some talk with your uncle. You,
-Berthe, just look after Saturnin, and see that he does not take the lock
-off the door again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saturnin, ever since they had been busy about his sister&rsquo;s marriage,
-hiding everything from him, had taken to wandering about the rooms, an
-anxious look in his eyes, and scenting that there was something up; and he
-imagined most diabolical things which gave the family awful frights.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have obtained every information,&rdquo; said the mother, when she had shut
-herself in with the father and the uncle. &ldquo;This is the position of the
-Vabres.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she went into long details of figures. Old Vabre had brought half a
-million with him from Versailles. If the house had cost him three hundred
-thousand francs, he had two hundred thousand left, which, during the
-twelve years that had past had been producing interest. Moreover, he
-received each year twenty-two thousand francs in rent; and, as he lived
-with the Duveyriers, scarcely spending anything at all, he must
-consequently be altogether worth five or six hundred thousand francs,
-besides the house. Thus, there were some very handsome expectations on
-that side.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Has he no vices, then?&rdquo; asked uncle Bachelard. &ldquo;I thought he speculated
-at the Bourse.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Madame Josserand cried out. Such a quiet old gentleman, and occupied
-on a such a great task! That one, at least, had shown himself capable of
-putting a fortune by; and she smiled bitterly as she looked at her
-husband, who bowed his head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As for Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s three children, Auguste, Clotilde and Théophile,
-they had each had a hundred thousand francs on their mother&rsquo;s death.
-Théophile, after some ruinous enterprises, was living as best he could on
-the crumbs of this inheritance. Clotilde, with no other passion than her
-piano, had probably invested her share. And Auguste had purchased the
-business on the ground floor and gone in for the silk trade with his
-hundred thousand francs, which he had long kept in reserve.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And the old fellow naturally gives nothing to his children when they
-marry,&rdquo; observed the uncle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Well! he did not much like giving, that was a fact which was unfortunately
-indisputable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; declared Bachelard, &ldquo;it is always hard on the parents. Dowries are
-never really paid.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let us return to Auguste,&rdquo; continued Madame Josserand. &ldquo;I have told you
-his expectations, and the only danger comes from the Duveyriers, whom
-Berthe will do well to watch very closely, if she enters the family. At
-the present moment, Auguste, after purchasing the business for sixty
-thousand francs, has started with the other forty thousand. Only, the sum
-is not sufficient; besides which, he is single, and requires a wife; that
-is why he wishes to marry. Berthe is pretty, he already sees her in his
-counting-house; and as for the dowry, fifty thousand francs are a
-respectable sum which has decided him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Uncle Bachelard did not so much as blink his eyes. He ended by saying, in
-a tender-hearted way, that he had dreamed of something better. And he
-commenced to pick the future husband to pieces: a charming fellow,
-certainly; but too old, a great deal too old, thirty-three years and over;
-besides which, always ill, his face distorted by neuralgia; in short, a
-sorry object, not near lively enough for trade.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Have you another?&rdquo; asked Madame Josserand, whose patience was wearing
-out. &ldquo;I searched all Paris before finding him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-However, she did not deceive herself much. She too picked him to pieces.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! he is not a phoenix, in fact I think him a bit of a fool. Besides
-which, I mistrust those men who have never had any youth and who do not
-risk a stride in life without thinking about it for years beforehand. On
-leaving college, where his headaches prevented him completing his studies,
-he remained for fifteen years a mere clerk before daring to touch his
-hundred thousand francs, the interest of which, it seems, his father was
-cheating him out of all the time. No, no, he is not up to much.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand, who until then had kept silent, ventured an
-observation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But, my dear, why insist so obstinately on this marriage? If the young
-man&rsquo;s health is so bad&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! it is not bad health that need prevent it,&rdquo; interrupted Bachelard.
-&ldquo;Berthe would find no difficulty in marrying again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;However, if he is incapable,&rdquo; resumed the father, &ldquo;if he is likely to
-make our daughter unhappy&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Unhappy!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand. &ldquo;Say at once that I throw my child at
-the head of the first-comer! We are among ourselves, we discuss him: he is
-this, he is that, not young, not handsome, not intelligent. We just talk
-the matter over, do we not? it is but natural. Only, he is very well, we
-shall never find a better; and, shall I tell you? it is a most unexpected
-match for Berthe. I was about to give up all hope, on my word of honor!&rdquo;
-She rose to her feet. Monsieur Josserand, reduced to silence, pushed back
-his chair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have only one fear,&rdquo; continued she, making a resolute stand before her
-brother, &ldquo;and that is that he may break it off if he is not paid the dowry
-on the day the contract is to be signed. It is easy to understand, he is
-in want of money&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But at this moment a hot breathing, which she heard behind her, caused her
-to turn round. Saturnin was there, passing his head round the partly
-opened door, his eyes glaring like a wolf&rsquo;s as he listened to what was
-being said. And it created quite a panic, for he had stolen a spit from
-the kitchen, to spit the geese, said he. Uncle Bachelard, feeling very
-uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking, availed himself of the
-general alarm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t disturb yourselves,&rdquo; cried he, from the ante-room. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m off, I&rsquo;ve
-an appointment at midnight, with one of my customers, who&rsquo;s come specially
-from Brazil.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When they had succeeded in getting Saturnin to bed, Madame Josserand,
-exasperated, declared that it was impossible to keep him any longer. He
-would end by doing some one an injury, if he was not shut up in a
-madhouse. Life was unbearable with him always to be kept in hiding. His
-sisters would never get married, so long as he was there to disgust and
-frighten people.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wait a bit longer,&rdquo; murmured Monsieur Josserand, whose heart bled at the
-thought of this separation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; declared the mother, &ldquo;I do not want him to spit me in the end! I
-had brought my brother to the point, I was about to get him to do
-something. Never mind! we will go with Berthe to-morrow to his own place,
-and we will see if he will have the cheek to escape from his promises.
-Besides, Berthe owes her godfather a visit. It is only proper.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the morrow, all three, the mother, the father, and the daughter, paid
-an official visit to the uncle&rsquo;s warehouses, which occupied the basement
-and the ground floor of an enormous house in the Rue d&rsquo;Enghien.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo! you here!&rdquo; said he, greatly annoyed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he received them in a little closet, from which he watched his men
-through a window.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have brought Berthe to see you,&rdquo; explained Madame Josserand. &ldquo;She knows
-what she owes you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, when the young girl, after kissing her uncle, had, on a glance from
-her mother, returned to look at the goods in the courtyard, the latter
-resolutely broached the subject.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen, Narcisse; this is how we are situated. Counting on your kindness
-of heart and on your promises, I have engaged to give a dowry of fifty
-thousand francs. If I do not give it, the marriage will be broken off. It
-would be a disgrace, things having gone as far as they have. You cannot
-leave us in such an embarrassing position.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But a vacant look had come into Bachelard&rsquo;s eyes, and he stuttered, as
-though very drunk:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? what? you&rsquo;ve promised. You should never promise; it&rsquo;s a bad thing to
-promise.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He pleaded poverty. For instance, he had bought a whole stock of
-horsehair, thinking that the price of horsehair would go up; but not at
-all; the price had fallen lower still, and he had been obliged to dispatch
-them at a loss. And he pounced on his books, opened his ledgers, and
-insisted on showing the invoices, it was ruination.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; Monsieur Josserand ended by saying, completely out of
-patience. &ldquo;I know your business; you make no end of money, and you would
-be rolling in wealth if you did not squander it in the way you do. I ask
-you for nothing myself. It was Eléonore who persisted in applying to you.
-But allow me to tell you, Bachelard, that you have been fooling us. Every
-Saturday for fifteen years past, when I come to look over your books for
-you, you are forever promising me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The uncle interrupted him, and violently slapped himself on the chest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I promise? impossible! No, no; let me alone, you&rsquo;ll see. I don&rsquo;t like
-being asked, it annoys me&mdash;it makes me ill. You&rsquo;ll see one day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand herself could get nothing further out of him. He shook
-their hands, wiped away a tear, talked of his soul and of his love for the
-family, imploring them not to worry him any more, and swearing before
-heaven that they would never repent it. He knew his duty; he would perform
-it to the uttermost. Later on, Berthe would know how her uncle loved her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And what about the dotal insurance,&rdquo; asked he, in his natural tone of
-voice, &ldquo;the fifty thousand francs you had insured the little one for?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand shrugged her shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It has been dead and buried for fourteen years past. You have been told
-twenty times already that when the fourth premium fell due, we were unable
-to pay the two thousand francs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That doesn&rsquo;t matter,&rdquo; murmured he, with a wink, &ldquo;the thing is to talk of
-this insurance to the family, and then get time for paying the dowry. One
-never pays a dowry.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand rose indignantly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! that is all you can find to say?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the uncle mistook his meaning, and went on to show that it was quite a
-usual thing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Never, I tell you I One gives something on account, and then merely pays
-the interest. Look at Monsieur Vabre himself. Did our father ever pay you
-Eléonore&rsquo;s dowry? why, no, of course not. Every one sticks to his money;
-its only natural!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In short, you advise me to commit a most abominable action!&rdquo; cried
-Monsieur Josserand. &ldquo;I should lie; it would be a forgery to produce the
-policy of that insurance&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand stopped him. The idea suggested by her brother had
-rendered her grave. She was surprised she had not thought of it herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me! how excited you become, my dear. Narcisse has not told you to
-forge anything.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; murmured the uncle. &ldquo;There is no occasion to show any
-documents.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is simply a question of gaining time,&rdquo; continued she. &ldquo;Promise the
-dowry, we shall always manage to give it later on.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the worthy man&rsquo;s conscience spoke out. No! he refused; he would not
-again venture on such a precipice. They were always taking advantage of
-his complacency, to get him to agree little by little to things which
-afterward made him ill, so deeply did they wound his feelings. As he had
-no dowry to give, he could not promise one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard was strumming on the little window with his fingers, and
-whistling a march, as though to show his great contempt for such scruples.
-Madame Josserand had listened to her husband, her face all pale with an
-anger which had been slowly rousing, and which suddenly exploded.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! sir, as this is how you look at it, this marriage shall take place.
-It was my daughter&rsquo;s last chance. I will cut my hand off sooner than she
-will lose it. So much the worse for the others! One becomes capable of
-anything at last.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So, madame, you would commit murder to get your daughter married?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She rose to her full height.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; said she furiously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she smiled. The uncle had to quell the storm. What was the use of
-wrangling? It was far better to agree together. And, still trembling from
-the quarrel, bewildered and worn out, Monsieur Josserand ended by
-promising to talk the matter over with Duveyrier, on whom everything
-depended, according to Madame Josserand. Only to get hold of the counselor
-when he was in good humor, the uncle offered to put his brother-in-law in
-the way of meeting him at a house where he could refuse nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is merely to be an interview,&rdquo; declared Monsieur Josserand, still
-struggling. &ldquo;I swear that I will not enter into any engagements.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course, of course,&rdquo; said Bachelard. &ldquo;Eléonore does not wish you to do
-anything dishonorable.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe just then returned. She had seen some boxes of preserved fruits,
-and, after some lively caresses, she tried to get one given her. But the
-uncle&rsquo;s speech again became thick; impossible, they were counted, and had
-to leave that very evening for Saint-Petersburg. He slowly got them in the
-direction of the street, whilst his sister lingered before the activity of
-the vast warehouses, full to the rafters with every imaginable commodity,
-suffering from the sight of that fortune made by a man without any
-principles, and bitterly comparing it with her husband&rsquo;s incapable
-honesty.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! to-morrow night, then, toward nine o&rsquo;clock, at the Café de
-Mulhouse,&rdquo; said Bachelard outside, as he shook Monsieur Josserand&rsquo;s hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It so happened that, on the morrow, Octave and Trublot, who had dined
-together before going to see Clarisse, Duveyrier&rsquo;s mistress, entered the
-Café de Mulhouse, so as not to call too early, although she lived in the
-Rue de la Cerisaie, which was some distance off. It was scarcely eight
-o&rsquo;clock. As they entered, the sound of a violent quarrel attracted them to
-a rather out-of-the-way room at the end. And there they beheld Bachelard
-already drunk, enormous in size, and his cheeks flaring red, having an
-altercation with a little gentleman, pale and quarrelsome.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You have again spat in my beer!&rdquo; roared he in his voice of thunder. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
-not stand it, sir!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go to blazes, do you hear? or I&rsquo;ll give you a thrashing!&rdquo; said the little
-man, standing on the tips of his toes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Bachelard raised his voice very provokingly, without drawing back an
-inch.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you think proper, sir! As you please!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the other having with a blow knocked in his hat, which he always wore
-swaggeringly on the side of his head, even in the cafés, he repeated more
-energetically still:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;As you please, sir! If you think proper!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, after picking up his hat, he sat himself down with a superb air, and
-called to the waiter:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Alfred, change my beer!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave and Trublot, greatly astonished, had caught sight of Gueulin seated
-at the uncle&rsquo;s table, his back against the wall, smoking with a
-tranquillity amounting to indifference. As they questioned him on the
-cause of the quarrel.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; replied he, watching the smoke ascend from his cigar.
-&ldquo;Always a lot of rot! Oh! a mania for getting his head punched! He never
-retreats.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard shook hands with the new-comers. He adored young people. When he
-heard that that they were going to call on Clarisse, he was delighted, for
-he himself was going there with Gueulin; only he had to wait for his
-brother-in-law, Josserand, whom he had an appointment with. And he filled
-the little room with the sounds of his voice, covering the table with
-every drink imaginable for the benefit of his young friends, with the
-insane prodigality of a man who does not care what he spends when out on
-pleasure. Illformed, with his teeth too new and his nose in a blaze
-beneath his short, snow-white hair, he talked familiarly to the waiters
-and thoroughly tired them out, and made himself unbearable to his
-neighbors to such a point that the landlord came twice to beg him to
-leave, if he could not keep quiet. The night before, he had been turned
-out of the Café de Madrid.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But a girl having put in an appearance, and then gone away, after walking
-round the room with a wearied air, Octave began to talk of women. This set
-Bachelard off again. Women had cost him too much money; he flattered
-himself that he had had the best in Paris. In his business, one never
-bargained about such things; just to show that one had something to fall
-back upon. Now he was giving all that up, he wished to be loved. And, in
-presence of this bawler chucking bank notes about, Octave thought with
-surprise of the uncle who exaggerated his stuttering drunkenness to escape
-the family extortions.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t boast, uncle,&rdquo; said Gueulin. &ldquo;One can always have more women than
-one wants.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, you silly fool, why do you never have any?&rdquo; asked Bachelard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin contemptuously shrugged his shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why? Listen! Only yesterday I dined with a friend and his mistress. The
-mistress at once began to kick me under the table. It was an opportunity,
-wasn&rsquo;t it? Well! when she asked me to see her home, I made off, and I
-haven&rsquo;t been near her since. Oh! I don&rsquo;t deny that, for the time being, it
-might have been very agreeable. But afterward, afterward, uncle! Perhaps
-one of those women a fellow can never get rid of. I&rsquo;m not such a fool!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot nodded his head approvingly, for he also had renounced women of
-society, through a dread of the troublesome morrows. And Gueulin, coming
-out of his shell, continued to give examples. One day in the train, a
-superb brunette, whom he did not know, had fallen asleep on his shoulder;
-but he had thought twice, what would he have done with her on arriving at
-the station? Another day, after a wedding, he had found a neighbor&rsquo;s wife
-in his room, eh? that was rather cool; and he would have made a fool of
-himself had it not been for the idea that afterward she would have wanted
-him to keep her in boots.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Opportunities, uncle!&rdquo; said he, coming to an end, &ldquo;no one has such
-opportunities as I! But I keep myself in check. Every one, moreover, does
-the same; one is afraid of what may follow. Were it not for that, it
-would, of course, be very pleasant! Good morning! good evening! one would
-see nothing else in the streets.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard, becoming wrapped in thought, was no longer listening to him.
-His bluster had calmed down, his eyes were wet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you are very good,&rdquo; said he suddenly, &ldquo;I will show you something.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, after paying, he led them out. Octave reminded him of old Josserand.
-That did not matter, they would come back for him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, after leaving the room, the uncle, casting a furious glance around,
-stole the sugar left by a customer on a neighboring table.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Follow me,&rdquo; said he, when he was outside. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s close by.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He walked along, grave and thoughtful, without uttering a word. He drew up
-before a door in the Rue Saint-Marc. The three young men were about to
-follow him, when he appeared to give way to a sudden hesitation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, let us go off, I won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But they cried out at this. Was he trying to make fools of them?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! Gueulin mustn&rsquo;t come up, nor you either, Monsieur Trublot. You&rsquo;re
-not nice enough, you respect nothing, you&rsquo;d joke. Come, Monsieur Octave,
-you&rsquo;re a serious sort of fellow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He made Octave walk up before him, whilst the other two laughed, and
-called to him from the pavement to give their compliments to the ladies.
-On reaching the fourth floor, he knocked, and an old woman opened the
-door.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! it&rsquo;s you, Monsieur Narcisse? Fifi did not expect you this evening,&rdquo;
-said she, with a smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was fat, with the calm, white face of a nun. In the narrow dining-room
-into which she ushered them, a tall, fair young girl, pretty and simple
-looking, was embroidering an altar cloth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good day, uncle,&rdquo; said she, rising to offer her forehead to Bachelard&rsquo;s
-thick, trembling lips.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the latter had introduced Monsieur Octave Mouret, a distinguished
-young man whom he counted amongst his friends, the two women curtesied in
-an old-fashioned way, and then they all seated themselves round the table,
-lighted by a petroleum lamp. It was like a quiet country home, two
-regulated existences, out of sight of all, and living upon next to
-nothing. As the room overlooked an inner courtyard, one could not even
-hear the sound of the passing vehicles.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whilst Bachelard paternally questioned the child on her feelings and her
-occupations since the night before, the aunt, Mademoiselle Menu, at once
-began to tell Octave their history, with the familiarity of a worthy woman
-who thinks she has nothing to hide.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, sir, I came from Villeneuve, near Lille. I am well known to
-Messieurs Mardienne Frères, in the Rue Saint-Sulpice, where I worked as an
-embroiderer for thirty years. Then, a cousin having left me a house in our
-part of the country, I was lucky enough to let it as a life interest at a
-thousand francs a year, sir, to people who thought they would bury me on
-the morrow, and who are nicely punished for their wicked idea, for I am
-still alive, in spite of my seventy-five years.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She laughed, displaying teeth as white as a young girl&rsquo;s.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I was doing nothing, my eyes being quite worn put,&rdquo; continued she, &ldquo;when
-my niece, Fanny, came to me. Her father, Captain Menu, had died without
-leaving a sou, and no other relation, sir. So, I at once took the child
-away from her school, and made an embroiderer out of her&mdash;a very
-unprofitable craft; but what could be done? whether that, or something
-else, women always have to starve. Fortunately, she met Monsieur Narcisse.
-Now, I can die happy.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, her hands clasped on her stomach, in her inaction of an old workwoman
-who has sworn never again to touch a needle, she looked tenderly at
-Bachelard and Fifi with tearful eyes. The old man was just then saying to
-the child:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really, you thought of me! And what did you think?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fifi raised her limpid eyes, without ceasing to draw her golden thread.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, that you were a good friend, and that I loved you very much.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had scarcely looked at Octave, as though indifferent to the youth of
-so handsome a fellow. Yet he smiled on her, surprised, and moved by her
-gracefulness, not knowing what to think; whilst the aunt, who had grown
-old in a celibacy and a chastity which had cost her nothing, continued,
-lowering her voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I might have married her, might I not? A workman would have beaten her, a
-clerk would have given her no end of children. It is better far that she
-should behave well with Monsieur Narcisse, who looks a very worthy man.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, raising her voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! Monsieur Narcisse, it will not have been my fault if she does not
-please you. I am always telling her: do all you can to please him, show
-yourself grateful. It is but natural, I am so thankful to know that she is
-at last provided for. It is so difficult to get a young girl settled in
-life, when one has no friends!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Octave abandoned himself to the happy simplicity of this home. In the
-still atmosphere of the room floated an odor of fruit. Fifi&rsquo;s needle, as
-it pierced the silk, alone made a slight monotonous noise, like the
-ticking of a little clock, which might have regulated the placidity of the
-uncle&rsquo;s amours. Moreover, the old maid was honesty itself; she lived on
-the thousand francs of her income, never touching Fifi&rsquo;s money, which the
-latter spent as she chose. Her scruples yielded only to white wine and
-chestnuts, which her niece occasionally treated her to, after opening the
-money box in which she collected four sou pieces, given as medals by her
-good friend.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My little duck,&rdquo; at length said Bachelard, rising, &ldquo;we have business to
-attend to. Good-bye till to-morrow. Now, mind you are very good.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He kissed her on the forehead. Then, after looking at her with emotion, he
-said to Octave:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You may kiss her too, she is a mere child.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0165.jpg" alt="0165 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-The young man pressed his lips to her fair skin. She smiled, she was very
-modest; however, it was merely like a family gathering, he had never seen
-such sober-minded people. The uncle was going off, when he re-entered the
-room, exclaiming:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I was forgetting, I&rsquo;ve a little present.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, turning out his pocket, he gave Fifi the sugar which he had just
-stolen at the café. She thanked him very heartily, and, as she crunched up
-a piece, she became quite red with pleasure. Then, becoming bolder, she
-asked:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you not happen to have some four sou pieces?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard searched his pockets without result. Octave had one, which the
-young girl accepted as a memorial. She did not accompany them to the door,
-no doubt out of propriety; and they heard her drawing her needle, having
-at once resumed her altar cloth, whilst Mademoiselle Menu saw them to the
-landing, with her good old woman&rsquo;s amiability.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? it&rsquo;s worth seeing,&rdquo; said uncle Bachelard, stopping on the stairs.
-&ldquo;You know, it doesn&rsquo;t cost me five louis a month. I&rsquo;ve had enough of the
-hussies who almost devoured me. On my word! what I required was a heart.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, as Octave laughed, he became mistrustful.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a decent fellow; you won&rsquo;t take advantage of what I have shown
-you. Not a word to Gueulin, you swear it on your honor? I am waiting till
-he is worthy of her to show her to him. An angel, my dear fellow! No
-matter what is said, virtue is good: it refreshes one. I have always gone
-in for the ideal.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His old drunkard&rsquo;s voice trembled; tears swelled his heavy eyelids. Down
-below, Trublot chaffed, pretending to take the number of the house, whilst
-Gueulin shrugged his shoulders, asking Octave, who was astounded, what he
-thought of the little thing. Whenever the uncle&rsquo;s feelings had been
-softened by a booze, he could not resist taking people to see these
-ladies, divided between the vanity of showing his treasure and the fear of
-having it stolen from him; then, on the morrow, he forgot all about it,
-and returned to the Rue-Saint-Marc with an air of mystery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Everyone knows Fifi,&rdquo; said Gueulin, quietly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Bachelard was looking out for a cab, when Octave exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And Monsieur Josserand, who is waiting at the café?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The others had forgotten him entirely. Monsieur Josserand, very annoyed at
-wasting his evening, was impatiently waiting at the entrance, for he never
-took anything but of doors. At length they started for the Rue de la
-Cerisaie. But they had to take two cabs; the commission agent and the
-cashier in the one, and the three young men in the other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin, his voice drowned by the jingling noise of the old vehicle, at
-first talked of the insurance company where he was employed. Insurance
-companies and stockbrokers were equally unpleasant, affirmed Trublot. Then
-the conversation turned to Duveyrier. Was it not unfortunate that a rich
-man, a magistrate, should let himself be fooled by women in that way? He
-always wanted them in out-of-the-way neighborhoods, right at the end of
-the omnibus routes; modest little ladies in their own apartments, playing
-the parts of widows; unknown milliners, having shops and no customers;
-girls picked out of the gutter, clothed and shut up, as though in a
-convent, whom he would go to see regularly once a week, like a clerk
-trudging to his office.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot, however, found excuses for him: to begin with, it was the fault
-of his constitution; then, it was impossible to put up with a confounded
-wife like his. On the very first night, so it was said, she could not bear
-him, affecting to be disgusted at his red blotches, so that she willingly
-allowed him to have mistresses, whose complacencies relieved her of him,
-though at times she accepted the abominable burden, with the resignation
-of a virtuous woman who makes a point of accomplishing all her duties.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, she is virtuous, is she?&rdquo; asked Octave, interested.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Virtuous? Oh! yes, my dear fellow! Every good quality; pretty, serious,
-well brought up, learned, full of taste, chaste, and unbearable!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A block of vehicles at the bottom of the Rue Montmartre stopped the cab.
-The young men, who had let down the windows, could hear Bachelard&rsquo;s voice,
-furiously abusing the coachman. Then, when the cab moved on again, Gueulin
-gave some information about Clarisse. Her name was Clarisse Bocquet, and
-she was the daughter of a former toy merchant in a small way, who now
-attended all the fairs with his wife and quite a troop of dirty children.
-Duveyrier had come across her one night when it was thawing, just as her
-lover had chucked her out. No doubt, this strapping wench answered to an
-ideal long sought after; for as early as the morrow he was hooked; he wept
-as he kissed her eyelids, all shaken by his need to cultivate the little
-blue flower of romance in his huge masculine appetites. Clarisse had
-consented to live in the Rue de la Cerisaie, so as not to expose him; but
-she led him a fine dance&mdash;had made him buy her twenty-five thousand
-francs&rsquo; worth of furniture, and was devouring him heartily, in company
-with some actors of the Montmartre Theater.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care a hang!&rdquo; said Trublot, &ldquo;so long as one amuses oneself at her
-place. Anyhow, she doesn&rsquo;t make you sing, and she isn&rsquo;t forever strumming
-away on a piano like the other. Oh! that piano! Listen, when one is
-deafened at home, when one has had the misfortune to marry a mechanical
-piano which frightens everybody away, one would be precious stupid not to
-arrange a pleasant little nest elsewhere, where one could receive one&rsquo;s
-friends in their slippers.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Last Sunday,&rdquo; related Gueulin, &ldquo;Clarisse wanted me to lunch alone with
-her. I declined. After those sort of lunches, one always does something
-foolish; and I was afraid of seeing her take up her quarters with me the
-day she left Duveyrier for good. You know, she detests him. Oh! her
-disgust almost makes her ill. Well, the girl doesn&rsquo;t care much for pimples
-either. But she hasn&rsquo;t the resource of sending him elsewhere like his wife
-has; otherwise, if she could pass him over to her maid, I assure you she&rsquo;d
-get rid of the job precious quick.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The cab stopped. They alighted before a dark and silent house in the Rue
-de la Cerisaie. But they had to wait for the other cab fully ten minutes,
-Bachelard having taken his driver with him to drink a grog after the
-quarrel in the Rue Montmartre. On the staircase, as severe-looking as
-those of the middle classes, Monsieur Josserand again asked some questions
-respecting Duveyrier&rsquo;s lady friend, but the uncle merely answered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A woman of the world, a very decent girl. She won&rsquo;t eat you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a little maid, with a rosy complexion, who opened the door to them.
-She took the gentlemen&rsquo;s coats with familiar and and tender smiles. For a
-moment, Trublot kept her in a corner of the ante-room, whispering things
-in her ear which almost made her choke, as though being tickled. But
-Bachelard had pushed open the drawing-room door, and he at once introduced
-Monsieur Josserand. The latter stood for a moment embarrassed, finding
-Clarisse ugly, and not understanding how the counselor could prefer this
-sort of creature&mdash;black and skinny, and with a head of hair like a
-poodle&mdash;to his wife, one of the most beautiful women of society.
-Clarisse, however, was charming. She had preserved the Parisian cackle, a
-superficial and borrowed wit, an itch of drollery caught by rubbing up
-against men, but was able to put on a grand lady sort of air when she
-chose.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sir, I am charmed. All Alphonse&rsquo;s friends are mine. Now you are one of
-us, the house is yours.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier, warned by a note from Bachelard, also greeted Monsieur
-Josserand very amiably. Octave was surprised at the counselor&rsquo;s youthful
-appearance. He was no longer the severe and ill-at-ease individual, who
-never seemed to be in his own home in the drawing-room of the Rue de
-Choiseul. The deep red blotches on his face were turning to a rosy hue,
-his oblique eyes shone with a childish delight, whilst Clarisse related in
-the midst of a group how he sometimes hastened to come and see her during
-a short adjournment of the court&mdash;just time to jump into a cab, to
-kiss her, and start back again. Then he complained of being overworked.
-Four sittings a week, from eleven to five; always the same skein of
-bickerings to unravel, it ended by destroying all feeling in one&rsquo;s heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is true,&rdquo; said he, laughing, &ldquo;one requires a few roses amongst all
-that. I feel better afterward.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-However, he did not wear his bit of red ribbon, but always took it off
-when visiting his mistress; a last scruple, a delicate distinction, which
-his sense of decency obstinately persisted in. Clarisse, without wishing
-to say so, felt very much hurt at it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, who had at once shook hands with the young woman like a comrade,
-listened and looked about him. Clarisse never received other women, out of
-decency, she said. When her acquaintances complained that her drawing-room
-was in want of a few ladies, she would answer with a laugh:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! and I&mdash;am I not enough?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had arranged a decent home for Alphonse, very middle-class in the
-main, having a mania for what was proper all through the ups and downs of
-her existence. When she received she would not be addressed familiarly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The little maid handed round some glasses of punch, with her agreeable
-air. Octave took one, and, leaning toward his friend, whispered in his
-ear:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The servant is better than the mistress.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, of course! always!&rdquo; said Trublot, with a shrug of the shoulders,
-full of a disdainful conviction.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clarisse came and talked with them for a moment. She multiplied herself,
-going from one to another, casting a word here, a laugh or gesture there.
-As each new-comer lighted a cigar the drawing-room was soon full of smoke.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! the horrid men!&rdquo; exclaimed she, prettily, as she went and opened a
-window.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Without losing any time, Bachelard made Monsieur Josserand comfortable in
-the recess of this window, to enable him to breathe, said he. Then, thanks
-to a masterly maneuver, he brought Duveyrier to an anchor there also, and
-quickly broached the affair. So the two families were about to be united
-by a close tie; he felt highly honored. Then he inquired what day the
-marriage contract was going to be signed, and that led him up to the
-matter in hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We intended calling on you to-morrow, Josserand and I, to settle
-everything, for we are aware that Monsieur Auguste would do nothing
-without you. It is with respect to the payment of the dowry; and, really,
-as we are so comfortable here&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand, again suffering the greatest anguish, looked out into
-the gloomy depths of the Rue de la Cerisaie, with its deserted pavements,
-and its dark façades. He regretted having come. They were again going to
-take advantage of his weakness and engage him in some disgraceful affair,
-which would cause him no end of suffering afterward. A feeling of revolt
-made him interrupt his brother-in-law.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Another time; this is not a fitting place, really.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But why, pray?&rdquo; exclaimed Duveyrier, very graciously. &ldquo;We are better here
-than anywhere else. You were saying, sir?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We give Berthe fifty thousand francs,&rdquo; continued the uncle. &ldquo;Only, these
-fifty thousand francs are represented by a dotal insurance at twenty
-years&rsquo; date, which Josserand took out for his daughter when she was four
-years old. She will, therefore, only receive the money in three years&rsquo;
-time&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Allow me!&rdquo; again interrupted the cashier, with a scared look.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, let me finish; Monsieur Duveyrier understands perfectly. We do not
-wish the young couple to wait three years for money they may need at once,
-and we engage ourselves to pay the dowry in installments of ten thousand
-francs every six months, on the understanding that we repay ourselves
-later on with the insurance money.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A pause ensued. Monsieur Josserand, feeling frozen and choking, again
-looked into the dark street.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;All that seems to me very reasonable,&rdquo; said he, at length. &ldquo;It is for us
-to thank you. It is very seldom that a dowry is paid at once in full.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Never, sir!&rdquo; affirmed the uncle, energetically. &ldquo;Such a thing is never
-done.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the three men shook hands as they arranged to meet on the Thursday at
-the notary&rsquo;s. When Monsieur Josserand came back into the light, he was so
-pale that he was asked if he was unwell. As a matter of fact he did not
-feel very well, and he withdrew, without being willing to wait for his
-brother-in-law, who had just gone into the dining-room where the classic
-tea was represented by champagne.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin, stretched on a sofa near the window, murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That scoundrel of an uncle!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had overheard some words about the insurance, and he chuckled as he
-confided the truth of the matter to Octave and Trublot. It had been done
-at his office; there was not a sou to receive, the Vabres were being taken
-in. Then, as the two others laughed at this good joke, holding their sides
-meanwhile, he added, with comical earnestness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I want a hundred francs. If the uncle doesn&rsquo;t give me a hundred francs,
-I&rsquo;ll split.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The voices were becoming louder, the champagne was upsetting the good
-behavior established by Clarisse. In her drawing-room the conclusion of
-all the parties was invariably rather lively. She herself would make a
-mistake sometimes. Trublot drew Octave&rsquo;s attention to her as she stood
-behind a door with her arms round the neck of a fellow with the build of a
-peasant, a stone carver just arrived from the South, and whom his native
-town wished to make an artist of. But, Duveyrier having pushed the door,
-she quickly removed her arms, and recommended the young man to him:
-Monsieur Payan, a sculptor with a very graceful talent; and Duveyrier,
-delighted, promised to obtain some work for him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Work, work,&rdquo; repeated Gueulin, in a low voice; &ldquo;he has as much here as he
-can want, the big ninny!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Toward two o&rsquo;clock, when the three young men and the uncle left the Rue de
-la Cerisaie, the latter was completely drunk.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hang it all, uncle! keep yourself up! you&rsquo;re breaking our arms!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He, with his throat full of sobs, had become very tender hearted and very
-moral.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go away, Gueulin,&rdquo; stuttered he; &ldquo;go away! I won&rsquo;t have you see your
-uncle in such a state. No, my boy, it&rsquo;s not right; go away!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And as his nephew called him an old rogue:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Rogue! that&rsquo;s nothing. One must make oneself respected. I esteem women&mdash;always
-decent women; and when there&rsquo;s no feeling it disgusts me. Go away,
-Gueulin, you&rsquo;re making your uncle blush. These gentlemen are sufficient.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; declared Gueulin, &ldquo;you must give me a hundred francs. Really, I
-want them for my rent. They&rsquo;re going to turn me out.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this unexpected demand, Bachelard&rsquo;s intoxication increased to such an
-extent that he had to be propped up against the shutters of a warehouse.
-He stuttered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh! what! a hundred francs! Don&rsquo;t search me. I&rsquo;ve nothing but coppers.
-You want &rsquo;em to squander in bad places! No, I&rsquo;ll never encourage
-you in your vices. I know my duty; your mother confided you to my care on
-her death-bed. You know, I&rsquo;ll call out if I am searched.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He continued, his indignation increasing against the dissolute life led by
-youth, and returning to the necessity there was for the display of virtue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; Gueulin ended by saying, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve not got to the point of taking
-families in. Ah! you know what I mean! If I were to talk, you&rsquo;d soon give
-me my hundred francs!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the uncle at once became deaf to everything. He went grunting and
-stumbling along. In the narrow street where they then were, behind the
-church of Saint-Gervaise, a white lantern alone burned with the palish
-glimmer of a night-light, displaying a gigantic number painted on its
-roughened glass. A stifled trepidation issued from the house, whilst the
-closed shutters emitted a tew narrow rays of light.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve had enough of it,&rdquo; declared Gueulin, abruptly. &ldquo;Excuse me, uncle, I
-forgot my umbrella up there.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he entered the house. Bachelard was indignant and full of disgust. He
-demanded at least a little respect for women. With such morals France was
-done for. On the Place de l&rsquo;Hôtel-de-Ville, Octave and Trublot at length
-found a cab, inside which they shoved him like some bundle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Rue d&rsquo;Enghien,&rdquo; said they to the driver. &ldquo;You must pay yourself. Search
-him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The marriage contract was signed on the Thursday before Maitre Renandin,
-notary in the Rue de Grammont. At the moment of starting, there had been
-another awful row at the Josserands&rsquo;, the father having, in a supreme
-revolt, made the mother responsible for the lie they had forced him to
-countenance; and they had once more cast their families in each other&rsquo;s
-teeth. How did they expect him to earn another ten thousand francs every
-six months? The obligation was driving him mad. Uncle Bachelard, who was
-there, kept placing his hand on his heart, full of fresh promises, now
-that he had so managed that he would not have to part with a sou, and
-overflowing with affection, and swearing that he would never leave his
-little Berthe in an awkward position. But the father, in his exasperation,
-had merely shrugged his shoulders, asking Bachelard if he really took him
-for a fool.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the evening of that day, a cab came to fetch Saturnin away. His mother
-had declared that it was too dangerous for him to be at the ceremony; one
-could not cast loose a madman who talked of spitting people in the midst
-of a wedding party; and, Monsieur Josserand, broken-hearted, had been
-obliged to apply for the admission of the poor fellow into the Asile des
-Moulineaux, kept by Doctor Chassagne. The cab was brought under the porch
-at twilight. Saturnin came down holding Berthe&rsquo;s hand, and thinking he was
-going with her into the country. But when he was inside the cab, he
-struggled furiously, breaking the windows and thrusting his bloody fists
-through them. And Monsieur Josserand returned up-stairs weeping, all upset
-by this departure in the dark, his ears ringing with the wretched
-creature&rsquo;s yells, mingled with the cracking of the whip and the gallop of
-the horse.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
-CHAPTER VIII.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he marriage before
-the mayor had taken place on the Thursday. On the Saturday morning, as
-early as a quarter past ten, some ladies were already waiting in the
-Josserands&rsquo; drawing-room, the religious ceremony being fixed for eleven
-o&rsquo;clock, at Saint-Roch. There were Madame Juzeur, always in black silk;
-Madame Dambreville, tightly laced in a costume of the color of dead
-leaves; and Madame Duveyrier, dressed very simply in pale blue. All three
-were conversing in low tones amongst the scattered chairs; whilst Madame
-Josserand was finishing dressing Berthe in the adjoining room, assisted by
-the servant and the two bridesmaids, Hortense and little Campardon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! it is not that,&rdquo; murmured Madame Duveyrier; &ldquo;the family is honorable.
-But, I admit, I rather dreaded on my brother Auguste&rsquo;s account the
-mother&rsquo;s domineering spirit. One cannot be too careful, can one?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said Madame Juzeur; &ldquo;one not only marries the daughter, one
-often marries the mother as well, and it is very unpleasant when the
-latter interferes in the home.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This time Angèle and Hortense opened the folding doors wide so that the
-bride should not catch her dress in anything; and Berthe appeared in a
-white silk dress, all gay with white flowers, with a white wreath, a white
-bouquet, and a white garland, which crossed the skirt, and was lost in the
-train in a shower of little white buds. She looked charming amidst all
-this whiteness, with her fresh complexion, her golden hair, her laughing
-eyes, and her candid mouth of an already enlightened girl.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! delicious!&rdquo; exclaimed the ladies.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They all embraced her with an air of ecstasy. The Josserands, at their
-wits&rsquo; end, not knowing where to obtain the two thousand francs which the
-wedding would cost them, five hundred francs for dress, and fifteen
-hundred francs for their share of the dinner and ball, had been obliged to
-send Berthe to Doctor Chassagne&rsquo;s to see Saturnin, to whom an aunt had
-just left three thousand francs; and Berthe, having obtained permission to
-take her brother out for a drive, by way of amusing him, had smothered him
-with caresses in the cab, and had then gone with him for a minute to the
-notary, who was unaware of the poor creature&rsquo;s condition, and who had
-everything ready for his signature. The silk dress and the abundance of
-flowers surprised the ladies, who were reckoning up the cost whilst giving
-vent to their admiration.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perfect! in most exquisite taste!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand appeared, beaming, in a mauve dress of an unpleasant hue,
-which made her look taller and rounder than ever, with the majesty of a
-tower. She fumed about Monsieur Josserand, called to Hortense to find her
-shawl, and vehemently forbade Berthe to sit down.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Take care, you will crush your flowers!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not worry yourself,&rdquo; said Clothilde, in her calm voice. &ldquo;We have
-plenty of time. Auguste is coming for us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They were all waiting in the drawing-room, when Théophile abruptly burst
-in, his dress-coat askew, his white cravat tied like a piece of cord, and
-without his hat. His face, with its few hairs and bad teeth, was livid;
-his limbs, like an ailing child&rsquo;s, were trembling with fury.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the matter with you?&rdquo; asked his sister, in amazement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The matter is&mdash;the matter is&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But a fit of coughing interrupted him, and he stood there for a minute,
-choking, spitting in his handkerchief, and enraged at being unable to give
-vent to his anger. Valérie looked at him, confused, and warned by a sort
-of instinct. At length, he shook his fist at her, without even noticing
-the bride and the other ladies around him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, whilst looking everywhere for my necktie, I found a letter in front
-of the wardrobe.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He crumpled a piece of paper between his febrile fingers. His wife had
-turned pale. She realized the situation; and, to avoid the scandal of a
-public explanation, she passed into the room that Berthe had just left.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! well,&rdquo; said she, simply, &ldquo;I prefer to leave if he is going mad.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let me alone!&rdquo; cried Théophile to Madame Duveyrier, who was trying to
-quiet him. &ldquo;I intend to confound her. This time I have proof, and there is
-no doubt, oh, no! It shall not pass off like that, for I know him&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His sister had seized him by the arm, and squeezing it, shook him
-authoritatively.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hold your tongue! don&rsquo;t you see where you are? This is not the proper
-time, understand!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he started off again:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is the proper time! I don&rsquo;t care a hang for the others. So much the
-worse that it happens to-day! It will serve as a lesson to every one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-However, he lowered his voice, his strength failing him, he had dropped
-onto a chair, ready to burst into tears. An uncomfortable feeling had
-invaded the drawing-room. Madame Dambreville and Madame Juzeur had
-politely gone to the other end of the apartment, and pretended not to
-understand. Madame Josserand, greatly annoyed at an adventure, the scandal
-of which would cast a gloom over the wedding, had passed into the bed-room
-to cheer up Valérie. As for Berthe, who was studying her wreath before the
-looking-glass, she had not heard anything. Therefore, she questioned
-Hortense in a low voice. They whispered together; the latter indicated
-Théophile with a glance, and added some explanations, while pretending to
-arrange the fall of the veil.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; simply said the bride, with a chaste and amused look, her eyes fixed
-on the husband, without the least sign of confusion in her halo of white
-flowers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clotilde softly asked her brother for particulars. Madame Josserand
-reappeared, exchanged a few words with her, and then returned to the
-adjoining room. It was an exchange of diplomatic notes. The husband
-accused Octave, that counter-jumper, whom he would chastise in church, if
-he dared to come there. He swore he had seen him the previous day with his
-wife on the steps of Saint-Roch; he had had a doubt before, but now he was
-sure of it&mdash;everything tallied, the height, the walk. Yes, madame
-invented luncheons with lady friends, or else she went inside Saint-Roch
-with Camille, through the same door as every one, as though to say her
-prayers; then leaving the child with the woman who let out the chairs, she
-would make off with her gentleman by the old way, a dirty passage, where
-no one would have gone to look for her. However, Valérie had smiled on
-hearing Octave&rsquo;s name mentioned; never with that one, she pledged her oath
-to Madame Josserand, with nobody at all for the matter of that, she added,
-but less with him than with any one else; and, this time, with truth on
-her side, she, in her turn, talked of confounding her husband, by proving
-to him that the note was no more in Octave&rsquo;s handwriting than that Octave
-was the gentleman of Saint-Roch. Madame Josserand listened to her,
-studying her with her experienced glance, and solely preoccupied with
-finding some means of helping her to deceive Théophile. And she gave her
-the very best advice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Leave all to me, don&rsquo;t move in the matter. As he chooses, it shall he
-Monsieur Mouret, well! it shall be Monsieur Mouret. There is no harm in
-being seen on the steps of a church with Monsieur Mouret, is there? The
-letter alone is compromising. You will triumph when our young friend shows
-him a couple of lines of his own handwriting. Above all, say just the same
-as I say. You understand, I don&rsquo;t intend to let him spoil such a day as
-this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When she returned into the room with Valérie, who was greatly affected,
-Théophile, on his side, was saying to his sister in a choking voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I will do so for you, I promise not to disfigure her here, as you assure
-me it would scarcely be proper, on account of this wedding. But I cannot
-be answerable for what may take place at church. If the counter-jumper
-comes and beards me there, in the midst of my own family, I will
-exterminate them one after the other.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste, looking very correct in his black dress-coat, his left eye shrunk
-up, suffering from a headache which he had been dreading for three days
-past, arrived at this moment, accompanied by his father and his
-brother-in-law, both looking very solemn, to fetch his bride. There was a
-little jostling, for they had ended by being late.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At Saint-Roch the big double doors were opened wide. A red carpet covered
-the steps down to the pavement. It was raining; the May morning was very
-cold.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Thirteen steps,&rdquo; said Madame Juzeur in a low voice to Valérie, when they
-had passed through the doorway. &ldquo;It is not a good sign.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Are you sure you have the ring?&rdquo; inquired Madame Josserand of Auguste,
-who was seating himself with Berthe on the arm-chairs placed before the
-altar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had a fright, fancying he had forgotten it, then felt it in his
-waistcoat pocket. She had, however, not waited for his answer. Ever since
-she entered, she had been standing on tip-toe, searching the company with
-her glance. There were Trublot and Gueulin, both best men; Uncle Bachelard
-and Campardon, the bride&rsquo;s witnesses; Duveyrier and Doctor Juillerat, the
-bridegroom&rsquo;s witnesses, and all the crowd of acquaintances of whom she was
-proud. But she had just caught sight of Octave, who was assiduously
-opening a passage for Madame Hédouin, and she drew him behind a pillar,
-where she spoke to him in low and rapid tones. The young man, a look of
-bewilderment on his face, did not appear to understand. However, he bowed
-with an air of amiable obedience.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is settled,&rdquo; whispered Madame Josserand in Valérie&rsquo;s ear, returning
-and seating herself in one of the arm-chairs placed for the members of the
-family, behind those of Berthe and Auguste. Monsieur Josserand, the
-Vabres, and the Duveyriers were also there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The organs were now giving forth scales of clear little notes, broken by
-big pants. There was quite a crush; the choir was filling up, and men
-remained standing in the aisles. The Abbé Mauduit had reserved to himself
-the joy of blessing the union of one of his dear penitents. When he
-appeared in his surplice, he exchanged a friendly smile with the
-congregation, every face there being familiar to him. Some voices
-commenced the <i>Veni Creator</i>, the organs resumed their song of
-triumph, and it was at this moment that Théophile discovered Octave, to
-the left of the chancel, standing before the chapel of Saint-Joseph.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His sister Clotilde tried to detain him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; stammered he; &ldquo;I will never submit to it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he made Duveyrier follow him, to represent the family. The <i>Veni
-Creator</i> continued. A few persons looked round.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Théophile, who had talked of blows, was in such a state of agitation, when
-planting himself before Octave, that he was unable at first to say a word,
-vexed at being short, and raising himself up on tiptoe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said he at length, &ldquo;I saw you yesterday with my wife&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the <i>Veni Creator</i> was just coming to an end, and he was quite
-scared on hearing the sound of his own voice. Moreover, Duveyrier, very
-much annoyed by the incident, tried to make him understand that the time
-was badly chosen for an explanation. The ceremony had now begun before the
-altar. After addressing an affecting exhortation to the bride and
-bridegroom, the priest took the wedding-ring to bless it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Benedic, Domine Deus noster, annulum nuptialem hunc, quem nos in tuo
-nomine benedieimus</i>&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Théophile plucked up courage to repeat his words in a low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sir, you were in this church yesterday with my wife.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, still bewildered by what Madame Josserand had said to him, and
-without having thoroughly understood her, related the little story,
-however, in an easy sort of way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, I did indeed meet Madame Vabre, and we went and looked at the
-repairing of the Calvary which my friend Campardon is directing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You admit it,&rdquo; stammered the husband, again overcome with fury, &ldquo;you
-admit it&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier was obliged to slap him on the shoulder to calm him. The shrill
-voice of one of the boy choristers was responding:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Amen</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And you no doubt recognize this letter,&rdquo; continued Théophile, offering a
-piece of paper to Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come, not here!&rdquo; said the counselor, thoroughly scandalized. &ldquo;You are
-going out of your mind, my dear fellow.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave unfolded the letter. The emotion had increased amongst the
-congregation. There were whisperings, and nudgings of elbows, and glancing
-over the tops of prayer-books; no one was now paying the least attention
-to the ceremony. The bride and bridegroom alone remained grave and stiff
-before the priest. Then Berthe, turning her head, caught sight of
-Théophile getting whiter and whiter as he addressed Octave; and, from that
-moment, her mind was absent&mdash;she kept casting bright side glances in
-the direction of the chapel of Saint-Joseph.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, the young man was reading in a low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My duck, what bliss yesterday! Tuesday next, in the confessional of the
-chapel of the Holy Angels.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The priest, after having obtained from the bridegroom the &ldquo;yes&rdquo; of a
-serious man who signs nothing without reading it, had turned toward the
-bride.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You promise and swear to be faithful to Monsieur Auguste Vabre in all
-things, like a true wife should be to her husband, in accordance with
-God&rsquo;s commandment?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Berthe, having seen the letter, and full of the thought of the blows
-she was expecting would be given, was not listening, but was following the
-scene from beneath her veil. There was an awkward silence. At length she
-became aware that they were waiting for her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; she hastily replied, in a happen-what-may manner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The abbé followed the direction of her glance with surprise; and, guessing
-that something unusual was taking place in one of the aisles, he in turn
-became singularly absent-minded. The story had now circulated; every one
-knew it. The ladies, pale and grave, did not withdraw their eyes from
-Octave. The men smiled in a discreetly waggish way. And, whilst Madame
-Josserand reassured Madame Duveyrier, with slight shrugs of her shoulders,
-Valérie alone seemed to give all her attention to the wedding, beholding
-nothing else, as though overcome by emotion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My duck, what bliss yesterday&mdash;&rdquo; Octave read again, affecting
-intense surprise.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, returning the letter to the husband, he said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I do not understand it, sir. The writing is not mine. See for yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And taking from his pocket a note-book in which he wrote down his
-expenses, like the careful fellow he was, he showed it to Théophile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! not your writing!&rdquo; stammered the latter. &ldquo;You are making a fool of
-me; it must be your writing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The priest had to make the sign of the cross on Berthe&rsquo;s left hand. His
-eyes elsewhere, he mistook the hand and made it on the right one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti</i>.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Amen</i>,&rdquo; responded the boy chorister, also raising himself up to
-see.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In short, the scandal was prevented. Duveyrier proved to poor, bewildered
-Théophile that the letter could not have been written by Monsieur Mouret.
-It was almost a disappointment for the congregation. There were sighs, and
-a few hasty words exchanged. And when every one, still in a state of
-excitement, turned again toward the altar, Berthe and Auguste were man and
-wife, she without appearing to have been aware of what was going on, he
-not having missed a word the priest had uttered, giving his whole
-attention to the matter, only disturbed by his headache, which closed his
-left eye.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The dear children!&rdquo; said Monsieur Josserand, absorbed in mind and his
-voice trembling, to Monsieur Vabre, who ever since the commencement of the
-ceremony had been busy counting the lighted tapers, always making a
-mistake, and beginning his calculations over again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Admit nothing,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand to Valérie, as the family moved
-toward the vestry after the mass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the vestry the married couple and their witnesses first of all wrote
-their signatures. They were kept waiting, however, by Campardon, who had
-taken some ladies to inspect the works at the Calvary, at the end of the
-choir, behind a wooden hoarding. He at length arrived, and, apologizing,
-proceeded to cover the register with a big flourish. The Abbé Mauduit had
-wished to honor the two families by handing round the pen himself, and
-pointing out with his finger the place where each one was to sign; and he
-smiled with his air of amiable, worldly tolerance in the center of the
-grave apartment, the woodwork of which retained a continual odor of
-incense.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! mademoiselle,&rdquo; said Campardon to Hortense, &ldquo;does not all this make
-you long to do the same?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he regretted his want of tact. Hortense, who was the elder sister,
-bit her lips. She was expecting to have a decisive answer from Verdier
-that evening at the ball, for she had been pressing him to choose between
-her and his creature. Therefore she replied in an unpleasant tone of
-voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have plenty of time. Whenever I think proper.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, turning her back on the architect, she attacked her brother Léon, who
-had only just arrived, late as usual.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are nice! papa and mamma are very pleased. Not even able to be in
-time when one of your sisters is being married! We were expecting you at
-least with Madame Dambreville.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame Dambreville does what she pleases,&rdquo; said the young man curtly,
-&ldquo;and I do what I can.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A coolness had arisen between them. Léon considered that she was keeping
-him too long for her own use, and was weary of a connection the burden of
-which he had accepted in the sole hope of its leading to some grand
-marriage; and for a fortnight past he had been requesting her to keep her
-promises. Madame Dambreville, carried away by a passion of love, had even
-complained to Madame Josserand of what she termed her son&rsquo;s crotchets.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yet a marriage is so soon settled!&rdquo; said Madame Dambreville, without
-thinking of her words, and bestowing on him an imploring look to soften
-him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not always!&rdquo; retorted he, harshly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he went and kissed Berthe, then shook his new brother-inlaw&rsquo;s hand,
-whilst Madame Dambreville turned pale with anguish, drawing herself up in
-her costume of the color of dead leaves, and smiling vaguely toward the
-persons who entered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the procession of friends, of simple acquaintances, of all the
-guests gathered together in the church, which now passed through the
-vestry. The newly married couple, standing up, were continually
-distributing hand-shakes, and invariably with the same embarrassed and
-delighted air. The Josserands and the Duveyriers were not always able to
-go through the introductions. At times they looked at each other in
-surprise, for Bachelard had brought persons whom nobody knew, and who
-talked too loud. Little by little everything gave way to confusion; there
-was quite a crush, hands were held out over the heads, young girls
-squeezed between pot-bellied gentlemen, left pieces of their white skirts
-on the legs of these fathers, these brothers, these uncles, still sweating
-with some vice, enfranchised in a quiet neighborhood. Away from the crowd,
-Gueulin and Trublot were relating to Octave how Clarisse had almost been
-caught by Duveyrier the night before, and had now resigned herself to
-smothering him with caresses, so as to shut his eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo!&rdquo; murmured Gueulin, &ldquo;he is kissing the bride; it must smell nice.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Valérie, who kept Madame Juzeur near her to help her to keep her
-countenance, listened with emotion to the conciliatory words which the
-Abbé Mauduit also considered it his duty to address to her. Then, as they
-were at length leaving the church, she paused before the two fathers, to
-allow Berthe to pass on her husband&rsquo;s arm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You ought to be satisfied,&rdquo; said she to Monsieur Josserand, wishing to
-show how free her mind was. &ldquo;I congratulate you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; declared Monsieur Vabre in his clammy voice, &ldquo;it is a very
-great responsibility the less.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, whilst Trublot and Gueulin rushed about seeing all the ladies to the
-carriages, Madame Josserand, whose shawl attracted quite a crowd,
-obstinately insisted on remaining the last on the pavement, publicly to
-display her maternal triumph.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The repast that evening at the Hôtel du Louvre was likewise marred by
-Théophile&rsquo;s unlucky affair. The latter was quite a plague, it had been the
-topic of conversation all the afternoon in the carriages during the drive
-in the Bois de Boulogne; and the ladies always came to this conclusion,
-that the husband ought at least to have waited until the morrow before
-finding the letter. None but the most intimate friends of both families
-sat down to table. The only lively episode was a speech from uncle
-Bachelard, whom the Josserands could not very well avoid inviting, in
-spite of their terror. He was drunk, indeed, as early as the roast: he
-raised his glass, and commenced with these words: &ldquo;I am happy in the joy I
-feel,&rdquo; which he kept repeating, unable to say anything further. The other
-guests smiled complacently. Auguste and Berthe, already worn out, looked
-at each other every now and then, with an air of surprise at seeing
-themselves opposite one another; and, when they remembered how this was,
-they gazed in their plates in a confused way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Nearly two hundred invitations had been issued for the ball. The guests
-began to arrive as early as half-past nine. Three chandeliers lit up the
-large red drawing-room, in which only some seats along the wall had been
-left, whilst at one end, in front of the fireplace, the little orchestra
-was installed; moreover, a bar had been placed at the farthest end of an
-adjoining room, and the two families also had a small apartment into which
-they could retire.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As Madame Duveyrier and Madame Josserand were receiving the first
-arrivals, that poor Théophile, who had been watched ever since the
-morning, was guilty of a most regrettable piece of brutality. Campardon
-was asking Valérie to grant him the first waltz. She laughed, and the
-husband took it as a provocation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You laugh! you laugh!&rdquo; stammered he. &ldquo;Tell me who the letter is from? it
-must be from somebody, that letter must.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had taken the entire afternoon to disengage that one idea from the
-confusion into which Octave&rsquo;s answers had plunged him. Now, he stuck to
-it: if it was not Monsieur Mouret, it was then some one else, and he
-demanded a name. As Valerie was walking off without answering him, he
-seized hold of her arm and twisted it spitefully, with the rage of an
-exasperated child, repeating the while:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll break it. Tell me, who is the letter from?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman, frightened, and stifling a cry of pain, had become quite
-white. Campardon felt her abandoning herself against his shoulder,
-succumbing to one of those nervous attacks which would shake her for hours
-together. He had scarcely time to lead her into the apartment reserved for
-the two families, where he laid her on a sofa. Some ladies had followed
-him&mdash;Madame Juzeur, Madame Dambreville&mdash;who unlaced her, whilst
-he discreetly retired.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sir, I beg your pardon,&rdquo; said Théophile, going up to Octave, whose eyes
-he had encountered when twisting his wife&rsquo;s arm. &ldquo;Every one in my place
-would have suspected you; is it not so? But I wish to shake hands with
-you, to prove to you that I admit myself to have been in the wrong.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He shook hands with him, and led him one side, tortured by a necessity to
-unbosom himself, to find a confidant for the outpourings of his heart.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! sir, if I were to tell you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he talked for a long while of his wife. When a young girl, she was
-delicate, it was said jokingly that marriage would set her right. She had
-not sufficient air in her parents&rsquo; shop, where, every evening for three
-months, she had appeared to him very nice, obedient, of a rather sad
-disposition, but charming.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! sir, marriage did not set her right&mdash;far from it. After a few
-weeks she became terrible; we could no longer agree together. There were
-quarrels about nothing at all. Changes of temper at every minute&mdash;laughing,
-crying, without my knowing why. And absurd sentiments, ideas that would
-knock a person down, a perpetual mania for making people wild. In short,
-sir, my home has become a hell.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is very remarkable,&rdquo; murmured Octave, who felt a necessity for saying
-something.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, the husband, ghastly pale, and drawing himself up on his short legs,
-to override the ridiculous, came to what he called the wretched woman&rsquo;s
-bad behavior. Twice he had suspected her; but he was too honorable; he
-could not retain such an idea in his head. This time, though, he was
-obliged to yield to evidence. It was not possible to doubt, was it? And,
-with his trembling fingers, he felt the pocket of his waistcoat which
-contained the letter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If she did it for money, I might understand it,&rdquo; added he. &ldquo;But they
-never gave her any; I am sure of that; I should know it. Then, tell me
-what it can be that she has in her skin? I am very nice myself; she has
-everything at home. I cannot understand it. If you can understand it, sir,
-explain it to me, I beg of you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is very curious, very curious,&rdquo; repeated Octave, embarrassed by all
-these disclosures, and trying to make his escape.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the husband, in a state of fever, and tormented by a want of
-certitude, would not let him go. At this moment, Madame Juzeur,
-reappearing, went and whispered a word to Madame Josserand, who was
-greeting the arrival of a big jeweler of the Palais-Royal with a grand
-curtesy; and she, quite upset, hastened to follow her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I think that your wife has a very violent attack,&rdquo; observed Octave to
-Théophile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Never mind her!&rdquo; replied the latter in a fury, vexed at not being ill, so
-as to be coddled up also; &ldquo;she is only to pleased to have an attack! It
-always puts every one on her side. My health is no better than hers, yet I
-have never deceived her!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand did not return. The rumor circulated among the intimate
-friends that Valérie was struggling in frightful convulsions. There should
-have been men present to hold her down; but, as they had been obliged to
-half undress her, they declined Trublot&rsquo;s and Gueulin&rsquo;s offers of
-assistance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Doctor Juillerat! where is Doctor Juillerat?&rdquo; asked Madame Josserand,
-rushing back into the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The doctor had been invited, but no one had as yet seen him. Then she no
-longer strove to hide the slumbering rage which had been collecting within
-her since the morning. She spoke out before Octave and Campardon, without
-mincing her words.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am beginning to have enough of it. It is not very pleasant for my
-daughter, all this cuckoldom paraded before us!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked about for Hortense, and at length caught sight of her talking
-to a gentleman, of whom she could only see the back, but whom she
-recognized by its breadth. It was Verdier. This increased her ill-humor.
-She sharply called the young girl to her, and, lowering her voice, told
-her that she would do better to remain at her mother&rsquo;s disposal on such a
-day as that. Hortense did not listen to the reprimand. She was triumphant;
-Verdier had just fixed their marriage at two months from then, in June.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Shut up!&rdquo; said the mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I assure you, mamma. He already sleeps out three nights a week so as to
-accustom the other to it, and in a fortnight he will stop away altogether.
-Then it will be all over, and I shall have him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Shut up! I have already had more than enough of your romance! You will
-just oblige me by waiting near the door for Doctor Juillerat, and by
-sending him to me the moment he arrives. And, above all, not a word of all
-this to your sister!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She returned to the adjoining room, leaving Hortense muttering that, thank
-goodness! she required no one&rsquo;s approbation, and that they would all be
-nicely caught one day, when they saw her make a better marriage than the
-others. Yet, she went to the door, and watched for the doctor&rsquo;s arrival.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The orchestra was now playing a waltz. Berthe was dancing with one of her
-husband&rsquo;s young cousins, so as to dispose of the relations in turn. All
-the guests had an air of amusing themselves immensely, and expatiated
-before them on the liveliness of the ball. It was, according to Campardon,
-a liveliness of a good standard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The architect, with an effusion of gallantry, concerned himself a great
-deal about Valérie&rsquo;s condition, without, however, missing a dance. He had
-the idea to send his daughter Angèle for news in his name. The child,
-whose fourteen years had been burning with curiosity since the morning
-around the lady that every one was talking about, was delighted at being
-able to penetrate into the little room. And, as she did not return, the
-architect was obliged to take the liberty of slightly opening the door and
-thrusting his head in. He beheld his daughter standing up beside the sofa,
-deeply absorbed by the sight of Valérie, whose bosom, shaken by spasms,
-had escaped from the unhooked bodice. Protestations arose, the ladies
-called to him not to come in; and he withdrew, assuring them that he
-merely wished to know how she was getting on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She is no better, she is no better,&rdquo; said he, in a melancholy way to the
-persons who happened to be near the door. &ldquo;There are four of them holding
-her. How strong a woman must be, to be able to bound about like that
-without hurting herself!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0193.jpg" alt="0193 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-But Doctor Juillerat quickly crossed the ball-room, accompanied by
-Hortense, who was explaining matters to him. Madame Duveyrier followed
-them. Some persons showed their surprise, more rumors circulated. Scarcely
-had the doctor disappeared than Madame Josserand left the little room with
-Madame Dambreville. Her rage was increasing; she had just emptied two
-water bottles over Valerie&rsquo;s head; never before had she seen a woman as
-nervous as that. Then she had decided to make the round of the ball-room,
-so as to stop all remarks by her presence. Only, she walked with such a
-terrible step, she distributed such sour smiles, that every one behind her
-was let into the secret.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Dambreville did not leave her. Ever since the morning she had been
-speaking to her of Léon, making vague complaints, trying to bring her to
-speak to her son, so as to patch up their connection. She drew her
-attention to him, as he was conducting a tall, scraggy girl back to her
-place, and to whom he made a show of being very assiduous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He abandons us,&rdquo; said she, with a slight laugh, trembling with suppressed
-tears. &ldquo;Scold him now, for not so much as looking at us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Léon!&rdquo; called Madame Josserand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When he came to her, she added roughly, not being in the temper to choose
-her words:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why are you angry with madame? She bears you no ill-will. Make it up with
-her. It does no good to be ill-tempered.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she left them embarrassed before each other. Madame Dambreville took
-Léon&rsquo;s arm, and they went and conversed in the recess of a window; then
-they tenderly left the ball-room together. She had sworn to arrange his
-marriage in the autumn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand, who continued to distribute smiles, was overcome by
-emotion when she found herself before Berthe, who was out of breath at
-having danced so much, and looked quite rosy in her white dress, which was
-becoming rumpled. She clasped her in her arms, and almost fainted away at
-a vague association of ideas, recalling, no doubt, the other one, whose
-face was so frightfully convulsed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My poor darling, my poor darling!&rdquo; murmured she, giving her two big
-kisses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Berthe calmly asked:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How is she?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, Madame Josserand at once became very sour again. What! Berthe
-knew it! Why of course she knew it, every one knew it. Her husband alone,
-whom she pointed out conducting an old lady to the refreshment bar, was
-still ignorant of the story. She even intended to get some one to tell him
-everything, for it made him appear too stupid to be always behind every
-one else, and never to know anything.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And I, who have been slaving to hide the catastrophe&rdquo; said Madame
-Josserand, beside herself. &ldquo;Ah, well! I shall not put myself out any more,
-it must be put a stop to. I will not tolerate their making you
-ridiculous.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Every one did indeed know it. Only, so as not to cast a gloom over the
-ball, it was not talked about.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She is better,&rdquo; Campardon, who had taken another peep, hastened to say.
-&ldquo;One can go in.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A few male friends ventured to enter. Valerie was still lying down, only
-the attack was passing off; and, out of decency, they had covered her
-bosom with a napkin, found lying on a sideboard. Madame Juzeur and Madame
-Duveyrier were standing before the window listening to Doctor Juillerat,
-who was explaining that the attacks sometimes yielded to hot water
-applications to the neck.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the invalid, having seen Octave enter with Campardon, called him to
-her by a sign, and spoke a few incoherent words to him in a final
-hallucination. He had to sit down beside her, at the doctor&rsquo;s express
-order, who was desirous above all not to thwart her; and thus the young
-man listened to her disclosures, he who, during the evening, had already
-heard the husband&rsquo;s. She trembled with fright, she took him for her lover,
-and implored him to hide her. Then she recognized him, and burst into
-tears, thanking him for his lie of the morning during mass. Octave thought
-of that other attack, of which he had wished to take advantage, with the
-greedy desire of a school-boy. Now, he was her friend, and she would tell
-him everything, perhaps it would be better.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this moment, Théophile, who had continued to wander up and down before
-the door, wished to enter. Other men were there, so he could very well be
-there himself. But his appearance created a regular panic. On hearing his
-voice, Valérie was again seized with a fit of trembling, every one thought
-she was about to have another attack. He, imploring, and struggling
-amongst the ladies, whose arms thrust him back, kept obstinately
-repeating:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I only ask her for the name. Let her tell me the name.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Madame Josserand, arriving, gave vent to her wrath. She drew
-Théophile into the little room, to hide the scandal; and said to him
-furiously:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Look here! will you shut up? Ever since this morning you have been
-badgering us with your stupidities. You have no tact, sir; yes, you have
-absolutely no tact at all! One should not harp on such things on a wedding
-day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Excuse me, madame,&rdquo; murmured he, &ldquo;this is my business, and does not
-concern you!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! it does not concern me? but I form part of your family now, sir,
-and do you think your affair amuses me on account of my daughter? Ah! you
-have given her a pretty wedding! Not another word, sir, you are deficient
-in tact!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This cry closed his mouth. He was so scared, so feeble looking, with his
-slender limbs, and his face like a girl&rsquo;s, that the ladies smiled
-slightly. When one had not the facilities for making a woman happy, one
-ought not to marry. Hortense weighed him with a disdainful glance; little
-Angèle, whom they had forgotten, hovered round him, with her sly air, as
-though she had been looking for something; and he drew back embarrassed,
-and blushed when he saw them all, so big and plump, hemming him in with
-their sturdy hips. But they felt the necessity of patching up the matter.
-Valérie had started off sobbing again, whilst the doctor continued to
-bathe her temples. Then they understood one another with a glance, a
-common feeling of defense drew them together. They puzzled their brains,
-trying to explain the letter to the husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pooh!&rdquo; murmured Trublot, who had just rejoined Octave, &ldquo;it is easy
-enough; they have only to say the letter was addressed to the servant.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand heard him. She turned round and looked at him with a
-glance full of admiration. Then, turning toward Théophile:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Does an innocent woman lower herself to give explanations, when accused
-with such brutality? Still, I may speak. The letter was dropped by
-Françoise, that maid whom your wife had to pack off on account of her bad
-conduct. There, are you satisfied? do you not blush with shame?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At first the husband shrugged his shoulders. But the ladies all remained
-serious, answering his objections with very strong reasoning. He was
-shaken, when, to complete his discomfiture, Madame Duveyrier got angry,
-telling him that his conduct had been abominable, and that she disowned
-him. Then, vanquished, and feeling a longing to be kissed, he threw his
-arms round Valérie&rsquo;s neck, and begged her pardon. It was most touching.
-Even Madame Josserand was deeply affected.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is always best to come to an understanding,&rdquo; said she, with relief.
-&ldquo;The day will not end so badly, after all.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When they had dressed Valérie again, and she appeared in the ball-room on
-Theophile&rsquo;s arm, the joy seemed to be redoubled. It was close upon three
-o&rsquo;clock, the guests were beginning to leave; but the orchestra continued
-to get through the quadrilles with great gusto. Some of the men smiled
-behind the backs of the reconciled couple. A medical remark of
-Campardon&rsquo;s, respecting that poor Théophile, quite delighted Madame
-Juzeur. The young girls hastened to stare at Valérie; then they put on
-their stupid looks before their mothers&rsquo; scandalized glances. Berthe, who
-was at length dancing with her husband, must have whispered a word or two
-in his ear; for Auguste, made aware of what had been taking place, turned
-his head round, and, without getting out of step, looked at his brother
-Théophile with the surprise and the superiority of a man to whom such
-things cannot happen. There was a final galop, the guests were getting
-more free in the stifling heat and the reddish light of the candles, the
-vacillating flames of which caused the pendants of the chandeliers to
-sparkle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are very intimate with her?&rdquo; asked Madame Hédouin, as she whirled
-round on Octave&rsquo;s arm, having accepted his invitation to dance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young man fancied he felt a slight quiver in her frame, so erect and
-so calm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;They mixed me up in the matter, which annoys me
-immensely. The poor devil swallowed everything.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is very wrong,&rdquo; declared she, in her grave voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No doubt Octave was mistaken. When he withdrew his arm from her waist,
-Madame Hédouin was not even panting, her eyes were clear, and her hair not
-the least disarranged. But a scandal upset the end of the ball. Uncle
-Bachelard, who had finished himself off at the refreshment bar, ventured
-on a lively idea. He had suddenly been seen dancing, a most indecent step
-before Gueulin. Some napkins rolled round and stuffed in front of his
-buttoned-up coat, gave him the bosom of a wet-nurse, and two big oranges
-placed on the napkins, behind the lapels, displayed their roundness, in
-the sanguineous redness of an excoriated skin. This time every one
-protested: though one may earn heaps of money, yet there are limits which
-a man who respects himself should never go beyond, especially before young
-persons. Monsieur Josserand, ashamed and in despair, drew his
-brother-in-law away. Duveyrier displayed the greatest disgust.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At four o&rsquo;clock the newly married couple returned to the Rue de Choiseul.
-They brought Théophile and Valérie back in their carriage. As they went up
-to the second floor, where an apartment had been prepared for them, they
-came across Octave, who was also retiring to rest. The young man wished to
-draw politely on one side, but Berthe made a similar movement, and they
-knocked up against each other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! excuse me, mademoiselle,&rdquo; said he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The word &ldquo;mademoiselle&rdquo; amused them immensely. She looked at him, and he
-recalled the first glance exchanged between them on that same staircase, a
-glance of gayety and daring, the charming welcome of which he again
-beheld. They understood each other perhaps; she blushed, whilst he went up
-alone to his room, in the midst of the death-like peacefulness of the
-upper floors.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste, with his left eye closed up, half mad with the headache which had
-been clinging to him since the morning, was already in the apartment,
-where the other members of the family were arriving. Then, at the moment
-of quitting Berthe, Valérie yielded to a sudden fit of emotion, and
-pressing her in her arms, and completing the rumpling of her white dress,
-she kissed her, saying, in a low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! my dear, I wish you better luck than I have had!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
-CHAPTER IX.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>wo days later,
-toward seven o&rsquo;clock, as Octave arrived at the Campardons&rsquo; for dinner, he
-found Rose by herself, dressed in a cream-color dressing-gown, trimmed
-with white lace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Are you expecting any one?&rdquo; asked he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied she, rather confused. &ldquo;We will have dinner directly Achille
-comes in.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The architect was abandoning his punctual habits; was never there at the
-proper time for his meals, arrived very red in the face, with a wild
-expression, and cursing business. Then he went off again every evening, on
-all kinds of pretexts, talking of appointments at cafés, inventing distant
-meetings. Octave, on these occasions, would often keep Rose company till
-eleven o&rsquo;clock, for he had understood that the husband had him there to
-board to amuse his wife, and she would gently complain, and tell him her
-fears: ah! she left Achille very free, only she was so anxious when he
-came home after midnight!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you not think he has been rather sad lately?&rdquo; asked she, in a tenderly
-frightened tone of voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young man had not noticed it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I think he is rather worried, perhaps. The works at Saint-Roch cause him
-some anxiety.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she shook her head, without saying anything further about it. Then she
-was very kind to Octave, questioning him with a motherly and sisterly
-affection as to how he had employed the day. During nearly nine months
-that he had been boarding with them, she had always treated him thus as a
-child of the house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length the architect appeared.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good evening, my pet; good evening, my duck,&rdquo; said he, kissing her with
-his doting air of a good husband. &ldquo;Another fool has been detaining me in
-the street!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave moved away, and he heard them exchange a few words in a low voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Will she come?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No; what is the good? and, above all, do not worry yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You declared to me that she would come.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! yes; she is coming. Are you pleased? It is for your sake that I
-have done it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They took their seats at the table. During the whole of dinnertime they
-talked of the English language, which little Angèle had been learning for
-a fortnight past.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They were taking their dessert, when a ring at the bell caused Madame
-Campardon to start.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is madame&rsquo;s cousin,&rdquo; Lisa returned and said, in the wounded tone of a
-servant whom one has omitted to let into a family secret.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And it was indeed Gasparine who entered. She wore a black woolen dress,
-looking very quiet, with her thin face, and her air of a poor shop-girl.
-Rose, tenderly enveloped in her dressing-gown of cream-color silk, and
-plump and fresh, rose up so moved that tears filled her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! my dear,&rdquo; murmured she, &ldquo;you are good. We will forget everything;
-will we not?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She took her in her arms and gave her two hearty kisses. Octave discreetly
-wished to retire. But they grew angry: he could remain; he was one of the
-family. So he amused himself by looking on. Campardon, at first greatly
-embarrassed, turned his eyes away from the two women, puffing about, and
-looking for a cigar; whilst Lisa, who was roughly clearing the table,
-exchanged glances with surprised Angèle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is your cousin,&rdquo; at length said the architect to his daughter. &ldquo;You
-have heard us speak of her. Come, kiss her now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She kissed her with her sullen air, troubled by the sort of governess
-glance with which Gasparine took stock of her, after asking some questions
-respecting her age and education. Then, when the others passed into the
-drawing-room, she preferred to follow Lisa, who slammed the door, saying,
-without even fearing that she might be heard:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah, well! it&rsquo;ll become precious funny here now!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the drawing-room, Campardon, still restless, began to excuse himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;On my word of honor! the happy idea was not mine. It is Rose who wished
-to be reconciled. Every morning, for more than a week past, she has been
-saying to me: &lsquo;Now, go and fetch her.&rsquo; So I ended by fetching you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as though he had felt the necessity of convincing Octave, he took him
-up to the window.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! women are women. It bothered me, because I have a dread of rows.
-One on the right, the other on the left, there was no squabbling possible.
-But I had to give in. Rose says we shall be far happier thus. Anyhow, we
-will try. It depends on these two, now, to make my life comfortable.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile Rose and Gasparine had seated themselves side by side on the
-sofa. They were talking of the past, of the days lived at Plassans, with
-good papa Domergue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And your health?&rdquo; asked she, in a low voice. &ldquo;Achille spoke to me about
-it. Is it no better?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; replied Rose, in a melancholy tone. &ldquo;You see, I eat; I look very
-well. But it gets no better; it will never get any better.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As she began to cry, Gasparine, in her turn, took her in her arms and
-pressed her against her flat and ardent breast, whilst Campardon hastened
-to console them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why do you cry?&rdquo; asked she maternally. &ldquo;The main thing is that you do not
-suffer. What does it matter if you have always people about you to love
-you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Rose was becoming calmer, and already smiling amidst her tears. Then the
-architect, carried away by his feelings, clasped them both in the same
-embrace, kissing them alternately, and stammering:
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0203.jpg" alt="0203 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, we will love each other very much, we will love you such a
-deal, my poor little duck. You will see how well everything will go, now
-that we are united.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, turning toward Octave, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! my dear fellow, people may talk, there is nothing, after all, like
-family ties!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The end of the evening was delightful. Campardon, who usually fell asleep
-on leaving the table if he remained at home, recovered all his artist&rsquo;s
-gayety, the old jokes and the broad songs of the School of Fine Arts.
-When, toward eleven o&rsquo;clock, Gasparine prepared to leave, Rose insisted on
-accompanying her to the door, in spite of the difficulty she experienced
-in walking that day: and, leaning over the balustrade, in the grave
-silence of the staircase, she called after her:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come and see us often!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the morrow, Octave, feeling interested, tried to make the cousin talk
-at &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo; whilst they were receiving a consignment of
-linen goods together. But she answered curtly, and he felt that she was
-hostile, annoyed at his having been a witness the evening before.
-Moreover, she did not like him; she even displayed a sort of rancor toward
-him in their business relations.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave had given himself six months, and, though scarcely four had passed,
-he was becoming impatient. Every morning he asked himself whether he
-should not hurry matters forward, seeing the little progress he had made
-in the affections of this woman, always so icy and gentle. She had ended,
-however, by showing a real esteem for him, won over by his enlarged ideas,
-his dreams of vast modern warehouses discharging millions of merchandise
-into the streets of Paris. Often, when her husband was not there, and she
-opened the correspondence with the young man of a morning, she would
-detain him beside her and consult him, profiting a great deal by his
-advice, and a sort of commercial intimacy was thus gradually established
-between them. Their hands met amidst bundles of invoices, their breaths
-mingled as they added up columns of figures, and they yielded to moments
-of emotion before the open cash-box after some extra fortunate receipts.
-He even took advantage of these occasions, his tactics being now to reach
-her heart through her good trader&rsquo;s nature, and to conquer her on a day of
-weakness, in the midst of the great emotion occasioned by some unexpected
-sale. So he remained on the watch for some surprising occurrence which
-should deliver her up to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-About this time, Monsieur Hédouin, having fallen ill, went to pass a
-season at Vichy to take the waters. Octave, to speak frankly, was
-delighted. Though as cold as marble, Madame Hédouin would become more
-tender-hearted during her enforced widowhood. But he fruitlessly awaited a
-quiver, a languidness of desire. Never had she been so active, her head so
-free, her eye so clear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At heart, though, the young man did not despair. At times he thought he
-had reached the goal, and was already arranging his mode of living for the
-near day when he would be the lover of his employer&rsquo;s wife. He had kept up
-his connection with Marie to help him to wait patiently; only, though she
-was convenient and cost him nothing, she might perhaps one day become
-irksome, with her faithfulness of a beaten cur. Therefore, at the same
-time that he took her in his arms on the nights when he felt dull, he
-would be thinking of a way of breaking off with her. To do so abruptly
-seemed to him to be worse than foolish. One holiday morning, when about to
-rejoin his neighbor&rsquo;s wife, the neighbor himself having gone out early,
-the idea had at length come to him of restoring Marie to Jules, of sending
-them in a loving way into each other&rsquo;s arms, so that he might withdraw
-with a clear conscience. It was, moreover, a good action, the touching
-side of which relieved him of all remorse. He waited a while, however, not
-wishing to find himself without a female companion of some kind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the Campardons&rsquo; another complication was occupying Octave&rsquo;s mind. He
-felt that the moment was arriving when he would have to take his meals
-elsewhere. For three weeks past Gasparine had been making herself quite at
-home there, with an authority daily increasing. At first she had begun by
-coming every evening; then she had appeared at lunch: and, in spite of her
-work at the shop, she was commencing to take charge of everything, of
-Angèle&rsquo;s education, and of the household affairs. Rose was ever repeating
-in Campardon&rsquo;s presence:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! if Gasparine only lived with us!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But each time the architect, blushing with conscientious scruples, and
-tormented with shame, cried out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no; it cannot be. Besides, where would you put her to sleep?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he explained that they would have to give his study as a bedroom to
-their cousin, whilst he would move his table and plans into the
-drawing-room. It would certainly not inconvenience him in the least; he
-would, perhaps, decide to make the alteration one day, for he had no need
-of a drawing-room, and his study was becoming too cramped for all the work
-he had in hand. Only, Gasparine might very well remain as she was. What
-need was there to live all in a heap?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;When one is comfortable,&rdquo; repeated he to Octave, &ldquo;it is a mistake to wish
-to be better.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-About that time he was obliged to go and spend two days at Evreux. He was
-worried about the work in hand at the bishop&rsquo;s palace. He had yielded to
-the bishop&rsquo;s desires without a credit having been opened for the purpose,
-and the construction of the range for the new kitchens and of the heating
-apparatus threatened to amount to a very large figure, which it would be
-impossible to include in the cost of repairs. Besides that, the pulpit,
-for which three thousand francs had been granted, would come to ten
-thousand at least. He wished to talk the matter over with the bishop, so
-as to take certain precautions.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Rose was only expecting him to return on the Sunday night. He arrived in
-the middle of lunch, and his sudden entrance caused quite a scare.
-Gasparine was seated at the table, between Octave and Angèle. They
-pretended to be all at their ease; but there reigned a certain air of
-mystery. Lisa had closed the drawing-room door at a despairing gesture
-from her mistress, whilst the cousin kicked beneath the furniture some
-pieces of paper that were lying about.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Campardon talked of changing his things, they stopped him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wait a while. Have a cup of coffee, as you lunched at Evreux.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length, as he noticed Rose&rsquo;s embarrassment, she went and threw her arms
-around his neck.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear, you must not scold me. If you had not returned till this
-evening, you would have found everything straight.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She tremblingly opened the doors, and took him into the drawingroom and
-the study. A mahogany bedstead, brought that morning by a furniture
-dealer, occupied the place of the drawing-table, which had been moved into
-the middle of the adjoining room; but as yet nothing had been put
-straight; portfolios were knocking about amongst some of Gasparine&rsquo;s
-clothes; the Virgin with the Bleeding Heart was lying against the wall,
-kept in position by a new wash-stand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was a surprise,&rdquo; murmured Madame Campardon, her heart bursting, as she
-hid her face in her husband&rsquo;s waistcoat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He, deeply moved, looked about him. He said nothing, and avoided
-encountering Octave&rsquo;s eyes. Then, Gasparine asked, in her sharp voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Does it annoy you, cousin? It is Rose who pestered me. But, if you think
-I am in the way, it is not too late for me to leave.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! cousin!&rdquo; at length exclaimed the architect. &ldquo;All that Rose does is
-well done.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, the latter having burst out sobbing on his breast, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come, my duck, how foolish of you to cry! I am very pleased. You wish to
-have your cousin with you; well! have your cousin with you. Everything
-suits me. Now, do not cry any more! See! I kiss you like I love you, so
-much! so much!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He devoured her with caresses. Then, Rose, who melted into tears for a
-word, but who smiled at once, in the midst of her sobs, was consoled. She
-kissed him in her turn, on his beard, saying to him, gently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You were harsh. Kiss her also.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Campardon kissed Gasparine. They called Angèle, who had been looking on
-from the dining-room, her eyes bright and her mouth wide open; and she had
-to kiss her also. Octave had moved away, having arrived at the conclusion
-that they were becoming far too loving in that family. He had noticed with
-surprise Lisa&rsquo;s respectful attitude and smiling attentiveness toward
-Gasparine. She was decidedly an intelligent girl, that hussy with the blue
-eyelids!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, the architect had taken off his coat, and whistling and
-singing, as lively as a boy, he spent the afternoon in arranging the
-cousin&rsquo;s room. Then Octave understood that his presence interfered with
-the free expansion of their hearts; he felt he was one too many in such a
-united family, so mentioned that he was going to dine out that evening.
-Moreover, he had made up his mind; on the morrow he would thank Madame
-Campardon for her kind hospitality, and invent some story for no longer
-trespassing upon it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Toward five o&rsquo;clock, as he was regretting that he did not know where to
-find Trublot, he had the idea to go and ask the Pichons for some dinner,
-so as not to pass the evening alone. But, on entering their apartments, he
-found himself in the midst of a deplorable family scene. The Vuillaumes
-were there, trembling with rage and indignation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is disgraceful, sir!&rdquo; the mother was saying, standing up with her arm
-thrust out toward her son-in-law, who was sitting in a chair in a state of
-collapse. &ldquo;You gave me your word of honor.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And you,&rdquo; added the father, causing his daughter to draw back trembling
-as far as the sideboard, &ldquo;do not try to defend him, you are quite as
-guilty. Do you wish to die of hunger!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Vuillaume had put on her bonnet and shawl again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good-bye!&rdquo; uttered she, in a solemn tone. &ldquo;We will at least not encourage
-your dissoluteness by our presence. As you no longer pay the least
-attention to our wishes, we have nothing to detain us here. Good-bye!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as through force of habit her son-in-law rose to accompany them, she
-added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not trouble yourself, we shall be able to find the omnibus very well
-without you. Pass first, Monsieur Vuillaume. Let them eat their dinner,
-and much good may it do them, for they won&rsquo;t always have one!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, thoroughly bewildered, drew on one side. When they had gone, he
-looked at Jules, who was still in a state of collapse on his chair, and at
-Marie leaning against the sideboard and looking very pale. Neither of them
-said a word.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; asked he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, without answering him, the young woman commenced scolding her husband
-in a doleful voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I told you how it would be. You should have waited, and let them learn
-the thing by degrees. There was no hurry, it does not show as yet.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; repeated Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, without even turning her head, she said bluntly, in the midst of her
-emotion!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am in the family way.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have had enough of them!&rdquo; cried Jules, rising indignantly. &ldquo;I thought
-it right to tell them at once of this bother. I wonder if they think it
-amuses me! I am more taken in by it all than they are. More especially, by
-Jove! as it is through no fault of mine. Is it not true, Marie, that we
-have no idea how it has come about?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That is so, indeed,&rdquo; affirmed the young woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It quite affected Octave; and he felt a violent desire to do something
-nice for the Pichons. Jules continued to grumble: they would receive the
-child all the same, only it would have done better to have remained where
-it was. On her side, Marie, generally so gentle, became angry, and ended
-by agreeing with her mother, who never forgave disobedience. And the
-couple were coming to a quarrel, throwing the youngster from one to the
-other, accusing each other of being the cause of it, when Octave gayly
-interfered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is no use quarreling, now that it is there. Come, we won&rsquo;t dine here;
-it would be too sad. I will take you to a restaurant, if you are
-agreeable.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman blushed. Dining at a restaurant was her delight. She
-spoke, however, of her little girl, who invariably prevented her from
-having any pleasure. But it was decided that, for this once, Lilitte
-should go too. And they spent a very pleasant evening. Octave took them to
-the &ldquo;Bœuf à la Mode,&rdquo; where they had a private room, to be more at their
-ease, as he said. There, he overwhelmed them with food, with an earnest
-prodigality, without thinking of the bill, happy at seeing them eat. He
-even, at dessert, when they had laid Lilitte down between two of the sofa
-cushions, called for champagne; and they sat there, their elbows on the
-table, their eyes dim, all three full of heart, and feeling languid from
-the suffocating heat of the room. At length, at eleven o&rsquo;clock, they
-talked of going home; but they were red, and the fresh air of the street
-intoxicated them. Then, as the child, heavy with sleep, refused to walk,
-Octave, to do things handsomely until the end, insisted on hailing a cab,
-though the Rue de Choiseul was close by. In the cab, he was scrupulous to
-the point of not pressing Marie&rsquo;s knees. Only, upstairs, whilst Jules was
-tucking Lilitte in, he imprinted a kiss on the young woman&rsquo;s forehead, the
-farewell kiss of a father parting with his daughter to a son-in-law. Then,
-seeing them very loving and looking at each other in a drunken sort of
-way, he left them to themselves, wishing them a good-night and many
-pleasant dreams as he closed the door.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; thought he, as he jumped all alone into bed, &ldquo;it has cost me fifty
-francs, but I owed them quite that. After all, my only wish is that her
-husband may make her happy, poor little woman!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, with his heart full of emotion, he resolved, before falling asleep,
-to make his grand attempt on the following evening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Every Monday, after dinner, Octave assisted Madame Hédouin to examine the
-orders of the week. For this purpose they both withdrew to the little
-closet at the back, a narrow apartment which merely contained a safe, a
-desk, two chairs and a sofa. But it so happened that on the Monday in
-question the Duveyriers were going to take Madame Hédouin to the
-Opéra-Comique. So, toward three o&rsquo;clock, she sent for the young man. In
-spite of the bright sunshine, they were obliged to burn the gas, for the
-closet only received a pale light from an inner courtyard. He bolted the
-door, and, as she looked at him in surprise, he murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No one can come and disturb us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She nodded her head approvingly, and they set to work. The new summer
-goods were going splendidly, the business of the house continued
-increasing. That week especially the sale of the little woolens seemed so
-promising that she heaved a sigh.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! if we only had enough room!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But,&rdquo; said he, commencing the attack, &ldquo;it depends upon yourself. I have
-had an idea for some time past, which I wish to lay before you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the stroke of audacity he had been waiting for. His idea was to
-purchase the adjoining house in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, to give
-notice to an umbrella-dealer and to a toy-merchant, and then to enlarge
-the warehouses, to which they could add several other vast departments.
-And he warmed up as he spoke, showing himself full of disdain for the old
-way of doing business in the depths of damp, dark shops, without any
-display, evoking a new commerce with a gesture, piling up in palaces of
-crystal all the luxury pertaining to woman, turning over millions in the
-light of day, and illuminating at night-time in a princely style.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will crush the other drapers of the Saint-Roch neighborhood,&rdquo; said
-he; &ldquo;you will secure all the small customers.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Hédouin listened to him, her elbow on a ledger, her beautiful,
-grave head buried in her hand. She was born at &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo;
-which had been founded by her father and her uncle. She loved the house;
-she could see it expanding, swallowing up the neighboring houses, and
-displaying a royal frontage, and this dream suited her active
-intelligence, her upright will, her woman&rsquo;s delicate intuition of the new
-Paris.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Uncle Deleuze would never give his consent,&rdquo; murmured she. &ldquo;Besides, my
-husband is too unwell.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, seeing her wavering, Octave assumed his most seductive voice&mdash;an
-actor&rsquo;s voice, soft and musical. At the same time he looked tenderly at
-her, with his eyes the color of old gold, which some women thought
-irresistible. But, though the gas-jet flared close to the nape of her
-neck, she remained as cool as ever; she merely fell into a revery, half
-stunned by the young man&rsquo;s inexhaustible flow of words. He had come to
-studying the affair from the money point of view, already making an
-estimate with the impassioned air of a romantic page declaring a long pent
-up love. When she suddenly awoke from her reflections, she found herself
-in his arms. He was thinking that she was at length yielding.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me! so this is what it all meant!&rdquo; said she in a sad tone of voice,
-freeing herself from him as from some tiresome child.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! yes, I love you,&rdquo; cried he. &ldquo;Oh! do not repel me. With you I will
-do great things&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he went on thus to the end of the tirade, which had a false ring about
-it. She did not interrupt him; she was standing up and again scanning the
-pages of the ledger. Then, when he had finished, she replied:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I know all that&mdash;I have already heard it before. But I thought you
-were more sensible than the others, Monsieur Octave. You grieve me, really
-you do, for I had counted upon you. However, all young men are foolish. We
-need a great deal of order in such a house as this, and you begin by
-desiring things which would disturb us from morning to night. I am not a
-woman here, I have too much to occupy me. Come, you who are so well
-organized, how is it you did not comprehend that it could never be,
-because in the first place it is stupid, in the second useless, and,
-moreover, luckily for me, I do not care the least about it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He would have preferred her to have been indignantly angry, displaying
-grand sentiments. Her calm tone of voice, her quiet reasoning of a
-practical woman, sure of herself, disconcerted him. He felt himself
-becoming ridiculous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Have pity, madame,&rdquo; stammered he, before losing all hope. &ldquo;See how I
-suffer.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, you do not suffer. Anyhow, you will get over it. Hark! there is some
-one knocking, you would do better to open the door.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he had to draw the bolt. It was Mademoiselle Gasparine, who wished to
-know if any lace-trimmed chemises were expected. The bolted door had
-surprised her. But she knew Madame Hédouin too well; and, when she saw her
-with her cold air standing in front of Octave, who was full of uneasiness,
-a slight mocking smile played about her lips as she looked at him. It
-exasperated him, and in his own mind he accused her of having been the
-cause of his ill-success.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; declared he, abruptly, when Gasparine had withdrawn, &ldquo;I leave
-your employment this evening.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This was a surprise for Madame Hédouin. She looked at him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why so? I do not discharge you. Oh! it will not make any difference; I
-have no fear.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-These words decided him. He would leave at once; he would not endure his
-martyrdom a minute longer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very good, Monsieur Octave,&rdquo; resumed she as serenely as ever. &ldquo;I will
-settle with you directly. However, the firm will regret you, for you were
-a good assistant.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Once out in the street, Octave perceived that he had behaved like a fool.
-Four o&rsquo;clock was striking, the gay spring sun covered with a sheet of gold
-a whole corner of the Place Gaillon. And, angry with himself, he wandered
-at hap-hazard down the Rue Saint-Roch, discussing the way in which he
-ought to have acted. He would go and see if Campardon happened to be in
-the church, and take him to the café to have a glass of Madeira. It would
-help to divert his thoughts. He entered by the vestibule into which the
-vestry door opened, a dark, dirty passage such as is to be met with in
-houses of ill-repute.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are perhaps looking for Monsieur Campardon?&rdquo; said a voice close
-beside him, as he stood hesitating, scrutinizing the nave with his glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the Abbé Mauduit, who had just recognized him. The architect being
-away, he insisted on showing the works, about which he was most
-enthusiastic, to the young man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Walk in,&rdquo; said the Abbé Mauduit, gathering up his cassock. &ldquo;I will
-explain everything to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here we are,&rdquo; continued the priest. &ldquo;I had the idea of lighting the
-central group of the Calvary from above by means of an opening in the
-cupola. You can fancy what an effect it will have.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; murmured. Octave, whose thoughts were diverted by this stroll
-amidst building materials.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The Abbé Mauduit, speaking in a loud voice, had the air of a
-stage-carpenter directing the placing of some gorgeous scenery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he turned round to call out to a workman:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Move the Virgin on one side; you will be breaking her leg directly.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The workman called a comrade. Between them they got hold of the Virgin
-round the small of her back, and carried her to a place of safety, like
-some tall white girl who had fallen down under a nervous attack.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be careful!&rdquo; repeated the priest, following them through the rubbish,
-&ldquo;her dress is already cracked. Wait a while!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He gave them a hand, seizing Mary round the waist, and then, all covered
-with plaster, withdrew from the embrace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; resumed he, returning to Octave, &ldquo;just imagine that the two bays
-of the nave there before us are open, and go and stand in the chapel of
-the Virgin. Over the altar, and through the chapel of Perpetual Adoration,
-you will behold the Calvary right at the back. Just fancy the effect:
-these three enormous figures, this bare and simple drama in this
-tabernacle recess, beyond the dim, mysterious light of the stained-glass
-windows, the lamps and the gold candelabra. Eh? I think it will be
-irresistible!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was waxing eloquent, and, proud of his idea, he laughed joyfully.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The most skeptical will be moved,&rdquo; observed Octave, to please him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That is what I think!&rdquo; cried he. &ldquo;I am impatient to see everything in
-place.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am going to see Monsieur Campardon this evening,&rdquo; at length said the
-Abbe Mauduit. &ldquo;Ask him to wait in for me. I wish to speak to him about an
-improvement without being disturbed.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he bowed with his worldly air. Octave was calmed now. Saint-Roch, with
-its cool vaults, had unbraced his nerves. He looked curiously at this
-entrance to a church through a private house, at the doorkeeper&rsquo;s room,
-from whence at night time the door was often opened for the cause of the
-faith, at all that corner of a convent lost amidst the black
-conglomeration of the neighborhood. Out in the street, he again raised his
-eyes; the house displayed its bare frontage, with its barred and
-curtainless windows; but boxes of flowers were fixed by iron supports to
-the windows of the fourth floor; and, down below, in the thick walls, were
-narrow shops, which helped to fill the coffers of the clergy&mdash;a
-cobbler&rsquo;s, a clock-maker&rsquo;s, an embroiderer&rsquo;s, and even a wine shop, where
-the mutes congregated whenever there was a funeral. Octave, who, from his
-rebuff, was in a mood to renounce the world, regretted the quiet lives
-which the priests&rsquo; servants led up there in those rooms enlivened with
-verbenas and sweet peas.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That evening, at half past six, as he entered the Campardons&rsquo; apartments
-without ringing, he came suddenly upon the architect and Gasparine kissing
-each other in the ante-room. The latter, who had just come from the
-warehouse, had not even given herself time to close the door. Both stood
-stock-still.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My wife is combing her hair,&rdquo; stammered the architect, for the sake of
-saying something. &ldquo;Go in and see her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, feeling as embarrassed as themselves, hastened to knock at the
-door of Rose&rsquo;s room, where he usually entered like a relation. He really
-could no longer continue to board there, now that he caught them behind
-the doors.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come in!&rdquo; cried Rose&rsquo;s voice. &ldquo;So it is you, Octave. Oh! there is no
-harm.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had not, however, donned her dressing-gown, and her arms and
-shoulders, as white and delicate as milk, were bare. Sitting attentively
-before the looking-glass, she was rolling her golden hair in little curls.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So you are making yourself beautiful again to-night,&rdquo; said Octave,
-smiling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, for it is the only amusement I have,&rdquo; replied she. &ldquo;It occupies me.
-You know I have never been a good housewife; and, now that Gasparine will
-be here&mdash;Eh? don&rsquo;t you think that curl suits me? It consoles me a
-little when I am well dressed and I feel that I look pretty.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As the dinner was not ready, he told her of his having left &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo;
-Paradise.&rdquo; He invented a story about some other situation he had long been
-on the look-out for; and thus reserved to himself a pretext for explaining
-his intention of taking his meals elsewhere. She was surprised that he
-could give up a berth which held out great promises for the future. But
-she was busy at her glass, and did not catch all he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Look at this red place behind my ear. Is it a pimple?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had to examine the nape of her neck, which she held toward him with her
-grand tranquillity of a sacred woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is nothing,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You must have dried yourself too roughly.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, when he had assisted her to put on her dressing-gown of blue satin
-embroidered with silver, they passed into the diningroom. As early as the
-soup, Octave&rsquo;s departure from the Hédouins&rsquo; was discussed. Campardon did
-not repress his surprise, whilst Gasparine smiled faintly; they were quite
-at their ease together.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At dessert Gasparine sharply rated Lisa, who had answered her mistress
-rudely respecting a piece of cheese that was missing. The maid became very
-humble. Gasparine had already taken the household arrangements in hand,
-and had mastered the servants; with a word, she could make Victoire
-herself quake amongst her saucepans. So that Rose looked at her gratefully
-with moist eyes; she was respected, now that her cousin was there, and her
-longing was to get her also to leave &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo; and take
-charge of Angèle&rsquo;s education.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; murmured she, caressingly, &ldquo;there is quite enough to occupy you
-here. Angèle, implore your cousin, tell her how pleased you will be.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young girl implored her cousin, whilst Lisa nodded her head
-approvingly. But Campardon and Gasparine remained grave; no, no, they must
-wait, one should not take a leap in life without having something to hold
-on to.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The evenings in the drawing-room were now delightful. The architect had
-altogether given up going out. That evening he had arranged to hang some
-engravings, which had come back from the framer, in Gasparine&rsquo;s room. Then
-Octave, finding himself alone with Rose, resumed his story, and explained
-that at the end of the month he would be obliged to take his meals away
-from them. She seemed surprised, but her thoughts were elsewhere; she
-returned at once to her husband and her cousin, whom she heard laughing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! how it amuses them to hang those pictures! What would you have!
-Achille no longer stays out; for a fortnight past he has not left me of an
-evening. No, no more going to the café, no more business meetings, no more
-appointments; and you remember how anxious I used to be, when he was out
-after midnight! Ah! it is a great ease to my mind now! I at least have him
-by me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No doubt, no doubt,&rdquo; murmured Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she continued speaking of the economy of the new arrangement.
-Everything went on better in the house, they laughed from morning to
-night.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;When I see Achille pleased,&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;I am satisfied.&rdquo; Then,
-returning to the young man&rsquo;s affairs, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So you are really going to leave us? You should stay, though, as we are
-all going to be so happy.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He recommenced his explanations. She comprehended, and lowered her eyes:
-the young fellow would indeed interfere with their family effusions, and
-she herself felt a certain relief at his departure, no longer requiring
-him, moreover, to keep her company of an evening. He had to promise to
-come and see her very often.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There you are, Mignon, supplicating Heaven!&rdquo; cried Campardon joyously.
-&ldquo;Wait a moment, cousin; I will help you down.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They heard him take her in his arms and place her somewhere. There was a
-short silence, and then a faint laugh. But the architect was already
-entering the drawing-room; and he held his hot cheek to his wife.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is done, my duck. Kiss your old pet for working so well.&rdquo; But the
-architect suddenly became virtuously indignant. He had just noticed that,
-instead of studying her Scripture history, the child was reading the
-&ldquo;Gazette de France,&rdquo; lying on the table.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Angèle,&rdquo; said he, severely, &ldquo;what are you doing? This morning, I crossed
-out that article with a red pencil. You know very well that you are not to
-read what is crossed out.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I was reading beside it, papa,&rdquo; replied the young girl.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All the same, he took the paper away from her, complaining in low tones to
-Octave of the demoralization of the press. That number contained the
-report of another abominable crime. If families could no longer admit the
-&ldquo;Gazette de France,&rdquo; then what paper could they take in? And he was
-raising his eyes to heaven, when Lisa announced the Abbé Mauduit.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes,&rdquo; observed Octave, &ldquo;he asked me to tell you he was coming.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The priest entered smiling. As the architect had forgotten to take off his
-paper cross, he stammered in the presence of that smile. The Abbé Mauduit
-happened to be the person whose name was kept a secret and who had the
-matter in hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The ladies did it,&rdquo; murmured Campardon, preparing to take the cross off.
-&ldquo;They are so fond of a joke.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no, keep it,&rdquo; exclaimed the priest, very amiably. &ldquo;It is well where
-it is, and we will replace it by a more substantial one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He at once asked after Rose&rsquo;s health, and greatly approved Gasparine&rsquo;s
-coming to live with one of her relations. Single young ladies ran so many
-risks in Paris! He said these things with all his good priest&rsquo;s unction,
-though fully aware of the real state of affairs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the Abbé Mauduit appeared, Octave had wished the Campardons good
-evening. As he crossed the ante-room, he heard Angèle&rsquo;s voice in the now
-dark dining-room, she having also made her escape.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Was it about the butter that she was kicking up such a row?&rdquo; asked she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; answered another voice, which was Lisa&rsquo;s. &ldquo;She&rsquo;s as spiteful
-as can be. You saw how she went on at me at dinner time. But I don&rsquo;t care
-a fig! One must pretend to obey, with a person of that sort, but that
-doesn&rsquo;t prevent our amusing ourselves all the same!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Angèle must have thrown her arms round Lisa&rsquo;s neck, for her voice
-was drowned in the servant&rsquo;s bosom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes. And, afterward, so much the worse! it&rsquo;s you I love!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was going up to bed, when a desire for fresh air brought him down
-again. It was not more than ten o&rsquo;clock, he would stroll as far as the
-Palais-Royal. Now, he was single again: both Valérie and Madame Hédouin
-had declined to have anything to do with his heart, and he had been too
-hasty in restoring Marie to Jules, the only woman he had succeeded in
-conquering, and without having done anything for it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As he was placing his foot on the pavement, a woman&rsquo;s voice called to him;
-and he recognized Berthe at the door of the silk warehouse, the shutters
-of which were being put up by the porter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is it true, Monsieur Mouret?&rdquo; asked she, &ldquo;have you really left &lsquo;The
-Ladies&rsquo; Paradise?&rsquo;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was surprised that it was already known in the neighborhood.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman had called her husband. As he intended speaking to
-Monsieur Mouret on the morrow, he might just as well do so then. And
-Auguste abruptly offered Octave in a sour way a berth in his employ. The
-young man, taken unawares, hesitated and was on the point of refusing,
-thinking of the small importance of the house. But he caught sight of
-Berthe&rsquo;s pretty face, as she smiled at him with her air of welcome, with
-the gay glance he had already twice encountered, on the day of his arrival
-and the day of the wedding.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! yes,&rdquo; said he resolutely.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
-CHAPTER X.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEN, Octave found
-himself brought into closer contact with the Duveyriers. Often, when
-Madame Duveyrier returned from a walk, she would come through her
-brother&rsquo;s shop, and stop to talk a minute with Berthe; and, the first time
-that she saw the young man behind one of the counters, she amiably
-reproached him for not keeping his word, reminding him of his
-long-standing promise to come and see her one evening, and try his voice
-at the piano. She wished to give a second performance of the &ldquo;Benediction
-of the Daggers,&rdquo; at one of her first Saturdays at home of the coming
-winter, but with two extra tenors, something very complete.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If it does not interfere with your arrangements,&rdquo; said Berthe one day to
-Octave, &ldquo;you might go up to my sister-in-law&rsquo;s after dinner. She is
-expecting you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She maintained toward him the attitude of a mistress, simply polite.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The fact is,&rdquo; he observed, &ldquo;I intended arranging these shelves this
-evening.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not trouble about them,&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;there are plenty of people here
-to do that. I give you your evening.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Toward nine o&rsquo;clock, Octave found Madame Duveyrier awaiting him in her
-grand white and gold drawing-room. Everything was ready, the piano open,
-the candles lit. A lamp placed on a small round table beside the
-instrument only imperfectly lighted the room, one half of which remained
-in shadow. Seeing the young woman alone, he thought it proper to ask after
-Monsieur Duveyrier. She replied that he was very well; his colleagues had
-selected him to report on a very grave affair, and he had just gone out to
-obtain certain information respecting it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know; the affair of the Rue de Provence,&rdquo; said she simply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! he has that in hand!&rdquo; exclaimed Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a scandal which was the talk of all Paris, quite a clandestine
-prostitution, young girls of fourteen procured for high personages.
-Clotilde added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it gives him a great deal of work. For a fortnight past all of his
-evenings have been taken up with it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No doubt! for he too has the cure of souls,&rdquo; murmured he, embarrassed by
-her clear glance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! sir, shall we begin?&rdquo; resumed she. &ldquo;You will excuse my importunity,
-will you not? And open your lungs, display all your powers, as Monsieur
-Duveyrier is not here. You, perhaps, heard him boast that he did not like
-music.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She put such contempt into the words, that he thought it right to risk a
-faint laugh. Moreover, it was the sole bitter feeling which at times
-escaped her before other people with respect to her husband, when
-exasperated by his jokes on her piano, she who was strong enough to hide
-the hatred and the physical repulsion with which he inspired her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How can one help liking music?&rdquo; remarked Octave with an air of ecstasy,
-so as to make himself agreeable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she seated herself on the music-stool. A collection of old tunes was
-open on the piano. She had already selected an air out of &ldquo;Zémire and
-Azor,&rdquo; by Grétry. As the young man could only just manage to read his
-notes, she made him go through it first in a low voice. Then she played
-the prelude, and he sang the first verse.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perfect!&rdquo; cried she with delight, &ldquo;a tenor, there is not the least doubt
-of it, a tenor! Pray continue, sir.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, feeling highly flattered, gave out the two other verses. She was
-beaming. For three years past she had been seeking for one! And she told
-him of all her vexations, Monsieur Trublot, for instance; for it was a
-fact, the causes of which were worth studying, that there were no longer
-any tenors among the young men of society: no doubt it was owing to
-tobacco.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be careful, now!&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;we must put some expression into it.
-Begin it boldly.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her cold face assumed a languid expression, her eyes turned toward him
-with an expiring air. Thinking that she was warming, he became more
-animated also, and considered her charming.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will get along very well,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Only, accentuate the time more.
-See, like this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she herself sang, repeating quite twenty times: &ldquo;More trembling than
-you,&rdquo; bringing out the notes with the rigor of a sinless woman, whose
-passion for music was not more than skin deep in her mechanism. Her voice
-rose little by little, filling the room with shrill cries, when they both
-suddenly heard some one exclaiming loudly behind their backs:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame! madame!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She started, and, recognizing her maid Clémence, exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? what?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame, your father has fallen with his face in his papers, and he
-doesn&rsquo;t move. We are so frightened.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, without exactly understanding, and greatly surprised, she quitted
-the piano and followed Clémence. Octave, who was uncertain whether to
-accompany her, remained walking about the drawing-room. However, after a
-few minutes of hesitation and embarrassment, as he heard people rushing
-about and calling out distractedly, he made up his mind, and, crossing a
-room that was in darkness, he found himself in Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s
-bedchamber.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He is in a fit,&rdquo; said Octave. &ldquo;He must not be left there. We must get him
-onto his bed.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0227.jpg" alt="0227 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-But Madame Duveyrier was losing her head. Emotion was little by little
-seizing upon her cold nature. She kept repeating:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you think so? do you think so? O good heavens! O my poor father!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hippolyte, a prey to an uneasy feeling, to a visible repugnance to touch
-the old man, who might go off in his arms, did not hurry himself. Octave
-had to call to him to help. Between them they laid him on the bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Bring some warm water!&rdquo; resumed the young man, addressing Julie. &ldquo;Wipe
-his face.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Now, Clotilde became angry with her husband. Ought he to have been away?
-What would become of her if anything happened?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To leave me alone like this!&rdquo; continued Clotilde. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, but
-there must be all sorts of affairs to settle. O my poor father!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Would you like me to inform the other members of the family?&rdquo; asked
-Octave. &ldquo;I can fetch your brothers. It would be prudent.&rdquo; She did not
-answer. Two big tears swelled her eyes, whilst Julie and Clémence tried to
-undress the old man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; observed Clémence, &ldquo;one side of him is already quite cold.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This increased Madame Duveyrier&rsquo;s anger. She no longer spoke, for fear of
-saying too much before the servants. Her husband did not, apparently, care
-a button for their interests! Had she only been acquainted with the law!
-And she could not remain still; she kept walking up and down before the
-bed. Octave, whose attention was diverted by the sight of the tickets,
-looked at the formidable apparatus which covered the table; it was a big
-oak box, filled with a series of cardboard tickets, scrupulously sorted,
-the stupid work of a lifetime. Just as he was reading on one of these
-tickets: &ldquo;&lsquo;Isidore Charbotel;&rsquo; &lsquo;Exhibition of 1857,&rsquo; &lsquo;Atalanta;&rsquo;
-&lsquo;Exhibition of 1859,&rsquo; &lsquo;The Lion of Androcles;&rsquo; &lsquo;Exhibition of 1861,&rsquo;
-&lsquo;Portrait of Monsieur P&mdash;&mdash;-,&rsquo;&rdquo; Clotilde went and stood before
-him and said resolutely, in a low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go and fetch him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as he evinced his surprise, she seemed, with a shrug of her
-shoulders, to cast off the story about the report of the affair of the Rue
-de Provence, one of those eternal pretexts which she invented for her
-acquaintances. She let out everything in her emotion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know, Rue de la Cerisaie. All our friends know it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He wished to protest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I assure you, madame&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not stand up for him!&rdquo; resumed she. &ldquo;I am only too pleased; he can
-stay there. Ah! good heavens! if it were not for my poor father!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave bowed. Julie was wiping Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s eye with the corner of a
-towel; but the ink had dried, and the smudge remained in the skin, which
-was marked with livid streaks. Madame Duveyrier told her not to rub so
-hard; then she returned to the young man, who was already at the door.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not a word to any one,&rdquo; murmured she. &ldquo;It is needless to upset the house.
-Take a cab, call there, and bring him back in spite of everything.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When he had gone, she sank onto a chair beside the patient&rsquo;s pillow. He
-had not recovered consciousness; his breathing alone, a deep and painful
-breathing, troubled the mournful silence of the chamber. Then, the doctor
-not arriving, finding herself alone with the two servants, who stood by
-with frightened looks, she burst out into a terrible fit of sobbing, in a
-paroxysm of deep grief.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was at the Café Anglais that uncle Bachelard had invited Duveyrier to
-dine, without any one knowing why, perhaps for the pleasure of treating a
-counselor, and of showing him that tradespeople knew how to spend their
-money. He had also invited Trublot and Gueulin&mdash;four men and no women&mdash;for
-women do not know how to eat; they interfere with the truffles, and spoil
-digestion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Drink away! drink away, sir!&rdquo; he kept saying to Duveyrier; &ldquo;when wines
-are good they never intoxicate. It&rsquo;s the same with food; it never does one
-harm so long as it&rsquo;s delicate.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0231.jpg" alt="0231 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-He, however, was careful. On this occasion he was posing for the
-gentleman, shaved and brushed up, and with a rose in his buttonhole,
-restraining himself from breaking the crockery, which he was in the habit
-of doing. Trublot and Gueulin eat of everything. The uncle&rsquo;s theory seemed
-the right one, for Duveyrier, who suffered a great deal from his stomach,
-had drank considerably, and had returned to the crayfish salad, without
-feeling the least indisposed, the red blotches on his face merely assuming
-a purple hue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, when the coffee had been served, with some liquors and cigars, and
-all the attendants had withdrawn, uncle Bachelard suddenly leaned back in
-his chair and heaved a sigh of satisfaction.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; declared he, &ldquo;one is comfortable.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot and Gueulin, also leaning back in their chairs, opened their arms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Completely!&rdquo; said the one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Up to the eyes!&rdquo; added the other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier, who was puffing, nodded his head, and murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! the crayfish!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All four looked at each other and chuckled. Their skins were well-nigh
-bursting, and they were digesting in the slow and selfish way of four
-worthy citizens who had just had a tuckout away from the worries of their
-families. It had cost a great deal; no one had partaken of it with them;
-there was no girl there to take advantage of their emotion; and they
-unbuttoned their waistcoats, and laid their stomachs as it were on the
-table. With eyes half-closed, they even avoided speaking at first, each
-one absorbed in his solitary pleasure. Then, free and easy, and whilst
-congratulating themselves that there were no women present, they placed
-their elbows on the table, and, with their excited faces close together,
-they did nothing but talk incessantly of them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;As for myself, I am disabused,&rdquo; declared uncle Bachelard. &ldquo;It is after
-all far preferable to be virtuous.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This conversation tickled Duveyrier&rsquo;s fancy. He was sipping kummel, whilst
-sharp twinges of sensuality kept shooting across his stiff, magisterial
-face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For my part,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I cannot bear vice. It shocks me. Now, to be able
-to love a woman, one must esteem her, is it not so? Love could not have a
-nobler mission. In short, a virtuous mistress, you understand me? Then, I
-do not deny I might succumb.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Virtuous mistresses! but I have had no end of them!&rdquo; cried Bachelard.
-&ldquo;They are a far greater nuisance than the others; and such sluts too!
-Wenches who, behind your back, lead a life fit to give you every possible
-ailment! Take, for instance, my last, a very respectable-looking little
-lady, whom I met at a church door. I set her up in business at Les Ternes
-as a milliner, just to give her a position. She never had a single
-customer, though. Well, sir, believe me or not as you like, but she had
-the whole street to sleep with her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin was chuckling, whilst his carroty hair bristled more than usual,
-and his forehead was bathed in perspiration from the heat of the candles.
-He murmured, as he sucked his cigar:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And the other, the tall one at Passy, who had a sweet-stuff shop. And the
-other, she who had a room over there, with her outfits for orphan
-children. And the other, the captain&rsquo;s widow, you surely remember her! she
-used to show the mark of a sword-thrust on her body. All, uncle, all of
-them played the fool with you! Now, I may tell you, may I not? Well! I had
-to defend myself one night against the one with the sword-thrust. She
-wanted to, but I was not such a fool! One never knows what such women may
-lead a man to!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard seemed annoyed. He recovered his good humor, however, and,
-blinking his heavy eyelids, said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My little fellow, you can have them all; I have something far better.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he refused to explain himself further, delighted at having awakened
-the others&rsquo; curiosity. Yet he was burning to be indiscreet, to let them
-imagine what a treasure he possessed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A young girl,&rdquo; said he at length, &ldquo;and a genuine one, on my word of
-honor.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; cried Trublot, &ldquo;Such things no longer exist.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of good family!&rdquo; asked Duveyrier.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of most excellent family,&rdquo; affirmed the uncle. &ldquo;Imagine something
-stupidly chaste. A mere chance. She submitted quite innocently. She has no
-idea of anything even now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin listened to him in surprise; then, making a skeptical gesture,
-murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes, I know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What? you know!&rdquo; said Bachelard angrily. &ldquo;You know nothing at all, my
-little fellow; no one knows anything. She is for yours truly. She is
-neither to be seen nor touched. Hands off!&rdquo; And, turning to Duveyrier, he
-added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will understand, sir, you who have feeling. It affects me so much
-going there, that when I come away I feel quite young again. In short, it
-is a cozy little nook for me, where I can recruit myself after all those
-hussies. And, if you only knew, she is so polite and so fresh, with a skin
-like a flower, and a figure not in the least thin, sir, but as round and
-firm as a peach!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The counselor&rsquo;s red blotches were almost bleeding through the rush of
-blood to his face. Trublot and Gueulin looked at the uncle; and they felt
-a desire to slap him as they beheld him with his set of false teeth, which
-were too white, and at the corners of which the saliva trickled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard became quite tender-hearted, and resumed, licking the brim of
-his liquor glass with the tip of his tongue:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;After all, my sole dream is to make the child happy! But there, my
-pot-belly tells me I am getting old; I&rsquo;m like a father to her. I give you
-my word! if I found a very good young fellow, I&rsquo;d give her to him, oh! in
-marriage, not otherwise.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You would make two happy ones,&rdquo; murmured Duveyrier sentimentally.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was almost stifling in the small apartment. A glass of chartreuse that
-had been upset had made the tablecloth all sticky, and it was also covered
-with cigar-ash. The gentlemen were in want of some fresh air.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Would you like to see her?&rdquo; abruptly asked the uncle, rising from his
-seat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They consulted one another with a glance. Well, yes, they were willing, if
-it could afford him any pleasure; and their affected indifference hid a
-gluttonous satisfaction at the thought of going and finishing their
-dessert with the old fellow&rsquo;s little one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s get along, uncle! Which is the way?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard became quite grave again, tortured by his ridiculously vain
-longing to exhibit Fifi, and by his terror of being robbed of her. For a
-moment he looked to the left, then to the right, in an anxious way. At
-length he boldly said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! no, I won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he obstinately adhered to his determination, without caring a straw
-for Trublot&rsquo;s chaff, nor even deigning to explain by some pretext his
-sudden change of mind. They therefore had to turn their steps in
-Clarisse&rsquo;s direction. As it was a splendid evening, they decided to walk
-all the way, with the hygienic idea of hastening their digestion. Then
-they started off down the Rue de Richelieu, pretty steady on their legs,
-but so full that they considered the pavements far too narrow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The house in the Rue de la Cerisaie seemed asleep amidst the solitude and
-the silence of the street. Duveyrier was surprised at not seeing any
-lights in the third-floor windows. Trublot said, with a serious air, that
-Clarisse had no doubt gone to bed to wait for them; or perhaps, Gueulin
-added, she was playing a game of bézique in the kitchen with her maid.
-They knocked. The gas on the staircase was burning with the straight and
-immovable flame of a lamp in some chapel. Not a sound, not a breath. But,
-as the four men passed before the room of the doorkeeper, the latter
-hastily came out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sir, sir, the key!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier stood stock-still on the first step.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is madame not there, then?&rdquo; asked he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, sir. And, wait a moment, you must take a candle with you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As he handed him the candlestick, the doorkeeper allowed quite a chuckle
-of ferocious and vulgar jocosity to pierce through the exaggerated respect
-depicted on his pallid countenance. Neither of the two young men nor the
-uncle had said a word. It was in the midst of this silence, and with bent
-backs, that they ascended the stairs in single file, the interminable
-noise of their footsteps resounding up each mournful flight. At their
-head, Duveyrier, who was puzzling himself trying to understand, lifted his
-feet with the mechanical movement of a somnambulist; and the candle, which
-he held with a trembling hand, cast their four shadows on the wall,
-resembling in their strange ascent a procession of broken puppets.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the third floor, a faintness came over him, and he was quite unable to
-find the key-hole. Trublot did him the service of opening the door. The
-key turned in the lock with a sonorous and reverberating noise, as though
-beneath the vaulted roof of some cathedral.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Jupiter!&rdquo; murmured he, &ldquo;it doesn&rsquo;t seem as if the place was inhabited.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It sounds empty,&rdquo; said Bachelard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A little family vault,&rdquo; added Gueulin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They entered. Duveyrier passed first, holding high the candle. The
-ante-room was empty, even the hat-pegs had disappeared. The drawing-room
-and the parlor were also empty: not a stick of furniture, not a curtain at
-the windows, not even a brass rod. Duveyrier stood as one petrified, first
-looking down at his feet, then raising his eyes to the ceiling, and then
-searchingly gazing at the walls, as though he had been seeking the hole
-through which everything had disappeared.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What a clear out!&rdquo; Trublot could not help exclaiming.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps the place is going to be done up,&rdquo; observed Gueulin, without as
-much as a smile. &ldquo;Let us see the bed-room. The furniture may have been
-moved in there.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the bed-room was also bare, with that ugly and chilly bareness of
-plaster walls from which the paper has been torn off. Where the bedstead
-had stood, the iron supports of the canopy, also removed, left gaping
-holes; and, one of the windows having been left partly open, the air from
-the street filled the apartment with the humidity and the unsavoriness of
-a public square.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My God! my God!&rdquo; stuttered Duveyrier, at length able to weep, unnerved by
-the sight of the place where the friction of the mattresses had rubbed the
-paper off the wall.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Uncle Bachelard became quite paternal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Courage, sir!&rdquo; he kept repeating. &ldquo;The same thing happened to me, and I
-did not die of it. Honor is safe, damn it all!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The counselor shook his head, and went into the dressing-room, and then
-into the kitchen. The evidence of the disaster increased. The piece of
-American cloth behind the washstand in the dressing-room had been taken
-down, and the hooks had been removed from the kitchen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, that is too much, it is pure capriciousness!&rdquo; said Gueulin, in
-amazement. &ldquo;She might have left the hooks.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t stand this any longer, you know,&rdquo; Trublot ended by declaring, as
-they visited the drawing-room for the third time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really! I would give ten sous for a chair.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All four came to a halt, standing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;When did you see her last?&rdquo; asked Bachelard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yesterday, sir!&rdquo; exclaimed Duveyrier.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin wagged his head. By Jove! it had not taken long, it had been
-neatly done. But Trublot uttered an exclamation. He had just caught sight
-of a dirty collar and a damaged cigar on the mantelpiece.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not complain,&rdquo; said he, laughing, &ldquo;she has left you a keepsake. It is
-always something.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier looked at the collar with sudden emotion. Then he murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Twenty-five thousand francs&rsquo; worth of furniture, there was twenty-five
-thousand francs&rsquo; worth! Well! no, no, it is not that which I regret!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will not have the cigar?&rdquo; interrupted Trublot. &ldquo;Then, allow me to. It
-has a hole in it, but I can stick a cigarette paper over that.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He lighted it at the candle which the counselor was still holding, and,
-letting himself drop down against the wall, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So much the worse! I must sit down a while on the floor. My legs will not
-bear me any longer.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I beg of you,&rdquo; at length said Duveyrier, &ldquo;to explain to me where she can
-possibly be.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard and Gueulin looked at each other. It was a delicate matter.
-However, the uncle came to a manly decision, and he told the poor fellow
-everything, all Clarisse&rsquo;s goings-on, her continual escapades, the lovers
-she picked up behind his back, at each of their parties. She had no doubt
-gone off with the last one, big Payan, that mason of whom a Southern town
-wished to make an artist. Duveyrier listened to the abominable story with
-an expression of horror. He allowed this cry of despair to escape him:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is, then, no honesty left on earth!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And suddenly opening his heart, he told them all he had done for her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Leave her alone!&rdquo; exclaimed Bachelard, delighted with the counselor&rsquo;s
-misfortune, &ldquo;she will humbug you again. There is nothing like virtue,
-understand! It is far better to take a little one devoid of malice, as
-innocent as the child just born. Then, there is no danger, one may sleep
-in peace.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot meanwhile was smoking, leaning against the wall with his legs
-stretched out. He was gravely reposing, the others had forgotten him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you particularly want it, I can find the address for you,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I
-know the maid.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier turned round, surprised at that voice which seemed to issue from
-the boards; and, when he beheld him smoking all that remained of Clarisse,
-puffing big clouds of smoke, in which he fancied he beheld the twenty-five
-thousand francs&rsquo; worth of furniture evaporating, he made an angry gesture
-and replied:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, she is unworthy of me. She must beg my pardon on her knees.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo! here she is coming back!&rdquo; said Gueulin, listening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And some one was indeed walking in the ante-room, whilst a voice said:
-&ldquo;Well! what&rsquo;s up? is every one dead?&rdquo; And Octave appeared. He was quite
-bewildered by the open doors and the empty rooms. But his amazement
-increased still more when he beheld the four men in the midst of the
-denuded drawing-room, one sitting on the floor, and the other three
-standing up, and only lighted by the meager candle which the counselor was
-holding, like a taper at church. A few words sufficed to inform him of
-what had occurred.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t possible!&rdquo; cried he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Did they not tell you anything, then, down-stairs?&rdquo; asked Gueulin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, nothing at all; the doorkeeper quietly watched me come up. Ah! so
-she&rsquo;s gone! It does not surprise me. She had such queer hair and eyes!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He asked some particulars, and stood talking a minute, forgetful of the
-sad news which he had brought. Then, turning abruptly toward Duveyrier, he
-said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;By the way, it&rsquo;s your wife who sent me to fetch you. Your father-in-law
-is dying.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; simply observed the counselor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Old Vabre!&rdquo; murmured Bachelard. &ldquo;I expected as much.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pooh! when one gets to the end of one&rsquo;s reel!&rdquo; remarked Gueulin,
-philosophically.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, it&rsquo;s best to take one&rsquo;s departure,&rdquo; added Trublot, in the act of
-sticking a second cigarette paper round his cigar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The gentlemen at length decided to leave the empty apartment. Octave
-repeated he had given his word of honor that he would bring Duveyrier back
-with him at once, no matter what state he was in. The latter carefully
-shut the door, as though he had left his dead affections there; but,
-down-stairs, he was overcome with shame, and Trublot had to return the key
-to the doorkeeper. Then, outside on the pavement, there was a silent
-exchange of hearty hand-shakes; and, directly the cab had driven off with
-Octave and Duveyrier, Uncle Bachelard said to Gueulin and Trublot, as they
-stood in the deserted street:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Jove&rsquo;s thunder! I must show her to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For a minute past he had been stamping about, greatly excited by the
-despair of that big noodle of a counselor, bursting with his own
-happiness, with that happiness which he considered due to his own deep
-malice, and which he could no longer contain.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know, uncle,&rdquo; said Gueulin, &ldquo;if it&rsquo;s only to take us as far as the
-door again, and then to leave us&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, Jove&rsquo;s thunder! you shall see her. It will please me. True, it&rsquo;s
-nearly midnight, but she shall get up if she&rsquo;s in bed. You know, she&rsquo;s the
-daughter of a captain, Captain Menu, and she has a very respectable aunt,
-born at Villeneuve, near Lille, on my word of honor! Messieurs Mardienne
-Brothers, of the Rue Saint-Sulpice, will give her a character. Ah! Jove&rsquo;s
-thunder! we&rsquo;re in need of it; you&rsquo;ll see what virtue is!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he took hold of their arms, Gueulin on his right, Trublot on his left,
-putting his best foot forward as he started off in quest of a cab, to
-arrive there the sooner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile Octave briefly related to the counselor all he knew of Monsieur
-Vabre&rsquo;s attack, without hiding that Madame Duveyrier was acquainted with
-the address of the Rue de la Cerraise. After a pause, the counselor asked,
-in a doleful voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you think she will forgive me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave remained silent. The cab continued to roll along, in the obscurity
-lighted up every now and then by a ray from a gas-lamp. Just as they were
-reaching their destination Duveyrier, tortured with anxiety, put another
-question:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The best thing for me to do for the present is to make it up with my
-wife; do you not think so?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It would, perhaps, be wise,&rdquo; replied the young man, obliged to answer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, Duveyrier felt the necessity of regretting his father-in-law. He was
-a man of great intelligence, with an incredible capacity for work.
-However, they would, very likely, be able to set him on his legs again. In
-the Rue de Choiseul, they found the street-door open, and quite a group
-gathered before Monsieur Gourd&rsquo;s room. But they held their tongues,
-directly they caught sight of Duveyrier.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; inquired the latter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The doctor is applying mustard poultices to Monsieur Vabre,&rdquo; replied
-Hippolyte. &ldquo;Oh! I had such difficulty to find him!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Up-stairs in the drawing-room, Madame Duveyrier came forward to meet them.
-She had cried a great deal, her eyes sparkled beneath the swollen lids.
-The counselor, full of embarrassment, opened his arms; and he embraced her
-as he murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My poor Clotilde!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Surprised at this unusual display of affection, she drew back. Octave had
-kept behind; but he heard the husband add, in a low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Forgive me, let us forget our grievances on this said occasion. You see,
-I have come back to you, and for always. Ah! I am well punished!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She did not reply, but disengaged herself. Then, resuming in Octave&rsquo;s
-presence her attitude of a woman who desires to ignore everything, she
-said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I should not have disturbed you, my dear, for I know how important that
-inquiry respect the Rue de Provence is. But I was all alone, I felt that
-your presence was necessary. My poor father is lost. Go and see him: you
-will find the doctor there.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Duveyrier had gone into the next room, she drew near to Octave, who,
-so as not to appear to be listening to them, was standing in front of the
-piano.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Was he there?&rdquo; asked she briefly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, madame.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, what has happened? what is the matter with him?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The person has left him, madame, and taken all the furniture away with
-her. I found him with nothing but a candle between the bare walls.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clothilde made a gesture of despair. She understood. An expression of
-repugnance and discouragement appeared on her beautiful face. It was not
-enough that she had lost her father, it seemed as though this misfortune
-was also to serve as a pretext for a reconciliation with her husband! She
-knew him well, he would be forever after her, now that there would be
-nothing elsewhere to protect her; and, in her respect for every duty, she
-trembled at the thought that she would be unable to refuse to submit to
-the abominable service. For an instant, she looked at the piano. Bitter
-tears came to her eyes, as she simply said to Octave:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Thank you, sir.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They both passed in turn into Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s bed-chamber. Duveyrier,
-looking very pale, was listening to Doctor Juillerat, who was giving him
-some explanations in a low voice. It was an attack of serous apoplexy; the
-patient might last till the morrow, but there was not the slightest hope
-of his recovery. Clotilde just at that moment entered the room; she heard
-this giving over of the patient, and dropped into a chair, wiping her eyes
-with her handkerchief, already soaked with tears, and twisted up, and
-almost reduced to a pulp. She, however, found strength to ask the doctor
-if her poor father would recover consciousness. The doctor had his doubts;
-and, as though he had penetrated the object of the question, he expressed
-the hope that Monsieur Vabre had long since put his affairs in order.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I presume the family knows what has happened,&rdquo; said Doctor Juillerat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! no,&rdquo; murmured Clotilde. &ldquo;I received such a shock! My first thought
-was to send Monsieur Mouret for my husband.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier gave her another glance. Now they understood each other. He
-slowly approached the bed, and examined Monsieur Vabre, stretched out in
-his corpse-like stiffness, and whose immovable face was streaked with
-yellow blotches. One o&rsquo;clock struck. The doctor talked of withdrawing, for
-he had tried all the usual remedies, and could do nothing more. He would
-call again early on the morrow. At length, he was going off with Octave,
-when Madame Duveyrier called the latter back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We will wait till to-morrow,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;you can send Berthe to me under
-some pretext; I will also get Valérie to come, and they shall break the
-news to my brothers. Ah! poor things, let them sleep in peace this night!
-There is quite enough with our having to watch in tears.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she and her husband remained alone with the old man, whose death
-rattle chilled the chamber.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
-CHAPTER XI.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Octave went
-down on the morrow at eight o&rsquo;clock, he was greatly surprised to find the
-entire house acquainted with the attack of the night before, and the
-desperate condition of the landlord. The house, however, was not concerned
-about the patient: it was solely interested in what he would leave behind
-him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The Pichons were seated before some basins of chocolate in their little
-dining-room. Jules called Octave in.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I say, what a fuss there will be if he dies like that! We shall see
-something funny. Do you know if he has made a will?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young man, without answering, asked them where they had heard the
-news. Marie had learnt it at the baker&rsquo;s; moreover, it crept from story to
-story, and even to the end of the street by means of the servants. Then,
-after slapping Lilitte, who was soaking her fingers in her chocolate, the
-young woman observed in her turn:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! all that money! If he only thought of leaving us as many sous as
-there are five franc pieces. But there is no fear of that!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as Octave took his departure, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have finished your books, Monsieur Mouret. Will you please take them
-when convenient?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was hastening down-stairs, feeling anxious, as he recollected having
-promised Madame Duveyrier to send Berthe to her before anything was known
-of the matter, when, on the third floor, he came in contact with
-Campardon, who was going out.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said the latter, &ldquo;so your employer is coming in for something. I
-have heard that the old fellow has close upon six hundred thousand francs,
-besides this property. You see, he spent nothing at the Duveyriers&rsquo;, and
-he had a good deal left of what he brought from Versailles, without
-counting the twenty and odd thousand francs received in rent from the
-house. Eh? it is a fine cake to share, when there are only three to
-partake of it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whilst talking thus, he continued to go down behind Octave. But, on the
-second floor, they met Madame Juzeur, who was returning from seeing what
-her little maid, Louise, could be doing of a morning, taking over an hour
-to fetch four sous&rsquo; worth of milk. She entered naturally into the
-conversation, being very well informed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is not known how he has settled his affairs,&rdquo; murmured she in her
-gentle way. &ldquo;There will perhaps be some bother.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah, well!&rdquo; said the architect, gayly, &ldquo;I should like to be in their
-shoes. It would not take long. One makes three equal shares, each takes
-his own, and there you are!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Juzeur leant over the balusters, then raised her head, and made
-sure that no one else was on the stairs. At length, lowering her voice,
-she observed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And if they did not find what they expected? There are rumors about.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The architect opened his eyes wide with amazement. Then he shrugged his
-shoulders. Pooh! mere gossip! Old Vabre was a miser who hid his savings in
-worsted stockings. And he went off, as he had an appointment at Saint-Roch
-with the Abbé Mauduit.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My wife complains of you,&rdquo; said he to Octave, looking back, after going
-down three stairs. &ldquo;Call in and have a chat with her now and then.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Juzeur detained the young man a moment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And I, how you neglect me! I thought you loved me a little. When you
-come, I will let you taste a liquor from the West Indies, oh! something
-delicious!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave at length entered the warehouse. The first person he beheld, seated
-at the cashier&rsquo;s desk, was Madame Josserand under arms, polished up and
-laced, and her hair already done. Close beside her, Berthe, who had no
-doubt come down in haste, in the charming deshabille of a dressing-gown,
-appeared to be very excited. But they stopped talking on catching sight of
-him, and the mother looked at him with a terrible eye.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So, sir,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;it is thus that you love the firm? You enter into
-the plots of my daughter&rsquo;s enemies.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He wished to defend himself, and state the facts of the case. But she
-prevented him from speaking, she accused him of having spent the night
-with the Duveyriers, looking for the will, to insert all sorts of things
-in it. And, as he laughed, asking what interest he could have had in doing
-such a thing, she resumed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Your own interest, your own interest. In short! sir, you should have
-hastened to inform us, as God was good enough to make you a witness of the
-occurrence. When one thinks that, had it not been for me, my daughter
-might still have been in ignorance of it! Yes, she would have been
-despoiled, had I not run down-stairs the moment I heard the news. Eh! your
-interest, your interest, sir, who knows? Though Madame Duveyrier is very
-faded, yet some people, not over particular, may still find her good
-enough, perhaps.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! mamma!&rdquo; said Berthe, &ldquo;Clotilde, who is so virtuous!&rdquo; But Madame
-Josserand shrugged her shoulders pityingly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pooh! you know very well people will do anything for money!&rdquo; Octave was
-obliged to relate to them all the circumstances of the attack. They
-exchanged glances: as the mother said, there had evidently been maneuvers.
-Clotilde was really too kind to wish to spare her relations&rsquo; emotions!
-However, they let the young man start on his work, though still having
-their doubts as to his conduct in the matter. Their lively explanation
-continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And who will pay the fifty thousand francs agreed upon in the contract?&rdquo;
-said Madame Josserand. &ldquo;We are not likely to see a single one of them when
-he is dead and buried.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! the fifty thousand francs!&rdquo; murmured Berthe, in an embarrassed way.
-&ldquo;You know he only agreed, as we did, to pay ten thousand francs every six
-months. The time is not up yet; the best thing is to wait.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wait! wait till he comes back and brings them to you, I suppose! You
-great blockhead, do you want to be robbed? No, no! you must demand them at
-once out of the estate. As for us, we are still alive, thank goodness! It
-is not known whether we shall pay or not; but with him it is another
-thing; as he is dead, he must pay.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she made her daughter swear not to yield, for she had never given any
-one the right to take her for a fool.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go up too!&rdquo; she ended by exclaiming, in a cry from her heart: &ldquo;Auguste is
-too weak; they are sure to be taking him in again!&rdquo; Then Berthe went off
-up-stairs. Octave, who was arranging the display in the window, had
-listened to what they said. When he found himself alone with Madame
-Josserand, and saw her moving in the direction of the door, he asked her,
-in the hope of a holiday, whether it would not be proper to close the
-warehouse.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Whatever for?&rdquo; inquired she. &ldquo;Wait till he is dead. It is not worth while
-losing a day&rsquo;s sale.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, as he folded a remnant of poppy-colored silk, she added, to soften
-the harshness of her words:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only, you may as well, I think, not put any red in the window.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Up on the first floor, Berthe found Auguste with his father. The room had
-in no way changed since the day before; it was still dampish and silent,
-save for the same long and painful death-rattle. The old man on the bed
-continued perfectly rigid, in a complete annihilation of all feeling and
-movement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! my dear, what a frightful visitation!&rdquo; said Clotilde, going up to and
-embracing Berthe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why not have informed us of it?&rdquo; asked the latter, with her mother&rsquo;s
-affected pout. &ldquo;We were there to help you to bear it.&rdquo; Auguste, with a
-glance, begged her to keep silent. The moment for quarreling had not
-arrived. They could wait. Doctor Juillerat, who had already been once, was
-to call again; but he still gave no hope; the patient would not live
-through the day. Auguste was informing his wife of this, when Théophile
-and Valérie entered in their turn. Clotilde at once advanced to meet them,
-and repeated, as she embraced Valérie:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What a frightful visitation, my dear!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Théophile was in a state of great excitement. &ldquo;So, now,&rdquo; said he,
-without even lowering his voice, &ldquo;when one&rsquo;s father is dying one only
-hears of it through the charcoal dealer. Did you, then, require time to
-rifle his pockets?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier rose up indignantly. But Clotilde motioned him aside, whilst she
-answered her brother very gently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Unhappy man! is our father&rsquo;s death agony not even sacred to you? Look at
-him; behold your work! yes, it is you who have brought him to this, by
-refusing to pay your overdue rent.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Valérie burst out laughing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;you are not speaking seriously.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! not speaking seriously!&rdquo; resumed Clotilde, filled with indignation.
-&ldquo;You know how much he liked to collect his rents. Had you really wished to
-kill him, you could not have acted in a better way.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And they came to high words; they reciprocally accused one another of
-wishing to lay hands on the estate, when Auguste, still sullen and calm,
-requested them to recollect where they were.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Keep quiet! You have plenty of time. It is not decent at such a moment.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the others, admitting the justice of this observation, settled
-themselves around the bed. A deep silence ensued; again nothing but the
-death rattle was heard in the moist atmosphere of the room. Berthe and
-Auguste were at the dying man&rsquo;s feet; Valérie and Théophile, being the
-last comers, had been obliged to seat themselves at the table, some
-distance off; whilst Clotilde was at the head of the bed, with her husband
-behind her; and she had pushed her son Gustave, whom the old man adored,
-close up against the edge of the mattresses. They now all looked at one
-another, without exchanging a word. But the bright eyes, the
-tightly-compressed lips, told of the hidden thoughts, the surmises full of
-anxiety and irritation, which were passing in the pale-faced heads of
-those next-of-kin, with their red and swollen eyelids. The sight of the
-collegian, so close to the bed, especially exasperated the two young
-couples; for it was self-evident that the Duveyriers were counting on
-Gustave&rsquo;s presence to influence the grandfather&rsquo;s affections if he
-recovered consciousness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moreover, this maneuver was a proof that in all probability no will
-existed; and the Vabres glanced covertly at the old iron safe which the
-retired notary had brought with him from Versailles and had had fixed in
-the wall of his bed-chamber. He had a mania for shutting up all sorts of
-things inside it. No doubt the Duveyriers had hastened to ransack this
-safe during the night. Théophile had the idea of laying a trap for them to
-compel them to speak.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; he at length went and whispered in the counselor&rsquo;s ear, &ldquo;suppose
-we send for the notary. Papa may wish to alter his will.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier did not at first hear. As he felt excessively bored in that
-room, he had allowed his thoughts all through the night to revert to
-Clarisse. The wisest thing would decidedly be to make it up with his wife;
-but then the other was so funny, when she threw her chemise over her head,
-with the gesture of a street-arab; and with his vague glance fixed on the
-dying man, he still had visions of her, and would have given everything to
-have had her with him again. Théophile was obliged to repeat his question.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have questioned Monsieur Renandin,&rdquo; at length answered the counselor in
-a bewildered way. &ldquo;There is no will.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But here?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No more here than at the notary&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Théophile looked at Auguste; was it not sufficiently evident? the
-Duveyriers had searched everything. Clotilde saw the glance, and was
-greatly irritated with her husband. What was the matter with him? was
-grief sending him to sleep? And she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Papa has no doubt done what he thought right. We shall learn it only too
-soon, heaven knows!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, the hours passed away. At eleven o&rsquo;clock they had a diversion,
-Doctor Juillerat again calling. The patient&rsquo;s condition was becoming worse
-and worse, it was now even doubtful whether he would be able to recognize
-his children before dying. And the sobbing started afresh when Clémence
-announced the Abbe Mand-uit. Clotilde, who rose to meet him, was the first
-to receive his consolations. He appeared to be deeply affected by the
-family visitation; he had an encouraging word for each. Then, with much
-tact, he talked of the rites of religion, insinuating that they should not
-let that soul pass away without the succor of the Church.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I had thought of it,&rdquo; murmured Clotilde.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Théophile raised objections. The father was not at all religious; he
-had at one time very advanced ideas, for he was a reader of Voltaire&rsquo;s
-works; in short, the best thing was to do nothing, as they were unable to
-consult him. In the heat of the discussion, he even added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is as though you brought the sacrament to that piece of furniture.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The three women compelled him to leave off. They were all trembling with
-emotion, and said that the priest was right, whilst they excused
-themselves for not having sent for him before, through the confusion in
-which the catastrophe had plunged them. Monsieur Vabre would certainly
-have consented had he been able to speak, for he had a horror of acting
-different to other people. Moreover, the ladies would take the
-responsibility on their own shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It should be done, if only on account of the neighbors,&rdquo; repeated
-Clotilde.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said the Abbé Mauduit, who hastened to give his approval. &ldquo;A
-man of your father&rsquo;s position should set a good example.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste had no opinion either way. But Duveyrier, aroused from his
-recollections of Clarisse, whose way of putting on her stockings with one
-leg in the air he was just then thinking of, energetically demanded the
-sacraments. They were absolutely necessary; not a member of the family
-should die without them. Doctor Juillerat, who had discreetly moved on one
-side, hiding his freethinker&rsquo;s disdain, then went up to the priest, and
-said familiarly to him, in a whisper, the same as to a colleague often
-encountered under similar circumstances:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be quick; you have no time to lose.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The priest hastened to take his departure. He announced that he would
-bring the sacrament and the extreme unction, so as to be prepared for
-every emergency. And Théophile, in his obstinacy, murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah, well! so dying people are now made to receive the communion in spite
-of themselves!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But they all at once experienced a great emotion. On regaining her place,
-Clotilde had found the dying man with his eyes wide open. She could not
-repress a faint cry; the others hastened to the bedside; and the old
-fellow&rsquo;s glance slowly wandered round the circle, without the least
-movement of his head. Doctor Juillerat, with an air of surprise, came and
-bent over his patient, to follow this last crisis.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Father, it is us; do you know us?&rdquo; asked Clotilde.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Vabre looked at her fixedly; then his lips moved, but not a sound
-came from them. They were all pushing one another, wishing to secure his
-last word. Valérie, who found herself right at the rear, and obliged
-therefore to stand on tip-toe, said, harshly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are stifling him. Do move away from him. If he desired anything, no
-one would be able to know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The others had to draw on one side. And Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s eyes were indeed
-looking round the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He wants something, that is certain,&rdquo; murmured Berthe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s Gustave,&rdquo; said Clotilde. &ldquo;You see him, do you not? He has come
-expressly from school to embrace you. Kiss your grandfather, my child.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As the youngster drew back, frightened, she kept him there with her arm,
-whilst she waited a smile on the dying man&rsquo;s distorted features. But
-Auguste, who had been watching his eyes, declared that he was looking at
-the table; no doubt he wished to write. This caused quite a shock. All
-tried to be first. They brought the table to the bedside, and fetched some
-paper, an inkstand, and a pen. Then they raised him, propping him up with
-three pillows. The doctor gave his consent to all this with a simple blink
-of the eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Give him the pen,&rdquo; said Clotilde, quivering, and without leaving go of
-Gustave, whom she continued to hold toward him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then came a solemn moment. The relations, pressed round the bed, awaited
-anxiously. Monsieur Vabre, who did not appear to recognize any one, had
-let the penholder drop from his fingers. For a moment his eyes wandered
-over the table, on which was the oak box full of tickets. Then, slipping
-from off his pillows, and falling forward like a piece of rag, he
-stretched out his arm in a final effort, and, plunging his hand among the
-tickets, he dabbled about in the happy manner of a baby playing with
-something dirty. He brightened up, and wished to speak, but he could only
-lisp one syllable, ever the same, one of those syllables into which brats
-in swaddling-clothes put a whole host of sensations.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ga&mdash;ga&mdash;ga&mdash;ga&mdash;&mdash;-&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was to the work of his life, to his great statistical study, that he
-was bidding good-bye. Suddenly his head rolled over. He was dead.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I expected as much,&rdquo; murmured the doctor, who, seeing how scared the
-relations were, carefully laid him out, and closed his eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Was it possible? Auguste had removed the table; they all remained chilled
-and dumb. Soon their sobs burst forth. Well! as there was nothing more to
-hope for, they would manage all the same to share the fortune. And
-Clotilde, after hastening to send Gustave away, to spare him the frightful
-spectacle, gave free vent to her tears, her head leaning against Berthe,
-who was sobbing the same as Valérie. Standing at the window, Théophile and
-Auguste were roughly rubbing their eyes. But Duveyrier, especially,
-exhibited a most extraordinary amount of grief, stifling heart-rending
-sobs in his handkerchief. No, really, he could not live without Clarisse;
-he would rather die at once, like the other one there; and the loss of his
-mistress, coming in the midst of all this mourning, caused him immense
-bitterness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; announced Clémence, &ldquo;here are the sacraments.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Abbé Mauduit appeared on the threshold. Behind his shoulder, one caught a
-glimpse of the face full of curiosity of a boy chorister. On beholding the
-display of grief, the priest questioned the doctor with a glance, whilst
-the latter extended his arms, as though to say it was not his fault. So,
-after mumbling a few prayers, Abbé Mauduit withdrew with an air of
-embarrassment, taking his paraphernalia along with him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is a bad sign,&rdquo; said Clémence to the other servants, standing in a
-group at the door of the ante-room. &ldquo;The sacraments are not to be brought
-for nothing. You will see they will be back in the house before another
-year goes by.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s funeral did not take place till the day after the morrow.
-Duveyrier, all the same, had inserted in the circulars announcing his
-demise, the words, &ldquo;provided with the sacraments of the Church.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As the warehouse did not open on that day, Octave was free. This holiday
-delighted him, as, for a long time past, he had wished to put his room
-straight, alter the position of some of the furniture, and arrange his few
-books in a little bookcase he had bought second-hand. He had risen earlier
-than usual, and was just finishing what he was about toward eight o&rsquo;clock
-on the morning of the funeral, when Marie knocked at the door. She had
-brought him back a heap of books.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;As you do not come for them,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I am delighted to take the
-trouble to return them to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she blushingly refused to enter, shocked at the idea of being in a
-young man&rsquo;s room. Their intimate relations had, moreover, completely
-ceased, in quite a natural manner, because he had not returned to her. And
-she remained quite as affectionate with him, always greeting him with a
-smile whenever they met.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was very merry that morning. He wished to tease her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So it is Jules who won&rsquo;t let you come into my room?&rdquo; he kept saying. &ldquo;How
-do you get on with Jules now? Is he amiable? Yes, you know what I mean.
-Answer now!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She laughed, and was not at all scandalized.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, of course! whenever you take him out, you treat him to vermouth, and
-tell him things which send him home like a madman. Oh I he is too amiable.
-You know, I don&rsquo;t ask for so much. Still, I prefer it should take place at
-home than elsewhere, that&rsquo;s very certain.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She became serious again, and added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here, I have brought you back your Balzac, I was not able to finish it.
-It&rsquo;s too sad. That gentleman has nothing but disagreeable things to tell
-one!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Octave was dressed, he remembered his promise to go and see Madame
-Campardon. He had two good hours to while away, the funeral being timed
-for eleven o&rsquo;clock, and he thought of utilizing his morning in making a
-few calls in the house. Rose received him in bed: he apologized, fearing
-that he disturbed her; but she herself called him in. They saw so little
-of him, and she was so delighted at having some one to talk to.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! my dear child,&rdquo; declared she at once, &ldquo;it is I who ought to be below,
-nailed up between four planks!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yes, the landlord was very lucky, he had finished with existence. And
-Octave, surprised at finding her a prey to such melancholy, asked her if
-she felt worse.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, thank you. It is always the same. Only there are times when I have
-had enough of it. Achille has been obliged to have a bed put up in his
-work-room, because it annoyed me whenever he moved in the night. And you
-know that Gasparine has yielded to our entreaties, and has left the
-drapery establishment. I am very grateful to her, she nurses me so
-tenderly! Ah! I could no longer live were it not for all these kind
-affections around me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just then, Gasparine, with her submissive air of a poor relation, fallen
-to the rank of a servant, brought her a cup of coffee and some bread and
-butter. She helped her to raise herself, propped her up against some
-cushions, and served her on a little tray covered with a napkin. And Rose,
-dressed in a little loose embroidered jacket, ate with a hearty appetite,
-amidst the linen, edged with lace. She was quite fresh, looking younger
-than ever, and very pretty, with her white skin, and short, fair, curly
-hair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! the stomach is all right, it is not the stomach that is ailing,&rdquo; she
-kept saying, as she soaked her slices of bread and butter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Two tears dropped into her coffee. Then Gasparine scolded her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you cry, I shall call Achille. Are you not pleased? are you not
-sitting there like a queen?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Madame Campardon had finished, and she again found herself alone with
-Octave, she was quite consoled. Out of coquetry, she again returned to the
-subject of death, but with the gentle gayety of a woman idling away the
-morning between her warm sheets. Well! she would go off all the same, when
-her turn came; only, they were right, she was not unhappy, she could let
-herself live; for, in point of fact, they spared her all the main cares of
-life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, as the young man rose to leave, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now, do try and come oftener? Amuse yourself well, don&rsquo;t let the funeral
-make you too sad. One dies a trifle every day, the thing is to get used to
-it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the little maid Louise who opened the door to Octave at Madame
-Juzeur&rsquo;s, on the same landing. She ushered him into the drawing-room,
-looked at him a moment as she laughed in her bewildered sort of way, and
-then ended by stating that her mistress was just finishing dressing.
-Madame Juzeur appeared almost at once, dressed in black, and looking
-gentler and more refined than ever in her mourning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I felt sure you would call this morning,&rdquo; sighed she with a weary air.
-&ldquo;All night long I have been dreaming and seeing you. It is impossible to
-sleep, you understand, with that corpse in the house!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she admitted that she had got up three times in the night to look
-under the furniture.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But you should have called me!&rdquo; said the young man, gallantly. &ldquo;Two in a
-bed are never frightened.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She assumed a charming air of shame.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hold your tongue, it&rsquo;s naughty!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she held her open hand over his lips. He was naturally obliged to kiss
-it. Then she spread the fingers out, laughing the while as though being
-tickled. But he, excited by this play, sought to push matters farther. He
-had caught hold of her, and was pressing her against his breast, without
-her making the least attempt to free herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In her determination there was a sort of jesuitical reserve, a fear of the
-confessional, a certainty of having her minor sins forgiven, whilst the
-great one would cause her no end of unpleasantness with her spiritual
-director. Then, there were other unavowed sentiments, her honor and
-self-esteem blended together, the coquetry of always having the advantage
-of men by never satisfying them, and a shrewd personal enjoyment in being
-smothered with kisses, without any after consequences. She liked this
-better, and she stuck to it; not a man could flatter himself of having
-succeeded with her, since her husband&rsquo;s cowardly desertion. And she was a
-respectable woman!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, sir; not one! Ah! I can hold up my head, I can! What a number of
-wretched women, in my position, would have misconducted themselves!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She pushed him gently aside, and rose from the sofa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Leave me. It worries me so much, does that corpse downstairs. It seems to
-me that the whole house smells of it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile the time for the funeral was approaching. She wished to be at
-the church beforehand, so as not to see all the funeral trappings. But,
-while escorting him to the door, she recollected having mentioned her
-liquor; she therefore made him come in again, and fetched the bottle and a
-couple of glasses herself. It was a very sweet cream, with a perfume of
-flowers. When she had drank of it, a greediness, like that of a little
-girl, gave an air of languid delight to her face. She could have lived on
-sugar; vanilla and rose-scented sweeties had the same effect on her as an
-amorous caress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It will sustain us,&rdquo; said she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, when he kissed her on the mouth in the ante-room, she closed her
-eyes. Their sugary lips seemed to be melting like sweetmeats.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was close upon eleven o&rsquo;clock. The coffin had not been brought down for
-exhibition, as the undertaker&rsquo;s men; after wasting their time at a
-neighboring wine shop, had not finished putting up the hangings. Octave
-went to have a look out of curiosity. The porch was already closed in at
-the back by a large black curtain, but the men had still to fix the
-hangings over the door. And outside on the pavement a group of
-maid-servants were gossiping with their noses in the air; whilst
-Hippolyte, dressed in deep mourning, hastened on the work with a dignified
-air.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Madame Gourd, who had remained in her arm-chair on account of her
-poor legs, rose painfully on her feet. As she was quite unable to get even
-as far as the church, Monsieur Gourd had told her to be sure and salute
-the landlord&rsquo;s corpse when it passed their room. It was a matter of duty.
-She went to the door with a mourning cap on her head, and curtesied as the
-coffin went by.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At Saint-Roch, Doctor Juillerat made a show of not going inside during the
-ceremony. There was, however, a tremendous crowd, and quite a group of men
-preferred to remain on the steps. The weather was very mild&mdash;a superb
-June day. And, as they were unable to smoke, their conversation turned
-upon politics. The principal door was left open, and at moments the sound
-of the organs issued from the church, which was draped in black and filled
-with lighted tapers, looking like so many stars.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know that Monsieur Thiers will stand for our district next year,&rdquo;
-announced Léon Josserand, in his grave way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;Of course you will not vote for him&mdash;you are
-a Republican?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young man, whose opinions cooled down the more Madame Dambreville
-introduced him into good society, curtly answered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why not? He is the declared adversary of the Empire.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then a heated discussion ensued. Léon talked of tactics, whilst Doctor
-Juillerat stuck to principles. According to the latter, the middle classes
-had had their day; they were an obstacle in the road of the Revolution;
-now that they had acquired property, they barred the future with greater
-obstinacy and blindness than the old nobility.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are afraid of everything; you go in for the very worst reaction the
-moment you fancy yourself threatened!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this Campardon flew into a passion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I, sir, have been a Jacobin and an atheist like you. But, thank heaven!
-reason came to me. No, I will not even stoop to your Monsieur Thiers. A
-blunderhead&mdash;a man who amuses himself with chimeras!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-However, all the Liberals present&mdash;Monsieur Josserand, Octave,
-Trublot even, who did not care a straw, declared that they would vote for
-Monsieur Thiers. The official candidate was a great chocolate manufacturer
-of the Rue Saint-Honoré, Monsieur Dewinck, whom they chaffed immensely.
-This Monsieur Dewinck had not even the support of the clergy, who were
-uneasy at his relations with the Tuileries. Campardon, decidedly gone over
-to the priests, greeted his name with reserve. Then, suddenly changing the
-subject, he exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Look here! the bullet which wounded your Garibaldi in the foot ought to
-have pierced his heart!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, so as not to be seen any longer in the company of these gentlemen, he
-entered the church, where the Abbé Mauduit&rsquo;s shrill voice was responding
-to the lamentations of the chanters.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He sleeps there now,&rdquo; murmured the doctor, shrugging his shoulders. &ldquo;Ah!
-what a clean sweep ought to be made of it all!&rdquo; The Roman question
-interested him immensely. Then, as Léon reminded them of the words of the
-Cabinet Minister to the Senate that the Empire had sprung from the
-Revolution, only in order to keep it within bounds, they returned to the
-coming elections. All were agreed upon the necessity of giving the Emperor
-a lesson; but they were beginning to be troubled with anxiety, they were
-already divided respecting the candidates, whose names gave rise to
-visions of the red specter at night time. Close to them Monsieur Gourd,
-dressed as correctly as a diplomatist, listened with supreme contempt to
-what they were saying; he was for the powers that be, pure and simple.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The service was drawing to a close; a long, melancholy wail which issued
-from the depths of the church, silenced them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Requiescat in pace!</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;<i>Amen!</i>&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Whilst the body was being lowered into the grave at the Père-Lachaise
-cemetery, Trublot, who had not let go of Octave&rsquo;s arm, saw him exchange
-another smile with Madame Juzeur.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes,&rdquo; murmured he, &ldquo;the very unhappy little woman. Anything you like
-except that!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave started. What! Trublot also! The latter made a gesture of disdain:
-no, not he, one of his friends. And, moreover, everybody who cared for
-that kind of thing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; added he. &ldquo;As the old fellow&rsquo;s now stowed away, I will go and
-render Duveyrier an account of something which I undertook to see after
-for him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The relations were retiring, silent and doleful. Then Trublot detained the
-counselor behind the others, to tell him that he had seen Clarisse&rsquo;s maid;
-but he did not know the new address, the maid having left Clarisse the day
-before she moved out, after a battle royal. It was the last hope which had
-flown. Duveyrier buried his face in his handkerchief, and rejoined the
-other relations.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That very evening quarrels commenced, The family found itself in the
-presence of a disaster. Monsieur Vabre, with that skeptical carelessness
-which notaries occasionally display, had not left any will. All the
-furniture was ransacked in vain, and the worst was that there was not a
-rap of the expected six or seven hundred thousand francs, neither money,
-title-deeds nor shares; they discovered merely seven hundred and
-thirty-four francs in ten-sou pieces, the hoard of a silly, paralytic old
-man. And undeniable traces, a note-book covered with figures, letters from
-stockbrokers, opened the eyes of the next-of-kin, pale with passion, to
-the old fellow&rsquo;s secret vice, an ungovernable passion for gambling, an
-unskillful and desperate craving for stock-jobbing, which he hid behind
-the innocent mania for his great statistical work. All had been engulfed,
-the money he had saved at Versailles, the rents of his house, even the
-sous he had sneaked from his children; and, during the latter years, he
-had gone to the point of mortgaging the house for one hundred and fifty
-thousand francs, at three different periods. The family stood
-thunder-stricken before the famous safe, in which it thought the fortune
-was locked up, but which simply contained a host of singular things,
-broken scraps picked up in the various rooms, pieces of old iron,
-fragments of glass, ends of ribbon, jumbled amidst wrecked toys stolen
-from young Gustave in bygone days.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the most violent recriminations were indulged in. They called the old
-fellow a swindler. It was disgraceful to fritter away his money thus, like
-a sly person who does not care a straw for any one, and who acts an
-infamous comedy in order to get people to continue to coddle him. The
-Duveyriers were inconsolable at having boarded him for twelve years,
-without once asking him for the eighty thousand francs of Clotilde&rsquo;s
-dowry, of which they had only had ten thousand francs. It was always ten
-thousand francs, rejoined Théophile, who had not had a sou of the fifty
-thousand promised him at the time of his marriage. But Auguste, in his
-turn, complained more bitterly still, reproaching his brother with having
-at least secured the interest of the money during three months; whilst he
-would never have a shadow of the fifty thousand francs inserted in his
-contract. And Berthe, incited by her mother, said some very unpleasant
-things with an indignant air at having entered a dishonest family. And
-Valérie, bemoaning the rent she had so long been stupid enough to pay the
-old chap, for fear of being disinherited, could not stomach it, regretting
-the money as though it had been used for an immoral purpose, employed in
-supporting debauchery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For fully a fortnight all these stories formed an exciting topic of
-conversation to the occupants of the house. The long and short of it was
-that there remained nothing but the building, estimated to be worth three
-hundred thousand francs; when the mortgage had been paid off, there would
-be about half that sum to divide between Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s three children.
-It was fifty thousand francs for each; a meager consolation, but they
-would have to make the most of it. Théophile and Auguste had already
-decided what they would do with their shares. It was settled that the
-building should be sold. Duveyrier undertook all the arrangements in his
-wife&rsquo;s name. Then, on the day of the sale, after five or six bids, Maître
-Renandin abruptly knocked the house down to Duveyrier for the sum of one
-hundred and forty-nine thousand francs. There was not even sufficient to
-pay the mortgage. It was the final blow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One never knew the particulars of the terrible scene which was enacted
-that same evening at the Duveyriers&rsquo;. The solemn walls of the house
-stifled the sounds. Théophile most probably called his brother-in-law a
-scoundrel: he publicly accused him of having fought over the notary, by
-promising to get him appointed a justice of the peace. As for Auguste, he
-simply talked of the assize-court, where he wished to drag Maître
-Renandin, whose rogueries were the talk of the neighborhood. But, though
-one always ignored how it was that the relatives got to the point of
-knocking each other about, as rumor said they did, one heard the last
-words exchanged on the threshold, words which had an unpleasant ring in
-the respectable severity of the staircase.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dirty scoundrel!&rdquo; shouted Auguste. &ldquo;You sentence people to penal
-servitude who have not done nearly so much!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Théophile, who came out last, held the door, whilst he almost choked with
-rage and coughing. .
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Robber! robber! Yes, robber! And you, too, Clotilde; do you hear?
-robber!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He swung the door to so roughly that all the other doors on the staircase
-shook. Monsieur Gourd, who was listening, was quite alarmed. He darted a
-searching glance at the different floors, but he merely caught sight of
-Madame Juzeur&rsquo;s sharp profile. Arching his back, he returned on tiptoe to
-his room, where he resumed his dignified demeanor. One could deny
-everything. He, delighted, considered the new landlord in the right.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A few days later there was a reconciliation between Auguste and his
-sister. The whole house was amazed. Octave had been seen to go to the
-Duveyriers. The counselor, feeling anxious, had agreed not to charge any
-rent for the warehouse for five years, thus shutting one of the grumbler&rsquo;s
-mouths. When Théophile learnt this, he went with his wife and had another
-row, this time with his brother. So he had sold himself; he had gone over
-to the bandits! But Madame Josserand happened to be in the shop, and he
-was soon shut up. She plainly advised Valérie not to sell herself any more
-than her daughter had sold herself. And Valérie had to beat a retreat,
-exclaiming:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, we&rsquo;re the only ones who get nothing? May the devil take me if I pay
-my rent! I&rsquo;ve a lease. The convict won&rsquo;t dare to turn us out. And as for
-you, my little Berthe, we&rsquo;ll see one day what it&rsquo;ll cost to have you!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The doors banged again. The two families were sworn enemies for life.
-Octave, who had rendered some services, was present, and entered into the
-private affairs of the family. Berthe almost fainted in his arms, whilst
-Auguste was ascertaining whether the customers had overheard anything.
-Even Madame Josserand confided in the young man. She, moreover, continued
-to judge the Duveyriers very severely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The rent is something,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But I want the fifty thousand francs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course, if you paid yours,&rdquo; Berthe ventured to observe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The mother did not appear to understand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You hear me, I want them! No, no; he must be laughing too much in his
-grave, that old scoundrel Vabre. I will not let him boast of having taken
-me in. What rascals there are in the world! to promise money one does not
-possess! Oh! they will pay you, my daughter, or I will dig him up again
-and spit in his face!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
-CHAPTER XII.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne morning that
-Berthe happened to be at her mother&rsquo;s, Adèle came and said with a scared
-look that Monsieur Saturnin was there with a man. Doctor Chassagne, the
-director of the Asile des Moulineaux, had already warned the parents
-several times that he would he unable to keep their son, for he did not
-consider him sufficiently mad. And, hearing of the signature which Berthe
-had obtained from her brother for the three thousand francs, dreading
-being compromised in the matter, he suddenly sent him home to his family.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It created quite a scare. Madame Josserand, who was afraid of being
-strangled, wished to argue with the man. But all she could get out of him
-was:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The director told me to inform you that when one is sufficiently sensible
-to give money to one&rsquo;s parents, one is sensible enough to live with them.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But he is mad, sir! he will murder us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Anyhow, he is not too mad to sign his name!&rdquo; answered the man, going off.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-However, Saturnin came home very quietly, with his hands in his pockets,
-just as though he had returned from a stroll in the Tuileries gardens. He
-did not even allude to where he had been staying. He embraced his father,
-who was crying, and likewise heartily kissed his mother and his sister
-Hortense, whilst they both trembled tremendously. Then, when he caught
-sight of Berthe, he was indeed delighted, and caressed her with all the
-pretty ways of a little boy. She at once took advantage of his affected
-and confused condition to inform him of her marriage. He displayed no
-anger, not appearing at first to understand, as though he had forgotten
-his former fits of passion. But when she wished to return to her home
-down-stairs, he began to howl; he did not mind whether she was married or
-not, so long as she remained where she was, always with him and close to
-him. Then, seeing her mother&rsquo;s frightened looks as she ran and locked
-herself in another room, it occurred to Berthe to take Saturnin to live
-with her. They would be able to find him something to do in the basement
-of the warehouse, though it were only to tie up parcels.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That same evening, Auguste, in spite of his evident repugnance, acceded to
-Berthe&rsquo;s desire. They had scarcely been married three months and a secret
-disunion was already cropping up between them; it was the collision of two
-different constitutions and educations, a surly, fastidious and
-passionless husband, and a lively woman who had been reared in the
-hot-house of false Parisian luxury, who played fast and loose with
-existence, so as to enjoy it all alone like a spoiled and selfish child.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The husband&rsquo;s main revolts were on account of these too glaring costumes,
-the usefulness of which he was unable to see. Why dress himself thus above
-one&rsquo;s means and position in life? What need was there to spend in such a
-manner the money that was so necessary for his business? He generally said
-that when one sold silks to other women, one should wear woolens oneself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As a result of matrimony, Berthe was gradually acquiring her mother&rsquo;s
-build. She was growing fatter, and resembled her more than she had ever
-done before. She was no longer the girl who did not seem to care about
-anything and who quietly submitted to the maternal cuffs; she had grown
-into a woman, who was rapidly becoming more obstinate every day, and who
-had formed the intention of making everything bow to her pleasure. Auguste
-looked at her at times, astounded at such a sudden change. At first, she
-had felt a vain joy in throning herself at the cashier&rsquo;s desk, in a
-studied costume of elegant simplicity. Then she had soon wearied of trade,
-suffering from constant want of exercise, threatening to fall ill, yet
-resigning herself to it all the same, but with the attitude of a victim
-who sacrifices her life to the prosperity of her home. And, from that
-moment, a struggle at every hour of the day had commenced between her and
-her husband. She shrugged her shoulders behind his back, the same as her
-mother did behind her father&rsquo;s; she went again through all the family
-quarrels which had disturbed her youth, treating her husband as the
-gentleman who had simply got to pay, overwhelming him with that contempt
-for the male sex which was, so to say, the basis of her education.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! mamma was right!&rdquo; she would exclaim after each of their quarrels.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yet, in the early days, Auguste had tried to please her. He liked peace,
-he longed for a quiet little home, he already had his whims like an old
-man, and had got thoroughly into the habits of his chaste and economical
-bachelor life. His old lodging on the &ldquo;entresol&rdquo; no longer sufficing, he
-had taken the suite of apartments on the second floor, overlooking the
-courtyard, and thought himself sufficiently insane in spending five
-thousand francs on furniture. Berthe, at first delighted with her room
-upholstered in thuja and blue silk, had shown the greatest contempt for it
-after visiting a friend who had just married a banker. Then quarrels arose
-with respect to the servants. The young woman, used to the waiting of poor
-semi-idiotic girls, who had their bread even cut for them, insisted on
-their doing things which set them crying in their kitchens for afternoons
-together. Auguste, not particularly tender-hearted as a rule, having
-imprudently gone and consoled one, had to turn her out of the place an
-hour later on account of madame&rsquo;s tears, and her request that he should,
-choose between her and that creature.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Afterward a wench had come who appeared to have made up her mind to stop.
-Her name was Rachel, and she was probably a Jewess, but she denied it, and
-let no one know whence she had sprung. She was about twenty-five years
-old, with harsh features, a large nose, and very black hair. At first,
-Berthe declared that she would not allow her to stop two days; then, in
-presence of her dumb obedience, her air of understanding and saying
-nothing, she had little by little allowed herself to be satisfied, as
-though she had yielded in her turn, and was keeping her for her good
-qualities, and also through an unavowed fear. Rachel, who submitted
-without a murmur to the hardest tasks, accompanied by dry bread, took
-possession of the establishment, with her eyes open and her mouth shut,
-like a servant of foresight biding the fatal and foreseen hour when her
-mistress would be able to refuse her nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, from the ground floor of the house to the servants&rsquo; story, a
-great calm had succeeded to the emotions caused by Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s sudden
-death. The staircase had again become as peaceful as a church; not a
-breath issued from behind the mahogany doors, which were forever closed
-upon the profound respectability of the various homes. There was a rumor
-that Duveyrier had become reconciled with his wife. As for Valérie and
-Théophile, they spoke to no one, but passed by stiff and dignified. Never
-before had the house exhaled a more strict severity of principles.
-Monsieur Gourd, in his cap and slippers, wandered about it with the air of
-a solemn beadle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One evening, toward eleven o&rsquo;clock, Auguste continued going to the door of
-the warehouse, stretching his head out, and glancing up and down the
-street. An impatience which had increased little by little was agitating
-him. Berthe, whom her mother and sister had fetched away during dinner,
-without even giving her time to finish her dessert, had not returned home
-after an absence of more than three hours, and in spite of her distinct
-promise to be back by closing time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! good heavens! good heavens!&rdquo; he ended by saying, clasping his hands
-together, and making his fingers crack.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he stood still before Octave, who was ticketing some remnants of silk
-on a counter. At that late hour of the evening, no customer ever appeared
-in that out-of-the-way end of the Rue de Choiseul. The shop was merely
-kept open to put things straight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Surely you know where the ladies have gone?&rdquo; inquired Auguste of the
-young man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The latter raised his eyes with an innocent and surprised air.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But, sir, they told you. To a lecture.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A lecture, a lecture,&rdquo; grumbled the husband. &ldquo;Their lecture was over at
-ten o&rsquo;clock. Respectable women should be home at this hour!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he resumed his walk, casting side glances at his assistant, whom he
-suspected of being an accomplice of the ladies, or at least of excusing
-them. Octave, also feeling anxious, slyly observed him. He had never
-before seen him so nervously excited. What was it all about? And, as he
-turned his head, he caught sight of Saturnin at the other end of the shop
-cleaning a looking-glass with a sponge dipped in spirit. Little by little,
-the family set the madman to do housework, so that he might at least earn
-his food. But that evening Saturnin&rsquo;s eyes sparkled strangely. He crept
-behind Octave, and said, in a very low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Beware of him. He has found a paper. Yes, he has a paper in his pocket.
-Look out, if it&rsquo;s anything of yours!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he quickly resumed rubbing his glass. Octave did not understand. For
-some time past the madman had been displaying a singular affection for
-him, like the caress of an animal yielding to an instinct. Why did he
-speak to him of a paper? He had written no letter to Berthe; as yet he
-only ventured to look at her with tender glances, watching for an
-opportunity of making her some trifling present. It was a tactic he had
-adopted after deep reflection.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ten minutes past eleven!&mdash;damnation! damnation!&rdquo; suddenly exclaimed
-Auguste, who never swore.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But at that very moment the ladies returned. Berthe had on a delicious
-dress, of pink silk, embroidered over with white jet, whilst her sister,
-always in blue, and her mother, always in mauve, still wore their glaring
-and laboriously obtained costumes, altered every season. Madame Josserand,
-broad and imposing, entered first, so as at once to nip in the bud the
-reproaches which all three had just foreseen, at a council held at the end
-of the street, her son-in-law would begin to make. She even deigned to
-explain that they were late through having loitered before the
-shop-windows. But Auguste, who was very pale, did not utter a single
-complaint; he answered curtly; it was evident he was keeping it in and
-waiting. For a moment longer, the mother, who felt the coming storm
-through her great knowledge of domestic broils, tried to intimidate him;
-then she was obliged to go up-stairs, merely adding:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good night, my child. And sleep well, you know, if you wish to live
-long.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Directly she had gone, Auguste, losing all patience, forgetting that
-Octave and Saturnin were present, withdrew a crumpled paper from his
-pocket, and thrust it under Berthe&rsquo;s nose, whilst he stammered out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe had not even had time to take her bonnet off. She turned very red.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That?&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;why, it&rsquo;s a bill!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, a bill! and for false hair, too! Is it possible? for hair! as though
-you had none left on your head! But that&rsquo;s not all. You&rsquo;ve paid the bill;
-tell me, what did you pay it with?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman, becoming more and more confused, ended by replying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;With my own money, of course!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Your money! but you haven&rsquo;t any. Some one must have given you some, or
-else you have taken it from here. And, listen! I know all; you&rsquo;re in debt.
-I will tolerate what you like; but no debts, understand me, no debts!&mdash;never!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he put into these words all the horror of a prudent fellow, all his
-commercial integrity, which consisted in never owing anything. For a long
-while he relieved his pent-up feelings, reproaching his wife with her
-constant goings-out, her visits all over Paris, her dresses, her luxury,
-which he could not provide for. Was it sensible for people in their
-position to stop out till eleven o&rsquo;clock at night, with pink silk dresses
-embroidered with white jet? When one had such tastes as those, one should
-bring five hundred thousand francs as a marriage portion. Moreover, he
-knew who was the guilty one; it was the silly mother who brought up her
-daughters to squander fortunes, without even being able to give them so
-much as a chemise on their wedding-day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say a word against mamma!&rdquo; cried Berthe, raising her head and
-thoroughly exasperated at last. &ldquo;No one can reproach her with anything;
-she has done her duty. And your family&mdash;it&rsquo;s a nice one! People who
-killed their father!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave had buried himself in his tickets, and pretended not to hear. But
-he followed the quarrel from out of the corner of his eye, and especially
-watched Saturnin, who was all in a tremble, and had left off rubbing the
-glass, his fists clenched, his eyes glaring, ready to spring at the
-husband&rsquo;s throat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let us leave our families alone,&rdquo; resumed the latter. &ldquo;We have quite
-enough with our own home. Listen! you must alter your ways, for I will not
-give another sou for all this tomfoolery. Oh! I have quite made up my
-mind. Your place is here at the till, in a quiet dress, like a woman who
-has some respect for herself. And if you incur any more debts, we&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe was almost stifling, in presence of that brutal husband&rsquo;s foot set
-down upon her habits, her pleasures, and her dresses. It was the
-extinction of all she loved, of all she had dreamed of when marrying. But,
-with a woman&rsquo;s tactics, she hid the wound from which her heart was
-bleeding; she gave a pretext to the passion which was swelling her face,
-and repeated more violently than ever:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I will not permit you to insult mamma!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste shrugged his shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Your mother! Listen? you&rsquo;re like her, you&rsquo;re quite ugly, when you put
-yourself in that state. Yes, I scarcely know you; it is she herself. On my
-word, it quite frightens me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, Berthe calmed down, and, looking him full in the face, exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only go and tell mamma what you were saying just now, and see how quickly
-she&rsquo;ll show you the door.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! she&rsquo;ll show me the door!&rdquo; yelled the husband, in a fury. &ldquo;Well, then!
-I&rsquo;ll go up and tell her at once.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he did indeed move toward the door. It was time he went, for Saturnin,
-with his wolf-like eyes, was treacherously advancing to strangle him from
-behind. The young woman had dropped into a chair, where she was murmuring,
-in a low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! good heavens! I&rsquo;d take care not to marry him, if I had my choice over
-again!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Up-stairs, Monsieur Josserand, greatly surprised, answered the door, Adèle
-having just gone up to bed. As he was then preparing to pass the night in
-addressing wrappers, in spite of the ill-health he had been lately
-complaining of, it was with a certain embarrassment, a shame at being
-found out, that he ushered his son-in-law into the dining-room; and he
-spoke of some pressing work, a copy of the last inventory of the Saint
-Joseph glass factory. But, when Auguste deliberately accused his daughter,
-reproaching her with running into debt, relating all the quarrel brought
-about by the matter of the false hair, the poor old man&rsquo;s hands were
-seized with a nervous trembling. Struck to the heart, he could only manage
-to stammer out a few words, whilst his eyes filled with tears. His
-daughter in debt, living as he had lived himself, in the midst of constant
-matrimonial squabbles! All the unhappiness of his life was then going to
-be gone through again in the person of his daughter! And another fear
-almost froze him on his chair: he dreaded every minute to hear his
-son-in-law broach the money question, demand the dowry, and call him a
-thief. No doubt the young man knew everything, as he burst in upon them at
-past eleven o&rsquo;clock at night.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My wife is going to bed,&rdquo; stammered he, his head in a whirl. &ldquo;It is
-useless to disturb her, is it not? I am really amazed at the things you
-have told me! Poor Berthe is not wicked, though, I assure you. Be
-indulgent. I will speak to her. As for ourselves, my dear Auguste, we have
-done nothing, I think, which can displease you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he sounded him, so to speak, with his glance, already reassured, as he
-saw that he could know nothing as yet, when Madame Josserand appeared on
-the threshold of the bed-room. She was in her night-gown, all white and
-terrible. Auguste, though greatly excited, drew back. No doubt she had
-been listening at the door, for she commenced with a direct thrust.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not your ten thousand francs you&rsquo;ve come for, I suppose? There are
-still two months before the time they become due. And in two months&rsquo; time
-we will pay them to you, sir. We don&rsquo;t die to get out of our engagements.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This superb assurance completely overwhelmed Monsieur Josserand. However,
-Madame Josserand continued dumbfounding her son-in-law by the most
-extraordinary declarations, without allowing him time to speak.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;re by no means smart, sir. When you&rsquo;ve made Berthe ill, you&rsquo;ll have
-to call in the doctor, and that will occasion some expense at the
-chemist&rsquo;s, and it will still be you who&rsquo;ll have to pay. A little while
-ago, I went off, when I saw that you were bent on making a fool of
-yourself. Do as you like! Beat your wife, my maternal heart is easy, for
-God is watching, and retribution is never long in coming!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length Auguste was able to state his grievances. He returned to the
-constant goings-out, the dresses, and was even so bold as to condemn the
-way in which Berthe had been brought up. Madame Josserand listened to him
-with an air of supreme contempt. Then, when he had finished, she retorted:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What you say is so absurd that it does not deserve an answer, my dear
-fellow! I&rsquo;ve my conscience, and that suffices me. A man to whom I confided
-an angel! I&rsquo;ll have nothing more to do with the matter, as I&rsquo;m insulted.
-Settle it between yourselves.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But your daughter will end by deceiving me, madame!&rdquo; exclaimed Auguste,
-again overcome with passion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand, who was going off, turned round, and looked him full in
-the face.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;re doing all you can to bring such a thing about, sir.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she retired into her room with the dignity of a colossal
-triple-breasted Ceres draped in white.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The father kept Auguste a few minutes longer. He was conciliatory, giving
-him to understand that with women it was best to put up with everything,
-and finally sent him off calmed and resolved to forgive. But when the poor
-old man found himself alone again in the dining-room, seated in front of
-his little lamp, he burst into tears. It was all over; there was no longer
-any happiness; he would never have time enough of a night to address
-sufficient wrappers to enable him to assist his daughter clandestinely.
-The thought that his child might run into debt crushed him like some
-personal fault. And he felt ill; he had just received another blow;
-strength would fail him one of those nights. At length, restraining his
-tears, he painfully recommenced his work.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Down-stairs in the shop, her face buried in her hands, Berthe had remained
-for a while immovable. After putting up the shutters, the porter had
-returned to the basement. Then Octave thought he might approach the young
-woman. Ever since the husband&rsquo;s departure, Saturnin had been making signs
-to him over his sister&rsquo;s head, as though inviting him to console her. Now
-he was beaming and multiplied his winks; fearing that he was not
-understood, he emphasized his advice by blowing kisses into space, with a
-child&rsquo;s overflowing effusion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! you want me to kiss her?&rdquo; asked Octave by signs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; replied the madman, with an enthusiastic nod of the head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, when he beheld the young man smiling before his sister, who had
-noticed nothing, he seated himself on the floor, behind a counter, hiding,
-so as not to be in their way. In the profound silence of the closed
-warehouse the gas-jets were still burning with tall flames. There reigned
-a death-like peacefulness, a closeness of atmosphere mingled with the
-unsavory odor of the dressed silk.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not take it so much to heart, madame, I beg of you,&rdquo; said Octave, in
-his caressing tones.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She started at finding him so close to her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Excuse me, Monsieur Octave. It is not my fault that you assisted at this
-painful scene. And I must ask you to excuse my husband, for he could not
-have been very well this evening. You know that in all families there are
-little unpleasantnesses&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Sobs choked her utterance. The mere idea of extenuating her husband&rsquo;s
-faults before the world had brought on a copious flood of tears, which
-quite unnerved her. Saturnin raised his anxious face on a level with the
-counter; but he dived down again directly he saw Octave take hold of his
-sister&rsquo;s hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I beg of you, madame, summon up a little courage,&rdquo; said the assistant.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, I cannot help it,&rdquo; stammered she. &ldquo;You were there&mdash;you heard
-everything. For ninety-five francs&rsquo; worth of hair! As though all women did
-not wear false hair now! But he knows nothing&mdash;he understands
-nothing. He knows no more about women than the Grand Turk; he has never
-had anything to do with them, no never, Monsieur Octave! Ah! I am very
-miserable!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She said all this in her feverish spite. A man whom she pretended she had
-married for love, and who would soon allow her to go without a chemise!
-Did she not fulfill her duties? Had he the least negligence to reproach
-her with? If he had not flown into a passion on the day when she asked him
-for some hair, she would never have been reduced to the necessity of
-paying for it out of her own pocket! And for the least thing there was the
-same story over again; she could never express a wish, desire the most
-insignificant article of dress, without coming into contact with his
-ferocious sullenness. She naturally had her pride, so she no longer asked
-for anything, preferring to go without necessaries rather than to
-humiliate herself to no purpose. Thus, for a fortnight past, she had been
-ardently longing for a fancy set of ornaments which she had seen with her
-mother in a jeweler&rsquo;s window in the Palais-Royal.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know, three stars in paste for the hair. Oh! a mere trifle&mdash;a
-hundred francs, I think. Well! although I spoke of them from morning till
-night, don&rsquo;t imagine that my husband understood!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave would never have dared to hope for such an opportunity. He hastened
-matters.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, I know. You mentioned the subject several times in my presence.
-And, dear me! madame, your parents received me so well; you yourself have
-welcomed me so kindly, that I thought I might venture&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As he spoke he withdrew from his pocket an oblong box, in which the three
-stars were sparkling on some cotton wool. Berthe had risen from her seat,
-deeply affected.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But it is impossible, sir. I will not&mdash;you were very wrong indeed.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He pretended to be very simple, inventing various pretexts. In the South
-such things were done constantly. And, besides, the ornaments were of no
-value whatever. She had turned quite rosy, and was no longer weeping,
-whilst her eyes, fixed on the box, acquired a fresh luster from the
-sparkling of the imitation gems.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I beg of you, madame. Just to show me that you are satisfied with my
-work.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, really, Monsieur Octave; do not insist. You pain me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Saturnin had reappeared, and he looked at the jewels in ecstasy, as though
-he were beholding some reliquary. But his sharp ear heard Auguste&rsquo;s
-returning footsteps. He warned Berthe by making a slight noise with his
-tongue. Then the latter came to a decision just as her husband was about
-to enter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! listen,&rdquo; murmured she rapidly, popping the box into her pocket,
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll say that my sister Hortense made me a present of them.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste gave orders for the gas to be turned out, and then went up with
-her to bed, without saying a word about the quarrel, delighted at heart at
-finding her all right again and very lively, as though nothing had taken
-place between them. The warehouse became wrapped in intense darkness; and,
-just as Octave was also retiring, he felt hot hands squeezing his own
-almost sufficient to crush them in the obscurity. It was Saturnin, who
-slept in the basement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Friend&mdash;friend&mdash;friend,&rdquo; repeated the madman, with an outburst
-of wild tenderness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Disconcerted in his expectations, Octave little by little became seized
-with a young and passionate desire for Berthe. If he had at first been
-merely following his old plan, his wish to succeed by the aid of women, he
-now no longer beheld in her the employer simply, whose possession would
-place the whole establishment in his hands; he desired above all the
-Parisian, that adorable creature of luxury and grace, which he had never
-had an opportunity of tasting at Marseilles; he felt a sudden hunger for
-her little gloved hands, her tiny feet encased in high-heeled boots, her
-delicate neck hidden by gewgaws, even for the questionable unseen, the
-make-shifts which, he suspected, were covered by her gorgeous costumes;
-and this sudden attack of passion went so far as to get the better of his
-shrewd economical nature to the extent of causing him to squander in
-presents and all sorts of other expenses the five thousand francs which he
-had brought with him from the South, and had already doubled by financial
-operations which he never mentioned to anybody.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the morrow of the quarrel, Octave, delighted at having prevailed on the
-young woman to accept his present, thought that it would be well for him
-to ingratiate himself with the husband. Therefore, as he took his meals at
-his employer&rsquo;s table&mdash;the latter being in the habit of feeding his
-assistants, so as always to have them at hand&mdash;he showed him the
-utmost attention, listened to him at desserts and warmly approved all he
-said. He even went so far in private as to appear to sympathize with his
-complaints against his wife, pretending, too, to watch her, and making him
-little reports. Auguste felt greatly touched; he admitted one night to the
-young man that he had been on the point of discharging him, under the idea
-that he was conniving with his mother-in-law.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You understand me, you do!&rdquo; he would say to the young man. &ldquo;I merely want
-peace. Beyond that I don&rsquo;t care a hang, virtue excepted, of course, and
-providing my wife doesn&rsquo;t carry off the cash-box. Eh? am I not reasonable?
-I don&rsquo;t ask her for anything extraordinary?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Octave lauded his wisdom, and they celebrated together the sweetness
-of an uneventful existence, year after year, always the same, passed in
-measuring off silk. One evening he had alarmed Auguste by reverting to his
-dream of vast modern bazars, and by advising him, as he had advised Madame
-Hédouin, to purchase the adjoining house, so as to enlarge his premises.
-Auguste, whose head was already splitting between his four counters, had
-looked at him with the frightened air of a tradesman accustomed to
-dividing farthings into four, that he had hastened to withdraw his
-suggestion and to go into raptures over the honest security of small
-dealings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Days passed by; Octave was making his little nest in the place, a cozy
-nest lined with wool which would keep him nice and warm. The husband
-esteemed him; Madame Josserand herself, with whom, however, he avoided
-being too polite, looked at him encouragingly. As for Berthe, she was
-becoming charmingly familiar with him. But his great friend was Saturnin,
-whose dumb affection he felt was increasing daily&mdash;a faithful dog&rsquo;s
-devotion which grew as his longing for the young woman became more
-intense. Toward every one else the madman displayed a gloomy jealousy; a
-man could not approach his sister without his becoming at once uneasy,
-curling up his lips, and preparing to bite. But if, on the contrary,
-Octave leant freely toward her, and caused her to laugh with the soft and
-tender laughter of a happy mistress, he laughed himself with delight, and
-his face reflected a little of their sensual joy. The poor creature seemed
-to feel a gratitude full of happiness for the chosen lover. He would
-detain the latter in all the corners, casting mistrustful glances about;
-then, if he found they were alone, he would speak to him of her, always
-repeating the same stories in broken phrases.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;When she was little, she had tiny limbs as large as that; and already
-plump, and quite rosy, and so gay; then, she used to sprawl about on the
-floor. It amused me; I would go down on my knees and watch her. Then,
-bang! bang! bang! she would kick me in the stomach, and I would be so
-pleased, oh! so pleased!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave thus learnt all about Berthe&rsquo;s childhood, with its little ailments,
-its playthings, its growth of a charming, uncontrolled little creature.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His eyes lighted up; he laughed and cried, just as though these events had
-occurred the day before. From his broken sentences the history of this
-strange affection could be spun together: his poor, half-witted devotion
-at the little patient&rsquo;s bedside, when she had been given up by the
-doctors, his heart and body devoted to the dying darling, whom he nursed
-in her nudity with all the tenderness of a mother; his affection and his
-desires had been arrested there, checked forevermore by this drama of
-suffering, from the shock of which he never recovered; and, from that
-time, in spite of the ingratitude which followed the recovery, Berthe
-remained everything to him, a mistress before whom he trembled, a child
-and a sister whom he had saved from death, an idol which he worshiped with
-a jealous adoration. So that he pursued the husband with the furious
-hatred of a displeased lover, never at a loss for ill-natured remarks as
-he opened his heart to Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He&rsquo;s got his eye bunged up again. His headache&rsquo;s becoming a nuisance!&mdash;You
-heard him dragging his feet about yesterday&mdash;Look, there he is
-squinting into the street. Eh? isn&rsquo;t he a fool?&mdash;Dirty beast, dirty
-beast!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Auguste could scarcely move without angering the madman. Then would
-come the disquieting proposals.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you like, we&rsquo;ll bleed him like a pig between us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave would calm him. Then, on his quiet days, Saturnin would go from
-Octave to the young woman, with an air of delight, repeating what one had
-said about the other, doing their errands, and acting like a continual
-bond of tenderness between them. He would have thrown himself on the floor
-at their feet, to serve them as a carpet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe had not again alluded to the present. She did not seem to notice
-Octave&rsquo;s trembling attentions, but treated him as a friend, without the
-least confusion. He had never before been so careful in his dress, and he
-was ever caressing her with his eyes of the color of old gold, and whose
-velvety softness he deemed irresistible.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One day, however, she experienced a great emotion. On returning from a
-dog-show, Octave beckoned to her to descend to the basement; and there
-handed her a bill, amounting to sixty-two francs, for some embroidered
-stockings which had been brought during her absence. She turned quite
-pale, and in a cry that came from her heart, at once asked:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good heavens! has my husband seen this?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He hastened to set her mind at rest, telling her what trouble he had had
-to get hold of the bill under Auguste&rsquo;s very nose. Then, in an embarrassed
-way, he was obliged to add in a low voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I paid it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she made a show of feeling in her pockets, and, finding nothing, said
-simply:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I will pay you back. Ah! what thanks I owe you, Monsieur Octave! It would
-have killed me if Auguste had seen this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, this time, she took hold of both his hands, and for a moment held
-them pressed between her own. But the sixty-two francs were never again
-mentioned.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Thus, little by little, the breach between the couple widened, in spite of
-the husband&rsquo;s efforts, he being desirous of having no disturbance in his
-existence. He desperately defended his desire for a somnolent and idiotic
-peacefulness, he closed his eyes to small faults, and even stomached some
-big ones, with the constant dread of discovering something abominable
-which would drive him into a furious passion. He therefore tolerated
-Berthe&rsquo;s lies, by which she attributed to her sister&rsquo;s or her mother&rsquo;s
-affection a host of little things, the purchase of which she could not
-have otherwise explained; he even no longer grumbled overmuch when she
-went out of an evening, thus enabling Octave to take her twice privately
-to the theater, accompanied by Madame Josserand and Hortense; delightful
-outings, after which these ladies agreed together that the young man knew
-how to live.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was on a Saturday that a frightful quarrel occurred between the husband
-and wife, with respect to twenty sous which were deficient in Rachel&rsquo;s
-accounts. While Berthe was balancing up the book, Auguste brought,
-according to his custom, the money necessary for the household expenses of
-the ensuing week. The Josserands were to dine there that evening, and the
-kitchen was littered with things&mdash;a rabbit, a leg of mutton, and some
-cauliflowers. Saturnin, squatting on the tiled floor beside the sink, was
-blacking his sister&rsquo;s shoes and his brother-in-law&rsquo;s boots. The quarrel
-began with long arguments respecting the twenty sou piece. What had become
-of it? How could one mislay twenty sous? Auguste would go over all the
-additions again. During this time, Rachel, always pliant in spite of her
-harsh looks, her mouth closed but her eyes on the watch, was quietly
-spitting the leg of mutton. At length he gave fifty francs, and was on the
-point of going down-stairs again, when he returned, worried by the thought
-of the missing coin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It must be found, though,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Perhaps you borrowed it of Rachel,
-and have forgotten doing so.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe felt greatly hurt at this.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Accuse me of cooking the accounts! Ah! you are nice!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Everything started from that, and they soon came to high words. Auguste,
-in spite of his desire to purchase peace at a dear price, became
-aggressive, excited by the sight of the rabbit, the leg of mutton and the
-cauliflowers, beside himself before the pile of food, which she was going
-to thrust all at once under her parents&rsquo; noses. He looked through the
-account book, expressing astonishment at almost every item. It was
-incredible! She must be in league with the servant to make something on
-the marketing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I! I!&rdquo; exclaimed the young woman, thoroughly exasperated; &ldquo;I in league
-with the servant! But it&rsquo;s you, sir, who pay her to spy upon me! Yes, I am
-forever feeling her about me; I can&rsquo;t move a step without encountering her
-eyes. Ah! she may watch me through the key-hole, when I&rsquo;m changing my
-under-linen. I do no harm, and I don&rsquo;t care a straw for your system of
-police. Only, don&rsquo;t you dare to reproach me with being in league with
-her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This unexpected attack quite dumbfounded the husband for a moment. Rachel
-turned round, still holding the leg of mutton; and, placing her hand upon
-her heart, she protested.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! madame, how can you think so? I who respect madame so much!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She&rsquo;s mad!&rdquo; said Auguste, shrugging his shoulders. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t take the
-trouble to defend yourself, my girl. She&rsquo;s mad!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But a noise behind his back caused him some anxiety. It was Saturnin, who
-had violently thrown down one of the half-polished shoes to fly to his
-sister&rsquo;s assistance. With a terrible expression in his face and his fists
-clenched, he stuttered out that he would strangle the dirty rascal if he
-again called her mad. Thoroughly frightened, Auguste sought refuge behind
-the filter, calling out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s really become unbearable; I can no longer make a remark to you
-without his thrusting himself in between us! I allowed him to come here,
-but he must leave me alone! He&rsquo;s another nice present of your mother&rsquo;s!
-She was frightened to death of him, and so she saddled him on me,
-preferring to see me murdered in her stead. Thanks for nothing! He&rsquo;s got a
-knife now. Do make him desist!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0287.jpg" alt="0287 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-Berthe disarmed her brother, and calmed him with a look, whilst Auguste,
-who had turned very pale, continued to mumble angry words. Always knives
-being caught up! An injury is so soon done; and, with a madman, one could
-do nothing; justice would even refuse to avenge it! In short, it was not
-proper to make a bodyguard of such a brother, rendering a husband
-powerless, even in circumstances of the most legitimate indignation, going
-as far as forcing him to submit to his shame.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve no tact, sir,&rdquo; declared Berthe, disdainfully. &ldquo;A gentleman would
-not discuss such matters in a kitchen.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she withdrew to her room, slamming the doors behind her. Rachel had
-returned to the roaster, as though no longer hearing the quarrel between
-her master and mistress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do understand, my dear,&rdquo; said Auguste to Berthe, whom he had rejoined in
-the bed-room, &ldquo;it was not in reference to you that I spoke, it was for
-that girl who robs us. Those twenty sous ought certainly to be found.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman trembled nervously with exasperation. She looked him full
-in the face, very pale and resolute.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Will you leave off bothering me about your twenty sous? It&rsquo;s not twenty
-sous I want, it&rsquo;s five hundred francs a month. Yes, five hundred francs
-for my dress. Ah! you discuss money matters in the kitchen, before the
-servant! Well! that has decided me to discuss them also! I&rsquo;ve been
-restraining myself for a long time past. I want five hundred francs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He stood aghast at such a demand. And she commenced the grand quarrel
-which, during twenty years, her mother had picked with her father,
-regularly every fortnight. Did he expect to see her walk about barefoot?
-When one married a woman, one should at least arrange to clothe and feed
-her decently. She would sooner beg than resign herself to such a pauper
-existence! It was not her fault if he proved incapable of managing his
-business properly; oh! yes, incapable, without ideas or initiative, only
-knowing how to split farthings into four. A man who ought to have made it
-his glory to acquire a fortune quickly, so as to dress her like a queen,
-and make the people of The &ldquo;Ladies&rsquo; Paradise&rdquo; die with rage! But no! with
-such a poor head as his, bankruptcy was sure to come sooner or later. And
-from this flow of words emerged the respect, the furious appetite for
-money, all that worship of wealth, the adoration of which she had learnt
-in her family, when beholding the mean tricks to which one stoops, merely
-to appear to possess it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Five hundred francs!&rdquo; said Auguste at length. &ldquo;I would sooner shut up the
-shop.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked at him coldly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You refuse. Very well, I will run up bills.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;More debts, you wretched woman!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In a sudden violent movement, he seized her by the arms, and pushed her
-against the wall. Then, without a cry, choking with passion, she ran and
-opened the window, as though to throw herself out; but she retraced her
-steps, and pushing him in her turn toward the door, turned him out of the
-room gasping:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go away, or I shall do you an injury!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she noisily pushed the bolt behind his back. For a moment he listened
-and hesitated. Then he hastened to go down to the warehouse, again seized
-with terror, as he beheld Saturnin&rsquo;s eyes gleaming in the shadow, the
-noise of the short struggle having brought him from the kitchen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Down-stairs, Octave, who was selling silk handkerchiefs to an old lady, at
-once noticed his agitated appearance. The assistant looked at him out of
-the corner of his eye as he feverishly paced up and down before the
-counters. When the customer had gone, Auguste&rsquo;s heart quite overflowed.
-&ldquo;My dear fellow, she&rsquo;s going mad,&rdquo; said he without naming his wife. &ldquo;She
-has shut herself in. You ought to oblige me by going up and speaking to
-her. I fear an accident, on my word of honor, I do!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young man pretended to hesitate. It was such a delicate matter!
-Finally, he agreed to do so out of pure devotion. Up-stairs, he found
-Saturnin keeping guard before Berthe&rsquo;s door. On hearing footsteps, the
-madman uttered a menacing grunt. But when he recognized the assistant, his
-face brightened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes, you,&rdquo; murmured he. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re all right. She mustn&rsquo;t cry. Be nice,
-say something to her. And you know, stop there. There&rsquo;s no danger. I&rsquo;m
-here. If the servant tries to peep, I&rsquo;ll settle her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he squatted down on the floor, guarding the door. As he still held one
-of his brother-in-law&rsquo;s boots, he commenced to polish it, to pass away the
-time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave made up his mind to knock. No answer, not a sound.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he gave his name. The bolt was at once drawn. And, opening the door
-slightly, Berthe begged him to enter. Then she closed and bolted it again
-with a nervous hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mind you,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;but I won&rsquo;t have him!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She paced the room, carried away by passion, going from the bedstead to
-the window, which still remained open. And she muttered disconnected
-sentences: he might entertain her parents at dinner, if he liked; yes, he
-could account to them for her absence, for she would not appear at the
-table; she would sooner die! Besides, she preferred to go to bed. With her
-feverish hands, she already began to tear off the quilt, shake up the
-pillows, and turn down the sheet, forgetful of Octave&rsquo;s presence to the
-extent that she was about to unhook her dress. Then she jumped to another
-idea.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just fancy! He beat me, beat me, beat me! And only because, ashamed of
-always going about in rags, I asked him for five hundred francs!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, standing up in the middle of the room, tried to find some
-conciliating words. She was wrong to allow it to upset her so much.
-Everything would come right again. And he ended by timidly offering her
-assistance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If you are worried about any bill, why not apply to your friends? I
-should be so pleased! Oh! simply a loan. You could return it to me some
-other time.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked at him. After a pause, she replied:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Never! it cannot be. What would people think, Monsieur Octave?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her refusal was so decided that there was no further question of money.
-But her anger seemed to have left her. She breathed heavily, and bathed
-her face; and she looked quite pale, very calm, rather wearied, with
-large, resolute eyes. Standing before her, he felt himself overcome by
-that timidity of love, which he held in such contempt. Never before had he
-loved so ardently; the strength of his desire communicated an awkwardness
-to his charms of a handsome assistant. Whilst continuing to advise a
-reconciliation in vague phrases, he was reasoning clearly in his own mind,
-asking himself if he ought not to take her in his arms; but the fear of
-being again repulsed made him hesitate. She, without uttering a word,
-continued to look at him with her decided air, her forehead contracted by
-a faint wrinkle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really!&rdquo; he stammeringly continued, &ldquo;you must be patient. Your husband is
-not a bad fellow. If you only go the right way to work with him, he will
-give you whatever you ask for.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And beneath the emptiness of these words, they both felt the same thought
-take possession of them. They were alone, free, safe from all surprise,
-with the door bolted. This security, the close warmth of the room,
-exercised its influence on them. Yet he did not dare; the feminine side of
-his nature, his womanly feeling, refined him in that moment of passion to
-the point of making him the woman in their encounter. Then, as though
-recollecting one of her former lessons, Berthe dropped her handkerchief.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! thank you,&rdquo; said she to the young man, who picked it up. Their
-fingers touched, they were drawn closer together by that momentary
-contact. Now she smiled tenderly, and gave an easy suppleness to her form,
-as she recollected that men detest sticks. It would never do to act the
-simpleton, one must permit a little playfulness without seeming to do so,
-if one would hook one&rsquo;s fish.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Night is coming on,&rdquo; resumed she, going and pushing the window to.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He followed her, and there, in the shadow of the curtains, she allowed him
-to take her hand. She laughed louder, bewildering him with her ringing
-tones, enveloping him with her pretty gestures; and, as he at length
-became bolder, she threw back her head, displaying her neck, her young and
-delicate neck all quivering with her gayety. Distracted by the sight, he
-kissed her under the chin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! Monsieur Octave!&rdquo; said she in confusion, making a pretense of
-prettily putting him back into his place.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-His moment of triumph had come, but it was no sooner over than all the
-ferocious disdain of woman which was hidden beneath his air of wheedling
-adoration, returned. And when Berthe rose up, without strength in her
-wrists, and her face contracted by a pang, her utter contempt for man was
-thrown into the dark glance which she cast upon him. The room was wrapped
-in complete silence. One only heard Saturnin, on the other side of the
-door, polishing her husband&rsquo;s boot with a regular movement of the brush.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave&rsquo;s thoughts reverted to Valérie and Madame Hédouin. At last he was
-something more than little Pichon&rsquo;s lover! It seemed like a rehabilitation
-in his own eyes. Then, encountering Berthe&rsquo;s uneasy glance, he experienced
-a slight sense of shame, and kissed her with extreme gentleness. She was
-resuming her air of resolute recklessness, and, with a gesture, seemed to
-say: &ldquo;What&rsquo;s done can&rsquo;t be undone.&rdquo; But she afterward experienced the
-necessity of giving expression to a melancholy thought.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! If you had only married me!&rdquo; murmured she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He felt surprised, almost uneasy; but this did not prevent him from
-replying, as he kissed her again:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! yes, how nice it would have been!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That evening the dinner with the Josserands was most delightful, Berthe
-had never shown herself so gentle. She did not say a word of the quarrel
-to her parents, she received her husband with an air of submission. The
-latter, delighted, took Octave aside to thank him; and he imparted so much
-warmth into the proceeding, pressing his hands and displaying such a
-lively gratitude, that the young man felt quite embarrassed. Moreover,
-they one and all overwhelmed him with marks of their affection. Saturnin,
-who behaved very well at table, looked at him with approving eyes.
-Hortense on her part deigned to listen to him, whilst Madame Josserand,
-full of maternal encouragement, kept filling his glass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me! yes,&rdquo; said Berthe at dessert, &ldquo;I intend to resume my painting.
-For a long time past I have been wanting to decorate a cup for Auguste.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The latter was deeply moved at this loving conjugal thought. Ever since
-the soup, Octave had kept his foot on the young woman&rsquo;s under the table;
-it was like a taking of possession in the midst of this little
-middle-class gathering. Yet Berthe was not without a secret uneasiness
-before Rachel, whose eyes she always found looking her through and
-through. Was it, then, visible? The girl was decidedly one to be sent away
-or else to be bought over.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand, who was near his daughter, finished soothing her by
-passing her nineteen francs done up in paper under the tablecloth. He bent
-down and whispered in her ear:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know, they come from my little work. If you owe anything, you must
-pay it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, between her father, who nudged her knee, and her lover, who gently
-rubbed her boot, she felt quite happy. Life would now be delightful. And
-they united in throwing aside all reserve, enjoying the pleasure of a
-family gathering unmarred by a single quarrel. In truth, it was hardly
-natural, something must have brought them luck. Auguste, alone, had his
-eyes half closed, suffering from a headache, which he had moreover
-expected after so many emotions. Toward nine o&rsquo;clock he was even obliged
-to retire to bed.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
-CHAPTER XIII.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or some time past,
-Monsieur Gourd had been prowling about with an uneasy and mysterious air.
-He was met gliding noiselessly along, his eyes open, his ears pricked up,
-continually ascending the two staircases, where lodgers had even
-encountered him going his rounds in the dead of night. The morality of the
-house was certainly worrying him; he felt a kind of breath of shameful
-things which troubled the cold nakedness of the courtyard, the calm
-peacefulness of the vestibule, the beautiful domestic virtues of the
-different stories.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One evening, Octave had found the doorkeeper standing motionless and
-without a light at the end of his passage, close to the door which opened
-onto the servants&rsquo; staircase. Greatly surprised, he questioned him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I wish to ascertain something, Monsieur Mouret,&rdquo; simply answered Monsieur
-Gourd, deciding to go off to bed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young man was very much frightened. Did the doorkeeper suspect his
-relations with Berthe? He was perhaps watching them. Their attachment
-encountered continual obstacles in that house, where there was always some
-one prying about and the inmates of which professed the most strict
-principles.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It happened to be a Tuesday night when Octave discovered Monsieur Gourd
-watching close to his room. This increased his uneasiness. For a week
-past, he had been imploring Berthe to come up and join him in his
-apartment, when all the house would be asleep. Had the doorkeeper guessed
-this? Octave went back to his room dissatisfied, tormented with fear and
-desire.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The night was a close one, and, overcome by the heat, Octave had dozed off
-in an easy-chair, when toward midnight he was roused by a gentle knocking.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I,&rdquo; faintly whispered a woman&rsquo;s voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was Berthe. He opened the door and clasped her in his arms in the
-obscurity. When he had lighted his candle, he saw that she was deeply
-troubled about something. The day before, not having sufficient money in
-his pocket, he had been unable to pay for the bonnet at the time: and as
-in her delight she had so far forgotten herself as to give her name, they
-had sent her the bill that evening. Then, trembling at the thought that
-they might call on the morrow when her husband was there, she had dared to
-come up, gathering courage from the great silence of the house, and
-confident that Rachel was asleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To-morrow morning, you will be sure to pay it to-morrow morning, won&rsquo;t
-you?&rdquo; implored she, trying to escape.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he again clasped her in his arms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Stay!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She remained. The clock slowly struck the hours in the voluptuous warmth
-of the room; and, at each sound of the bell, he begged her so tenderly to
-stay, that her strength seemed to desert her and she yielded to his
-entreaties. Then, toward four o&rsquo;clock, just as she had at length
-determined to go, they both dropped off to sleep locked in each other&rsquo;s
-arms. When they again opened their eyes, the bright daylight was entering
-at the window, it was nine o&rsquo;clock. Berthe uttered a cry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good heavens! I&rsquo;m lost!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then ensued a moment of confusion. With her eyes half closed with sleep
-and fatigue, feeling vaguely about with her hands scarcely able to
-distinguish anything, she gave vent to stifled exclamations of regret. He,
-seized with a similar despair, had thrown himself before the door, to
-prevent her from going out at such an hour. Was she mad? people might meet
-her on the stairs, it was too risky; they must think the matter over, and
-devise a way for her to go down without being noticed. But she was
-obstinate, simply wishing to get away; and she again made for the door,
-which he defended. Then he thought of the servants&rsquo; staircase. Nothing
-could be more convenient; she could go quickly through her own kitchen
-into her apartment. Only, as Marie Pichon was always in the passage of a
-morning, Octave considered it prudent to divert her attention, whilst the
-other young woman made her escape.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He went out in his ordinary quiet way, and was surprised to find Saturnin
-making himself at home at Marie&rsquo;s, and calmly watching her do her
-housework. The madman loved thus to seek refuge beside her as in former
-days, delighted with the manner in which she left him to himself, and
-certain of not being jostled. Moreover, he was not in her way, and she
-willingly tolerated him, though his conversational powers were not great.
-It was company all the same, and she would still sing her ballad in a low
-and expiring voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo! so you&rsquo;re with your lover?&rdquo; said Octave, maneuvering so as to keep
-the door shut behind his back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Marie turned crimson. Oh! that poor Monsieur Saturnin! Was it possible? He
-who seemed to suffer even when any one touched his hand by accident! And
-the madman also got angry. He would not be any one&rsquo;s lover&mdash;never,
-never! Whoever told his sister such a lie would have him to deal with.
-Octave, amazed at his sudden irritation, felt it necessary to calm him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile Berthe made her way to the servants&rsquo; staircase. She had two
-flights to descend. At the first step a shrill laugh, issuing from Madame
-Juzeur&rsquo;s kitchen below, caused her to stop; and she tremblingly stood
-against the landing window, opened wide onto the narrow courtyard.
-</p>
-
-<hr />
-
-<p>
-Suddenly a voice exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s master coming for his hot water!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And windows were quickly closed, and doors slammed. The silence of death
-ensued, yet Berthe did not at first dare to move. When she at length went
-down, the thought came to her that Rachel was probably in the kitchen,
-waiting for her. This caused her fresh anguish. She now dreaded to enter,
-she would have preferred to reach the street and fly away in the distance
-forever. She nevertheless pushed the door ajar, and felt relieved on
-beholding that the servant was not there. Then, seized with a childish joy
-on finding herself at home again and safe, she hurried to her room. But
-there was Rachel standing before the bed, which had not even been opened.
-She looked at the bed, and then at her mistress with her expressionless
-face. In her first moment of fright, the young woman lost her head to the
-point of trying to excuse herself, and talked of an illness of her
-sister&rsquo;s. She stammered out the words, and then, frightened at the
-poorness of her lie, understanding that denial was utterly useless, she
-suddenly burst into tears. Dropping onto a chair, she continued crying.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This lasted a good while. Not a word was exchanged, sobs alone disturbed
-the perfect quiet of the room. Rachel, exaggerating her habitual
-discretion, maintaining her cold manner of a girl who knows everything,
-but who says nothing, had turned her back, and was making a pretence of
-beating up the pillows, as though she was just finishing arranging the
-bed. At length, when madame, more and more upset by this silence, was
-giving too loud a vent to her despair, the maid, who was then dusting,
-said simply, in a respectful tone of voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame is wrong to take on so, master is not so very pleasant.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe left off crying. She would pay the girl, that was all Without
-waiting further she gave her twenty francs. Then, not thinking that
-sufficient, and already feeling uneasy, having fancied she saw her curl
-her lips disdainfully, she rejoined her in the kitchen, and brought her
-back to make her a present of an almost new dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the same moment, Octave, on his part, was again in a state of alarm, on
-account of Monsieur Gourd. On leaving the Pichons&rsquo;, he had found him
-standing immovable, the same as the night before, listening behind the
-door communicating with the servants&rsquo; staircase. He followed him without
-even daring to speak to him. The doorkeeper gravely went back again down
-the grand staircase. On the floor below he took a key from his pocket and
-entered the room which was let to the distinguished individual, who came
-there to work one night every week. And through the door, which remained
-open for a moment, Octave obtained a clear view of that room which was
-always kept as closely shut as a tomb. It was in a terrible state of
-disorder that morning, the gentleman having no doubt worked there the
-night before. A huge bed, with the sheets stripped off, a wardrobe with a
-glass door, empty, save for the remnants of a lobster and two partly
-filled bottles, two dirty hand-basins lying about, one beside the bed and
-the other on a chair. Monsieur Gourd, with his calm air of a retired
-judge, at once occupied himself with emptying and rinsing out the basins.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As he hurried to the Passage de la Madeleine to pay for the bonnet, the
-young man was tormented by a painful uncertainty. Finally, he determined
-to engage the doorkeepers in conversation on his return. Madame Gourd,
-reclining in her commodious armchair, was getting a breath of fresh air
-between the two pots of flowers, at the open window of their room.
-Standing up beside the door, old mother Pérou was waiting in a humble and
-frightened manner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Have you a letter for me?&rdquo; asked Octave, as a commencement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Gourd just then came down from the room on the third floor.
-Seeing after that was the only work that he now condescended to do in the
-house; and he showed himself highly flattered by the confidence of the
-gentleman, who paid him well on condition that his basins should not pass
-through any other hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, Monsieur Mouret, nothing at all,&rdquo; answered he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had seen old mother Pérou perfectly well, but he pretended not to be
-aware of her presence. The day before he had got into such a rage with her
-for upsetting a pail of water in the middle of the vestibule, that he had
-sent her about her business on the spot. And she had called for her money,
-but the mere sight of him made her tremble, and she almost sank into the
-ground with humility.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-However, as Octave remained some time doing the amiable with Madame Gourd,
-the doorkeeper roughly turned toward the poor old woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So, you want to be paid. What&rsquo;s owing to you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Madame Gourd interrupted him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Look, darling, there&rsquo;s that girl again with her horrible little beast.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was Lisa, who, a few days before, had found a spaniel in the street.
-And this occasioned continual disputes with the doorkeepers. The landlord
-would not allow any animals in the house. No, no animals, and no women!
-The little dog was even forbidden to go into the courtyard; the street was
-quite good enough for him. As it had been raining that morning, and the
-little beast&rsquo;s paws were sopping wet, Monsieur Gourd rushed forward,
-exclaiming:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I will not have him walk up the stairs, you hear me! Carry him in your
-arms.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So that he shall make me all in a mess!&rdquo; said Lisa, insolently. &ldquo;What a
-great misfortune it&rsquo;ll be if he wets the servants&rsquo; staircase a bit! Up you
-go, doggie.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Gourd tried to seize hold of her, and almost slipped, so he fell
-to abusing those sluts of servants. He was always at war with them,
-tormented with the rage of a former servant who wishes to be waited on in
-his turn. But Lisa turned upon him, and with the verbosity of a girl who
-had grown up in the gutters of Montmartre, she shouted out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh! just you leave me alone, you miserable old flunkey! Go and empty the
-duke&rsquo;s jerries!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the only insult capable of silencing Monsieur Gourd, and the
-servants all took advantage of it. He returned to his room quivering with
-rage and mumbling to himself, saying that he was certainly very proud of
-having been in service at the duke&rsquo;s, and that she would not have staid
-there two hours even, the baggage! Then he assailed mother Pérou, who
-almost jumped out of her skin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! what is it you&rsquo;re owed? Eh! you say twelve francs sixty-five
-centimes. But it isn&rsquo;t possible? Sixty-three hours at twenty centimes the
-hour. Ah! you charge a quarter of an hour. Never! I warned you, I only pay
-the hours that are completed.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he did not even give her her money then, he left her perfectly
-terrified, and joined in the conversation between his wife and Octave. The
-latter was cunningly alluding to all the worries that such a house must
-cause them, hoping thus to get them to talk about the lodgers. Such
-strange things must sometimes take place behind the doors! Then the
-doorkeeper chimed in, as grave as ever:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What concerns us, concerns us, Monsieur Mouret, and what doesn&rsquo;t concern
-us, doesn&rsquo;t concern us. Over there, for instance, is something which quite
-puts me beside myself. Look at it, look at it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, stretching out his arm, he pointed to the boot-stitcher, that tall,
-pale girl who had arrived at the house in the middle of the funeral. She
-walked with difficulty; she was evidently in the family way, and her
-condition was exaggerated by the sickly skinniness of her neck and legs.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;On my word of honor! sir, if this sort of thing was likely to continue,
-we would prefer to retire to our home at Mort-la-Ville; would we not,
-Madame Gourd? for, thank heaven! we have sufficient to live on, we are
-dependent on no one. A house like this to be made the talk of the place by
-such a creature! for so it is, sir!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She seems very ill,&rdquo; said Octave, following her with his eyes, not daring
-to pity her too much. &ldquo;I always see her looking so sad, so pale, so
-forlorn. But, of course, she has a lover.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, Monsieur Gourd gave a violent start.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now we have it! Do you hear, Madame Gourd? Monsieur Mouret is also of
-opinion that she has a lover. It&rsquo;s clear, such things don&rsquo;t come of
-themselves. Well, sir! for two months past I&rsquo;ve been on the watch, and
-I&rsquo;ve not yet seen the shadow of a man. How full of vice she must be! Ah!
-if I only found her chap, how I would chuck him out! But I can&rsquo;t find him,
-and it&rsquo;s that which worries me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps no one comes,&rdquo; Octave ventured to observe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The doorkeeper looked at him with surprise.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That would not be natural. Oh! I&rsquo;m determined I&rsquo;ll catch him. I&rsquo;ve still
-six weeks before me, for I got the landlord to give her notice to quit in
-October. Just fancy her being confined here!&rdquo; and, with his arm still
-thrust out, he pointed to the young woman, who was painfully wending her
-way up the servants&rsquo; staircase. Madame Gourd was obliged to calm him: he
-took the respectability of the house too much to heart; he would end by
-making himself ill. Then, mother Pérou having dared to manifest her
-presence by a discreet cough, he returned to her, and coolly deducted the
-sou she had charged for the odd quarter of an hour. She was at length
-going off with her twelve francs sixty centimes, when he offered to take
-her back, but at three sous an hour only. She burst into tears, and
-accepted.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I shall always be able to get some one,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re no longer
-strong enough; you don&rsquo;t even do two sous&rsquo; worth.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave felt his mind relieved as he returned to his room for a minute. On
-the third floor he caught up Madame Juzeur, who was also going to her
-apartments. She was obliged now to run down every morning after Louise,
-who loitered at the different shops.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How proud you are becoming,&rdquo; said she, with her sharp smile. &ldquo;One can see
-very well that you are being spoilt elsewhere.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-These words once more aroused all the young man&rsquo;s anxiety. He followed her
-into her drawing-room, pretending to joke with her the while. Only one of
-the curtains was slightly drawn back, and the carpet and the hangings
-before the doors subdued still more this alcove-like light; and the noise
-of the street did not penetrate more than to the extent of a faint buzz,
-in this room as soft as down. She made him seat himself beside her on the
-low, wide sofa. But, as he did not take her hand and kiss it, she asked
-him archly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you, then, no longer love me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He blushed, and protested that he adored her. Then she gave him her hand
-of her own accord, with a little stifled laugh; and he was obliged to
-raise it to his lips, so as to dispel her suspicions, if she had any. But
-she almost immediately withdrew it again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no; though you pretend to excite yourself, it gives you no pleasure.
-Oh, I feel it does not, and, besides, it is only natural!&rdquo; What? what did
-she mean? He seized her round the waist, and pressed her with questions,
-but she would not answer; she abandoned herself to his embrace, and kept
-shaking her head. At length, to oblige her to speak, he commenced tickling
-her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, you see,&rdquo; she ended by murmuring, &ldquo;you love another.&rdquo; She named
-Valérie, and reminded him of the evening at the Josserands when he
-devoured her with his eyes. Then, as he declared that Valérie was nothing
-to him, she retorted, with another laugh, that she knew that very well,
-and had been only teasing him. Only, there was another, and this time she
-named Madame Hédouin, laughing more than ever, and amused at his
-protestations, which were very energetic. Who, then? Was it Marie Pichon?
-Ah! he could not deny that one. Yet he did do so, but she shook her head.
-She assured him that her little finger never told stories. And to draw
-each of these women&rsquo;s names from her, he was obliged to redouble his
-caresses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she had not named Berthe. He was loosening his hold of her, when she
-resumed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now, there&rsquo;s the last one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What last one?&rdquo; inquired he, anxiously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Screwing up her mouth, she again obstinately refused to say anything more,
-so long as he had not opened her lips with a kiss.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He continued to hold her reclining in his arms. She languishingly alluded
-to the cruel being who had deserted her after having only been married a
-week. A miserable woman like her knew too much of the tempests of the
-heart! For a longtime past she had guessed what she styled Octave&rsquo;s
-&ldquo;little games;&rdquo; for not a kiss could be exchanged in the house without her
-hearing it. And, in the depths of the wide sofa, they had quite a cozy
-little chat, interrupted now and then with all sorts of delightful
-caresses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Octave left her he felt more at ease. She had restored his good
-humor, and she amused him with her complicated principles of virtue.
-Down-stairs, directly he entered the warehouse, he reassured Berthe with a
-sign, as her eyes questioned him with reference to the bonnet. Then all
-the terrible adventure of the morning was forgotten. When Auguste
-returned, a little before lunch-time, he found them both looking the same
-as usual, Berthe very much bored at the pay-desk, and Octave gallantly
-measuring off some silk for a lady.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, after that day, the lovers&rsquo; private meetings became rarer still. As a
-practical fellow, he ended by thinking it stupid to be always paying, when
-she, on her side, only gave him her foot under the table. Paris had
-decidedly brought him ill-luck; at first, repulses, and then this silly
-passion, which was fast emptying his purse. He could certainly not be
-accused of succeeding through women. He now found a certain honor in it by
-way of consolation, in his secret rage at the failure of his plan so
-clumsily carried out up till then.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yet Auguste was not much in their way. Ever since the bad turn affairs had
-taken at Lyons, he had suffered more than ever with his headaches. On the
-first of the month, Berthe had experienced a sudden joy on seeing him, in
-the evening, place three hundred francs under the bed-room timepiece for
-her dress; and, in spite of the reduction on the amount which she had
-demanded, as she had given up all hope of ever seeing a sou of it, she
-threw herself into his arms, all warm with gratitude. On this occasion the
-husband had a night of hugging such as the lover never experienced.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-September passed away in this manner, in the great calm of the house
-emptied of its occupants by the summer months. The people of the second
-floor had gone to the seaside in Spain, which caused Monsieur Gourd, full
-of pity, to shrug his shoulders: what a fuss! as though the most
-distinguished people were not satisfied with Trouville! The Duveyriers,
-since the beginning of Gustave&rsquo;s holidays, had been at their country house
-at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. Even the Josserands went and spent a
-fortnight at a friend&rsquo;s, near Pontoise, spreading a rumor beforehand that
-they were going to some watering-place.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This clearance, these deserted apartments, the staircase slumbering in a
-greater silence than ever, seemed to Octave to offer less danger; and he
-argued and so wearied Berthe that she at last received him in her room one
-evening whilst Auguste was away at Lyons. But this meeting also nearly
-took a bad turn. Madame Josserand, who had returned home two days before,
-was seized with such an attack of indigestion after dining out, that
-Hortense, filled with anxiety, went down-stairs for her sister.
-Fortunately, Rachel was just finishing scouring her saucepans, and she was
-able to let the young man out by the servants&rsquo; staircase. On the following
-days, Berthe availed herself of that alarm to again refuse him everything.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Besides, they were so foolish as not to reward the servant. She attended
-to them in her cold way, and with her superior respect of a girl who hears
-and sees nothing; only, as madame was forever crying after money, and as
-Monsieur Octave already spent too much in presents, she curled her lip
-more and more in that wretched establishment, where the mistress&rsquo; lover
-did not even present her with ten sous when he stayed there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Madame Juzeur wept with that lovesick darling who could only
-gaze on his mistress from a distance; and she gave him the very best
-advice. Octave&rsquo;s passion reached such a pitch that he thought one day of
-imploring her to lend him her apartment; no doubt she would not have
-refused, but he feared rousing Berthe&rsquo;s indignation by his indiscretion.
-He also had the idea of utilizing Saturnin; perhaps the madman would watch
-over them like a faithful dog in some out-of-the-way room; only, he
-displayed such a fantastical humor, at one time overwhelming his sister&rsquo;s
-lover with the most awkward caresses, at another, sulking with him and
-casting suspicious glances gleaming with a sudden hatred. One could almost
-have thought him jealous, with the nervous and violent jealousy of a
-woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just as September was drawing to a close, and the lodgers were on the
-point of returning home, a wild idea came to Octave in the midst of his
-torment. Rachel had asked her permission to sleep out on one of the
-Tuesdays that her master would be at Lyons, in order to enable her to
-attend the wedding of one of her sisters in the country; and it was merely
-a question of passing the night in the servant&rsquo;s room, where no one in the
-world would think of seeking them. Berthe, feeling deeply hurt at the
-suggestion, at first displayed the greatest repugnance; but he implored
-her with tears in his eyes; he talked of leaving Paris, where he suffered
-too much; he confused and wearied her with such a number of arguments,
-that, scarcely knowing what she did, she ended by consenting. All was
-settled. The Tuesday evening, after dinner, they took a cup of tea at the
-Josserands&rsquo;, so as to dispel any suspicions. Trublot, Gueulin, and uncle
-Bachelard were there; and, very late in the evening, Duveyrier, who
-occasionally came to sleep at the Rue de Choiseul, on account of business
-which he pretended he had to attend to early in the morning, even put in
-an appearance. Octave made a show of joining freely in the conversation of
-these gentlemen; then, when midnight struck, he withdrew, and went and
-locked himself in Rachel&rsquo;s room, where Berthe was to join him an hour
-later when all the house was asleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Upstairs, the arrangement of the room occupied him during the first
-half-hour. He had provided himself with clean bed linen, and he proceeded
-to remake the bed, awkwardly, and occupying a long while over it, through
-fear of being overheard. Then, like Trublot, he sat down on a box and
-tried to wait patiently. The servants came up to bed, one by one; and
-through the thin partitions the sounds of women undressing themselves
-could be heard. One o&rsquo;clock struck, then the quarter, then the half hour
-past. He began to feel anxious; why was Berthe so long in coming? She must
-have left the Josserands&rsquo; about one o&rsquo;clock at the latest; and it could
-not take her more than ten minutes to go to her rooms and come out again
-by the servants&rsquo; staircase. When two o&rsquo;clock struck, he imagined all sorts
-of catastrophes. At length, he heaved a sigh of relief, on fancying he
-recognized her footstep. And he opened the door, in order to light her.
-But surprise rooted him to the spot. Opposite Adèle&rsquo;s door, Trublot, bent
-almost double, was looking through the key-hole, and jumped up, frightened
-by that sudden light.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! it&rsquo;s you again!&rdquo; murmured Octave, with annoyance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot began to laugh, without appearing the least surprised at finding
-him there at such a time of night.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just fancy,&rdquo; explained he, very softly, &ldquo;that fool Adèle hasn&rsquo;t given me
-her key, and she has gone and joined Duveyrier in his room. Eh? what&rsquo;s the
-matter with you? Ah! you didn&rsquo;t know Duveyrier slept with her. It is so,
-my dear fellow. He really is reconciled with his wife, who, however, only
-resigns herself to him now and then; so he falls back upon Adèle. It&rsquo;s
-convenient, whenever he comes to Paris.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He interrupted himself, and stooped down again, then added, between his
-clenched teeth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What a confounded brainless girl that Adèle is! If she had only given me
-her key, I could have made myself comfortable here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he returned to the loft where he had been, previously waiting, taking
-Octave with him, who, moreover, desired to question him respecting the
-finish of the evening at the Josserands&rsquo;. But, for some time, Trublot
-would not allow him to open his mouth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave was at length able to question him as to the wind-up of the party.
-It seemed that Berthe had left her mother&rsquo;s shortly after midnight,
-looking very composed. No doubt, she was now in Rachel&rsquo;s room. But
-Trublot, delighted at the meeting, would not let him go.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s idiotic, keeping me waiting so long,&rdquo; continued he. &ldquo;Besides, I&rsquo;m
-almost asleep as it is. My governor has put me into the liquidation
-department, and I&rsquo;m up all night three times a week, my dear fellow. If
-Julie were only there, she would make room for me. But Duveyrier only
-brings Hippolyte up from the country. And, by the way, you know Hippolyte,
-that tall, ugly chap! Well! I just saw him going to join Louise, that
-frightened brat of a foundling, whose soul Madame Juzeur wished to save.
-Eh? it&rsquo;s a fine success for Madame! &lsquo;Anything you like except that.&rsquo;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That night, Trublot, who was greatly bored, was full of philosophical
-reflections. He added, almost in a whisper:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, you know! like master, like man. When landlords set the example,
-it&rsquo;s scarcely surprising if the servants&rsquo; tastes are not exactly refined.
-Ah! everything&rsquo;s decidedly going to the dogs in France!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; said Octave; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m off.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Trublot still detained him, enumerating the servants&rsquo; rooms where he
-might have slept, as the summer had emptied nearly the whole of them; only
-the worst was that they all double-locked their doors, even when they were
-merely going to the end of the passage, they had such a fear of being
-robbed by each other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length Octave was able to get free. He was on the point of leaving
-Trublot in the profound obscurity of the loft, when the latter suddenly
-expressed his surprise.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But you, what are you doing amongst the maids? Ah! rascal, you come here
-too!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he laughed with delight, and promising to keep Octave&rsquo;s secret, sent
-him off, wishing him a pleasant night of it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Octave found himself back in Rachel&rsquo;s room, he experienced a fresh
-deception. Berthe was not there. Anger got the better of him now: Berthe
-had humbugged him, she had promised him merely to get rid of his
-importunities. Whilst he was chafing there, she was sleeping, happy at
-being alone, occupying the whole breadth of the conjugal couch. Then,
-instead of returning to his room and going to sleep himself, he
-obstinately waited, throwing himself all dressed as he was on the bed, and
-passing the night in forming projects of revenge. Three o&rsquo;clock chimed out
-in the distance. The snores of robust maid-servants arose on his left;
-while on his right there was a continual wail, a woman moaning with pain
-in the fever of a sleepless night. He ended by recognizing the
-boot-stitcher&rsquo;s voice. The wretched woman was lying suffering all alone in
-one of those poverty-stricken closets next to the roof.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just as day was breaking, Octave fell asleep. A profound silence reigned;
-even the boot-stitcher no longer moaned, but lay like one dead. The sun
-was peering through the narrow window, when the door opening abruptly
-awoke the young man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was Berthe, who, urged by an irresistible desire, had come up to see if
-he was still there; she had at first scouted the idea, then she had
-furnished herself with pretexts, the need for going to the room and
-putting everything straight, in case he had left it anyhow in his rage.
-Moreover, she no longer expected to find him there. When she beheld him
-rise from the little iron bedstead, ghastly pale and menacing, she stood
-dumbfounded; and she listened with bowed head to his furious reproaches.
-He pressed her to answer, to give him at least some explanation. At length
-she murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;At the last moment I could not do it. It was too indelicate. I love you,
-oh! I swear it. But not here, not here!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, seeing him approach her, she drew back, afraid that he might wish to
-take advantage of the opportunity. Eight o&rsquo;clock was striking, the
-servants had all gone down, even Trublot had departed. Then, as he tried
-to take hold of her hands, saying that, when one loves a person, one
-accepts everything, she complained that the closeness of the room made her
-feel unwell, and she slightly opened the window. But he again tried to
-draw her toward him, overpowering her with his importunities. At this
-moment a turbid torrent of foul words ascended from the inner courtyard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Pig! slut! have you done? Your dish-cloth&rsquo;s again fallen on my head.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, turning ghastly pale, and quivering from head to foot, released
-herself, murmuring:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you hear those girls? They make me shiver all over. The other day, I
-thought I should have been ill. No, leave me alone, and I promise to see
-you, on Tuesday next, in your room.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The two lovers, standing up and not daring to move, were compelled to hear
-everything.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Show yourself a moment,&rdquo; continued Lisa, who was furious, &ldquo;so that I may
-shy it back in your ugly face!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Adèle went and leant out of her kitchen window.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a fuss about a bit of rag! To begin with, I only used it for
-washing up with yesterday. And then it fell out by accident.&rdquo; They made
-peace together, and Lisa asked her what they had had for dinner at her
-place the day before. Another stew! What misers! She would have ordered
-chops for herself, if she had been in such a hole! She was forever
-inciting Adèle to sneak the sugar, the meat, the candles, just to show
-that she could do as she liked; as for herself, never being hungry, she
-left Victoire to rob the Campardons, without even taking her share.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Adèle, who was gradually becoming corrupted, &ldquo;the other night I
-hid some potatoes in my pocket. They quite burnt my leg. It was jolly, it
-was jolly! And, you know, I like vinegar, I do. I don&rsquo;t care, I drink it
-out of the cruet now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Victoire came and leant out in her turn, as she finished drinking some
-cassis mixed with brandy, which Lisa treated her to now and then of a
-morning, to pay her for concealing her day and night escapades. And, as
-Louise thrust out her tongue at them from the depths of Madame Juzeur&rsquo;s
-kitchen, Victoire was at once down upon her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wait a bit! you street foundling; I&rsquo;ll shove your tongue somewhere for
-you!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come along, then, old swiller!&rdquo; retorted the little one. &ldquo;I saw you
-yesterday bringing it all up again in your plate.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, the rush of foul words again rebounded from wall to wall of the
-pestiferous hole. Adèle herself, who was mastering the Paris gift of the
-gab, called Louise a filthy drab, whilst Lisa yelled out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make her shut up if she bothers us. Yes, yes, little strumpet, I&rsquo;ll
-tell Clémence. She&rsquo;ll settle you. But, hush! here&rsquo;s the man. He&rsquo;s a nice,
-dirty beast, he is!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hippolyte, just then appeared at the Duveyriers&rsquo; window, blacking his
-master&rsquo;s boots. The other servants, in spite of everything, were polite to
-him, for he belonged to the aristocracy, and he despised Lisa, who, in her
-turn, despised Adèle, with more haughtiness than rich masters show to
-masters in difficulties. They asked him for news of Mademoiselle Clémence
-and Mademoiselle Julie. Well! really, they were almost bored to death
-there, but they were pretty well. Then, jumping to another subject, he
-asked:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Did you hear that girl last night, wriggling about with her stomach-ache?
-Wasn&rsquo;t it annoying? Luckily she&rsquo;s going to leave soon. I had half a mind
-to call out to her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This allusion to the boot-stitcher&rsquo;s condition caused them to pass all the
-ladies of the house in review.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At first they talked of Madame Campardon, who at least had nothing more to
-fear; then of Madame Juzeur, who took her precautions; next of Madame
-Duveyrier, who was disgusted with her husband; and of Madame Valérie, who
-went and got her children away from home. And at each recital bursts of
-laughter arose in blasts from the squalid hole.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe had again turned pale. She waited, no longer even daring to leave
-the room, her eyes cast down with shame, like one to whom violence was
-being offered in Octave&rsquo;s presence. He, exasperated with the servants,
-felt that they were becoming too filthy, and that he could not again take
-her in his arms; his desire was giving place to a weariness and a great
-sadness. But suddenly the young woman started. Lisa had just uttered her
-name.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Talking of enjoying oneself, there&rsquo;s one who seems to me to go in for a
-rare dose of it! Eh! Adèle, isn&rsquo;t it true that your Mademoiselle Berthe
-was up to all manner of tricks at the time you used to wash her
-petticoats?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Victoire, &ldquo;she gets her husband&rsquo;s assistant to give her a
-dusting!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; exclaimed Hippolyte softly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What for? Her jade of a servant isn&rsquo;t there to-day. A sly hussy who&rsquo;d eat
-you, when one speaks of her mistress! You know she&rsquo;s a Jewess, and she
-murdered some one once. Perhaps the handsome Octave dusts her also, in the
-corners. The governor must have engaged him just to increase the family,
-the big ninny!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Berthe, suffering indescribable anguish, raised her eyes to her
-lover. And, cast down, imploring some aid, she stammered, in a painful
-voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My God! my God!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave took her hand and squeezed it tightly; he was choking with impotent
-rage. What was to be done? he could not show himself and force those women
-to leave off. The foul words continued, words which the young woman had
-never heard before, all the overflow of a sewer which every morning found
-an outlet there, close to her, and of which she had never had the least
-suspicion. Their love, so carefully hidden as they thought, was now being
-dragged amidst the vegetable parings and the kitchen slops. These women
-knew all, without any one having spoken. Lisa related how Saturnin held
-the candle. Victoire was highly amused by the husband&rsquo;s headaches, and
-said that he would do well to get himself another eye and have it placed
-somewhere; even Adèle had a fling at her mistress&rsquo; young lady, whose
-ailments, private habits, and toilet secrets she ruthlessly exposed. And a
-filthy chaff soiled all that remained that was good and tender in their
-love.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Look out below!&rdquo; suddenly exclaimed Victoire; &ldquo;here&rsquo;s some of yesterday&rsquo;s
-carrots which stink enough to poison one! They&rsquo;ll do for that crapulous
-old Gourd!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The servants, out of spite, threw all the filth they could into the inner
-courtyard, so that the doorkeeper should have it to sweep up.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And here&rsquo;s a bit of moldy kidney!&rdquo; said Adèle in her turn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All the scrapings of the saucepans, all the muck from the washing-up
-basins, found their way there, whilst Lisa continued to pull Berthe and
-Octave to pieces. The pair remained standing, hand-in-hand, face to face,
-unable to turn away their eyes; and their hands became as cold as ice, and
-their looks acknowledged the impurity of their intimacy. This was what
-their love had come to, this fornication beneath a downpour of putrid meat
-and stale vegetables!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And you know,&rdquo; said Hippolyte, &ldquo;the young gentleman doesn&rsquo;t care for the
-missis. He merely took her to help him along in the world. Oh! he&rsquo;s a
-miser at heart in spite of his airs, an unscrupulous fellow, who, with his
-pretensions of loving women, is not above slapping them!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, her eyes on Octave, saw him turn pale, his face so upset, so
-changed, that he frightened her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;On my word! the two make a nice pair,&rdquo; resumed Lisa. &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t give
-much for her skin either. Badly brought up, with a heart as hard as a
-stone, caring for nothing except her own pleasure, and sleeping with
-fellows for the sake of their money, yes, for their money! for I know the
-sort of woman.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The tears streamed from Berthe&rsquo;s eyes. Octave beheld her features all
-distorted. It was as if they had been flayed before each other, laid
-utterly bare, without any possibility of protesting. Then the young woman,
-suffocated by this open cesspool which discharged its exhalations full in
-her face, wished to fly. He did not detain her, for disgust with
-themselves made their presence a torture, and they longed for the relief
-of no longer seeing each other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You promise to come, next Tuesday, to my room?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she hurried away, quite distracted. Left alone, he walked about the
-room, fumbling with his hands, putting the linen he had brought, into a
-bundle. He was no longer listening to the servants, when their last words
-attracted his attention.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I tell you that Monsieur Hédouin died last night. If handsome Octave had
-foreseen that, he would have continued to cultivate Madame Hédouin, who&rsquo;s
-worth a lot.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This news, learnt there, amidst those surroundings, re-echoed in the
-innermost recesses of his being. Monsieur Hédouin was dead! And he was
-seized with an immense regret. He thought out loud, he could not restrain
-himself from saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! yes, by Jove! I&rsquo;ve been a fool!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Octave at length went down, with his bundle, he met Rachel coming up
-to her room. Had she been a few minutes sooner, she would have caught them
-there. Down-stairs, she had again found her mistress in tears; but, this
-time, she had not got anything out of her, neither an avowal, nor a sou.
-And furious, understanding that they took advantage of her absence to see
-each other and thus to do her out of her little profits, she stared at the
-young man with a look black with menace. A singular schoolboy timidity
-prevented Octave from giving her ten francs; and, desirous of displaying
-perfect ease of mind, he went in to joke with Marie a while, when a grunt
-proceeding from a corner caused him to turn round: it was Saturnin, who
-rose up saying, in one of his jealous fits:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Take care! we&rsquo;re mortal enemies!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That morning was the 8th of October, and the boot-stitcher had to clear
-out before noon. For a week past, Monsieur Gourd had been watching her
-with a dread that increased hourly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The boot-stitcher had implored the landlord to let her stay a few days
-longer, so as to get over her confinement, but had met with an indignant
-refusal. Pains were seizing her at every moment; during the last night,
-she had fancied she would be brought to bed all alone. Then, toward nine
-o&rsquo;clock, she had begun her moving, helping the youngster whose little
-truck was in the courtyard, leaning against the furniture or sitting down
-on the stairs, whenever a formidable spasm doubled her up.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Gourd, however, had discovered nothing. Not a man! He had been
-regularly humbugged. So that, all the morning, he prowled about in a cold
-rage. Octave, who met him, shuddered at the thought that he also must know
-of their intimacy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At a quarter to twelve, the work-girl appeared, with her wax-like face,
-her perpetual sadness, her mournful despondency. She could scarcely move
-along. Monsieur Gourd trembled until she was safe out in the street. Just
-as she handed him her key, Duveyrier issued from the vestibule, so heated
-by his night&rsquo;s work that the red blotches on his forehead seemed almost
-bleeding. He put on a haughty air, an implacable moral severity, when the
-creature passed before him. Ashamed and resigned, she bowed her head; and,
-following the little truck, she went off with the same despairing step as
-she had come, the day when she had been engulfed by the undertaker&rsquo;s black
-hangings.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, only, did Monsieur Gourd triumph. As though this woman had carried
-off with her all the uneasiness of the house, the disreputable things with
-which the very walls shuddered, he called out to the landlord:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A good riddance, sir! One will be able to breathe now, for, on my word of
-honor! it was becoming disgusting. It has lifted a hundred weight from off
-my chest. No, sir; you see, in a house which is to be respected, there
-should be no single women, and especially none of those women who work!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
-CHAPTER XIV.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the following
-Tuesday Berthe did not keep her promise to Octave. This time she had
-warned him not to expect her, in a rapid explanation they had had that
-evening, after the warehouse closed; and she sobbed; she had been to
-confession the day before, feeling a want of religious comfort, and was
-still quite upset by Abbé Mauduit&rsquo;s grievous exhortations. Since her
-marriage she had thrown aside all religion, but, after the foul words with
-which the servants had sullied her, she had suddenly felt so sad, so
-abandoned, so unclean, that she had returned for an hour to the belief of
-her childhood, inflamed with a hope of purification and salvation. On her
-return, the priest having wept with her, her sin quite horrified her.
-Octave, impotent and furious, shrugged his shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, three days later, she again promised for the following Tuesday. At a
-meeting with her lover, in the Passage des Panoramas, she had seen some
-Chantilly lace shawls, and she was incessantly alluding to them, whilst
-her eyes were filled with desire. So that, on the Monday morning, the
-young man laughingly said to her, in order to soften the brutal nature of
-the bargain, that, if she at last kept her word, she would find a little
-surprise for herself up in his room. She understood him, and again burst
-into tears. No! no! she would not go now; he had spoilt all the pleasure
-she had anticipated from their being together. She had spoken of the shawl
-thoughtlessly; she no longer wanted it; she would throw it on the fire if
-he gave it her. However, on the morrow, they made all their arrangements:
-she was to knock three times at his door very softly half an hour after
-midnight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-That day, when Auguste started for Lyons, he struck Berthe as being rather
-peculiar. She had caught him whispering with Rachel behind the kitchen
-door; besides which, he was quite yellow, and shivering, with one eye
-closed up; but, as he complained a good deal of his headache, she thought
-he was ill, and told him that the journey would do him good. Directly he
-had left, she returned to the kitchen, still feeling slightly uneasy, and
-tried to sound the servant. The girl continued to be discreet and
-respectful, and maintained the stiff attitude of her early days. The young
-woman, however, felt that she was vaguely dissatisfied, and she thought
-that she had been very foolish to give her twenty francs and a dress, and
-then to stop all further gratuities, although compelled to do so, for she
-was forever in want of a five franc piece herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My poor girl,&rdquo; said she to her, &ldquo;I have not been very generous, have I?
-But it is not my fault. I have not forgotten you, and I shall recompense
-you by-and-by.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame owes me nothing,&rdquo; answered Rachel, in her cold way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Berthe went and fetched two of her old chemises, wishing at least to
-show her good nature. But the servant, on receiving them, observed that
-they would do for rags for the kitchen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Thank you, madame; calico irritates my skin; I only wear linen.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, however, found her so polite, that she became more easy. She made
-herself very familiar with her, told her she was going to sleep out, and
-even asked her to leave a lamp alight, in case she required it. The door
-leading on to the grand staircase could be bolted, and she would go out by
-way of the kitchen, the key of which she would take with her. The servant
-received these instructions as coolly as if it had been a question of
-cooking a piece of beef for the morrow&rsquo;s dinner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-By a refinement of discretion, as his mistress was to dine with her
-parents that evening, Octave accepted an invitation to the Campardons&rsquo;.
-He counted on staying there till ten o&rsquo;clock, and then going and shutting
-himself up in his room, and waiting for half-past twelve with as much
-patience as possible.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The dinner at the Campardons&rsquo; was quite patriarchal. The architect, seated
-between his wife and her cousin, lingered over the dishes&mdash;regular
-family dishes&mdash;abundant and wholesome, as he described them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eat away,&rdquo; cried the architect to Octave; &ldquo;you may be eaten yourself some
-day.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Campardon, bending toward the young man&rsquo;s ear, was once more
-congratulating herself on the happiness which the cousin had brought the
-household; an economy of quite cent. per cent., the servants made to be
-respectful; Angèle looked after properly, and receiving good examples.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In short,&rdquo; murmured she, &ldquo;Achille continues to be as happy as a fish in
-water, and, as for me, I have absolutely nothing whatever left to do,
-absolutely nothing. Listen! she even washes me now. I can live without
-moving either arms or legs; she has taken all the cares of the household
-on her own shoulders.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the architect related how &ldquo;he had settled those jokers of the
-Ministry of Public Instruction.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just fancy, my dear fellow, they made no end of a fuss about the work
-I&rsquo;ve done at Evreux, You see, I wished, above all, to please the bishop.
-Only, the range for the new kitchens and the heating apparatus have come
-to more than twenty thousand francs. No credit was voted for them, and it
-is not easy to get twenty thousand francs out of the small sum allowed for
-repairs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They laughed all round the table, without the least respect for the
-Ministry, of which they spoke with disdain, their mouths full of rice.
-Rose declared that it was best to be on the side of religion. Ever since
-the works at Saint-Roch, Achille was overwhelmed with orders; the greatest
-families would employ no one else; it was impossible for him to attend to
-them all; he would have to work all night as well as all day. God wished
-them well, most decidedly, and the family returned thanks to Him, both
-night and morning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They were having dessert, when Campardon exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;By the way, my dear fellow, you know that Duveyrier has found &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was about to name Clarisse. But he recollected that Angèle was present,
-so, casting a side glance toward his daughter, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He has found his relative, you know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, biting his lip and winking his eye, he at length made himself
-understood by Octave, who at first did not in the least catch what he
-meant.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, Trublot, whom I met, told me so. The day before yesterday, when it
-was pouring in torrents, Duveyrier stood up inside a doorway, and who do
-you think he saw there? why, his relative shaking out her umbrella.
-Trublot had been seeking her for a week past, so as to restore her to
-him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Angèle had modestly lowered her eyes onto her plate, and began swallowing
-enormous mouthfuls. The family rigorously excluded all indecent words from
-their conversation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is she good looking?&rdquo; asked Rose of Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a matter of taste,&rdquo; replied the latter. &ldquo;Some people may think
-so.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She had the audacity to come to the shop one day,&rdquo; said Gasparine, who,
-in spite of her own skinniness, detested thin people. &ldquo;She was pointed out
-to me. A regular bean-stalk.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;All the same,&rdquo; concluded the architect, &ldquo;Duveyrier&rsquo;s hooked again. His
-poor wife&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He intended saying that Clotilde was probably relieved and delighted.
-Only, he remembered a second time that Angèle was present, and put on a
-doleful air to declare:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Relations do not always agree together. Yes! every family has its
-worries.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lisa, on the other side of the table, with a napkin on her arm, looked at
-Angèle, and the latter, seized with a mad fit of laughter, hastened to
-take a long drink, and hide her face in her glass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A little before ten o&rsquo;clock, Octave pretended to be very fatigued, and
-retired to his room. In spite of Rose&rsquo;s affectionate ways, he was ill at
-ease in that family circle, where he felt Gasparine&rsquo;s hostility to him to
-be ever on the increase. Yet, he had never done anything to her. She
-detested him for being a handsome man, she suspected him of having
-overcome all the women of the house, and that exasperated her, though she
-did not desire him the least in the world, but merely yielded, at the
-thought of his happiness, to the instinctive anger of a woman whose beauty
-had faded too soon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Directly he had left, the family talked of retiring for the night. Before
-getting into bed, Rose spent an hour in her dressing-room every evening.
-She proceeded to wash and scent herself all over, then did her hair,
-examined her eyes, her mouth, her ears, and even placed a tiny patch under
-her chin. At night-time, she replaced her luxury of dressing-gowns by a
-luxury of night-caps and chemises.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On that occasion she selected a chemise and a cap trimmed with
-Valenciennes lace. Gasparine had assisted her, handing her the basins,
-wiping up the water she spilt, drying her with a soft towel, little things
-which she did far better than Lisa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! I do feel comfortable!&rdquo; said Rose at length, stretched out in her
-bed, whilst the cousin tucked in the sheets and raised the bolster.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she laughed with delight, all alone in the middle of the big bed. With
-her soft, delicate, and spotless body, reclining amidst the lace, she
-looked like some beautiful creature awaiting the idol of her heart. When
-she felt herself pretty, she slept better, she used to say. Besides, it
-was the only pleasure left her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is it all right?&rdquo; asked Campardon, entering the room. &ldquo;Well! good-night,
-little duck.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He pretended he had some work to do. He would have to sit up a little
-longer. But she grew angry, she wished him to take some rest; it was
-foolish to work himself to death like that!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You hear me, now go to bed. Gasparine, promise me to make him go to bed.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The cousin, who had just placed a glass of sugar and water, and one of
-Dickens&rsquo; novels on the night table, looked at her. Without answering, she
-bent over and said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are so nice, this evening!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she kissed her on both cheeks, with her dry lips and bitter mouth, in
-the resigned manner of a poor and ugly relation. Campardon, his face very
-red, and suffering from a difficult digestion, also looked at his wife.
-His mustache quivered slightly as he kissed her in his turn.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good night, my little duck.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good night, my darling. Now, mind you go to bed at once.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Never fear!&rdquo; said Gasparine. &ldquo;If he&rsquo;s not in bed asleep at eleven
-o&rsquo;clock, I&rsquo;ll get up and put his lamp out.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Toward eleven o&rsquo;clock, Campardon, who was yawning over a Swiss cottage,
-the fancy of a tailor of the Rue Rameau, rose from his seat and undressed
-himself slowly, thinking of Rose, so pretty and so clean; then, after
-opening his bed, on account of the servants, he went and joined Gasparine
-in hers. It was so narrow that they slept very uncomfortably in it, and
-their elbows were constantly digging into each other&rsquo;s ribs. He especially
-always had one leg quite stiff in the morning, through his efforts to
-balance himself on the edge of the mattress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the same time, as Victoire had gone to her room, having finished her
-washing up, Lisa came, in accordance with her usual custom, to see if
-mademoiselle required anything more. Angèle was waiting for her
-comfortably in her bed; and thus, every evening, unknown to the parents,
-they had endless games at cards, on a corner of the counterpane, which
-they spread out for the purpose. They played at beggar-my-neighbor, while
-abusing cousin Gasparine, a dirty creature, whom the maid coarsely pulled
-to pieces before the child. They both avenged themselves for their
-hypocritical submission during the day, and Lisa took a low delight in
-this corruption of Angèle, and in satisfying the curiosity of this sickly
-girl, agitated by the crisis of her thirteen years. That night they were
-furious with Gasparine, who, for two days past, had taken to locking up
-the sugar, with which the maid filled her pockets, to empty them afterward
-on the child&rsquo;s bed. What a bear she was! now they were not even able to
-get a lump of sugar to suck when going to sleep!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yet, your papa gives her plenty of sugar!&rdquo; said Lisa, with a sensual
-laugh.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! yes!&rdquo; murmured Angèle, laughing also.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What does your papa do to her? Come, show me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the child caught the maid round the neck, pressed her in her bare
-arms, and kissed her violently on the mouth, saying as she did so:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;See! like this. See! like this.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Midnight struck. Campardon and Gasparine were moaning in their over-narrow
-bed, whilst Rose, stretching herself out in the middle of hers, and
-extending her limbs, was reading Dickens, with tears of emotion. A
-profound silence followed; the chaste night cast its shadow over the
-respectability of the family.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On going up to his room, Octave found that the Pichons had company. Jules
-called him in, and persisted on his taking a glass of something. Monsieur
-and Madame Vuillaume were there, having made it up with the young people,
-on the occasion of Marie&rsquo;s churching, she having been confined in
-September. They had even agreed to come to dinner one Tuesday, to
-celebrate the young woman&rsquo;s recovery, which only fully dated from the day
-before. Anxious to pacify her mother, whom the sight of the child, another
-girl, annoyed, she had sent it out to nurse, not far from Paris. Lilitte
-was sleeping on the table, overcome by a glass of pure wine, which her
-parents had forced her to drink to her little sister&rsquo;s health.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! two may still be put up with!&rdquo; said Madame Vuillaume, after
-clinking glasses with Octave. &ldquo;Only, don&rsquo;t do it again, son-in-law.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The others all laughed. But the old woman remained perfectly grave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There is nothing laughable in that,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;We accept this
-child, but I swear to you that if another were to come&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! if another came,&rdquo; finished Monsieur Vuillaume, &ldquo;you would have
-neither heart nor brains. Dash it all! one must be serious in life, one
-should restrain oneself, when one has not got hundreds and thousands to
-spend in pleasures.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, turning toward Octave, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You see, sir, I am decorated. Well! I may tell you that, so as not to
-dirty too many ribbons, I don&rsquo;t wear my decoration at home. Therefore, if
-I deprive my wife and myself of the pleasure of being decorated in our own
-home, our children can certainly deprive themselves of the pleasure of
-having daughters. No, sir, there are no little economies.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the Pichons assured him of their obedience. They were not likely to be
-caught at that game again!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To suffer what I&rsquo;ve suffered!&rdquo; said Marie, still quite pale.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I would sooner cut my leg off,&rdquo; declared Jules.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The Vuillaumes nodded their heads with a satisfied air. They had their
-word, so they forgave them that time. And, as ten was striking by the
-clock, they tenderly embraced all round; and Jules put on his hat to see
-them to the omnibus. This resumption of the old ways affected them so much
-that they embraced a second time on the landing. When they had taken their
-departure, Marie, who stood watching them go down, leaning over the
-balustrade, beside Octave, took the latter back to the dining-room,
-saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! mamma is not unkind, and she is quite right: children are no joke!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had shut the door, and was clearing the table of the glasses which
-still lay about. The narrow room, with its smoky lamp, was quite warm from
-the little family jollification. Lilitte continued to slumber on a corner
-of the American cloth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;m off to bed,&rdquo; murmured Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he sat down, feeling very comfortable there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! going to bed already!&rdquo; resumed the young woman. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t often
-keep such good hours. Have you something to see to, then, early
-to-morrow?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered he. &ldquo;I feel sleepy, that is all. Oh! I can very well stay
-another ten minutes or so.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He just then thought of Berthe. She would not be coming up till half-past
-twelve: he had plenty of time. And this thought, the hope of having her
-with him for a whole night, which had been consuming him for weeks past,
-no longer had the same effect on him. The fever of the day, the torment of
-his desire counting the minutes, evoking the continual image of
-approaching bliss, gave way beneath the fatigue of waiting.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Will you have another small glass of brandy?&rdquo; asked Marie.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! yes, I don&rsquo;t mind.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He thought that it would set him up a bit. When she had taken the glass
-from him, he caught hold of her hands, and held them in his, whilst she
-smiled, without the least alarm. He thought her charming, with her
-paleness of a woman who had recently gone through a deal of suffering. All
-the hidden tenderness with which he felt himself again invaded, ascended
-with sudden violence to his throat, and to his lips. He had one evening
-restored her to her husband, after placing a father&rsquo;s kiss upon her brow,
-and now he felt a necessity to take her back again, an acute and immediate
-longing, in which all desire for Berthe vanished, like something too
-distant to dwell upon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are not afraid, then, to-day?&rdquo; asked he, squeezing her hands tighter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, since it has now become impossible. Oh! we shall always be good
-friends!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she gave him to understand that she knew everything. Saturnin must
-have spoken. Moreover, she always noticed when Octave received a certain
-person in his room. As he turned pale with anxiety, she hastened to ease
-his mind: she would never say a word to any one, she was not angry, on the
-contrary she wished him much happiness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; repeated she, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m married, so I can&rsquo;t bear you any ill will.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He took her on his knees, and exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s you who I love!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0325.jpg" alt="0325 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-And he spoke truly. At that moment he loved her and only her, and with an
-absolute and infinite passion. All his new intrigue, the two months spent
-in pursuing another, were as naught. He again beheld himself in that
-narrow room, coming and kissing Marie on the neck, behind Jule&rsquo;s back,
-ever finding her willing, with her passive gentleness. This was true
-happiness, how was it that he had disdained it? Regret almost broke his
-heart. He still wished for her, and he felt that, if he had her no more,
-he would be eternally miserable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Let me be,&rdquo; murmured she, trying to release herself. &ldquo;You are not
-reasonable, you will end by grieving me. Now that you love another, what
-is the use of continuing to torment me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She defended herself thus, in her gentle and irresolute way, merely
-feeling a certain repugnance for what did not amuse her much. But he was
-getting crazy, he squeezed her tighter, he kissed her throat through the
-coarse material of her woolen dress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s you who I love, you cannot understand&mdash;Listen! on what I hold
-most sacred, I swear to you I do not lie. Tear my heart open and see. Oh!
-I implore you, be kind!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Marie, paralyzed by the will of this man, made a movement as though to
-take slumbering Lilitte into the next apartment; but he prevented her,
-fearing that she would awaken the child. The peacefulness of the house, at
-that hour of the night, filled the little room with a sort of buzzing
-silence. Suddenly the lamp went down, and they were about to find
-themselves in the dark, when Marie, rising, was just in time to wind it up
-again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Tears filled her eyes, and she remained sad, though still without anger.
-When he left her, he felt dissatisfied, he would have liked to have gone
-to sleep. But the other one would be there shortly, he must wait for her,
-and this thought weighed terribly on him; after having spent feverish
-nights in concocting extravagant plans for getting her to visit him in his
-room, he longed for something to happen which would prevent her from
-coming up. Perhaps she would once again fail to keep her word. It was a
-hope with which he scarcely dared delude himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Midnight struck. Octave, quite tired out, stood listening, fearing to hear
-the rustling of her skirts along the narrow passage. At half past twelve,
-he was seized with real anxiety; at one o&rsquo;clock, he thought himself saved,
-but a secret irritation mingled with his relief, the annoyance of a man
-made a fool of by a woman. But, just as he made up his mind to undress
-himself, yawning for want of sleep, there came three gentle taps at the
-door. It was Berthe. He felt both annoyed and flattered, and advanced to
-meet her with open arms, when she motioned him aside, and stood trembling
-and listening against the door, which she had hastily shut after her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; asked he, in a low voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, I was frightened,&rdquo; stammered she. &ldquo;It is so dark on the
-stairs, I thought that somebody was following me. Dear me! how stupid all
-this is! Some harm is sure to happen to us.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This chilled them both. They did not even kiss each other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am going back,&rdquo; said she, without leaving her chair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What, you are going?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you think I sell myself? You are always hurting my feelings; you have
-again spoilt all my pleasure to-night. Why did you buy it, when I forbade
-you to do so?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She got up, and at length consented to look at it. But, when she opened
-the box, she experienced such a disappointment, that she could not
-restrain this indignant exclamation:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! it is not Chantilly at all, it is llama!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, who was reducing his presents, had yielded to a miserly idea. He
-tried to explain to her that there was some superb llama, quite equal to
-Chantilly; and he praised up the article, just as though he had been
-behind his counter, making her feel the lace, and swearing that it would
-last her forever. But she shook her head, and silenced him by observing
-contemptuously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The long and short of it is, this costs one hundred francs, whereas the
-other would have cost three hundred.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, seeing him turn pale, she added, so as to soften her words: &ldquo;You are
-very kind all the same, and I am much obliged to you. It is not the value
-which makes the present, when one&rsquo;s intention is good.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She sat down again, and a pause ensued. She was still quite upset by her
-silly fright on the stairs! And she returned to her misgivings with
-respect to Rachel, relating how she had found Auguste whispering with the
-maid behind the door. Yet, it would have been so easy to have bought the
-girl over by giving her a five franc piece from time to time. But to do
-this, it was necessary to have some five franc pieces; she never had one,
-she had nothing. Her voice became harsh, the llama shawl, which she no
-longer alluded to, was working her up to such a pitch of rancor and
-despair, that she ended by picking the quarrel with her lover which had
-already existed so long between her and her husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come, now, is it a life worth living? never a sou, always at any one&rsquo;s
-mercy for the least thing! Oh! I&rsquo;ve had enough of it, I&rsquo;ve had enough of
-it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, who was pacing the room, stopped short to ask her:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But why do you tell me all this?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? sir, why? But there are things which delicacy alone ought to tell
-you, without my being made to blush by having to discuss such matters with
-you. Ought you not, long ere now, and without having to be told, to have
-made me easy by bringing this girl to our feet?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She paused, then she added, in a tone of disdainful irony:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It would not have ruined you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was another silence. The young man, who was again pacing the room,
-at length replied:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am not rich, and I regret it for your sake.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then matters went from bad to worse, the quarrel assumed quite conjugal
-violence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Say that I love you for your money!&rdquo; cried she, with all the bluntness of
-her mother, whose very words seemed to come to her lips. &ldquo;I am a
-money-loving woman, am I not? Well! yes, I am a money-loving woman,
-because I am a sensible woman. It is no use pretending the contrary; money
-will ever be money in spite of everything. As for me, whenever I have had
-twenty sous, I have always pretended that I had forty, for it is better to
-create envy than pity.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He interrupted her to say, in a weary voice, like a man who only desires
-peace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen, if it annoys you so much that it&rsquo;s a llama shawl, I will give you
-one in Chantilly.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Your shawl!&rdquo; continued she, in a regular fury, &ldquo;why, I&rsquo;ve already
-forgotten all about your shawl! The other things are what exasperate me,
-understand! Oh! moreover, you&rsquo;re just like my husband. You wouldn&rsquo;t care a
-bit if I hadn&rsquo;t a pair of boots to go out in. Yet, when one loves a woman,
-good nature alone should prompt one to feed and dress her. But no man will
-ever understand that. Why, between the two of you, you would soon let me
-go out with nothing on but my chemise, if I was agreeable!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, tired out by this domestic squabble, decided not to answer, having
-noticed that Auguste sometimes got rid of her in that way. He let pass the
-flow of words, and thought of the ill-luck of his amours. Yet, he had
-ardently desired this one, even to the point of upsetting all his
-calculations; and, now that she was in his room, it was to quarrel with
-him, to make him pass a sleepless night, as though they had already left
-six months of married life behind them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And full of conciliation, without desire, but polite, he tried to kiss
-her. She pushed him away, and burst into tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go on, reproach me also with my outings,&rdquo; stammered she in the midst of
-her sobs. &ldquo;Accuse me of being too great an expense to you. Oh! I see
-clearly now; it&rsquo;s all on account of that wretched present. If you could
-shut me up in a box, you would do so. I have lady friends; I go to call on
-them; that is no crime. And as for mamma&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For heaven&rsquo;s sake leave your mamma alone,&rdquo; interrupted Octave; &ldquo;and allow
-me to tell you that she has given you a precious bad temper.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She mechanically commenced to undress herself, and becoming more and more
-excited, she raised her voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mamma has always done her duty. It&rsquo;s not for you to speak of her here. I
-forbid you to mention her name. It only remained for you to attack my
-family!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Finding a difficulty in undoing the string of her petticoat, she broke it.
-Then, seating herself on the edge of the bed, her bosom heaving with anger
-in the midst of the surrounding lace of her chemise, she continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! how I regret my weakness, sir! how one would reflect, if one could
-only foresee everything!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave, who had made a show of lying with his face to the wall, suddenly
-bounced round, exclaiming:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! you regret having loved me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Most certainly, a man incapable of understanding a woman&rsquo;s heart!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And they looked at each other close together, with hardened faces, quite
-devoid of love.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! good heavens! if it were only to come over again!&rdquo; added she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You would take another, wouldn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; said he, brutally and in a very
-low voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was about to answer fin the same exasperated tone, when there came a
-sudden hammering at the door. Not understanding at first what it meant,
-they remained immovable, and their blood seemed to freeze in their veins.
-A hollow voice said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Open the door, I can hear you at your dirty tricks. Open, or I will burst
-it in!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the husband&rsquo;s voice. Still the lovers did not move, their heads
-were filled with such a buzzing that they could think of nothing; and they
-felt very cold, just like corpses. Berthe at length jumped from the bed,
-with an instinctive desire to fly from her lover, whilst, on the other
-side of the door, Auguste repeated:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Open! open, I say!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then ensued a terrible confusion, an inexpressible anguish. Berthe turned
-about the room in a state of distraction, seeking for some outlet, with a
-fear of death which made her turn ghastly pale. Octave, whose heart jumped
-to his mouth at each blow, had gone and mechanically leant against the
-door, as though to strengthen it. The noise was becoming unbearable, the
-fool would wake the whole house up, he would have to open the door. But,
-when she understood his determination, she hung onto his arms, imploring
-him with terrified eyes; no, no, mercy! the other would rush upon them
-with a pistol or a knife. He, as pale as herself, and partly overcome by
-her fright, slipped on his trousers, and beseeched her to dress herself.
-Still bewildered, she only managed to put on her stockings. All this time
-the husband continued his uproar.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t; you don&rsquo;t answer. Very well, you&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Every since he had last paid his rent, Octave had been asking his landlord
-for some slight repairs&mdash;two new screws in the staple of his lock,
-which scarcely held to the wood. Suddenly the door cracked, the staple
-yielded, and Auguste, unable to stop himself, rolled into the middle of
-the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Damnation!&rdquo; swore he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He simply held a key in his hand, which was bleeding through becoming
-grazed in his fall. When he got up, livid, and filled with rage and shame
-at the thought of his ridiculous entry, he hit out into space, and wished
-to spring upon Octave. But the latter, in spite of the awkwardness of
-being barefooted and having his trousers all awry, seized him by the
-wrists, and, being the stronger of the two, mastered him, at the same time
-exclaiming:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Sir, you are violating my domicile. It is disgraceful; you should act
-like a gentleman.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he almost beat him. During their short struggle, Berthe had made off
-in her chemise by the door which had remained wide open; she fancied she
-beheld a kitchen knife in her husband&rsquo;s bleeding fist, and she seemed to
-feel the cold steel between her shoulders. As she rushed along the dark
-passage, she thought she heard the sound of blows, without being able to
-make out who had dealt them, or who received them. Voices, which she no
-longer recognized, were saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am at your service whenever you please.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well, you will hear from me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-With a bound she gained the servants&rsquo; staircase. But when she had rushed
-down the two flights, as though there had been the flames of a
-conflagration behind her, she found the kitchen door locked, and
-remembered she had left the key up-stairs in the pocket of her
-dressing-gown. Moreover, there was no lamp; not the least glimmer of a
-light beneath the door; it was evidently the servant who had sold them.
-Without stopping to take breath, she tore up-stairs again, passing once
-more before the passage leading to Octave&rsquo;s room, where the two men&rsquo;s
-voices still continued in violent altercation.
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0333.jpg" alt="0333 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-They were going on abusing each other; she would have time, perhaps. And
-she rapidly descended the grand staircase, with the hope that her husband
-had left their outer door open. She would bolt herself in her room, and
-open to nobody. But there, for the second time, she encountered a locked
-door. Then, shut out from her home, with scarcely a covering to her body,
-she lost her head, and scampered from floor to floor, like some hunted
-animal which knows not where to take earth. She would never have the
-courage to knock at her parents&rsquo; door. At one moment she thought of taking
-refuge with the doorkeepers, but shame drove her up-stairs again. She
-listened, raised her head, bent over the hand-rail, her ears deafened by
-the beating of her heart in the profound silence, her eyes blinded by
-lights which seemed to shoot out from the dense obscurity. And it was
-always the knife, the knife in Auguste&rsquo;s bleeding fist, the icy cold point
-of which was about to pierce her. Suddenly there was a noise; she fancied
-he was coming, and she shivered to her very marrow; and, as she was
-opposite Campardons&rsquo; door, she rang desperately, furiously, almost
-breaking the bell.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good heavens! is the house on fire?&rdquo; asked an agitated voice inside.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The door opened at once. It was Lisa, who was only then leaving
-mademoiselle, walking softly, and with a candlestick in her hand. The mad
-ringing of the bell had made her start, just as she was crossing the
-ante-room. When she caught sight of Berthe in her chemise, she stood
-rooted to the spot.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo; asked she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman had entered, violently slamming the door behind her; and,
-panting and leaning against the wall, she stammered out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hush! keep quiet! He wants to kill me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lisa was trying to get a sensible explanation from her, when Campardon
-appeared, looking very anxious. This incomprehensible uproar had disturbed
-Gasparine and him in their narrow bed. He had simply slipped on his
-trousers, and his fat face was swollen and covered with perspiration,
-whilst his yellow beard was quite flaccid and full of the white down of
-the pillow. He was all out of breath, and endeavoring to assume the
-assurance of a husband who sleeps alone.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is that you, Lisa?&rdquo; called he from the drawing-room. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s absurd! How is
-it you&rsquo;re not up-stairs?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I was afraid I had not fastened the door properly, sir; I could not sleep
-for thinking of it, so I came down to make sure. But it&rsquo;s madame&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The architect, seeing Berthe leaning against the wall of his anteroom with
-nothing but her chemise on, stood lost in amazement also. Berthe forgot
-how scantily she was clad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! sir, keep me here,&rdquo; repeated she. &ldquo;He wants to kill me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who does?&rdquo; asked he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My husband.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The cousin now put in an appearance behind the architect. She had taken
-time to don a dress, and, her hair untidy and also full of down, her
-breast flat and hanging, her bones almost protruding through her garment,
-she brought with her the rancor arising from her interrupted repose. The
-sight of the young woman, of her plump and delicate nudity, only increased
-her ill-humor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Whatever have you done, then, to your husband?&rdquo; she asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this simple question Berthe was overcome by a great shame. She
-remembered she was half-naked, and blushed from head to foot. In this long
-thrill of shame, she crossed her arms over her bosom, as though to escape
-the glances directed at her. And she stammered out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He found me&mdash;he caught me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The two others understood, and looked at each other with indignation in
-their eyes. Lisa, whose candle lighted up the scene, pretended to share
-her master&rsquo;s reprehension. At this moment, however, the explanation was
-interrupted by Angèle also hastening to the spot; and she pretended to
-have just woke up, rubbing her eyes heavy with sleep. The sight of the
-lady with nothing on her but a chemise suddenly brought her to a
-standstill, with a jerk, a quivering of her precocious young girl&rsquo;s
-slender body.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she simply exclaimed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s nothing; go back to bed!&rdquo; cried her father.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, understanding that some sort of story was necessary, he related the
-first that came into his head, but it was really too ludicrous.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame sprained her ankle coming down-stairs, so she&rsquo;s come here for
-assistance. Go back to bed; you&rsquo;ll catch cold!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lisa choked back a laugh on encountering Angèle&rsquo;s wide-open eyes, as the
-latter returned to her bed, all rosy, and quite delighted at having seen
-such a sight. For some minutes past Madame Campardon had been calling from
-her room. She had not put her light out, being so interested in her
-Dickens, and she wished to know what had happened. What did it all mean?
-who was there? why did not some one come to set her mind at rest?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come, madame,&rdquo; said the architect, taking Berthe with him. &ldquo;And you,
-Lisa, wait a minute.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the bed-room, Rose was still spread out in the middle of the big bed.
-She throned there with her queenly luxury, her quiet serenity of an idol.
-She was deeply affected by what she had read, and she had placed the book
-on her breast, with the heavings of which it gently rose and fell. When
-the cousin in a few words had made her acquainted with what had taken
-place, she also appeared to be scandalized. How could one go with a man
-who was not one&rsquo;s husband? and she was filled with disgust for that which
-was denied to her. But the architect now cast confused glances at the
-young woman, and this ended by making Gasparine blush.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is shocking!&rdquo; cried she. &ldquo;Cover yourself up, madame, for it is really
-shocking! Pray cover yourself up!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she herself threw a shawl of Rose&rsquo;s over Berthe&rsquo;s shoulders, a large
-knitted woolen shawl which was lying about. It did not reach to her knees,
-however, and in spite of himself the architect&rsquo;s eyes wandered over the
-young woman&rsquo;s person.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe was still trembling. Though she was in safety, she kept starting
-and looking toward the door. Her eyes were full of tears, and she
-beseeched this lady, who seemed so calm and comfortable as she lay in bed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! madame, keep me, save me. He wants to kill me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A pause ensued. The three were consulting one another with their eyes,
-without hiding their disapproval of such culpable conduct. Besides, it was
-not proper to come in a state of nudity and wake people up after midnight,
-and perhaps put them to great inconvenience. No, such a thing was not
-right; it showed a want of discretion, besides placing them in a very
-awkward position.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We have a young girl here,&rdquo; said Gasparine at length. &ldquo;Think of our
-responsibility, madame.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You would be better with your parents,&rdquo; insinuated the architect, &ldquo;and if
-you will allow me to see you to their door&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe was again seized with terror.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no! He is on the stairs; he would kill me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she implored him to let her remain: a chair was all she needed to wait
-on till morning; on the morrow, she would go quietly away. The architect
-and his wife would have consented; he won over by such tender charms; she
-interested by the drama of this surprise in the middle of the night. But
-Gasparine remained inflexible. Yet she had her curiosity to satisfy, and
-she ended by asking:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Wherever were you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Up-stairs, in the room at the end of the passage, you know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, Campardon held up his arms and exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! with Octave! it isn&rsquo;t possible!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-With Octave, with that bean-stalk, such a pretty, plump little woman! He
-was annoyed. Rose, also, felt vexed, and was now inclined to be severe. As
-for Gasparine, she was quite beside herself, stung to the heart by her
-instinctive hatred of the young man. He again! she knew very well that he
-had them all; but she was certainly not going to be so stupid as to keep
-them warm for him in her home.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Put yourself in our place,&rdquo; resumed she, harshly. &ldquo;I tell you again we
-have a young girl here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; said Campardon, in his turn, &ldquo;there is the house to be
-considered; there is your husband, with whom I have always been on the
-best of terms. He would have a right to be surprised. It will never do for
-us to appear to publicly approve your conduct, madame, oh! a conduct which
-I do not permit myself to judge, but which is rather&mdash;what shall I
-say?&mdash;rather indiscreet, is it not?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We are certainly not going to cast stones at you,&rdquo; continued Rose. &ldquo;Only,
-the world is so wicked! People will say that you had your meetings here.
-And, you know, my husband works for some very strait-laced people. At the
-least stain on his morality, he would lose everything. But, allow me to
-ask you, madame, how is it you were not restrained by religion? The Abbé
-Mauduit was talking to us of you quite paternally, only the day before
-yesterday.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe turned her head about between the three of them, looking at the one
-who spoke, in a bewildered sort of way. In the midst of her fright, she
-was beginning to understand; she felt surprised at being there. Why had
-she rang; what was she doing amongst these people whom she disturbed? She
-saw them clearly now&mdash;the wife occupying the whole width of the bed,
-the husband in his drawers, and the cousin in a thin skirt, the pair of
-them white with the feathers of the same pillow. They were right; it was
-not proper to tumble amongst people in that way. And, as the architect
-pushed her gently toward the ante-room, she went off without even
-answering Rose&rsquo;s religious regrets.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Shall I accompany you as far as your parents&rsquo; door?&rdquo; asked Campardon.
-&ldquo;Your place is with them.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She refused, with a terrified gesture.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, wait a moment; I will take a look up and down the stairs, for I
-should deeply regret if the least harm happened to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Lisa had remained in the middle of the ante-room, with her candle. He took
-it, went out onto the landing, and returned almost immediately.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I assure you there is no one. Run up quick.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Berthe, who had not again opened her lips, hastily took off the
-woolen shawl, and threw it on the floor, saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here! this is yours. It&rsquo;s no use keeping it, as he&rsquo;s going to kill me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she went out into the darkness, with nothing on but her chemise, the
-same as when she came. Campardon double locked the door in a fury,
-murmuring the while:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh! go and get tumbled elsewhere!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, as Lisa burst out laughing behind him, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true, they&rsquo;d be coming every night, if one received them. Every one
-for himself. I would have given her a hundred francs: but my reputation!
-no, by Jove!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the bed-room, Rose and Gasparine were recovering themselves. Had any
-one ever seen such a shameless creature? to walk about the staircase with
-nothing on! Really! there were women who respected nothing, at certain
-times! But it was close upon two o&rsquo;clock; they must get to sleep. And they
-embraced again: good night, my darling&mdash;good night, my duck. Eh! was
-it not nice to love each other, and to always agree together, when one
-beheld such catastrophes occurring in other families? Rose again took up
-her Dickens; he supplied all her requirements; she would read a few more
-pages, then let the book slip into the bed, the same as she did every
-night, and fall off asleep, weary with emotion. Campardon followed
-Gasparine, made her get into bed first, and then laid himself down beside
-her. They both grumbled; the sheets had become cold again; they were not
-at all comfortable; it would take them another half-hour to get warm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Lisa, who, before going up-stairs, had returned to Angèle&rsquo;s room, was
-saying to her:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The lady has sprained her ankle. Come, show me how she sprained it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why! like this!&rdquo; replied the child, throwing herself on the maid&rsquo;s neck,
-and kissing her on her lips.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe was on the stairs shivering. It was cold, the heating apparatus was
-not lighted till the beginning of November. Her fright had at length
-abated. She had gone down and listened at her door: nothing, not a sound.
-Then she had gone up, not daring to venture as far as Octave&rsquo;s room, but
-listening from a distance: there was a death-like silence, unbroken by a
-murmur.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Suddenly, a noise affrighted her, causing her to jump up, and she was
-about to hammer with both her fists on her mother&rsquo;s door, when some one
-calling out stopped her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was a voice almost as faint as a zephyr.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame&mdash;madame&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked down-stairs, but saw nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame&mdash;madame&mdash;it&rsquo;s I.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Marie showed herself in her chemise also. She had heard all the
-disturbance, and had slipped out of bed, leaving Jules asleep, whilst she
-remained listening in her little dining-room without a light.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come in. You are in trouble. I am a friend.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She gently reassured her, and told her all that had taken place. The men
-had not hurt each other: he had cursed and swore, and pushed the chest of
-drawers up against his door, to shut himself in; whilst the other had gone
-down-stairs with a bundle in his hand, the things she had left behind, her
-shoes and petticoat, which he must have rolled up mechanically in her
-dressing-gown, on seeing them lying about. In short, it was all over. It
-would be easy enough to prevent them fighting on the morrow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Berthe remained standing on the threshold with a remnant of fear and
-shame at thus entering the abode of a lady whom she did not habitually
-frequent. Marie was obliged to lead her in by the hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will sleep there, on that sofa. I will lend you a shawl, and I will
-go and see your mother. Good heavens! what a misfortune! When one is in
-love, one does not stop to think.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! for the little pleasure we had!&rdquo; said Berthe, with a sigh, which was
-full of the cruelty and stupidity of her unprofitable night. &ldquo;He does
-right to swear. If he&rsquo;s like me, he&rsquo;s had more than enough of it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They were on the point of speaking of Octave. They said nothing further,
-but suddenly fell sobbing into each other&rsquo;s arms in the dark. Their limbs
-clasped with a convulsive passion, their bosoms, hot with tears, were
-pressed close together beneath their crumpled chemises. It was a final
-weariness, an immense sadness, the end of everything. They did not say
-another word, whilst their tears flowed, flowed without ceasing, in the
-midst of the darkness and of the profound slumber of that house so full of
-decency.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
-CHAPTER XV.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hat morning the
-house awoke with a great middle-class dignity. Nothing of the staircase
-preserved a trace of the scandals of the night, neither the imitation
-marble which had reflected that gallop of a woman in her chemise, nor the
-Wilton carpet from which all the odor of her semi-nudity had evaporated.
-Monsieur Gourd alone, when he went up-stairs toward seven o&rsquo;clock to give
-his look round, sniffed at the walls; but what did not concern him, did
-not concern him; and as, on going down-stairs again, he saw two of the
-servants in the courtyard, Lisa and Julie, who were no doubt discussing
-the catastrophe, for they seemed deeply interested, he stared at them so
-fixedly that they at once separated. Then he went outside to make sure of
-the tranquillity of the street. It was calm. Only, the servants must
-already have been talking, for some of the neighbors&rsquo; wives stopped,
-tradespeople came to their shop doors, looking up in the air, examining
-and searching the different floors, in the gaping way in which the crowd
-scrutinizes houses where a crime has been committed. In the presence of
-the rich frontage, however, people held their tongues and politely passed
-on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At half-past seven, Madame Juzeur appeared in a dressing-gown, to look
-after Louise, she said. Her eyes sparkled, and her hands were feverishly
-hot. She stopped Marie, who was going up with her milk, and endeavored to
-get her to talk; but she could draw nothing out of her, and did not even
-learn how the mother had received her guilty daughter. Then, under the
-pretense of waiting a minute for the postman, she entered the Gourds&rsquo;
-room, and ended by asking why Monsieur Octave did not come down; perhaps
-he was ill. The doorkeeper replied that he did not know; moreover,
-Monsieur Octave never came down before ten minutes past eight. At this
-moment, the other Madame Campardon, pale and erect, passed by; every one
-bowed to her. And Madame Juzeur, obliged to go up-stairs again, had the
-luck, on reaching the landing, to meet the architect just starting off and
-putting on his gloves. At first they both looked at each other in a
-dejected sort of way; then he shrugged his shoulders.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Poor things!&rdquo; murmured she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no, it serves them right!&rdquo; said he ferociously. &ldquo;An example must be
-made of them. A fellow whom I introduce into a respectable house,
-beseeching him not to bring any women there, and who, to humbug me, goes
-and sleeps with the landlord&rsquo;s sister-in-law! I look like a fool in it
-all!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No more was said. Madame Juzeur entered her apartments, whilst Campardon
-continued on his way down-stairs in such a state of fury that he tore one
-of his gloves.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just as eight o&rsquo;clock was striking, Auguste, looking very dejected, his
-features contracted by an atrocious headache, crossed the courtyard to go
-to his warehouse. Filled with shame, and dreading to meet any one, he had
-come down by way of the servants&rsquo; staircase. However, he could not leave
-his business to take care of itself. When in the midst of his counters,
-and before the pay-desk where Berthe usually sat, his emotion almost
-choked him. The porter was taking down the shutters, and Auguste was
-giving the orders for the day, when the abrupt appearance of Saturnin
-coming up from the basement gave him an awful fright. The madman&rsquo;s eyes
-were like flames of fire, his white teeth resembled a famished wolf&rsquo;s. He
-went straight up to the husband, clenching his fists.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where is she? If you touch her, I&rsquo;ll bleed you to death like a pig!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste drew back, exasperated.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s this one, now!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Shut up, or I&rsquo;ll bleed you!&rdquo; repeated Saturnin, making a rush at him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the husband preferred to beat a retreat. He had a horror of madmen;
-one could not reason with such people. But, as he went out into the porch,
-calling to the porter to shut Saturnin up in the basement, he found
-himself face to face with Valérie and Théophile. The latter, who had
-caught a frightful cold, was wrapped up in a big red comforter, and
-coughed and moaned. They must both have known everything, for they stopped
-before Auguste with an air of condolence. Since the quarrel about the
-inheritance, the two couples had been sworn enemies, and were no longer on
-speaking terms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You still have a brother,&rdquo; said Théophile, shaking him by the hand, when
-he had finished coughing. &ldquo;I wish you to remember it in your misfortune.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; added Valérie, &ldquo;this ought to avenge me, for she said some filthy
-things to me, did she not? But we pity you all the same, for we are not
-quite heartless.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste, deeply touched by their kind manner, led them to the end of his
-warehouse, keeping an eye on Saturnin, who was prowling about. And, there,
-their reconciliation became complete. Berthe&rsquo;s name was not mentioned;
-only, Valérie allowed it to be understood that all the unpleasantness
-arose from that woman, for there never had been a disagreeable word said
-in the family till she had entered it to dishonor them. Auguste, his eyes
-cast on the ground, listened and nodded his head approvingly. And a
-certain gayety gleamed beneath Théophile&rsquo;s commiseration, for he was
-delighted at no longer being the only one, and he examined his brother&rsquo;s
-face to see how a person looks when in that awkward position.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now, what have you decided to do?&rdquo; inquired he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;To challenge him, of course!&rdquo; firmly replied the husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Théophile&rsquo;s joy was spoilt. His wife and he became cooler, in the presence
-of Auguste&rsquo;s courage. The latter related to them the frightful scene of
-the night&mdash;how, having been foolish enough to hesitate purchasing a
-pistol, he had been forced to content himself with merely slapping the
-gentleman&rsquo;s face; and to tell the truth, the gentleman had done the same
-to him, but that did not prevent his having received a pretty good hiding!
-A scoundrel who had been making a fool of him for six months past by
-pretending to take his part against his wife, and whose impudence had gone
-as far as making reports respecting her on the days she went out! As for
-her, the creature, as she had gone to her parents, she could remain with
-them; he would never take her back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Would you believe that last month I allowed her three hundred francs for
-her dress!&rdquo; cried he. &ldquo;I who am so kind, so tolerant, who had decided to
-put up with everything sooner than make myself ill! But one cannot put up
-with that&mdash;no! no! one cannot!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Théophile was thinking of death. He trembled feverishly, and almost choked
-as he said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s absurd, you will get spitted. I would not fight.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as Valérie looked at him, he added, in an embarrassed manner:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If such a thing happened to me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! the wretched woman!&rdquo; then murmured his wife, &ldquo;when one thinks that
-two men are going to kill each other on account of her! In her place I
-could never sleep again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste remained firm. He would fight. Moreover, his plans were settled.
-As he particularly wished Duveyrier to be second, he was going up to
-inform him of what had taken place, and to send him at once to Octave.
-Valérie, who was most obliging to Auguste, ended by offering to attend at
-the pay-desk, to give him time to find a suitable person.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Only,&rdquo; added she, &ldquo;I must take Camille to the Tuileries gardens toward
-two o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! it does not matter for once in a way!&rdquo; said her husband. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
-raining, too.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no, the child wants air. I must go out.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length the two brothers went up to the Duveyriers&rsquo;. But an abominable
-fit of coughing obliged Théophile to stop on the very first stair. He held
-on the hand-rail, and, when he was able to speak, though still with a
-slight rattle in his throat, he stammered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know, I&rsquo;m very happy now; I&rsquo;m quite sure of her, No; I&rsquo;ve not the
-least thing to reproach her with, and she has given me proofs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste stared at him without comprehending, and saw how yellow and half
-dead he looked, with the scanty hairs of his beard drying up in his flabby
-flesh. The look completed Théophile&rsquo;s annoyance, whilst he felt quite
-embarrassed by his brother&rsquo;s valor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am speaking of my wife,&rdquo; he resumed. &ldquo;Ah! poor old fellow, I pity you
-with all my heart! You recollect my stupidity on your wedding day. But
-with you there can be no mistake, as you saw them.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; said Auguste, doing the brave, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll spit him like a lark. On my
-word, I shouldn&rsquo;t care a hang if I hadn&rsquo;t such a headache!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just as they rang at the Duveyriers&rsquo; door, Théophile suddenly thought that
-very likely the counselor would not be in, for since the day he had found
-Clarisse, he had been drifting into bad habits, and had now even got to
-the point of sleeping out. Hippolyte, who opened the door to them, avoided
-answering with respect to his master; but he said that the gentlemen would
-find madame playing her scales. They entered. Clotilde, tightly laced up
-from the moment she got out of bed, was seated at her piano, practicing
-with a regular and continuous movement of her hands; and, as she went in
-for this kind of exercise for two hours every day, so as not to lose the
-lightness of her touch, she occupied her mind in another way, by reading
-the &ldquo;Revue des deux Mondes,&rdquo; which stood open on the piano before her,
-without the agility of her fingers being in any way hampered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why! it&rsquo;s you!&rdquo; said she, when her brothers had drawn her from the volley
-of notes, which isolated and enveloped her like a storm of hail.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she did not even show her surprise when she caught sight of Théophile.
-The latter, moreover, kept himself very stiff, like a man who had come on
-another&rsquo;s account. Auguste, filled with shame at the thought of telling
-his sister of his misfortune, and afraid of terrifying her with his duel,
-had a story all ready. But she did not give him time to lie, she
-questioned him in her quiet way, after looking at him intently.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you intend doing now?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He started and blushed. So every one knew it, then? and he answered in the
-brave tone which had already closed Théophile&rsquo;s mouth:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, fight, of course!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said she, greatly surprised this time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-However, she did not disapprove. It would increase the scandal, but yet
-honor had to be satisfied. She contented herself with recalling that she
-had at first opposed the marriage. One could expect nothing of a young
-girl who appeared to be ignorant of all a woman&rsquo;s duties. Then, as Auguste
-asked her where her husband was:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He is traveling,&rdquo; answered she, without the least hesitation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then he was quite distressed, for he did not wish to do anything before
-consulting Duveyrier. She listened to him, without mentioning the new
-address, unwilling to acquaint her family with her home troubles. At
-length she hit on an expedient: she advised him to go to Monsieur
-Bachelard, in the Rue d&rsquo;Enghien; perhaps he would be able to tell him
-something. And she returned to her piano.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Auguste who asked me to come up,&rdquo; Théophile, who had not spoken
-until then, thought it necessary to declare. &ldquo;Will you let me kiss you,
-Clotilde? We are all in trouble.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She presented her cold cheek, and said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My poor fellow, only those are in trouble who choose to be. As for me, I
-forgive every one. And take care of yourself, you seem to me to have a
-very had cough.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, calling to Auguste, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If the matter does not get settled, let me know, for I shall then be very
-anxious.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The storm of notes recommenced, enveloping and drowning her; and, whilst
-her nimble fingers practiced the scales in every key, she gravely resumed
-her reading of the &ldquo;Revue des deux Mondes,&rdquo; in the midst of it all.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Down-stairs, Auguste for a moment discussed the question whether he should
-go to Bachelard&rsquo;s or not. How could he say to him: &ldquo;Your niece has
-deceived me?&rdquo; At length, he decided to obtain Duveyrier&rsquo;s address from the
-uncle, and to tell him nothing. Everything was settled: Valérie would look
-after the warehouse, whilst Théophile would watch the home, until his
-brother&rsquo;s return. The latter had sent for a cab, and he was just going
-off, when Saturnin, who had disappeared a moment before, came up from the
-basement with a big kitchen knife, which he flourished about, as he cried:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll bleed him! I&rsquo;ll bleed him!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This created another scare. Auguste, turning very pale, jumped
-precipitately into the cab, and pulled the door to, saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He&rsquo;s got another knife! Wherever does he find all those knives? I beseech
-you, Théophile, send him away, try and arrange that he shall no longer be
-here when I come back. As though what has already happened were not bad
-enough for me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The porter had hold of the madman by his shoulders. Valérie told the
-driver the address. But he, a fat and filthy looking man, with a face the
-color of bullock&rsquo;s blood, and still drunk from the night before, did not
-hurry himself, but took his time to gather up the reins and make himself
-comfortable on the box.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;By distance, governor?&rdquo; asked he, in a hoarse voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, by the hour, and quickly please. There will be something handsome for
-yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the Rue d&rsquo;Enghein, he met with another vexation. To begin with, the
-commission agent&rsquo;s doorway was so blocked up with vans that he almost got
-crushed; then he found himself in the courtyard with the glass roof,
-amidst a crowd of packers all violently nailing up cases, and not one of
-whom could tell him where Bachelard was. The hammering seemed to split his
-skull. He was, however, making up his mind to wait for the uncle, when an
-apprentice, pitying his suffering look, came and whispered an address in
-his ear: Mademoiselle Fifi, Rue Saint-Marc, third floor. Old Bachelard was
-most likely there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Where do you say?&rdquo; asked the driver, who had fallen asleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Rue Saint-Marc, and a little faster, if it&rsquo;s possible.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The cab resumed its funereal crawl. On the boulevards, the wheel caught in
-an omnibus. The panels cracked, the springs uttered plaintive cries, a
-gloomy melancholy more and more overcame the husband in his search of his
-second. However, they at last reached the Rue Saint-Marc.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the third floor, the door was opened by a little old woman, plump and
-white. She seemed suffering from some strong emotion, and she admitted
-Auguste directly he asked for Monsieur Bachelard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! sir, you are one of his friends, surely. Pray try to calm him.
-Something happened to vex him a little while ago, the poor dear man. You
-know me, no doubt, he must have spoken to you of me: I am Mademoiselle
-Menu.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste, feeling quite scared, found himself in a narrow room overlooking
-the courtyard, and as clean and peaceful as a country home. One could
-almost detect the odor of order and work, the purity of the happy
-existence of people in a quiet way. Seated before an embroidery frame, on
-which a priest&rsquo;s stole was stretched, a fair young girl, pretty and having
-a candid air, was weeping bitterly; whilst uncle Bachelard, standing up,
-his nose inflamed, his eyes bloodshot, was driveling with rage and
-despair. He was so upset that Auguste&rsquo;s entry did not appear to surprise
-him in the least. He immediately called upon him to bear witness, and the
-scene continued.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come now, Monsieur Vabre, who are an honest man, what would you say in my
-place? I arrived here this morning a little earlier than usual. I entered
-her room with the sugar from the café and three four-sou pieces, just for
-a surprise for her, and I find her with that pig Gueulin! No, there,
-frankly what would you say?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste, greatly embarrassed, turned very red. He at first thought that
-the uncle knew of his misfortune and was making a fool of him. But the
-other added, without even waiting for a reply:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! listen, mademoiselle, you don&rsquo;t know what it is you have done! I who
-was becoming young again, who felt so delighted at having found a nice
-quiet little nook, where I was once more beginning to believe in
-happiness! Yes, you were an angel, a flower, in short something fresh
-which helped me to forget a lot of dirty women.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A genuine emotion contracted his throat, his voice choked in accents of
-profound suffering. Everything was crumbling away, and he wept for the
-loss of the ideal, with the hiccoughs of a remnant of drunkenness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I did not know uncle,&rdquo; stammered Fifi, whose sobs redoubled in presence
-of this pitiful spectacle; &ldquo;no, I did not know it would cause you so much
-grief.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And indeed she did not look as if she did know. She retained her ingenuous
-eyes, her odor of chastity, the naivete of a little girl unable as yet to
-distinguish a gentleman from a lady. Aunt Menu, moreover, swore that at
-heart she was innocent.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do be calm, Monsieur Narcisse. She loves you well all the same. I felt
-that it would not be very agreeable to you. I said to her: &lsquo;If Monsieur
-Narcisse learns this, he will be annoyed.&rsquo; But she has scarcely lived as
-yet, has she? She does not know what pleases, nor what does not please. Do
-not weep any more, as her heart is always for you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As neither the child nor the uncle listened to her, she turned toward
-Auguste, she told him how much more anxious such an adventure made her
-feel for her niece&rsquo;s future.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps you know Villeneuve, near Lille?&rdquo; said she in conclusion. &ldquo;I come
-from there. It is a pretty large town&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Auguste&rsquo;s patience was at an end. He shook himself free of the aunt,
-and turned toward Bachelard, whose noisy despair was calming down.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I came to ask you for Duveyrier&rsquo;s new address. I suppose you know it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Duveyrier&rsquo;s address, Duveyrier&rsquo;s address,&rdquo; stammered the uncle. &ldquo;You mean
-Clarisse&rsquo;s address. Wait a moment.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he went and opened the door of Fifi&rsquo;s bed-room. Auguste was greatly
-surprised on seeing Gueulin, whom the old man had locked in, come forth.
-He had wished to give him time to dress himself, and also to detain him,
-so as to decide afterward what he would do with him. The sight of the
-young man looking all upset, his hair still unbrushed, revived his anger.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! wretch! it&rsquo;s you, my nephew, who dishonors me! You soil your
-family, you drag my white hairs in the mire! Ah! you&rsquo;ll end badly, we
-shall see you one of these days in the dock of the assize-court!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gueulin listened with bowed head, feeling at once both embarrassed and
-furious.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I say, uncle, you&rsquo;re going too far,&rdquo; murmured he. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a limit to
-everything. I don&rsquo;t think it funny either. Why did you bring me to see
-mademoiselle? I never asked you. You dragged me here. You drag everybody
-here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Bachelard, again overcome with tears, continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve taken everything from me; I had only her left. You&rsquo;ll be the cause
-of my death, and I won&rsquo;t leave you a sou, not a sou!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Gueulin, quite beside himself, burst out:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go to the deuce! I&rsquo;ve had enough of it! Ah! it&rsquo;s as I&rsquo;ve always told you!
-here they come, here they come, the annoyances of the morrow! See how it
-succeeds with me, when for once in a way I&rsquo;ve been fool enough to take
-advantage of an opportunity. Of course! the night was very pleasant; but,
-afterward, go to blazes! one will be blubbering like a calf for the rest
-of one&rsquo;s life.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am in a great hurry,&rdquo; Auguste ventured to observe. &ldquo;Please give me the
-address, just the name of the street and the number, I require nothing
-further.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The address,&rdquo; said the uncle, &ldquo;wait a bit, directly.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, carried away by his feelings, which were overflowing, he caught hold
-of Gueulin&rsquo;s hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You ungrateful fellow, I was keeping her for you, on my word of honor! I
-said to myself: If he&rsquo;s good, I&rsquo;ll give her to him. Oh! in a proper
-manner, with a dowry of fifty thousand francs. And, you dirty beast! you
-can&rsquo;t wait, you go and take her like that, all on a sudden!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, let me be!&rdquo; said Gueulin, affected by the old chap&rsquo;s kindness of
-heart. &ldquo;I see very well that the annoyances are going to continue.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Bachelard dragged him before the young girl and asked her:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come now, Fifi, look at him, would you have loved him?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If it would have pleased you, uncle,&rdquo; answered she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This kind reply quite broke his heart. He wiped his eyes, blew his nose,
-and almost choked. Well! he would see. He had always wished to make her
-happy. And he suddenly sent Gueulin off about his business.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be off. I will think about it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Just as Gueulin was leaving, Bachelard called him back.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Kiss her on the forehead; I permit it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<hr />
-
-<p>
-And then he went himself and put him outside the door, after which he
-returned to Auguste, and, placing his hand on his heart, he said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no joke; I give you my word of honor that I intended giving her to
-him, later on.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And the address?&rdquo; asked the other, losing all patience.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The uncle appeared surprised, as though he had answered him before.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? what? Clarisse&rsquo;s address? Why, I don&rsquo;t know it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste made an angry gesture. Everything was going wrong: there seemed to
-be a regular plot to render him ridiculous! Seeing him so upset, Bachelard
-made a suggestion. No doubt, Trublot knew the address, and they might find
-him at his employer&rsquo;s&mdash;the stockbroker, Desmarquay. And the uncle,
-with the obliging manner of one accustomed to knock about, offered to
-accompany his young friend. The latter accepted.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; said the uncle to Fifi, after kissing her in his turn on the
-forehead: &ldquo;here&rsquo;s the sugar from the café, all the same, and three
-four-sou bits for your money-box. Behave well whilst awaiting my orders.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young girl, looking very modest, continued drawing her needle with
-exemplary application. A ray of sunshine, coming from over a neighboring
-roof, enlivened the little room, gilded this nook of innocence, into which
-the noise of the passing vehicles did not even penetrate. All the poetry
-of Bachelard&rsquo;s nature was stirred.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;May God bless you, Monsieur Narcisse!&rdquo; said aunt Menu to him as she saw
-him to the door. &ldquo;I am more easy now. Only listen to the dictates of your
-heart, for it will inspire you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The driver had again fallen asleep, and he grumbled when the uncle gave
-him Monsieur Desmarquay&rsquo;s address in the Rue Saint-Lazare. No doubt the
-horse was asleep also, for it required quite a hail of blows to get him to
-move. At length the cab rolled painfully along.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s hard all the same,&rdquo; resumed the uncle, after a pause. &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t
-imagine the effect it had on me when I saw Gueulin in his shirt. No; one
-must have gone through such a thing to understand it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he went on, entering into every detail, without noticing Auguste&rsquo;s
-increasing uneasiness. At length the latter, feeling his position becoming
-falser and falser, told him why he was in such a hurry to find Duveyrier.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Berthe with that counter-jumper!&rdquo; cried the uncle. &ldquo;You astonish me,
-sir!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And it seemed that his astonishment was especially on account of his
-niece&rsquo;s choice. However, after a little reflection, he became very
-indignant. His sister Eléonore had a great deal to reproach herself with.
-He would have nothing more to do with the family. Of course, he was not
-going to mix himself up with the duel; but he considered it indispensable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Thus, just now, when I saw Fifi with a man, my first thought was to
-murder every one. If the same thing should ever happen to you&mdash;&mdash;-&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A painful start of Auguste&rsquo;s caused him to interrupt himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! true, I was forgetting. My story does not interest you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Another pause ensued, whilst the cab swayed in a melancholy fashion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I told you Rue Saint-Lazare,&rdquo; called out the uncle to the driver. &ldquo;It
-isn&rsquo;t at Chaillot. Turn to the left.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length the cab stopped. Out of prudence they sent up for Trublot, who
-came down bareheaded to talk to them in the doorway.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know Clarisse&rsquo;s address?&rdquo; asked Bachelard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Clarisse&rsquo;s address?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, of course! Rue d&rsquo;Assas.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They thanked him, and were about to re-enter their cab, when Auguste asked
-in his turn:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the number?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The number! Ah! I don&rsquo;t know the number.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, the husband declared that he preferred to give up seeing
-Duveyrier altogether. Trublot did all he could to try and remember. He had
-dined there once, it was just behind the Luxembourg; but he could not
-recollect whether it was at the end of the street, or on the right or the
-left, But he knew the door well; oh! he could have said at once, &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
-it.&rdquo; Then the uncle had another idea; he begged him to accompany them in
-spite of Auguste&rsquo;s protestations, and his talking of returning home and
-not wishing to disturb any one any further. Trublot, however, refused in a
-constrained manner. No, he would not trust himself in that hole again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m off, as Monsieur Trublot can&rsquo;t come,&rdquo; said Auguste, whose
-worries were increased by all these stories.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Trublot then declared that he would accompany them all the same; only,
-he would not go up; he would merely show them the door. And, after
-fetching his hat, and giving a pretext for going out, he joined them in
-the cab. &ldquo;Rue d&rsquo;Assas,&rdquo; said he to the driver. &ldquo;Straight down the street;
-I&rsquo;ll tell you when to stop.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The driver swore. Rue d&rsquo;Assas, by Jove! there were people who liked going
-about. However, they would get there when they did get there. The big
-white horse steamed away without making hardly any progress, his neck
-dislocated in a painful bow at every step.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Bachelard was already relating his misfortune to Trublot. Such things
-always made him talkative. Yes, with that pig Gueulin, a most delicious
-little thing! But at this point of his story he recollected Auguste, who,
-gloomy and doleful, was sitting in a heap in a corner of the cab.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! true; I beg your pardon!&rdquo; murmured he; &ldquo;I keep forgetting.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, addressing Trublot, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Our friend has met with a misfortune in his home also, and that is why we
-are trying to find Duveyrier. Yes, he found his wife last night&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He finished with a gesture, then added simply:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Octave, you know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot, always plain-spoken, was about to say that it did not surprise
-him. Only, he caught back his words, and replaced them by others, full of
-disdainful anger, and the explanation of which the husband did not dare to
-ask him for:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What an idiot that Octave is!&rdquo; said he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this appreciation of adultery there ensued another pause. Each of the
-three men was buried in his own reflections. The cab scarcely moved at
-all. It seemed to have been rolling for hours over a bridge, when Trublot,
-who was the first to emerge from his thoughts, ventured on making this
-judicious remark:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;This cab doesn&rsquo;t get along very fast.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But nothing could increase the horse&rsquo;s pace. It was eleven o&rsquo;clock when
-they reached the Rue d&rsquo;Assas. And there they wasted nearly another quarter
-of an hour, for, in spite of Trublot&rsquo;s boasts, he could not find the door.
-At first he allowed the driver to go along the street to the very end
-without stopping him; then he made him drive up and down three times over.
-And, on his precise indications, Auguste kept entering every tenth house;
-but the doorkeepers all answered that they knew no one of the name. At
-length a green-grocer pointed out the door to him. He went in with
-Bachelard, leaving Trublot in the cab.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was the big rascal of a brother who admitted them. He had a cigarette
-stuck between his lips, and blew the smoke into their faces as he showed
-them into the drawing-room. When they asked for Monsieur Duveyrier, he
-stood looking at them in a jocular manner without answering. Then he
-disappeared, perhaps to fetch him. In the middle of the blue satin
-drawing-room, all luxuriously new, yet already stained with grease, one of
-the sisters, the youngest, was seated on the carpet scouring out a
-saucepan which she had brought from the kitchen; whilst the other, the
-eldest, was hammering with her clenched fists on a magnificent piano, the
-key of which she had just found. On seeing the gentlemen enter, they had
-both raised their heads; neither, however, left off her occupation, but
-continued on the contrary hammering and scouring more energetically than
-ever. Five minutes passed, yet no one came. The visitors, feeling almost
-deafened, stood looking at each, when some yells, issuing from a
-neighboring room, completely terrified them; it was the invalid aunt being
-washed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length an old woman, Madame Bocquet, Clarisse&rsquo;s mother, passed her head
-through a partly opened door, not daring to show any more of her person,
-because of the filthy dress she had on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What do you gentlemen desire?&rdquo; asked she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, Monsieur Duveyrier!&rdquo; exclaimed the uncle, losing patience. &ldquo;We have
-already told the servant. Let him know that Monsieur Auguste Vabre and
-Monsieur Narcisse Bachelard wish to see him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Bocquet shut the door again. The eldest of the sisters was now
-mounted on the music stool, and was hammering with her elbows, whilst the
-youngest was scraping the saucepan with an iron fork, so as to get all she
-could out of it. Another five minutes passed by. Then, in the midst of the
-uproar, which did not seem to disturb her in the least, Clarisse appeared.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! it&rsquo;s you!&rdquo; said she to Bachelard, without even looking at Auguste.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know, my old fellow,&rdquo; added she, &ldquo;if you&rsquo;ve come to tipple, you may
-as well get out at once. The old life&rsquo;s done with. I now intend to be
-respected.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t called on your account,&rdquo; replied Bachelard, recovering
-himself, used as he was to the lively receptions of such ladies. &ldquo;We must
-speak to Duveyrier.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Clarisse looked ar the other gentleman. She took him for a bailiff,
-knowing that Alphonse was already in a mess.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! after all, I don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;You can take him and keep him if
-you like. It&rsquo;s not so very pleasant to have to dress his pimples!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She no longer even took the trouble to conceal her disgust, certain,
-moreover, that all her cruelties only attached him to her the more.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And opening a door, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here! come along, as these gentlemen persist in seeing you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier, who seemed to have been waiting behind the door, entered and
-shook their hands, trying to conjure up a smile. He no longer had the
-youthful air of bygone days, when he used to spend the evening at her
-rooms in the Rue de la Cerisaie; he looked overcome with weariness, he was
-mournful and much thinner, starting at every moment, as though he were
-uneasy about something behind him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clarisse remained to listen. Bachelard, who did not intend to speak before
-her, invited the counselor to lunch.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now, do accept, Monsieur Vabre wants you. Madame will be kind enough to
-excuse&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But the latter had at length caught sight of her sister hammering on the
-piano, and she slapped her and turned her out of the room, taking the same
-opportunity to cuff and drive away the little one with her saucepan. There
-was a most infernal uproar. The invalid aunt in the next room again
-started off yelling, thinking they were coming to beat her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you hear, my darling?&rdquo; murmured Duveyrier, &ldquo;these gentlemen have
-invited me to lunch.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she was not listening to him, she was trying the instrument with
-frightened tenderness. For a month past, she had been learning to play the
-piano. It was the secret dream of her whole life, a far-away ambition the
-realization of which could alone stamp her a woman of society. Having
-satisfied herself that there was nothing broken, she was about to prevent
-her lover from going, simply to annoy him, when Madame Bocquet once more
-bobbed her head in at the door, again hiding her skirt.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Your music-master,&rdquo; said she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this Clarisse changed her mind, and called to Duveyrier:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, be off! I&rsquo;ll lunch with Théodore. We don&rsquo;t want you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After kissing her on the hair, he discreetly withdrew, leaving her with
-Théodore. In the ante-room, the big rascal of a brother asked him in his
-jocular way for a franc for tobacco. Then, as they wont down-stairs,
-Bachelard expressed surprise at his conversion to the charms of the piano,
-and he swore he had never disliked it; he talked of the ideal, saying how
-much Clarisse&rsquo;s simple scales stirred his soul, yielding to his continual
-mania for having a bright side to his coarse masculine appetites.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Down below, Trublot had given the driver a cigar, and was listening to his
-history with the liveliest interest. The uncle insisted on lunching at
-Foyot&rsquo;s; it was the proper time, and they could talk better whilst eating.
-Then, when the cab had managed to start off again, he told everything to
-Duveyrier, who became very grave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste&rsquo;s uneasiness seemed to have increased at Clarisse&rsquo;s, where he had
-not opened his mouth; and now, worn out by this interminable drive, his
-head entirely a prey to a violent aching, he abandoned himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When the counselor questioned him as to what he intended doing, he opened
-his eyes, and remained a moment filled with anguish; then he repeated his
-former phrase:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why, fight, of course!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Only, his voice was weaker, and he added, as he closed his eyes, as though
-to ask to be left alone:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Unless you have anything else to suggest.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the gentlemen held a grand council in the midst of the laborious
-jolts of the vehicle. Duveyrier, the same as Bachelard, considered the
-duel indispensable; and he was deeply affected by it, on account of the
-blood likely to be spilt, a long black stream of which he pictured soiling
-the stairs of his property; but honor demanded it, and one cannot compound
-with honor. Trublot had broader views: it was too stupid to place one&rsquo;s
-honor in what out of decency he termed a woman&rsquo;s frailty. And Auguste
-approved what he said by a weary blink of his eyelids, thoroughly incensed
-at last by the bellicose rage of the two others, whose duty it was on the
-contrary to have been conciliatory. In spite of his fatigue, he was
-obliged to relate once more the scene of the night before, the blow he had
-given and the blow he had received; and soon the fact of the adultery was
-lost sight of, the discussion bore solely upon these two blows: they were
-commented upon, and analyzed, as a satisfactory solution was sought for.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What refinement!&rdquo; Trublot ended by contemptuously saying. &ldquo;If they hit
-each other, well! they&rsquo;re quits.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier and Bachelard looked at one another, evidently shaken in their
-opinions. But just then they arrived at the restaurant, and the uncle
-declared that they would first of all have a good lunch. It would help to
-clear their ideas. He stood treat, ordering a copious meal, with costly
-dishes and wines, which kept them three hours in a private room. The duel
-was not even once mentioned. From the very beginning, the conversation had
-necessarily turned on the question of women; Fifi and Clarisse were during
-the whole time explained, turned inside out, and pulled to pieces.
-Bachelard now admitted himself to have been in the wrong, so as not to
-appear to the counselor as having been vilely chucked over; whilst the
-latter, taking his revenge for the evening when the uncle had seen him
-weep in the middle of the empty rooms in the Rue de la Cerisaie, lied
-about his happiness, to the point of believing in it and being affected by
-it himself. Seated before them, Auguste, prevented by his neuralgia both
-from eating and drinking, appeared to be listening, an elbow on the table,
-and a confused look in his eyes. At dessert, Trublot recollected the
-driver, who had been forgotten outside: and, full of sympathy, he sent him
-the remnants of the dishes and what was left in the bottles; for, said he,
-from certain things he had let drop, he had a suspicion the man was an
-ex-priest. Three o&rsquo;clock struck. Duveyrier complained of being assessor at
-the next sitting of the assizes; Bachelard, who was now very drunk, spat
-sideways onto Trublot&rsquo;s trousers, without the latter noticing it; and the
-day would have been finished there, amidst the liquors, if Auguste had not
-suddenly roused himself with a start.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, what&rsquo;s going to be done?&rdquo; asked he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! young &rsquo;un,&rdquo; replied the uncle, speaking most familiarly, &ldquo;if you
-like, we&rsquo;ll settle matters nicely for you. It&rsquo;s stupid to fight.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No one appeared surprised at this conclusion. Duveyrier signified his
-approval with a nod of the head. The uncle continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go with Monsieur Duveyrier and see the fellow, and he shall
-apologize, or my name isn&rsquo;t Bachelard. The mere sight of me will make him
-cave in, just because I shall have no business there. I don&rsquo;t care a hang
-for anyone!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste shook him by the hand; but he did not seem to feel relieved, the
-pain in his head had become so unbearable. At length they left the private
-room. Down in the street, the driver was still at lunch, inside the cab;
-and, completely intoxicated, he had to shake the crumbs out, digging
-Trublot fraternally in the stomach. Only the horse, which had had nothing
-at all, refused to walk, with a despairing wag of the head. They pushed
-him, and he ended by going down the Rue de Tournon, as though he were
-rolling along. Four o&rsquo;clock had struck, when the animal at length stopped
-in the Rue de Choiseul. Auguste had had the cab seven hours. Trublot, who
-remained inside, engaged it for himself, and declared that he would wait
-there for Bachelard, whom he wished to invite to dinner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well! you have been a time,&rdquo; said Théophile to his brother, as he
-hastened to meet him. &ldquo;I thought you were dead.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And directly the gentlemen had entered the warehouse, he related how the
-day had passed. He had been watching the house ever since nine o&rsquo;clock.
-But nothing particular had occurred. At two o&rsquo;clock, Valérie had gone to
-the Tuileries gardens with their son Camille. Then, toward half past
-three, he had seen Octave go out. And that was all. Nothing moved, not
-even at the Josserands&rsquo;. Saturnin, who had been seeking his sister under
-the furniture, having gone up to ask for her, Madame Josserand had shut
-the door in his face, doubtless to get rid of him, saying that Berthe was
-not there. Since then, the madman had been prowling about with clenched
-teeth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Bachelard, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll wait for the gentleman. We shall see
-him come in from here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste, whose head was in a whirl, was making great efforts to keep on
-his legs. Then Duveyrier advised him to go to bed. There was no other cure
-for headache.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go up now, we no longer require you. We will inform you of the result. My
-dear fellow, you know you should avoid all emotions.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the husband went up to lie down.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At five o&rsquo;clock, the two others were still waiting for Octave. The latter,
-without any definite object, simply desirous of having some fresh air and
-of forgetting the events of the night, had at first passed before &ldquo;The
-Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo; where he had stopped to wish Madame Hédouin good-day,
-as she stood in the doorway, dressed in deep mourning; and as he informed
-her of his having left the Vabres&rsquo;, she had quietly asked him why he did
-not return to her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Opposite to him, Valérie was taking leave of a bearded gentleman, at the
-door of a low lodging-house in the darkest corner. She blushed and
-hastened away, pushing open the padded door of the church; then, seeing
-that the young man was following her and smiling, she preferred to await
-him under the porch, where they conversed together very cordially.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You run away from me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Are you, then, angry with me?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Angry?&rdquo; repeated she, &ldquo;why should I be angry? Ah! they may quarrel and
-eat each other up if they like, it doesn&rsquo;t matter to me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was speaking of her relations. And she at once gave vent to her old
-rancor against Berthe, making at first simply allusions so as to sound the
-young man; then, when she felt he was secretly weary of his mistress,
-being still exasperated with the night&rsquo;s proceedings, she no longer
-restrained herself, but poured out her heart. To think that that woman had
-accused her of selling herself&mdash;she, who never accepted a sou, not
-even a present! Yes, though, a few flowers at times, some bunches of
-violets. And now everybody knew which of the two was the one to sell
-herself. She had prophesied that one day it would be known how much she
-could be bought for.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It cost you more than a bunch of violets, did it not?&rdquo; asked she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; murmured he basely.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In his turn he let out some disagreeable things about Berthe, saying that
-she was spiteful, and even making her out to be too fat, as though seeking
-to avenge himself for the worry she was causing him. He had been waiting
-all day for her husband&rsquo;s seconds, and he was then returning home to see
-if any one had called. It was a most stupid adventure; she might very well
-have prevented this duel taking place. He ended by relating all that had
-occurred at their ridiculous meeting&mdash;their quarrel, then Auguste&rsquo;s
-arrival on the scene, before they had even exchanged a caress.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;On all I hold most sacred,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I had not even touched her.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Valérie laughed, and was getting quite excited. She gradually yielded to
-the tender intimacy of this exchange of confidences, drawing nearer to
-Octave as though to some female friend who knew all. At times, a devotee
-coming from the church disturbed them; then the door generally closed to
-again, and they once more found themselves alone in the drum, hung with
-green baize, as though in the innermost recesses of some discreet and
-religious asylum.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I scarcely know why I live with such people,&rdquo; resumed she, returning to
-the subject of her relations. &ldquo;Oh! no doubt, I am not free from reproach
-on my side. But, frankly, I cannot feel any remorse, they affect me so
-little. And yet if I were to tell you how much love bores me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come now, not so much as all that!&rdquo; said Octave gayly. &ldquo;People are not
-always as silly as we were yesterday. There are blissful moments.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then she confessed herself. It was not entirely the hatred she felt for
-her husband, the continual fever which shook his frame, his impotence, nor
-yet his perpetual blubbering like a little boy, which had caused her to
-misbehave herself six months after her marriage; no, she often did it
-involuntarily, solely because her head got filled with things of which she
-was unable to explain the why and the wherefore. Everything gave way; she
-became quite ill, and could almost kill herself. Then, as there was
-nothing to restrain her, she might as well take that leap as another.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But really now, do you never have a nice time of it?&rdquo; again asked Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well, never like people describe,&rdquo; replied she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He looked at her full of a pitying sympathy. All for nothing, and without
-the least pleasure. It was certainly not worth the trouble she gave
-herself, in her continual fear of being caught. And he especially felt a
-certain relief to his pride, for he had always suffered a little at heart
-from her old disdain. He recalled the circumstance to her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You remember, after one of your attacks?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! yes, I remember. Still, I did not dislike you; but listen! it is far
-better as it is, we should be detesting each other now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She gave him her little gloved hand. He squeezed it, as he repeated:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are right; it is better as it is. Really, one only cares for the
-women one has had nothing to do with.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was quite a blissful moment. They stood for a while hand in hand,
-deeply affected. Then, without another word, they pushed open the padded
-door of the church, inside which she had left her son Camille in care of
-the woman who let out the chairs. The child had fallen asleep. She made
-him kneel down, and did the same herself for a minute, burying her face in
-her hands, as though in the midst of a fervent prayer. And she was rising
-to her feet when Abbé Mauduit, who was coming from a confessional, greeted
-her with a paternal smile.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave had simply passed through the church. When he returned home every
-one was on the alert. In the doorway, as Octave passed, Lisa, who was
-gossiping with Adèle, had to content herself with merely staring at him;
-and both resumed their complaints of the dear price of poultry beneath the
-stern look of Monsieur Gourd, who bowed to the young man. As the latter
-was going up to his room, Madame Juzeur, who had been on the watch ever
-since the morning, slightly opened her door, and, seizing hold of his
-hands, drew him into her ante-room, where she kissed him on the forehead
-and murmured:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Poor child! There, I won&rsquo;t keep you. Come back and talk with me when it&rsquo;s
-all over.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he had scarcely reached his own apartment when Duveyrier and Bachelard
-called. At first, amazed at seeing the uncle, he wished to give them the
-names of two of his friends. But these gentlemen, without answering, spoke
-of their age, and preached him a sermon on his misconduct. Then, as in the
-course of conversation he announced his intention of leaving the house at
-the earliest possible moment, they both solemnly declared that that proof
-of his discretion was quite sufficient. There had been more than enough
-scandal; the time had come when respectable people had the right to expect
-them to make the sacrifice of their passions. Duveyrier accepted Octave&rsquo;s
-notice to quit on the spot, and withdrew, whilst, behind his back,
-Bachelard invited the young man to dine with him that evening.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Mind, I count upon you. We&rsquo;re on the spree; Trublot is waiting below. I
-don&rsquo;t care a button for Eléonore. But I don&rsquo;t wish to see her, and I&rsquo;ll go
-down first, so that no one shall meet us together.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He took his departure, and, five minutes later, Octave, delighted with the
-issue of affairs, joined him below. He slipped into the cab, and the
-melancholy horse, which had been dragging the husband about for seven
-hours, limped along with them to a restaurant near the Halles, where some
-marvelous tripe was to be obtained.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier had gone back to Théophile in the warehouse. Valérie also had
-just come in, and all three were talking together when Clotilde herself
-returned from a concert. She had gone there, moreover, with a mind
-perfectly at ease, certain, said she, that some arrangement satisfactory
-to every one would be arrived at. Then ensued a pause, a momentary
-embarrassment between the two families. Théophile, seized with an
-abominable fit of coughing, was almost spitting his teeth out. As it was
-to their mutual interest to be reconciled, they ended by taking advantage
-of the emotion into which the new family troubles had plunged them. The
-two women embraced; Duveyrier swore to Théophile that the Vabre
-inheritance was ruining him, yet he promised to indemnify him by remitting
-his rent for three years.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I must go and tranquilize poor Auguste,&rdquo; at length observed the
-counselor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He was ascending the stairs, when some terrible cries, resembling those of
-an animal being butchered, issued from the bed-room. It was Saturnin, who,
-armed with his kitchen knife, had noiselessly crept as far as the alcove;
-and there, his eyes as red as flaming coals, his mouth covered with foam,
-he had rushed upon Auguste.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell me! where have you put her?&rdquo; cried he. &ldquo;Give her back to me, or I&rsquo;ll
-bleed you like a pig!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The husband, suddenly roused from his painful slumber, tried to fly. But
-the madman, with the strength of his fixed idea, had caught him by the
-tail of his shirt, and, pushing him back on the mattress, placing his neck
-on the edge of the bed, over a basin which happened to be there, he held
-him in the position of an animal at the slaughter-house.
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0365.jpg" alt="0365 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! it&rsquo;s all right this time. I&rsquo;m going to bleed you&mdash;I&rsquo;m going to
-bleed you like a pig!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fortunately, the others arrived and were able to release the victim. But
-Saturnin, who was raving mad, had to be shut up: and, two hours later, the
-commissary of police having been sent for, he was taken for the second
-time to the Asile des Moulineaux, with the consent of the family. Poor
-Auguste lay trembling. He said to Duveyrier, who informed him of the
-arrangement that had been come to with Octave:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, I should have preferred to have fought the duel. One cannot defend
-oneself against a madman. Why has he such a mania for wishing to bleed me,
-the brigand? because his sister has made a cuckold of me? Ah! I&rsquo;ve had
-enough of it, my friend, I&rsquo;ve had enough of it, on my word of honor!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
-CHAPTER XVI.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the Wednesday
-morning, when Marie brought Berthe to Madame Josserand, the latter,
-bursting with anger at the thought of an adventure which she felt was a
-sad blow to her pride, became quite pale and unable to utter a word.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She caught hold of her daughter&rsquo;s hand with the roughness of a teacher
-dragging a refractory scholar to the black-hole, and, leading her to
-Hortense&rsquo;s room, she pushed her inside, saying at length:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hide yourself, never show yourself again. You will kill your father if
-you do.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s up? Whatever have you done?&rdquo; asked her sister, whose astonishment
-increased on seeing her wrapped in an old shawl which Marie had lent her.
-&ldquo;Has poor Auguste fallen ill at Lyons?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Berthe would not answer. No, later on; there were things she could not
-speak about; and she beseeched Hortense to go away, to let her have the
-room to herself, so that she could at least weep there in peace. The day
-passed thus. Monsieur Josserand had gone off to his office, without having
-the faintest idea of what had occurred; then, when he returned home in the
-evening, Berthe still remained in hiding. As she had refused all food, she
-ended by ravenously devouring the little dinner which Adèle brought to her
-in secret. The maid remained watching her, and, in presence of her
-appetite, said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry yourself so much, pick up your strength. The house is quite
-quiet. And as for any one being killed or wounded, there&rsquo;s nobody hurt at
-all.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the young woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She questioned Adèle, who gave her a long account of how the day had
-passed; the duel which had not come off; what Monsieur Auguste had said,
-and what the Duveyriers and the Vabres had done. She listened to her, and
-seemed to live again, gobbling everything up, and asking for more bread.
-In all truth it was foolish of her to take the matter so much to heart
-when the others seemed to be already consoled!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So you won&rsquo;t tell me?&rdquo; asked Hortense again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But, my darling,&rdquo; answered Berthe, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re not married. I really can&rsquo;t.
-It&rsquo;s a quarrel I&rsquo;ve had with Auguste. He came back, you know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And as she interrupted herself, her sister resumed, impatiently:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Get along with you! What a fuss! Good heavens! at my age, I&rsquo;m quite old
-enough to know!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Berthe confessed herself, at first choosing her words, then letting
-out everything, talking of Octave and talking of Auguste. Hortense
-listened as she lay on her back in the dark, and merely uttered a few
-words to question her sister or to give an opinion: &ldquo;What did he say to
-you then? And you, how did you feel? Well, that&rsquo;s funny; I shouldn&rsquo;t like
-that! Ah! really! so that&rsquo;s the way!&rdquo; Midnight, one o&rsquo;clock, then two
-struck; still they went on with the story, their limbs little by little
-irritated by the sheets, and themselves gradually becoming drowsy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! as for me, with Verdier, it will be very simple,&rdquo; declared Hortense,
-abruptly. &ldquo;I shall do just as he wishes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the mention of Verdier&rsquo;s name Berthe gave a movement of surprise. She
-thought the marriage was broken off, for the woman with whom he had been
-living for fifteen years past had just had a child, at the very moment
-that he intended leaving her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you, then, expect to marry him all the same?&rdquo; asked she. &ldquo;Well land
-why not? I was stupid enough to wait too long. But the child will die.
-It&rsquo;s a girl, and all scrofulous.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Poor woman!&rdquo; Berthe was unable to help exclaiming.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How, poor woman!&rdquo; cried Hortense, sourly. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s easy to see that you also
-have things to reproach yourself with!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She at once regretted her cruelty, and, taking her sister in her arms,
-kissed her, and swore that she did not mean it. Then they were silent. But
-still they could not sleep, so continued the story, their eyes wide open
-in the darkness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The next morning, Monsieur Josserand did not feel very well. Up till two
-o&rsquo;clock, he had persisted in addressing wrappers, in spite of a lowness of
-spirits, and of a gradual loss of strength, of which he had been
-complaining for some time. He got up, however, and dressed himself; but,
-when he was on the point of starting for his office, he felt so feeble
-that he sent a messenger with a letter to inform the brothers Bernheim of
-his indisposition.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The family were about to have their breakfast. On seeing her husband
-remain, Madame Josserand decided not to hide Berthe any longer; she was
-already sick of all the mystery, and was, moreover, expecting every minute
-to see Auguste come up and create a disturbance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! you&rsquo;re going to breakfast with us! whatever is the matter?&rdquo; asked
-the father in great surprise, on beholding his daughter, her eyes heavy
-with sleep, her bosom half-bursting through Hortense&rsquo;s too tight
-dressing-gown.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My husband has written to say that he is obliged to stay at Lyons,&rdquo;
-answered she, &ldquo;so I thought of spending the day with you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Is it really true? You are not hiding anything from me?&rdquo; murmured he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What an idea! why should I hide anything from you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand merely allowed herself to shrug her shoulders. What was
-the use of all those precautions? to gain an hour, perhaps; it was not
-worth while; the father would always have to receive the blow in the end.
-The breakfast, however, passed off most pleasantly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But a regrettable scene spoilt the end of the breakfast. All on a sudden,
-Madame Josserand addressed the servant:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Whatever are you eating?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For some little while past she had been watching her. Adèle, dragging her
-shoes after her, turned clumsily round the table.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing, madame,&rdquo; replied she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How! nothing! You&rsquo;re chewing; I&rsquo;m not blind. See! you&rsquo;ve got your mouth
-full of it. Oh! it&rsquo;s no use drawing in your cheeks; it&rsquo;s easy to see in
-spite of that. And you&rsquo;ve got some in your pocket, haven&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Adèle became confused, and tried to draw back. But Madame Josserand caught
-hold of her by the skirt.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;For a quarter of an hour past, I&rsquo;ve been watching you take something out
-of there and thrust it under your nose, after hiding it in your hand. It
-must be something very good. Let me see what it is.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She dived into the pocket in her turn, and withdrew a handful of cooked
-prunes. The juice was still trickling from them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is this?&rdquo; cried she furiously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Prunes, madame,&rdquo; said the servant, who, seeing herself caught, became
-insolent.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! you eat my prunes! So that&rsquo;s why they go so quickly and never again
-appear on the table! I could never have believed it possible; prunes! in a
-pocket!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she also accused her of drinking her vinegar. Everything disappeared;
-one could not even have a potato about without being certain of never
-seeing it again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a regular gulf, my girl.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Give me sufficient to eat,&rdquo; retorted Adèle boldly, &ldquo;and then I won&rsquo;t
-touch your potatoes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This was too much. Madame Josserand rose from her seat, majestic and
-terrible.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hold your tongue, and don&rsquo;t answer me! Oh! I know, it&rsquo;s the other
-servants who&rsquo;ve spoilt you. Directly a simpleton arrives in a house from
-the country, all the hussies in the place at once put her up to all sorts
-of horrors. You no longer go to mass, and now you steal!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Adèle, who had indeed been worked up by Lisa and Julie, did not yield.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;When I was a simpleton, as you say, you should not have taken advantage
-of me. It&rsquo;s ended now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Leave the room, I discharge you!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand, pointing to the
-door with a tragical gesture.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She sat down quite shaken, whilst the maid, without hurrying herself,
-dragged her shoes after her, and swallowed another prune before returning
-to the kitchen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The breakfast, however, finished in the most affectionate intimacy.
-Monsieur Josserand, deeply moved, spoke of poor Saturnin, who had had to
-be taken away the day before during his absence from home; and, as he
-believed, in a sudden fit of raving madness, with which his son had been
-seized in the middle of the shop, for such was the story that had been
-told him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How is the marriage getting on?&rdquo; asked Monsieur Josserand, discreetly.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At first the mother replied in well-chosen phrases, on account of
-Hortense. Now, she was at the feet of her son, a young fellow who was sure
-to succeed; and she would even throw his name in the father&rsquo;s face at
-times, saying that, thank goodness! he took after her, and would never
-leave his wife without a pair of shoes. She little by little warmed with
-her subject.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In short, he&rsquo;s had enough of it! It was all very well for a while, and
-did him no harm. But, if the aunt doesn&rsquo;t give him the niece, good night!
-he&rsquo;ll cut off all supplies. I think he is quite right.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hortense, out of decency, sipped her coffee, making a show of obliterating
-herself behind the cup; whilst Berthe, who for the future might hear
-anything, gave a slight pout of repugnance at her brother&rsquo;s successes. The
-family were about to rise from table, and Monsieur Josserand, who was more
-cheerful and feeling much better, was talking of going to his office all
-the same, when Adèle brought in a card. The person was waiting in the
-drawingroom.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What, it&rsquo;s her! and at this hour of the morning!&rdquo; exclaimed Madame
-Josserand. &ldquo;And I who haven&rsquo;t got my stays on! So much the worse! it&rsquo;s
-time I gave her a piece of my mind!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The visitor was Madame Dambreville. The father and his two daughters
-remained talking in the dining-room, whilst the mother directed her steps
-to the drawing-room. But she stopped at the door before opening it, and
-anxiously examined her old green silk dress, trying to button it up,
-picking off the threads gathered from the floors, and driving in her
-immense bosom with a tap.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Excuse me, dear madame,&rdquo; said the visitor, with a smile. &ldquo;I was passing,
-so could not resist calling to see how you were.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was all laced up, and had her hair done in the most correct style,
-while she conversed in the easy way of an amiable woman who had just come
-up to wish a friend good-day. Only, her smile, trembled, and behind her
-society graces one could detect a frightful anguish, with which her whole
-frame quivered. She at first talked of all sorts of things, avoiding any
-mention of Léon&rsquo;s name, but at length she took from her pocket a letter
-which she had just received from him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! such a letter, such a letter,&rdquo; murmured she, in an altered voice,
-half-broken with sobs. &ldquo;Whatever is it he has to complain of, dear madame?
-He says he will never come to our house again!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And her feverish hand held out the letter, which quite shook as she
-offered it to Madame Josserand. The latter read it coldly. It was a
-breaking off of the acquaintance in three lines of most cruel conciseness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Really!&rdquo; said she, as she returned the letter, &ldquo;Léon is not perhaps
-altogether wrong&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Madame Dambreville at once began to praise up the widow&mdash;a woman
-scarcely thirty-five years old, most accomplished and sufficiently rich,
-who would make a Minister of her husband, she was so active. In short, she
-had kept her promises, she had found a fine match for Léon; whatever had
-he to be angry about? And, without waiting for a reply, making up her mind
-with a nervous start, she named Raymonde, her niece. Really, now, was it
-possible? a chit of sixteen, a young savage who knew nothing of life!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; Madame Josserand kept repeating at each interrogation, &ldquo;why
-not, if he loves her?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No! no! he did not love her&mdash;he could not love her! Madame
-Dambreville struggled, and gradually abandoned herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;I only ask him for a little gratitude. It&rsquo;s I who have
-made him, it&rsquo;s thanks to me that he is an auditor, and he will receive a
-higher appointment on his wedding day. Madame, I implore you, tell him to
-return to me, tell him to do me that pleasure. I appeal to his heart, to
-your motherly heart, yes, to all that is noble in your nature&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She clasped her hands, her words became inarticulate. A pause ensued,
-during which they were standing face to face. Then suddenly she burst out
-into the most bitter sobs, vanquished, and no longer mistress of herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not with Raymonde,&rdquo; stuttered she, &ldquo;oh! no, not with Raymonde!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Keep quiet, my dear, you make me quite ashamed,&rdquo; replied Madame
-Josserand, angrily. &ldquo;I have daughters who might hear you. I know nothing,
-and I don&rsquo;t wish to know anything. If you have affairs with my son, you
-must settle them together. I will never place myself in a questionable
-position.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yet she loaded her with advice. At her age, one should resign oneself to
-the inevitable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Just think, dear friend, he is not yet thirty. I should be grieved to
-appear unkind, but you might be his mother. Oh, he knows what he owes you,
-and I myself am filled with gratitude. You will remain his guardian angel.
-Only, when a thing is ended, it is ended. You could not possibly have
-hoped to have kept him always!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And as the wretched woman refused to listen to reason, wishing simply to
-have him back, and at once, the mother grew quite angry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do have done, madame! It is kind on my part to be so obliging. The boy
-will have no more of it! it is easily to be understood. Look at yourself,
-pray! It is I now who would call him back to his duty, if he submitted
-again to your exactions; for, I ask you, what good can there be in it for
-both of you in future? It so happens that he is coming here, and if you
-have counted on me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Of all these words, Madame Dambreville only heard the last phrase. For a
-week past she had been running about after Léon, without succeeding in
-seeing him. Her face brightened up; she uttered this cry from her heart:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;As he is coming, I shall stay!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From that moment she made herself at home, seating herself like a heavy
-mass in an arm-chair, her eyes fixed on vacancy, declining any further
-questioning with the obstinacy of an animal which will not yield, even
-when beaten. Madame Josserand, bitterly regretting having said too much,
-exasperated with this sort of mile-stone which had become a fixture in her
-drawing-room, yet not daring to turn her out, ended by leaving her to
-herself. Moreover, some sounds coming from the dining-room made her feel
-uneasy. She fancied she recognized Auguste&rsquo;s voice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;On my word of honor! madame, one never heard of such a thing before!&rdquo;
-said she, violently slamming the door. &ldquo;It is most indiscreet!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was indeed Auguste, who had come up to have the explanation with his
-wife&rsquo;s parents which he had been meditating since the day before. Monsieur
-Josserand, feeling jollier still, and more inclined for a little enjoyment
-than for office duties, was proposing a walk to his daughters, when Adèle
-came and announced Madame Berthe&rsquo;s husband. It created quite a scare. The
-young woman turned pale.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! your husband?&rdquo; said the father. &ldquo;But he was at Lyons! Ah! you were
-not speaking the truth. There is some misfortune; for two days past I have
-seemed to feel it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as she rose from her seat, he detained her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Tell me, have you been quarreling again? about money, is it not? Eh?
-perhaps because of the dowry, of the ten thousand francs we have not paid
-him?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, that&rsquo;s it,&rdquo; stammered Berthe, who released herself and fled.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hortense also had risen. She ran after her sister, and both took refuge in
-her room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come in, come in, my dear Auguste,&rdquo; said he, in a choking tone of voice.
-&ldquo;Berthe has just told me of your quarrel. I&rsquo;m not very well, and they&rsquo;ve
-been spoiling me. I regret immensely not being able to give you that
-money. I did wrong in promising, I know&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, sir, I know all. You completely took me in with your lies. I don&rsquo;t
-mind so much not having the money; but it&rsquo;s the hypocrisy of the thing
-which exasperates me! Why all that nonsense about an assurance which did
-not exist? Why give yourself such airs of tenderness and affection, by
-offering to advance sums which, according to you, you would not be
-entitled to receive till three years later? And you were not even blessed
-with a sou! Such behavior has only one name in every country.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand opened his mouth to exclaim: &ldquo;It is not I; it is them!&rdquo;
-But he was ashamed to accuse the family; he bowed his head, thus accepting
-the responsibility of the disgraceful action. Auguste continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Moreover, every one was against me, even that Duveyrier behaved like a
-rascal, with his scoundrel of a notary; for I asked to have the assurance
-mentioned in the contract, as a guarantee, and I was made to shut up. Had
-I insisted, though, you would have been guilty of swindling. Yes, sir,
-swindling!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this accusation, the father, who was very pale, rose to his feet, and
-he was about to answer, to offer his labor, to purchase his daughter&rsquo;s
-happiness with all of his existence that remained to him, when Madame
-Josserand, quite beside herself through Madame Dambreville&rsquo;s obstinacy, no
-longer thinking of her old green silk dress, now splitting, through the
-heaving of her angry bosom, entered like a blast of wind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? what?&rdquo; cried she; &ldquo;who talks of swindling? Is it you, sir? You would
-do better, sir, to go first to Père-Lachaise cemetery to see if it&rsquo;s your
-father&rsquo;s pay-day!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Auguste had expected this, but he was all the same horribly annoyed. She
-went on, with head erect, and quite crushing in her audacity:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got them, your ten thousand francs. Yes, they&rsquo;re there in a drawer.
-But we will only give them to you when Monsieur Vabre returns to give you
-the others. What a family! a gambler of a father who lets us all in, and a
-thief of a brother-in-law who pops the inheritance into his own pocket!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Thief! thief!&rdquo; stammered Auguste, unable to contain himself any longer;
-&ldquo;the thieves are here, madame!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They both stood with heated countenances in front of each other. Monsieur
-Josserand, quite upset by all this wrangling, separated them. He beseeched
-them to be calm; and, trembling all over, he was obliged to sit down
-again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Anyhow,&rdquo; resumed the son-in-law, after a pause, &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have any
-strumpet in my house. Keep your money and keep your daughter That is what
-I came up to tell you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are changing the subject,&rdquo; quietly observed the mother. &ldquo;Very well,
-we will discuss the fresh one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I told you she would deceive me!&rdquo; cried Auguste, with an air of indignant
-triumph.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And I answered that you were doing everything to lead to such a result!&rdquo;
-declared Madame Josserand, victoriously. &ldquo;Oh! I do not pretend that Berthe
-is right; what she has done is simply idiotic; and she won&rsquo;t lose anything
-by waiting. I shall let her know what I think of it. But, however, as she
-is not present, I can state the fact&mdash;you alone are guilty.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! I guilty?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Undoubtedly, my dear fellow. You don&rsquo;t know how to deal with women.
-Here&rsquo;s an instance! Do you even deign to come to my Tuesday receptions?
-No; you perhaps put in an appearance three times during the season, and
-then only stay half-an-hour Though one may have headaches, one should be
-polite. Oh! of course, it&rsquo;s no great crime; anyhow, it judges you; you
-don&rsquo;t know how to live.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her voice hissed with a slowly gathered rancor; for, on marrying her
-daughter, she had above all counted on her son-in-law to fill her
-drawing-room. And he brought no one; he did not even come himself; it was
-the end of one of her dreams; she would never be able to struggle against
-the Duveyriers&rsquo; choruses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;However,&rdquo; added she, ironically. &ldquo;I force no one to come and amuse
-himself in my home.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The truth is, it is not very amusing there,&rdquo; replied he, out of all
-patience.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This threw her into a towering rage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it, insult away! Learn, sir, that I might have all the high life
-of Paris if I wished, and that I was not looking to you to help me to keep
-my rank in society!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was no longer any question of Berthe; the adultery had disappeared
-before this personal quarrel. Monsieur Josserand continued to listen to
-them, as though he were tossing about in the midst of some nightmare. It
-was not possible; his daughter could not have caused him this grief; and
-he ended by painfully rising again from his seat and going, without saying
-a word, in search of Berthe. Directly she was there, she would throw
-herself into Auguste&rsquo;s arms, and then everything would be explained and
-forgotten. He found her in the midst of a quarrel with Hortense, who was
-urging her to implore her husband&rsquo;s forgiveness, having already had enough
-of her, and being unwilling to share her room any longer. The young woman
-resisted, yet she ended by following her father. As they returned to the
-dining-room, where the breakfast cups were still scattered over the table,
-Madame Josserand was exclaiming:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, on my word of honor! I don&rsquo;t pity you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On catching sight of Berthe she stopped speaking, and again retired into
-her stern majesty. When his wife appeared before him, Auguste made a
-gesture of protest, as though to remove her from his path.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said Monsieur Josserand, in his gentle and trembling voice, &ldquo;what
-is the matter with you all? I can&rsquo;t make it out; you will drive me mad
-with all your quarreling. Your husband is mistaken, is he not, my child?
-You will explain things to him. You must have a little consideration for
-your old parents. Embrace each other; now, come, do it for my sake.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, who would all the same have kissed Auguste, stood there awkwardly,
-and half-choked by her dressing-gown, on seeing him draw back with an air
-of tragical repugnance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! you refuse to, my darling?&rdquo; continued the father. &ldquo;You should take
-the first step, and you, my dear boy, encourage her; be indulgent.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The husband at length gave free vent to his anger.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Encourage her, not if I know it! I found her in her chemise, sir! and
-with that man! Do you take me for a fool, that you wish me to kiss her! In
-her chemise, sir!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand stood lost in amazement. Then he caught hold of
-Berthe&rsquo;s arm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You say nothing; can it be true? On your knees, then!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Auguste had reached the door. He was hastening away. &ldquo;Your comedies
-are useless! they don&rsquo;t take me in! Don&rsquo;t try to shove her on my shoulders
-again; I&rsquo;ve had her once too often. You hear me; never again! I would
-sooner go to law about it. Pass her on to some one else, if she&rsquo;s in your
-way. And, besides, you&rsquo;re no better than she is!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He waited till he was in the ante-room, and then further relieved himself
-by shouting out these last words:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, when one makes a strumpet of one&rsquo;s daughter, one should not push her
-into a respectable man&rsquo;s arms!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The outer door banged, and a profound silence ensued. Berthe had
-mechanically gone back to her seat at the table, lowering her eyes, and
-looking at the coffee dregs in the bottom of her cup; whilst her mother
-sharply walked about, carried away by the tempest of her violent emotions.
-The father, utterly worn out, and with a face as white as that of a
-corpse, had sat down all by himself at the other end of the room, against
-the wall. An odor of rancid butter&mdash;butter of inferior quality
-purposely bought at the Halles&mdash;quite infected the apartment.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Now that that vulgar person has gone,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand, &ldquo;one may be
-able to hear oneself speak. Ah! sir, these are the results of your
-incapacity. Do you at length acknowledge your errors? think you that such
-quarrels would be picked with either of the brothers Bernheim, with one of
-the owners of the Saint-Joseph glass works?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand, with a lifeless look in his eyes, had not even
-stirred. She had stopped before him, with an enraged desire for a row;
-then, seeing he did not move, she continued to pace the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, yes, be disdainful. You know it will not affect me much. And we will
-see if you will again dare to speak ill of my relations after all that
-yours have done. Uncle Bachelard is quite a star! my sister is most
-polite! Listen; do you wish to know my opinion? Well! it is that if my
-father had not died, you would have killed him. As for your father&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand&rsquo;s face became whiter than ever as he remarked:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I beseech you, Eléonore. I abandon my father to you, and also all my
-relations. Only, I beseech you, let me be. I do not feel well.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, taking pity on him, raised her head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do leave him alone, mamma,&rdquo; said she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-So, turning toward her daughter, Madame Josserand resumed more violently
-than ever:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been keeping you for the last; you won&rsquo;t lose by waiting! Yes, ever
-since yesterday I&rsquo;ve been bottling it up. But, I warn you, I can no longer
-keep it in&mdash;I can no longer keep it in. With that counter-jumper; I
-can scarcely believe it! Have you, then, lost all pride? I thought that
-you were making use of him, that you were just sufficiently amiable to
-cause him to interest himself in the business down-stairs; and I assisted
-you, I encouraged him. In short, tell me what advantage you saw in it
-all?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;None whatever,&rdquo; stammered the young woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, why did you take up with him? It was even more stupid than wicked.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How absurd you are, mamma: one can never explain such things.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand was again walking about.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! you can&rsquo;t explain! Well! but you ought to be able to! There is not
-the slightest shadow of sense in misbehaving oneself like that, and it is
-this which exasperates me! Did I ever tell you to deceive your husband?
-did I ever deceive your father? He is here; ask him. Let him say if he
-ever caught me with any other man.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her pace slackened and became quite majestic, and she slapped herself on
-her green bodice, driving her breasts back under her arms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Nothing; not a fault, not the least forgetfulness, even in thought. My
-life has been a chaste one. Yet God knows what I have had to put up with
-from your father! I have had every excuse; many women would have avenged
-themselves. But I had some sense, and that saved me. Before heaven!&rdquo; said
-she, &ldquo;I swear I would have restrained myself, even if the Emperor had
-pestered me! One loses too much.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She took a few steps in silence, apparently reflecting, and then added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Moreover, it is the greatest possible shame.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand looked at her, looked at his daughter, and his lips
-moved, though no sound came from them; and his whole suffering being
-conjured them to put an end to this cruel explanation. But Berthe, who
-bent before violence, was wounded by her mother&rsquo;s lesson. She at length
-rebelled, for she was quite unconscious of her fault, thanks to the old
-education which she had received when a girl in search of a husband.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said she, boldly planting her elbows on the table, &ldquo;you should not
-have made me marry a man I did not love. Now I hate him, and I have taken
-another.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;In short, he bores me, and I bore him,&rdquo; declared she. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not my fault,
-we don&rsquo;t understand one another. As early as the morrow of our
-wedding-day, he looked as though he thought we had taken him in; yes, he
-was cold and put out, just like when he has a bad day&rsquo;s sale. For my part,
-I did not amuse myself particularly with him. Really! I don&rsquo;t think much
-of marriage if it offers no more pleasure than that! And that&rsquo;s how it all
-began. So much the worse! it was bound to come; I&rsquo;m not the most guilty.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She left off speaking, but shortly added, with an air of profound
-conviction:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! mamma, how well I understand you now! You remember, when you told us
-you had had more than enough of it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand, standing up before her, had been listening for a minute
-with indignant amazement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? I said that!&rdquo; cried she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Berthe, warming with her subject, would not stop.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You have said so twenty times. And, besides, I should have liked to have
-seen you in my place. Auguste is not kind like papa. You would have been
-fighting together about money matters before a week had passed. He would
-precious soon have made you say that men are only good to be taken in!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? I said that!&rdquo; repeated the mother, quite beside herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She advanced so menacingly toward her daughter, that the father held out
-his hands in a suppliant gesture imploring mercy. The sounds of the two
-women&rsquo;s voices struck him to the heart unceasingly; and, at each shock, he
-felt the wound extend. Tears gushed from his eyes as he stammered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do leave off, spare me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, it is dreadful!&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand, in louder tones than ever.
-&ldquo;This wretched creature now pretends I am the cause of her shamelessness!
-You will see she will soon make out that it is I who have deceived her
-husband. So, it&rsquo;s my fault! for that is what you seem to mean. It&rsquo;s my
-fault!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe remained with her elbows on the table, very pale, but resolute.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very certain that, if you had brought me up differently&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She did not finish. Her mother gave her a clout with all her might, and
-such a hard one that it hanged Berthe&rsquo;s head down onto the table-cover.
-Her hand had been itching to give it, ever since the day before; it had
-been making her fingers tingle, the same as in those far-off days when the
-child used to oversleep herself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;There!&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s for your education! Your husband ought to have
-beaten you to a jelly.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young woman did not rise, but sat there sobbing, her cheek pressed
-against her arm. She forgot her twenty-four years, this clout brought her
-back to the slaps of other times, to a whole past of timorous hypocrisy.
-All her resolution of an emancipated grownup person melted away in the
-great sorrow of a little girl.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, on hearing her weep so bitterly, the father was seized with a
-terrible emotion. He at length got up, quite distracted, and he pushed the
-mother away, saying:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You wish, then, to kill me between you? Tell me, must I go on my knees to
-you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand, having relieved her feelings, and having nothing to add,
-was withdrawing in a royal silence, when she found Hortense listening
-behind the door as she suddenly opened it. This caused a fresh outburst.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! so you were listening to all this filth? The one does the most
-horrible things, and the other takes a delight in hearing about them; the
-two make the pair. But, good heavens! whoever was it that brought you up?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hortense, without being in the least moved, entered the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It was not necessary to listen, one can even hear you in the kitchen. The
-servant is wriggling with laughter. Besides, I&rsquo;m old enough to be married;
-there is no harm in my knowing.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Verdier, eh?&rdquo; resumed the mother bitterly. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s all the satisfaction
-you give me. Now, you are waiting for the death of a brat. You may wait,
-she&rsquo;s big and plump, so I&rsquo;ve been told. It serves you right.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A rush of bile gave a yellow hue to the young girl&rsquo;s skinny countenance.
-And, with clenched teeth, she replied:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Though she&rsquo;s big and plump, Verdier can leave her. And I will make him
-leave her sooner than you think, just to spite you all. Yes, yes, I will
-get married without any one else&rsquo;s assistance. They&rsquo;re far too solid, the
-marriages you put together!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, as her mother was advancing toward her, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! you know, I don&rsquo;t intend to be slapped! Take care.&rdquo; They looked each
-other straight in the eyes, and Madame Josserand was the first to yield,
-hiding her retreat beneath an air of scornful domination. But the father
-thought the battle was going to begin again. In the midst of his sobs, he
-kept repeating:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I can bear it no longer&mdash;I can bear it no longer&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The dining-room became once more wrapped in silence. Berthe, her cheek on
-her arm, and still heaving long, nervous sighs, was growing calmer.
-Hortense had quietly seated herself at the other end of the table, and was
-buttering the remainder of a roll, so as to pull herself together again.
-Well! butter at twenty-two sous could only be poison. And, as it left a
-stinking deposit at the bottom of the saucepans, Adèle was explaining that
-it was not even economical, when a dull thud, a distant shake of the
-floor, suddenly caused them to listen intently.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, all anxiety, at length raised her head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that!&rdquo; asked she.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s perhaps madame and the other lady, in the drawing-room,&rdquo; said Adèle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand had started with surprise, as she crossed the
-drawing-room. A woman was there all alone.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What? you again?&rdquo; cried she, when she had recognized Madame Dambreville,
-whom she had forgotten.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The latter did not stir. The family quarrels, the noisy voices, the
-slamming of doors, seemed to have passed over her without her having felt
-the least breath of them. She remained immovable, looking into vacancy,
-buried in a heap in her love-sick mania. But there was something at work
-within her, the advice of Léon&rsquo;s mother had upset her, and was deciding
-her to dearly purchase a few remnants of happiness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand, roughly, &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t, you know, sleep
-here. I have had a note from my son, he is not coming.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Madame Dambreville spoke, her mouth all clammy from her long silence,
-as though she were just waking up.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am going, pray excuse me. And tell him from me that I have reflected. I
-consent. Yes, I will reflect still further, and perhaps I may help him to
-marry that girl, as he insists upon it. But it is I who give her to him,
-and I wish him to ask me for her, me alone, you understand! Oh! he must
-come back, he must come back!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Her ardent voice became quite beseeching. She added, in a lower tone, in
-the obstinate way of a woman who, after sacrificing everything, clings to
-a last satisfaction.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;He shall marry her, but he must live with us. Otherwise nothing will be
-done. I would sooner lose him.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she went off. Madame Josserand was most charming again. In the
-ante-room, she said all sorts of consoling things, she promised to send
-her son submissive and tender, that very evening, affirming that he would
-be delighted to live at his aunt-in-law&rsquo;s. Then, when she had shut the
-door behind Madame Dambreville&rsquo;s back, filled with a pitying tenderness,
-she thought:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Poor boy! what a price she will make him pay for it!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, at this moment, she also heard the dull thud, which caused the boards
-to tremble. Well? what was it? was the servant smashing all the crockery,
-now? She hastened to the dining-room, and questioned her daughters.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What is it? Is the sugar-basin broken?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, mamma. We don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She turned round, looking for Adèle, when she beheld her listening at the
-door of the bed-room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Whatever are you doing?&rdquo; cried she. &ldquo;Everything is being smashed in your
-kitchen, and your&rsquo;re there spying on your master. Yes, yes, one begins
-with prunes, and one ends with something else. For some time past, you
-have had a way about you which greatly displeases me; you smell of men, my
-girl&mdash;&mdash;-&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The servant stood looking at her with wide-open eyes. At length she
-interrupted her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not what&rsquo;s the matter. I think master has fallen down in there.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good heavens! she&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; said Berthe, turning pale, &ldquo;it was just like
-some one falling.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They entered the room. Monsieur Josserand, seized with a fainting fit, was
-lying on the floor before the bed; his head had come in contact with a
-chair, and a little stream of blood was issuing from the right ear. The
-mother, the two daughters and the servant surrounded and examined him.
-Berthe, alone, wept, again seized with the bitter sobs which the blow had
-called forth. And, when the four of them raised him to place him on the
-bed, they heard him murmur:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all over. They&rsquo;ve killed me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
-CHAPTER XVII.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>onths passed by,
-and spring had come again. At the house in the Rue de Choiseul, every one
-was talking of the approaching marriage of Octave and Madame Hédouin.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Matters, however, were not so far advanced. Octave was again in his old
-place at &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo; the business of which developed daily.
-Since her husband&rsquo;s death, Madame Hédouin was unable to attend properly to
-the incessantly growing concern by herself. Her uncle, old Deleuze, nailed
-to his easy-chair by rheumatism, troubled himself about nothing; and,
-naturally, the young man, who was very active and a constant prey to the
-mania for doing business on a large scale, had in a little while reached a
-position of decisive importance in the house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-From this moment their relations became most intimate. They would shut
-themselves for hours together in the small room right at the back. In
-former days, when he had sworn to himself to seduce her, he had pursued
-certain tactics there, trying to take advantage of her commercial
-emotions, whispering figures close to her neck, watching for the days of
-heavy takings to profit by her enthusiasm. Now, he was simply
-good-natured, having no other aim but to push the business. He no longer
-even desired her, though he retained the recollection of her gentle quiver
-when waltzing with him on Berthe&rsquo;s wedding night. Perhaps she had loved.
-In any case it was best to remain as they were; for, as she justly said,
-the business demanded a great amount of order, and it would be impolitic
-to wish for things which would disturb them from morning till night.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Seated together at the narrow desk, they would often forget themselves,
-after going through the books and settling the orders. He would then
-return to his dreams of enlargement. He had sounded the owner of the next
-house, and had found him willing to sell. They would give notice to the
-second-hand dealer and to the umbrella man, and then establish a special
-department for silk. She, very grave, would listen, not daring to venture
-yet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length, as they sat side by side one evening examining some invoices
-beneath the scorching flame of a gas-jet, she said slowly:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have spoken to my uncle, Monsieur Octave. He consents, so we will buy
-the house. Only&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He interrupted her joyfully to exclaim:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Then, the Vabres are done for!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She smiled, and murmured reproachfully:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do you detest them, then? It is not proper on your part; you are the last
-who should wish them ill.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had never spoken to him of his relations with Berthe. This sudden
-allusion embarrassed him immensely, without his exactly knowing why. He
-blushed and tried to stammer out some explanation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no, it does not concern me,&rdquo; resumed she, still smiling and very
-calm. &ldquo;Excuse me, it quite escaped me; I never intended to speak to you on
-the subject. You are young. So much the worse for those who are willing,
-is it not so? It is the place of the husbands to guard their wives when
-the latter are unable to guard themselves.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He experienced a sensation of relief, on understanding she was not angry.
-He had often dreaded a coldness on her part if she came to know of his
-former connection.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You interrupted me, Monsieur Octave,&rdquo; resumed she, gravely. &ldquo;I was about
-to add that if I purchase the next house, and thus double the importance
-of my business, it will be impossible for me to remain single. I shall be
-obliged to marry again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave sat lost in astonishment. What! she already had a husband in view,
-and he was in ignorance of it! He at once felt that his position there was
-compromised.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My uncle,&rdquo; continued she, &ldquo;told me so himself. Oh, there is no hurry just
-yet. I have only been eight months in mourning; I shall wait till the
-autumn. Only, in trade one must put one&rsquo;s heart on one side, and consider
-the necessities of the situation. A man is absolutely necessary here.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She discussed all this calmly, like a matter of business, and he gazed on
-her regular and healthy beauty, on her pure complexion beneath her neatly
-arranged black hair. Then he regretted not having, since her widowhood,
-renewed the effort to become her lover.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is always a very serious matter,&rdquo; stammered he; &ldquo;it requires
-reflection.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No doubt, she was quite of that opinion. And she spoke of her age.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I am already old; I am five years older than you, Monsieur Octave&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Deeply agitated, yet thinking he understood, he interrupted her, and
-seizing hold of her hands, he repeated:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh, madame! oh, madame!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she rose from her seat and released herself. Then she turned down the
-gas.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, that&rsquo;s enough for to-day. You have some very good ideas, and it is
-natural I should think of you to put them into execution. Only there will
-be a deal of worry; we must thoroughly study the project. I know that at
-heart you are very serious. Think the matter over on your side, and I will
-think it over on mine. That is why I have named it to you. We can talk
-about it again later on.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And things remained thus for weeks. The establishment continued just the
-same as usual. As Madame Hédouin always maintained her smiling serenity
-when in Octave&rsquo;s company, without an allusion to the slightest tender
-feeling, he affected on his side a similar peace of mind, and he ended by
-becoming like her, healthfully happy, placing his confidence in the logic
-of things. She often repeated that sensible things always happened of
-themselves. Therefore she was never in a hurry. The gossip which commenced
-to circulate respecting her intimacy with the young man did not in the
-least affect her. They waited.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the Rue de Choiseul, therefore, the entire house vowed that the
-marriage was as good as accomplished. Octave had given up his room to
-lodge in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, near &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise.&rdquo; He no
-longer visited any one&mdash;neither the Campardons nor the Duveyriers,
-who were quite shocked at the scandal of his amours. Monsieur Gourd
-himself, whenever he saw him, pretended not to recognize him, so as to
-avoid having to bow. Only Marie and Madame Juzuer, on the mornings when
-they met him in the neighborhood, went and stood a moment in some doorway
-to have a chat with him. Madame Juzeur, who passionately questioned him
-respecting Madame Hédouin, tried to persuade him to call upon her, so as
-to be able to talk the matter over nicely; and Marie, who was greatly
-distressed, complaining of again being in the family way, and who told him
-of Jules&rsquo; amazement and of her parents&rsquo; terrible anger. Then, when the
-rumor of his marriage became more persistent, Octave was surprised to
-receive a low bow from Monsieur Gourd. Campardon, without exactly making
-friends again, gave him a cordial nod across the street, whilst Duveyrier,
-calling one evening to buy some gloves, showed himself most amiable. The
-entire house was beginning to pardon him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-However, the uneasiness caused by the adulterous act was still there,
-imperceptible to uneducated people, but most disagreeable to those of
-refined morals. Auguste obstinately persisted in not taking his wife back,
-and, so long as Berthe lived with her parents, the scandal would not be
-effaced&mdash;there would ever linger a material vestige of it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was Duveyrier especially who, as landlord, carried the burden of this
-persistent and unmerited misfortune. For some time past Clarisse had been
-torturing him to such a pitch that he would at times come home to his wife
-to weep. But the scandal of the adultery had struck him to the heart; he
-saw, said he, the passer-by look at his house from top to bottom&mdash;that
-house which his father-in-law and he had striven to decorate with every
-domestic virtue; and, as this sort of thing could not be allowed to last,
-he talked of purifying the building for his personal honor. Therefore he
-urged Auguste, in the name of public decency, to become reconciled with
-his wife. Unfortunately, Auguste resisted, backed up in his rage by
-Théophile and Valérie, who had definitely installed themselves at the
-pay-desk, and who were delighted with the existing discord. Then, as
-matters were going badly at Lyons, and the silk warehouse was in jeopardy
-for want of capital, Duveyrier conceived a practical idea. The Josserands
-were probably longing to get rid of their daughter; the thing to do was to
-offer to take her back, but only on condition that they paid the dowry of
-fifty thousand francs. Perhaps uncle Bachelard would yield to their
-entreaties and give the money. At first, Auguste violently refused to be a
-party to any such arrangement; even were the sum a hundred thousand
-francs, he would not think it sufficient. Then, becoming very anxious as
-his April payments drew near, he had given in to the counselor&rsquo;s
-arguments, as the latter pleaded the cause of morality and spoke merely of
-a good action to be done.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When they were agreed, Clotilde selected the Abbé Mauduit for negotiator.
-It was a delicate matter; only a priest could interfere in it without
-compromising himself. It so happened that the reverend man was deeply
-grieved by the deplorable catastrophes which had befallen one of the most
-interesting households of his parish; and he had already offered his
-advice, his experience and his authority to put an end to a scandal at
-which the enemies of religion might take delight. However, when Clotilde
-spoke to him of the dowry, asking him to be the bearer of Auguste&rsquo;s
-conditions to the Josserands, he bowed his head, and maintained a painful
-silence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is money due that my brother asks for,&rdquo; repeated she. &ldquo;It is no
-bargain, understand. Moreover, my brother insists upon it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is necessary, and I will go,&rdquo; said the priest, at length.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The Josserands had been expecting the proposal for days. Valérie must have
-spoken of it, all the tenants were discussing the affair: were they so
-hard up as to be forced to keep their daughter? would they be able to
-obtain the fifty thousand francs to get rid of her? Since the question had
-reached this point, Madame Josserand had been in a constant rage. What!
-after having had such trouble to marry Berthe at first, she now had to
-marry her a second time! Everything was upset, the dowry was again
-demanded, all the money worries were going to commence afresh! Never
-before had a mother had such a task to go through twice over. And all
-owing to the fault of that silly fool, whose stupidity went so far as to
-make her forget her duty.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The house was becoming a hell upon earth; Berthe suffered a continual
-torture, for even her sister Hortense, furious at no longer sleeping
-alone, never uttered a sentence without introducing some insulting
-allusion into it. She was even reproached with the food she ate. When one
-had a husband somewhere, it was all the same very funny that one should go
-and share one&rsquo;s parents&rsquo; meals, which were already too sparing. Then the
-young woman, in despair, would sob in corners, accusing herself of being a
-coward, but unable to pick up sufficient courage to go down-stairs and
-throw herself at Auguste&rsquo;s feet, and say:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Here! beat me, I cannot be more unhappy than I am.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Monsieur Josserand alone showed some affection for his child. But that
-child&rsquo;s faults and tears were killing him; he was dying through the
-cruelties of the family, with an unlimited holiday from business, spent
-mostly in bed. Doctor Juillerat, who attended him, talked of a
-decomposition of the blood: it was a dissolution of the entire system,
-during which each organ was attacked, one after the other.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;When you have made your father die of grief, perhaps you will be
-satisfied!&rdquo; cried the mother.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And Berthe scarcely dared enter the invalid&rsquo;s room. Directly the father
-and daughter met, they wept together, and did each other a great deal of
-harm.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length, Madame Josserand came to a grand decision: she invited uncle
-Bachelard, resolved to humiliate herself once more. She would have given
-the fifty thousand francs out of her own pocket, if she had possessed
-them, so as not to have to keep that big married girl, whose presence
-dishonored her Tuesday receptions. But she had learnt some shocking things
-about the uncle, and, if he did not do as she wished, she intended, once
-for all, to give him a bit of her mind.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-During dinner, Bachelard behaved in a most abominable manner. He had
-arrived in an advanced state of intoxication; for, since he had left Fifi,
-he had fallen into the lowest depths of vice.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Narcisse,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand, &ldquo;the situation is a grave one&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, slowly and solemnly, she explained this situation, her daughter&rsquo;s
-regrettable misfortune, the husband&rsquo;s revolting venality, the painful
-resolution she had been obliged to come to of giving the fifty thousand
-francs, so as to put a stop to the scandal which covered the family with
-shame. Then she severely continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Remember what you promised, Narcisse. On the evening of the signing of
-the marriage contract, you again slapped your chest and swore that Berthe
-might rely on her uncle&rsquo;s affections. Well! where is this affection? the
-moment has arrived to display it. Monsieur Josserand, join me in showing
-him his duty, if your weak state of health will allow you to do so.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In spite of his great repugnance, the father murmured, out of love for his
-daughter:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is true; you promised, Bachelard. Come, before I leave you forever, do
-me the pleasure of behaving as you should.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Berthe and Hortense, in the hope of working upon the uncle&rsquo;s feelings,
-had filled his glass once too often. He was in such a fuddled condition,
-that one could not even take advantage of him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? what?&rdquo; stuttered he, without having the least necessity for
-exaggerating his intoxication. &ldquo;Never promise&mdash;Don&rsquo;t understand&mdash;Tell
-me again, Eléonore.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The latter recommenced her story, made weeping Berthe embrace him,
-besought him for the sake of her husband&rsquo;s health, and proved to him that
-in giving the fifty thousand francs, he would be fulfilling a sacred duty.
-Then, as he began to doze off again, without appearing to be in the least
-affected by the sight of the invalid or of the chamber of sickness, she
-abruptly broke out into the most violent language.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen! Narcisse, this sort of thing has been lasting too long&mdash;you&rsquo;re
-a scoundrel! I know of all your beastly goings-on. You&rsquo;ve just married
-your mistress to Gueulin, and you&rsquo;ve given them fifty thousand francs, the
-very amount you promised us. Ah! it&rsquo;s decent; little Gueulin plays a
-pretty part in it all! And you, you&rsquo;re worse still, you take the bread
-from our mouth, you prostitute your fortune, yes! you prostitute it, by
-robbing us of money which was ours for the sake of that harlot!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Never before had she relieved her feelings to such an extent. Hortense
-busied herself with her father&rsquo;s medicine, so as not to show her
-embarrassment. Monsieur Josserand, who was made far worse by this scene,
-tossed about on his pillow, and murmured in a trembling voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I beseech you, Eléonore, do be quiet; he will give nothing. If you wish
-to say such things to him, take him away that I may not hear you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Berthe, on her side, sobbed louder than ever, and joined her father in his
-entreaties.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Enough, mamma, do as papa asks. Good heavens! how miserable I am to be
-the cause of all these quarrels! I would sooner leave you all, and go and
-die somewhere.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Madame Josserand deliberately put the question to the uncle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Will you, yes or no, give the fifty thousand francs, so that your niece
-may hold her head up?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Regularly scared, he tried to go into explanations.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Listen a moment. I found Gueulin and Fifi together. What could I do? I
-was obliged to marry them. It wasn&rsquo;t my fault.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Will you, yes or no, give the dowry you promised?&rdquo; repeated she
-furiously.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He wavered, his intoxication increased to such a pitch that he could
-scarcely find words to utter:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t, word of honor!&mdash;Completely ruined. Otherwise, at once&mdash;Candidly
-you know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She interrupted him with a terrible gesture, and declared:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good, then I shall call a family council and have you declared incapable
-of managing your affairs. When uncles become driveling, it&rsquo;s time to send
-them to an asylum.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, the uncle was seized with intense emotion. He glanced about him,
-and found the room had a sinister aspect with its feeble light; he looked
-at the dying man, who, held up by his daughters, was swallowing a spoonful
-of some black liquid; and his heart overflowed, he sobbed as he accused
-his sister of never having under stood him. Yet, he had already been made
-unhappy enough by Gueulin&rsquo;s treachery. They knew he was very sensitive,
-and they did wrong to invite him to dinner, to make him sad afterward. In
-short, in place of the fifty thousand francs, he offered all the blood in
-his veins.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand, who was quite worn out, had decided to leave him to
-himself, when the servant announced Doctor Juillerat and the Abbé Mauduit.
-They had met on the landing, and entered together. The doctor found
-Monsieur Josserand much worse, he was still suffering from the shock
-occasioned by the scene in which he had been forced to play a part. When,
-on his side, the priest wished to take Madame Josserand into the
-drawing-room, having, he said, a communication to make to her, the latter
-guessed on what subject he had called, and answered majestically that she
-was with her family and prepared to hear everything there; the doctor
-himself would not be in the way, for a physician was also a confessor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; then said the priest, with slightly embarrassed gentleness, &ldquo;you
-behold in the step I am taking an ardent desire to reconcile two families&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My dear Abbé Mauduit, allow me to interrupt you,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand.
-&ldquo;We are deeply moved by your efforts. But never, you understand me! never
-will we traffic in our daughter&rsquo;s honor. People who have already become
-reconciled over this child&rsquo;s back! Oh! I know all; they were at daggers
-drawn, and now they are inseparable, reviling us from morning till night.
-No; such a bargain would be a disgrace&mdash;-&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It seems to me, though, madame&mdash;&rdquo; ventured the priest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But she drowned his voice, as she superbly continued:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;See! my brother is here. You can question him. He was again saying to me
-only a little while ago: &lsquo;Here are the fifty thousand francs, Eléonore;
-settle this miserable matter!&rsquo; Well! ask him what reply I made. Get up,
-Narcisse. Tell the truth.&rdquo; The uncle had already again fallen asleep in an
-arm-chair, at the end of the room. He moved, and uttered a few
-disconnected words. Then, as his sister insisted, he placed his hand on
-his heart, and stammered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;When duty speaks, one must obey. The family comes before everything.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You hear him?&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand, with a triumphant air. &ldquo;No money;
-it&rsquo;s disgraceful! Tell those people from us that we don&rsquo;t die to avoid
-having to pay. The dowry is here; we would have given it; but, now that
-it&rsquo;s exacted as the price of our daughter, the matter becomes too
-disgusting. Let Auguste take Berthe back first, and then we will see later
-on.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She had raised her voice, and the doctor, who was examining his patient,
-was obliged to make her leave off.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Speak lower, madame!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;your husband suffers.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the Abbé Mauduit, whose embarrassment had increased, went up to the
-bedside, and found some kind words to say. And he afterward withdrew,
-without again referring to the matter, hiding the confusion of having
-failed beneath his amiable smile, with a curl of grief and disgust on his
-lips. As the doctor went off in his turn, he roughly informed Madame
-Josserand that there was no hope for the invalid: the greatest precautions
-must be taken, for the least emotion might carry him off. She was
-thunderstruck, and returned to the dining-room, where her two daughters
-and their uncle had already withdrawn, to let Monsieur Josserand rest, as
-he seemed disposed to go to sleep.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Berthe,&rdquo; murmured she, &ldquo;you have killed your father. The doctor has just
-said so.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And they all three, seated round the table, gave way to their grief,
-whilst Uncle Bachelard, also in tears, mixed himself a glass of grog.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-When Auguste learned the Josserands&rsquo; answer, his rage against his wife
-knew no bounds, and he swore he would kick her away the day she came to
-ask for forgiveness. Yet, in reality, he wanted her; there was a voidness
-in his life; he seemed to be out of his element, amidst the new worries of
-his abandonment, quite as grave as those of his married life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Besides all this, another more serious anxiety bothered him: &ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo;
-Paradise&rdquo; was prospering, and already menaced his business, which
-decreased daily. He certainly did not regret that miserable Octave, yet he
-was just, and recognized that the fellow possessed very great abilities.
-How swimmingly everything would have gone had they only got on better
-together! He was seized with the most tender regrets; there were hours
-when, sick of his loneliness, feeling life giving way beneath him, he felt
-inclined to go up to the Josserands and ask them to give Berthe back to
-him for nothing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Duveyrier, too, moreover, did not yield, and, more and more cut up by the
-moral disfavor into which such an affair threw his building, he was
-forever urging his brother-in-law to a reconciliation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Each day life became more and more cruel for Duveyrier at this mistress&rsquo;,
-where he encountered all the worries of his own home again, but this time
-in the midst of a regular hell. The whole tribe of hawkers&mdash;the
-mother, the big blackguard of a brother, the two little sisters, even the
-invalid aunt&mdash;impudently robbed him, lived on him openly, to the
-point of emptying his pockets during the nights he slept there. His
-position was also becoming a serious one in another respect; he had got to
-the end of his money; he trembled at the thought of being compromised on
-his judicial bench; he could certainly not be removed, only, the young
-barristers were beginning to look at him in a saucy kind of way, which
-made it awkward for him to administer justice. And, when driven away by
-the filth and the uproar, seized with disgust of himself, he flew from the
-Rue d&rsquo;Assas and sought refuge in the Rue de Choiseul, his wife&rsquo;s malignant
-coldness completed the crushing of him. Then he would lose his head; he
-would look at the Seine on his way to the court, with thoughts of jumping
-in some evening when a final suffering should impart to him the requisite
-courage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clotilde had noticed her husband&rsquo;s emotion, and felt anxious and irritated
-with that mistress of his who did not even make a man happy in his
-misconduct. But, for her part, she was greatly annoyed by a most
-deplorable adventure, the consequences of which quite revolutionized the
-house. On going up-stairs one morning for a handkerchief, Clémence had
-caught Hippolyte with Louise, and, since then, she had taken to slapping
-him in the kitchen for the least thing, which of course greatly interfered
-with the attendance. The worst was that madame could no longer close her
-eyes to the illicit connection existing between her maid and her footman;
-the other servants laughed, the scandal was reported amongst the
-tradespeople; it was absolutely necessary to oblige them to get married if
-she wished to retain them, and, as she continued to be very well satisfied
-with Clémence, she thought of nothing but this marriage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-To negotiate between lovers who were forever fighting with each other
-seemed such a delicate affair that she decided on employing the Abbé
-Mauduit, whose moralizing character seemed specially suited to the
-occasion. Her servants, moreover, had been causing her a great deal of
-trouble for some time past. When down in the country, she had noticed the
-intimacy of her big, hobbledehoy Gustave with Julie; she had at one moment
-thought of sending the latter about her business, though regretfully, for
-she liked her cooking; then, after sound reflection, she had decided to
-keep her, preferring that the youngster should have a mistress at home, a
-clean girl who would never be any trouble. There is no knowing what a
-youth may get hold of outside, when he begins too young. She was watching
-them, therefore, without saying a word, and now the other two must needs
-worry her with their affair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It so happened that, one morning, as Madame Duveyrier was preparing to
-call on the priest, Clémence came, and announced that the Abbé Mauduit was
-taking the extreme unction up to Monsieur Josserand. After meeting him on
-the staircase, the maid had returned to the kitchen, exclaiming:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I said that he would come again this year!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, alluding to the catastrophes which had befallen the house, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It has brought ill-luck to every one.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This time the priest did not arrive too late, and that was an excellent
-sign for the future. Madame Duveyrier hastened to Saint-Roch, where she
-awaited the Abbé Mauduit&rsquo;s return. He listened to her, and for a while
-maintained a sad silence; then he was unable to refuse to enlighten the
-maid and the footman on the immorality of their position. Moreover, the
-other matter would have obliged him to return shortly to the Rue de
-Choiseul, for poor Monsieur Josserand would certainly not last through the
-night; and he mentioned that he saw in this circumstance a cruel but happy
-opportunity for reconciling Auguste and Berthe. He would try and arrange
-the two affairs simultaneously. It was high time that Heaven consented to
-bless their efforts.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I have prayed, madame,&rdquo; said the priest. &ldquo;The Almighty will triumph.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, indeed, that evening, at seven o&rsquo;clock, Monsieur Josserand&rsquo;s death
-agony began. The entire family was there, excepting uncle Bachelard, who
-had been sought for in vain in all the cafés, and Saturnin, who was still
-confined at the Asile des Moulineaux. Léon, whose marriage was most
-unfortunately postponed through his father&rsquo;s illness, displayed a
-dignified grief. Madame Josserand and Hortense showed some courage. Berthe
-alone sobbed so loudly that, so as not to affect the invalid, she had gone
-and stowed herself away in the kitchen, where Adèle, taking advantage of
-the general confusion, was drinking some mulled wine. Monsieur Josserand
-expired in the quietest fashion; it was his honesty which finished him. He
-had passed a useless life, and he went off like a worthy man tired of the
-wicked things of the world, heart-broken by the quiet indifference of the
-only beings he had ever loved. At eight o&rsquo;clock he stammered out
-Saturnin&rsquo;s name, turned his face to the wall, and expired. No one thought
-him dead, for all had dreaded a terrible agony. They sat patiently for
-some time, letting him, as they thought, sleep. When they found he was
-already becoming cold, Madame Josserand, in the midst of the general
-wailing, flew into a passion with Hortense, whom she had instructed to
-fetch Auguste, counting on restoring Berthe to the latter&rsquo;s arms amidst
-the great grief of her husband&rsquo;s last moments.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You think of nothing!&rdquo; said she, wiping her eyes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But, mamma,&rdquo; replied the girl, in tears, &ldquo;no one thought papa would go
-off so suddenly! You told me not to go for Auguste till nine o&rsquo;clock, so
-as to be sure of keeping him till the end.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The sorely afflicted family found some distraction in this quarrel.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was another matter gone wrong; they never succeeded in anything.
-Fortunately, there was still the funeral to take advantage of to bring the
-husband and wife together.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The funeral was a pretty decent one, though it was not so grand as
-Monsieur Vabre&rsquo;s. Moreover, it did not give rise to nearly the same
-excitement in the house and the neighborhood, for the deceased was not a
-landlord; he was merely a quiet-going body, whose demise did not even
-disturb Madame Juzeur&rsquo;s slumbers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Madame Josserand and her daughters had to be supported to their coach.
-Léon, assisted by uncle Bachelard, was most attentive, whilst Auguste
-followed behind in an embarrassed way. He got into another coach with
-Duveyrier and Théophile. Clotilde detained the Abbé Mauduit, who had not
-officiated, but who had gone to the cemetery, wishing to give the family a
-proof of his sympathy. The horses started on the homeward journey more
-gayly, and she at once asked the priest to return to the house with them,
-for she felt that the time was favorable. He consented.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The three mourning coaches silently drew up in the Rue de Choiseul with
-the relations. Théophile at once rejoined Valérie, who had remained behind
-to superintend a general cleaning, the warehouse being closed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You may pack up!&rdquo; cried he, furiously. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re all at him. I bet he&rsquo;ll
-end by begging her pardon.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They all, indeed, felt a pressing necessity for putting an end to the
-unpleasantness. Misfortune should at least be good for something. Auguste,
-in the midst of them, understood very well what they wanted; and he was
-alone, without strength to resist, and filled with shame. The relations
-slowly walked in under the porch hung with black. No one spoke. On the
-stairs, the silence continued&mdash;a silence full of deep thought&mdash;whilst
-the crape skirts, soft and sad, ascended higher and higher. Auguste,
-seized with a final feeling of revolt, had taken the lead, with the
-intention of quickly shutting himself up in his own apartments; but, as he
-opened, the door, Clotilde and the priest, who had followed close behind,
-stopped him. Directly after them, Berthe, dressed in deep mourning,
-appeared on the landing, accompanied by her mother and her sister. They
-all three had red eyes; Madame Josserand, especially, was quite painful to
-behold.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come, my friend,&rdquo; simply said the priest, overcome by tears.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And that was sufficient. Auguste gave in at once, seeing that it was
-better to make his peace at that honorable opportunity. His wife wept, and
-he wept also, as he stammered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come in. We will try not to do it again.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the relations kissed all around. Clotilde congratulated her brother;
-she had had full confidence in his heart. Madame Josserand showed a
-broken-hearted satisfaction, like a widow who is no longer the least
-affected by the most unhoped-for happiness. She associated her poor
-husband with the general joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are doing your duty, my dear son-in-law. He who is now in Heaven
-thanks you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; repeated Auguste, quite upset.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Rachel, attracted by the noise, now appeared in the anteroom; and
-Berthe hesitated a moment in presence of the speechless exasperation which
-caused the maid to turn ghastly pale. Then she sternly entered, and
-disappeared with her black mourning in the shadow of the apartment.
-Auguste followed her, and the door closed behind them.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A deep sigh of relief ascended the staircase, and filled the house with
-joy. The ladies pressed the hands of the priest, whose prayers had been
-granted. Just as Clotilde was taking him off to settle the other matter,
-Duveyrier, who had lagged behind with Léon and Bachelard, arrived, walking
-painfully. The happy result had all to be explained to him; but he, who
-had been desiring it for months past, scarcely seemed to understand, a
-strange expression overspreading his face, and his mind a prey to a fixed
-idea, the torture of which quite absorbed him. Whilst the Josserands
-regained their apartments, he returned to his own, behind his wife and the
-priest. And they had just reached the ante-room, when some stifled cries
-caused them to start.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Do not be uneasy, madame. It is the little lady up-stairs in labor,&rdquo;
-Hippolyte complacently explained. &ldquo;I saw Dr. Juillerat run up just now.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, when he was alone, he added philosophically:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;One goes, another comes.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clotilde made the Abbé Mauduit comfortable in the drawingroom, saying that
-she would first of all send him Clémence; and, to help him to while away
-the time, she gave him the &ldquo;Revue des Deux Mondes,&rdquo; which contained some
-really charming verses. She wished to prepare her maid for the interview.
-But, on entering her dressing-room, she found her husband seated on a
-chair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Ever since the morning, Duveyrier had been in a state of agony. For the
-third time he had caught Clarisse with Théodore; and, as he complained,
-the whole family of hawkers, the mother, the brother, the sisters, had
-fallen upon him, and driven him down-stairs with kicks and blows; whilst
-Clarisse had called him a poverty-stricken wretch, and furiously
-threatened him with the police if he ever dared to show himself there
-again. It was all over; down below the doorkeeper had told him that for a
-week past a very rich old fellow had been anxious to provide for madame.
-Then, driven away, and no longer having a warm nook to nestle in,
-Duveyrier, after wandering about the streets, had entered an
-out-of-the-way shop and purchased a pocket revolver. Life was becoming too
-sad; he could at least put an end to it, as soon as he had found a
-suitable place for doing so. This selection of a quiet corner was
-occupying his mind, as he mechanically returned to the Rue de Choiseul to
-assist at Monsieur Josserand&rsquo;s funeral. Then, when following the corpse,
-he had had a sudden idea of killing himself at the cemetery; he would go
-to the furthest end and hide behind a tombstone. This flattered his taste
-for the romantic, the necessity for a tender ideal, which was wrecking his
-life, beneath his rigid middle-class attitude. But, as the coffin was
-being lowered into the grave, he began to tremble, seized with an earthly
-chill. The spot would decidedly not do; he would have to seek elsewhere.
-And, having returned in a worse state than ever, entirely a prey to this
-one idea, he sat thinking on a chair in the dressing-room, trying to
-decide which was the most suitable place in the house&mdash;perhaps the
-bed-room, beside the bed, or simply just where he was, without moving.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Will you have the kindness to leave me to myself?&rdquo; said Clotilde to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He already had his hand on the revolver in his pocket.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked he, with an effort.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Because I wish to be alone.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He thought that she wanted to change her dress, and that she would not
-even let him see her bare arms, so repugnant he felt was he to her. For an
-instant he looked at her with his dim eyes, and beheld her so tall, so
-beautiful, with a complexion clear as marble, her hair gathered up in
-deep, golden tresses. Ah! if she had only consented, how everything might
-have been arranged! He rose stumblingly from his chair, and, opening his
-arms, tried to take hold of her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What, now?&rdquo; murmured she, greatly surprised. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you?
-Not here, surely. Have you the other one no longer, then? It is going to
-begin again, that abomination?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And she exhibited such utter disgust, that he drew back. Without a word,
-he left her, stopping in the ante-room as he hesitated for a moment; then,
-as there was a door facing him, the door of the closet, he pushed it open;
-and, without the slightest hurry, he sat down. It was a quiet spot, no one
-would come and disturb him there. He placed the barrel of the little
-revolver in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, Clotilde, who had been struck since the morning by his strange
-manner, had listened to ascertain if he were obliging her by returning to
-Clarisse. On learning where he had gone, by a creak peculiar to that door,
-she no longer bothered herself about him, and was at length in the act of
-ringing for Clémence, when the dull report of a fire-arm filled her with
-surprise. Whatever was it? it was just, like the noise a saloon rifle
-would make. She hastened to the ante-room, not daring at first to question
-him; then, as a strange sound issued from where he was, she called him,
-and, on receiving no answer, opened the door. The bolt had not even been
-fastened. Duveyrier, stunned by fright more than by the injury he had
-received, remained squatting, in a most lugubrious posture, his eyes wide
-open, and his face streaming with blood. He had missed his object. After
-grazing his jaw, the bullet had passed out again through the left cheek.
-And he no longer had the courage to fire a second time.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;What! that is what you come to do here?&rdquo; cried Clotilde quite beside
-herself. &ldquo;Just go and kill yourself outside!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She was most indignant. Instead of softening her, this spectacle threw her
-into a supreme exasperation. She bullied him, and raised him up without
-the least precaution, wishing to carry him away so that no one should see
-him in such a place. In that closet! and to miss killing himself too! It
-was too much.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, whilst she supported him to lead him to the bed-room, Duveyrier, who
-had his throat filled with blood, and whose teeth were dropping out,
-stuttered between two rattles:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You never loved me!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-<img src="images/0407.jpg" alt="0407 " width="100%" />
-</div>
-
-<p>
-And he burst into sobs, he bewailed the death of poetry, that little blue
-flower which it had been denied him to pluck. When Clotilde had put him to
-bed, she at length became softened, seized with a nervous emotion in the
-midst of her anger. The worst of it was that Clémence and Hippolyte were
-coming in answer to the bell. She at first talked to them of an accident;
-their master had fallen on his chin: then she was obliged to abandon this
-fable, for, on going to wipe up the blood, the footman had found the
-revolver. The wounded man was still losing a great deal of blood, when the
-maid remembered that Dr. Juillerat was up-stairs attending to Madame
-Pichon, and she hastened to him, meeting him on the staircase, on his way
-home, after a most successful delivery. The doctor immediately reassured
-Clotilde; perhaps the jaw would be slightly out of its place, but her
-husband&rsquo;s life was not in the least danger. He was proceeding to dress the
-wound, in the midst of basins of water and red stained rags, when the Abbé
-Mauduit, uneasy at all this commotion, ventured to enter the room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Whatever has happened?&rdquo; asked he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This question completed upsetting Madame Duveyrier. She burst into tears
-at the first words of explanation. The priest, fully aware of the hidden
-miseries of his flock, had moreover quite understood matters. Already,
-whilst waiting in the drawing-room, he had been taken with a feeling of
-uneasiness, and almost regretted the success which had attended his
-efforts, that wretched young woman whom he had once more united to her
-husband without her showing the slightest remorse. He was filled with a
-terrible doubt, perhaps God was not with him. And his anguish still
-further increased as he beheld the counselor&rsquo;s fractured jaw. He went up
-to him, bent upon energetically condemning suicide. But the doctor, who
-was very busy, thrust him aside.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;After me, my dear Abbé Mauduit. By-and-by. You can see very well that he
-has fainted.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And indeed, directly the doctor touched him, Duveyrier had lost
-consciousness. Then Clotilde, to get rid of the servants who were no
-longer needed, and whose staring eyes embarrassed her very much, murmured,
-as she wiped her eyes:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Go into the drawing-room. Abbé Mauduit has something to say to you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The priest was obliged to take them there. It was another unpleasant piece
-of business. Hippolyte and Clémence followed him in profound surprise.
-When they were alone together, he began preaching them a rather confused
-sermon: Heaven rewarded good behavior, whereas a single sin led one to
-hell; moreover, it was time to put a stop to scandal and to think of one&rsquo;s
-salvation. Whilst he spoke thus, their surprise turned to bewilderment;
-with their hands hanging down beside them, she with her slender limbs and
-tiny mouth, he with his flat face and his big bones like a gendarme, they
-exchanged anxious glances! Had madame found some of her napkins up-stairs
-in a trunk? or was it because of the bottle of wine they took up with them
-every evening?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;My children,&rdquo; the priest ended by saying, &ldquo;you set a bad example. The
-greatest of crimes is to pervert one&rsquo;s neighbor, and to bring the house
-where one lives into disrepute. Yes, you live in a disorderly way, whieh,
-unfortunately, is no longer a secret to any one, for you have been
-fighting together for a week past.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He blushed; a modest hesitation caused him to choose his words.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile the two servants had sighed with relief. They smiled now and
-strutted about in quite a happy manner. It was only that! really, there
-was no occasion to be so frightened!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s all over, sir,&rdquo; declared Clémence, glancing at Hippolyte in the
-fondest manner. &ldquo;We have made it up. Yes, he explained everything to me.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The priest in his turn exhibited an astonishment full of sadness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You do not understand me, my children. You cannot continue to live
-together; you sin against God and man. You must get married.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, their amazement returned. Get married! whatever for?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to,&rdquo; said Clémence. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve quite another idea.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the Abbé Mauduit tried to convince Hippolyte.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Come, my fine fellow, you who are a man, use your influence with her,
-talk to her of her honor. It will change nothing in your mode of living.
-Be married.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The footman grinned in a jocular and embarrassed manner. At length he
-declared, as he looked down at the toes of his boots:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I daresay, I don&rsquo;t say the contrary; but I&rsquo;m already married.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This answer put a stop to all the priest&rsquo;s moral preaching. Without adding
-a word, he folded up his arguments, and put religion, now become useless,
-back into his pocket, deeply regretting ever having risked it in such a
-disgraceful matter. Clotilde, who rejoined him at this moment, had heard
-everything; and she gave vent to her indignation in a furious gesture. At
-her order, the footman and the maid left the room, one behind the other,
-looking very serious, but in reality feeling highly amused. After a short
-pause, Abbé Mauduit complained bitterly: why expose him in that manner?
-why stir up things it was far better to let rest? The condition of affairs
-had now become most disgraceful. But Clotilde repeated her gesture: so
-much the worse! she had far greater worries. Moreover, she would certainly
-not send the servants away, for fear the whole neighborhood learnt the
-story of the attempted suicide that very evening. She would decide what to
-do later on.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You will not forget, will you? the most complete repose,&rdquo; urged the
-doctor, coming from the bed-room. &ldquo;He will get over it perfectly, but all
-fatigue must be avoided. Take courage, madame.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, turning toward the priest, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You can preach him a sermon later on, my dear friend. I do not give him
-up to you yet. If you are returning to Saint-Roch, I will accompany you;
-we can walk together.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then they left the house, and slowly followed the Rue
-Neuve-Saint-Augustin. As they raised their heads, on arriving at the end
-of the street, they beheld Madame Hédouin smiling at them, at the door of
-&ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise.&rdquo; Standing behind her was Octave, also laughing.
-That very morning they had settled on their marriage, after a serious
-conversation. They would wait till the autumn. And they were both full of
-joy at having at length arranged the matter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good day, my dear Abbé Mauduit!&rdquo; said Madame Hédouin, gayly. &ldquo;And you,
-doctor, always paying visits?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as the latter congratulated her on her good looks, she added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! if there were only me, you might give up business at once.&rdquo; They
-stood conversing a moment. The doctor having mentioned Marie&rsquo;s
-confinement, Octave seemed delighted to hear of his former neighbor&rsquo;s
-happy delivery. But, when he learnt that it was a third daughter, he
-exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t her husband manage a boy, then? She thought she might still get
-Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume to put up with a boy; but they&rsquo;ll never
-stomach another girl.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I should think not,&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;They have both taken to their bed,
-the news of their daughter&rsquo;s pregnancy upset them so much. And they sent
-for a notary, so that their son-in-law should not even inherit their
-furniture.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was a little chaff. The priest alone remained silent, with his eyes
-cast on the ground. Madame Hédouin asked him if he was unwell. Yes, he
-felt very tired, he was going to take a little rest. And, after a cordial
-exchange of good wishes, he went down the Rue Saint-Roch, still
-accompanied by the doctor. On arriving before the church, the latter
-abruptly said:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;A bad customer, eh?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who is?&rdquo; asked the priest in surprise.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That lady who sells linen. She does not care a pin for either of us. No
-need for religion, nor for medicine. All the same, when one is always so
-well, it is no longer interesting.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he went on his way, whilst the priest entered the church. Abbé Mauduit
-intended to go up to his room. But a great agitation, a violent necessity,
-had forced him to enter the church and kept him there. It seemed to him
-that God was calling him, with a confused and far-off voice, the orders
-proceeding from which he was unable to catch. He slowly crossed the
-church, and was trying to read within himself, to quiet his alarms, when,
-suddenly, as he passed behind the choir, a superhuman spectacle shook his
-entire frame.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was beyond the marble chapel of the Virgin, as white as a lily, beyond
-the gold and silver plate of the chapel of the Adoration, with its seven
-golden lamps, its golden candelabra, and its golden altar shining in the
-tawny shadow of the aureate stained windows; it was in the depths of this
-mysterious night, past this tabernacle background, a tragical apparition,
-a simple yet harrowing drama: Christ nailed to the cross, between the
-Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen, weeping at his feet; and the white statues,
-which an invisible light coming from above caused to stand out from
-against the bare wall, seemed to advance and increase in size, making the
-bleeding humanity of this death, and these tears, the divine symbol of
-eternal woe.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The priest, thoroughly distracted, fell on his knees. He had whitened that
-plaster, arranged that mode of lighting, prepared that phenomenon; and,
-now that the boarding was removed, the architect and the workmen gone, he
-was the first to be thunderstruck at the sight. From the terrible severity
-of the Calvary came a breath which overpowered him. He fancied the
-Almighty passing over him; he bent beneath this breath, filled with
-misgivings, tortured by the thought that he was perhaps a bad priest.
-</p>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2><a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
-CHAPTER XVIII.
-</h2>
-
-<p class="pfirst">
-<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n December, the
-eighth month of her morning, Madame Josserand for the first time accepted
-an invitation to dine out. It was merely at the Duveyriers&rsquo;, almost a
-family gathering, with which Clotilde opened her Saturday receptions of
-the new winter. The day before, Adèle had been told that she would have to
-help Julie with the washing-up. The ladies were in the habit of thus
-lending their servants to each other on the days when they gave parties.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And above all, try and put a little more go into yourself,&rdquo; said Madame
-Josserand to her maid-of-all-work. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you&rsquo;ve got in your
-body now, you&rsquo;re as limp as rags. Yet you&rsquo;re fat and plump.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Adèle was simply nine months gone in the family way. For a long time she
-had thought she was merely growing stouter, which greatly surprised her
-however; and she would get into a perfect rage, with her ever hungry empty
-stomach, on the days when madame triumphantly showed her to her guests;
-ah, well! those who accused her of weighing her servant&rsquo;s bread might come
-and look at that great glutton, it was not likely she got so fat by merely
-licking the walls! When, in her stupidity, Adèle at length became aware of
-her misfortune, she restrained herself twenty times from telling the truth
-to her mistress, who was really taking advantage of her condition to make
-the neighborhood think that she was at length feeding her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, from this moment, terror stultified her entirely. Her village ideas
-once more took possession of her obtuse skull. She thought herself damned,
-she fancied that the gendarmes would come and take her, if she admitted
-her pregnancy. Then all her low cunning was made use of to hide it. She
-concealed the feelings of sickness, twice she thought she would drop down
-dead before her kitchen fire, whilst stirring some sauces. The pain that
-she had endured for the two last months with the obstinacy of an heroic
-silence was indeed frightful.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Adèle went up to bed that night about eleven o&rsquo;clock. The thought of
-to-morrow evening terrified her; more drudgery, more bullying by Julie!
-and she could scarcely move about.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-During the night she was seized with labor pains, and a desire came over
-her to move about, so as to walk them off. She therefore lighted the
-candle and began to wander round the room, her tongue dried up, tormented
-with a burning thirst, and her cheeks on fire. Hours passed in this cruel
-wandering, without her daring to put on her shoes, for fear of making a
-noise, whilst she was only protected against the cold by an old shawl
-thrown across her shoulders. Two o&rsquo;clock struck, then three o&rsquo;clock.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Not a soul stirred in the adjoining rooms, every one was snoring; she
-could hear Julie&rsquo;s sonorous hum, whilst Lisa made a kind of hissing noise
-like the shrill notes of a fife. Four o&rsquo;clock had just struck, when,
-seized with a violent pain, she felt that the end was approaching, and
-could not restrain uttering a loud cry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this the occupants of the other rooms began to rouse up. Voices thick
-with sleep were heard saying: &ldquo;Well! what? who&rsquo;s being murdered?&mdash;Some
-one&rsquo;s being taken by force!&mdash;Don&rsquo;t dream out loud like that!&rdquo;
-Dreadfully frightened, she drew the bedclothes over the new-born child,
-which was uttering plaintive cries like a little kitten. But she soon
-heard Julie snoring again, after turning over; whilst Lisa, once more
-asleep, no longer uttered a sound. Then she experienced an immense relief,
-an infinite comfort of calm and repose, and lay as one dead.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She must have dozed thus for the best part of an hour. When six o&rsquo;clock
-struck, the consciousness of her position awoke her again. Time was
-flying, she rose up painfully, and did whatever things came into her head,
-without deciding on them beforehand. A frosty moon shone full into the
-room. After dressing herself, she wrapped the infant up in some old rags,
-and then folded a couple of newspapers around it. It uttered no cry now,
-yet its little heart was beating.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Not one of the servants was about as yet, and, after getting slumbering
-Monsieur Gourd to unfasten the door from his room, she was able to go out
-and lay her bundle in the Passage Choiseul, the gates of which had just
-been opened, and then quietly returned up-stairs. She met no one. For once
-in her lifetime, luck was on her side!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She immediately set about tidying her room, after which, utterly worn out,
-and as white as wax, she again lay down. It was thus that Madame Josserand
-found her, when she had made up her mind to go up-stairs toward nine
-o&rsquo;clock, greatly surprised at not seeing Adèle come down. The servant
-having complained of a violent attack of diarrhoea which had kept her
-awake all night, madame exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Of course! you must have eaten too much again! You think of nothing else
-but stuffing yourself.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The girl&rsquo;s paleness, however, made her uneasy, and she talked of sending
-for the doctor; but she was glad to save the three francs, when Adèle
-vowed that she merely needed rest. Since her husband&rsquo;s death, Madame
-Josserand had been living with her daughter Hortense, on an allowance
-made her by the brothers Bernheim, but which did not prevent her from
-bitterly alluding to them as persons who lived on the brains of others;
-and she spent less than ever on food, so as not to descend to a lower
-level of society by quitting her apartments and giving up her Tuesday
-receptions.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right; sleep,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;There is some cold beef left which will
-do for this morning, and to-night we dine out. If you cannot come down to
-help Julie, she will have to do without you.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The dinner that evening at the Duveyriers&rsquo; was a very cordial one. All the
-family was there: the two Vabres and their wives, Madame Josserand,
-Hortense, Léon, and even uncle Bachelard, who behaved well. Moreover, they
-had invited Trublot to fill a vacant place, and Madame Dambreville, so as
-not to separate her from Léon. The latter, after his marriage with the
-niece, had once again fallen into the arms of the aunt, who was still
-necessary to him. They were seen to arrive together in all the
-drawing-rooms, and they would apologize for the young wife, whom a cold or
-a feeling of idleness, said they, kept at home. That evening the whole
-table complained of scarce knowing her: they loved her so much, she was so
-beautiful! Then they talked of the chorus which Clotilde was to give at
-the end of the evening; it was the &ldquo;Blessing of the Daggers&rdquo; again, but
-this time with five tenors, something complete and magisterial. For two
-months past, Duveyrier himself, who had become quite charming, had been
-looking up the friends of the house, and saying to every one he met: &ldquo;You
-are quite a stranger, come and see us; my wife is going to give her
-choruses again.&rdquo; Therefore, half through the dinner, they talked of
-nothing but music. The happiest good-nature and the most free-hearted
-gayety prevailed throughout.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, after the coffee, and whilst the ladies sat round the drawing-room
-fire, the gentlemen formed a group in the parlor and began to exchange
-some grave ideas. The other guests were now arriving. And among the
-earliest were Campardon, Abbé Mauduit, and Doctor Juillerat, without
-including the diners, with the exception of Trublot, who had disappeared
-on leaving the table. They almost immediately commenced talking politics.
-The debates in the Chamber deeply interested the gentlemen, and they had
-not yet given over discussing the success of the opposition candidates for
-Paris, all of whom had been returned at the May elections. This triumph of
-the dissatisfied portion of the middle classes made them feel anxious at
-heart, in spite of their apparent delight.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; declared Léon, &ldquo;Monsieur Thiers is certainly a most talented
-man. But he puts so much acrimony into his speeches on the Mexican
-expedition that he quite spoils their effect.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had just been named to a higher appointment, through Madame
-Dambreville&rsquo;s influence, and had at once joined the government party. The
-only thing that remained in him of the famished demagogue, was an
-unbearable intolerance of all doctrines.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Not long ago you were accusing the government of every sin,&rdquo; said the
-doctor, smiling. &ldquo;I hope you at least voted for Monsieur Thiers.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The young man avoided answering. Théophile, whose stomach was no longer
-able to digest his food, and who was worried with fresh doubts as to his
-wife&rsquo;s constancy, exclaimed:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I voted for him. When men refuse to live as brothers, so much the worse
-for them!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And so much the worse for you, as well, eh?&rdquo; remarked Duveyrier, who,
-speaking but little, uttered some very profound observations.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Théophile, greatly scared, looked at him. Auguste no longer dared admit
-that he had also voted for Monsieur Thiers. Then every one was very much
-surprised to hear uncle Bachelard utter a legitimist profession of faith:
-he thought it the most genteel. Campardon seconded him warmly; he had
-abstained from voting himself, because the official candidate, Monsieur
-Dewinck, did not offer sufficient guarantees as regards religion; and he
-furiously declaimed against Renan&rsquo;s &ldquo;Life of Jesus,&rdquo; which had recently
-made its appearance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is not the book that should be burnt; it is the author,&rdquo; repeated he.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You are, perhaps, too radical, my friend,&rdquo; interrupted the priest, in a
-conciliatory tone. &ldquo;But, indeed, the symptoms are becoming terrible. There
-is some talk of driving away the pope, the revolution has invaded
-parliament. We are walking on the edge of a precipice.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So much the better!&rdquo; said Doctor Juillerat, simply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the others all protested. He renewed his attacks against the middle
-classes, prophesying that there would be a clean sweep the day when the
-masses wished to enjoy power in their turn; and the others loudly
-interrupted him, exclaiming that the middle classes represented the
-virtue, the industry, and the thrift of the nation. Duveyrier was at
-length able to make himself heard. He owned it before all: he had voted
-for Monsieur Dewinck, not that Monsieur Dewinck exactly represented his
-opinions, but because he was the symbol of order. Yes, the saturnalia of
-the Reign of Terror might one day return. Monsieur Rouher, that remarkable
-statesman who had just succeeded Monsieur Billault, had formally
-prophesied it in the Chamber. He concluded with these striking words:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;The triumph of the opposition is the preliminary subsidence of the
-structure. Take care that it does not crush you in falling!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The other gentlemen held their peace, with the unavowed fear of having
-allowed themselves to be carried away even to compromising their personal
-safety. They beheld workmen begrimed with powder and blood, entering their
-homes, violating their maidservants and drinking their wine. No doubt, the
-Emperor deserved a lesson; only, they were beginning to regret having
-given him so severe a one.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Be easy!&rdquo; concluded the doctor, scoffingly. &ldquo;We will manage to save you
-from the bullets.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he was going too far, they set him down as an original. It was,
-moreover, thanks to this reputation for originality, that he did not lose
-his connection. He continued, by resuming with Abbé Mauduit their eternal
-quarrel respecting the approaching downfall of the Church. Léon now sided
-with the priest: he talked of Providence, and, on Sundays, accompanied
-Madame Dambreville to nine o&rsquo;clock mass.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile, the guests continued to arrive, the drawing-room was becoming
-quite filled with ladies. Valérie and Berthe were exchanging little
-secrets, like two good friends. The other Madame Campardon, whom the
-architect had brought no doubt in place of poor Rose, who was already in
-bed up-stairs and reading Dickens, was giving Madame Josserand an
-economical recipe for washing clothes without soap; whilst Hortense,
-seated all by herself and expecting Verdier, did not take her eyes off the
-door. But suddenly Clotilde, while conversing with Madame Dambreville,
-rose up and held out her hands. Her friend, Madame Octave Mouret, had just
-entered the room. The marriage had taken place early in November, at the
-end of her mourning.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And your husband?&rdquo; asked the hostess. &ldquo;He is not going to disappoint me,
-I hope?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; answered Caroline, with a smile. &ldquo;He will be here directly;
-something detained him at the last moment.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There was some whispering, glances full of curiosity were directed toward
-her, so calm and so lovely, ever the same, with the pleasant assurance of
-a woman who succeeds in everything she undertakes. Madame Josserand
-pressed her hand, as though she were delighted to see her again. Berthe
-and Valérie left off talking and examined her at their ease, studying her
-costume, a straw-color dress covered with lace. But, in the midst of this
-quiet forgetfulness of the past, Auguste, whom the political discussion
-had left quite cool, was giving signs of indignant amazement as he stood
-near the parlor door. What! his sister was going to receive the family of
-his wife&rsquo;s former lover! And, in his marital rancor, there was a touch of
-the jealous anger of the tradesman ruined by a triumphant competition; for
-&ldquo;The Ladies&rsquo; Paradise,&rdquo; by extending its business and creating a special
-department for silk, had so drained his resources that he had been obliged
-to take a partner. He drew near, and, whilst every one was making much of
-Madame Mouret, he whispered to Clotilde:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know, I will never put up with it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Put up with what?&rdquo; asked she, greatly surprised.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I do not mind the wife so much, she has not done me any harm. But if the
-husband comes, I shall take hold of Berthe by the arm, and leave the room
-in the presence of everybody.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-She looked at him, and then shrugged her shoulders. Caroline was her
-oldest friend, she was certainly not going to give up seeing her, just to
-satisfy his caprices. As though any one even recollected the matter. He
-would do far better not to rake up things forgotten by everybody but
-himself. And as, deeply affected, he looked to Berthe for support,
-expecting that she would get up and follow him at once, she calmed him
-with a frown; was he mad? did he wish to make himself more ridiculous than
-he had ever been before?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But it is in order that I may not appear ridiculous!&rdquo; replied he, in
-despair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Madame Josserand inclined toward him, and, said in a severe tone of
-voice:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It is becoming quite indecent; every one is looking at you. Do behave
-yourself for once in a way.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He held his tongue, but without submitting. From this moment a certain
-uneasiness existed among the ladies. The only one who preserved her
-smiling tranquillity was Madame Mouret, now sitting beside Clotilde and
-opposite Berthe. They watched Auguste, who had retired to the window
-recess where his marriage had been decided, not so very long before. His
-anger was bringing on a headache, and he now and again pressed his
-forehead against the icy-cold panes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave did not arrive till very late. As he reached the landing, he met
-Madame Juzeur, who had just come down, wrapped in a shawl. She complained
-of her chest, and had got up on purpose not to disappoint the Duveyriers.
-Her languid state did not prevent her falling into the young man&rsquo;s arms,
-as she congratulated him on his marriage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;How delighted I am with such a splendid result, my friend! Really! I was
-quite in despair about you, I never thought you would have succeeded. Tell
-me, you rascal, how did you manage to get over her?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave smiled and kissed her fingers. But some one who was bounding
-up-stairs with the agility of a goat, disturbed them; and, greatly
-surprised, they fancied they recognized Saturnin. It was indeed Saturnin,
-who a week before had left the Asile des Moulineaux, where for a second
-time Doctor Chassagne declined to detain him any longer, still considering
-him not sufficiently mad. No doubt he was going to spend the evening with
-Marie Pichon, just as in former days, when his parents had company. And
-those bygone times were suddenly evoked. Octave could hear an expiring
-voice coming from above, singing the ballad with which Marie whiled away
-her vacant hours; he beheld her once more eternally alone, beside the crib
-in which Lilitte slumbered, and awaiting Jules&rsquo; return with all the
-complacency of a gentle and useless woman.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I wish you every happiness with your wife,&rdquo; repeated Madame Juzeur,
-tenderly squeezing Octave&rsquo;s hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In order not to enter the drawing-room with her, he was purposely
-occupying some time in removing his overcoat, when Trublot, in his dress
-clothes, bareheaded, and looking quite upset, came from the passage
-leading to the kitchen.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You know she&rsquo;s not at all well!&rdquo; murmured he, whilst Hippolyte announced
-Madame Juzeur.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Who isn&rsquo;t?&rdquo; asked Octave.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Why Adèle, the servant up-stairs.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hearing there was something the matter with her, he had gone up quite
-paternally, on leaving the dinner-table. It must have been a very severe
-attack of cholerine; a good glass of mulled wine was what she ought to
-have, and she had not even a lump of sugar. Then, as he noticed that his
-friend smiled in an indifferent sort of way, he added:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo! I forgot you&rsquo;re married, you joker! This sort of thing no longer
-interests you. I never thought of that when I found you with madame.
-Anything you like except that!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They entered together. The ladies were just then speaking of their
-servants, and were taking such interest in the conversation, that they did
-not notice them at first. All were complacently approving Madame
-Duveyrier, who was trying to explain, in an embarrassed way, why she
-continued to keep Clémence and Hippolyte: he was rough, but she dressed
-her so well that one could not help shutting one&rsquo;s eyes to other matters.
-Neither Valérie nor Berthe could succeed in securing a decent girl; they
-had given it up in despair, after trying every registry office, the
-good-for-nothing servants from which had done no more than pass through
-their kitchens. Madame Josserand violently abused Adèle, of whom she
-related some fresh abominable and stupid doings of extraordinary
-character; and yet she did not send her about her business. As for the
-other Madame Campardon, she was quite enthusiastic in her praises of Lisa:
-a pearl, not a thing to reproach her with; in short, one of those
-deserving domestics to whom one gives prizes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;She is quite one of the family now,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Our little Angèle is
-attending some lectures at the Hôtel de Ville, and Lisa accompanies her.
-Oh! they might remain out together for days; we should not be in the least
-anxious.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It was at this moment that the ladies caught sight of Octave. He was
-advancing to wish Clotilde good-evening. Berthe looked at him; then,
-without the least affectation, she resumed her conversation with Valérie,
-who had exchanged with him the affectionate glance of disinterested
-friendship. The others&mdash;Madame Josserand, Madame Dambreville&mdash;without
-throwing themselves at him, surveyed him with sympathetic interest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So here you are at last!&rdquo; said Clotilde, who was most amiable. &ldquo;I was
-beginning to tremble for the chorus.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And, as Madame Mouret gently scolded her husband for being so late, he
-made some excuses.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;But, my dear, I was unable to come sooner. I am most sorry, madame.
-However, I am now entirely at your disposal.&rdquo; Meanwhile, the ladies were
-anxiously watching the window recess into which Auguste had retired. They
-received a momentary fright when they beheld him turn round at the sound
-of Octave&rsquo;s voice. His headache was no doubt worse; he had a restless look
-about the eyes, which seemed full of the darkness of the street. He at
-length appeared to make up his mind, and, returning to his former position
-beside his sister&rsquo;s chair, he said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Send them away, or else we will leave.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Clotilde again shrugged her shoulders. Then Auguste seemed disposed to
-give her time to consider: he would wait a few minutes longer, more
-especially as Trublot had taken Octave into the parlor. The other ladies
-were still uneasy, for they had heard the husband whisper in his wife&rsquo;s
-ear:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;If he comes back here, you must get up and follow me. Otherwise, you may
-return to your mother&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In the parlor, the gentlemen greeted Octave quite as cordially. If Léon
-made a point of showing a little coolness, Uncle Bachelard, and even
-Théophile, seemed to declare, as they held out their hands to Octave, that
-the family forgot everything. He congratulated Campardon, who, decorated
-two days previously, now wore a broad red ribbon; and the beaming
-architect scolded him for never calling now and then to pass an hour with
-his wife: though one got married, it was scarcely nice to forget friends
-of fifteen years&rsquo; standing. But the young man felt quite surprised and
-anxious as he stood before Duveyrier. He had not seen him since his
-recovery. He looked uneasily at his jaw, all out of place, dropping too
-much on the left side, and which now gave a horrid squinting expression to
-his countenance. Then, when the counselor spoke, he had another surprise:
-his voice had lowered two tones; it had become quite sepulchral.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think him much better thus?&rdquo; said Trublot to Octave, as they
-returned to the drawing-room door. &ldquo;It positively gives him a certain
-majestic air. I saw him presiding at the assizes, the day before yesterday&mdash;Listen!
-they are talking of it.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And indeed the gentlemen had abandoned politics to take up morality. They
-were listening to Duveyrier as he gave some details of an affair in which
-his attitude had been particularly noticed. He was even about to be named
-a president and an officer of the Legion of Honor. It was respecting an
-infanticide already a year old. The unnatural mother, a regular savage, as
-he said, happened to be the boot-stitcher, his former tenant, that tall,
-pale and friendless girl, whose pregnant condition had roused Monsieur
-Gourd&rsquo;s indignation so much. And besides that, she was altogether stupid!
-for, without reflecting that her appearance would betray her, she had gone
-and cut her child in two and kept it at the bottom of a bonnet-box. She
-had naturally told the jury quite a ridiculous romance: a seducer who had
-deserted her; misery, hunger, and then a fit of mad despair on seeing
-herself unable to supply the little one&rsquo;s wants: in a word, the same story
-they all told. But it was necessary to make an example. Duveyrier
-congratulated himself on having summed up with that lucidity which often
-decided a jury&rsquo;s verdict.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;And what was your sentence?&rdquo; asked the doctor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Five years,&rdquo; replied the counselor in his new voice, which seemed both
-hoarse and sepulchral. &ldquo;It is time to oppose a dyke to the debauchery
-which threatens to submerge Paris.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Trublot nudged Octave&rsquo;s elbow; they were both acquainted with the facts of
-the attempt at suicide.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh? you hear him?&rdquo; murmured he. &ldquo;Without joking, it improves his voice:
-it stirs one more, does it not? it goes straight to the heart now. Ah! if
-you had only seen him, standing up, draped in his long red robes, with his
-mug all askew! On my word! he quite frightened me; he was extraordinary;
-oh! you know! a style in his majesty enough to make your flesh creep!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But he left off speaking, and listened to the ladies in the drawingroom,
-who were again on the subject of servants. That very morning, Madame
-Duveyrier had given Julie a week&rsquo;s notice; she had nothing certainly to
-say against the girl&rsquo;s cooking; only, good behavior came before everything
-in her eyes. The truth was that, warned by Doctor Juillerat, and anxious
-for the health of her son, whose little goings-on she tolerated at home,
-so as to keep them under control, she had had an explanation with Julie,
-who had been unwell for some time past; and the latter, like a genteel
-cook, whose style was not to quarrel with her employers, had accepted her
-week&rsquo;s notice. Madame Josserand at once shared Clotilde&rsquo;s indignation;
-yes, one should be very strict on the question of morality; for instance,
-if she kept that slut Adèle in spite of her dirty ways, and her stupidity,
-it was because the girl was virtuous. Oh! on that point, she had nothing
-whatever to reproach her with!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Poor Adèle! when one only thinks!&rdquo; murmured Trublot, again affected at
-the thought of the wretched creature, half frozen upstairs beneath her
-thin blanket.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then, bending toward Octave&rsquo;s ear, he added with a chuckle:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;I say, Duveyrier might at least take her up a bottle of claret!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Yes, gentlemen,&rdquo; the counselor was continuing, &ldquo;statistics will bear me
-out, the crime of infanticide is increasing in the most frightful
-proportions. Sentiment prevails to too great an extent in the present day,
-and far too much consideration is shown to science, to your pretended
-physiology, all of which will end by there soon being neither good nor
-evil. One cannot cure debauchery; the thing is to destroy it at its root.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This refutation was addressed above all to Doctor Juillerat, who had
-wished to give a medical explanation of the boot-stitcher&rsquo;s case.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The other gentlemen also exhibited great severity and disgust. Campardon
-could not understand vice, uncle Bachelard defended infancy, Théophile
-demanded an inquiry, Léon discussed the question of prostitution in its
-relations with the state; whilst Trublot, in answer to an inquiry of
-Octave&rsquo;s, talked of Duveyrier&rsquo;s new mistress, who was a decent sort of a
-woman this time, rather mature, but romantic, with a soul expanded by that
-ideal which the counselor required to purify love; in short, a worthy
-person who gave him a peaceful home, imposing upon him as much as she
-liked and sleeping with his friends, without making any unnecessary fuss.
-And the Abbé Mauduit alone remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground,
-his mind sorely troubled, and full of an infinite sadness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-They were now about to sing the &ldquo;Blessing of the Daggers.&rdquo; The
-drawing-room had filled up, a flood of rich dresses was crushing in the
-brilliant light from the chandelier and the lamps, whilst gay bursts of
-laughter ran along the rows of chairs; and, in the midst of the buzz,
-Clotilde in a low voice roughly chided Auguste, who, on seeing Octave
-enter with the other gentlemen of the chorus, had caught hold of Berthe&rsquo;s
-arm to make her leave her seat. But he was already beginning to yield,
-feeling more and more embarrassed in the presence of the ladies&rsquo; dumb
-disapproval, whilst his head had become entirely the prey of triumphant
-neuralgia. Madame Dambreville&rsquo;s stern looks quite drove him to despair,
-and even the other Madame Campardon was against him. It was reserved to
-Madame Josserand to finish him off. She abruptly interfered, threatening
-to take back her daughter and never to pay him the fifty thousand francs
-dowry; for she was always promising this dowry with the greatest coolness
-imaginable. Then, turning toward uncle Bachelard, seated behind her, and
-next to Madame Juzeur, she made him renew his promises. The uncle placed
-his hand on his heart; he knew his duty, the family before everything!
-Auguste, repulsed on all sides, beat a retreat, and again sought refuge in
-the window recess, where he once more pressed his burning forehead against
-the icy-cold panes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then Octave experienced a singular sensation as though his Paris life was
-beginning over again. It was as though the two years he had lived in the
-Rue de Choiseul had been a blank. His wife was there, smiling at him, and
-yet nothing seemed to have passed in his existence; to-day was the same as
-yesterday, there was neither pause nor ending. Trublot showed him the new
-partner standing beside Berthe, a little fair fellow very neat in his
-ways, who gave her, it was said, no end of presents. Uncle Bachelard, who
-was now going in for poetry, was revealing himself in a sentimental light
-to Madame Juzeur, whom he quite affected with some intimate details
-respecting Fifi and Gueulin. Théophile, devoured by doubts, doubled up by
-violent fits of coughing, was imploring Doctor Juillerat in an
-out-of-the-way corner to give his wife something to quiet her. Campardon,
-his eyes fixed on cousin Gasparine, was talking of the diocese of Evreux,
-and jumping from that to the great works of the new Rue du Dix Décembre,
-defending God and art, sending the world about its business, for at heart
-he did not care a hang for it, he was an artist! And behind a flower-stand
-there could even be seen the back of a gentleman, whom all the
-marriageable girls contemplated with an air of profound curiosity; it was
-Verdier, who was talking with Hortense, the pair of them having an
-acrimonious explanation, again putting off their marriage till the spring,
-so as not to turn the woman and her child into the street in the depth of
-winter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then the chorus was sung afresh. The architect, with his mouth wide open,
-gave out the first line. Clotilde struck a chord, and uttered her cry. And
-the other voices burst forth, the uproar increased little by little, and
-spread with a violence that scared the candles and caused the ladies to
-turn pale. Trublot, having been found wanting among the basses, was being
-tried a second time as a baritone. The five tenors were much noticed,
-Octave especially, to whom Clotilde regretted being unable to give a solo.
-When the voices fell, and she had applied the soft pedal, imitating the
-cadenced and distant footsteps of a departing patrol, the applause was
-deafening, and she, together with the gentlemen, had every praise showered
-upon them. And at the farthest end of the adjoining room, right behind a
-triple row of men in evening dress, one beheld Duveyrier clenching his
-teeth so as not to cry aloud with anguish, with his mouth all on one side,
-and his festering eruptions almost bleeding.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The tea coming next, unrolled the same procession, distributed the same
-cups and the same sandwiches. For a moment, the Abbé Mauduit found himself
-once more in the middle of the deserted drawing-room. He looked through
-the wide-open door, on the crush of guests; and, vanquished, he smiled, he
-again cast the mantle of religion over this corrupt middle-class society,
-like a master in the ceremonies draping the canker, to stave off the final
-decomposition. He must save the Church, as Heaven had not answered his cry
-of misery and despair.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At length, the same as on every Saturday, when midnight struck, the guests
-began to withdraw. Campardon was among the first to leave, with the other
-Madame Campardon. Léon and Madame Dambreville were not long in maritally
-following them. Verdier&rsquo;s back had long ago disappeared, when Madame
-Josserand went off with Hortense, bullying her for what she called her
-romantic obstinacy. Uncle Bachelard, very drunk from the punch he had
-taken, detained Madame Juzeur a moment at the door, finding her advice
-full of experience quite refreshing. Trublot, who had stolen some sugar
-for Adèle, was making for the passage leading to the kitchen, when the
-presence of Berthe and Auguste in the anteroom embarrassed him, and he
-pretended to be looking for his hat.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But, just at this minute, Octave and his wife, escorted by Clotilde, also
-came out and asked for their wraps. There ensued a few seconds of
-embarrassment, The ante-room was not large, Berthe and Madame Mouret were
-pressed against each other, whilst Hippolyte was searching for their
-things. They both smiled. Then, when the door was opened, the two men,
-Octave and Auguste, brought face to face, did the polite, each stepping
-aside. At length, Berthe consented to pass out first, after an exchange of
-bows. And Valérie, who was leaving in her turn with Théophile, again
-looked at Octave in the affectionate way of a disinterested friend. He and
-she alone might have told each other everything.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; repeated Clotilde graciously to the two families, before
-returning to the drawing-room.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Octave stopped short. He had just caught sight on the next floor of the
-partner, the neat little fair fellow, taking his departure like the rest,
-and whose hands Saturnin, who had just left Marie, was pressing in an
-outburst of savage tenderness, stuttering the while: &ldquo;Friend&mdash;friend&mdash;friend&mdash;&rdquo;
-A singular feeling of jealousy at first darted through him. Then he
-smiled. It was the past; and he again recalled his amours, all his
-campaign of Paris, the complacencies of that good little Pichon, the
-repulse he received from Valérie, of whom he preserved a pleasant
-recollection, his stupid connection with Berthe, which he regretted as
-pure waste of time. Now he had transacted his business, Paris was
-conquered; and he gallantly followed her whom in his heart he still styled
-Madame Hédouin, every now and then stooping to see that the train of her
-dress did not catch in the stair-rods.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The house had once more resumed its grand air of middle-class dignity. He
-fancied he could hear Marie&rsquo;s distant and expiring ballad. Beneath the
-porch he met Jules coming in: Madame Vuillaume was at death&rsquo;s door, and
-refused to see her daughter. Then, that was all, the doctor and the priest
-retired last and still arguing; Trublot had shyly gone up to Adèle to
-attend to her; and the deserted staircase slumbered in a heavy warmth with
-its chaste doors inclosing respectable alcoves. One o&rsquo;clock was striking,
-when Monsieur Gourd, whom Madame Gourd was snugly awaiting in bed, turned
-out the gas. Then the whole house lapsed into silent darkness, as though
-annihilated by the decency of its sleep. Nothing remained, life resumed
-its level of indifference and stupidity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-On the following morning, Adèle dragged herself down to her kitchen, so as
-to allay suspicion. A thaw had set in during the night, and she opened the
-window, feeling stifled, when Hippolyte&rsquo;s voice rose furiously from the
-depths of the narrow courtyard.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You dirty hussies! Who has been emptying her slops out of the window
-again? Madame&rsquo;s dress is quite spoilt!&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-He had hung out one of Madame Duveyrier&rsquo;s dresses given him to brush, and
-he found it all spattered with sour broth. Then, from the top to the
-bottom, the servants appeared at their windows and violently exculpated
-themselves. The sluice was open and a rush of the most abominable words
-flowed from the foul spot. In times of thaw, the walls were steeped with
-humidity, and quite a pestilence ascended from the obscure little
-courtyard, all the hidden corruptions of the different floors seeming to
-melt and ooze out by this common sewer of the house.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;It wasn&rsquo;t me,&rdquo; said Adèle, leaning out. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve only just come.&rdquo; Lisa
-abruptly raised her head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hallo! so you&rsquo;re on your legs again. Well, what was the matter? Is it
-true that you almost croaked?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Oh! yes, I had such colics, and not at all funny, I can tell you!&rdquo; This
-put a stop to the quarrel. Valérie and Berthe&rsquo;s new servants, a big camel
-and a little jade, as they were termed, looked curiously at Adèle&rsquo;s pale
-face. Victoire and Julie also wished to see her, and stretched their
-necks, and leant their heads back. They all had an idea that there was
-something wrong, for it was unnatural to have such gripes and yell out as
-she did.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Perhaps you&rsquo;ve had something which didn&rsquo;t agree with you,&rdquo; said Lisa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The others burst out laughing, another rush of foul language overflowed,
-whilst the wretched creature, awfully frightened, stammered:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Hold your tongues, with your nasty words! I&rsquo;m quite ill enough as it is.
-You don&rsquo;t want to finish me off, do you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No, of course not. She was as stupid as stupid could be, and dirty enough
-to disgust a whole neighborhood; but they all held too closely together to
-bring her into any trouble. And they naturally turned to abusing their
-masters and mistresses; they criticised the party of the previous evening
-with looks of profound repugnance.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;So they&rsquo;ve all made it up again now?&rdquo; asked Victoire as she sipped her
-glass of syrup and brandy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Hippolyte, who was wiping madame&rsquo;s dress, replied:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve no more heart than my shoes. When they&rsquo;ve spat in one another&rsquo;s
-faces, they wash themselves with it, to make one believe they&rsquo;re clean.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;They must manage to agree somehow or other,&rdquo; said Lisa.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Otherwise it wouldn&rsquo;t take long before our turn came.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But there was a moment of panic. A door opened, and the servants were
-already diving back into their kitchens, when Lisa announced that it was
-only little Angèle: there was nothing to fear with her, she understood.
-And, from the foul spout, there again arose all the rancor of the
-domestics, in the midst of the poisonous stench caused by the thaw. There
-was a grand spreading out of all the dirty linen of the last two years. It
-was quite consoling not to be ladies and gentlemen, when one beheld the
-masters and mistresses living in the midst of it all, and apparently
-enjoying it, as they were preparing to go through it all again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Eh! I say, you, up there!&rdquo; suddenly shouted Victoire, &ldquo;was it with
-Mug-askew that you had what didn&rsquo;t agree with you?&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At this, a ferocious yell of delight quite shook the stinking cesspool.
-Hippolyte actually tore madame&rsquo;s dress; but he did not care, it was far
-too good for her as it was! The big camel and the little jade were bent
-over the hand-rails of their windows, wriggling in a mad burst of
-laughter. Adèle, however, who was quite scared, and who was half asleep
-through weakness, started, and she retorted in the midst of the jeers:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;You&rsquo;re all of you heartless things. When you&rsquo;re dying, I&rsquo;ll come and
-dance at your bedsides.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Ah! mademoiselle,&rdquo; resumed Lisa, leaning out to speak to Julie, &ldquo;how
-happy you must feel at leaving such a wretched house in a week! On my
-word, one becomes wicked here in spite of oneself. I wish you a better
-home in your next place.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Julie, her arms bare, and dripping with the blood from a turbot she had
-been just cleaning for that evening&rsquo;s dinner, returned to the window
-beside the footman. She shrugged her shoulders, and concluded with this
-philosophical reply:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-&ldquo;Dear me! mademoiselle, here or there, they&rsquo;re all alike. In the present
-day, whoever has been in the one has been in the other. It&rsquo;s all Filth and
-Company.&rdquo;
-</p>
-
-<h3>
-THE END.
-</h3>
-
-</div><!--end chapter-->
-
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-<pre>

-

-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Piping Hot!, by Émile Zola

-

-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most

-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions

-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of

-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at

-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have

-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

-

-

-

-Title: Piping Hot!

-       Pot-Bouille, A Realistic Novel

-

-Author: Émile Zola

-

-Commentator: George Moore

-

-Illustrator: Georges Bellenger

-

-Release Date: May 8, 2017 [EBook #54686]

-Last Updated: February 28, 2018

-

-Language: English

-

-Character set encoding: UTF-8

-

-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPING HOT! ***

-

-

-

-

-Produced by David Widger from page images generously

-provided by the Internet Archive

-

-

-

-

-

-

-</pre>

-

-    <div style="height: 8em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h1>

-      PIPING HOT!

-    </h1>

-    <h3>

-      (<i>POT-BOUILLE</i>)

-    </h3>

-    <h3>

-      A Realistic Novel

-    </h3>

-    <h2>

-      By Émile Zola.

-    </h2>

-    <h4>

-      Translated From The 63rd French Edition.

-    </h4>

-    <h4>

-      <i>Illustrated With Sixteen Page Engravings</i>

-    </h4>

-    <h3>

-      From Designs By Georges Bellenger

-    </h3>

-    <h4>

-      London: Vizetelly &amp; Co.

-    </h4>

-    <h3>

-      1887.

-    </h3>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0010.jpg" alt="0010 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0010.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0015.jpg" alt="0015 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0015.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <b>CONTENTS</b>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>PIPING-HOT!</b> </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p class="toc">

-      <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      PREFACE.

-    </h2>

-    <p>

-      One day, in the middle of a long literary conversation, Théodore Duret

-      said to me: &ldquo;I have known in my life two men of supreme intelligence. I

-      knew of both before the world knew of either. Never did I doubt, nor was

-      it possible to doubt, but that they would one day or other gain the

-      highest distinctions&mdash;those men were Léon Gambetta and Émile Zola.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Of Zola I am able to speak, and I can thoroughly realise how interesting

-      it must have been to have watched him, at that time, when he was poor and

-      unknown, obtaining acceptance of his articles with difficulty, and

-      surrounded by the feeble and trivial in spirit, who, out of inborn

-      ignorance and acquired idiocy, look with ridicule on those who believe

-      that there is still a new word to say, still a new cry to cry.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      I did not know Émile Zola in those days, but he must have been then as he

-      is now, and I should find it difficult to understand how any man of

-      average discrimination could speak with him for half-an-hour without

-      recognising that he was one of those mighty monumental intelligences, the

-      statues of a century, that remain and are gazed upon through the long

-      pages of the world's history. This, at least, is the impression Émile Zola

-      has always produced upon me. I have seen him in company, and company of no

-      mean order, and when pitted against his compeers, the contrast has only

-      made him appear grander, greater, nobler. The witty, the clever Alphonse

-      Daudet, ever as ready for a supper party as a literary discussion, with

-      all his splendid gifts, can do no more when Zola speaks than shelter

-      himself behind an epigram; Edmond De Goncourt, aristocratic, dignified,

-      seated amid his Japanese watercolours, bronzes, and Louis XV. furniture,

-      bitterly admits, if not that there is a greater naturalistic god than he,

-      at least that there is a colossus whose strength he is unable to oppose.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      This is the position Emile Zola takes amid his contemporaries.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      By some strange power of assimilation, he appropriates and makes his own

-      of all things; ideas that before were spattered, dislocated, are suddenly

-      united, fitted into their places. In speaking, as in writing, he always

-      appears greater than his subject, and, Titan-like, grasps it as a whole;

-      in speaking, as in writing, the strength and beauty of his style is an

-      unfailing use of the right word; each phrase is a solid piece of masonry,

-      and as he talks an edifice of thought rises architecturally perfect and

-      complete in design.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And it is of this side of Émile Zola's genius that I wish particularly to

-      speak&mdash;a side that has never been taken sufficiently into

-      consideration, but which, nevertheless, is its ever-guiding and

-      determinating quality. Émile Zola is to me a great epic poet, and he may

-      be, I think, not inappropriately termed the Homer of modern life. For he,

-      more than any other writer, it seems, possesses the power of seeing a

-      subject as a whole, can divest it at will of all side issues, can seize

-      with a firm, logical comprehension on the main lines of its construction,

-      and that without losing sight of the remotest causes or the furthest

-      consequences of its existence. It is here that his strength lies, and his

-      is the strength which has conquered the world. Of his realism a great

-      deal, of course, has been said, but only because it is the most obvious,

-      not the most dominant quality of his work. The mistletoe invariably hides

-      the oak from the eyes of the vulgar.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      That Émile Zola has done well to characterise his creations with the vivid

-      sentiment of modern life rather than the pale dream which reveals to us

-      the past, that he was able to bend, to model, to make serviceable to his

-      purpose the ephemeral habits and customs of our day, few will now deny.

-      But this was only the off-shoot of his genius. That the colour of the

-      nineteenth century with which he clothes the bodies of his heroes and

-      heroines is not always exact, that none other has attempted to spin these

-      garments before, I do not dispute. They will grow threadbare and fall to

-      dust, even as the hide of the megatharium, of which only the colossal

-      bones now remain to us wherewith to construct the fabric of the primeval

-      world. And, in like manner, when the dream of the socialist is realized,

-      when the burden of pleasure and work is proportioned out equally to all,

-      and men live on a more strictly regulated plan than do either the ant or

-      the bee, I believe that the gigantic skeleton of the Rougon-Macquart

-      family will still continue to resist the ravages of time, and that western

-      scientists will refer to it when disputing about the idiosyncrasies of a

-      past civilization.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In the preceding paragraph, I have said neither more nor less than my

-      meaning, for I am convinced that the living history of no age has been as

-      well written as the last half of the nineteenth century is in the

-      Rougon-Maequart series. I pass over the question whether, in describing

-      Renee's dress, a mistake was made in the price of lace, also whether the

-      author was wrong in permitting himself the anachronism of describing a

-      fête in the opera-house a couple of years before the building was

-      completed. Errors of this kind do not appear to me to be worth

-      considering. What I maintain is, that what Émile Zola has done, and what

-      he alone has done&mdash;and I do not make an exception even in the case of

-      the mighty Balzac&mdash;is to have conceived and constructed the

-      frame-work of a complex civilization like ours, in all its worse

-      ramifications. Never, it seems to me, was the existence of the epic

-      faculty more amply demonstrated than by the genealogical tree of this now

-      celebrated family.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The grandeur, the amplitude of this scheme will be seen at once. Adélaïde

-      Fouque, a mad woman confined in a lunatic asylum at Plassans, is the first

-      ancestor; she is the transmitter of the original neurosis, which,

-      regulated by his or her physical constitution, assumes various forms in

-      each individual member of the family, and is developed according to the

-      surroundings in whieh he or she lives. By Rougon this woman had two

-      children; by Macquart, with whom she cohabited on the death of her

-      husband, she had three. Ursule Macquart married a man named Mouret, and

-      their children are therefore cousins of the Rougon-Macquarts. This family

-      has some forty or fifty members, who are distributed through the different

-      grades of our social system. Some have attained the highest positions, as,

-      Son Excellence Eugène Rougon, others have sunk to the lowest depths, as

-      Gervaise in &ldquo;L'Assommoir,&rdquo; but all are tainted with the hereditary malady.

-      By it Nana is invincibly driven to prostitution; by it Etienne Lantier, in

-      &ldquo;Germinal,&rdquo; will be driven to crime; by it his brother, Claude, will be

-      made a great painter. Protean-like is this disease. Sometimes it skips

-      over a generation, sometimes lies almost latent, and the balance of the

-      intelligence is but slightly disturbed, as in the instance of Octave in

-      &ldquo;Pot-Bouille,&rdquo; and Lazare in &ldquo;La Joie de Vivre.&rdquo; But the mind of the

-      latter is more distorted than is Octave's. Lazare lives in a perpetual

-      fear of death, and is prevented from realizing any of his magnificent

-      projects by his vacillating temperament; in him we have an example how a

-      splendid intelligence may be drained away like water through an

-      imperceptible crack in the vase, and how what might have been the fruit of

-      a life withers like the flowers from which the nourishing liquid has been

-      withdrawn.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And so in the Rougon-Macquart series we have instances of all kinds of

-      psychical development and decay; and with an overt and an intuitive

-      reading of character truly wonderful, Émile Zola makes us feel that as the

-      north and south poles and torrid zones are hemmed about with a girdle of

-      air, so an ever varying but ever recognisable kinship unites, sometimes,

-      indeed, by an almost imperceptible thread, the ends the most opposed of

-      this remarkable race, and is diffused through the different variation each

-      individual member successively presents. Can we not trace a mysterious

-      physical resemblance between Octave Mouret in &ldquo;Le Bonheur des Dames&rdquo; and

-      Maxime in &ldquo;La Curée?&rdquo; Is not the moral something by which Claude Lantier

-      in &ldquo;Le Ventre de Paris&rdquo; escapes the fate of Lazare made apparent? Then,

-      again, does not the inherited neurosis that makes of Octave a millionaire,

-      of Lazare a wretched hypochondriac, of Claude Lantier a genius, of Maxime

-      a symbol of ephemeral vice, reappear in a new and more deadly form in

-      Jeanne, the hysterical child, in that most beautiful of beautiful books,

-      &ldquo;Une Page d'Amour?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As beasts at a fair are urged on by the goads of their drivers, so certain

-      fate pushes this wretched family forward into irrevocable death that is

-      awaiting it. At each generation they grow more nervous, more worn out,

-      more ready to succumb beneath the ravages of the horrible disease that in

-      a hundred different ways is sweeping them into the night of the grave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Even from this imperfect outline, what majesty, what grandeur there is in

-      this dark design! Does not the great idea of fate receive a new and more

-      terrible signification? Is not the horror and gloom of the tragedy

-      increased by the fact that the thought was born in the study of the

-      scientist, and not in the cloud-palace of the dreamer? What poet ever

-      conceived an idea more vast! and if further proof of the epic faculty with

-      which I have credited Émile Zola be wanting, I have only to refer to

-      Pascal Rougon. Noah survived the deluge. Pascal Rougon, by some miracle,

-      escapes the inherited stain&mdash;he, and he alone, is completely free

-      from it He is a doctor, an advanced scientist, and he, in the twentieth

-      volume, will analyse the terrible neurosis that has devastated his family.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In the upbuilding of this enormous edifice, Émile Zola shows the same

-      constructive talent as he did in its conception. The energy he displays is

-      marvellous. Every year a wing, courtyard, cupola, or tower is added, and

-      each is as varied as the most imaginative could desire. Without looking

-      further back than &ldquo;L'Assommoir,&rdquo; let us consider what has been done. In

-      this work, we have a study of the life of the working people in Paris,

-      written, for the sake of preserving the &ldquo;milieu,&rdquo; for the most part in

-      their own language. It shows how the workers of our great social machine

-      live, and must live, in ignorance and misery; it shows, as never was shown

-      before, what the accident of birth means; it shows in a new way, and, to

-      my mind, in as grand a way as did the laments of the chorus in the Greek

-      play, the irrevocability of fate. &ldquo;L'Assommoir&rdquo; was followed by &ldquo;Une Page

-      d'Amour,&rdquo; a beautiful Parisian idyl. Here we see the &ldquo;bourgeois&rdquo; at their

-      best. We have seven descriptions of Paris seen from a distance of which

-      Turner might be proud; we have a picture of a children's costume ball

-      which Meissonier might fall down and worship; we have the portrait of a

-      beautiful and virtuous woman with her love story told, as it were, over

-      the dying head of Jeanne (her little girl), the child whose nervous

-      sensibilities are so delicate that she trembles with jealousy when she

-      suspects that behind her back her mother is looking at the doctor. After

-      &ldquo;Une Page d'Amour&rdquo; comes &ldquo;Nana,&rdquo; and with her we are transported to a

-      world of pleasure-seekers; vicious men and women who have no thought but

-      the killing of time and the gratification of their lusts. Nana is the

-      Messaline of modern days, and, obeying the epic tendency of his genius,

-      Émile Zola has instituted a comparison between the death of the &ldquo;gilded

-      fly,&rdquo; conceived in drunkenness and debauchery, and the harlot city of the

-      third Emperor, which, rotten with vice, falls before the victorious arms

-      of the Germans.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Nana&rdquo; and &ldquo;Une Page d'Amour&rdquo; are psychological and philological studies

-      of two radically different types of women; in both works, and likewise in

-      &ldquo;L'Assommoir,&rdquo; there is much descriptive writing, and, doubtless, Émile

-      Zola had this fact present in his mind when he set himself to write

-      &ldquo;Pot-Bouille,&rdquo; that terrible satire on the &ldquo;bourgeoisie.&rdquo; He must have

-      said, as his plan formulated itself in his mind, &ldquo;this is a novel dealing

-      with the home-life of the middle-classes; if I wish to avoid repeating

-      myself, this book must contain a vast number of characters, and the

-      descriptions must be reduced to a bare sufficiency, no more than will

-      allow my readers to form an exact impression of the surroundings through

-      which, the action passes.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pot-Bouille,&rdquo; or &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; as the present translation is called, is,

-      therefore, an inquiry into the private lives of a number of individuals,

-      who, while they follow different occupations, belong to the same class and

-      live under the same roof. The house in the Rue de Choiseul is one of those

-      immense &ldquo;maisons bourgeoises,&rdquo; in which, apparently, an infinite number of

-      people live. On the first floor, we find Monsieur Duveyrier, an &ldquo;avocat de

-      la cour,&rdquo; with his musical wife, Clotilde, and her father, Monsieur Vabre,

-      a retired notary and proprietor of the house, who is absorbed in the

-      preparation of an important statistical work; on the fourth floor are

-      Madame Josserand, her two daughters, whom she is always trying to marry,

-      her crazy son Saturnin, and her husband who spends his nights addressing

-      advertising circulars at three francs a thousand, in order to eke out an

-      additional something to help his family to ape an appearance of easy

-      circumstances. On the third floor is an architect, Monsieur Campardon,

-      with his ailing, yet blooming, wife Rose, and her cousin, &ldquo;l'autre Madame

-      Campardon.&rdquo; There is also one of Monsieur Vabre's sons, and &ldquo;a

-      distinguished gentleman who comes one night a week to work.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      These are the principal &ldquo;locataires&rdquo; but, in various odd corners, &ldquo;des

-      petits appartements qui donnent sur la cour,&rdquo; we find all sorts and

-      conditions of people. First on the list is the government clerk Jules and

-      his wife Marie. She is a weak-minded little thing who commits adultery

-      without affection, without desire, and the frequency of her confinements

-      excites the ire of her mother and father. Then come two young men, Octave

-      and Trublot. The former plays a part similar to that of a tenor in an

-      opera; he is the accepted lover of the ladies. The latter is equally

-      beloved by the maids. From the frequency of his visits, he may almost be

-      said to live in the house; he is constantly asked to dine by one or other

-      of the inmates, and in the morning he is generally found hiding behind the

-      door of one of the servants' rooms, waiting for an opportunity of

-      descending the staircase unperceived by the terrible &ldquo;concierge,&rdquo; the

-      moral guardian of the house.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Other visitors who figure prominently in the story are Madame Josserand's

-      brother, Uncle Bachelard, a dissipated widower, and his nephew Gueulin;

-      the Abbé Mouret, ever ready to throw the mantle of religion over the

-      back-slidings of his flock, and Madame Hédouin, the frigid directress of

-      &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo; where Octave is originally engaged. The remaining

-      &ldquo;locataires&rdquo; are Madame Juzeur, a lady who only reads poetry, and who was

-      deserted by her husband after a single week of matrimonial, bliss; a

-      workwoman who has a garret under the slates; and last, but not least, an

-      author who lives on the second floor. He is rarely ever seen, he makes no

-      one's acquaintance, and thereby excites the enmity of everyone.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      All these, the author of course excepted, pass and repass before the

-      reader, and each is at once individual and representative; even the

-      maid-servants&mdash;who only answer &ldquo;yes&rdquo; and &ldquo;no&rdquo; to their masters and

-      mistresses&mdash;are adroitly characterised. We see them in their kitchens

-      engaged in their daily occupations: while peeling onions and gutting

-      rabbits and fish they call to and abuse each other from window to window.

-      There is Julie, the belle of the attics, of whose perfume and pomatum

-      Trublot makes liberal use when he honours her with a visit; there is fat

-      Adèle whose dirty habits and slovenly ways make of her a butt whereat is

-      levelled the ridicule and scorn of her fellow-servants; there are the

-      lovers, Hippolyte and Clémence, whose carnal intercourse affords to Madame

-      Duveyrier much ground for uneasiness, and in the end necessitates the

-      intervention of the Abbé. Never were the manners and morals of servants so

-      thoroughly sifted before, never was the relationship which their lives

-      bear to those of their masters and mistresses so cunningly contrasted. The

-      courtyard of the house echoes with their quarrelling voices, and it is

-      there, in a scene of which Swift might be proud, that is spoken the last

-      and terrible word of scorn which Emile Zola flings against the

-      &ldquo;bourgeoisie.&rdquo; From her kitchen window a fellow-servant of Julie's is

-      congratulating her on being about to leave, and wishing that she may find

-      a better place. To which Julie replies, &ldquo;Toutes les baraques se

-      ressemblent. Au jour d'aujourd'hui, qui a fait l'une a fait l'autre. C'est

-      cochon et compagnie.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      I do not know to what other work to go to find so much successful

-      sketching of character. I had better, I think, explain the meaning I

-      attach to this phrase, &ldquo;sketching of character,&rdquo; for it is too common an

-      error to associate the idea of superficiality with the word &ldquo;sketch.&rdquo; The

-      true artist never allows anything to leave his studio that he deems

-      superficial, or even unfinished. The word unfinished is not found in his

-      vocabulary; to him a sketch is as complete as a finished picture. In the

-      former he has painted broadly and freely, wishing to render the vividness,

-      the vitality of a first impression; in the latter he is anxious to render

-      the subtlety of a more intellectual and consequently a less sensual

-      emotion. The portrait of Madame Josserand is a case in point, it is

-      certainly less minute than that of Hélène Mouret, but is not for that less

-      finished. In both, the artist has achieved, and perfectly, the task he set

-      himself. &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; cannot be better defined than as a portrait album

-      in which many of our French neighbours may be readily recognized.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      This merit will not fail to strike any intelligent reader; but the

-      marvellous way the almost insurmountable difficulties of binding together

-      the stories of the lives of the different inhabitants of the house in the

-      Rue de Choiseul are overcome, none but a fellow-worker will be able to

-      appreciate at their full value. Up and down the famous staircase we go,

-      from one household to another, interested equally in each, disgusted

-      equally with all. And this sentence leads us right up to the enemies'

-      guns, brings us face to face with the two batteries from which the critics

-      have directed their fire. The first is the truthfulness of the picture,

-      the second is the coarseness with which it is painted. I will attempt to

-      reply to both.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      M. Albert Wolff in the &ldquo;Figaro&rdquo; declared that in a &ldquo;maison bourgeoise&rdquo; so

-      far were &ldquo;locataires&rdquo; from being all on visiting terms, that it was of

-      constant occurrence that the people on one floor not only did not know by

-      sight but were ignorant of the names of those living above and below them;

-      that the spectacle of a &ldquo;maison bourgeoise,&rdquo; with the lodgers running up

-      and down stairs in and out of each other's apartments at all hours of the

-      night and day, was absolutely false; had never existed in Paris, and was

-      an invention of the writer. Without a word of parley I admit the truth of

-      this indictment. I will admit that no house could be found in Paris where

-      from basement to attic the inhabitants are on such terms of intimacy as

-      they are in the house in the Rue de Choiseul; but at the same time I deny

-      that the extreme isolation described by M. Wolff could be found or is even

-      possible in any house inhabited over a term of years by the same people.

-      Émile Zola has then done no more than to exaggerate, to draw the strings

-      that attach the different parts a little tighter than they would be in

-      nature. Art, let there be no mistake on this point, be it romantic or

-      naturalistic, is a perpetual concession; and the character of the artist

-      is determined by the selection he makes amid the mass of conflicting

-      issues that, all clamouring equally to be chosen, present themselves to

-      his mind. In the case of Émile Zola, the epic faculty which has been

-      already mentioned as the dominant trait of his genius naturally impelled

-      him to make too perfect a whole of the heterogeneous mass of material that

-      he had determined to construct from. The flaw is more obvious than in his

-      other works, but in &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; he has only done what he has done since

-      he first put pen to paper, what he will continue to do till he ceases to

-      write. We will admit that to make all the people living in the house in

-      the Rue de Choiseul on visiting terms was a trick of composition&mdash;<i>et

-      puis?</i>

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      This was the point from which the critics who pretended to be guided by

-      artistic considerations attacked the book; the others entrenched

-      themselves behind the good old earthworks of morality, and primed their

-      rusty popguns. Now there was a time, and a very good time it must have

-      been, when a book was judged on its literary merits; but of late years a

-      new school of criticism has come into fashion. Its manners are very

-      summary indeed. &ldquo;Would you or would you not give that book to your sister

-      of sixteen to read?&rdquo; If you hesitate you are lost; for then the question

-      is dismissed with a smile and you are voted out of court. It would be vain

-      to suggest that there are other people in the world besides your sister of

-      sixteen summers.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      I do not intend putting forward any well known paradox, that art is

-      morals, and morals are art. That there are great and eternal moral laws

-      which must be acted up to in art as in life I am more than ready to admit;

-      but these are very different from the wretched conventionalities which

-      have been arbitrarily imposed upon us in England. To begin with, it must

-      be clear to the meanest intelligence that it would never do to judge the

-      dead by the same standard as the living. If that were done, all the

-      dramatists of the sixteenth century would have to go; those of the

-      Restoration would follow. To burn Swift somebody lower in the social scale

-      than Mr. Binns would have to be found, although he might do to commit

-      Sterne to the flames. Byron, Shelley, yes, even Landor would have to go

-      the same way. What would happen then, it is hard to-say; but it is not

-      unfair to hint that if the burning were argued to its logical conclusion,

-      some of the extra good people would find it difficult to show reason, if

-      the intention of the author were not taken into account, why their most

-      favourite reading should be saved from the general destruction.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Many writers have lately been trying to put their readers in the

-      possession of infallible recipes for the production of good fiction; they

-      would, to my mind, have employed their time and talents to far more

-      purpose had they come boldly to the point and stated that the overflow of

-      bad fiction with which we are inundated is owing to the influence of the

-      circulating library, which, on one side, sustains a quantity of worthless

-      writers who on their own merits would not sell a dozen copies of their

-      books; and, on the other, deprives those who have something to say and are

-      eager to say it of the liberty of doing so. It may be a sad fact, but it

-      is nevertheless a fact, that literature and young girls are irreconcilable

-      elements, and the sooner we leave off trying to reconcile them the better.

-      At this vain endeavour the circulating library has been at work for the

-      last twenty years, and what has been the result? A literature of

-      bandboxes. Were Pope, Addison, Johnson, Fielding, Smollet, suddenly raised

-      from their graves and started on reviewing &ldquo;three vols.,&rdquo; think you that

-      they would not all cry together, &ldquo;This is a literature of bandboxes?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      We judge a pudding by the eating, and I judge Messrs. Mudie and Smith by

-      what they have produced; for they, not the ladies and gentlemen who place

-      their names on the title pages, are the authors of our fiction. And what a

-      terrible brood to admit the parentage of! Let those who doubt put aside

-      pre-conceived opinions, and forgetting the bolstered up reputation of the

-      authors, read the volumes by the light of a little common sense. Cast a

-      glance at those that lie in Miss Rhoda Broughton's lap. What a wheezing,

-      drivelling lot of bairns they are! They have not a virtue amongst them,

-      and their pinafore pages are sticky with childish sensualities.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And here we touch the keynote of the whole system. For, mark you, you can

-      say what you like provided you speak according to rule. Everything is

-      agreed according to precedent. I could give a hundred instances, but one

-      will suffice. On the publication of &ldquo;Adam Bede&rdquo; a howl was raised, but the

-      book was alive; it finished by being accepted, and the libraries were

-      obliged to give way. The employment of seduction in the fabulation of a

-      story was therefore established. This would have been a great point

-      gained, if Mr. Mudie had not succeeded in forcing on all succeeding

-      writers George Eliot's manner of conducting her story. In &ldquo;Adam Bede&rdquo; we

-      have Hetty described as an extremely fascinating dairymaid and Arthur as a

-      noble-minded young man. After a good deal of flirtation they are shown to

-      us walking through a wood together, and three months after we hear that

-      Hetty is <i>enceinte</i>. Now, ever since the success of this book was

-      assured, we have had numberless novels dealing with seductions, but

-      invariably an interval of three months is allowed wherein the reader's

-      fancy may disport until the truth be told.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Not being a select librarian I will not undertake to say that the cause of

-      morality is advanced by leaving the occurrence of the offence unmarked by

-      a no more precise date than that of three months, but being a writer who

-      loves and believes in his art, I fearlessly declare that such quibblery is

-      not worthy of the consideration of serious men; and it was to break

-      through this puerile conventionality that I was daring enough in my

-      &ldquo;Mummer's Wife&rdquo; to write that Dick dragged Kate into the room and that the

-      door was slammed behind her. And it is on this passage that the select

-      circulating libraries base a refusal to take the book. And it is such

-      illiterate censorship that has thrown English fiction into the abyss of

-      nonsense in which it lies; it is for this reason and no other that the

-      writers of the present day have ceased even to try to produce good work,

-      and have resigned themselves to the task of turning out their humdrum

-      stories of sentimental misunderstanding. Yet, strange to say, in every

-      other department of art, an unceasing intellectual activity prevails. Our

-      poetry, our histories, our biographies, our newspapers are strong and

-      vigorous, pregnant with thought, trenchant in style; it is not until we

-      turn to the novel that we find a wearisome absence of everything but

-      drivel.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Though much that I would like to have said is still unsaid, the exigencies

-      of space compel me to bring this notice to a close. However, this one

-      thing I hope I have made clear: that it is my firm opinion that if fiction

-      is to exist at all, the right to speak as he pleases on politics, morals,

-      and religion must be granted to the writer, and that he on his side must

-      take cognizance of other readers than sentimental young girls, who require

-      to be provided with harmless occupation until something fresh turns up in

-      the matrimonial market. Therefore the great literary battle of' our day is

-      not to be fought for either realism or romanticism, but for freedom of

-      speech; and until that battle be gained I, for one, will continue

-      fearlessly to hold out a hand of welcome to all comers who dare to attack

-      the sovereignty of the circulating library.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The first of these is &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; and, I think, the pungent odour of

-      life it exhales, as well as its scorching satire on the middle-classes,

-      will be relished by all who prefer the fortifying brutalities of truth to

-      the soft platitudes of lies. As a satire &ldquo;Piping Hot!&rdquo; must be read; and

-      as a satire it will rank with Juvenal, Voltaire, Pope, and Swift.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      George Moore.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h1>

-      PIPING-HOT!

-    </h1>

-    <h3>

-      (<i>POT-BOUILLE</i>)

-    </h3>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER I.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the Rue

-      Neuve-Saint-Augustin, a block of vehicles arrested the cab which was

-      bringing Octave Mouret and his three trunks from the Lyons railway

-      station. The young man lowered one of the windows, in spite of the already

-      intense cold of that dull November afternoon. He was surprised at the

-      abrupt approach of twilight in this neighbourhood of narrow streets, all

-      swarming with a busy crowd. The oaths of the drivers as they lashed their

-      snorting horses, the endless jostlings on the foot-pavements, the serried

-      line of shops swarming with attendants and customers, bewildered him; for,

-      though he had dreamed of a cleaner Paris than the one he beheld, he had

-      never hoped to find it so eager for trade, and he felt that it was

-      publicly open to the appetites of energetic young fellows.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The driver leant towards him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's the Passage Choiseul you want, isn't it?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, the Rue de Choiseul. A new house, I think.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And the cab only had to turn the corner. The house was the second one in

-      the street: a big house four storeys high, the stonework of which was

-      scarcely discoloured, in the midst of the dirty stucco of the adjoining

-      old frontages. Octave, who had alighted on to the pavement, measured it

-      and studied it with a mechanical glance, from the silk warehouse on the

-      ground floor to the projecting windows on the fourth floor opening on to a

-      narrow terrace. On the first floor, carved female heads supported a highly

-      elaborate cast-iron balcony. The windows were surrounded with complicated

-      frames, roughly chiselled in the soft stone; and, lower down, above the

-      tall doorway, two cupids were unrolling a scroll bearing the number, which

-      at night-time was lighted up by a jet of gas from the inside.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A stout fair gentleman, who was coming out of the vestibule, stopped short

-      on catching sight of Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! you here!&rdquo; exclaimed he. &ldquo;Why, I was not expecting you till

-      to-morrow!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The truth is,&rdquo; replied the young man, &ldquo;I left Hassans a day earlier than

-      I originally intended. Isn't the room ready?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh, yes. I took it a fortnight ago, and I furnished it at once in the way

-      you desired. Wait a bit, I will take you to it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He re-entered the house, though Octave begged he would not give himself

-      the trouble. The driver had got the three trunks off the cab. Inside the

-      doorkeeper's room, a dignified-looking man with a long face, clean-shaven

-      like a diplomatist, was standing up gravely reading the &ldquo;Moniteur.&rdquo; He

-      deigned, however, to interest himself about these trunks which were being

-      deposited in his doorway; and, taking a few steps forward, he asked his

-      tenant, the architect of the third floor as he called him:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is this the person, Monsieur Campardon?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, Monsieur Gourd, this is Monsieur Octave Mouret, for whom I have

-      taken the room on the fourth floor. He will sleep there and take his meals

-      with us. Monsieur Mouret is a friend of my wife's relations, and I beg you

-      will show him every attention.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was examining the entrance with its panels of imitation marble and

-      its vaulted ceiling decorated with rosettes. The courtyard at the end was

-      paved and cemented, and had a grand air of cold cleanliness; the only

-      occupant was a coachman engaged in polishing a bit with a chamois leather

-      at the entrance to the stables. There were no signs of the sun ever

-      shining there.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Monsieur Gourd was inspecting the trunks. He pushed them with

-      his foot, and, their weight filling him with respect, he talked of

-      fetching a porter to carry them up the servants' staircase.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame Gourd, I'm going out,&rdquo; cried he, just putting his head inside his

-      room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was like a drawing-room, with bright looking-glasses, a red flowered

-      Wilton carpet and violet ebony furniture; and, through a partly opened

-      door, one caught a glimpse of the bed-chamber with a bedstead hung with

-      garnet rep. Madame Gourd, a very fat woman with yellow ribbons in her

-      hair, was stretehed out in an easy-chair with her hands clasped, and doing

-      nothing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! let's go up,&rdquo; said the architect.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And seeing how impressed the young man seemed to be by Monsieur Gourd's

-      black velvet cap and sky blue slippers, he added, as he pushed open the

-      mahogany door of the vestibule:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know he was formerly the Duke de Vaugelade's valet.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; simply ejaculated Oetave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's as I tell you, and he married the widow of a little bailiff of

-      Mort-la-Ville. They even own a house there. But they are waiting until

-      they have three thousand francs a year before going there to live. Oh!

-      they are most respectable doorkeepers!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The decorations of the vestibule and the staircase were gaudily luxurious.

-      At the foot of the stairs was the figure of a woman, a kind of gilded

-      Neapolitan, supporting on her head an amphora from which issued three

-      gas-jets protected by ground glass globes. The panels of imitation white

-      marble with pink borders succeeded each other at regular intervals up the

-      wall of the staircase, whilst the cast-iron balustrade with its mahogany

-      hand-rail was in imitation of old silver with clusters of golden leaves. A

-      red carpet, secured with brass rods, covered the stairs. But what

-      especially struck Oetave on entering was a green-house temperature, a warm

-      breath which seemed to be puffed from some mouth into his face.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo!&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;the staircase is warmed.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; replied Campardon. &ldquo;All landlords who have the least

-      self-respect go to that expense now. The house is a very fine one, very

-      fine.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He looked about him as though he were sounding the walls with his

-      architect's eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My dear fellow, you will see, it is a most comfortable place, and

-      inhabited solely by highly respectable people!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, slowly ascending, he mentioned the names of the different tenants.

-      On each floor were two separate suites of apartments, one looking on to

-      the street, the other on to the courtyard, and the polished mahogany doors

-      of which faeed eaeh other. He began by saying a few words respecting

-      Monsieur Auguste Vabre; he was the landlord's eldest son; since the spring

-      he had rented the silk warehouse on the ground floor, and he also occupied

-      the whole of the &ldquo;entresol&rdquo; above. Then, on the first floor the landlord's

-      other son, Monsieur Théophile Vabre and his wife, resided in the apartment

-      overlooking the courtyard; and in the one overlooking the street lived the

-      landlord himself, formerly a notary at Versailles, but who was now lodging

-      with his son-in-law, Monsieur Duveyrier, a judge at the Court of Appeal.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A fellow who is not yet forty-five,&rdquo; said Campardon, stopping short.

-      &ldquo;That's something remarkable, is it not?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He ascended two steps, and then suddenly turning round, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Water and gas on every floor.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Beneath the tall window on each landing, the panes of which, bordered with

-      fretwork, lit up the staircase with a white light, was placed a narrow

-      velvet covered bench. The architect observed that elderly persons could

-      sit down and rest. Then, as he passed the second floor without naming the

-      tenants.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And there?&rdquo; asked Octave, pointing to the door of the principal suite.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! there,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;persons whom one never sees, whom no one knows. The

-      house could well do without them. Blemishes, you know, are to be found

-      everywhere.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He gave a little snort of contempt.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The gentleman writes books, I believe.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But on the third floor his smile of satisfaction reappeared. The

-      apartments looking on to the courtyard were divided into two suites; they

-      were occupied by Madame Juzeur, a little woman who was most unhappy, and a

-      very distinguished gentleman who had taken a room to which he came once a

-      week on business matters. Whilst giving these particulars, Campardon

-      opened the door on the other side of the landing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And this is where I live,&rdquo; resumed he. &ldquo;Wait a moment, I must get your

-      key. We will first go up to your room; you can see my wife afterwards.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      During the two minutes he was left alone, Octave felt penetrated by the

-      grave silence of the staircase. He leant over the balustrade, in the warm

-      air which ascended from the vestibule; he raised his head, listening if

-      any noise came from above. It was the death-like peacefulness of a

-      middle-class drawing-room, carefully shut in and not admitting a breath

-      from outside. Behind the beautiful shining mahogany doors there seemed to

-      be unfathomable depths of respectability.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will have some excellent neighbours,&rdquo; said Campardon, reappearing

-      with the key; &ldquo;on the street side there are the Josserands, quite a

-      family, the father who is cashier at the Saint-Joseph glass works, and

-      also two marriageable daughters; and next to you the Pichons, the husband

-      is a clerk; they are not rolling in wealth, but they are educated people.

-      Everything has to be let, has it not? even in a house like this.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      From the third landing, the red carpet ceased and was replaced by a simple

-      grey holland. Octave's vanity was slightly ruffled. The staircase had,

-      little by little, filled him with respect; he was deeply moved at

-      inhabiting such a fine house as the architect termed it. As, following the

-      latter, he turned into the passage leading to his room, he caught sight

-      through a partly open door of a young woman standing up before a cradle.

-      She raised her head at the noise. She was fair, with clear and vacant

-      eyes; and all he carried away was this very distinct look, for the young

-      woman, suddenly blushing, pushed the door to in the shame-faced way of a

-      person taken by surprise.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Campardon turned round to repeat:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Water and gas on every floor, my dear fellow.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he pointed out a door which opened on to the servants' staircase.

-      Their rooms were up above. And stopping at the end of the passage, he

-      added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here we are at last.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The room, which was square, pretty large, and hung with a grey wall-paper

-      with blue flowers, was furnished very simply. Close to the alcove was a

-      little dressing-closet with just room enough to wash one's hands. Octave

-      went straight to the window, which admitted a greenish light. Below was

-      the courtyard looking sad and clean, with its regular pavement, and the

-      shining brass tap of its cistern. And still not a human being, nor even a

-      noise; nothing but the uniform windows, without a bird-cage, without a

-      flower-pot, displaying the monotony of their white curtains. To hide the

-      big bare wall of the house on the left hand side, which shut in the square

-      of the courtyard, the windows had been repeated, imitation windows in

-      paint, with shutters eternally closed, behind which the walled-in life of

-      the neighbouring apartments appeared to continue.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But I shall be very comfortable here!&rdquo; cried Octave delighted.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I thought so,&rdquo; said Campardon. &ldquo;Well! I did everything as though it had

-      been for myself; and, moreover, I carried out the instructions contained

-      in your letters. So the furniture pleases you? It is all that is necessary

-      for a young man. Later on, you can make any changes you like.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as Octave shook his hand, thanking him, and apologising for having

-      given him so much trouble, he resumed in a serious tone of voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Only, my boy, no rows here, and above all no women! On my word of honour,

-      if you were to bring a woman here it would revolutionize the whole house!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Be easy!&rdquo; murmured the young man, feeling rather anxious.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, let me tell you, for it is I who would be compromised. You have seen

-      the house. All middle-class people, and of extreme morality! between

-      ourselves, they affect it rather too much. Never a word, never more noise

-      than you have heard just now. Ah, well! Monsieur Gourd would at once fetch

-      Monsieur Vabre, and we should both be in a nice pickle! My dear fellow, I

-      ask it of you for my own peace of mind: respect the house.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, overpowered by so much virtue and respectability, swore to do so.

-      Then, Campardon, casting a mistrustful glance around, and lowering his

-      voice as though some one might have heard him, added with sparkling eyes:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Outside it concerns nobody. Paris is big enough, is it not? there is

-      plenty of room. As for myself, I am at heart an artist, therefore I think

-      nothing of it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A porter carried up the trunks. When everything was straight, the

-      architect assisted paternally at Octave's toilet. Then, rising to his feet

-      he said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now we will go and see my wife.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Down on the third floor the maid, a slim, dark, and coquettish looking

-      girl, said that madame was busy. Campardon, with a view of putting his

-      young friend at ease, showed him over the rooms: first of all, there was

-      the huge white and gold drawingroom, highly decorated with artificial

-      mouldings, and situated between a green parlour which the architect had

-      turned into a workroom and the bedroom, into which they could not enter,

-      but the narrow shape of which, and the mauve wall-paper, he described. As

-      he next ushered him into the dining-room, all in imitation wood, with an

-      extraordinary complication of baguettes and coffers, Octave, enchanted,

-      exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is very handsome!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      On the ceiling, two big cracks cut right through the coffers, and, in a

-      corner, the paint had peeled off and displayed the plaster.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, it creates an effect,&rdquo; slowly observed the architect, his eyes fixed

-      on the ceiling. &ldquo;You see, these kind of houses are built to create effect.

-      Only, the walls will not bear much looking into. It is not twelve years

-      old yet, and it is already cracking. One builds the frontage of handsome

-      stone, with a lot of sculpture about it; one gives three coats of varnish

-      to the walls of the staircase; one paints and gilds the rooms; and all

-      that flatters people, and inspires respect. Oh! it is still solid, it will

-      certainly last as long as we shall!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He led him again across the ante-room, which was lighted by a window of

-      ground glass. To the left, looking on to the courtyard, there was a second

-      bed-chamber where his daughter Angèle slept, and which, all in white,

-      looked on this November afternoon as sad as a tomb. Then at the end of the

-      passage, came the kitchen, into which he insisted on conducting Octave,

-      saying that it was necessary to see everything.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Walk in,&rdquo; repeated he, pushing open the door.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A terrible uproar issued from it. In spite of the cold, the window was

-      wide open. With their elbows on the rail, the dark maid and a fat cook, a

-      dissolute looking old party, were leaning out into the narrow well of an

-      inner courtyard, which lighted the kitchens of each floor, placed opposite

-      to each other. They were both yelling with their backs bent, whilst, from

-      the depths of this hole, arose the sounds of vulgar voices, mingled with

-      oaths and bursts of laughter. It was like the overflow of some sewer: all

-      the domestics of the house were there, easing their minds. Octave's

-      thoughts reverted to the peaceful majesty of the grand staircase.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Just then the two women, warned by some instinct, turned round. They

-      remained thunderstruck on beholding their master with a gentleman. There

-      was a gentle whistle, windows were shut, and all was once more as silent

-      as death.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is the matter, Lisa?&rdquo; asked Campardon.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; replied the maid, greatly excited, &ldquo;it's that filthy Adèle again.

-      She has thrown a rabbit's guts out of the window. You should speak to

-      Monsieur Josserand, sir.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Campardon became very grave, anxious not to make any promise. He returned

-      to his workroom, saying to Octave:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You have seen all. On each floor, the rooms are arranged the same. I pay

-      a rent of two thousand five hundred francs, and on a third floor, too!

-      Rents are rising every day. Monsieur Vabre must make about twenty-two

-      thousand francs a year from his house. And it will increase still more,

-      for there is a question of opening a wide thoroughfare from the Place de

-      la Bourse to the new Opera-house. And he had the ground this is built upon

-      almost for nothing, twelve years ago, after that great fire caused by a

-      druggist's servant!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As they entered, Octave observed, hanging above a drawing-table, and in

-      the full light from the window, a richly framed picture of a Virgin,

-      displaying in her opened breast an enormous flaming heart. He could not

-      repress a movement of surprise; he looked at Campardon, whom he had known

-      to be a rather wild fellow at Plassans.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! I forgot to tell you,&rdquo; resumed the latter slightly colouring, &ldquo;I have

-      been appointed diocesan architect, yes, at Evreux. Oh! a mere bagatelle as

-      regards money, in all barely two thousand francs a year. But there is

-      scarcely anything to do, a journey now and again; for the rest I have an

-      inspector there. And, you see, it is a great deal, when one can print on

-      one's cards: 'government architect.' You can have no idea what an amount

-      of work that procures me in the highest society.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Whilst speaking, he looked at the Virgin with the flaming heart.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;After all,&rdquo; continued he in a sudden fit of frankness, &ldquo;I do not care a

-      button for their paraphernalia!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But, on Octave bursting out laughing, the architect was seized with fear.

-      Why confide in that young man? He gave a side glance, and, putting on an

-      air of compunction, he tried to smooth over what he had said.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I do not care and yet I do care. Well! yes, I am becoming like that. You

-      will see, you will see, my friend: when you have lived a little longer,

-      you will do as every one else.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he spoke of his forty-two years, of the emptiness of life, posing for

-      being very melancholy, which his robust health belied. In the artist's

-      head which he had fashioned for himself, with flowing hair and beard

-      trimmed in the Henri IV. style, one found the flat skull and square jaw of

-      a middle-class man of limited intelligence and voracious appetites. When

-      younger, he had a fatiguing gaiety.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave's eyes became fixed on a number of the &ldquo;Gazette de France,&rdquo; which

-      was lying amongst some plans. Then, Campardon, more and more ill at ease,

-      rang for the maid to know if madame was at length disengaged. Yes, the

-      doctor was just leaving, madame would be there directly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is Madame Campardon unwell?&rdquo; asked the young man.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, she is the same as usual,&rdquo; said the architect in a bored tone of

-      voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! and what is the matter with her?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Again embarrassed, he did not give a straightforward answer.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know, there is always something going wrong with women. She has been

-      in this state for the last thirteen years, ever since her confinement.

-      Otherwise, she is as well as can be. You will even find her stouter.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave asked no further questions. Just then, Lisa returned, bringing a

-      card; and the architect, begging to be excused, hastened to the

-      drawing-room, telling the young man as he disappeared to talk to his wife

-      and have patience. Octave had caught sight, on the door being quickly

-      opened and closed, of the black mass of a cassock in the centre of the

-      large white and gold apartment.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At the same moment, Madame Campardon entered from the ante-room. He

-      scarcely knew her again. In other days, when a youngster, he had known her

-      at Plassans, at her father's, Monsieur Domergue, government clerk of the

-      works, she was thin and ugly, as puny-looking as a young girl suffering

-      from the crisis of her puberty; and now he beheld her plump, with the

-      clear and placid complexion of a nun, soft eyes, dimples, and a general

-      appearance of an overfed she-cat. If she had not been able to grow pretty,

-      she had ripened towards thirty, gaining a sweet savour and a nice fresh

-      odour of autumn fruit. He remarked, however, that she walked with

-      difficulty, her whole body wrapped, in a mignonette coloured silk

-      dressing-gown, moving; which gave her a languid air.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But you are a man, now!&rdquo; said she gaily, holding out her hands. &ldquo;How you

-      have grown, since our last journey to the country!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she gazed at him: tall, dark, handsome, with his well kept moustache

-      and beard. When he told her his age, twenty-two, she scarcely believed it:

-      he looked twenty-five at least. He, whom the presence of a woman, even

-      though she were the lowest of servants, filled with rapture, laughed

-      melodiously, enveloping her with his eyes of the colour of old gold, and

-      of the softness of velvet.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes,&rdquo; repeated he gently, &ldquo;I have grown, I have grown. Do you

-      recollect, when your cousin Gasparine used to buy me marbles?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, he gave her news of her parents. Monsieur and Madame Domergue were

-      living happily, in the house to which they had retired; they merely

-      complained of being very lonely, bearing Campardon a grudge for having

-      taken their little Rose from them, during a stay he had made at Plassans

-      on business. Then, the young man tried to bring the conversation round to

-      cousin Gasparine, having a precocious youngster's old curiosity to

-      satisfy, in the matter of an hitherto unexplained adventure: the

-      architect's mad passion for Gasparine, a tall lovely girl, but poor, and

-      his sudden marriage with skinny Rose who had a dowry of thirty thousand

-      francs, and quite a tearful scene, and a quarrel, and the flight of the

-      abandoned one to Paris, to an aunt who was a dressmaker. But Madame

-      Campardon, whose placid complexion preserved a rosy paleness, did not

-      appear to understand. He was unable to draw a single particular from her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And your parents?&rdquo; inquired she in her turn. &ldquo;How are Monsienr and Madame

-      Mouret?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Very well, thank you,&rdquo; replied he. &ldquo;My mother scarcely leaves her garden.

-      You would find the house in the Rue de la Banne, just as you left it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Campardon, who seemed unable to remain standing for long without

-      feeling tired, had seated herself on a high drawing-chair, her legs

-      stretched out in her dressing-gown; and he, taking a low chair beside her,

-      raised his head when speaking, with his air of habitual adoration. With

-      his large shoulders, he was like a woman, he had a woman's feeling which

-      at once admitted him to their hearts. So that, at the eud of ten minutes,

-      they were both talking like two lady friends of long standing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now I am your boarder,&rdquo; said he, passing a handsome hand with neatly

-      trimmed nails over his beard. &ldquo;We shall get on well together, you will

-      see. How charming it was of you to remember the Plassans youngster and to

-      busy yourself about everything, at the first word!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But she protested.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, do not thank me. I am a great deal too lazy, I never move. It was

-      Achille who arranged everything. And, besides, was it not sufficient that

-      my mother mentioned to us your desire to board in some family, for us to

-      think at once of opening our doors to you? You will not be with strangers,

-      and will be company for us.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, he told her of his own affairs. After having obtained a bachelor's

-      diploma, to please his family, he had just passed three years at

-      Marseilles, in a big calico print warehouse, which had a factory in the

-      neighbourhood of Plassans. He had a passion for trade, the trade in

-      women's luxuries, into which enters a seduction, a slow possession by

-      gilded words and adulatory glances. And he related, laughing victoriously,

-      how he had made the five thousand francs, without which he would never

-      have ventured on coming to Paris, for he had the prudence of a Jew beneath

-      the exterior of an amiable giddy-headed fellow.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Just fancy, they had a Pompadour calico, an old design, something

-      marvellous. No one would bite at it; it had been stowed away in the

-      cellars for two years past. Then, as I was about to travel through the

-      departments of the Var and the Basses-Alpes, it occurred to me to purchase

-      the whole of the stock and to sell it on my own account. Oh! such a

-      success! an amazing success! The women quarrelled for the remnants; and

-      to-day, there is not one there who is not wearing some of my calico. I

-      must say that I talked them over so nicely! They were all with me, I might

-      have done as I pleased with them.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he laughed, whilst Madame Campardon, charmed, and troubled by thought

-      of that Pompadour calico, questioned him: &ldquo;Little bouquets on an

-      unbleached ground, was it not?&rdquo; She had been trying to obtain the same

-      thing everywhere for a summer dressing-gown.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have travelled for two years, which is enough,&rdquo; resumed he. &ldquo;Besides,

-      there is Paris to conquer. I must immediately look out for something.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; exclaimed she, &ldquo;has not Achille told you? But he has a berth for

-      you, and close by, too!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He uttered his thanks, as surprised as though he were in fairy land,

-      asking, by way of a joke, whether he would not find a wife and a hundred

-      thousand francs a-year in his room that evening, when a young girl of

-      fourteen, tall and ugly, with fair insipid-looking hair, pushed open the

-      door, and gave a slight cry of fright.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come in and don't be afraid,&rdquo; said Madame Campardon. &ldquo;It is Monsieur

-      Octave Mouret, whom you have heard us speak of.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, turning towards the latter, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My daughter, Angèle. We did not bring her with us at our last journey.

-      She was so delicate! But she is getting stouter now.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Angèle, with the awkwardness of girls in the ungrateful age, went and

-      placed herself behind her mother, and cast glances at the smiling young

-      man. Almost immediately, Campardon reappeared, looking excited; and he

-      could not contain himself, but told his wife in a few words of his good

-      fortune: the Abbé Mauduit, Vicar of Saint-Roch, had called about some

-      work, merely some repairs, but which might lead to many other things.

-      Then, annoyed at having spoken before Octave, and still quivering, he

-      rapped one hand in the other, saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! well! what are we going to do?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, you were going out,&rdquo; said Octave. &ldquo;Do not let me disturb you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Achille,&rdquo; murmured Madame Campardon, &ldquo;that berth, at the Hédouins'&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, of course! I was forgetting,&rdquo; exclaimed the architect. &ldquo;My dear

-      fellow, a place of first clerk at a large linen-draper's. I know some one

-      there who has said a word for you. You are expected. It is not yet four

-      o'clock; shall I introduce you now?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Oetave hesitated, anxious about the bow of his necktie, flurried by his

-      mania for being neatly dressed. However, he decided to go, when Madame

-      Campardon assured him that he looked very well. With a languid movement,

-      she offered her forehead to her husband, who kissed her with a great show

-      of tenderness, repeating:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good-bye, my darling&mdash;good-bye, my pet.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not forget that we dine at seven,&rdquo; said she, accompanying them across

-      the drawing-room, where they had left their hats.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Angèle followed them without the slightest grace. But her music-master was

-      waiting for her, and she at once commenced to strum on the instrument with

-      her bony fingers. Octave, who was lingering in the ante-room, repeating

-      his thanks, was unable to make himself heard. And, as he went downstairs,

-      the sound of the piano seemed to follow him: in the midst of the warm

-      silence other pianos&mdash;from Madame Juzeur's, the Vabres', and

-      Duveyriers'&mdash;were answering, playing on eaeh floor other airs, whieh

-      issued, distantly and religiously, from the calm solemnity of the doors.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On reaching the street, Campardon turned into the Rue

-      Neuve-Saint-Augustin. He remained silent, with the absorbed air of a man

-      seeking for an opportunity to broach a subject.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you remember Mademoiselle Gasparine?&rdquo; asked he, at length. &ldquo;She is

-      first lady assistant at the Hédouins'. You will see her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Oetave thought this a good time for satisfying his curiosity.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Does she live with you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No! no!&rdquo; exelaimed the architect, hastily, and as though feeling hurt at

-      the bare idea.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, as the young man appeared surprised at his vehemence, he gently

-      continued, speaking in an embarrassed way:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No; she and my wife no longer see each other. You know, in families&mdash;

-      Well, I met her, and I could not refuse to shake hands, could I? more

-      especially as she is not very well off, poor girl. So that, now, they have

-      news of each other through me. In these old quarrels, one must leave the

-      task of healing the wounds to time.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was about to question him plainly on the subject of his marriage,

-      when the architect suddenly put an end to the conversation by saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here we are!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was a large linen-drapers, opening on to the narrow triangle of the

-      Place Gaillon, at the corner of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin and the Rue

-      de la Michodière. Across two windows immediately above the shop was a

-      signboard, with the words, &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise, founded in 1822,&rdquo; in

-      faded gilt letters, whilst on the shop windows was inscribed, in red, the

-      name of the firm, &ldquo;Deleuze, Hédouin, &amp; Co.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It has not the modern style, but it is honest and solid,&rdquo; rapidly

-      explained Campardou. &ldquo;Monsieur Hédouin, formerly a clerk, married the

-      daughter of the elder Deleuze, who died a couple of years ago; so that the

-      business is now managed by the young couple&mdash;the old Deleuze and

-      another partner, I think, both keep out of it. You will see Madame

-      Hédouin. Oh! a woman with brains! Let us go in.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It so happened that Monsieur Hédouin was at Lille buying some linen;

-      therefore Madame Hédouin received them. She was standing up, a penholder

-      behind her ear, giving orders to two shopmen who were putting away some

-      pieces of stuff on the shelves; and she appeared to him so tall, so

-      admirably lovely, with her regular features and her tidy hair, so gravely

-      smiling, in her black dress, with a turn-down collar and a man's tie, that

-      Octave, not usually timid, could only stammer out a few observations.

-      Everything was settled without any waste of words.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said she, in her quiet way, and with her tradeswoman's accustomed

-      gracefulness, &ldquo;you may as well look over the place, as you are not

-      engaged.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She called one of her clerks, and put Octave under his guidance; then,

-      after having politely replied to a question of Cam-pardon's that

-      Mademoiselle Gasparine was out on an errand, she turned her back and

-      resumed her work, continuing to give her orders in her gentle and concise

-      voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Not there, Alexandre. Put the silks up at the top. Be careful, those are

-      not the same make!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Campardon, after hesitating, at length said to Octave that he would call

-      again for him to take him back to dinner. Then, during two hours, the

-      young man went over the warehouse. He found it badly lighted, small,

-      encumbered with stock, which, overflowing from the basement, became heaped

-      up in the corners, leaving only narrow passages between high walls of

-      bales. On several different occasions he ran against Madame Hédouin, busy,

-      and scuttling along the narrowest passages without ever catching her dress

-      in anything. She seemed the very life and soul of the establishment, all

-      the assistants belonging to which obeyed the slightest sign of her white

-      hands. Octave felt hurt that she did not take more notice of him. Towards

-      a quarter to seven, as he was coming up a last time from the basement, he

-      was told that Campardon was on the first floor with Mademoiselle

-      Gasparine. Up there was the hosiery department, which that young lady

-      looked after. But, at the top of the winding staircase, the young man

-      stopped abruptly behind a pyramid of pieces of calico systematically

-      arranged, on hearing the architect talking most familiarly to Gasparine.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I swear to you it is not so!&rdquo; cried he, forgetting himself so far as to

-      raise his voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A slight pause ensued.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How is she now?&rdquo; at length inquired the young woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! always the same. It comes and goes. She feels that it is all over

-      now. She will never get right again.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Gasparine resumed, in compassionate tones:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My poor friend, it is you who are to be pitied. However, as you have been

-      able to manage in another way, tell her how sorry I am to hear that she is

-      still unwell&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Campardon, without letting her finish, seized hold of her by the shoulders

-      and kissed her roughly on the lips, in the gas-heated air already becoming

-      heavy beneath the low ceiling. She returned his kiss, murmuring:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;To-morrow morning, if you can, at six o'clock; I will remain in bed.

-      Knock three times.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, bewildered, and beginning to understand, coughed, and showed

-      himself. Another surprise awaited him. Cousin Gasparine had become dried

-      up, thin and angular, with her jaw projecting, and her hair coarse; and

-      all she had preserved of her former self were her large superb eyes, in a

-      face that had now become cadaverous. With her jealous forehead, her ardent

-      and obstinate mouth, she troubled him as much as Rose had charmed him by

-      her tardy expansion of an indolent blonde.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Gasparine was polite, without effusiveness. She remembered Plassans&mdash;she

-      talked to the young man of the old times. When they went off, Campardon

-      and he, she shook their hands. Downstairs, Madame Hédouin simply said to

-      Oetave:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;To-morrow, then, sir.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Out in the street the young man, deafened by the cabs, jostled by the

-      passers-by, eould not help remarking that this lady was very beautiful,

-      but that she did not seem particularly amiable. On the black and muddy

-      pavement, the bright windows of freshly-painted shops, flaring with gas,

-      east broad rays of vivid light; whilst the old shops, with their sombre

-      displays, lit up in the interior only by smoking lamps, which burnt like

-      distant stars, saddened the streets with masses of shadow. In the Rue

-      Neuve-Saint-Augustin, just before turning into the Rue do Choiseul, the

-      architect bowed on passing before one of these establishments.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A young woman, slim and elegant, dressed in a silk mantlet, was standing

-      in the doorway, drawing a little boy of three towards her, so that he

-      might not get run over. She was talking to an old bareheaded lady, the

-      shopkeeper, no doubt, whom she addressed in a familiar manner. Octave

-      eould not distinguish her features in that dim light, beneath the dancing

-      reflections of the neighbouring gas-jets; she seemed to him to be pretty,

-      he only saw two bright eyes, whieh were fixed a moment upon him like two

-      flames. Behind her yawned the shop, damp like a cellar, and emitting an

-      odour of saltpetre.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That is Madame Vabre, the wife of Monsieur Théophile Vabre, the

-      landlord's younger son. You know the people who live on the first floor,&rdquo;

-       resumed Campardon, when he had gone a few steps. &ldquo;Oh! a most charming

-      lady! She was born in that shop, one of the best paying haberdashers of

-      the neighbourhood, which her parents, Monsieur and Madame Louhette, still

-      manage, for the sake of having something to occupy them. They have made

-      some money there, I will warrant!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Oetave did not understand trade of that sort, in those holes of old

-      Paris, where at one time a piece of stuff was sufficient sign. He swore

-      that nothing in the world would ever make him consent to live in such a

-      den. One surely caught some rare aches and pains there!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Whilst talking, they had reaehed the top of the stairs. They were being

-      waited for. Madame Campardon had put on a grey silk dress, had arranged

-      her hair coquettishly, and looked very neat and prim. Campardou kissed her

-      on the neck, with the emotion of a good husband.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good evening, my darling; good evening, my pet.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And they passed into the dining-room. The dinner was delightful. Madame

-      Campardon at first talked of the Deleuzes and the Hédouins&mdash;families

-      respected throughout the neighbourhood, and whose member's were well

-      known; a cousin who was a stationer in the Rue Gaillon, an uncle who had

-      an umbrella shop in the Passage Choiseul, and nephews and nieces in

-      business all round about. Then the conversation turned, and they talked of

-      Angèle, who was sitting stiffly on her chair, and eating with inert

-      gestures. Her mother was bringing her up at home, it was preferable; and,

-      not wishing to say more, she blinked her eyes, to convey that young girls

-      learnt very naughty things at boarding-schools. The child had slyly

-      balanced her plate on her knife. Lisa, who was clearing the cloth, missed

-      breaking it, and exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It was your fault, mademoiselle!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A mad laugh, violently restrained, passed over Angèle's face. 'Madame

-      Campardon contented herself with shaking her head; and, when Lisa had left

-      the room to fetch the dessert, she sang her praises&mdash;very

-      intelligent, very active, a regular Paris girl, always knowing which way

-      to turn. They might very well do without Victoire, the cook, who was no

-      longer very clean, on account of her great age; but she had seen her

-      master born at his father's&mdash;she was a family ruin which they

-      respected. Then as the maid returned with some baked apples:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Conduct irreproachable,&rdquo; continued Madame Campardon in Octave's ear. &ldquo;I

-      have discovered nothing against her as yet. One holiday a month to go and

-      embrace her old aunt, who lives some distance off.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave observed Lisa. Seeing her nervous, flat-chested, blear-eyed, the

-      thought came to him that she must go in for a precious fling, when at her

-      old aunt's. However, he greatly approved what the mother said, as she

-      continued to give him her views on education&mdash;a young girl is such a

-      heavy responsibility, it is necessary to keep her clear even of the

-      breaths of the street And, during this, Angèle, each time Lisa leant over

-      near her chair to remove a plate, pinched her in a friendly way, whilst

-      they both maintained their composite, without even moving an eyelid.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0010.jpg" alt="0010 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0010.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;One should be virtuous for one's own sake,&rdquo; said the architect learnedly,

-      as though by way of conclusion to thoughts he had not expressed. &ldquo;I do not

-      care a button for public opinion; I am an artist!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      After dinuer, they remained in the drawing-room until midnight. It was a

-      little jollification to celebrate Octave's arrival. Madame Campardon

-      appeared to be very tired; little by little she abandoned herself, leaning

-      back on the sofa.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Are you suffering, my darling?&rdquo; asked her husband.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied she in a low voice. &ldquo;It is always the same thing.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She looked at him, and then gently asked:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Did you see her at the Hédouins'?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes. She asked after you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Tears came to Rose's eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She is in good health, she is!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come, come,&rdquo; said the architect, showering little kisses on her hair,

-      forgetting they were not alone. &ldquo;You will make yourself worse again. You

-      know very well that I love you all the same, my poor pet!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, who had discreetly retired to the window, under the pretence of

-      looking into the street, returned to study Madame Campardon's countenance,

-      his curiosity again awakened, and wondering if she knew. But she had

-      resumed her amiable and doleful expression, and was curled up in the

-      depths of the sofa, like a woman who has to find her pleasure in herself,

-      and who is forcibly resigned to receiving the caresses that fall to her

-      share.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length Octave wished them good-night. With his candlestick in his hand,

-      he was still on the landing, when he heard the sound of silk dresses

-      rustling over the stairs. He politely stood on one side. It was evidently

-      the ladies of the fourth floor, Madame Josserand and her two daughters,

-      returning from some party. As they passed, the mother, a superb and

-      corpulent woman, stared in his face; whilst the elder of the young ladies

-      kept at a distance with a sour air, and the younger, giddily looked at him

-      and laughed, in the full light of the candle. She was charming, this one,

-      with her irregular but agreeable features, her clear complexion, and her

-      auburn hair gilded with light reflections; and she had a bold grace, the

-      free gait of a young bride returning from a ball in a complicated costume

-      of ribbons and lace, like unmarried girls do not wear. The trains

-      disappeared along the balustrade: a door closed. Octave lingered a moment,

-      greatly amused by the gaiety of her eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He slowly ascended in his turn. A single gas-jet was burning, the

-      staircase was slumbering in a heavy warmth. It seemed to him more wrapped

-      up in itself than ever, with its chaste doors, its doors of rich mahogany,

-      closing the entrances to virtuous alcoves. Not a sigh passed along, it was

-      the silence of well-mannered people who hold their breath. Presently a

-      slight noise was heard; Octave leant over and beheld Monsieur Gourd, in

-      his cap and slippers, turning out the last gas-jet. Then all subsided, the

-      house became enveloped by the solemnity of darkness, as though annihilated

-      in the distinction and decency of its slumbers.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, nevertheless, had great difficulty in getting to sleep. He kept

-      feverishly turning over, his brain occupied with the new faces he had

-      seen. Why the devil were the Campardons so amiable? Were they dreaming of

-      marrying their daughter to him later on? Perhaps, too, the husband took

-      him to board with them so that he might amuse and enliven the wife? And

-      that poor lady, what peculiar complaint could she be suffering from? Then

-      his ideas got more mixed; he saw shadows pass&mdash;? little Madame

-      Pichon, his neighbour, with her clear empty glances; beautiful Madame

-      Hédouin, correct and grave in her black dress; and Madame Vabre's ardent

-      eyes, and Mademoiselle Josserand's gay laugh. How they swarmed in a few

-      hours in the streets of Paris! It had always been his dream, ladies who

-      would take him by the hand and help him in his affairs. But these kept

-      returning and mingling with fatiguing obstinacy. He knew not which to

-      choose; he tried to keep his voice soft, his gestures cajoling. And

-      suddenly, worn-out, exasperated, he yielded to his brutal inner nature, to

-      the ferocious disdain in which he held woman, beneath his air of amorous

-      adoration.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Are they going to let me sleep at all?&rdquo; said he out loud, turning

-      violently on to his back. &ldquo;The first who likes, it is the same to me, and

-      all together if it pleases them! To sleep now, it will be daylight

-      to-morrow.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER II.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Madame

-      Josserand, preceded by her young ladies, left the evening party given by

-      Madame Dambreville, who resided on a fourth floor in the Rue de Rivoli, at

-      the corner of the Rue de l'Oratoire, she roughly slammed the street door,

-      in the sudden outburst of a passion she had been keeping under for the

-      past two hours. Berthe, her younger daughter, had again just gone and

-      missed a husband.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! what are you doing there?&rdquo; said she angrily to the young girls, who

-      were standing under the arcade and watching the cabs pass by. &ldquo;Walk on!

-      don't have any idea we are going to ride! To waste another two francs,

-      eh?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And as Hortense, the elder, murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It will be pleasant, with this mud. My shoes will never recover it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Walk on!&rdquo; resumed the mother, all beside herself. &ldquo;When you have no more

-      shoes, you can stop in bed, that's all. A deal of good it is, taking you

-      out!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe and Hortense bowed their heads and turned into the Rue de

-      l'Oratoire. They held their long skirts up as high as they could over

-      their crinolines, squeezing their shoulders together and shivering under

-      their thin opera-cloaks. Madame Josserand followed behind, wrapped in an

-      old fur cloak made of Calabar skins, looking as shabby as cats'. All

-      three, without bonnets, had their hair enveloped in lace wraps,

-      head-dresses which caused the last passers-by to look back, surprised at

-      seeing them glide along the houses, one by one, with bent backs, and their

-      eyes fixed on the puddles. And the mother's exasperation increased still

-      more at the recollection of many similar returns home, for three winters

-      past, hampered by their gay dresses, amidst the black mud of the streets

-      and the jeers of belated blackguards. No, decidedly, she had had enough of

-      dragging her young ladies about to the four corners of Paris, without

-      daring to venture on the luxury of a cab, for fear of having to omit a

-      dish from the morrow's dinner!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And she makes marriages!&rdquo; said she out loud, returning to Madame

-      Dambreville, and talking alone to ease herself, without even addressing

-      her daughters, who had turned down the Rue Saint-Honoré. &ldquo;They are pretty,

-      her marriages! A lot of impertinent minxes, who come from no one knows

-      where! Ah! if one was not obliged! It's like her last success, that bride

-      whom she brought out, to show us that it did not always fail; a fine

-      specimen! a wretched child who had to be sent back to her convent for six

-      months, after a little mistake, to be re-whitewashed!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young girls were crossing the Place du Palais-Royal, when a shower

-      came on. It was a regular rout. They stopped, slipping, splashing, looking

-      again at the vehicles passing empty along.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Walk on!&rdquo; cried the mother, pitilessly. &ldquo;We are too near now; it is not

-      worth two francs. And your brother Léon, who refused to leave with us for

-      fear of having to pay for the cab! So much the better for him if he gets

-      what he wants at that lady's, but we can say that it is not at all decent.

-      A woman who is over fifty and who only receives young men! An old

-      nothing-much whom a high personage married to that fool Dambreville,

-      appointing him head clerk!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hortense and Berthe trotted along in the rain, one before the other,

-      without seeming to hear. When their mother thus eased herself, letting

-      everything out, and forgetting the wholesome strictness with which she

-      kept them, it was agreed that they should be deaf. Berthe, however,

-      revolted on entering the gloomy and deserted Rue de l'Echelle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh, dear!&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;the heel of my shoe is coming off. I cannot go a

-      step further!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand's wrath became terrible.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Just walk on! Do I complain? Is it my place to be out in the street at

-      such a time and in such weather? It would be different if you had a father

-      like others! But no, the fine gentleman stays at home taking his ease. It

-      is always my turn to drag you about; he would never accept the burden.

-      Well! I declare to you that I have had enough of it. Your father may take

-      you out in future if he likes; may the devil have me if ever again I

-      accompany you to houses where I am plagued like that! A man who deceived

-      me as to his capacities, and who has never yet procured me the least

-      pleasure! Ah! good heavens! there is one I would not marry now, if it were

-      to come over again!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young ladies no longer protested. They were already acquainted with

-      this inexhaustible chapter of their mother's blighted hopes. With their

-      lace wraps drawn over their faces, their shoes sopping wet, they rapidly

-      followed the Rue Sainte-Anne. But, in the Rue de Choiseul, at the very

-      door of her house, a last humiliation awaited Madame Josserand: the

-      Duveyriers' carriage splashed her as it passed in.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On the stairs, the mother and the young ladies, worn out and enraged,

-      recovered their gracefulness when they had to pass before Octave. Only, as

-      soon as ever their door was closed behind them, they rushed through the

-      dark apartment, knocking up against the furniture, and tumbled into the

-      dining-room, where Monsieur Josserand was writing by the feeble light of a

-      little lamp.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Failed!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand, letting herself fall on to a chair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, with a rough gesture, she tore the lace wrap from her head, threw her

-      fur cloak on to the back of her chair, and appeared in a flaring dress

-      trimmed with black satin and cut very low in the neck, looking enormous,

-      her shoulders still beautiful, and resembling a mare's shining flanks. Her

-      square face, with its drooping cheeks and too big nose, expressed the

-      tragic fury of a queen restraining herself from descending to the use of

-      coarse, vulgar expressions.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said Monsieur Josserand simply, bewildered by this violent entrance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He kept blinking his eyes and was seized with uneasiness. His wife

-      positively crushed him when she displayed that giant throat, the full

-      weight of which he seemed to feel on the nape of his neck. Dressed in an

-      old thread-bare frock-coat which he was finishing to wear out at home, his

-      face looking as though tempered and expunged by thirty-five years spent at

-      an office desk, he watched her for a moment with his big lifeless blue

-      eyes. Then, after thrusting his grey locks behind his ears, feeling very

-      embarrassed and unable to find a word to say, he attempted to resume his

-      work.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But you do not seem to understand!&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand in a shrill

-      voice. &ldquo;I tell you that there is another marriage knocked on the head, and

-      it is the fourth!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes, I know, the fourth,&rdquo; murmured he. &ldquo;It is annoying, very

-      annoying.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, to escape from his wife's terrifying nudity, he turned towards his.

-      daughters with a good-natured smile. They also were removing their lace

-      wraps and their opera-cloaks; the elder one was in blue and the younger in

-      pink; their dresses, too, free in cut and over-trimmed, were like a

-      provocation. Hortense, with her sallow complexion, and her face spoilt by

-      a nose like her mother's, which gave her an air of disdainful obstinacy,

-      had just turned twenty-three and looked twenty-eight; whilst Berthe, two

-      years younger, retained all a child's gracefulness, having, however, the

-      same features, but more delicate and dazzlingly white, and only menaced

-      with the coarse family mask after she entered the fifties.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It will do no good if you go on looking at us for ever!&rdquo; cried Madame

-      Josserand. &ldquo;And, for God's sake, put your writing away; it worries my

-      nerves!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But, my dear,&rdquo; said he peacefully, &ldquo;I am addressing wrappers.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes, your wrappers at three francs a thousand! Is it with those three

-      francs that you hope to marry your daughters?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Beneath the feeble light of the little lamp, the table was indeed covered

-      with large sheets of coarse paper, printed wrappers, the blanks of which

-      Monsieur Josserand filled in for a largo publisher who had several

-      periodicals. As his salary as cashier did not suffice, he passed whole

-      nights at this unprofitable labour, working in secret, and seized with

-      shame at the idea that any one might discover their penury.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Three francs are three francs,&rdquo; replied he in his slow, tired voice.

-      &ldquo;Those three francs will enable you to add ribbons to your dresses, and to

-      offer some pastry to your guests on your Tuesdays at home.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He regretted his words as soon as he had uttered them; for he felt that

-      they struck Madame Josserand full in the heart, in the most sensitive part

-      of her wounded pride. A rush of blood purpled her shoulders; she seemed on

-      the point of breaking out into revengeful utterances; then, by an effort

-      of dignity, she merely stammered, &ldquo;Ah! good heavens! ah! good heavens!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she looked at her daughters; she magisterially crushed her husband

-      beneath a shrug of her terrible shoulders, as much as to say, &ldquo;Eh! you

-      hear him? what an idiot!&rdquo; The daughters nodded their heads. Then, seeing

-      himself beaten, and laying down his pen with regret, the father opened the

-      &ldquo;Temps&rdquo; newspaper, which he brought home every evening from his office.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is Saturnin asleep?&rdquo; sharply inquired Madame Josserand, speaking of her

-      younger son.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, long ago,&rdquo; replied he. &ldquo;I also sent Adèle to bed. And Léon, did you

-      see him at the Dambrevilles'?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course! he sleeps there!&rdquo; she let out in a cry of rancour which she

-      was unable to restrain.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The father, surprised, naively added,

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! you think so?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hortense and Berthe had become deaf again. They faintly smiled, however,

-      affecting to be busy with their shoes, which were in a pitiful state. To

-      create a diversion, Madame Josserand tried to pick another quarrel with

-      Monsieur Josserand; she begged him to take his newspaper away every

-      morning, not to leave it lying about in the room all day, as he had done

-      with the previous number, for instance, a number containing the report of

-      an abominable trial, which his daughters might have read. She well

-      recognised there his want of morality.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, are we going to bed?&rdquo; asked Hortense. &ldquo;I am hungry.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! and I too!&rdquo; said Berthe. &ldquo;I am famishing.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! you are hungry!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand beside herself. &ldquo;Did you

-      not eat any cake there, then? What a couple of geese! You should have

-      eaten some! I did.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young ladies resisted. They were hungry, they were feeling quite ill.

-      So the mother accompanied them to the kitchen, to see if they could

-      discover anything. The father at once returned stealthily to his wrappers.

-      He well knew that, without them, every little luxury in the home would

-      have disappeared; and that was why, in spite of the scorn and unjust

-      quarrels, he obstinately remained till daybreak engaged in this secret

-      work, happy like the worthy man he was whenever he fancied that an extra

-      piece of lace would hook a rich husband. As they were already stinting the

-      food, without managing to save sufficient for the dresses and the Tuesday

-      receptions, he resigned himself to his martyr-like labour, dressed in

-      rags, whilst the mother and daughters wandered from drawing-room to

-      drawing-room with flowers in their hair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What a stench there is here!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand on entering the

-      kitchen. &ldquo;To think that I can never get that slut Adèle to leave the

-      window slightly open! She pretends that the room is so very cold in the

-      morning.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She went and opened the window, and from the narrow courtyard separating

-      the kitchens there rose an icy dampness, the unsavoury odour of a musty

-      cellar. The candle which Berthe had lighted caused colossal shadows of

-      naked shoulders to dance upon the wall.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And what a state the place is in!&rdquo; continued Madame Josserand, sniffing

-      about, and poking her nose into all the dirty corners. &ldquo;She has not

-      scrubbed her table for a fortnight. Here are plates which have been

-      waiting to be washed since the day before yesterday. On my word, it is

-      disgusting! And her sink, just look! smell it now, smell her sink!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her rage was lashing itself. She tumbled the crockery about with her arms

-      white with rice powder and bedecked with gold bangles; she trailed her

-      flaring dress amidst the grease stains, catching it in cooking utensils

-      thrown under the tables, risking her hardly earned luxury amongst the

-      vegetable parings. At last, the discovery of a notched knife made her

-      anger break all bounds.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I will turn her into the street to-morrow morning!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will be no better off,&rdquo; quietly remarked Hortense. &ldquo;We are never able

-      to keep anyone. This is the first who has stayed three months. The moment

-      they begin to get a little decent and know how to make melted butter, off

-      they go.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand bit her lips. As a matter of fact, Adèle alone, stupid

-      and lousy, and only lately arrived from her native Brittany, could put up

-      with the ridiculously vain penury of these middle-class people, who took

-      advantage of her ignorance and her slovenliness to half starve her. Twenty

-      times already, on account of a comb found on the bread or of some

-      abominable stew which gave them all the colic, they had talked of sending

-      her about her business; then, they had resigned themselves to putting up

-      with her, in the presence of the difficulty of replacing her, for the

-      pilferers themselves declined to be engaged, to enter that hole, where

-      even the lumps of sugar were counted.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I can't discover anything!&rdquo; murmured Berthe, who was rummaging a

-      cupboard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The shelves had the melancholy emptiness and the false luxury of families

-      where inferior meat is purchased, so as to be able to put flowers on the

-      table. All that was lying about were some white and gold porcelain plates,

-      perfectly empty, a crumb-brush, the silver-plated handle of which was all

-      tarnished, and some cruets without a drain of oil or vinegar in them;

-      there was not a forgotten crust, not a morsel of dessert, not a fruit, nor

-      a sweet, nor a remnant of cheese. One could feel that Adèle's hunger never

-      satisfied, lapped up the rare dribblets of sauce which her betters left at

-      the bottoms of the dishes, to the extent of rubbing the gilt off.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But she has gone and eaten all the rabbit!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;True,&rdquo; said Hortense, &ldquo;there was the tail piece. Ah! no, here it is. It

-      would have surprised me if she had dared. I shall stick to it, you know.

-      It is cold, but it is better than nothing!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, on her side, was rummaging about, but without result. At length

-      her hand encountered a bottle, in which her mother had diluted the

-      contents of an old pot of jam, so as to manufacture some red currant syrup

-      for her evening parties. She poured herself out half a glass, saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! an idea! I will soak some bread in this, as it is all there is!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Madame Josserand, all anxiety, looked at her sternly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pray, don't restrain yourself, fill your glass whilst you are about it.

-      It will be quite sufficient if I offer water to the ladies and gentlemen

-      to-morrow, will it not?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Fortunately, the discovery of another of Adèle's evil doings interrupted

-      her reprimand. She was still turning about, searching for crimes, when she

-      caught sight of a volume on the table; and then occurred a supreme

-      explosion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! the beast! she has again brought my Lamartine into the kitchen!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was a copy of &ldquo;Jocelyn.&rdquo; She took it up and rubbed it hard, as though

-      dusting it; and she kept repeating that she had twenty times forbidden her

-      to leave it lying about in that way, to write her accounts upon. Berthe

-      and Hortense, meanwhile, had shared the little piece of bread which

-      remained; then carrying their suppers away with them, they said that they

-      would undress first. The mother gave the icy cold stove a last glance, and

-      returned to the dining-room, tightly holding her Lamartine beneath the

-      massive flesh of her arm.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand continued writing. He trusted that his wife would be

-      satisfied with crushing him with a glance of contempt as she crossed the

-      room to go to bed. But she again dropped on to a chair, facing him, and

-      looked at him fixedly without speaking. He felt this look, and was seized

-      with such uneasiness, that his pen kept sputtering on the flimsy wrapper

-      paper.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So it was you who prevented Adèle making a cream for tomorrow evening?&rdquo;

-       said she at length.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He raised his head in amazement.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I, my dear!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! you will again deny it, as you always do. Then, why has she not made

-      the cream I ordered? You know very well that before our party to-morrow

-      Uncle Bachelard is coming to dinner, it is his saint's-day, which is very

-      awkward, happening as it does on my reception day. If there is no cream,

-      we must have an ice, and that will be another five francs squandered!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He did not attempt to exculpate himself. Not daring to resume his work, he

-      began to play with his penholder. There was a brief pause.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;To-morrow morning,&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand, &ldquo;you will oblige me by

-      calling on the Campardons and reminding them very politely, if you can,

-      that we are expecting to see them in the evening. Their young man arrived

-      this afternoon. Ask them to bring him with them. Do you understand? I wish

-      him to come.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What young man?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A young man; it would take too long to explain everything to you. I have

-      obtained all necessary information about him. I am obliged to try

-      everything, as you leave your daughters entirely to me, like a bundle of

-      rubbish, without occupying yourself about marrying them any more than

-      about marrying the Grand Turk.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The thought revived her anger.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You see, I contain myself, but it is more, oh! it is more than I can

-      stand! Say nothing, sir, say nothing, or really my anger will get the

-      better of me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He said nothing, but she vented her wrath upon him all the same.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It has become unbearable! I warn you, that one of these mornings I shall

-      go off, and leave you here with your two idiotic daughters. Was I born to

-      live such a skinflint life as this? Always cutting farthings into four,

-      never even having a decent pair of boots, and not being able to receive my

-      friends decently! And all that through your fault! Ah! do not shake your

-      head, do not exasperate me more than I am already! Yes, your fault! You

-      deceived me, sir, basely deceived me. One should not marry a woman, when

-      one is decided to let her want for everything. You played the boaster, you

-      pretended you had a fine future before you, you were the friend of your

-      employer's sons, of those brothers Bemheim, who, since, have merely made a

-      fool of you. What! You dare to pretend that they have not made a fool of

-      you! But you ought to be their partner by now? It is you who made their

-      business what it is, one of the first glass-houses in Paris, and you have

-      remained their cashier, a subordinate, a hireling. Really! you have no

-      spirit; hold your tongue.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I get eight thousand francs a year,&rdquo; murmured the cashier. &ldquo;It is a very

-      good berth.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A good berth, after more than thirty years' labour?&rdquo; resumed Madame

-      Josserand. &ldquo;They grind you down, and you are delighted. Do you know what I

-      would have done, had I been in your place? well! I would have put the

-      business into my pocket twenty times over. It was so easy. I saw it when I

-      married you, and since then I have never ceased advising you to do so. But

-      it required some initiative and intelligence; it was a question of not

-      going to sleep on your leather-covered stool, like a blockhead.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; interrupted Monsieur Josserand, &ldquo;are you going to reproach me now

-      with being honest?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She jumped up, and advanced towards him, flourishing her Lamartine.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Honest! in what way do you mean? Begin by being honest towards me. Others

-      do not count till afterwards, I hope! And I repeat, sir, it is not honest

-      to take a young girl in, pretending to be ambitious to become rich some

-      day, and then to end by losing what little wits you had in looking after

-      somebody else's cashbox. On my word, I was nicely swindled! Ah! if it were

-      to happen over again, and if I had only known your family!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She was walking violently about. He could not restrain a slight sign of

-      impatience, in spite of his great desire for peace.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You would do better to go to bed, Eléonore,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It is past one

-      o'clock, and I assure you this work is pressing. My family has done you no

-      harm, so do not speak of it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! and why, pray? Your family is no more sacred than another, I suppose.

-      Every one at Clermont knows that your father, after selling his business

-      of solicitor, let himself be ruined by a servant. You might have seen your

-      daughters married long ago, had he not taken up with a strumpet when over

-      seventy. There is another who has swindled me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand turned pale. He replied in a trembling voice, which

-      rose higher as he went on:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Listen, do not let us throw our relations at each other's heads. Your

-      father never paid me your dowry, the thirty thousand francs he promised.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? what? thirty thousand francs!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Exactly; don't pretend to be surprised. And if my father met with

-      misfortunes, yours behaved in a most disgraceful way towards us. I was

-      never able to find out clearly what he left. There were all sorts of

-      underhand dealings, so that the school in the Rue des Fossés-Saint-Victor

-      should remain with your sister's husband, that shabby usher who no longer

-      recognises us now. We were robbed as though in a wood.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand, now ghastly white, was choking with rage before her

-      husband's inconceivable revolt.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not say a word against papa! For forty years he was a credit to

-      instruction. Go and talk of the Bachelard Academy in the neighbourhood of

-      the Panthéon! And as for my sister and my brother-in-law, they are what

-      they are. They have robbed me, I know; but it is not for you to say so. I

-      will not permit it, understand that! Do I speak to you of your sister, who

-      eloped with an officer? Oh! you have indeed some nice relations!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;An officer who married her, madame. There is uncle Bachelard, too, your

-      brother, a man totally destitute of all morality&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But you are becoming cracked, sir! He is rich, he earns what he pleases

-      as a commission merchant, and he has promised to provide Berthe's dowry.

-      Do you then respect nothing?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes, provide Berthe's dowry! Will you bet that he will give a sou,

-      and that we shall not have had to put up with his nasty habits for

-      nothing? He makes me feel ashamed of him every time he comes here. A liar,

-      a rake, a person who takes advantage of the situation, who for fifteen

-      years past, seeing us all on our knees before his fortune, has been taking

-      me every Saturday to spend two hours in his office, to go over his books!

-      It saves him five francs. We have never yet been favoured with a single

-      present from him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand, catching her breath, was wrapped for a moment in

-      thought. Then she uttered this last cry:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And you have a nephew in the police, sir!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A fresh pause ensued. The light from the little lamp was becoming dimmer,

-      wrappers were flying about beneath Monsieur Josserand's feverish gestures;

-      and he looked his wife full in the face&mdash;his wife in her low neck

-      dress&mdash;determined to say everything, and quivering with courage.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;With eight thousand francs a year one can do many things,&rdquo; resumed he.

-      &ldquo;You are always complaining. But you should not have arranged your

-      housekeeping on a footing superior to our means. It is your mania for

-      receiving and for paying visits, of having your at homes, of giving tea

-      and pastry&mdash;&ldquo;?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She did not let him finish.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now we have come to it! Shut me up in a box at once. Reproach me for not

-      walking out as naked as my hand. And your daughters, sir, who will marry

-      them if we never see any one? We don't see many people as it is. It does

-      well to sacrifice oneself, to be judged afterwards with such meanness of

-      heart!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We have all of us, madame, sacrificed ourselves. Léon had to make way for

-      his sisters; and he left the house to earn his own living without any

-      assistance from us. As for Saturnin, poor child, he does not even know how

-      to read. And I deny myself everything; I pass my nights&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why did you have daughters then, sir? You are surely not going to

-      reproach them with their education, I hope? Any other man in your place

-      would be proud of Hortense's diploma and of Berthe's talents. The dear

-      child again delighted every one this evening with her waltz, the 'Banks of

-      the Oise,' and her last painting will certainly enchant our guests

-      to-morrow. But you, sir, you are not even a father; you would have sent

-      your children to take cows to grass, instead of sending them to school.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! I took out an assurance for Berthe's benefit Was it not you,

-      madame, who, when the fourth payment became due, made use of the money to

-      cover the drawing-room furniture? And, since then, you have even

-      negotiated the premiums that had been paid.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course! as you leave us to die of hunger. Ah! you may indeed bite your

-      fingers, if your daughters become old maids.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Bite my fingers! But, Jove's thunder! it is you who frighten the likely

-      men away, with your dresses and your ridiculous parties!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Never before had Monsieur Josserand gone so far. Madame Josserand,

-      suffocating, stammered forth the words: &ldquo;I&mdash;I ridiculous!&rdquo; when the

-      door opened. Hortense and Berthe were returning, in their petticoats and

-      little calico jackets, their hair let down, and their feet in old

-      slippers.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah, well! it is too cold in our room!&rdquo; said Berthe shivering. &ldquo;The food

-      freezes in your mouth. Here, at least, there has been a fire this

-      evening.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And both dragging their chairs along the floor, seated themselves close to

-      the stove, which still retained a little warmth. Hortense held her rabbit

-      bone in the tips of her fingers, and was skilfully picking it. Berthe

-      dipped pieces of bread in her glass of syrup. The parents, however, were

-      so excited that they did not even appear to notice their arrival. They

-      continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ridiculous&mdash;ridiculous, sir! I shall not be ridiculous again! Let my

-      head be cut off if I wear out another pair of gloves in trying to get them

-      husbands. It is your turn now! And try not to be more ridiculous than I

-      have been!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I daresay, madame, now that you have exhibited them and compromised them

-      everywhere! Whether you marry them or whether you don't, I don't care a

-      button!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And I care less, Monsieur Josserand! I care so little that I will bundle

-      them out into the street if you aggravate me much more. And if you have a

-      mind to, you can follow them, the door is open. Ah, heavens! what a good

-      riddance!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young ladies quietly listened, used to these lively recriminations.

-      They were still eating, their little jackets dropping from their

-      shoulders, and their bare skin gently rubbing against the lukewarm

-      earthenware of the stove; and they looked charming in this undress, with

-      their youth and their hearty appetites and their eyes heavy with sleep.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are very foolish to quarrel,&rdquo; at length observed Hortense, with her

-      mouth full. &ldquo;Mamma only spoils her temper, and papa will be ill again

-      to-morrow at his office. It seems to me that we are old enough to be able

-      to find husbands for ourselves.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This created a diversion. The father, thoroughly exhausted, made a feint

-      of returning to his wrappers; and he sat with his nose over the paper,

-      unable to write, his hands trembling violently. The mother, who had been

-      moving about the room like an escaped lioness, went and planted herself in

-      front of Hortense.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If you are speaking for yourself,&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;you are a great ninny!

-      Your Verdier will never marry you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That is my business,&rdquo; boldly replied the young girl.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      After having contemptuously refused five or six suitors, a little clerk,

-      the son of a tailor, and other young fellows whose prospects she did not

-      consider good enough, she had ended by setting her cap at a barrister,

-      whom she had met at the Dambrevilles', and who was already turned forty.

-      She considered him very clever, and destined to make a name in the world.

-      But the misfortune was that for fifteen years past Verdier had been living

-      with a mistress, who in the neighbourhood even passed for his wife. She

-      knew of this, though, and by no means let it trouble her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My child,&rdquo; said the father, raising his head once more, &ldquo;I begged you not

-      to think of this marriage. You know the situation.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She stopped sucking her bone, and said with an air of impatience:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What of it? Verdier has promised me he will leave her. She is a fool.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are wrong, Hortense, to speak in that way. And if he should also

-      leave you one day to return to her whom you would have caused him to

-      abandon?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That is my business,&rdquo; sharply retorted the young woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe listened, fully acquainted with this matter, the contingencies of

-      which she discussed daily with her sister. She was, besides, like her

-      father, all in favour of the poor woman, whom it was proposed to turn out

-      into the street, after having performed a wife's duties for fifteen years.

-      But Madame Josserand intervened.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Leave off, do! those wretched women always end by returning to the

-      gutter. Only, it is Verdier who will never bring himself to leave her. He

-      is fooling you, my dear. In your place, I would not wait a second for him;

-      I would try and find some one else.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hortense's voice became sourer still, whilst two livid spots appeared on

-      her cheeks.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Mamma, you know how I am. I want him, and I will have him. I will never

-      marry any one else, even though he kept me waiting a hundred years.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The mother shrugged her shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And you call others fools!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But the young girl rose up, quivering with rage.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here! don't go pitching into me!&rdquo; cried she. &ldquo;I have finished my rabbit.

-      I prefer to go to bed. As you are unable to find us husbands, you must let

-      us find them in our own way.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she withdrew, violently slamming the door behind her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand turned majestically towards her husband, and uttered this

-      profound remark:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That, sir, is the result of your bringing up!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand did not protest; he was occupied in dotting his thumb

-      nail with ink, whilst waiting till they allowed him to resume his writing.

-      Berthe, who had eaten her bread, dipped a finger in the glass to finish up

-      her syrup. She felt comfortable, with her back nice and warm, and did not

-      hurry herself, being undesirous of encountering her sister's quarrelsome

-      temper in their bedroom.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! and that is the reward!&rdquo; continued Madame Josserand, resuming her

-      walk to and fro across the dining-room. &ldquo;For twenty years one wears

-      oneself out for these young ladies, one goes in want of everything in

-      order to make them accomplished women, and they will not even let one have

-      the satisfaction of seeing them married according to one's own fancy. It

-      would be different, if they had ever been refused a single thing! But I

-      have never kept a sou for myself, and have even gone without clothes to

-      dress them as though we had an income of fifty thousand franca No, really,

-      it is too absurd! When those hussies have had a careful education, have

-      got just as much religion as is necessary, and the airs of rich girls,

-      they leave you in the lurch, they talk of marrying barristers,

-      adventurers, who lead lives of debauchery!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She stopped before Berthe, and, menacing her with her finger, said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;As for you, if you follow your sister's example, you will have me to deal

-      with.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then she recommenced stamping round the room, speaking to herself, jumping

-      from one idea to another, contradicting herself with the brazenness of a

-      woman who will always be in the right.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I did what I ought to do, and were it to be done over again I should do

-      the same. In life, it is only the most shamefaced who lose. Money is

-      money; when one has none, one may as well retire. Whenever I had twenty

-      sous, I always said I had forty; for that is real wisdom, it is better to

-      be envied than pitied. It is no use having a good education if one has not

-      good clothes to wear, for then people despise you. It is not just, but it

-      is so. I would sooner wear dirty petticoats than a cotton dress. Feed on

-      potatoes, but have a chicken when you have any one to dinner. And only

-      fools would say the contrary!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She looked fixedly at her husband, to whom these last reflections were

-      addressed. The latter, worn out, and declining another battle, had the

-      cowardice to declare:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is true; money is everything in our days.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You hear,&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand, returning towards her daughter. &ldquo;Go

-      straight ahead and try to give us satisfaction. How is it you let this

-      marriage fall through?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe understood that her turn had come.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I don't know, mamma,&rdquo; murmured she &ldquo;A second head-clerk in a government

-      office,&rdquo; continued the mother; &ldquo;not yet thirty, with a splendid future

-      before him. Every month he would be bringing you his money; it is

-      something substantial that, there is nothing like it. You have been up to

-      some tomfoolery again, just the same as with the others.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have not, mamma, I assure you. He must have obtained some information&mdash;have

-      heard that I had no money.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Madame Josserand cried out at this.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And the dowry that your uncle is going to give you! Every one knows about

-      that dowry. No, there is something else; he withdrew too abruptly. When

-      dancing you passed into the parlour.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe became confused.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, mamma. And, as we were alone, he even tried to do some naughty

-      things; he kissed me, seizing hold of me like that. Then I was frightened;

-      I pushed him up against the furniture&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her mother, again overcome with rage, interrupted her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pushed him up against the furniture, ah! the wretched girl pushed him up

-      against the furniture!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But, mamma, he held me&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What of it? He held you, that was nothing! A fat lot of good it is

-      sending such fools to school! Whatever did they teach you, eh?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A rush of colour rose to the young girl's cheeks and shoulders. Tears

-      filled her eyes, whilst she looked as confused as a violated virgin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It was not my fault; he looked so wicked. I did not know what to do.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Did not know what to do! she did not know what to do! Have I not told you

-      a hundred times that your fears are ridiculous? It is your lot to live in

-      society. When a man is rough, it is because he loves you, and there is

-      always a way of keeping him in his place in a nice manner. For a kiss

-      behind a door! in truth now, ought you to mention such a thing to us, your

-      parents? And you push people against the furniture, and you drive away

-      your suitors!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She assumed a doctoral air as she continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is ended; I despair of doing anything with you, you are too stupid, my

-      girl. One would have to coach you in everything, and that would be

-      awkward. As you have no fortune, understand at least that you must hook

-      the men by some other means. One should be amiable, have loving eyes,

-      abandon one's hand occasionally, allow a little playfulness, without

-      seeming to do so; in short, one should angle for a husband. You make a

-      great mistake, if you think it improves your eyes to cry like a fool!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe was sobbing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You aggravate me&mdash;leave off crying. Monsienr Josserand, just tell

-      your daughter not to spoil her face by crying in that way. It will be too

-      much if she becomes ugly!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My child,&rdquo; said the father, &ldquo;be reasonable; listen to your mother's good

-      advice. You must not spoil your good looks, my darling.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And what irritates me is that she is not so bad when she likes,&rdquo; resumed

-      Madame Josserand. &ldquo;Come, wipe your eyes, look at me as if I was a

-      gentleman courting you. You smile, you drop your fan, so that the

-      gentleman, in picking it up, slightly touches your fingers. That is not

-      the way. You are holding you head up too stiffly, you look like a sick

-      hen. Lean back more, show your neck; it is too young to be hidden.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, like this, mamma?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, that is better. And never be stiff, be supple. Men do not care for

-      planks. And, above all, if they go too far do not play the simpleton. A

-      man who goes too far is done for, my dear.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The drawing-room clock struck two; and, in the excitement of that

-      prolonged vigil, in her desire now become furious for an immediate

-      marriage, the mother forgot herself in thinking out loud, making her

-      daughter turn about like a papier-mache doll. The latter, without spirit

-      or will, abandoned herself; but she felt very heavy at heart, fear and

-      shame brought a lump to her throat. Suddenly, in the midst of a silvery

-      laugh which her mother was forcing her to attempt, she burst into sobs,

-      her face all upset:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No! no! it pains me!&rdquo; stammered she,

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      For a second, Madame Josserand remained incensed and amazed. Ever since

-      she left the Dambrevilles', her hand had been itching, there were slaps in

-      the air. Then, she landed Berthe a clout with all her might.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Take that! you are too aggravating! What a fool! On my word, the men are

-      right!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In the shock, her Lamartine, which she had kept under her arm, fell to the

-      floor. She picked it up, wiped it, and without adding another word, she

-      retired into the bedroom, royally drawing her ball-dress around her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It was bound to end thus,&rdquo; murmured Monsieur Josserand, not daring to

-      detain his daughter, who went off also, holding her cheek and crying

-      louder than ever.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But, as Berthe felt her way across the ante-room, she found her brother

-      Saturnin up, barefooted and listening. Saturnin was a big, ill-formed

-      fellow of twenty-five, with wild-looking eyes, and who had remained

-      childish after an attack of brain-fever. Without being mad, he terrified

-      the household by attacks of blind violence, whenever he was thwarted.

-      Berthe, alone, was able to subdue him with a look. He had nursed her when

-      she was still quite a child, through a long illness, obedient as a dog to

-      her little invalid girl's caprices; and, ever since he had saved her, he

-      was seized with an adoration for her, into which entered every kind of

-      love.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Has she been beating you again?&rdquo; asked he in a low and ardent voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, uneasy at finding him there, tried to send him away.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go to bed, it is nothing to do with you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, it is. I will not have her beat you! She woke me up, she was

-      shouting so. She had better not try it on again, or I will strike her!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, she seized him by the wrists, and spoke to him as to a disobedient

-      animal. He submitted at once, and stuttered, crying like a little boy:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It hurts you very much, does it not? Where is the sore place, that I may

-      kiss it?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, having found her cheek in the dark, he kissed it, wetting it with his

-      tears, as he repeated:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is well, now, it is well, now.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, left alone, had laid down his pen, his

-      heart was so full of grief. At the end of a few minutes, he got up gently

-      to go and listen at the doors. Madame Josserand was snoring. No sounds of

-      crying issued from his daughters' room. All was dark and peaceful. Then he

-      returned, feeling slightly relieved. He saw to the lamp which was smoking,

-      and mechanically resumed his writing. Two big tears, unfelt by him,

-      dropped on to the wrappers, in the solemn silence of the slumbering house.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER III.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>o soon as the fish

-      was served, skate of doubtful freshness with black butter, which that

-      bungler Adèle had drowned in a flood of vinegar, Hortense and Berthe,

-      seated on the right and left of uncle Bachelard, incited him to drink,

-      filling his glass one after the other, and repeating:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's your saint's-day, drink now, drink! Here's your health, uncle!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They had plotted together to make him give them twenty francs. Every year,

-      their provident mother placed them thus on either side of her brother,

-      abandoning him to them. But it was a difficult task, and required all the

-      greediness of two girls prompted by dreams of Louis XV. shoes and five

-      button gloves. To get him to give the twenty francs, it was necessary to

-      make the uncle completely drunk. He was ferociously miserly whenever he

-      found himself amongst his relations, though out of doors he squandered in

-      crapulous boozes the eighty thousand francs he made each year out of his

-      commission business. Fortunately, that evening, he was already half

-      fuddled when he arrived, having passed the afternoon with the wife of a

-      dyer of the Faubourg Montmartre, who kept a stock of Marseilles vermouth

-      expressly for him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Your health, my little ducks!&rdquo; replied he each time, with his thick husky

-      voice, as he emptied his glass.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Covered with jewellery, a rose in his button-hole, enormous in build, he

-      filled the middle of the table, with his broad shoulders of a boozing and

-      brawling tradesman, who has wallowed in every vice. His false teeth lit up

-      with too harsh a whiteness his ravaged face, the big red nose of which

-      blazed beneath the snowy crest of his short cropped hair; and, now and

-      again, his eyelids dropped of themselves over his pale and misty eyes.

-      Gueulin, the son of one of his wife's sisters, affirmed that his uncle had

-      not been sober during the ten years he had been a widower.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Narcisse, a little skate, I can recommend it,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand,

-      smiling at her brother's tipsy condition, though at heart it made her feel

-      rather disgusted.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She was sitting opposite to him, having little Gueulin on her left, and

-      another young man on her right, Hector Trublot, to whom she was desirous

-      of showing some politeness. She usually took advantage of family

-      gatherings like the present to get rid of certain invitations she had to

-      return; and it was thus that a lady living in the house, Madame Juzeur,

-      was also present, seated next to Monsieur Josserand. As the uncle behaved

-      very badly at table, and it was the expectation of his fortune alone which

-      enabled them to put up with him without absolute disgust, she only had

-      intimate acquaintances to meet him or else persons whom she thought it was

-      no longer worth while trying to dazzle. For instance, she had at one time

-      thought of finding a son-in-law in young Trublot, who was employed at a

-      stockbroker's, whilst waiting till his father, a wealthy man, purchased

-      him a share in the business; but, Trublot having professed a determined

-      objection to matrimony, she no longer stood upon ceremony with him, even

-      placing him next to Saturnin, who had never known how to eat decently.

-      Berthe, who always had a seat beside her brother, was commissioned to

-      subdue him with a look, whenever he put his fingers too much into the

-      gravy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      After the fish came a meat pie, and the young ladies thought the moment

-      arrived to commence their attack.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Take another glass, uncle!&rdquo; said Hortense. &ldquo;It is your saint's day. Don't

-      you give anything when it's your saint's-day?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me! why of course,&rdquo; added Berthe naively. &ldquo;People always give

-      something on their saint's-day. You must give us twenty francs.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      On hearing them speak of money, Bachelard at once exaggerated his tipsy

-      condition. It was his usual dodge; his eyelids dropped, and he became

-      quite idiotic.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? what?&rdquo; stuttered he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Twenty francs. You know very well what twenty francs are, it is no use

-      your pretending you don't,&rdquo; resumed Berthe. &ldquo;Give us twenty francs, and we

-      will love you, oh! we will love you so much!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They threw their arms round his neck, called him the most endearing names,

-      and kissed his inflamed face without the least repugnance for the horrid

-      odour of debauchery which he exhaled. Monsieur Josserand, whom these

-      continual fumes of absinthe, tobacco and musk upset, had a feeling of

-      disgust on seeing his daughters' virgin charms rubbing up against those

-      infamies gathered in the vilest places.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Leave him alone!&rdquo; cried he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked Madame Josserand, giving her husband a terrible look. &ldquo;They

-      are amusing themselves. If Narcisse wishes to give them twenty francs, he

-      is quite at liberty to do so.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Monsieur Bachelard is so good to them!&rdquo; complacently murmured little

-      Madame Juzeur.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But the uncle struggled, becoming more idiotic than ever, and repeating,

-      with his mouth full of saliva:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's funny. I don't know, word of honour! I don't know.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Hortense and Berthe, exchanging a glance, released him. No doubt he

-      had not had enough to drink. And they again resorted to filling his glass,

-      laughing like courtesans who intend robbing a man. Their bare arms, of an

-      adorable youthful plumpness, kept passing every minute under the uncle's

-      big flaming nose.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Trublot, like a quiet fellow who takes his pleasures alone, was

-      watching Adèle as she turned heavily round the table. Being very

-      short-sighted he thought her pretty, with her pronounced Breton features

-      and her hair the colour of dirty hemp. When she brought in the roast, a

-      piece of veal, she leant right over his shoulder, to reach the centre of

-      the table; and he, pretending to pick up his napkin, gave her a good pinch

-      on the calf of her leg. The servant, not understanding, looked at him, as

-      though he had asked her for some bread.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; said Madame Josserand. &ldquo;Did she knock against you, sir? Oh!

-      that girl! she is so awkward! But, you know, she is quite new to the work;

-      she will be better when she has had a little training.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No doubt, there is no harm done,&rdquo; replied Trublot, stroking his bushy

-      black beard with the serenity of a young Indian god.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The conversation was becoming more animated in the diningroom, at first

-      icy cold, and now gradually warming with the fumes of the dishes. Madame

-      Juzeur was once more confiding to Monsieur Josserand the dreariness of her

-      thirty years of solitary existence. She raised her eyes to heaven, and

-      contented herself with this discreet allusion to the drama of her life:

-      her husband had left her after ten days of married bliss, and no one knew

-      why; she said nothing more. Now, she lived by herself in a lodging that

-      was as soft as down and always closed, and which was frequented by

-      priests.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is so sad, at my age!&rdquo; murmured she languishingly, cutting up her veal

-      with delicate gestures.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A very unfortunate little woman,&rdquo; whispered Madame Josserand in Trublot's

-      ear, with an air of profound sympathy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But Trublot glanced indifferently at this clear-eyed devotee, so full of

-      reserve and hidden meanings. She was not his style.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then there was a regular panic. Saturnin, whom Berthe was not watching so

-      closely, being too busy with her uncle, had amused himself by cutting up

-      his meat into various designs on his plate. This poor creature exasperated

-      his mother, who was both afraid and ashamed of him; she did not know how

-      to get rid of him, not daring through pride to make a workman of him,

-      after having sacrificed him to his sisters by having removed him from the

-      school where his slumbering intelligence was too long awakening; and,

-      during the years he had been hanging about the house, useless and stinted,

-      she was in a constant state of fright whenever she had to let him appear

-      before company. Her pride suffered cruelly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Saturnin!&rdquo; cried she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But Saturnin began to chuckle, delighted with the mess he had made in his

-      plate. He did not respect his mother, but called her roundly a great liar

-      and a horrid nuisance, with the perspicacity of madmen who think out loud.

-      Things certainly seemed to be going wrong. He would have thrown his plate

-      at her head, if Berthe, reminded of her duties, had not looked him

-      straight in the face. He tried to resist; then the fire in his eyes died

-      out; he remained gloomy and depressed on his chair, as though in a dream,

-      until the end of the meal.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I hope, Gueulin, that you have brought your flute?&rdquo; asked Madame

-      Josserand, trying to dispel her guests' uneasiness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin was an amateur flute-player, but solely in the houses where he was

-      treated without ceremony.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My flute! Of course I have,&rdquo; replied he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He was absent-minded, his carroty hair and whiskers were more bristly than

-      usual, as he watched with deep interest the young ladies' manoeuvres

-      around their uncle. Employed at an assurance office, he would go straight

-      to Bachelard on leaving off work, and stick to him, visiting the same

-      cafés and the same disreputable places. Behind the big, ill-shaped body of

-      the one, the little pale face of the other was sure always to be seen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Cheerily, there! stick to him!&rdquo; said he, suddenly, like a true sportsman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The uncle was indeed losing ground. When, after the vegetables, French

-      beans swimming in water, Adèle placed a vanilla and currant ice on the

-      table, it caused unexpected delight amongst the guests; and the young

-      ladies took advantage of the situation to make the uncle drink half of the

-      bottle of champagne, which Madame Josserand had bought for three francs of

-      a neighbouring grocer. He was becoming quite affectionate, and forgetting

-      his pretended idiocy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh, twenty francs! Why twenty francs? Ah! you want twenty francs! But I

-      have not got them, really now. Ask Gueulin. Is it not true, Gueulin, that

-      I forgot my purse, and that you had to pay at the café? If I had them, my

-      little ducks, I would give them to you, you are so nice.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin was laughing in his cool way, making a noise like a pulley that

-      required greasing. And he murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The old swindler!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, suddenly, unable to restrain himself, he cried:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Search him!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      So Hortense and Berthe again threw themselves on the uncle, this time

-      without the least restraint. The desire for the twenty francs, which their

-      good education had hitherto kept within bounds, bereft them of their

-      senses in the end, and they forgot everything else. The one, with both

-      hands, examined his waistcoat pockets, whilst the other buried her fingers

-      inside the pockets of his frock-coat. The uncle, however, pressed back on

-      his chair, still struggled; but he gradually burst out into a laugh&mdash;a

-      laugh broken by drunken hiccoughs.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;On my word of honour, I haven't a sou! Leave off, do; you're tickling

-      me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0073.jpg" alt="0073 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0073.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;In the trousers!&rdquo; energetically exclaimed Gueulin, excited by the

-      spectacle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And Berthe resolutely searched one of the trouser pockets.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Their hands trembled; they were both becoming exceedingly rough, and could

-      have smacked the uncle. But Berthe uttered a cry of victory: from the

-      depths of the pocket she brought forth a handful of money, which she

-      spread out in a plate; and there, amongst a heap of coppers and pieces of

-      silver, was a twenty-franc piece.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have it!&rdquo; said she, her face all red, her hair undone, as she tossed

-      the coin in the air and caught it again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      There was a general clapping of hands, every one thought it very funny. It

-      created quite a hubbub, and was the success of the dinner. Madame

-      Josserand looked at her daughters with a mother's tender smile. The uncle,

-      who was gathering up his money, sententiously observed that, when one

-      wanted twenty francs, one should earn them. And the young ladies, worn out

-      and satisfied, were panting on his right and left, their lips still

-      trembling in the enervation of their desire.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A bell was heard to ring. They had been eating slowly, and the other

-      guests were already arriving. Monsieur Josserand, who had decided to laugh

-      like his wife, enjoyed singing some of Béranger's songs at table; but as

-      this outraged his better half's poetic tastes, she compelled him to keep

-      quiet. She got the dessert over as quickly as possible, more especially

-      as, since the forced present of the twenty francs, the uncle had been

-      trying to pick a quarrel, complaining that his nephew, Léon, had not

-      deigned to put himself out to come and wish him many happy returns of the

-      day. Léon was only coming to the evening party. At length, as they were

-      rising from table, Adèle said that the architect from the floor below and

-      a young man were in the drawing-room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes, that young man,&rdquo; murmured Madame Juzeur, accepting Monsieur

-      Josserand's arm. &ldquo;So you have invited him? I saw him to-day talking to the

-      doorkeeper. He is very good-looking.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand was taking Trublot's arm, when Saturnin, who had been

-      left by himself at the tableland who had not been roused from slumbering

-      with his eyes open by all the uproar about the twenty francs, kicked back

-      his chair, in a sudden outburst of fury, shouting:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I won't have it, damnation! I won't have it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the very thing his mother always dreaded. She signalled to Monsieur

-      Josserand to take Madame Juzeur away. Then she freed herself from Trublot,

-      who understood, and disappeared; but he probably made a mistake, for he

-      went off in the direction of the kitchen, close upon Adèle's heels.

-      Bachelard and Gueulin, without troubling themselves about the maniac, as

-      they called him, chuckled in a corner, whilst playfully slapping one

-      another.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He was so peculiar, I felt there would be something this evening,&rdquo;

-       murmured Madame Josserand, uneasily. &ldquo;Berthe, come quick!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Berthe was showing the twenty-franc piece to Hortense. Saturnin had

-      caught up a knife. He repeated:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Damnation! I won't have it! I'll rip their stomachs open!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Berthe!&rdquo; called her mother in despair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, when the young girl hastened to the spot, she only just had time to

-      seize him by the hand and prevent him from entering the drawing-room. She

-      shook him angrily, whilst he tried to explain, with his madman's logic.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Let me be, I must settle them. I tell you it's best. I've had enough of

-      their dirty ways. They'll sell the whole lot of us.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! this is too much!&rdquo; eried Berthe. &ldquo;What is the matter with you? what

-      are you talking about?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He looked at her in a bewildered way, trembling with a gloomy rage, and

-      stuttered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They're going to marry you again. Never, you hear! I won't have you

-      hurt.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young girl eould not help laughing. Where had he got the idea from

-      that they were going to marry her? But he nodded his head: he knew it, he

-      felt it. And as his mother intervened to try and calm him, he grasped his

-      knife so tightly that she drew back. However, she trembled for fear he

-      should be overheard, and hastily told Berthe to take him away and lock him

-      in his room; whilst he, becoming crazier than ever, raised his voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I won't have you married, I won't have you hurt. If they marry you, I'll

-      rip their stomachs open.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Berthe put her hands on his shoulders, and looked him straight in the

-      face.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;keep quiet, or I will not love you any more.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He staggered, despair softened the expression of his face, his eyes filled

-      with tears.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You won't love me any more, you won't love me any more. Don't say that.

-      Oh! I implore you, say that you will love me still, say that you will love

-      me always, and that you will never love any one else.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had seized him by the wrist, and she led him away as gentle as a

-      child.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In the drawing-room Madame Josserand, exaggerating her intimacy, called

-      Campardon her dear neighbour. Why had Madame Campardon not done her the

-      great pleasure of coming also? and on the architect replying that his wife

-      still continued poorly, she exelaimed that they would have been delighted

-      to have received her in her dressing-gown and her slippers. But her smile

-      never left Oetave, who was conversing with Monsieur Josserand; all her

-      amiability was directed towards him, over Campardon's shoulder. When her

-      husband introduced the young man to her, her cordiality was so great that

-      the latter felt quite uncomfortable.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Other guests were arriving; stout mothers with skinny daughters, fathers

-      and uncles scarcely roused from their office drowsiness, pushing before

-      them flocks of marriageable young ladies. Two lamps, with pink paper

-      shades, lit up the drawingroom with a pale light, which only faintly

-      displayed the old, worn, yellow velvet covered furniture, the scratched

-      piano, and the three smoky Swiss views, which looked like black stains on

-      the cold, bare, white and gold panels. And, in this miserly light, the

-      guests&mdash;poor, and, so to say, worn-out figures, without resignation,

-      and whose attire was the cause of much pinching and saving&mdash;seemed to

-      become obliterated. Madame Josserand wore her fiery costume of the day

-      before; only, with a view of throwing dust in people's eyes, she had

-      passed the day in sewing sleeves on to the body, and in making herself a

-      lace tippet to cover her shoulders; whilst her two daughters, seated

-      beside her in their dirty cotton jackets, vigorously plied their needles,

-      rearranging with new trimmings their only presentable dresses, which they

-      had been thus altering bit by bit ever since the previous winter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      After each ring at the bell, the sound of whispering issued from the

-      ante-chamber. They conversed in low tones in the gloomy drawing-room,

-      where the forced laugh of some young lady jarred at times like a false

-      note. Behind little Madame Juzeur, Bachelard and Gueulin were nudging each

-      other, and making smutty remarks; and Madame Josserand watched them with

-      an alarmed look, for she dreaded her brother's vulgar behaviour. But

-      Madame Juzeur might hear anything; her lips quivered, and she smiled with

-      angelic sweetness as she listened to the naughty stories. Uncle Bachelard

-      had the reputation of being a dangerous man. His nephew, on the contrary,

-      was chaste. No matter how splendid the opportunities were, Gueulin

-      declined to have anything to do with women upon principle, not that he

-      disdained them, but because he dreaded the morrows of bliss: always very

-      unpleasant, he said.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe at length appeared, and went hurriedly up to her mother.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah, well! I have had a deal of trouble!&rdquo; whispered she in her ear. &ldquo;He

-      would not go to bed, so I double-locked the door. But I am afraid he will

-      break everything in the room.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand violently tugged at her dress. Octave, who was close to

-      them, had turned his head.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My daughter, Berthe, Monsieur Mouret,&rdquo; said she, in her most gracious

-      manner, as she introduced them. &ldquo;Monsieur Octave Mouret, my darling.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she looked at her daughter. The latter was well acquainted with this

-      look, which was like an order to clear for action, and which recalled to

-      her the lessons of the night before. She at once obeyed, with the

-      complaisance and the indifference of a girl who no longer stops to examine

-      the person she is to marry. She prettily recited her little part with the

-      easy grace of a Parisian already weary of the world, and acquainted with

-      every subject, and she talked enthusiastically of the South, where she had

-      never been. Octave, used to the stiffness of provincial virgins, was

-      delighted with this little woman's cackle and her sociable manner.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Presently, Trublot, who had not been seen since dinner was over, entered

-      stealthily from the dining-room; and Berthe, catching sight of him, asked

-      thoughtlessly where he had been. He remained silent, at which she felt

-      very confused 3 then, to put an end to the awkward pause which ensued, she

-      introduced the two young men to each other. Her mother had not taken her

-      eyes off her 3 she had assumed the attitude of a commander-in-chief, and

-      directed the campaign from the easy-chair in which she had settled

-      herself. When she judged that the first engagement had given all the

-      result that could have been expected from it, she recalled her daughter

-      with a sign, and said to her, in a low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Wait till the Vabre's are here before commencing your music. And play

-      loud.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, left alone with Trublot, began to engage him in conversation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A charming person.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, not bad.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The young lady in blue is her elder sister, is she not? She is not so

-      good-looking.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course not; she is thinner!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot, who looked without seeing with his near-sighted eyes, had the

-      broad shoulders of a solid male, obstinate in his tastes. He had come back

-      from the kitchen perfectly satisfied, crunching little black things which

-      Octave recognised with surprise to be coffee berries.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I say,&rdquo; asked he abruptly, &ldquo;the women are plump in the South, are they

-      not?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave smiled, and at once became on an excellent footing with Trublot.

-      They had many ideas in common which brought them closer together. They

-      exchanged confidences on an out-of-the-way sofa; the one talked of his

-      employer at &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo; Madame Hédouin, a confoundedly fine

-      woman, but too cold; the other said that he had been put on to the

-      correspondence, from nine to five, at his stockbroker's, Monsieur

-      Desmarquay, where there was a stunning maid servant. Just then the

-      drawing-room door opened, and three persons entered.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They are the Vabres,&rdquo; murmured Trublot, bending over towards his new

-      friend. &ldquo;Auguste, the tall one, he who has a face like a sick sheep, is

-      the landlord's eldest son&mdash;thirty-three years old, ever suffering

-      from headaches which make his eyes start from his head, and which, some

-      years ago, prevented him from continuing to learn Latin; a sullen fellow

-      who has gone in for trade. The other, Théophile, that abortion with

-      carroty hair and thin beard, that little old-looking man of twenty-eight,

-      ever shaking with fits of coughing and of rage, tried a dozen different

-      trades, and then married the young woman who leads the way, Madame Valérie&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have already seen her,&rdquo; interrupted Octave. &ldquo;She is the daughter of a

-      haberdasher of the neighbourhood, is she not? But how those veils deceive

-      one! I thought her pretty. She is only peculiar, with her shrivelled face

-      and her leaden complexion.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She is another who is not my ideal,&rdquo; sententiously resumed Trublot. &ldquo;She

-      has superb eyes, and that is enough for some men. But she's a thin piece

-      of goods.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand had risen to shake Valérie's hand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How is it,&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;that Monsieur Vabre is not with you? and that

-      neither Monsieur nor Madame Duveyrier have done us the honour of coming?

-      They promised us though. Ah! it is very wrong of them!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young woman made excuses for her father-in-law, whose age kept him at

-      home, and who, moreover, preferred to work of an evening. As for her

-      brother and sister-in-law, they had asked her to apologise for them, they

-      having received an invitation to an official party, which they were

-      obliged to attend. Madame Josserand bit her lips. She never missed one of

-      the Saturdays at home of those stuck-up people on the first floor, who

-      would have thought themselves dishonoured had they ascended, one Tuesday,

-      to the fourth. No doubt her modest tea was not equal to their grand

-      orchestral concerts. But, patience! when her two daughters were married,

-      and she had two sons-in-law and their relations to fill her drawing-room,

-      she also would go in for choruses.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Get yourself ready,&rdquo; whispered she in Berthe's ear.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They were about thirty, and rather tightly packed, for the parlour, having

-      been turned into a bedroom for the young ladies, was not thrown open. The

-      new arrivals distributed handshakes round. Valérie seated herself beside

-      Madame Juzeur, whilst Bachelard and Gueulin made unpleasant remarks out

-      loud about Théophile Vabre, whom they thought it funny to call &ldquo;good for

-      nothing.&rdquo; Monsieur Josserand&mdash;who in his own home kept himself so

-      much in the background that one would have taken him for a guest, and whom

-      one would fail to find when wanted, even though he were standing close by&mdash;was

-      in a corner listening in a bewildered way to a story related by one of his

-      old friends, Bonnaud. He knew Bonnaud, who was formerly the general

-      accountant of the Northern railway, and whose daughter had married in the

-      previous spring? Well! Bonnaud had just discovered that his son-in-law, a

-      very respectable-looking man, was an ex-clown, who had lived for ten years

-      at the expense of a female circus-rider.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Silence! silence!&rdquo; murmured some good-natured voices. Berthe had opened

-      the piano.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Really!&rdquo; explained Madame Josserand, &ldquo;it is merely an unpretentious

-      piece, a simple reverie. Monsieur Mouret, you like music, I think. Come

-      nearer then. My daughter plays pretty fairly&mdash;oh! purely as an

-      amateur, but with expression; yes, with a great deal of expression.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Caught!&rdquo; said Trublot in a low voice. &ldquo;The sonata stroke.&rdquo; Octave was

-      obliged to leave his seat and stand up beside the piano. To see the

-      caressing attentions which Madame Josserand showered upon him, it seemed

-      as though she were making Berthe play solely for him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;'The Banks of the Oise,'&rdquo; resumed she. &ldquo;It is really very pretty. Come

-      begin, my love, and do not be confused. Monsieur Mouret will be

-      indulgent.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young girl commenced the piece without being in the least confused.

-      Besides, her mother kept her eyes upon her like a sergeant ready to punish

-      with a blow the least theoretical mistake. Her great regret was that the

-      instrument, worn-out by fifteen years of daily scales, did not possess the

-      sonorous tones of the Duveyriers' grand piano; and her daughter never

-      played loud enough in her opinion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      After the sixth bar, Octave, looking thoughtful and nodding his head at

-      each spirited passage, no longer listened. He looked at the audience, the

-      politely absent-minded attention of the men, and the affected delight of

-      the women, all that relaxation of persons for a moment at rest, but soon

-      again to be harassed by the cares of every hour, the shadows of which,

-      before long, would be once more reflected on their weary faces. Mothers

-      were visibly dreaming that they were marrying their daughters, whilst a

-      smile hovered about their mouths, revealing their fierce-looking teeth in

-      their unconscious abandonment; it was the mania of this drawing-room, a

-      furious appetite for sons-in-law, which consumed these worthy middle-class

-      mothers to the asthmatic sounds of the piano.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The daughters, who were very weary, were falling asleep, with their heads

-      dropping on to their shoulders, forgetting to sit up erect. Octave, who

-      had a certain contempt for young ladies, was more interested in Valerie&mdash;she

-      looked decidedly ugly in her peculiar yellow silk dress, trimmed with

-      black satin&mdash;and feeling ill at ease, yet attracted all the same, his

-      gaze kept returning to her; whilst she, with a vague look in her eyes, and

-      unnerved by the discordant music, was smiling like a crazy person.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At this moment quite a catastrophe occurred. A ring at the bell was heard,

-      and a gentleman entered the room without the least regard for what was

-      taking place.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! doctor!&rdquo; said Madame Josserand angrily.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Doctor Juillerat made a gesture of apology, and stood stockstill. Berthe,

-      at this moment, was executing a little passage with a slow and dreamy

-      fingering, which the guests greeted with flattering murmurs. Ah!

-      delightful! delicious! Madame Juzeur was almost swooning away, as though

-      being tickled. Hortense, who was standing beside her sister, turning the

-      pages, was sulkily listening for a ring at the bell amidst the avalanche

-      of notes; and, when the doctor entered, she made such a gesture of

-      disappointment that she tore one of the pages on the stand. But, suddenly,

-      the piano trembled beneath Berthe's weal: fingers, thrumming away like

-      hammers; it was the end of the reverie, amidst a deafening uproar of

-      clangorous chords.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      There was a moment of hesitation. The audience was waking up again.. Was

-      it finished? Then the compliments burst out on all sides. Adorable! a

-      superior talent!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Mademoiselle is really a first-rate musician,&rdquo; said Octave, interrupted

-      in his observations. &ldquo;No one has ever given me such pleasure.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you really mean it, sir?&rdquo; exclaimed Madame Josserand delighted. &ldquo;She

-      does not play badly, I must admit. Well! we have never refused the child

-      anything; she is our treasure! She possesses every talent she wished for.

-      Ah! sir, if you only knew her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A confused murmur of voices again filled the drawing-room. Berthe very

-      calmly received the praise showered upon her, and did not leave the piano,

-      but sat waiting till her mother relieved her from fatigue-duty. The latter

-      was already speaking to Octave of the surprising manner in which her

-      daughter dashed off &ldquo;The Harvesters,&rdquo; a brilliant gallop, when some dull

-      and distant thuds created a stir amongst the guests. For several moments

-      past there had been violent shocks, as though some one was trying to burst

-      a door open. Everybody left off talking, and looked about inquiringly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; Valérie ventured to ask. &ldquo;I heard it before, during the

-      finish of the piece.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand had turned quite pale. She had recognised Saturnin's

-      blows. Ah! the wretched lunatic! and in her mind's eye she beheld him

-      tumbling in amongst the guests. If he continued hammering like that, it

-      would be another marriage done for!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is the kitchen door slamming,&rdquo; said she with a constrained smile.

-      &ldquo;Adèle never will shut it. Go and sec, Berthe.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young girl had also understood. She rose and disappeared. The noise

-      ceased at once, but she did not return immediately. Uncle Bachelard, who

-      had scandalously disturbed &ldquo;The Banks of the Oise&rdquo; with reflections

-      uttered out loud, finished putting his sister out of countenance by

-      calling to Gueulin that he felt awfully bored and was going to have a

-      grog. They both returned to the dining-room, banging the door behind them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That dear old Narcisse, he is always original!&rdquo; said Madame Josserand to

-      Madame Juzeur and Valérie, between whom she had gone and seated herself.

-      &ldquo;His business occupies him so much! You know, he has made almost a hundred

-      thousand francs this year!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, at length free, had hastened to rejoin Trublot, who was half

-      asleep on the sofa. Near them, a group surrounded Doctor Juillerat, the

-      old medical man of the neighbourhood, not over brilliant, but who had

-      become in course of time a good practitioner, and who had delivered all

-      the mothers in their confinements and had attended all the daughters. He

-      made a speciality of women's ailments, which caused him to be in great

-      demand of an evening, the husbands all trying to obtain a gratuitous

-      consultation in some corner of the drawing-room. Just then, Théophile was

-      telling him that Valérie had had another attack the day before; she was

-      for ever having a choking fit and complaining of a lump rising in her

-      throat; and he, too, was not very well, but his complaint was not the

-      same. Then he did nothing but speak of himself, and relate his vexations:

-      he had commenced to read for the law, had engaged in manufactures at a

-      foundry, and had tried office management at the Mont-de-Piété; then he had

-      busied himself with photography, and thought he had found a means of

-      making vehicles supply their own motive power; meanwhile, out of kindness,

-      he was travelling some piano-flutes, an invention of one of his friends.

-      And he complained of his wife: it was her fault if nothing went right at

-      home; she was killing him with her perpetual nervous attacks.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do pray give her something, doctor!&rdquo; implored he, coughing and moaning,

-      his eyes lit up with hatred, in the querulous rage of his impotency.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot watched him, full of contempt; and he laughed silently as he

-      glanced at Octave. Doctor Juillerat uttered vague and calming words: no

-      doubt, they would relieve her, the dear lady. At fourteen, she was already

-      stifling, in the shop of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin; he had attended her

-      for vertigo which always ended by bleeding at the nose; and, as Théophile

-      recalled with despair her languid gentleness when a young girl, whilst

-      now, fantastic and her temper changing twenty times in a day, she

-      absolutely tortured him, the doctor merely shook his head. Marriage did

-      not succeed with all women.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; murmured Trublot, &ldquo;a father who has gone off his chump by

-      passing thirty years of his life in selling needles and thread, a mother

-      who has always had her face covered with pimples, and that in an airless

-      hole of old Paris, no one can expect such people to have daughters like

-      other folks!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was surprised. He was losing some of his respect for that

-      drawing-room which he had entered with a provincial's emotion. Curiosity

-      was awakened within him, when he observed Campardon consulting the doctor

-      in his turn, but in whispers, like a sedate person desirous of letting no

-      one become acquainted with his family mishaps.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;By the way, as you appear to know everything,&rdquo; said Octave to Trublot,

-      &ldquo;tell me what it is that Madame Campardon is suffering from. Every one

-      puts on a very sad face whenever it is mentioned.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, my dear fellow,&rdquo; replied the young man, &ldquo;she has&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he whispered in Octave's ear. Whilst he listened, the latter's face

-      first assumed a smile, and then became very long with a look of profound

-      astonishment.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is not possible!&rdquo; said he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Trublot gave his word of honour. He knew another lady in the same

-      state.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; resumed he, &ldquo;it sometimes happens after a confinement that&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he began to whisper again. Octave, convinced, became quite sad. He who

-      had fancied all sorts of things, who had imagined quite a romance, the

-      architect occupied elsewhere and drawing him towards his wife to amuse

-      her! In any case he now knew that she was well guarded. The young men

-      pressed up against each other, in the excitement caused by these feminine

-      secrets which they were stirring up, forgetting that they might be

-      overheard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Juzeur was just then confiding to Madame Josser-and her impressions

-      of Octave. She thought him very becoming, no doubt, but she preferred

-      Monsieur Auguste Vabre The latter, standing up in a corner of the

-      drawing-room, remained silent, in his insignificance and with his usual

-      evening headache.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What surprises me, dear madame, is that you have not thought of him for

-      your Berthe. A young man set up in business, who is prudence itself. And

-      he is in want of a wife, I know that he is desirous of getting married.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand listened, surprised. She would never herself have thought

-      of the linendraper. Madame Juzeur, however, insisted, for in her

-      misfortune, she had the mania of working for the happiness of other women,

-      which caused her to busy herself with everything relating to the tender

-      passions of the house. She affirmed that Auguste never took his eyes off

-      Berthe. In short, she invoked her experience of men: Monsieur Mouret would

-      never let himself be caught, whilst that good Monsieur Vabre would be very

-      easy and very advantageous. But Madame Josserand, weighing the latter with

-      a glance, came decidedly to the conclusion that such a son-in-law would

-      not be of much use in filling her drawing-room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My daughter detests him,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;and I would never oppose the

-      dictates of her heart.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A tall thin young lady had just played a fantasia on the &ldquo;Dame Blanche.&rdquo;

-       As uncle Bachelard had fallen asleep in the dining-room, Gueulin

-      reappeared and imitated the nightingale on his flute. No one listened,

-      however, for the story about Bonnaud had spread. Monsieur Josserand was

-      quite upset, the fathers held up their arms, the mothers were stifling.

-      What! Bonnaud's son-in-law was a clown! Then who could one believe in now?

-      and the parents, in their appetites for marriages, suffered regular

-      nightmares, like so many distinguished convicts in evening dress. The fact

-      was, that Bonnaud had been so delighted at the opportunity of getting rid

-      of his daughter that he had not troubled much about references, in spite

-      of his rigid prudence of an over-scrupulous general accountant.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Mamma, the tea is served,&rdquo; said Berthe, as she and Adèle opened the

-      folding doors.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, whilst the company passed slowly into the dining-room, she went up to

-      her mother and murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have had enough of it! He wants me to stay and tell him stories, or he

-      threatens to smash everything!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      On a grey cloth which was too narrow, was served one of those teas

-      laboriously got together, a cake bought at a neighbouring baker's, with

-      some mixed sweet biscuits, and some sandwiches on either side. At either

-      end of the table quite a luxury of flowers, superb and costly roses,

-      withdrew attention from the ancient dust on the biscuits, and the poor

-      quality of the butter. The sight caused a commotion, and jealousies were

-      kindled: really those Josserands were ruining themselves in trying to

-      marry off their daughters. And the guests, having but poorly dined, and

-      only thinking of going to bed with their bellies full, casting side

-      glances at the bouquets, gorged themselves with weak tea and imprudently

-      devoured the hard stale biscuits and the heavy cake. For those persons who

-      did not like tea, Adèle handed round some glasses of red currant syrup. It

-      was pronounced excellent.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, the uncle was asleep in a corner. They did not wake him, they

-      even politely pretended not to see him. A lady talked of the fatigues of

-      business. Berthe went from one to another, offering sandwiches, handing

-      cups of tea, and asking the men if they would like any more sugar. But she

-      was unable to attend to every one, and Madame Josserand was looking for

-      her daughter Hortense, when she caught sight of her standing in the middle

-      of the deserted drawing-room, talking to a gentleman, of whom one could

-      only see the back.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes! he has come at last,&rdquo; she permitted, in her anger, to escape

-      her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      There was some whispering. It was that Verdier, who had been living with a

-      woman for fifteen years past, whilst waiting to marry Hortense. Every one

-      knew the story, the young ladies exchanged glances; but they bit their

-      lips, and avoided speaking of it, out of propriety. Octave, being made

-      acquainted with it, examined the gentleman's back with interest. Trublot

-      knew the mistress, a good girl, a reformed streetwalker, who was better

-      now, said he, than the best of wives, taking care of her man, and looking

-      after his clothes; and he was full of a fraternal sympathy for her. Whilst

-      they were being watched from the dining-room, Hortense was scolding

-      Verdier with all the sulkiness of a badly brought up virgin for having

-      come so late.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo! red currant syrup!&rdquo; said Trublot, seeing Adèle standing before

-      him, a tray in her hand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He sniffed it and declined. But, as the servant turned round, a stout

-      lady's elbow pushed her against him, and he pinched her back. She smiled,

-      and returned to him with the tray.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, thanks,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;By-and-by.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0086.jpg" alt="0086 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0086.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      Women were seated round the table, whilst the men were eating, standing up

-      behind them. Exclamations were, heard, an enthusiasm, which died away as

-      the mouths were filled with food. The gentlemen were appealed to. Madame

-      Josserand cried:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes, I was forgetting. Come and look, Monsieur Mouret, you who love

-      the arts.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Take care, the water-colour stroke!&rdquo; murmured Trublot, who knew the

-      house.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was better than a water-colour. As though by chance, a porcelain bowl

-      was standing on the table; right at the very bottom of it, surrounded by

-      the brand new varnished bronze mounting, Greuze's &ldquo;Young girl with the

-      broken Pitcher&rdquo; was painted in light colours, passing from pale lilac to

-      faint blue. Berthe smiled in the midst of the praise.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Mademoiselle possesses every talent,&rdquo; said Octave with his good-natured

-      grace. &ldquo;Oh! the colours are so well blended, and it is very accurate, very

-      accurate!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I can guarantee that the design is!&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand,

-      triumphantly. &ldquo;There is not a hair too many or few. Berthe copied it here,

-      from an engraving. There are really such a number of nude subjects at the

-      Louvre, and the people there are at times so mixed!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had lowered her voice when giving this last piece of information,

-      desirous of letting the young man know that, though her daughter was an

-      artist, she did not let that carry her beyond the limits of propriety. She

-      probably, however, thought Octave rather cold, she felt that the bowl had

-      not met with the success she had anticipated, and she watched him with an

-      anxious look, whilst Valérie and Madame Juzeur, who were drinking their

-      fourth cup of tea, examined the painting and gave vent to little cries of

-      admiration.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are looking at her again,&rdquo; said Trublot to Octave, on seeing him with

-      his eyes fixed on Valérie.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; replied he, slightly confused. &ldquo;It is funny, she looks pretty

-      just at this moment. A warm woman, evidently. I say, do you think one

-      might venture?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Warm, one never knows. It is a peculiar fancy! Anyhow, it would be better

-      than marrying the girl.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What girl?&rdquo; exclaimed Octave, forgetting himself. &ldquo;What! you think I am

-      going to let myself be hooked' Never! My dear fellow, we don't marry at

-      Marseilles!&rdquo; Madame Josserand had drawn near. The words came upon her like

-      a stab in the heart. Another fruitless campaign, another evening party

-      wasted! The blow was such, that she was obliged to lean against a chair,

-      as she looked with despair at the now despoiled table, where all that

-      remained was a burnt piece of the cake. She had given up counting her

-      defeats, but this one should be the last; she took a frightful oath,

-      swearing that she would no longer feed persons who came to see her solely

-      to gorge. And, upset and exasperated, she glanced round the dining-room,

-      seeking into what man's arms she could throw her daughter, when she caught

-      sight of Auguste resignedly standing against the wall and not having

-      partaken of anything.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Just then, Berthe, with a smile on her face, was moving towards Octave,

-      with a cup of tea in her hand. She was continuing the campaign, obedient

-      to her mother's wishes. But the latter caught her by the arm and called

-      her a silly fool under her breath.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Take that cup to Monsieur Vabre, who has been waiting for an hour past,&rdquo;

-       said she, graciously and very loud.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, whispering again in her daughter's ear, and giving her another of

-      her warlike looks, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Be amiable, or you will have me to deal with!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, for a moment put out of countenance, soon recovered herself. It

-      often changed thus three times in an evening. She carried the cup to

-      Auguste, with the smile which she had commenced for Octave; she was

-      amiable, talked of Lyons silks, and did the engaging young person who

-      would look very well behind a counter. Auguste's hands trembled a little,

-      and he was very red, as he was suffering a good deal from his head that

-      evening.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Out of politeness, a few persons returned and sat down for some moments in

-      the drawing-room. Having fed, they were all going off. When they looked

-      for Verdier, he had already taken his departure; and some young ladies,

-      greatly put out, only carried away an indistinct view of his back.

-      Campardon, without waiting for Octave, retired with the doctor, whom he

-      detained on the landing, to ask him if there was really no more hope.

-      During the tea, one of the lamps had gone out, emitting a stench of rancid

-      oil, and the other lamp, the wick of which was all charred, lit up the

-      room with so poor a light that the Vabres themselves rose to leave in

-      spite of the attentions with which Madame Josserand overwhelmed them.

-      Octave had preceded them into the ante-room, where he had a surprise:

-      Trublot, who was looking for his hat, suddenly disappeared. He could only

-      have gone off by the passage leading to the kitchen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! wherever has he got to? does he leave by the servants' staircase?&rdquo;

-       murmured the young man.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But he did not seek to clear up the mystery. Valérie was there, looking

-      for a lace neckerchief. The two brothers, Théophile and Auguste, were

-      going downstairs, without troubling themselves about her. Octave, having

-      found the neckerchief, handed it to her, with the air of admiration he put

-      on when serving the pretty lady customers of &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise.&rdquo; She

-      looked at him, and he felt certain that her eyes, on fixing themselves on

-      his, had flashed forth flames.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are too kind, sir,&rdquo; said she, simply.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Juzeur, who was the last to leave, enveloped them both in a tender

-      and discreet smile. And when Octave, highly excited, had reached his cold

-      chamber, he looked at himself for an instant in the glass, and he thought

-      it worth while to make the attempt!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Madame Josserand was wandering about the deserted room, without

-      saying a word, and as though carried away by some gale of wind. She had

-      violently closed the piano and turned out the last lamp; then, passing

-      into the diningroom, she began to blow out the candles so vigorously that

-      the chandelier quite shook. The sight of the despoiled table covered with

-      dirty plates and empty cups, increased her rage; and she turned round it,

-      casting terrible glances at her daughter Hortense, who, quietly sitting

-      down, was devouring the piece of burnt cake.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are putting yourself in a fine state again, mamma,&rdquo; said the latter.

-      &ldquo;Is it not going on all right, then? For myself, I am satisfied. He is

-      purchasing some chemises for her to enable her to leave.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The mother shrugged her shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? you say that this proves nothing. Very good, only steer your ship as

-      well as I steer mine. Here now is a cake which may flatter itself it is a

-      precious bad one! They must be a wretched lot to swallow such stuff.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand, who was always worn out by his wife's parties, was

-      reposing on a chair 3 but he was in dread of an encounter, he feared that

-      Madame Josserand might drive him before her in her furious promenade 3 and

-      he drew close to Bachelard and Gueulin, who were seated at the table in

-      front of Hortense. The uncle, on awaking, had discovered a decanter of

-      rum. He was emptying it, and bitterly alluding to the twenty francs.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is not for the money,&rdquo; he kept repeating to his nephew, &ldquo;it is the way

-      the thing was done. You know how I behave to women: I would give them the

-      shirt off my back, but I do not like them to ask me for anything. The

-      moment they begin to ask, it annoys me, and I don't even chuck them a

-      radish.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as his sister was about to remind him of his promises: &ldquo;Be quiet,

-      Eléonore! I know what I have to do for the child. But, you see, when a

-      woman asks, it is more than I can stand. I have never been able to keep

-      friends with one, have I now, Gueulin? And besides, there is really such

-      little respect shown me! Léon has not even deigned to wish me many happy

-      returns of the day.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand resumed her walk, clinching her fists. It was true, there

-      was Léon too, who promised and then disappointed her like the others.

-      There was one who would not sacrifice an evening to help to marry off his

-      sisters! She had just discovered a sweet biscuit, fallen behind one of the

-      flower vases, and was locking it up in a drawer when Berthe, who had gone

-      to release Saturnin, brought him back with her. She was quieting him,

-      whilst he, haggard and with a mistrustful look in his eyes, was searching

-      the corners, with the feverish excitement of a dog that has been long shut

-      up.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How stupid he is!&rdquo; said Berthe, &ldquo;he thinks that I have just been married.

-      And he is seeking for the husband! Ah! my poor Saturnin, you may seek. I

-      tell you that it has come to nothing! You know very well that it never

-      comes to anything.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Madame Josserand's rage burst all bounds.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! I swear to you that it sha'n't come to nothing next time, even if I

-      have to tie him to you myself! There is one who shall pay for all the

-      others. Yes, yes, Monsieur Josserand, you may stare at me, as though you

-      did not understand: the wedding shall take place, and without you, if it

-      does not please you. You hear, Berthe! you have only to pick that one up!&rdquo;

-       Saturnin appeared not to hear. He was looking under the table. The young

-      girl pointed to him; but Madame Josserand made a gesture which seemed to

-      imply that he would be got out of the way. And Berthe murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So then it is decidedly to be Monsieur Vabre? Oh! it is all the same to

-      me. To think though that not a single sandwich has been saved for me?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER IV.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>S early as the

-      morrow, Octave commenced to occupy himself about Valérie. He studied her

-      habits, and ascertained the hour when he would have a chance of meeting

-      her on the stairs; and he arranged matters so that he could frequently go

-      up to his room, taking advantage of his coming home to lunch at the

-      Campardons', and leaving &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise&rdquo; for a few minutes under

-      some pretext or other. He soon noticed that, every day towards two

-      o'clock, the young woman, who took her child to the Tuileries gardens,

-      passed along the Rue Gaillon. Then he would stand at the door, wait till

-      she came, and greet her with one of his handsome shopman's smiles. At each

-      of their meetings, Valérie politely inclined her head and passed on; but

-      he perceived her dark glance to be full of passionate fire; he found

-      encouragement in her ravaged complexion and in the supple swing of her

-      gait.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      His plan was already formed, the bold plan of a seducer used to cavalierly

-      overcoming the virtue of shop-girls. It was simply a question of luring

-      Valérie inside his room on the fourth floor; the staircase was always

-      silent and deserted, no one would discover them up there; and he laughed

-      at the thought of the architect's moral admonitions; for taking a woman

-      belonging to the house was not the same as bringing one into it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      One thing, however, made Octave uneasy. The passage separated the Pichons'

-      kitchen from their dining-room, and this obliged them to constantly have

-      their door open. At nine o'clock in the morning, the husband started off

-      for his office, and did not return home until about five in the evening;

-      and, on alternate days of the week, he went out again after his dinner to

-      do some bookkeeping, from eight to midnight. Besides this, though, the

-      young woman, who was very reserved&mdash;almost wildly timid&mdash;would

-      push her door to, directly she heard Octave's footsteps. He never caught

-      sight of more than her back, which always seemed to be flying away, with

-      her light hair done up into a scanty chignon. Through that door kept

-      discreetly ajar, he had, up till then, only beheld a small portion of the

-      room: sad and clean looking furniture, linen of a dull whiteness in the

-      grey light admitted through a window which he could not see, and the

-      corner of a child's crib inside an inner room; all the monotonous solitude

-      of a wife occupied from morning to night with the recurring cares of a

-      clerk's home. Moreover, there was never a sound; the child seemed dumb and

-      worn-out like the mother; one scarcely distinguished at times the soft

-      murmur of some ballad which the latter would hum for hours together in an

-      expiring voice. But Octave was none the less furious with the disdainful

-      creature as he called her. She was playing the spy upon him perhaps. In

-      any case, Valérie could never come up to him if the Pichons' door was thus

-      being continually opened.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He was just beginning to think that things were taking the right course.

-      One Sunday when the husband was absent, he had manoeuvred in such a way as

-      to be on the first-floor landing at the moment the young woman, wrapped in

-      her dressing-gown, was leaving her sister-in-law's to return to her own

-      apartments; and she being obliged to speak to him, they had stood some

-      minutes exchanging polite remarks. So he was hoping that next time she

-      would ask him in. With a woman with such a temperament the rest would

-      follow as a matter of course. That evening during dinner, there was some

-      talk about Valérie at the Campardons'. Octave tried to draw the others

-      out. But as Angèle was listening and casting sly glances at Lisa, who was

-      handing round some leg of mutton and looking very serious, the parents at

-      first did nothing but sing the young woman's praises. Moreover, the

-      architect always stood up for the respectability of the house, with the

-      vain conviction of a tenant who seemed to obtain from it a regular

-      certificate of his own gentility.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! my dear fellow, most respectable people. You saw them at the

-      Josserands'. The husband is no fool; he is full of ideas, he will end by

-      discovering something very grand. As for the wife, she has some style

-      about her, as we artists say.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Campardon, who had been rather worse since the day before, and who

-      was half reclining, though her illness did not prevent her eating thick

-      underdone slices of meat, languidly murmured in her turn:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That poor Monsieur Théophile, he is like me, he drags along. Ah! great

-      praise is due to Valérie, for it is not lively always having by one a man

-      trembling with fever, and whose infirmity usually makes him quarrelsome

-      and unjust.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      During dessert, Octave, seated between the architect and his wife learnt

-      more than he asked. They forgot Angèle, they spoke in hints, with glances

-      which underlined the double meanings of the words; and, when they were at

-      a loss for an expression, they bent towards him one after the other, and

-      coarsely whispered the rest of the disclosure in his ear. In short, that

-      Théophile was a stupid and impotent person, who deserved to be what his

-      wife made him. As for Valérie, she was not worth much, she would have

-      behaved just as badly even if her husband had been different, for with

-      her, nature had so much the mastery. Moreover, no one was ignorant of the

-      fact that, two months after her marriage, in despair at recognising that

-      she would never have a child by her husband, and fearing she would lose

-      her share of old Vabre's fortune if Théophile happened to die, she had her

-      little Camille got for her by a butcher's man of the Rue Sainte-Anne.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Campardon bent down and whispered a last time in Octave's ear:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! you know, my dear fellow, a hysterical woman!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he put into the word all the middle-class wantonness of an indelicacy

-      combined with the blobber-lipped smile of a father of a family whose

-      imagination, abruptly let loose, revels in licentiousness. The

-      conversation then took a different turn, they were speaking of the

-      Pichons, and words of praise were not stinted.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! they are indeed worthy people!&rdquo; repeated Madame Campardon.

-      &ldquo;Sometimes, when Marie takes her little Lilitte out, I also let her take

-      Angèle. And I assure you, Monsieur Mouret, I do not trust my daughter to

-      everyone; I must be absolutely certain of the person's morality. You love

-      Marie very much, do you not, Angèle?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, mamma,&rdquo; answered the child.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The details continued. It was impossible to find a woman better brought

-      up, or according to severer principles. And it was a pleasure to see how

-      happy the husband was! Such a nice little home, and so clean, and a couple

-      that adored each other, who never said one word louder than another!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Besides, they would not be allowed to remain in the house, if they did

-      not behave themselves properly,&rdquo; said the architect gravely, forgetting

-      his disclosures about Valérie. &ldquo;We will only have respectable people here.

-      On my word of honour! I would give notice, the day that my daughter ran

-      the risk of meeting disreputable women on the stairs.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      That evening, he had secretly arranged to take cousin Gasparine to the

-      Opéra-Comique. He therefore went and fetched his hat at once, talking of a

-      business matter which would keep him out till very late. Rose though

-      probably knew of the arrangement, for Octave heard her murmur, in her

-      resigned and maternal voice, when her husband came to kiss her with his

-      habitual effusive tenderness:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Amuse yourself well, and do not catch cold on coming out.&rdquo; On the morrow,

-      Octave had an idea: it was to become acquainted with Madame Pichon, by

-      rendering her a few neighbourly services; in this way, if she ever caught

-      Valeric, she would keep her eyes shut. And an opportunity occurred that

-      very day. Madame Pichon was in the habit of taking Lilitte, then eighteen

-      months old, out in a little basket-work perambulator, which raised

-      Monsieur Gourd's ire; the doorkeeper would never permit it to be carried

-      up the principal staircase, so that she had to take it up the servants';

-      and as the door of her apartment was too narrow, she had to remove the

-      wheels every time, which was quite a job. It so happened that that day

-      Octave was returning home, just as his neighbour, incommoded by her

-      gloves, was giving herself a great deal of trouble to get the nuts off.

-      When she felt him standing up behind her, waiting till the passage was

-      clear, she quite lost her head, and her hands trembled.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But, madame, why do you take all that trouble?&rdquo; asked he at length. &ldquo;It

-      would be far simpler to put the perambulator at the end of the passage,

-      behind my door.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She did not reply, her excessive timidity kept her squatting there,

-      without strength to rise; and, beneath the curtain of her bonnet, he

-      beheld a hot blush invade the nape of her neck and her ears. Then he

-      insisted:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I assure you, madame, it will not inconvenience me in the least.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Without waiting, he lifted up the perambulator and carried it in his easy

-      way. She was obliged to follow him; but she remained so confused, so

-      frightened by this important adventure in her uneventful every-day life,

-      that she looked on, only able to stutter fragments of sentences.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me! sir, it is too much trouble&mdash;I feel quite ashamed&mdash;you

-      will find it very awkward. My husband will be very pleased&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she entered her room and locked herself in, this time hermetically,

-      with a sort of shame. Octave thought that she was stupid. The perambulator

-      was a great deal in his way for it prevented him opening his door wide,

-      and he had to slip into his room sideways. But his neighbour seemed to be

-      won over, more especially as Monsieur Gourd consented to authorize the

-      obstruction at that end of the passage, thanks to Campardon's influence.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Every Sunday, Marie's parents, Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume, came to

-      spend the day. On the Sunday following, as Octave was going out, he beheld

-      all the family seated taking their coffee, and he was discreetly hastening

-      by, when the young woman, whispering quickly in her husband's ear, the

-      latter jumped up, saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Excuse me, sir, I am always out, I have not yet had an opportunity of

-      thanking you. But I wish to tell you how pleased I was&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave protested. At length he was obliged to give in. Though he had

-      already had his coffee, they made him accept another cup. They gave him

-      the place of honour, between Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume. Opposite to

-      him, on the other side of the round table, Marie was again thrown into one

-      of those confused conditions which at any minute, without apparent cause,

-      brought all the blood from her heart to her face. He watched her, never

-      having seen her at his ease. But, as Trublot said, she was not his fancy:

-      she seemed to him wretched and washed out, with her flat face and her thin

-      hair, though her features were refined and pretty. When she recovered

-      herself a little, she laughed lightly as she again talked of the

-      perambulator, about which she found a great deal to say.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Jules, if you had only seen Monsieur Mouret carry it in his arms. Ah

-      well! it did not take long!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Pichon again uttered his thanks. He was tall and thin, with a doleful look

-      about him, already subdued to the routine of office life, his dull eyes

-      full of the apathetic resignation displayed by circus horses.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pray say no more about it!&rdquo; Octave ended by observing, &ldquo;it is really not

-      worth while. Madame, your coffee is exquisite. I have never drunk any like

-      it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She blushed again, and so much that her hands even became quite rosy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not spoil her, sir,&rdquo; said Monsieur Vuillaume gravely, &ldquo;Her coffee is

-      good, but there is better. And you see how proud she has become at once!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pride is worth nothing,&rdquo; declared Madame Vuillaume. &ldquo;We have always

-      taught her to be modest.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They were both of them little and dried up, very old, and with

-      dark-looking countenances; the wife wore a tight black dress, and the

-      husband a thin frock-coat, on which only the mark of a big red ribbon was

-      to be seen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; resumed the latter, &ldquo;I was decorated at the age of sixty, on the

-      day I was pensioned off, after having been for thirty-nine years employed

-      at the Ministry of Public Instruction. Well! sir, on that day I dined the

-      same as on other days, and did not let pride interfere with any of my

-      habits. The Cross was due to me, I knew it. I was simply filled with

-      gratitude.&rdquo; His life was perfectly clear, he wished every one to know it.

-      After twenty-five years' service, he had been promoted to four thousand

-      francs. His pension, therefore, was two thousand. But he had had to

-      re-engage himself in a subordinate position at fifteen hundred francs, as

-      they had had their little Marie late in life when Madame Vuillaume was no

-      longer expecting either son or daughter. Now that the child was

-      established in life, they were living on the pension, by pinching

-      themselves, in the Rue Durantin at Montmartre, where things were cheaper.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am sixty-three,&rdquo; said he, in conclusion, &ldquo;and that is all about it, and

-      that is all about it, son-in-law!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Pichon looked at him in a silent and weary way, his eyes fixed on his red

-      ribbon. Yes, it would be his own story if luck favoured him. He was the

-      last born of a greengrocer who had spent the entire worth of her shop in

-      her anxiety to make her son take a degree, just because all the

-      neighbourhood said he was very intelligent; and she had died bankrupt

-      eight days before his triumph at the Sorbonne. After three years of

-      hardships at his uncle's, he had had the unexpected luck of getting a

-      berth at the Ministry, which was to lead him to everything, and on the

-      strength of which he had already married.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;When one does one's duty, the government does the same,&rdquo; murmured he,

-      mechanically reckoning that he still had thirty-six years to wait before

-      obtaining the right to wear a piece of red ribbon and to enjoy a pension

-      of two thousand francs.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he turned towards Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You see, sir, it is the children who are such a heavy weight.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said Madame Vuillaume. &ldquo;If we had had another we should never

-      have made both ends meet. Therefore, remember Jules, what I insisted upon

-      when I gave you Marie: one child and no more, or else we shall quarrel! It

-      is only workpeople who have children like fowls lay eggs, without

-      troubling themselves as to what it will cost them. It is true that they

-      turn the youngsters out on to the streets, like flocks of animals, which

-      make me feel sick when I pass by.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave had looked at Marie, thinking that this delicate subject would make

-      her cheeks crimson; but she remained pale, approving her mother's words

-      with ingenuous serenity. He was feeling awfully bored, and did not know

-      how to retire. In the little cold dining-room these people thus spent

-      their afternoon, slowly muttering a few words every five minutes, and

-      always about their own affairs. Even dominoes disturbed them too much.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Vuillaume now explained her notions. At the end of a long silence,

-      which left all four of them in no way embarrassed as though they had felt

-      the necessity of rearranging their ideas, she resumed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You have no child, sir? It will come in time. Ah! it is a responsibility,

-      especially for a mother! When my little one was born I was forty-nine,

-      sir, an age when luckily one knows how to behave. A boy will get on

-      anyhow, but a girl! And I have the consolation of knowing that I have done

-      my duty, oh, yes!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, she explained her plan of education, in short sentences. Honesty

-      first. No playing on the stairs, the little one always kept at home and

-      watched closely, for children think of nothing but evil. The doors and

-      windows shut, never any draughts, which bring the wicked things of the

-      street with them. Out of doors, never leave go of the child's hand, teach

-      it to keep its eyes lowered to avoid seeing anything wrong. With regard to

-      religion, it should not be overdone, just sufficient as a moral restraint.

-      Then, when she has grown up, engage teachers instead of sending her to

-      school, where the innocent ones are corrupted; and assist also at the

-      lessons, see that she does not learn what she should not know, hide all

-      newspapers of course, and keep the bookcase locked.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A young person always knows too much,&rdquo; declared the old lady coming to an

-      end.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Whilst her mother spoke, Marie kept her eyes vaguely fixed on space. She

-      once more beheld the little convent-like lodging, those narrow rooms in

-      the Rue Durantin, where she was not even allowed to lean out of a window.

-      It was one prolonged childhood, all sorts of prohibitions which she did

-      not understand, lines which her mother inked out on their fashion paper,

-      the black marks of which made her blush, lessons purified to such an

-      extent that even her teachers were embarrassed when she questioned them. A

-      very gentle childhood, however, the soft warm growth of a greenhouse, a

-      waking dream in which the words uttered by the tongue, and the facts of

-      every day life acquired ridiculous meanings. And, even at that hour as she

-      gazed vacantly, and was filled with these recollections, a childish smile

-      hovered about her lips, as though she had remained in ignorance spite even

-      of her marriage.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will believe me if you like, sir,&rdquo; said Monsieur Vuillaume, &ldquo;but my

-      daughter had not read a single novel when she was past eighteen. Is it not

-      true, Marie?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, papa.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have George Sand's works very handsomely bound,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;and in

-      spite of her mother's fears I decided, a few months before her marriage,

-      to permit her to read 'André,' a perfectly innocent work, full of

-      imagination, and which elevates the soul. I am for a liberal education.

-      Literature has certainly its rights. The book produced an extraordinary

-      effect upon her, sir. She cried all night in her sleep: which proves that

-      there is nothing like a pure imagination to understand genius.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is so beautiful!&rdquo; murmured the young woman, her eyes sparkling.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But Pichon having enunciated this theory: no novels before marriage, and

-      as many as one likes afterwards&mdash;Madame Vuillaume shook her head. She

-      never read, and was none the worse for it. Then, Marie gently spoke of her

-      loneliness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! I sometimes take up a book. Jules chooses them for me at the

-      library in the Passage Choiseul. If I only played the piano!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      For some time past, Octave had felt the necessity of saying something.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! madame,&rdquo; exclaimed he, &ldquo;you do not play!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A slight awkwardness ensued. The parents talked of a succession of

-      unfortunate circumstances, not wishing to admit that they had not been

-      willing to incur the expense. Madame Vuillaume, moreover, affirmed, that

-      Marie sang in tune from her birth; when she was a child she knew all sorts

-      of very pretty ballads, she had only to hear the tunes once to remember

-      them; and the mother spoke of a song about Spain, the story of a captive

-      weeping for her lover, which the child gave out with an expression that

-      would draw tears from the hardest hearts. But Marie remained disconsolate.

-      She let this cry escape her, as she extended her hand in the direction of

-      the inner room, where her little one was sleeping:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! I swear that Lilitte shall learn to play the piano, even though I

-      have to make the greatest sacrifices!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Think first of bringing her up as we brought you up,&rdquo; said Madame

-      Vuillaume, severely. &ldquo;I certainly do not condemn music, it develops one's

-      feelings. But, above all, watch over your daughter, keep every foul breath

-      from her, strive that she may preserve her innocence.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She started off again, giving even more weight to religion, settling the

-      number of times to go to confess each month, naming the masses that it was

-      absolutely necessary to attend, all from the point of view of propriety.

-      Then Octave, unable to bear any more of it, talked of an appointment which

-      obliged him to go out. He had a singing in his ears, he felt that this

-      conversation would continue in a like manner until the evening. And he

-      hastened away, leaving the Vuillaumes and the Pichons telling one another,

-      around the same cups of coffee slowly emptied, what they told each other

-      every Sunday. As he was bowing a last time, Marie, suddenly and without

-      any reason, became scarlet.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Ever since that afternoon, Octave hastened past the Pichons' door whenever

-      he heard the slow tones of Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume on a Sunday.

-      Moreover, he was entirely absorbed in his conquest of Valérie. In spite of

-      the fiery glances of which he thought himself the object, she maintained

-      an inexplicable reserve; and in that he fancied he saw the play of a

-      coquette. He even met her one day, as though by chance, in the Tuileries

-      gardens, when she quietly began to talk of a storm of the day before;

-      which finally convinced him that she was devilish smart. And he was

-      constantly on the staircase, watching for an opportunity of entering her

-      apartments, decided if necessary upon being positively rude.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Now, every time that he passed her, Marie smiled and blushed. They

-      exchanged the greetings of good neighbours. One morning, at lunch-time, as

-      he brought her up a letter, which Monsieur Gourd had given him, to avoid

-      having to go up the four flights of stairs himself, he found her in a sad

-      way: she had seated Lilitte in her chemise on the round table, and was

-      trying to dress her again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; asked the young man.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, this child!&rdquo; replied she. &ldquo;I foolishly took her things off, because

-      she was complaining. And now I don't know what to do, I don't know what to

-      do!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He looked at her in surprise. She was turning a skirt over and over,

-      looking for the hooks. Then, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You see, her father always helps me to dress her in the morning before he

-      goes out. I can never manage it by myself. It bothers me, it annoys me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The child, meanwhile, tired of being in her chemise and frightened by the

-      sight of Octave, was struggling and tumbling about on the table.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Take care!&rdquo; cried he, &ldquo;she will fall.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was quite a catastrophe. Marie looked as though she dare not touch her

-      child's naked limbs. She continued contemplating her, with the surprise of

-      a virgin, amazed at having been able to produce such a thing. However,

-      assisted by Octave, who quieted the little one, she succeeded in dressing

-      her again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How will you manage when you have a dozen?&rdquo; asked he, laughing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But we shall never have any more!&rdquo; answered she in a fright.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, he joked: she was wrong to be so sure, a child comes so easily?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No! no!&rdquo; repeated she obstinately. &ldquo;You heard what mamma said, the other

-      day. She forbade Jules to have any more. You do not know her; it would

-      lead to endless quarrels, if another came.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was amused by the quiet way in which she discussed this question.

-      He drew her out, without, however, succeeding in embarrassing her. She,

-      moreover, did as her husband wished. No doubt, she loved children; had she

-      been allowed to desire others, she would not have said no. And, beneath

-      this complacency, which was restricted to her mother's commands, the

-      indifference of a woman whose maternity was still slumbering could be

-      recognized. Lilitte occupied her like her home, which she looked after

-      through duty. When she had washed up the breakfast things and taken the

-      child for her walk, she continued her former young girl's existence, of a

-      somnolent emptiness, lulled by the vague expectation of a joy which never

-      came. Octave having remarked that she must feel very dull, being always

-      alone, she seemed surprised: no, she was never dull, the days passed

-      somehow or other, without her knowing, when she went to bed, how she had

-      employed her time. Then, on Sundays, she sometimes went out with her

-      husband; or her parents called, or else she read. If reading did not give

-      her headaches, she would have read from morning till night, now that she

-      was allowed to read everything.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is really annoying,&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;is that they have scarcely

-      anything at the library in the Passage Choiseul. For instance, I wanted

-      'André,' to read it again, because it made me cry so much the other time.

-      Well! their copy has been stolen. Besides that, my father refuses to lend

-      me his, because Lilitte might tear the pictures.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; said Octave, &ldquo;my friend Campardon has all George Sand's works. I

-      will ask him to lend me 'André' for you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She blushed, and her eyes sparkled. He was really too kind! And, when he

-      left her, she stood before Lilitte, her arms hanging down by her sides,

-      without an idea in her head, in the attitude which she maintained for

-      whole afternoons together. She detested sewing, she did crochet work,

-      always the same piece, which she left lying about the room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave brought her the book on the morrow, a Sunday. Pichon had had to go

-      out, to leave his card on one of his superiors. And, as the young man

-      found her dressed for walking, she having just been on some errand in the

-      neighbourhood, he asked her out of curiosity whether she had been to

-      church, having the idea that she was religious. She answered no. Before

-      marrying her off, her mother used to take her regularly to mass. During

-      the six first months of her married life, she continued going through

-      force of habit, with the constant fear of being too late. Then, she

-      scarcely knew why, after missing a few times, she left off going

-      altogether. Her husband detested priests, and her mother never even

-      mentioned them now. Octave's question, however, disturbed her, as though

-      it had awakened within her things that had been long buried beneath the

-      idleness of her existence.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I must go to Saint-Roch one of these mornings,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;An occupation

-      gone always leaves a void behind it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, on the pale face of this late child, born of parents too old, there

-      appeared the unhealthy regret of another existence, dreamed of once upon a

-      time, in the land of chimeras. She could conceal nothing, everything was

-      reflected in her face, beneath her skin, which had the softness and the

-      transparency accompanying an attack of chlorosis. Then, she gave way to

-      her feelings, and caught hold of Octave's hands with a familiar gesture.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! let me thank you for having brought me this book! Come to-morrow

-      after lunch. I will return it to you and tell you the effect that it

-      produced on me. It will be amusing, will it not?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      On leaving her, Octave thought that she was funny all the same. She was

-      beginning to interest him, he contemplated speaking to Pichon so as to

-      make him rouse her up a bit; for the little woman, most decidedly, only

-      wanted a shaking. It so happened that on the morrow he came across the

-      clerk just as he was going off, and he accompanied him part of the way, at

-      the risk of being late himself at &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise.&rdquo; But Pichon

-      seemed to him to be even more benumbed than his wife, full of manias in

-      their early stage, and entirely occupied with the dread of getting mud on

-      his shoes in wet weather. He walked on his toes, and continually talked of

-      the second head-clerk of his office. Octave, who was only animated by

-      fraternal intentions in the matter, ended by leaving him in the Rue

-      Saint-Honoré, after advising him to take Marie to the theatre frequently.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Whatever for?&rdquo; asked Pichon in amazement.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Because it is good for women. It makes them nicer.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! you really think so?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He promised to give the matter his attention, and crossed the street,

-      eyeing the cabs with terror, the only thing in life which worried him

-      being the fear of getting splashed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At lunch-time, Octave knocked at the Pichons' door for the book. Marie was

-      reading, her elbows on the table, her hands buried in her dishevelled

-      hair. She had just eaten an egg cooked in a tin pan which was lying in the

-      centre of the hastily laid table without any cloth. Lilitte, forgotten on

-      the floor, was sleeping with her nose on the pieces of a plate which she

-      had no doubt broken.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Marie did not answer at once. She was still wrapped in her morning

-      dressing-gown, which, from the buttons being torn off, displayed her

-      throat, in all the disorder of a woman just risen from her bed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have scarcely read a hundred pages,&rdquo; she ended by saying. &ldquo;My parents

-      came yesterday.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she spoke in a painful tone of voice, with a sourness about her mouth.

-      When she was younger, she longed to live in the midst of the woods. She

-      was for ever dreaming that she met a huntsman who was sounding his horn.

-      He approached her and knelt down. This took place in a copse, very far

-      away, where roses were blooming like in a park. Then, suddenly, they had

-      been married, and afterwards lived there, wandering about till eternity.

-      She, very happy, wished for nothing more; he, as tender and submissive as

-      a slave, was continually at her feet.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I had a talk with your husband this morning,&rdquo; said Octave. &ldquo;You do not go

-      out enough, and I have persuaded him to take you to the theatre.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But she shook her head, turning pale and shivering. A silence ensued. She

-      again beheld the narrow dining-room with its cold light. Jules's image,

-      sullen and correct, had suddenly cast a shadow over the huntsman of the

-      romance whom she had been imagining, and the sound of whose horn in the

-      distance again rang in her ears. Every now and then she listened: perhaps

-      he was coming. Her husband had never taken her feet in his hands to kiss

-      them; he had never either knelt beside her to tell her he adored her. Yet,

-      she loved him well; but she was surprised that love did not contain more

-      sweetness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What stifles me, you know,&rdquo; resumed she, returning to the book, &ldquo;is when

-      there are passages in novels about the characters telling one another of

-      their love.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave then sat down. He wished to laugh, not caring for such sentimental

-      trifling.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I detest a lot of phrases,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;When two persons adore each other,

-      the best thing is to prove it at once.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But she did not seem to understand, her eyes remained undimmed. He

-      stretched out his hand, slightly touching hers, and leant over so close to

-      her to observe a passage in the book that his breath warmed her shoulder

-      through the open dressing-gown; yet she remained insensible. Then, he rose

-      up, full of a contempt mingled with pity. As he was leaving, she said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I read very slowly, I shall not have finished it before tomorrow. It will

-      be amusing to-morrow! Look in during the evening.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He certainly had no designs upon her, and yet he felt indignant. He

-      conceived a singular friendship for this young couple who exasperated him,

-      they seemed to take life so stupidly. And the idea came to him of

-      rendering them a service in spite of them; he would take them out to

-      dinner, make them tipsy, and then amuse himself by pushing them into each

-      other's arms. When such fits of kindness got hold of him, he, who would

-      not have lent ten francs, delighted in flinging his money out of the

-      window, to bring two lovers together and give them joy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Little Madame Pichon's coldness, however, brought Octave back to the

-      ardent Valérie. This one, certainly, would not require to be breathed upon

-      twice on the back of her neck. He was advancing in her favour: one day

-      that she was going upstairs before him, he had ventured to compliment her

-      on her ankle, without her appearing displeased.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length the opportunity so long watched for presented itself. It was the

-      evening that Marie had made him promise to look in; they would be alone to

-      talk about the novel, as her husband was not to be home till very late.

-      But the young man had preferred to go out, seized with fright at the

-      thought of this literary treat. However, he had decided to venture upon

-      it, towards ten o'clock, when he met Valérie's maid on the first-floor

-      landing with a scared look on her face, and who said to him:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame has gone into hysterics, my master is out, and every one opposite

-      has gone to the theatre. Pray come in. I am all alone, I don't know what

-      to do.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Valérie was stretched out in an easy-chair in her bedroom, her limbs

-      rigid. The maid had unlaced her stays, and her bosom was heaving. The

-      attack subsided almost immediately. She opened her eyes, was surprised to

-      see Octave there, and acted moreover as she might have done in the

-      presence of a doctor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I must ask you to excuse me, sir,&rdquo; murmured she, her voice still choking.

-      &ldquo;I have only had this girl since yesterday, and she lost her head.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her perfect coolness in adjusting her stays and fastening up her dress

-      again, embarrassed the young man. He remained standing, swearing not to

-      depart thus, yet not daring to sit down. She had sent away the maid, the

-      sight of whom seemed to irritate her; then she went to the window to

-      breathe the cool outdoor air in long nervous inspirations, her mouth wide

-      open. After a short silence, they commenced talking. She had first

-      suffered from these attacks when fourteen years old; Doctor Juillerat was

-      tired of prescribing for her; sometimes they seized her in the arms,

-      sometimes in the loins. However, she was getting used to them; she might

-      as well have them as anything else, as no one was really perfectly well.

-      And, whilst she talked, with scarcely any life in her limbs, he excited

-      himself with looking at her, he thought her provoking in the midst of her

-      disorder, with her leaden complexion, her face upset by the attack as

-      though by a whole night of love. Behind the black mass of her loose hair,

-      which hung over her shoulders, he fancied he beheld the husband's poor and

-      beardless head. Then, stretching out his hands, with the unrestrained

-      gesture with which he would have seized some harlot, he tried to take hold

-      of her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! what now?&rdquo; asked she, in a voice full of surprise.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In her turn she looked at him, whilst her eyes were so cold, her flesh so

-      calm, that he felt frozen and let his hands fall with an awkward slowness,

-      fully aware of the ridiculousness of his gesture. Then, in a last nervous

-      gape which she stifled, she slowly added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! my dear sir, if you only knew!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she shrugged her shoulders, without getting angry, as though crushed

-      beneath her contempt for man and her weariness of him. Octave thought she

-      was about to have him turned out when he saw her move towards a bell-pull,

-      dragging her loosely fastened skirts along with her. But she merely

-      required some tea; and she ordered it to be very weak and very hot.

-      Altogether nonplussed, he muttered some excuses and made for the door,

-      whilst she again reclined in the depths of her easy-chair, with the air of

-      a chilly woman greatly in want of sleep.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On the stairs, Octave stopped at each landing. She did not like that then?

-      He had just seen how indifferent she was, without desire as without

-      indignation, as difficult to deal with as his employer, Madame Hédouin.

-      Why did Campardon say she was hysterical? it was absurd to take him in by

-      telling him such humbug; for had it not been for the architect's lie, he

-      would never have risked such an adventure. And he remained quite

-      bewildered by the result, his ideas of hysteria altogether upset, and

-      thinking of the different stories that were going about. He recalled

-      Trublot's words: one never knows what to expect, with those crazy sort of

-      people whose eyes shine like balls of fire.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Up on his landing Octave, annoyed with all women, walked as softly as he

-      could. But the Pichons' door opened, and he had to resign himself. Marie

-      awaited him, standing in the narrow room, which the charred wick of the

-      lamp but imperfectly lighted. She had drawn the crib close to the table,

-      and Lilitte was sleeping there in the circle of the yellow light. The

-      lunch things had probably also served for the dinner, for the closed book

-      was lying beside a dirty plate full of radish ends.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Have you finished it?&rdquo; asked Octave, surprised at the young woman's

-      silence.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She seemed intoxicated, her face was swollen as though she had just

-      awakened from a too heavy sleep.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; said she, with an effort. &ldquo;Oh! I have passed the day, my head

-      in my hands, buried in it. When the fit takes one, one no longer knows

-      where one is. I have such a stiff neck.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, feeling pains all over her, she did not speak any more of the book,

-      but was so full of her emotion and of confused dreams engendered by her

-      reading, that she was choking. Her ears rang with the distant calls of the

-      horn, blown by the huntsman of her romances, in the blue background of

-      ideal loves. Then, without the least reason, she said that she had been to

-      Saint-Roch that morning to hear the nine o'clock mass. She had wept a

-      great deal, religion replaced everything.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! I feel better,&rdquo; resumed she, heaving a deep sigh and standing still

-      in front of Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A pause ensued. She smiled at him with her candid eyes. He had never

-      thought her so useless, with her scanty hair and her washed-out features.

-      But as she continued looking at him, she became very pale and almost

-      stumbled; and he was obliged to put out his hands to support her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good heavens! good heavens!&rdquo; stuttered she, sobbing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He continued to hold her, feeling considerably embarrassed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You should take a little infusion. You have been reading too much.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, it upset me, when on closing the book I found myself alone. How kind

-      you are, Monsieur Mouret! I might have hurt myself, had it not been for

-      you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He looked for a chair on which to seat her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Shall I light a fire?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, thank you, it would dirty your hands. I have noticed that you always

-      wear gloves.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And choking again at the idea, and suddenly feeling faint, she launched an

-      awkward kiss into space as though in a dream, a kiss which slightly

-      touched the young man's ear.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave received this kiss with amazement. The young woman's lips were as

-      cold as ice. Then, when she had sank upon his breast in an abandonment of

-      her whole frame, he was seized with a sudden desire, and sought to bear

-      her into the inner room. But this brusque wooing roused Marie; her womanly

-      instinct revolted; she struggled and called upon her mother, forgetting

-      her husband, who was shortly to return; and her daughter who was sleeping

-      near her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, oh! no, no. It is wrong.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But he kept ardently repeating:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No one will ever know&mdash;I shall never tell.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, Monsieur Octave. Do not spoil the happiness I have in knowing you. It

-      will do no good I assure you, and I had dreamed things&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he left off speaking, having a revenge to take on woman-kind, and

-      saying coarsely to himself: &ldquo;You, at any rate, shall succumb!&rdquo; The door

-      had not even been shut, the solemnity of the staircase seemed to ascend in

-      the midst of the silence. Lilitte was peacefully sleeping on the pillow of

-      her crib.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When Marie and Octave rose up, they could find nothing to say to each

-      other. She, mechanically, went and looked at her daughter, took up the

-      plate, and then laid it down again. He remained silent, a prey to similar

-      uneasiness, the adventure had been so unexpected; and he recalled to mind

-      how he had fraternally planned to restore the young woman to her husband's

-      arms. Feeling the necessity of breaking that intolerable silence he ended

-      by murmuring:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You did not shut the door, then?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She glanced out on to the landing, and stammered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That is true, it was open.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her face wore an expression of disgust. The young man too was now thinking

-      that after all there was nothing the least funny in this adventure with a

-      helpless woman, in the midst of that solitude.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me! the book has fallen on the floor!&rdquo; she continued, picking the

-      volume up.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A corner of the cover was broken. That drew them together, and afforded

-      some relief. Speech returned to them. Marie appeared quite distressed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It was not my fault. You see, I had covered it with paper for fear of

-      soiling it. We must have knocked it over, without doing so on purpose.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Was it there then?&rdquo; asked Octave. &ldquo;I did not notice it. Oh! for myself, I

-      don't care a bit! But Campardon thinks so much of his books!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They kept passing it from one to the other, trying to put the corner

-      straight again. Their fingers touched without a quiver. As they inflected

-      on the consequences, they were quite dismayed at the accident which had

-      happened to that handsome volume of George Sand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It was bound to end badly,&rdquo; concluded Marie, with tears in her eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was obliged to console her. He would invent some story, Campardon

-      would not eat him. And their uneasiness returned, at the moment of

-      separation. They would have liked at least to have said something amiable

-      to eaeh other; but the words choked them. Fortunately, a step was heard,

-      it was the husband coming upstairs. Octave silently took her in his arms

-      again and kissed her in his turn on the mouth. She once more complaisantly

-      submitted, her lips iey cold as before. When he had noiselessly regained

-      his room, he asked himself, as he took off his overcoat, whatever was it

-      that she wanted? Women, he said, were decidedly very peculiar.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On the morrow, at the Cam pardons', just as lunch was finished, Octave was

-      once more explaining that he had clumsily knocked the book over, when

-      Marie entered the room. She was going to take Lilitte to the Tuileries

-      gardens, and she had called to ask if they would allow Angèle to accompany

-      her. And she smiled at Octave, without the least confusion, and glanced in

-      her innocent way at the book lying on a chair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, I shall be only too pleased!&rdquo; said Madame Campardon. &ldquo;Angèle, go and

-      put your hat on. I have no fear in trusting her with you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Marie, looking very modest, in a simple dress of dark woollen stuff,

-      talked of her husband, who had caught a cold the night before, and of the

-      price of meat, which would soon prevent people buying it at all. Then,

-      when she had left with Angèle, they all leant out of the windows to see

-      them depart. Marie gently pushed Lilitte's perambulator along the pavement

-      with her gloved hands; whilst Angèle, knowing that they were looking at

-      her, walked beside her friend, with her eyes fixed on the ground.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How respectable she looks!&rdquo; exclaimed Madame Campardon. &ldquo;And so gentle!

-      so decorous!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, slapping Octave on the shoulder, the architect said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Education is everything in a family, my dear fellow; there is nothing

-      like it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0115.jpg" alt="0115 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0115.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER V.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hat evening, there

-      was a reception and concert at the Duveyriers.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Towards nine o'clock, Octave, who had been invited for the first time, was

-      just finishing dressing. He was grave, and felt irritated with himself.

-      Why had he missed fire with Valérie, a woman so well connected? And Berthe

-      Josserand, ought he not to have reflected before refusing her? At the

-      moment he was tying his white tie, the thought of Marie Pichon had become

-      unbearable to him: five months in Paris, and nothing but that wretched

-      adventure! It was as painful to him as a disgrace, for he well saw the

-      emptiness and the uselessness of such a connection. And he vowed to

-      himself, as he took up his gloves, that he would no longer waste his time

-      in such a manner. He was decided to act, as he had at length got into

-      society, where opportunities were certainly not wanting.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But, at the end of the passage, Marie was watching for him. Pichon not

-      being there, he was obliged to go in for a moment.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How smart you are!&rdquo; murmured she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They had never been invited to the Duveyriers', and that filled her with

-      respect for the first floor drawing-room. Besides, she was jealous of no

-      one, she had neither the strength nor the will to be so.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I shall wait for you,&rdquo; resumed she holding up her forehead. &ldquo;D° not come

-      up too late; you can tell me how you amused yourself.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave had to deposit a kiss on her hair. Though relations were

-      established between them, according to his fancy, whenever a desire or

-      want of something to do drew him to her, they did not as yet address each

-      other very familiarly. He at length went downstairs; and she, leaning over

-      the balustrade, followed him with her eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At the same minute, quite a drama was enacting at the Josserands'. In the

-      mind of the mother, the Duveyriers' party to which they were going, was to

-      decide the question of a marriage between Berthe and Auguste Vabre. The

-      latter, who had been vigorously attacked for a fortnight past, still

-      hesitated, evidently entertaining doubts with respect to the dowry. So

-      Madame Josserand, for the purpose of striking a decisive blow, had written

-      to her brother, informing him of the contemplated marriage and reminding

-      him of his promises, with the hope that, in his answer, he might say

-      something that she could turn to account. And all the family were awaiting

-      nine o'clock before the dining-room stove, dressed ready to go down, when

-      Monsieur Gourd brought up a letter from uncle Bachelard which had been

-      forgotten under Madame Gourd's snuff-box since the last delivery.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! at last!&rdquo; said Madame Josserand, tearing open the envelope.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The father and the two daughters watched her anxiously as she read. Adèle,

-      who had had to dress the ladies, was moving heavily about, clearing the

-      table still covered with the dirty crockery from the dinner. But Madame

-      Josserand turned ghastly pale.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Nothing! nothing!&rdquo; stuttered she, &ldquo;not a clear sentence! He will see

-      later on, at the time of the marriage. And he adds that he loves us very

-      much all the same. What a confounded scoundrel!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand in his evening dress sank into a chair. Hortense and

-      Berthe also sat down, their legs feeling worn out; and they remained

-      there, the one in blue, the other in pink, in their eternal costumes,

-      altered once again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have always said,&rdquo; murmured the father, &ldquo;that Bachelard is imposing

-      upon us. He will never give a sou.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Standing up in her flaring dress, Madame Josserand was reading the letter

-      over again. Then, her anger burst out, &ldquo;Ah! men! men! That one, one would

-      think him an idiot, he leads such a life. Well! not a bit of it! Though he

-      never seems to be in his right mind, he opens his eye the moment any one

-      speaks to him of money. Ah! men! men!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She turned towards her daughters, to whom this lesson was addressed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It has come to the point, you see, that I ask myself why it is you have

-      such a mania for getting married. Ah! if you had been worried out of your

-      lives by it as I have! Not a fellow who loves you for yourselves and who

-      would bring you a fortune without haggling! Millionaire uncles who, after

-      having been fed for twenty years, will not even give their nieces a dowry!

-      Husbands who are quite incompetent, oh! yes, sir, incompetent!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand bowed his head. Adèle, who was not even listening, was

-      quietly finishing clearing the table. But Madame Josserand suddenly turned

-      angrily upon her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What are you doing there, spying upon us? Go into your kitchen and see if

-      I am there!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she wound up by saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;In short, everything for those wretched beings, the men; and for us, not

-      even enough to satisfy our hunger. Listen! they are only fit for being

-      taken in! Remember my words!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hortense and Berthe nodded their heads, as though deeply penetrated by

-      what their mother had been saying. For a long time past she had completely

-      convinced them of man's utter inferiority, his unique part in life being

-      to marry and to pay. A long silence ensued in the smoky dining-room, where

-      the remainder of the things left on the table by Adèle emitted a stuffy

-      smell of food. The Josserands, gorgeously arrayed, scattered on different

-      chairs and overwhelmed, were forgetting the Duveyriers' concert as they

-      reflected on the continual deceptions of life From the depths of the

-      adjoining chamber, one could hear the snoring of Saturnin, whom they had

-      sent to bed early.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length, Berthe spoke:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So it is all up. Shall we take our things off?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But, at this, Madame Josserand's energy at once returned to her. Eh? what?

-      take their things off! and why pray! were they not respectable people, was

-      not an alliance with their family as good as with any other? The marriage

-      should take place all the same, she would die rather. And she rapidly

-      distributed their parts to each: the two young ladies were instructed to

-      be very amiable to Auguste, and not to leave him until he had taken the

-      leap; the father received the mission of overcoming old Vabre and

-      Duveyrier, by agreeing with everything they said, if his intelligence was

-      sufficient to enable him to do such a thing; as for herself, desirous of

-      neglecting nothing, she undertook the women, she would know how to get

-      them all on her side. Then, collecting her thoughts and casting a last

-      glance round the dining-room, as though to make sure that no weapon had

-      been forgotten, she put on the terrible look of a man of war about to lead

-      his daughters to massacre, and uttered these words in a powerful voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Let us go down!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And down they went. In the solemnity of the staircase, Monsieur Josserand

-      was full of uneasiness, for he foresaw many disagreeable things for the

-      too narrow conscience of a worthy man like himself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When they entered, there was already a crush at the Duveyriers'.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The enormous grand piano occupied one entire end of the drawing-room, the

-      ladies being seated in front of it on rows of chairs, like at the theatre;

-      and two dense masses of black coats filled up the doorways leading to the

-      dining-room and the parlour. The chandelier and the candelabra, and the

-      six lamps standing on side-tables, lit up with a blinding light the white

-      and gold room in which the red silk of the furniture and of the hangings

-      showed up vividly. It was very warm, the fans produced a breeze at regular

-      intervals, impregnated with the penetrating odours of bodices and bare

-      shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Just at that moment, Madame Duveyrier was taking her seat at the piano.

-      With a gesture, Madame Josserand smilingly begged she would not disturb

-      herself; and she left her daughters in the midst of the men, as she

-      accepted a chair for herself between Valérie and Madame Juzeur. Monsieur

-      Josserand had made for the parlour, where the landlord, Monsieur Vabre,

-      was dozing at his usual place, in the corner of a sofa. There were also

-      Campardon, Théophile and Auguste Vabre, Doctor Juillerat and the Abbé

-      Mauduit, forming a group; whilst Trublot and Octave, who had rejoined each

-      other, had flown from the music to the end of the dining-room. Near them,

-      and behind the stream of black coats, Duveyrier, thin and tall of stature,

-      was looking fixedly at his wife seated at the piano waiting for silence.

-      In the button-hole of his coat he wore the ribbon of the Legion of Honour

-      in a neat little rosette.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hush! hush! silence!&rdquo; murmured some friendly voices.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Clotilde Duveyrier commenced one of Chopin's most difficult

-      serenades. Tall and handsome, with magnificent red hair, she had a long

-      face, as pale and cold as snow; and, in her grey eyes, music alone kindled

-      a flame, an exaggerated passion on which she existed without any other

-      desire either of the flesh or the spirit. Duveyrier continued watching

-      her; then, after the first bars, a nervous exasperation contracted his

-      lips, he drew aside and kept himself at the farthest end of the

-      dining-room. On his clean-shaven face, with its pointed chin and eyes all

-      askew, large red blotches indicated a bad blood, quite a pollution

-      festering just beneath the skin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot, who was examining him, quietly observed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He does not like music.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Nor I either,&rdquo; replied Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! the unpleasantness is not the same for you. A man, my dear fellow,

-      who was always lucky. Not a whit more intelligent than another, but who

-      was helped along by every one. Belonging to an old middle-class family,

-      the father an ex-presiding judge, called to the bar the moment he had

-      completed his studies, then appointed, deputy judge at Reims, from whence

-      he was removed to Paris and made judge of the Court of First Instance,

-      decorated, and now a counsellor before he is forty-five years of age. It's

-      stiff, isn't it? But he does not like music, that piano has been the bane

-      of his life. One cannot have everything.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Clotilde was knocking off the difficult passages with

-      extraordinary composure. She handled her piano like a circus-rider her

-      horse. Octave's attention was solely occupied with the furious working of

-      her hands.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Just look at her fingers,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;it is astonishing! A quarter of an

-      hour of that must hurt her immensely.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And they both fell to talking of women without troubling themselves any

-      further with what she was playing. Octave felt rather embarrassed on

-      catching sight of Valérie: what line of conduct should he pursue? ought he

-      to speak to her or pretend not to see her? Trublot affected a great

-      disdain: there was still not one to take his fancy; and, as his companion

-      protested, looking about, and saying that there was surely one amongst the

-      number who would suit him, he learnedly declared:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! take your choice, and you will see afterwards, when the gloss is

-      off. Eh? not the one with the feathers over there; nor the blonde in the

-      mauve dress; nor that old party, though she at least has the merit of

-      being fat. I tell you, my dear fellow, it is absurd to seek for anything

-      of the kind in society. Plenty of airs, but not a particle of pleasure!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave smiled. He had to make his position in the world; he could not

-      afford merely to consider his taste, like Trublot, whose father was so

-      rich. The sight of those rows of women set him musing, he asked himself

-      which among them he would have chosen for his fortune and his pleasure, if

-      he had been allowed to take one of them away. As he was weighing them with

-      a glance, one after the other, he suddenly exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo! my employer's wife! She visits here then?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Did you not know it?&rdquo; asked Trublot. &ldquo;In spite of the difference in their

-      ages, Madame Hédouin and Madame Duveyrier are two school friends. They

-      used to be inseparable, and were called the polar bears, because they were

-      always fully twenty degrees below freezing point. They are some more of

-      the ornamental class! Duveyrier would be in a sad plight if he had not

-      some other hot water-bottle for his feet in winter time!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Octave had now become serious. For the first time, he beheld Madame

-      Hédouin in a low neck dress, her shoulders and arms bare, with her black

-      hair plaited in front; and she appeared in the ardent light as the

-      realisation of his desires: a superb woman, extremely healthy and calmly

-      beautiful, who would be a benefit in every way to a man. Complicated plans

-      were already absorbing him, when an awful din awoke him from his dream.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What a relief! it is finished!&rdquo; said Trublot.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Compliments were being showered upon Clotilde. Madame Josserand, who had

-      hastened to her, was pressing her hands; whilst the men resumed their

-      conversation, and the ladies fanned themselves more vigorously. Duveyrier

-      then ventured back into the parlour, where Trublot and Octave followed

-      him. Whilst in the midst of the skirts, the former whispered into the

-      latter's ear:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Look on your right. The angling has commenced.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was Madame Josserand who was setting Berthe on to Auguste. He had

-      imprudently gone up to the ladies to wish them good evening. His head was

-      not bothering him so much just then; he merely felt a touch of neuralgia

-      in his left eye; but he dreaded the end of the party, for there was going

-      to be singing, and nothing was worse for him than this.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Berthe,&rdquo; said the mother, &ldquo;tell Monsieur Vabre of the remedy you copied

-      for him out of that book. Oh! it is a sovereign cure for headaches!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, having started the affair, she left them standing beside a window.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;By Jove! they are going in for chemistry!&rdquo; murmured Trublot.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In the parlour, Monsieur Josserand, desirous of pleasing his wife, had

-      remained seated before Monsieur Vabre, feeling very embarrassed, for the

-      old gentleman was asleep, and he did not dare awake him to do the amiable.

-      But, when the music ceased, Monsieur Vabre raised his eye-lids. Short and

-      stout, and completely bald, save for two tufts of white hair over his

-      ears, he had a ruddy face, with thick lips, and round eyes almost at the

-      top of his head. Monsieur Josserand having politely inquired after his

-      health, the conversation began. The retired notary, whose four or five

-      ideas always followed the same order, commenced by making an observation

-      about Versailles, where he had practiced during forty years; then, he

-      talked of his sons, once more regretting that neither the one nor the

-      other had shown himself capable of carrying on the practice, so that he

-      had decided to sell it and inhabit Paris; after which, he came to the

-      history of his house, the building of which was the romance of his life.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have buried three hundred thousand francs in it, sir. A superb

-      speculation, my architect said. But to-day I have great difficulty in

-      getting the value of my money; more especially as all my children have

-      come to live here, with the idea of not paying me, and I should never have

-      a quarter's rent, if I did not apply for it myself on the fifteenth.

-      Fortunately, I have work to console me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you still work much?&rdquo; asked Monsieur Josserand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Always, always, sir!&rdquo; replied the old gentleman with the energy of

-      despair. &ldquo;Work is life to me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he explained his great task. For ten years past, he had every year

-      waded through the official catalogue of the exhibition of paintings,

-      writing on tickets each painter's name, and the paintings exhibited. He

-      spoke of it with an air of weariness and anguish; the whole year scarcely

-      gave him sufficient time, the task was often so arduous, that it sometimes

-      proved too much for him; for instance, when a lady artist married, and

-      then exhibited under her husband's name, how was he to see his way

-      clearly?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My work will never be complete, it is that which is killing me,&rdquo; murmured

-      he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You take a great interest in art, do you not?&rdquo; resumed Monsieur

-      Josserand, to flatter him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Vabre looked at him, full of surprise.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, I do not require to see the paintings. It is merely a matter of

-      statistics. There now! I had better go to bed, my head will be all the

-      clearer to-morrow. Good-night, sir.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He leant on a walking-stick, which he used even in the house, and

-      withdrew, walking painfully, the lower part of his back already succumbing

-      to paralysis. Monsieur Josserand felt perplexed: he had not understood

-      very clearly, he feared he had not spoken of the tickets with sufficient

-      enthusiasm.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But a slight hubbub coming from the drawing-room, attracted

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot and Octave again to the door. They saw a lady of about fifty

-      enter, very stout, and still handsome, followed by a young man, correctly

-      attired, and with a serious air about him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! they arrive together!&rdquo; murmured Trublot. &ldquo;Well! I never!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The new-comers were Madame Dambreville and Léon Josserand. She had

-      undertaken to find him a wife; then, whilst waiting, she had kept him for

-      her own personal use; and they were now in their full honeymoon,

-      attracting general attention in the middle-class drawing-rooms. There were

-      whisperings amongst the mothers who had daughters to marry. But Madame

-      Duveyrier was advancing to meet Madame Dambreville, who supplied her with

-      young men for her choruses. Madame Josserand at once supplanted her, and

-      overwhelmed her son's friend with all sorts of attentions, reflecting that

-      she might have need of her. Léon coldly exchanged a few words with his

-      mother; yet, she was now beginning to think that he would after all be

-      able to do something for himself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Berthe does not see you,&rdquo; said she to Madame Dambreville. &ldquo;Excuse her,

-      she is telling Monsieur Auguste of some remedy.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But they are very well together, we must leave them alone,&rdquo; replied the

-      lady, understanding at a glance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They both watched Berthe maternally. She had ended by pushing Auguste into

-      the recess caused by the window, and was keeping him there with her pretty

-      gestures. He was becoming animated, and running the risk of a bad

-      headache.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, a group of grave men were talking politics in the parlour.

-      There had been a stormy sitting of the Senate the day before, where they

-      were discussing the address respecting the Roman question; and Doctor

-      Juillerat, whose opinions were atheistical and revolutionary, was

-      maintaining that Rome ought to be given to the king of Italy; whilst the

-      Abbé Mau-duit, one of the heads of the Ultramontane party prophesied the

-      most awful catastrophes, if Frenchmen did not shed the last drop of their

-      blood in supporting the temporal power of the pope.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Perhaps some <i>modus vivendi</i> may be found which will prove

-      acceptable to both parties,&rdquo; observed Léon Josserand arriving.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He was just then the secretary of a celebrated barrister, one of the

-      deputies of the left. During two years, having nothing to expect from his

-      parents, whose mediocrity moreover exasperated him, he had frequented the

-      students' quarter in the guise of a ferocious demagogue. But, since his

-      acquaintance with the Dambrevilles, at whose expense he was satisfying his

-      first appetites, he was calming down, and drifting into the learned

-      Republican.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no agreement is possible,&rdquo; said the priest. &ldquo;The Church could not

-      make terms.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, it shall vanish!&rdquo; exclaimed the doctor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, though great friends, having met at the bedsides of all the departing

-      souls of the Saint-Roch district, they seemed irreconcilable, the doctor

-      thin and nervous, the priest fat and affable. The latter preserved a

-      polite smile, even when making his most absolute statements, like a man of

-      the world, tolerant for the shortcomings of existence, but also like a

-      Catholic who did not intend to abandon any of his religions belief.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The Church vanish, pooh!&rdquo; said Campardon with a furious air, just to be

-      well with the priest, from whom he was expecting a large order.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Besides, it was the opinion of almost all the gentlemen: it could not

-      vanish. Théophile Vabre, who, coughing and spitting, and shaking with

-      fever, dreamed of universal happiness through the organization of a

-      humanitarian republic, alone maintained that, perhaps, it would be

-      transformed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The priest resumed in his gentle voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The Empire is committing suicide. You will see it is so, next year, when

-      the elections come on.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! as for the Empire, we permit you to rid us of it,&rdquo; said the doctor

-      boldly. &ldquo;You will be rendering us a precious service.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Duveyrier, who seemed listening profoundly, shook his head. He

-      belonged to an Orleanist family; but he owed everything to the Empire and

-      considered he ought to defend it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Believe me,&rdquo; he at length declared severely, &ldquo;do not shake the

-      foundations of society, or everything will collapse. It is we, as sure as

-      fate, who suffer from every catastrophe.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Very true!&rdquo; observed Monsieur Josserand, who entertained no opinion, but

-      remembered his wife's instructions.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      All spoke at once. None of them liked the Empire. Doctor Juillerat

-      condemned the Mexican expedition, the Abbé Mauduit blamed the recognition

-      of the kingdom of Italy. Yet, Théophile Vabre and even Léon felt anxious

-      when Duveyrier threatened them with another '93. What was the use of those

-      continual revolutions? had not liberty been obtained? and the hatred of

-      new ideas, the fear of the people wishing their share, calmed the

-      liberalism of those satisfied middle-class men. They all declared,

-      however, that they would vote against the Emperor, for he was in need of a

-      lesson.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! how they bore me!&rdquo; said Trublot, who had been trying to understand

-      for some minutes past.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave persuaded him to return to the ladies. In the recess of the window,

-      Berthe was deafening Auguste with her laughter. This big fellow, with his

-      pale blood, was forgetting his fear of women, and was becoming quite red,

-      beneath the attacks of the lovely girl, whose breath warmed his face.

-      Madame Josserand, however, probably considered that the affair was

-      dragging, for she looked fixedly at Hortense; and the latter obediently

-      went and gave her sister her assistance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Are you quite recovered, madame?&rdquo; Octave dared to ask Valérie. &ldquo;Quite,

-      sir, thank you,&rdquo; replied she coolly, as though she remembered nothing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Juzeur spoke to the young man about some old lace which she wished

-      to show him, to have his opinion of it; and he had to promise to look in

-      on her for a moment on the morrow. Then, as the Abbé Mauduit re-entered

-      the drawing-room, she called him and made him sit beside her with an air

-      of rapture.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The conversation had again resumed. The ladies were discussing their

-      servants.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! yes,&rdquo; continued Madame Duveyrier, &ldquo;I am satisfied with Clémenee,

-      she is a very clean and very active girl.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And your Hippolyte,&rdquo; asked Madamo Josserand, &ldquo;had you not the intention

-      of discharging him?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Just then, Hippolyte, the footman, was handing round some iees. When he

-      had withdrawn, tall, strong, and with a florid complexion, Clotilde

-      answered in an embarrassed way:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We have deeided to keep him. It is so unpleasant changing! You know,

-      servants get used to one another, and I should not like to part with

-      Clémence.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand hastened to agree with her, feeling that they were on

-      delicate ground. There was some hope of marrying the two together, some

-      day; and the Abbé Mauduit, whom the Duveyriers' had consulted in the

-      matter, slowly wagged his head, as though to dissemble a state of affairs

-      known to all the house, but of which no one ever spoke. All the ladies now

-      opened their hearts: Valérie had sent another servant about her business

-      that very morning, and that made three in a week; Madamo Juzeur had

-      deeided to take a young girl of fifteen from the foundling hospital so as

-      to teach her herself; as for Madame Josserand, her complaints of Adèle

-      seemed never likely to cease, a slut, a good-for-nothing, whose goings-on

-      were most extraordinary. And they all, feeling languid in the blaze of the

-      candles and the perfume of the flowers, sank deeper into these ante-room

-      stories, wading through greasy account-books, and taking a delight in

-      relating the insolence of a coachman or of a scullery-maid.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Have you seen Julie?&rdquo; abruptly asked Trublot of Octave, in a mysterious

-      tone of voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as the other looked at him in amazement, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My dear fellow, she is stunning. Go and see her. Just pretend you want to

-      go somewhere, and then slip into the kitchen. She is stunning!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He was speaking of the Duveyriers' cook. The ladies' conversation was

-      taking a turn: Madame Josserand was describing, with overflowing

-      admiration, a very modest estate which the Duveyriers had near

-      Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and which she had merely caught a glimpse of

-      from the train, one day when she was going to Fontainebleau. But Clotilde

-      did not like the country, she lived there as little as possible, merely

-      during the holidays of her son, Gustave, who was then studying rhetoric at

-      the Lycée Bonaparte.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Caroline is right in not wishing to have any children,&rdquo; declared she,

-      turning towards Madame Hédouin, seated two chairs away from her. &ldquo;The

-      little things interfere with all your habits!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Hédouin said that she liked them a good deal. But she was much too

-      busy; her husband was constantly away, and she had everything to look

-      after.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, standing up behind her chair, searched with a side glance the

-      little curly hairs, as black as ink, on the nape of her neck, and the

-      snowy whiteness of her bosom, which&mdash;her dress being open very low&mdash;disappeared

-      in a mass of lace. She ended by completely confusing him, as she sat there

-      so calm, speaking but rarely and with a continuous smile on her handsome

-      face; he had never before seen so superb a creature, even at Marseilles.

-      Decidedly, it was worth trying, though it would be a long task.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Having children robs women of their good looks so quickly!&rdquo; said he in

-      her ear, leaning over, feeling an absolute necessity to speak to her, and

-      yet finding nothing else to say.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She slowly raised her large eyes, and then replied with the simple air

-      with which she would give him an order at the warehouse.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! no, Monsieur Octave; with me it is not for that. One must have the

-      time, that is all.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Madame Duveyrier intervened. She had merely greeted the young man with

-      a slight bow, when Campardon had introduced him to her; and now she was

-      examining him, and listening to him, without seeking to hide a sudden

-      interest. When she heard him conversing with her friend, she could not

-      help asking:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pray, excuse me, sir. What voice have you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He did not understand immediately; but he ended by saying that his was a

-      tenor voice. Then, Clotilde became quite enthusiastic: a tenor voice,

-      really! what a piece of luck, tenor voices were becoming so rare! For

-      instance, for the &ldquo;Blessing of the Daggers,&rdquo; which they were going to sing

-      by-and-by, she had never been able to find more than three tenors among

-      her acquaintances, when at least five were required. And, suddenly

-      excited, her eyes sparkling, she had to restrain herself from going at

-      once to the piano to try his voice. He was obliged to promise to come one

-      evening for the purpose. Trublot, who was behind him, kept nudging him

-      with his elbow, ferociously enjoying himself in his impassibility.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! so you are in for it too!&rdquo; murmured he, when she had moved away. &ldquo;For

-      myself, my dear fellow, she first of all thought I had a barytone voice;

-      then, seeing that I did not get on all right, she tried me as a tenor; but

-      as I went no better, she has decided to use me to-night as bass. I am one

-      of the monks.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But he had to leave Octave as Madame Duveyrier was just then calling him;

-      they were about to sing the chorus, the great piece of the evening. There

-      was quite a commotion. Some fifteen men, all amateurs, and all recruited

-      among the guests of the house, painfully opened a passage for themselves

-      through the groups of ladies, to form in front of the piano. They were

-      constantly brought to a standstill, and asked to be excused, in voices

-      drowned by the hum of conversations; whilst the fans were moved more

-      rapidly in the increasing heat. At length, Madame Duveyrier counted them;

-      they were all there, and she distributed them their parts, which she had

-      copied out herself. Campardon took the part of Saint-Bris; a young auditor

-      attached to the Council of State was intrusted with De Nevers's few bars;

-      then came eight nobles, four aldermen, and three monks, represented by

-      barristers, clerks, and simple householders. She, who accompanied, had

-      also reserved herself the part of Valentine, passionate cries which she

-      uttered whilst striking chords; for she would have no lady amongst the

-      gentlemen, the resigned troop of whom she directed with all the severity

-      of a conductor of an orchestra.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The conversations continued, an intolerable noise issued from the parlour

-      especially, where the political discussions were evidently entering on a

-      disagreeable phase. Then Clotilde, taking a key from her pocket, tapped

-      gently with it on the piano. A murmur ran through the room, the voices

-      dropped, two streams of black coats again flowed to the doors; and,

-      looking over the heads, one beheld for a moment Duveyrier's red spotted

-      face wearing an agonised expression. Octave had remained standing behind

-      Madame Hédouin, the glances from his lowered eyes losing themselves, in

-      the shadows of her bosom, in the depths of the lace. But when the silence

-      was almost complete, there was a burst of laughter, and he raised his

-      head. It was Berthe, who was amused at some joke of Auguste's; she had

-      heated his poor blood to such a point that he was becoming quite jovial.

-      Every person in the drawing-room looked at them, mothers became grave,

-      members of the family exchanged a glance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She has such spirits!&rdquo; murmured Madame Josserand tenderly, in such a way

-      as to be heard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Hortense, close to her sister, was assisting her with complaisant

-      abnegation, joining in her laughter, and pushing her up against the young

-      man; whilst the breeze which entered through the partly open window behind

-      them gently swelled the big crimson silk curtains.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But a sepulchral voice resounded, all the heads turned towards the piano.

-      Campardon, his mouth wide open, his beard spread out in a lyrical blast,

-      was giving the first line:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br />

-    </p>

-    <p class="indent15">

-      &ldquo;Yes, we are here assembled by the queen's command.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br />

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Clotilde at once ran up a scale and down again; then, her eyes fixed on

-      the ceiling, a look of fright on her face, she uttered the cry:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br />

-    </p>

-    <p class="indent15">

-      &ldquo;I tremble!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br />

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And the whole thing followed, the eight barristers, clerks and

-      householders, their noses on their parts, in the postures of schoolboys

-      humming and hawing over a page of Greek, swore that they were ready to

-      deliver France. This opening was a surprise, for the voices were stifled

-      beneath the low ceiling, one was unable to catch more than a sort of hum,

-      like a noise of passing carts full of paving stones causing the windows to

-      rattle. But when Saint-Bris's melodious line: &ldquo;For this holy cause&mdash;&rdquo;

-       unrolled the principal theme, some of the ladies recognised it and nodded

-      their heads knowingly. All were warming to the work, the nobles shouted

-      out at random: &ldquo;We swear it!&mdash;We will follow you!&rdquo; and, each time, it

-      was like an explosion which caught the guests full in the chest.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They sing too loud,&rdquo; murmured Octave in Madame Hédouin's ear.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She did not move. Then, as De Nevers's and Valentine's explanations bored

-      him, more especially as the auditor attached to the Council of State was a

-      false barytone, he corresponded by signs with Trublot who, whilst awaiting

-      the entrance of the monks, drew his attention with a wink to the window

-      where Berthe was continuing to keep Auguste imprisoned. Now, they were

-      alone, in the fresh breeze from outside; whilst, with her ear pricked up,

-      Hortense stood before them, leaning against the curtain and mechanically

-      twisting the loop. No one was watching them now, even Madame Josserand and

-      Madame Dambreville were looking away, after an instinctive exchange of

-      glances.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Clotilde, her fingers on the keys, carried away and unable to

-      risk a gesture, stretehed her neck and addressed to the music stand this

-      oath intended for De Nevers:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br />

-    </p>

-    <p class="indent15">

-      &ldquo;Ah! from to-day all my blood is yours!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br />

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The aldermen had made their entrance, a substitute, two attorneys, and a

-      notary. The quartette was well delivered, the line: &ldquo;For this holy cause&mdash;&rdquo;

-       returned, spread out, supported by half the chorus, in a continuous

-      expansion. Cam pardon, his mouth opened wider and wider, gave the orders

-      for the combat, with a terrible roll of syllables. And, suddenly, the

-      chant of the monks burst forth: Trublot sang from his stomach, so as to

-      reach the low notes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, having had the curiosity to wateh him singing, was struck with

-      surprise, when he again cast his eyes in the direction of the window. As

-      though carried away by the chorus, Hortense had unfastened the loop, by a

-      movement which might have been unintentional; and, in falling, the big

-      crimson silk curtain had completely hidden Auguste and Berthe. They were

-      there behind it, leaning against the window bar, without a movement

-      betraying their presence. Oetave no longer troubled himself about Trublot,

-      who was just then blessing the daggers: &ldquo;Holy daggers, by us be blessed.&rdquo;

-       Whatever could they be doing behind that curtain? The fugue was

-      commencing; to the deep tones of the monks, the chorus replied: &ldquo;Death!

-      death! death!&rdquo; And still they did not move; perhaps, feeling the heat too

-      much, they were simply watching the cabs pass. But Saint-Bris's melodious

-      line had again returned, by degrees all the voices uttered it with the

-      whole strength of their lungs, progressively and in a final outburst of

-      extraordinary force. It was like a gust of wind burying itself in the

-      farthest corners of the too narrow room, scaring the candles, making the

-      guests turn pale and their ears bleed. Clotilde furiously strummed away on

-      the piano, carrying the gentlemen along with her with a glance; then the

-      voices quieted down, almost whispering: &ldquo;At midnight, let there be not a

-      sound!&rdquo; and she continued on alone, using the soft pedal, and imitating

-      the cadenced and distant footsteps of some departing patrol.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, suddenly, in the midst of this expiring music, of this relief after

-      so much uproar, one heard a voice exclaim:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are hurting me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0127.jpg" alt="0127 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0127.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      All the heads again turned towards the window. Madame Dambreville kindly

-      made herself useful, by going and pulling the curtain aside. And the whole

-      drawing-room beheld Auguste looking very confused and Berthe very red,

-      still leaning against the bar of the window.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is the matter, my treasure?&rdquo; asked Madame Josserand earnestly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Nothing, mamma. Monsieur Auguste knocked my arm with the window. I was so

-      warm!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She turned redder still. There were, affected smiles and scandalized

-      pouts. Madame Duveyrier, who, for a month past, had been trying to keep

-      her brother out of Berthe's way, turned quite pale, more especially as the

-      incident had spoilt the effect of her chorus. However, after the first

-      moment of surprise, the applause burst forth, she was congratulated, and

-      some amiable things were said about the gentlemen. How delightfully they

-      had sung! what pains she must have taken to get them to sing so well in

-      time! Really, it could not have been rendered better at a theatre. But,

-      beneath all this praise, she could not fail to hear the whispering which

-      went round the drawing-room: the young girl was too much compromised, a

-      marriage had become inevitable.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! he is hooked!&rdquo; observed Trublot as he rejoined Octave. &ldquo;What a

-      ninny! as though he could not have pinched her whilst we were all

-      bellowing! I thought all the while that he was taking advantage of it. You

-      know, in drawing-rooms where they go in for singing, one pinches a lady,

-      and if she cries out it does not matter, no one hears!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, now very calm, was again laughing, whilst Hortense looked at

-      Auguste with her crabbed air of a girl who had taken a diploma; and, in

-      their triumph, the mother's lessons reappeared, the undisguised contempt

-      for man. All the gentlemen had now invaded the drawing-room, mingling with

-      the ladies, and raising their voices. Monsieur Josserand, feeling sick at

-      heart through Berthe's adventure, had drawn near his wife. He listened

-      uneasily as she thanked Madame Dambreville for all her kindness to their

-      son Léon, whom she had most decidedly changed to his advantage. But his

-      uneasiness increased when he heard her again refer to her daughters. She

-      pretended to converse in low tones with Madame Juzeur, though speaking all

-      the while for Valérie and Clotilde, who were standing up close beside her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, yes! her uncle mentioned it in a letter again to-day; Berthe will

-      have fifty thousand francs. It is not much, no doubt, but when the money

-      is there, and as safe as the bank too!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This lie roused his indignation. He could not help stealthily touching her

-      shoulder. She looked at him, forcing him to lower his eyes before the

-      resolute expression of her face. Then, as Madame Duveyrier turned round

-      quite amiably, she asked her with great concern for news of her father.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! papa has probably gone to bed,&rdquo; replied the young woman, quite won

-      over. &ldquo;He works so hard!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand said that Monsieur Vabre had indeed retired, so as to

-      have his ideas clear on the morrow. And he mumbled a few words: a most

-      remarkable mind, extraordinary faculties; asking himself at the same time

-      where he would get that dowry from, and thinking what a figure he would

-      cut, the day the marriage contract had to be signed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A great noise of chairs being moved now filled the drawingroom. The ladies

-      passed into the dining-room, where the tea was ready served. Madame

-      Josserand sailed victoriously in, surrounded by her daughters and the

-      Vabre family. Soon only the group of serious men remained amidst the

-      vacant chairs. Campardon had button-holed the Abbé Mauduit: there was a

-      question of some repairs to the calvary at Saint-Roch. The architect said

-      he was quite free, for the diocese of Evreux gave him very little to do.

-      All he had in hand there were a pulpit and a heating apparatus, and also

-      some new ranges to be placed in the bishop's kitchen, which work his

-      inspector was quite competent to see after. Then, the priest promised to

-      have the matter definitely settled at the next meeting of the vestry. And

-      they both joined the group where Duveyrier was being complimented on a

-      judgment, of which he admitted himself to be the author; the presiding

-      judge, who was his friend, reserved certain easy and brilliant tasks for

-      him, so as to bring him to the fore.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Have you read this last novel?&rdquo; asked Léon, looking through a number of

-      the &ldquo;Revue des Deux Mondes,&rdquo; lying on a table. &ldquo;It is well written; but

-      there is another adultery, it is really becoming wearisome!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And the conversation turned upon morality. Campardou said that there were

-      some very virtuous women. All the others agreed with him. Moreover,

-      according to the architect, one could always live peacefully at home, if

-      one only went the right way about it. Théophile Vabre observed that it

-      depended on the woman, without explaining himself farther. They wished to

-      have Doctor Juillerat's opinion, but he smiled and begged to be excused:

-      he considered virtue was a question of health. During this, Duveyrier had

-      remained wrapped in thought.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; murmured he at length, &ldquo;these authors exaggerate; adultery is

-      very rare amongst educated people. A woman who comes from a good family,

-      has in her soul a flower&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He was for grand sentiments, he uttered the word &ldquo;ideal&rdquo; with an emotion

-      which brought a mist to his eyes. And he said that the Abbé Mauduit was

-      right when the latter spoke of the necessity for the wife and mother

-      having some religious belief. The conversation was thus brought back to

-      religion and politics, at the point where these gentlemen had previously

-      left it. The Church would never disappear, because it was the foundation

-      of all families, the same as it was the natural support of governments.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;As a sort of police, perhaps it is,&rdquo; murmured the doctor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier, however, did not like politics being discussed in his house,

-      and he contented himself with severely declaring, as he glanced into the

-      dining-room where Berthe and Hortense were stuffing Auguste with

-      sandwiches:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There is one fact, gentlemen, which settles everything: religion

-      moralizes marriage.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At the same moment, Trublot, seated on a sofa beside Octave, was bending

-      towards the latter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;By the way,&rdquo; asked he, &ldquo;would you like me to get you invited to a lady's

-      where there is plenty of amusement?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And as his companion desired to know what kind of a lady, he added,

-      indicating the counsellor by a sign:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;His mistress.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; said Octave in amazement.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot slowly opened and closed his eyes. It was so. When one married a

-      woman who was disobliging and disgusted with one's little ailments, and

-      who strummed on her piano to the point of making all the dogs of the

-      neighbourhood ill, one had to go elsewhere and be made a fool of!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Let us moralize marriage, gentlemen, let us moralize marriage,&rdquo; repeated

-      Duveyrier in his rigid way, with his inflamed face, where Octave now

-      distinguished the foul blood of secret vices.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The gentlemen were being called into the dining-room. The Abbé Mauduit,

-      left for a moment alone in the middle of the empty drawing-room, looked

-      from a distance at the crush of guests. His fat shrewd face bore an

-      expression of sadness. He who heard all those ladies, both old and young,

-      at confession, knew them all in the flesh, the same as Doctor Juillerat,

-      and he had had to end by merely watching over appearances, like a master

-      of the ceremonies throwing the mantle of religion over the corruption of

-      the middle classes, trembling at the certainty of a final downfall, the

-      day when the canker would appear in all its hideousness. At times, in his

-      ardent and sincere faith of a priest, his indignation would overcome him.

-      But his smile returned; he took the cup of tea which Berthe came and

-      offered him, and conversed a minute with her so as to cover, as it were,

-      the scandal of the window, with his sacred character; and he again became

-      the man of the world, resigned to merely insisting upon a decent behaviour

-      from those sinners, who were escaping him, and who would have compromised

-      providence.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, these are fine goings-on!&rdquo; murmured Octave, whose respect for the

-      house had received another shock.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And seeing Madame Hédouin move towards the ante-room, he wished to reach

-      there before her, and followed Trublot, who was also leaving. His

-      intention was to see her home. She refused; it was scarcely midnight, and

-      she lived so near. Then, a rose having fallen from the bouquet at her

-      breast, he picked it up in spite and made a pretence of keeping it. The

-      young woman's beautiful eyebrows contracted; then, she said in her quiet

-      way:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pray open the door for me, Monsieur Octave. Thank you.&rdquo; When she had

-      departed, the young man, who was rather confused, looked for Trublot. But

-      Trublot had disappeared, the same as he had done at the Josserands'. This

-      time also he must have slipped along the passage leading to the kitchen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, greatly put out, went off to his room, his rose in his hand.

-      Upstairs, he beheld Marie leaning over the balustrade, at the place where

-      he had left her; she had been listening for his footstep, and had hastened

-      to see him come up. And when she had made him enter her room, she said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Jules has not yet come home. Did you enjoy yourself? Were there any

-      pretty dresses?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But she did not give him time to answer. She had caught sight of the rose,

-      and was seized with a childish delight. &ldquo;Is that flower for me? You have

-      thought of me? Ah! how nice of you! how nice of you!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And her eyes filled with tears, she became quite confused and very red.

-      Then Octave, suddenly moved, kissed her tenderly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Towards one o'clock, the Josserands withdrew in their turn. Adèle always

-      left a candle and some matches on a chair. When the members of the family,

-      who had not exchanged a word coming upstairs, had entered the dining-room,

-      from whence they had gone down in despair, they suddenly yielded to a mad

-      delirious joy, holding each others' hands, and dancing like savages round

-      the table; the father himself gave way to the contagion, the mother cut

-      capers, and the daughters uttered little inarticulate cries; whilst the

-      candle in the middle of them showed up their huge shadows careering along

-      the walls.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;At last, it is settled!&rdquo; said Madame Josserand, out of breath, dropping

-      on to a chair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But she jumped up again at once, in a fit of maternal affection, and ran

-      and imprinted two big kisses on Berthe's cheeks.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am very pleased, very pleased indeed with you, my darling. You have

-      just rewarded me for all my efforts. My poor girl, my poor girl it is true

-      then, this time!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her voice was choking, her heart was in her mouth. She succumbed in her

-      flaring dress, beneath the weight of a deep and sincere emotion, suddenly

-      overwhelmed in the hour of her triumph by the fatigues of her terrible

-      campaign which had lasted three winters. Berthe had to swear that she was

-      not ill, for her mother thought she looked ill, and was full of little

-      attentions, almost insisting on making her a cup of infusion. When the

-      young girl was in bed, she went barefooted and carefully tucked her in,

-      like in the already distant days of her childhood.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, his head on his pillow, awaited her. She

-      blew out the light, and stepped over him, to reach the side of the bed

-      nearest the wall. He was wrapped in thought, his uneasiness having

-      returned, his conscience all upset by that promise of a dowry of fifty

-      thousand francs. And he ventured to mention his scruples aloud. Why make a

-      promise, when one has a doubt of being able to keep it? It was not honest.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Not honest!&rdquo; exclaimed Madame Josserand in the dark, her voice resuming

-      its ferocious tone. &ldquo;It is not honest to let your daughters become old

-      maids, sir; yes, old maids, such was perhaps your dream! We have plenty of

-      time to turn about, we can talk the matter over, we will end by persuading

-      her uncle. And understand, sir, that in my family, we have always been

-      honest!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER VI.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the morrow,

-      which was a Sunday, Octave with his eyes open lay thinking for an hour in

-      the warmth of the sheets. He awoke happy, full of the lucidity of the

-      morning laziness. What need was there to hurry? He was very comfortable at

-      &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo; he was there losing all his provincial ways, and

-      he had an absolute and profound conviction of one day possessing Madame

-      Hédouin, who would make his fortune; but it was an affair that required

-      prudence, a long series of gallant tactics, which his voluptuous passion

-      for women was already enjoying by anticipation. As he was dozing off

-      again, forming his plans, allowing himself six months to succeed in, Marie

-      Pichon's image resulted in calming his impatience. A woman like that was a

-      real boon; he had merely to stretch out his arm, when he required her, and

-      she did not cost him a sou. Whilst awaiting the other, he could certainly

-      not hope for anything better. In his half-slumber, this bargain and this

-      convenience ended by making him quite tender-hearted: she appeared to him

-      very nice and pretty with all her good-nature, and he promised himself he

-      would behave better to her in future.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hang it! nine o'clock!&rdquo; said he thoroughly roused by his clock striking.

-      &ldquo;I must get up.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A fine rain was falling. Then, he made up his mind not to go out all day.

-      He would accept an invitation to dine with the Pichons, which he had been

-      refusing for some time past, dreading another meeting with the Vuillaumes;

-      it would please Marie, he would find opportunities of kissing her behind

-      the doors; and, as she was always asking for books, he even thought of

-      giving her the surprise of a quantity which he had, stowed away in one of

-      his boxes in the loft. When he was dressed, he went down to Monsieur Gourd

-      to get the key of this common loft, where all the tenants got rid of

-      whatever things were in their way, or which they had no present use for.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Down below, on that damp morning, it was quite stifling in the heated

-      staircase, the imitation marble, the tall looking-glasses, and the

-      mahogany doors of which were covered with steam. Under the porch, a poorly

-      clad woman, mother Pérou, to whom the Gourds paid four sons an hour for

-      doing the heavy work of the house, was washing the pavement with plenty of

-      water, in face of the icy-cold blast blowing from the courtyard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh! I say old 'un, just rub that a bit better, that I may not find a spot

-      on it!&rdquo; called ont Monsieur Gourd, warmly covered up, standing on the

-      threshold of his apartment.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, Octave arriving, he talked to him of mother Pérou with the brutal

-      domineering spirit, the mad mania for revenge, of former servants who were

-      being served in their turn.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A lazy creature that I can do nothing with! I should like to have seen

-      her at the duke's! Ah well! they stood no nonsense there! I'll send her to

-      the right about, if she doesn't give me my money's worth! That's all I

-      care about. But, excuse me, what is it you require, Monsieur Mouret?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave asked for the key. Then the doorkeeper, without hurrying himself,

-      continued to explain to him that, if they had chosen, Madame Gourd and he,

-      they might have lived respectably in their own house, at Mort-la-Ville;

-      only, Madame Gourd adored Paris, in spite of her swollen legs which

-      prevented her getting as far as the pavement; and they were waiting until

-      they had made their income into a round sum, their hearts almost breaking

-      moreover and drawing back, each time that they felt a desire to go and

-      live at last upon the little fortune which they had got together sou by

-      sou.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No one had better bother me,&rdquo; concluded he, drawing himself up to the

-      full height of his handsome figure. &ldquo;I'm no longer working for a living.

-      The key of the loft you said, did you not, Monsieur Mouret? Wherever have

-      we put the key of the loft, my dear?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Gourd, tenderly seated before a wood fire, the flames of which

-      enlivened the big light room, was drinking her coffee and milk out of a

-      silver cup. She had no idea; perhaps in one of the drawers. And, whilst

-      soaking her toast, she did not take her eyes off the door of the servants'

-      staircase, at the other end of the courtyard, looking barer and severer

-      than ever in the rain.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Look out! here she is!&rdquo; said she suddenly, as a woman appeared in the

-      doorway.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Gourd at once went and placed himself before his room, so as to

-      prevent the woman from passing, whilst she slackened her footsteps with an

-      air of anxiety.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We have been on the look-out for her since the first thing this morning,

-      Monsieur Mouret,&rdquo; resumed he, in a low voice. &ldquo;Last night we saw her pass.

-      You know she comes from that carpenter, upstairs, the only workman we have

-      in the house, thank goodness! And if the landlord only listened to me, he

-      would let the room remain empty, a servant's room which does not go with

-      the other apartments. For one hundred and thirty francs a year, it is

-      really not worth while having such a scum in the place&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He interrupted himself, to ask the woman roughly:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Where do you come from?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;From upstairs, of course!&rdquo; answered she, walking on.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, he exploded.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We'll have no women here, understand! The man who brings you has already

-      been told so. If you return here to sleep, I'll fetch a policeman, that's

-      what I'll do! and we'll see if you'll continue your goings-on in a

-      respectable house!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! don't bother me!&rdquo; said the woman. &ldquo;I've a right here; I shall come if

-      I choose.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she went off, followed by Monsieur Gourd's indignation, as he talked

-      of going up to fetch the landlord. Had any one ever heard the like! such a

-      creature amongst respectable people, who did not tolerate the least

-      immorality! And it seemed as though that little room occupied by a workman

-      was the abomination of the house, a bad place, the supervision of which

-      offended the doorkeeper's delicacy and spoilt his rest at night.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And that key!&rdquo; Octave ventured to observe.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But the doorkeeper, furious at a tenant's having been able to see his

-      authority disputed, fell on mother Pérou, wishing to show that he knew how

-      to make himself obeyed. Did she take him for a fool? She had again

-      splashed the door of his room with her broom. If he paid her out of his

-      own pocket, it was to save him from dirtying his hands, and yet he

-      continually had to clean up after her. Might the devil take him if he was

-      ever again charitable enough to have anything more to do with her! she

-      could go and croak. Without answering, and bent double by the fatigue of

-      this task so much above her strength, the old body continued to scrub with

-      her skinny arms, struggling to keep back her tears, so great was the

-      respectful fright that broad shouldered gentleman in cap and slippers

-      caused her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I remember, my darling,&rdquo; called Madame Gourd from her easy chair in which

-      she passed the day, warming her fat person. &ldquo;It was I who hid the key

-      under the shirts, so that the servants should not be always going into the

-      loft. Come, give it to Monsieur Mouret.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They're a nice lot, too, those servants!&rdquo; murmured Monsieur Gourd, who,

-      from his many years in service, had preserved a hatred for menials. &ldquo;Here

-      is the key, sir; but I must ask you to bring it me back, for no place can

-      be left open, without the servants getting in there and misconducting

-      themselves.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      To save crossing the wet courtyard, Octave went back up the principal

-      staircase. It was not till he had reached the fourth floor that he gained

-      the servants' staircase, by taking the door of communication that was

-      close to his room. Up above, a long passage was intersected twice at right

-      angles, it was painted pale yellow with a dado of darker ochre; and the

-      doors of the servants' rooms, also yellow, were uniform and placed at

-      equal distances, the same as in the corridor of a hospital. An icy chill

-      came from the zinc roof. All was bare and clean, with that unsavoury odour

-      of the lodgings of the poor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The loft overlooking the courtyard was in the right wing, at the further

-      end. But Octave, who had not been there since the day of his arrival, was

-      going along the left wing, when, suddenly, a spectacle which he beheld

-      inside one of the rooms, by the partly open door, brought him to a

-      standstill and filled him with amazement. A gentleman was standing in his

-      shirt sleeves before a little looking-glass, tying his white cravat.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! you here?&rdquo; said he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was Trublot. He also, at first, stood as one petrified. No one ever

-      came near there at that hour. Octave, who had walked in, looked at him in

-      that room with its narrow iron bedstead, and its washstand on which a

-      little bundle of woman's hair was floating on the soapy water; and,

-      perceiving the black dress coat hanging up amongst some aprons, he could

-      not restrain himself from saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So you sleep with the cook?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Not at all!&rdquo; replied Trublot, in a fright.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, recognising the stupidity of this lie, he began to laugh in his

-      convinced and satisfied way.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh! she is amusing! I assure you, my dear fellow, it is awfully fine!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Whenever he dined out, he escaped from the drawing-room to go and pinch

-      the cook before her stove; and when she was willing to trust him with her

-      key, he would take his departure before midnight, and go and wait

-      patiently for her in her room, seated on a trunk, in his black dress coat

-      and white tie. On the morrow, he would leave by the principal staircase

-      towards ten o'clock, and pass before the doorkeeper as though he had been

-      making an early call on one of the tenants. So long as he was pretty

-      punctual at the stockbroker's, his father was satisfied. Moreover, he was

-      now employed in attending the Bourse from twelve to three. It would

-      sometimes happen that on a Sunday he would spend the whole day in some

-      servant's bed, happy, lost, his nose buried in the pillow.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You, who are going to be so rich some day!&rdquo; said Octave, his face

-      retaining an expression of disgust.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Trublot learnedly declared:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My dear fellow, you don't know what it is; don't speak about it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he stood up for Julie, a tall Burgundian of forty, with her big face

-      pitted with small-pox, but who had the body of a superb woman. One might

-      disrobe the ladies of the house; they were all sticks, not one would come

-      up to her knee. Besides that, she was a girl very well to do; and to prove

-      it he opened her drawers, displayed a bonnet, some jewellery, and some

-      chemises trimmed with lace, no doubt stolen from Madame Duveyrier. Octave,

-      indeed, now noticed a certain coquettishness about the room, some gilded

-      cardboard boxes on the drawers, a chintz curtain hung over the skirts, all

-      the accessaries of a cook aping the grand lady.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There is no denying, you see, that one may own to this one,&rdquo; repeated

-      Trublot. &ldquo;If they were only all like her!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this moment a noise came from the servants' staircase. It was Adèle

-      coming up to wash her ears, Madame Josserand having furiously forbidden

-      her to proceed with her work until she had cleaned them with soap. Trublot

-      peeped out and recognised her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Shut the door quick!&rdquo; said he very anxiously. &ldquo;Hush! don't say a word!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He pricked up his ear, and listened to Adèle's heavy footstep along the

-      passage.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You sleep with her too, then?&rdquo; asked Octave, surprised at his paleness,

-      and guessing that he dreaded a scene.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But this time Trublot was coward enough to deny.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! no indeed! not with that slat! Whoever do you take me for, my dear

-      fellow!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He had seated himself on the edge of the bed, and while waiting to finish

-      dressing, begged Oetave not to move; and both remained perfectly still,

-      whilst that filthy Adèle scoured out her ears, which took at least ten

-      good minutes. They heard the tempest in her washhand basin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There is, however, a room between this one and hers,&rdquo; softly explained

-      Trublot, &ldquo;a room that is let to a workman, a carpenter who stinks the

-      place out with his onion soup. 'This morning again, it almost made me

-      sick. And you know, in all houses, the partitions of the servants' rooms

-      are now almost as thin as sheets of paper. I don't understand the

-      landlords. It is not very decent, one can scarcely turn in one's bed. I

-      think it very inconvenient.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When Adèle had gone down again, he resumed his swagger and finished

-      dressing himself, making free use of Julie's combs and pomatum. Oetave

-      having spoken of the loft, he insisted on taking him there, for he knew

-      the most out-of-the-way corner of that floor. And, as he passed the doors,

-      he familiarly mentioned the servants' names: in this bit of a passage,

-      after Adèle came Lisa, the Campardons' maid, a wench who took her

-      pleasures outside; then, Victoire, their cook, a stranded whale, seventy

-      years old, the only one he respected; then, Françoise, who had entered

-      Madame Valerie's serviee the day before, and whose trunk would perhaps

-      only remain twenty-four hours behind the meagre bed upon whieh such a

-      gallop of maids passed, that it was always necessary to make inquiries

-      before going there and waiting in the warmth of the blanket; then, a quiet

-      couple, in the serviee of the people on the second floor; then, these

-      people's coachman, a strapping fellow of whom he spoke with the jealousy

-      of a handsome man, suspecting him of going from door to door and

-      noiselessly doing some very fine work; finally, at the other end of the

-      passage, there were Clémenee, the Duveyriers' maid, whom her neighbour

-      Hippolyte, the butler, rejoined matrimonially every night, and little

-      Louise, the orphan whom Madame Juzeur had taken on trial, a chit of

-      fifteen, who must hear some very strange things in the small hours, if she

-      were a light sleeper.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My dear fellow, don't lock the door, do this to oblige me,&rdquo; said he to

-      Oetave, when he had helped him to take the books from the box. &ldquo;You see,

-      when the loft is open, one can hide there and wait.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, having consented to deceive Monsieur Gourd, returned with Trublot

-      to Julie's room. The young man had left his overcoat there. Then it was

-      his gloves that he could not find; he shook the skirts, overturned the

-      bed-clothes, raised such a dust and such an odour of soiled linen, that

-      his companion, half-suffocated, opened the window. It looked on to the

-      narrow inner courtyard, which gave light to all the kitchens. And he was

-      stretching out his head over this damp well, which exhaled the greasy

-      odours of dirty sinks, when a sound of voices made him hastily withdraw.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The little morning gossip,&rdquo; said Trublot on all fours under the bed,

-      still searching. &ldquo;Just listen to it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was Lisa, who was leaning out of the window of the Cam-pardons' kitchen

-      to speak to Julie, two storeys below her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So it's come off then this time?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It seems so,&rdquo; replied Julie, raising her head. &ldquo;You see, she did all she

-      could to catch him. Hippolyte came from the drawing-room so disgusted,

-      that he almost had an attack of indigestion.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If we were only to do a quarter as much!&rdquo; resumed Lisa.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But she disappeared a moment, to drink some broth that Victoire brought

-      her. They got on well together, nursing each other's vices, the maid

-      hiding the cook's drunkenness, and the cook facilitating the maid's

-      outings, from which the latter returned quite worn out, her limbs aching,

-      her eyelids blue.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! my children,&rdquo; said Victoire leaning out in her turn, her elbows

-      touching Lisa's, &ldquo;you're young. When you've seen what I've seen! At old

-      Campardon's, there was a niece who had been well brought up, and who used

-      to go and look at the men through the key-hole.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pretty goings-on!&rdquo; murmured Julie with the horrified air of a lady. &ldquo;Had

-      I been in the place of the little one of the fourth floor, I'd have boxed

-      Monsieur Auguste's ears, if he'd touched me in the drawing-room! He's a

-      fine fellow!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At these words, a shrill laugh issued from Madame Juzeur's kitchen. Lisa,

-      who was opposite, searched the room with a glance, and caught sight of

-      Louise, whose precocious fifteen years took a delight in listening to the

-      other servants.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She's spying on us from morning to night, the chit,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;How

-      stupid it is to thrust a child upon us! We sha'n't be able to talk at all

-      soon.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She did not finish. The sound of a suddenly opened window chased them

-      away. A profound silence ensued. But they ventured to look out again. Eh!

-      what! what was the matter? They had thought that Madame Valérie or Madame

-      Josserand was going to catch them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No fear!&rdquo; resumed Lisa. &ldquo;They're all soaking in their washhand basins.

-      They're too busy with their skins, to think of bothering us. It's the only

-      moment in all the day when one can breathe freely.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So it still goes on the same at your place?&rdquo; asked Julie, who was paring

-      a carrot.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Still the same,&rdquo; replied Victoire. &ldquo;It's all over, she's no more use.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But your big noodle of an architect, what does he do then?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Takes up with the cousin, of course!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They were laughing louder than ever, when they beheld the new servant,

-      Françoise, in Madame Valérie's kitchen. It was she who had caused the

-      alarm, by opening the window. At first there was an exchange of

-      politeness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! it's you, mademoiselle.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, yes, mademoiselle. I am trying to make myself at home, but this

-      kitchen is so filthy!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then came scraps of abominable information.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will be more than constant, if you remain there long. The last one

-      had her arms all scratched by the child, and madame worked her so hard,

-      that we could hear her crying from here.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah well! that won't last long with me,&rdquo; said Françoise. &ldquo;Thanks all the

-      same, mademoiselle.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Where is she, your missus?&rdquo; asked Victoire curiously.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She's just gone off to lunch with a lady.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Lisa and Julie stretched their necks, to exchange a glance. They knew her

-      well, the lady. A funny sort of lunch, with her head down and her feet in

-      the air! Was it possible, to lie to that extent! They did not pity the

-      husband, for he deserved more than that; only, it was a disgrace to

-      humanity, that a woman should not behave herself better.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There's Dish-cloth!&rdquo; interrupted Lisa, discovering the Josserands'

-      servant overhead.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then a host of vulgar expressions were bawled from the depths of this

-      hole, as obscure and infected as a sewer. All, with their faces raised,

-      violently yelled at Adèle, who was their butt, the dirty awkward creature

-      on whom the entire household vented their spite.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo! she's washed herself, it's evident!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Just throw your fish bones into the yard again, and I'll come up and rub

-      'em in your face!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Thoroughly bewildered, Adèle looked down upon them from above, her body

-      half out of the window. She ended by answering:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Leave me alone, can't you? or I'll water you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But the yells and the laughter increased.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You married your young mistress, last night, didn't you! Eh! it's you,

-      perhaps, who teach her how to hook the men?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! the heartless thing! she stops in a place where they don't give you

-      enough to eat! On my word, it's that which exasperates me against her!

-      You're such a fool, you should send 'em to blazes!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Adèle's eyes filled with tear's.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You can only talk nonsense,&rdquo; stammered she. &ldquo;It's not my fault if I don't

-      get enough to eat.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And the voices swelled, unpleasant words commenced to be exchanged between

-      Lisa and the new servant, Françoise, who stuck up for Adèle, when the

-      latter, forgetting the abuse heaped upon her, and yielding to party

-      instinct, called out: &ldquo;Look out! here's madame!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The silence of the tomb ensued. They all immediately plunged back into

-      their kitchens; and from the dark chasm of the narrow courtyard all that

-      ascended was the stench of the dirty sinks, like the exhalation of the

-      hidden abominations of the families, stirred up there by the spite of the

-      hirelings. It was the sewer of the house, the shames of which it carried

-      off, whilst the masters were still lounging in their slippers, and the

-      grand staircase unfolded the solemnity of its flights, in the silent

-      suffocation of the hot air stove. Octave recalled the blast of uproar he

-      received full in the face, when entering the Campardons' kitchen, the day

-      of his arrival.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They are very nice,&rdquo; said he simply.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, leaning out in his turn, he looked at the walls, as though annoyed at

-      not having at once read through them, behind the imitation marble and the

-      mouldings bright with gilding.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Where the devil has she stowed them away?&rdquo; repeated Trublot who had

-      searched everywhere for his white kid gloves.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length, he discovered them at the bottom of the bed itself, flattened

-      out and quite warm. He gave a last glance in the glass, went and hid the

-      key in the place agreed upon, right at the end of the passage, underneath

-      an old sideboard left behind by some lodger, and led the way downstairs,

-      accompanied by Octave. After passing the Josserands' door, on the grand

-      staircase, he recovered all his assurance, with his overcoat buttoned up

-      to the neck to hide his dress clothes and white tie.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good-bye, my dear fellow,&rdquo; said he raising his voice. &ldquo;I felt anxious, so

-      I just looked in to hear how the ladies were. They passed a very good

-      night. Good-bye.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave watched him with a smile as he went downstairs. Then, as it was

-      almost lunch time, he decided to return the key of the loft later on.

-      During lunch, at the Campardons', he particularly watched Lisa, who waited

-      at table. She had her usual clean and agreeable look; but, in his mind, he

-      could still hear her defiling her lips with the most abominable words. His

-      knowledge of women had not deceived him with respect to that girl with the

-      flat chest. Madame Campardon continued to be enchanted with her, surprised

-      that she did not steal anything, which was a fact, for her vice was of a

-      different kind. Moreover, the girl seemed very kind to Angèle, and the

-      mother entirely trusted her. .

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It so happened, that on that day Angèle disappeared when the dessert was

-      placed on the table, and she could be heard laughing in the kitchen.

-      Octave ventured to make an observation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are perhaps wrong, to let her be so free with the servants.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! there is not much harm in it,&rdquo; replied Madame Campardon, in her

-      languid way. &ldquo;Victoire saw my husband born, and I am so sure of Lisa.

-      Besides, how can I help it? the child gives me a headache. I should go

-      crazy, if I heard her jumping about me all day.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The architect gravely chewed the end of his cigar.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is I,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;who make Angèle pass two hours in the kitchen, every

-      afternoon. I wish her to become a good housewife. It teaches her a great

-      deal. She never goes out, my dear fellow, she is continually under our

-      sheltering wing. You will see what a jewel we shall make of her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave said no more. On certain days, Campardon appeared to him to be very

-      stupid; and as the architect pressed him to go and hear a great preacher

-      at Saint-Roch, he refused, obstinately persisting in remaining indoors.

-      After telling Madame Campardon that he would not dine with them that

-      evening, he was returning to his room, when he felt the key of the loft in

-      his pocket. He preferred to go down and return it at once. But on the

-      landing an unexpected sight attracted his attention. The door of the room

-      let to the highly distinguished gentleman, whose name was never mentioned,

-      happened to be open; and this was quite an event, for it was invariably

-      shut, as though barred by the silence of the tomb. His surprise increased:

-      he was looking for the gentleman's work-table, and in its stead had

-      discovered the corner of a big bedstead, when he beheld a slim lady

-      dressed in black, her face hidden behind a thick veil, come ont of the

-      room, whilst the door closed noiselessly behind her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, his curiosity being roused, he followed the lady downstairs, to find

-      out if she were pretty. But she hastened along with an anxious nimbleness,

-      scarcely touching the Wilton carpet with her tiny boots, and leaving no

-      trace in the house, save a faint odour of verbena. As he reached the

-      vestibule, she disappeared, and he only beheld Monsieur Gourd standing

-      under the porch, cap in hand and bowing very low to her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When the young man had returned the doorkeeper his key, he tried to make

-      him talk.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She looks very lady-like,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Who is she?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A lady,&rdquo; answered Monsieur Gourd.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And he would add nothing further. But he was more communicative regarding

-      the gentleman on the third floor. Oh! a man belonging to the very best

-      society, who had taken that room to come and work there quietly, one night

-      a week.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! he works!&rdquo; interrupted Octave. &ldquo;What at, pray!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He was kind enough to ask me to keep his room tidy for him,&rdquo; continued

-      Monsieur Gourd, without appearing to have heard the question. &ldquo;And, you

-      know, he pays money down. Ah! sir, when one waits on people, one soon

-      knows whether they are decent He is everything that is most respectable:

-      it is easily seen by his clothes.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He was obliged to jump on one side, and Octave himself had to enter the

-      doorkeepers' room for a moment, in order to let the carriage of the second

-      floor people, who were going to the Bois, pass. The horses pawed the

-      ground, held back by the coachman the reins high; and, when the big closed

-      landau rolled under the vaulted roof, one beheld through the windows two

-      handsome children, whose smiling faces almost hid the vague profiles of

-      the father and mother. Monsieur Gourd drew himself up, polite, but cold.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They don't make much noise in the house,&rdquo; observed Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No one makes any noise,&rdquo; said the doorkeeper, curtly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eaeh one lives as he thinks best, that's all. There are people who know

-      how to live, and there are people who don't know how to live.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The second floor tenants were judged severely, because they associated

-      with no one. They appeared to be well off, however; but the husband wrote

-      books, and Monsieur Gourd mistrusted him, curling his lip with contempt;

-      more especially as no knew what the family was up to in there, with its

-      air of requiring nobody, and being always perfectly happy. It did not seem

-      to him natural.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was opening the vestibule door, when Valérie returned. He drew

-      politely on one side, to allow her to pass before him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Are you quite well, madame?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, sir, thank you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She was out of breath; and as she went upstairs he looked at her muddy

-      boots, thinking of that lunch, with her head down and her feet in the air,

-      which the servants had spoken of. She had no doubt walked home, not having

-      been able to find a cab. A hot unsavoury odour came from her damp skirts.

-      Fatigue, a placid weariness of all her flesh, made her at times, in spite

-      of herself, place her hand on the balustrade.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What a disagreeable day, is it not, madame?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Frightful, sir. And, with that, the atmosphere is very close.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had reaehed the first-floor landing, and they bowed to each other.

-      But, with a glance, he had seen her haggard face, her eyelids heavy with

-      sleep, her unkempt hair beneath the bonnet tied on in haste; and as he

-      continued on his way upstairs, he reflected, annoyed and angry. Then, why

-      not with him? He was neither more stupid nor uglier than the others.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When before Madame Juzeur's door, on the third floor, his promise of the

-      evening before recurred to him. He felt curious about that little woman,

-      so discreet and with eyes like periwinkles. He rang. It was Madame Juzeur

-      herself who answered the door.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! dear sir, how kind of you! Pray walk in.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      There was a softness about the lodging which smelt a bit stuffy: carpets

-      and hangings everywhere, seats as yielding as down, with the warm

-      unruffled atmosphere of a chest padded with old rainbow coloured satin. In

-      the drawing-room, to which the double curtains imparted the peacefulness

-      of a church, Octave was invited to seat himself on a broad and very low

-      sofa.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here is the lace,&rdquo; resumed Madame Juzeur, reappearing with a sandal-wood

-      box full of finery. &ldquo;I am going to make a present of it to some one, and I

-      am curious to know its value.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was a piece of very fine old Brussels. Octave examined it carefully,

-      and ended by valuing it at three hundred francs. Then, without waiting

-      further, as their hands were both handling the lace, he bent forward and

-      kissed her fingers, fingers as delicate as a little girl's.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! Monsieur Octave, at my age! you cannot think what you are doing!&rdquo;

-       murmured Madame Juzeur, prettily, without getting angry.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She was thirty-two, and pretended she was quite old. And she made her

-      usual allusion to her misfortunes; good heavens! yes, after ten days of

-      married bliss, the cruel man had gone off one morning and had not

-      returned, nobody had ever discovered why.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You can understand,&rdquo; continued she, gazing up at the ceiling, &ldquo;that all

-      is over for the woman who has gone through this.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave had kept hold of her little warm hand which seemed to mould itself

-      to his, and he continued kissing it lightly, on the fingers. She turned

-      her eyes towards him, and gazed upon him with a vague and tender look;

-      then, in a maternal way, she uttered this single word:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Child!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Thinking himself encouraged, he wished to take her round the waist, and

-      draw her on to the sofa; but she freed herself without any violence, and

-      slipped from his arms, laughing, and with an air of thinking that he was

-      merely playing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, leave me alone, do not touch me, if you wish that we should remain

-      good friends.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, no?&rdquo; asked he in a low voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What, no? What do you mean? Oh! my hand, as much as you like!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He had again taken hold of her hand. But, this time, he opened it, kissing

-      it on the palm; and, her eyes half closed, treating the little game as a

-      joke, she opened her fingers like a cat spreads out its claws to be

-      tickled inside its paw. She did not let him go farther than the wrist. The

-      first day, a sacred line was drawn there, where harm began.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The priest is coming upstairs,&rdquo; Louise suddenly entered and said, on

-      returning from some errand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The orphan had the yellow complexion, and the squashed features of girls

-      forgotten on doorsteps. She burst into an idiotic laugh on beholding the

-      gentleman eating, as she thought, out of her mistress's hand. But at a

-      glance from the latter, she hastened away.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I greatly fear I shall never be able to do anything with her,&rdquo; resumed

-      Madame Juzeur. &ldquo;However, it is only right to try and put one of those poor

-      souls into the straight path. Come this way, if you please, Monsieur

-      Mouret.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She conducted him to the dining-room, so as to leave the drawing-room to

-      the priest, whom Louise ushered in. She invited Octave to come again and

-      have a chat. It would be a little company for her; she was always so sad

-      and so lonely! Happily, religion consoled her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      That evening, towards five o'clock, Octave experienced a real relief in

-      making himself comfortable at the Pichons' whilst waiting for dinner. The

-      house bewildered him somewhat; after having allowed himself to be

-      impressed with a provincial's respect, in the face of the rich solemnity

-      of the staircase, he was gliding to an exaggerated contempt for what he

-      thought he could guess took place behind the high mahogany doors. He was

-      quite at sea; it seemed to him now that those middle-class women, whose

-      virtue had frozen him at first, should yield at a sign; and, when one of

-      them resisted, he was filled with surprise and rancour.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Marie blushed with joy on seeing him place the pile of books which he had

-      fetched for her in the morning on the sideboard. She kept saying, &ldquo;How

-      nice of you, Monsieur Octave! Oh! thank you, thank you! And how kind to

-      come early! Will you have a glass of sugar and water with some cognac? It

-      assists the appetite.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He accepted, just to please her. Everything appeared pleasant to him, even

-      Pichon and the Vuillaumes, who conversed round the table, slowly mumbling

-      over again their usual Sunday conversation. Marie, now and again, ran to

-      the kitchen, where she was cooking a boned shoulder of mutton; and he

-      dared in a chaffing way to follow her, seizing hold of her before the

-      stove, and kissing her on the nape of her neck. She, without a cry and

-      without a start, turned round and kissed him in her turn on the mouth,

-      with lips which were always cold. This coolness seemed delicious to the

-      young man.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, and your new Minister?&rdquo; asked he of Pichon, on returning into the

-      room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But the clerk gave a start. Ah! there was going to be a new Minister of

-      Public Instruction! He knew nothing of it; no one ever troubled about that

-      at the Ministry.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The weather is so bad!&rdquo; he abruptly remarked. &ldquo;It is quite impossible to

-      keep one's trousers clean!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Vuillaume talked of a girl at Batignolles who had gone to the bad.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will scarcely believe me, sir,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;She had been exceedingly

-      well brought up; but she felt so bored at her parents', that she had twice

-      tried to throw herself into the street. It is incredible!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They should have put bars on the windows,&rdquo; said Monsieur Vuillaume

-      simply.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The dinner was delightful. This kind of conversation lasted all the time

-      around the modest board lighted by a little lamp. Pichon and Monsieur

-      Vuillaume, having got on to the staff of the Ministry, did nothing but

-      talk of head-clerks and second head-clerks; the father-in-law obstinately

-      alluded to those of his time, then recollected that they were dead;

-      whilst, on his side, the son-in-law continued to speak of the new ones, in

-      the midst of an inextricable confusion of names. The two men, however, as

-      well as Madame Vuillaume, agreed on one point: fat Chavignat, he who had

-      such an ugly wife, had gone in for a great deal too many children. It was

-      absurd for a man of his position. And Octave smiled, feeling happy and at

-      his ease; he had not spent such an agreeable evening for a long time; he

-      even ended by blaming Chavignat with conviction. Marie quieted him with

-      her clear, innocent look, devoid of emotion at seeing him seated beside

-      her husband, helping them both according to their tastes, with her rather

-      tired air of passive obedience.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Punctually at ten o'clock, the Vuillaumes rose to take their departure.

-      Pichon put on his hat. Every Sunday he saw them to the omnibus. Out of

-      deference, he had got into the habit about the time of his marriage, and

-      the Vuillaumes would have been deeply offended had he now tried to give it

-      up. All three made for the Rue de Richelieu, then walked slowly up it,

-      searching with a glance the Batignolles omnibuses which kept passing full,

-      so that Pichon often went thus as far as Montmartre; for he would never

-      have thought of leaving his father and mother-in-law before seeing them

-      into an omnibus. As they could not walk fast, it took him close upon two

-      hours to go there and back.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They exchanged some friendly handshakes on the landing. Octave, on

-      returning to the room with Marie, said quietly, &ldquo;It rains; Jules will not

-      get back before midnight.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as Lilitte had been put to bed early, he at once took Marie on his

-      knees, and drank the rest of the coffee with her out of the same cup, like

-      a husband glad at having got rid of his guests and at finding himself

-      again in the quiet of his home, excited by a little family gathering, and

-      able to kiss his wife at his case, with the doors closed. A pleasant

-      warmth filled the narrow room, where some frosted eggs had left an odour

-      of vanilla. He was gently kissing the young woman under the chin, when

-      some one knocked. Marie did not even give a start of affright. It was

-      young Josserand, he who was a bit cracked. Whenever he could escape from

-      the apartment opposite, he would come in this way to chat with her,

-      attracted by her gentleness; and they both got on well together, remaining

-      ten minutes at a time without speaking, exchanging at distant intervals

-      phrases which had no connection with each other. Octave, very much put

-      out, remained silent.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They've some people there,&rdquo; stuttered Saturnin. &ldquo;I don't care a hang for

-      their not letting me dine with them! So I took the lock off and bolted. It

-      serves them right.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They will be anxious; you ought to go back,&rdquo; said Marie, who noticed

-      Octave's impatience.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But the idiot laughed with delight. Then, with his embarrassed speech, he

-      related what took place in his home. He seemed to come each time for the

-      sake of thus relieving his memory.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Papa worked all night again. Mamma slapped Berthe. I say, when people get

-      married, does it hurt?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as Marie did not reply, becoming excited, he continued: &ldquo;I won't go

-      to the country; I won't. If they only touch her, I'll strangle them; it's

-      easy to do in the night, when they're asleep. The palm of her hand is as

-      soft as note-paper. But, you know, the other is a beast of a girl&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He recommenced, got more muddled still, and did not succeed in expressing

-      what he had come to say. Marie, at length, made him return to his parents,

-      without his even having noticed Octave's presence.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the latter, through fear of being again disturbed, wanted to take the

-      young woman into his own room. But she refused, her cheeks suddenly

-      becoming scarlet He, not understanding this bashfulness, said that they

-      would be sure to hear Jules coming up, and that she would have time to

-      slip into her room; and as he drew her along, she became quite angry, with

-      the indignation of a woman to whom violence is being offered.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, not in your room, never! It would be too wrong. Let us remain here.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she ran to the farthest end of her room. Octave was still on the

-      landing, surprised at this unexpected resistance, when the sounds of a

-      violent altercation ascended from the courtyard. Really, everything seemed

-      to be against him, he would have done better to have gone off to bed. Such

-      an uproar was so unusual at that late hour, that he ended by opening a

-      window, to hear what was going on. Monsieur Gourd, down below, was

-      shouting out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I tell you, you shall not pass! The landlord has been sent for. He will

-      come and turn you out himself.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! turn me out!&rdquo; replied a thick voice. &ldquo;Don't I pay my rent? Pass,

-      Amélie, and if the gentleman touches you, we'll have something to laugh

-      at!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the workman from upstairs, who had returned with the woman sent

-      away in the morning. Octave leant out; but, in the black hole of the

-      courtyard, he could only distinguish some big moving shadows in a ray of

-      gaslight from the vestibule.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Monsieur Vabre! Monsieur Vabre!&rdquo; called the doorkeeper in urgent tones,

-      as the carpenter shoved him aside. &ldquo;Quick, quick, she is coming in!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In spite of her poor legs, Madame Gourd had gone to fetch the landlord,

-      who was just then at work on his great task. He was coming down. Octave

-      could hear him furiously repeating:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is scandalous! it is disgraceful! I will never allow such a thing in

-      my house!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, addressing the workman, whom his presence seemed at first to

-      intimidate:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Send that woman away, at once, at once. You hear me! we will have no

-      women brought to the house.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But she's my wife!&rdquo; replied the workman in a scared way.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She is out at service, she comes once a month, when her people allow her

-      to. What a fuss! It isn't you who'll prevent me sleeping with my wife, I

-      suppose!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At these words, the doorkeeper and the landlord quite lost their heads.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I give you notice to quit,&rdquo; stuttered Monsieur Vabre. &ldquo;And, in the

-      meantime, I forbid you to take my premises for what they are not. Gourd,

-      turn that creature out on to the pavement. Yes, sir, I don't like bad

-      jokes. When a person is married, he should say so. Hold your tongue, do

-      not give me any more of your rudeness!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The carpenter, who was a jolly fellow, and who had no doubt had a drop too

-      much wine, ended by bursting out laughing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's damned funny all the same. However, as the gentleman objects, you'd

-      better return home, Amélie. We'll wait till some other time. By Jove! I

-      accept your notice with pleasure! I wouldn't stop in such a hole on any

-      account! There are some pretty goings-on in it, one comes across some rare

-      filth. You won't have women brought here, but you tolerate, on every

-      floor, well-dressed strumpets who lead fine lives behind the doors! You

-      set of muffs! you swells!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Amélie had gone off so as not to cause her old man any more annoyance; and

-      he, jolly, and without anger, continued his chaff. During this time,

-      Monsieur Gourd protected Monsieur Vabre's retreat, permitting himself to

-      make a few remarks out loud. What a dirty set the lower classes were! One

-      workman in a house was sufficient to pollute it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave closed the window. But, just as he was returning to Marie, an

-      individual who was lightly gliding along the passage, knocked up against

-      him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! it's you again!&rdquo; said he recognising Trublot.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The latter remained a second taken aback. Then, he wished to explain his

-      presence.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, it is I. I dined at the Josserands', and I'm going&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave felt disgusted.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What, with that slut Adèle? You declared it was not so.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Trublot assumed all his swagger, saying with an air of intense

-      satisfaction:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I assure you, my dear fellow, it's awfully fine. She has such a skin,

-      you've no idea what a skin!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he railed against the workman, who had almost been the cause of his

-      being caught on the servants' staircase, and all his dirty fuss about

-      women. He had been obliged to come round by the grand staircase. And, as

-      he made off, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Remember, it is next Thursday that I am going to take you to see

-      Duveyrier's mistress. We will dine together.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The house resumed it's peacefulness, lapsing into that religious silence

-      which seemed to issue from its chaste alcoves. Octave had rejoined Marie

-      in the inner chamber at the side of the conjugal couch, where she was

-      arranging the pillows. Upstairs, the chair being littered with the

-      washhand basin and an old pair of shoes, Trublot sat down on Adèle's

-      narrow bed, and waited in his dress clothes and his white tie. When he

-      recognised Julie's step as she came up to bed, he held his breath, having

-      a constant dread of women's quarrels. At length Adèle appeared. She was in

-      a temper, and went for him at once.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I say, you! you might treat me a bit better, when I wait at table!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How, treat you better?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why of course you don't even look at me, you never say if you please,

-      when you ask for bread. For instance, this evening when I handed round the

-      veal, you had a way of disowning me. I've had enough of it, look you! All

-      the house badgers me with its nonsense. It's too much, if you're going to

-      join the others!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Whilst this was taking place, the workman in the next room, not yet

-      sobered, talked to himself in so loud a voice that every one on that

-      landing could hear him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! it's funny all the same, that a fellow can't sleep with his wife!

-      No woman allowed in the house, you fussy old idiot! Just go now and poke

-      your nose into all the rooms, and see what you'll see?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      ===============second volume=======================

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /> <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER VII.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or a fortnight

-      past, with the view of getting uncle Bachelard to give Berthe a dowry, the

-      Josserands had been inviting him to dinner almost every evening, in spite

-      of his offensive habits.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When the marriage was announced to him, he had contented himself with

-      giving his niece a gentle pat on the cheek, saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! you are going to get married! Ah! that's very nice, little girl!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he remained deaf to all allusions, exaggerating his air of a silly old

-      boozer who got drunk on liquors, the moment money was mentioned before

-      him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand had the idea to invite him one evening together with

-      Auguste, the bridegroom elect. Perhaps the sight of the young man would

-      decide him. The step was heroical, for the family did not like exhibiting

-      the uncle, always fearing that he would give people a bad impression of

-      them. He had, however, behaved pretty well; his waistcoat alone had a big

-      syrup stain, which it had obtained no doubt in some café. But when his

-      sister questioned him, after Auguste had taken his departure, and asked

-      him what he thought of the young fellow, he answered without involving

-      himself:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Charming, charming.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This would never do. It was a pressing matter. Therefore, Madame Josserand

-      determined to plainly place the position of affairs before him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;As we are by ourselves,&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;we may as well take advantage of

-      it. Leave us, my darlings; we want to have some talk with your uncle. You,

-      Berthe, just look after Saturnin, and see that he does not take the lock

-      off the door again.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Saturnin, ever since they had been busy about his sister's marriage,

-      hiding everything from him, had taken to wandering about the rooms, an

-      anxious look in his eyes, and scenting that there was something up; and he

-      imagined most diabolical things which gave the family awful frights.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have obtained every information,&rdquo; said the mother, when she had shut

-      herself in with the father and the uncle. &ldquo;This is the position of the

-      Vabres.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she went into long details of figures. Old Vabre had brought half a

-      million with him from Versailles. If the house had cost him three hundred

-      thousand francs, he had two hundred thousand left, which, during the

-      twelve years that had past had been producing interest. Moreover, he

-      received each year twenty-two thousand francs in rent; and, as he lived

-      with the Duveyriers, scarcely spending anything at all, he must

-      consequently be altogether worth five or six hundred thousand francs,

-      besides the house. Thus, there were some very handsome expectations on

-      that side.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Has he no vices, then?&rdquo; asked uncle Bachelard. &ldquo;I thought he speculated

-      at the Bourse.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Madame Josserand cried out. Such a quiet old gentleman, and occupied

-      on a such a great task! That one, at least, had shown himself capable of

-      putting a fortune by; and she smiled bitterly as she looked at her

-      husband, who bowed his head.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      As for Monsieur Vabre's three children, Auguste, Clotilde and Théophile,

-      they had each had a hundred thousand francs on their mother's death.

-      Théophile, after some ruinous enterprises, was living as best he could on

-      the crumbs of this inheritance. Clotilde, with no other passion than her

-      piano, had probably invested her share. And Auguste had purchased the

-      business on the ground floor and gone in for the silk trade with his

-      hundred thousand francs, which he had long kept in reserve.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And the old fellow naturally gives nothing to his children when they

-      marry,&rdquo; observed the uncle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Well! he did not much like giving, that was a fact which was unfortunately

-      indisputable.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; declared Bachelard, &ldquo;it is always hard on the parents. Dowries are

-      never really paid.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Let us return to Auguste,&rdquo; continued Madame Josserand. &ldquo;I have told you

-      his expectations, and the only danger comes from the Duveyriers, whom

-      Berthe will do well to watch very closely, if she enters the family. At

-      the present moment, Auguste, after purchasing the business for sixty

-      thousand francs, has started with the other forty thousand. Only, the sum

-      is not sufficient; besides which, he is single, and requires a wife; that

-      is why he wishes to marry. Berthe is pretty, he already sees her in his

-      counting-house; and as for the dowry, fifty thousand francs are a

-      respectable sum which has decided him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Uncle Bachelard did not so much as blink his eyes. He ended by saying, in

-      a tender-hearted way, that he had dreamed of something better. And he

-      commenced to pick the future husband to pieces: a charming fellow,

-      certainly; but too old, a great deal too old, thirty-three years and over;

-      besides which, always ill, his face distorted by neuralgia; in short, a

-      sorry object, not near lively enough for trade.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Have you another?&rdquo; asked Madame Josserand, whose patience was wearing

-      out. &ldquo;I searched all Paris before finding him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      However, she did not deceive herself much. She too picked him to pieces.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! he is not a phoenix, in fact I think him a bit of a fool. Besides

-      which, I mistrust those men who have never had any youth and who do not

-      risk a stride in life without thinking about it for years beforehand. On

-      leaving college, where his headaches prevented him completing his studies,

-      he remained for fifteen years a mere clerk before daring to touch his

-      hundred thousand francs, the interest of which, it seems, his father was

-      cheating him out of all the time. No, no, he is not up to much.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand, who until then had kept silent, ventured an

-      observation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But, my dear, why insist so obstinately on this marriage? If the young

-      man's health is so bad&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! it is not bad health that need prevent it,&rdquo; interrupted Bachelard.

-      &ldquo;Berthe would find no difficulty in marrying again.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;However, if he is incapable,&rdquo; resumed the father, &ldquo;if he is likely to

-      make our daughter unhappy&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Unhappy!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand. &ldquo;Say at once that I throw my child at

-      the head of the first-comer! We are among ourselves, we discuss him: he is

-      this, he is that, not young, not handsome, not intelligent. We just talk

-      the matter over, do we not? it is but natural. Only, he is very well, we

-      shall never find a better; and, shall I tell you? it is a most unexpected

-      match for Berthe. I was about to give up all hope, on my word of honor!&rdquo;

-       She rose to her feet. Monsieur Josserand, reduced to silence, pushed back

-      his chair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have only one fear,&rdquo; continued she, making a resolute stand before her

-      brother, &ldquo;and that is that he may break it off if he is not paid the dowry

-      on the day the contract is to be signed. It is easy to understand, he is

-      in want of money&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But at this moment a hot breathing, which she heard behind her, caused her

-      to turn round. Saturnin was there, passing his head round the partly

-      opened door, his eyes glaring like a wolf's as he listened to what was

-      being said. And it created quite a panic, for he had stolen a spit from

-      the kitchen, to spit the geese, said he. Uncle Bachelard, feeling very

-      uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking, availed himself of the

-      general alarm.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Don't disturb yourselves,&rdquo; cried he, from the ante-room. &ldquo;I'm off, I've

-      an appointment at midnight, with one of my customers, who's come specially

-      from Brazil.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When they had succeeded in getting Saturnin to bed, Madame Josserand,

-      exasperated, declared that it was impossible to keep him any longer. He

-      would end by doing some one an injury, if he was not shut up in a

-      madhouse. Life was unbearable with him always to be kept in hiding. His

-      sisters would never get married, so long as he was there to disgust and

-      frighten people.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Wait a bit longer,&rdquo; murmured Monsieur Josserand, whose heart bled at the

-      thought of this separation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; declared the mother, &ldquo;I do not want him to spit me in the end! I

-      had brought my brother to the point, I was about to get him to do

-      something. Never mind! we will go with Berthe to-morrow to his own place,

-      and we will see if he will have the cheek to escape from his promises.

-      Besides, Berthe owes her godfather a visit. It is only proper.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      On the morrow, all three, the mother, the father, and the daughter, paid

-      an official visit to the uncle's warehouses, which occupied the basement

-      and the ground floor of an enormous house in the Rue d'Enghien.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo! you here!&rdquo; said he, greatly annoyed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And he received them in a little closet, from which he watched his men

-      through a window.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have brought Berthe to see you,&rdquo; explained Madame Josserand. &ldquo;She knows

-      what she owes you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, when the young girl, after kissing her uncle, had, on a glance from

-      her mother, returned to look at the goods in the courtyard, the latter

-      resolutely broached the subject.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Listen, Narcisse; this is how we are situated. Counting on your kindness

-      of heart and on your promises, I have engaged to give a dowry of fifty

-      thousand francs. If I do not give it, the marriage will be broken off. It

-      would be a disgrace, things having gone as far as they have. You cannot

-      leave us in such an embarrassing position.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But a vacant look had come into Bachelard's eyes, and he stuttered, as

-      though very drunk:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? what? you've promised. You should never promise; it's a bad thing to

-      promise.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He pleaded poverty. For instance, he had bought a whole stock of

-      horsehair, thinking that the price of horsehair would go up; but not at

-      all; the price had fallen lower still, and he had been obliged to dispatch

-      them at a loss. And he pounced on his books, opened his ledgers, and

-      insisted on showing the invoices, it was ruination.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; Monsieur Josserand ended by saying, completely out of

-      patience. &ldquo;I know your business; you make no end of money, and you would

-      be rolling in wealth if you did not squander it in the way you do. I ask

-      you for nothing myself. It was Eléonore who persisted in applying to you.

-      But allow me to tell you, Bachelard, that you have been fooling us. Every

-      Saturday for fifteen years past, when I come to look over your books for

-      you, you are forever promising me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The uncle interrupted him, and violently slapped himself on the chest.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I promise? impossible! No, no; let me alone, you'll see. I don't like

-      being asked, it annoys me&mdash;it makes me ill. You'll see one day.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand herself could get nothing further out of him. He shook

-      their hands, wiped away a tear, talked of his soul and of his love for the

-      family, imploring them not to worry him any more, and swearing before

-      heaven that they would never repent it. He knew his duty; he would perform

-      it to the uttermost. Later on, Berthe would know how her uncle loved her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And what about the dotal insurance,&rdquo; asked he, in his natural tone of

-      voice, &ldquo;the fifty thousand francs you had insured the little one for?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand shrugged her shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It has been dead and buried for fourteen years past. You have been told

-      twenty times already that when the fourth premium fell due, we were unable

-      to pay the two thousand francs.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That doesn't matter,&rdquo; murmured he, with a wink, &ldquo;the thing is to talk of

-      this insurance to the family, and then get time for paying the dowry. One

-      never pays a dowry.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand rose indignantly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! that is all you can find to say?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But the uncle mistook his meaning, and went on to show that it was quite a

-      usual thing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Never, I tell you I One gives something on account, and then merely pays

-      the interest. Look at Monsieur Vabre himself. Did our father ever pay you

-      Eléonore's dowry? why, no, of course not. Every one sticks to his money;

-      its only natural!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;In short, you advise me to commit a most abominable action!&rdquo; cried

-      Monsieur Josserand. &ldquo;I should lie; it would be a forgery to produce the

-      policy of that insurance&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand stopped him. The idea suggested by her brother had

-      rendered her grave. She was surprised she had not thought of it herself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me! how excited you become, my dear. Narcisse has not told you to

-      forge anything.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; murmured the uncle. &ldquo;There is no occasion to show any

-      documents.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is simply a question of gaining time,&rdquo; continued she. &ldquo;Promise the

-      dowry, we shall always manage to give it later on.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the worthy man's conscience spoke out. No! he refused; he would not

-      again venture on such a precipice. They were always taking advantage of

-      his complacency, to get him to agree little by little to things which

-      afterward made him ill, so deeply did they wound his feelings. As he had

-      no dowry to give, he could not promise one.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard was strumming on the little window with his fingers, and

-      whistling a march, as though to show his great contempt for such scruples.

-      Madame Josserand had listened to her husband, her face all pale with an

-      anger which had been slowly rousing, and which suddenly exploded.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! sir, as this is how you look at it, this marriage shall take place.

-      It was my daughter's last chance. I will cut my hand off sooner than she

-      will lose it. So much the worse for the others! One becomes capable of

-      anything at last.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So, madame, you would commit murder to get your daughter married?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She rose to her full height.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; said she furiously.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then she smiled. The uncle had to quell the storm. What was the use of

-      wrangling? It was far better to agree together. And, still trembling from

-      the quarrel, bewildered and worn out, Monsieur Josserand ended by

-      promising to talk the matter over with Duveyrier, on whom everything

-      depended, according to Madame Josserand. Only to get hold of the counselor

-      when he was in good humor, the uncle offered to put his brother-in-law in

-      the way of meeting him at a house where he could refuse nothing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is merely to be an interview,&rdquo; declared Monsieur Josserand, still

-      struggling. &ldquo;I swear that I will not enter into any engagements.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course, of course,&rdquo; said Bachelard. &ldquo;Eléonore does not wish you to do

-      anything dishonorable.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe just then returned. She had seen some boxes of preserved fruits,

-      and, after some lively caresses, she tried to get one given her. But the

-      uncle's speech again became thick; impossible, they were counted, and had

-      to leave that very evening for Saint-Petersburg. He slowly got them in the

-      direction of the street, whilst his sister lingered before the activity of

-      the vast warehouses, full to the rafters with every imaginable commodity,

-      suffering from the sight of that fortune made by a man without any

-      principles, and bitterly comparing it with her husband's incapable

-      honesty.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! to-morrow night, then, toward nine o'clock, at the Café de

-      Mulhouse,&rdquo; said Bachelard outside, as he shook Monsieur Josserand's hand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It so happened that, on the morrow, Octave and Trublot, who had dined

-      together before going to see Clarisse, Duveyrier's mistress, entered the

-      Café de Mulhouse, so as not to call too early, although she lived in the

-      Rue de la Cerisaie, which was some distance off. It was scarcely eight

-      o'clock. As they entered, the sound of a violent quarrel attracted them to

-      a rather out-of-the-way room at the end. And there they beheld Bachelard

-      already drunk, enormous in size, and his cheeks flaring red, having an

-      altercation with a little gentleman, pale and quarrelsome.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You have again spat in my beer!&rdquo; roared he in his voice of thunder. &ldquo;I'll

-      not stand it, sir!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go to blazes, do you hear? or I'll give you a thrashing!&rdquo; said the little

-      man, standing on the tips of his toes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Bachelard raised his voice very provokingly, without drawing back an

-      inch.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If you think proper, sir! As you please!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And the other having with a blow knocked in his hat, which he always wore

-      swaggeringly on the side of his head, even in the cafés, he repeated more

-      energetically still:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;As you please, sir! If you think proper!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, after picking up his hat, he sat himself down with a superb air, and

-      called to the waiter:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Alfred, change my beer!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave and Trublot, greatly astonished, had caught sight of Gueulin seated

-      at the uncle's table, his back against the wall, smoking with a

-      tranquillity amounting to indifference. As they questioned him on the

-      cause of the quarrel.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; replied he, watching the smoke ascend from his cigar.

-      &ldquo;Always a lot of rot! Oh! a mania for getting his head punched! He never

-      retreats.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard shook hands with the new-comers. He adored young people. When he

-      heard that that they were going to call on Clarisse, he was delighted, for

-      he himself was going there with Gueulin; only he had to wait for his

-      brother-in-law, Josserand, whom he had an appointment with. And he filled

-      the little room with the sounds of his voice, covering the table with

-      every drink imaginable for the benefit of his young friends, with the

-      insane prodigality of a man who does not care what he spends when out on

-      pleasure. Illformed, with his teeth too new and his nose in a blaze

-      beneath his short, snow-white hair, he talked familiarly to the waiters

-      and thoroughly tired them out, and made himself unbearable to his

-      neighbors to such a point that the landlord came twice to beg him to

-      leave, if he could not keep quiet. The night before, he had been turned

-      out of the Café de Madrid.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But a girl having put in an appearance, and then gone away, after walking

-      round the room with a wearied air, Octave began to talk of women. This set

-      Bachelard off again. Women had cost him too much money; he flattered

-      himself that he had had the best in Paris. In his business, one never

-      bargained about such things; just to show that one had something to fall

-      back upon. Now he was giving all that up, he wished to be loved. And, in

-      presence of this bawler chucking bank notes about, Octave thought with

-      surprise of the uncle who exaggerated his stuttering drunkenness to escape

-      the family extortions.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Don't boast, uncle,&rdquo; said Gueulin. &ldquo;One can always have more women than

-      one wants.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, you silly fool, why do you never have any?&rdquo; asked Bachelard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin contemptuously shrugged his shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why? Listen! Only yesterday I dined with a friend and his mistress. The

-      mistress at once began to kick me under the table. It was an opportunity,

-      wasn't it? Well! when she asked me to see her home, I made off, and I

-      haven't been near her since. Oh! I don't deny that, for the time being, it

-      might have been very agreeable. But afterward, afterward, uncle! Perhaps

-      one of those women a fellow can never get rid of. I'm not such a fool!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot nodded his head approvingly, for he also had renounced women of

-      society, through a dread of the troublesome morrows. And Gueulin, coming

-      out of his shell, continued to give examples. One day in the train, a

-      superb brunette, whom he did not know, had fallen asleep on his shoulder;

-      but he had thought twice, what would he have done with her on arriving at

-      the station? Another day, after a wedding, he had found a neighbor's wife

-      in his room, eh? that was rather cool; and he would have made a fool of

-      himself had it not been for the idea that afterward she would have wanted

-      him to keep her in boots.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Opportunities, uncle!&rdquo; said he, coming to an end, &ldquo;no one has such

-      opportunities as I! But I keep myself in check. Every one, moreover, does

-      the same; one is afraid of what may follow. Were it not for that, it

-      would, of course, be very pleasant! Good morning! good evening! one would

-      see nothing else in the streets.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard, becoming wrapped in thought, was no longer listening to him.

-      His bluster had calmed down, his eyes were wet.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If you are very good,&rdquo; said he suddenly, &ldquo;I will show you something.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, after paying, he led them out. Octave reminded him of old Josserand.

-      That did not matter, they would come back for him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, after leaving the room, the uncle, casting a furious glance around,

-      stole the sugar left by a customer on a neighboring table.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Follow me,&rdquo; said he, when he was outside. &ldquo;It's close by.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He walked along, grave and thoughtful, without uttering a word. He drew up

-      before a door in the Rue Saint-Mare. The three young men were about to

-      follow him, when he appeared to give way to a sudden hesitation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, let us go off, I won't.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But they cried out at this. Was he trying to make fools of them?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! Gueulin mustn't come up, nor you either, Monsieur Trublot. You're

-      not nice enough, you respect nothing, you'd joke. Come, Monsieur Octave,

-      you're a serious sort of fellow.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He made Octave walk up before him, whilst the other two laughed, and

-      called to him from the pavement to give their compliments to the ladies.

-      On reaching the fourth floor, he knocked, and an old woman opened the

-      door.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! it's you, Monsieur Narcisse? Fifi did not expect you this evening,&rdquo;

-       said she, with a smile.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She was fat, with the calm, white face of a nun. In the narrow dining-room

-      into which she ushered them, a tall, fair young girl, pretty and simple

-      looking, was embroidering an altar cloth.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good day, uncle,&rdquo; said she, rising to offer her forehead to Bachelard's

-      thick, trembling lips.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When the latter had introduced Monsieur Octave Mouret, a distinguished

-      young man whom he counted amongst his friends, the two women curtesied in

-      an old-fashioned way, and then they all seated themselves round the table,

-      lighted by a petroleum lamp. It was like a quiet country home, two

-      regulated existences, out of sight of all, and living upon next to

-      nothing. As the room overlooked an inner courtyard, one could not even

-      hear the sound of the passing vehicles.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Whilst Bachelard paternally questioned the child on her feelings and her

-      occupations since the night before, the aunt, Mademoiselle Menu, at once

-      began to tell Octave their history, with the familiarity of a worthy woman

-      who thinks she has nothing to hide.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, sir, I came from Villeneuve, near Lille. I am well known to

-      Messieurs Mardienne Frères, in the Rue Saint-Sulpice, where I worked as an

-      embroiderer for thirty years. Then, a cousin having left me a house in our

-      part of the country, I was lucky enough to let it as a life interest at a

-      thousand francs a year, sir, to people who thought they would bury me on

-      the morrow, and who are nicely punished for their wicked idea, for I am

-      still alive, in spite of my seventy-five years.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She laughed, displaying teeth as white as a young girl's.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I was doing nothing, my eyes being quite worn put,&rdquo; continued she, &ldquo;when

-      my niece, Fanny, came to me. Her father, Captain Menu, had died without

-      leaving a sou, and no other relation, sir. So, I at once took the child

-      away from her school, and made an embroiderer out of her&mdash;a very

-      unprofitable craft; but what could be done? whether that, or something

-      else, women always have to starve. Fortunately, she met Monsieur Narcisse.

-      Now, I can die happy.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, her hands clasped on her stomach, in her inaction of an old workwoman

-      who has sworn never again to touch a needle, she looked tenderly at

-      Bachelard and Fifi with tearful eyes. The old man was just then saying to

-      the child:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Really, you thought of me! And what did you think?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Fifi raised her limpid eyes, without ceasing to draw her golden thread.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, that you were a good friend, and that I loved you very much.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had scarcely looked at Octave, as though indifferent to the youth of

-      so handsome a fellow. Yet he smiled on her, surprised, and moved by her

-      gracefulness, not knowing what to think; whilst the aunt, who had grown

-      old in a celibacy and a chastity which had cost her nothing, continued,

-      lowering her voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I might have married her, might I not? A workman would have beaten her, a

-      clerk would have given her no end of children. It is better far that she

-      should behave well with Monsieur Narcisse, who looks a very worthy man.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, raising her voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! Monsieur Narcisse, it will not have been my fault if she does not

-      please you. I am always telling her: do all you can to please him, show

-      yourself grateful. It is but natural, I am so thankful to know that she is

-      at last provided for. It is so difficult to get a young girl settled in

-      life, when one has no friends!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Octave abandoned himself to the happy simplicity of this home. In the

-      still atmosphere of the room floated an odor of fruit. Fifi's needle, as

-      it pierced the silk, alone made a slight monotonous noise, like the

-      ticking of a little clock, which might have regulated the placidity of the

-      uncle's amours. Moreover, the old maid was honesty itself; she lived on

-      the thousand francs of her income, never touching Fifi's money, which the

-      latter spent as she chose. Her scruples yielded only to white wine and

-      chestnuts, which her niece occasionally treated her to, after opening the

-      money box in which she collected four sou pieces, given as medals by her

-      good friend.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My little duck,&rdquo; at length said Bachelard, rising, &ldquo;we have business to

-      attend to. Good-bye till to-morrow. Now, mind you are very good.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He kissed her on the forehead. Then, after looking at her with emotion, he

-      said to Octave:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You may kiss her too, she is a mere child.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0165.jpg" alt="0165 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0165.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      The young man pressed his lips to her fair skin. She smiled, she was very

-      modest; however, it was merely like a family gathering, he had never seen

-      such sober-minded people. The uncle was going off, when he re-entered the

-      room, exclaiming:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I was forgetting, I've a little present.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, turning out his pocket, he gave Fifi the sugar which he had just

-      stolen at the café. She thanked him very heartily, and, as she crunched up

-      a piece, she became quite red with pleasure. Then, becoming bolder, she

-      asked:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you not happen to have some four sou pieces?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard searched his pockets without result. Octave had one, which the

-      young girl accepted as a memorial. She did not accompany them to the door,

-      no doubt out of propriety; and they heard her drawing her needle, having

-      at once resumed her altar cloth, whilst Mademoiselle Menu saw them to the

-      landing, with her good old woman's amiability.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? it's worth seeing,&rdquo; said uncle Bachelard, stopping on the stairs.

-      &ldquo;You know, it doesn't cost me five louis a month. I've had enough of the

-      hussies who almost devoured me. On my word! what I required was a heart.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But, as Octave laughed, he became mistrustful.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You're a decent fellow; you won't take advantage of what I have shown

-      you. Not a word to Gueulin, you swear it on your honor? I am waiting till

-      he is worthy of her to show her to him. An angel, my dear fellow! No

-      matter what is said, virtue is good: it refreshes one. I have always gone

-      in for the ideal.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      His old drunkard's voice trembled; tears swelled his heavy eyelids. Down

-      below, Trublot chaffed, pretending to take the number of the house, whilst

-      Gueulin shrugged his shoulders, asking Octave, who was astounded, what he

-      thought of the little thing. Whenever the uncle's feelings had been

-      softened by a booze, he could not resist taking people to see these

-      ladies, divided between the vanity of showing his treasure and the fear of

-      having it stolen from him; then, on the morrow, he forgot all about it,

-      and returned to the Rue-Saint-Marc with an air of mystery.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Everyone knows Fifi,&rdquo; said Gueulin, quietly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Bachelard was looking out for a cab, when Octave exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And Monsieur Josserand, who is waiting at the café?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The others had forgotten him entirely. Monsieur Josserand, very annoyed at

-      wasting his evening, was impatiently waiting at the entrance, for he never

-      took anything but of doors. At length they started for the Rue de la

-      Cerisaie. But they had to take two cabs; the commission agent and the

-      cashier in the one, and the three young men in the other.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin, his voice drowned by the jingling noise of the old vehicle, at

-      first talked of the insurance company where he was employed. Insurance

-      companies and stockbrokers were equally unpleasant, affirmed Trublot. Then

-      the conversation turned to Duveyrier. Was it not unfortunate that a rich

-      man, a magistrate, should let himself be fooled by women in that way? He

-      always wanted them in out-of-the-way neighborhoods, right at the end of

-      the omnibus routes; modest little ladies in their own apartments, playing

-      the parts of widows; unknown milliners, having shops and no customers;

-      girls picked out of the gutter, clothed and shut up, as though in a

-      convent, whom he would go to see regularly once a week, like a clerk

-      trudging to his office.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot, however, found excuses for him: to begin with, it was the fault

-      of his constitution; then, it was impossible to put up with a confounded

-      wife like his. On the very first night, so it was said, she could not bear

-      him, affecting to be disgusted at his red blotches, so that she willingly

-      allowed him to have mistresses, whose complacencies relieved her of him,

-      though at times she accepted the abominable burden, with the resignation

-      of a virtuous woman who makes a point of accomplishing all her duties.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, she is virtuous, is she?&rdquo; asked Octave, interested.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Virtuous? Oh! yes, my dear fellow! Every good quality; pretty, serious,

-      well brought up, learned, full of taste, chaste, and unbearable!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A block of vehicles at the bottom of the Rue Montmartre stopped the cab.

-      The young men, who had let down the windows, could hear Bachelard's voice,

-      furiously abusing the coachman. Then, when the cab moved on again, Gueulin

-      gave some information about Clarisse. Her name was Clarisse Bocquet, and

-      she was the daughter of a former toy merchant in a small way, who now

-      attended all the fairs with his wife and quite a troop of dirty children.

-      Duveyrier had come across her one night when it was thawing, just as her

-      lover had chucked her out. No doubt, this strapping wench answered to an

-      ideal long sought after; for as early as the morrow he was hooked; he wept

-      as he kissed her eyelids, all shaken by his need to cultivate the little

-      blue flower of romance in his huge masculine appetites. Clarisse had

-      consented to live in the Rue de la Cerisaie, so as not to expose him; but

-      she led him a fine dance&mdash;had made him buy her twenty-five thousand

-      francs' worth of furniture, and was devouring him heartily, in company

-      with some actors of the Montmartre Theater.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I don't care a hang!&rdquo; said Trublot, &ldquo;so long as one amuses oneself at her

-      place. Anyhow, she doesn't make you sing, and she isn't forever strumming

-      away on a piano like the other. Oh! that piano! Listen, when one is

-      deafened at home, when one has had the misfortune to marry a mechanical

-      piano which frightens everybody away, one would be precious stupid not to

-      arrange a pleasant little nest elsewhere, where one could receive one's

-      friends in their slippers.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Last Sunday,&rdquo; related Gueulin, &ldquo;Clarisse wanted me to lunch alone with

-      her. I declined. After those sort of lunches, one always does something

-      foolish; and I was afraid of seeing her take up her quarters with me the

-      day she left Duveyrier for good. You know, she detests him. Oh! her

-      disgust almost makes her ill. Well, the girl doesn't care much for pimples

-      either. But she hasn't the resource of sending him elsewhere like his wife

-      has; otherwise, if she could pass him over to her maid, I assure you she'd

-      get rid of the job precious quick.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The cab stopped. They alighted before a dark and silent house in the Rue

-      de la Cerisaie. But they had to wait for the other cab fully ten minutes,

-      Bachelard having taken his driver with him to drink a grog after the

-      quarrel in the Rue Montmartre. On the staircase, as severe-looking as

-      those of the middle classes, Monsieur Josserand again asked some questions

-      respecting Duveyrier's lady friend, but the uncle merely answered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A woman of the world, a very decent girl. She won't eat you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was a little maid, with a rosy complexion, who opened the door to them.

-      She took the gentlemen's coats with familiar and and tender smiles. For a

-      moment, Trublot kept her in a corner of the ante-room, whispering things

-      in her ear which almost made her choke, as though being tickled. But

-      Bachelard had pushed open the drawing-room door, and he at once introduced

-      Monsieur Josserand. The latter stood for a moment embarrassed, finding

-      Clarisse ugly, and not understanding how the counselor could prefer this

-      sort of creature&mdash;black and skinny, and with a head of hair like a

-      poodle&mdash;to his wife, one of the most beautiful women of society.

-      Clarisse, however, was charming. She had preserved the Parisian cackle, a

-      superficial and borrowed wit, an itch of drollery caught by rubbing up

-      against men, but was able to put on a grand lady sort of air when she

-      chose.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Sir, I am charmed. All Alphonse's friends are mine. Now you are one of

-      us, the house is yours.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier, warned by a note from Bachelard, also greeted Monsieur

-      Josserand very amiably. Octave was surprised at the counselor's youthful

-      appearance. He was no longer the severe and ill-at-ease individual, who

-      never seemed to be in his own home in the drawing-room of the Rue de

-      Choiseul. The deep red blotches on his face were turning to a rosy hue,

-      his oblique eyes shone with a childish delight, whilst Clarisse related in

-      the midst of a group how he sometimes hastened to come and see her during

-      a short adjournment of the court&mdash;just time to jump into a cab, to

-      kiss her, and start back again. Then he complained of being overworked.

-      Four sittings a week, from eleven to five; always the same skein of

-      bickerings to unravel, it ended by destroying all feeling in one's heart.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is true,&rdquo; said he, laughing, &ldquo;one requires a few roses amongst all

-      that. I feel better afterward.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      However, he did not wear his bit of red ribbon, but always took it off

-      when visiting his mistress; a last scruple, a delicate distinction, which

-      his sense of decency obstinately persisted in. Clarisse, without wishing

-      to say so, felt very much hurt at it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, who had at once shook hands with the young woman like a comrade,

-      listened and looked about him. Clarisse never received other women, out of

-      decency, she said. When her acquaintances complained that her drawing-room

-      was in want of a few ladies, she would answer with a laugh:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! and I&mdash;am I not enough?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had arranged a decent home for Alphonse, very middle-class in the

-      main, having a mania for what was proper all through the ups and downs of

-      her existence. When she received she would not be addressed familiarly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The little maid handed round some glasses of punch, with her agreeable

-      air. Octave took one, and, leaning toward his friend, whispered in his

-      ear:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The servant is better than the mistress.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, of course! always!&rdquo; said Trublot, with a shrug of the shoulders,

-      full of a disdainful conviction.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Clarisse came and talked with them for a moment. She multiplied herself,

-      going from one to another, casting a word here, a laugh or gesture there.

-      As each new-comer lighted a cigar the drawing-room was soon full of smoke.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! the horrid men!&rdquo; exclaimed she, prettily, as she went and opened a

-      window.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Without losing any time, Bachelard made Monsieur Josserand comfortable in

-      the recess of this window, to enable him to breathe, said he. Then, thanks

-      to a masterly maneuver, he brought Duvey-rier to an anchor there also, and

-      quickly broached the affair. So the two families were about to be united

-      by a close tie; he felt highly honored. Then he inquired what day the

-      marriage contract was going to be signed, and that led him up to the

-      matter in hand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We intended calling on you to-morrow, Josserand and I, to settle

-      everything, for we are aware that Monsieur Auguste would do nothing

-      without you. It is with respect to the payment of the dowry; and, really,

-      as we are so comfortable here&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand, again suffering the greatest anguish, looked out into

-      the gloomy depths of the Rue de la Cerisaie, with its deserted pavements,

-      and its dark façades. He regretted having come. They were again going to

-      take advantage of his weakness and engage him in some disgraceful affair,

-      which would cause him no end of suffering afterward. A feeling of revolt

-      made him interrupt his brother-in-law.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Another time; this is not a fitting place, really.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But why, pray?&rdquo; exclaimed Duveyrier, very graciously. &ldquo;We are better here

-      than anywhere else. You were saying, sir?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We give Berthe fifty thousand francs,&rdquo; continued the uncle. &ldquo;Only, these

-      fifty thousand francs are represented by a dotal insurance at twenty

-      years' date, which Josserand took out for his daughter when she was four

-      years old. She will, therefore, only receive the money in three years'

-      time&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Allow me!&rdquo; again interrupted the cashier, with a scared look.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, let me finish; Monsieur Duveyrier understands perfectly. We do not

-      wish the young couple to wait three years for money they may need at once,

-      and we engage ourselves to pay the dowry in installments of ten thousand

-      francs every six months, on the understanding that we repay ourselves

-      later on with the insurance money.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A pause ensued. Monsieur Josserand, feeling frozen and choking, again

-      looked into the dark street.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;All that seems to me very reasonable,&rdquo; said he, at length. &ldquo;It is for us

-      to thank you. It is very seldom that a dowry is paid at once in full.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Never, sir!&rdquo; affirmed the uncle, energetically. &ldquo;Such a thing is never

-      done.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And the three men shook hands as they arranged to meet on the Thursday at

-      the notary's. When Monsieur Josserand came back into the light, he was so

-      pale that he was asked if he was unwell. As a matter of fact he did not

-      feel very well, and he withdrew, without being willing to wait for his

-      brother-in-law, who had just gone into the dining-room where the classic

-      tea was represented by champagne.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin, stretched on a sofa near the window, murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That scoundrel of an uncle!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He had overheard some words about the insurance, and he chuckled as he

-      confided the truth of the matter to Octave and Trublot. It had been done

-      at his office; there was not a sou to receive, the Vabres were being taken

-      in. Then, as the two others laughed at this good joke, holding their sides

-      meanwhile, he added, with comical earnestness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I want a hundred francs. If the uncle doesn't give me a hundred francs,

-      I'll split.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The voices were becoming louder, the champagne was upsetting the good

-      behavior established by Clarisse. In her drawing-room the conclusion of

-      all the parties was invariably rather lively. She herself would make a

-      mistake sometimes. Trublot drew Octave's attention to her as she stood

-      behind a door with her arms round the neck of a fellow with the build of a

-      peasant, a stone carver just arrived from the South, and whom his native

-      town wished to make an artist of. But, Duveyrier having pushed the door,

-      she quickly removed her arms, and recommended the young man to him:

-      Monsieur Payan, a sculptor with a very graceful talent; and Duveyrier,

-      delighted, promised to obtain some work for him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Work, work,&rdquo; repeated Gueulin, in a low voice; &ldquo;he has as much here as he

-      can want, the big ninny!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Toward two o'clock, when the three young men and the uncle left the Rue de

-      la Cerisaie, the latter was completely drunk.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hang it all, uncle! keep yourself up! you're breaking our arms!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He, with his throat full of sobs, had become very tender hearted and very

-      moral.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go away, Gueulin,&rdquo; stuttered he; &ldquo;go away! I won't have you see your

-      uncle in such a state. No, my boy, it's not right; go away!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And as his nephew called him an old rogue:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Rogue! that's nothing. One must make oneself respected. I esteem women&mdash;always

-      decent women; and when there's no feeling it disgusts me. Go away,

-      Gueulin, you're making your uncle blush. These gentlemen are sufficient.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; declared Gueulin, &ldquo;you must give me a hundred francs. Really, I

-      want them for my rent. They're going to turn me out.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this unexpected demand, Bachelard's intoxication increased to such an

-      extent that he had to be propped up against the shutters of a warehouse.

-      He stuttered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh! what! a hundred francs! Don't search me. I've nothing but coppers.

-      You want 'em to squander in bad places! No, I'll never encourage

-      you in your vices. I know my duty; your mother confided you to my care on

-      her death-bed. You know, I'll call out if I am searched.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He continued, his indignation increasing against the dissolute life led by

-      youth, and returning to the necessity there was for the display of virtue.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I say,&rdquo; Gueulin ended by saying, &ldquo;I've not got to the point of taking

-      families in. Ah! you know what I mean! If I were to talk, you'd soon give

-      me my hundred francs!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But the uncle at once became deaf to everything. He went grunting and

-      stumbling along. In the narrow street where they then were, behind the

-      church of Saint-Gervaise, a white lantern alone burned with the palish

-      glimmer of a night-light, displaying a gigantic number painted on its

-      roughened glass. A stifled trepidation issued from the house, whilst the

-      closed shutters emitted a tew narrow rays of light.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I've had enough of it,&rdquo; declared Gueulin, abruptly. &ldquo;Excuse me, uncle, I

-      forgot my umbrella up there.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he entered the house. Bachelard was indignant and full of disgust. He

-      demanded at least a little respect for women. With such morals France was

-      done for. On the Place de l'Hôtel-de-Ville, Octave and Trublot at length

-      found a cab, inside which they shoved him like some bundle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Rue d'Enghien,&rdquo; said they to the driver. &ldquo;You must pay yourself. Search

-      him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The marriage contract was signed on the Thursday before Maitre Renandin,

-      notary in the Rue de Grammont. At the moment of starting, there had been

-      another awful row at the Josserands', the father having, in a supreme

-      revolt, made the mother responsible for the lie they had forced him to

-      countenance; and they had once more cast their families in each other's

-      teeth. How did they expect him to earn another ten thousand francs every

-      six months? The obligation was driving him mad. Uncle Bachelard, who was

-      there, kept placing his hand on his heart, full of fresh promises, now

-      that he had so managed that he would not have to part with a sou, and

-      overflowing with affection, and swearing that he would never leave his

-      little Berthe in an awkward position. But the father, in his exasperation,

-      had merely shrugged his shoulders, asking Bachelard if he really took him

-      for a fool.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On the evening of that day, a cab came to fetch Saturnin away. His mother

-      had declared that it was too dangerous for him to be at the ceremony; one

-      could not cast loose a madman who talked of spitting people in the midst

-      of a wedding party; and, Monsieur Josserand, broken-hearted, had been

-      obliged to apply for the admission of the poor fellow into the Asile des

-      Moulineaux, kept by Doctor Chassagne. The cab was brought under the porch

-      at twilight. Saturnin came down holding Berthe's hand, and thinking he was

-      going with her into the country. But when he was inside the cab, he

-      struggled furiously, breaking the windows and thrusting his bloody fists

-      through them. And Monsieur Josserand returned up-stairs weeping, all upset

-      by this departure in the dark, his ears ringing with the wretched

-      creature's yells, mingled with the cracking of the whip and the gallop of

-      the horse.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER VIII.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he marriage before

-      the mayor had taken place on the Thursday. On the Saturday morning, as

-      early as a quarter past ten, some ladies were already waiting in the

-      Josserands' drawing-room, the religious ceremony being fixed for eleven

-      o'clock, at Saint-Roch. There were Madame Juzeur, always in black silk;

-      Madame Dambreville, tightly laced in a costume of the color of dead

-      leaves; and Madame Duveyrier, dressed very simply in pale blue. All three

-      were conversing in low tones amongst the scattered chairs; whilst Madame

-      Josserand was finishing dressing Berthe in the adjoining room, assisted by

-      the servant and the two bridesmaids, Hortense and little Campardou.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! it is not that,&rdquo; murmured Madame Duveyrier; &ldquo;the family is honorable.

-      But, I admit, I rather dreaded on my brother Auguste's account the

-      mother's domineering spirit. One cannot be too careful, can one?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said Madame Juzeur; &ldquo;one not only marries the daughter, one

-      often marries the mother as well, and it is very unpleasant when the

-      latter interferes in the home.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This time Angèle and Hortense opened the folding doors wide so that the

-      bride should not catch her dress in anything; and Berthe appeared in a

-      white silk dress, all gay with white flowers, with a white wreath, a white

-      bouquet, and a white garland, which crossed the skirt, and was lost in the

-      train in a shower of little white buds. She looked charming amidst all

-      this whiteness, with her fresh complexion, her golden hair, her laughing

-      eyes, and her candid mouth of an already enlightened girl.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! delicious!&rdquo; exclaimed the ladies.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They all embraced her with an air of ecstasy. The Josserands, at their

-      wits' end, not knowing where to obtain the two thousand francs which the

-      wedding would cost them, five hundred francs for dress, and fifteen

-      hundred francs for their share of the dinner and ball, had been obliged to

-      send Berthe to Doctor Chassagne's to see Saturnin, to whom an aunt had

-      just left three thousand francs; and Berthe, having obtained permission to

-      take her brother out for a drive, by way of amusing him, had smothered him

-      with caresses in the cab, and had then gone with him for a minute to the

-      notary, who was unaware of the poor creature's condition, and who had

-      everything ready for his signature. The silk dress and the abundance of

-      flowers surprised the ladies, who were reckoning up the cost whilst giving

-      vent to their admiration.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Perfect! in most exquisite taste!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand appeared, beaming, in a mauve dress of an unpleasant hue,

-      which made her look taller and rounder than ever, with the majesty of a

-      tower. She fumed about Monsieur Josserand, called to Hortense to find her

-      shawl, and vehemently forbade Berthe to sit down.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Take care, you will crush your flowers!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not worry yourself,&rdquo; said Clothilde, in her calm voice. &ldquo;We have

-      plenty of time. Auguste is coming for us.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They were all waiting in the drawing-room, when Théophile abruptly burst

-      in, his dress-coat askew, his white cravat tied like a piece of cord, and

-      without his hat. His face, with its few hairs and bad teeth, was livid;

-      his limbs, like an ailing child's, were trembling with fury.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is the matter with you?&rdquo; asked his sister, in amazement.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The matter is&mdash;the matter is&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But a fit of coughing interrupted him, and he stood there for a minute,

-      choking, spitting in his handkerchief, and enraged at being unable to give

-      vent to his anger. Valérie looked at him, confused, and warned by a sort

-      of instinct. At length, he shook his fist at her, without even noticing

-      the bride and the other ladies around him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, whilst looking everywhere for my necktie, I found a letter in front

-      of the wardrobe.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He crumpled a piece of paper between his febrile fingers. His wife had

-      turned pale. She realized the situation; and, to avoid the scandal of a

-      public explanation, she passed into the room that Berthe had just left.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! well,&rdquo; said she, simply, &ldquo;I prefer to leave if he is going mad.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Let me alone!&rdquo; cried Théophile to Madame Duveyrier, who was trying to

-      quiet him. &ldquo;I intend to confound her. This time I have proof, and there is

-      no doubt, oh, no! It shall not pass off like that, for I know him&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      His sister had seized him by the arm, and squeezing it, shook him

-      authoritatively.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hold your tongue! don't you see where you are? This is not the proper

-      time, understand!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But he started off again:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is the proper time! I don't care a hang for the others. So much the

-      worse that it happens to-day! It will serve as a lesson to every one.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      However, he lowered his voice, his strength failing him, he had dropped

-      onto a chair, ready to burst into tears. An uncomfortable feeling had

-      invaded the drawing-room. Madame Dambreville and Madame Juzeur had

-      politely gone to the other end of the apartment, and pretended not to

-      understand. Madame Josserand, greatly annoyed at an adventure, the scandal

-      of which would cast a gloom over the wedding, had passed into the bed-room

-      to cheer up Valérie. As for Berthe, who was studying her wreath before the

-      looking-glass, she had not heard anything. Therefore, she questioned

-      Hortense in a low voice. They whispered together; the latter indicated

-      Théophile with a glance, and added some explanations, while pretending to

-      arrange the fall of the veil.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; simply said the bride, with a chaste and amused look, her eyes fixed

-      on the husband, without the least sign of confusion in her halo of white

-      flowers.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Clotilde softly asked her brother for particulars. Madame Josserand

-      reappeared, exchanged a few words with her, and then returned to the

-      adjoining room. It was an exchange of diplomatic notes. The husband

-      accused Octave, that counter-jumper, whom he would chastise in church, if

-      he dared to come there. He swore he had seen him the previous day with his

-      wife on the steps of Saint-Roch; he had had a doubt before, but now he was

-      sure of it&mdash;everything tallied, the height, the walk. Yes, madame

-      invented luncheons with lady friends, or else she went inside Saint-Roch

-      with Camille, through the same door as every one, as though to say her

-      prayers; then leaving the child with the woman who let out the chairs, she

-      would make off with her gentleman by the old way, a dirty passage, where

-      no one would have gone to look for her. However, Valérie had smiled on

-      hearing Octave's name mentioned; never with that one, she pledged her oath

-      to Madame Josserand, with nobody at all for the matter of that, she added,

-      but less with him than with any one else; and, this time, with truth on

-      her side, she, in her turn, talked of confounding her husband, by proving

-      to him that the note was no more in Octave's handwriting than that Octave

-      was the gentleman of Saint-Roch. Madame Josserand listened to her,

-      studying her with her experienced glance, and solely preoccupied with

-      finding some means of helping her to deceive Théophile. And she gave her

-      the very best advice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Leave all to me, don't move in the matter. As he chooses, it shall he

-      Monsieur Mouret, well! it shall be Monsieur Mouret. There is no harm in

-      being seen on the steps of a church with Monsieur Mouret, is there? The

-      letter alone is compromising. You will triumph when our young friend shows

-      him a couple of lines of his own handwriting. Above all, say just the same

-      as I say. You understand, I don't intend to let him spoil such a day as

-      this.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When she returned into the room with Valérie, who was greatly affected,

-      Théophile, on his side, was saying to his sister in a choking voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I will do so for you, I promise not to disfigure her here, as you assure

-      me it would scarcely be proper, on account of this wedding. But I cannot

-      be answerable for what may take place at church. If the counter-jumper

-      comes and beards me there, in the midst of my own family, I will

-      exterminate them one after the other.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste, looking very correct in his black dress-coat, his left eye shrunk

-      up, suffering from a headache which he had been dreading for three days

-      past, arrived at this moment, accompanied by his father and his

-      brother-in-law, both looking very solemn, to fetch his bride. There was a

-      little jostling, for they had ended by being late.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At Saint-Roch the big double doors were opened wide. A red carpet covered

-      the steps down to the pavement. It was raining; the May morning was very

-      cold.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Thirteen steps,&rdquo; said Madame Juzeur in a low voice to Valérie, when they

-      had passed through the doorway. &ldquo;It is not a good sign.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Are you sure you have the ring?&rdquo; inquired Madame Josserand of Auguste,

-      who was seating himself with Berthe on the arm-chairs placed before the

-      altar.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He had a fright, fancying he had forgotten it, then felt it in his

-      waistcoat pocket. She had, however, not waited for his answer. Ever since

-      she entered, she had been standing on tip-toe, searching the company with

-      her glance. There were Trublot and Gueulin, both best men; Uncle Bachelard

-      and Campardon, the bride's witnesses; Duveyrier and Doctor Juillerat, the

-      bridegroom's witnesses, and all the crowd of acquaintances of whom she was

-      proud. But she had just caught sight of Octave, who was assiduously

-      opening a passage for Madame Hédouin, and she drew him behind a pillar,

-      where she spoke to him in low and rapid tones. The young man, a look of

-      bewilderment on his face, did not appear to understand. However, he bowed

-      with an air of amiable obedience.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is settled,&rdquo; whispered Madame Josserand in Valérie's ear, returning

-      and seating herself in one of the arm-chairs placed for the members of the

-      family, behind those of Berthe and Auguste. Monsieur Josserand, the

-      Vabres, and the Duveyriers were also there.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The organs were now giving forth scales of clear little notes, broken by

-      big pants. There was quite a crush; the choir was filling up, and men

-      remained standing in the aisles. The Abbé Mauduit had reserved to himself

-      the joy of blessing the union of one of his dear penitents. When he

-      appeared in his surplice, he exchanged a friendly smile with the

-      congregation, every face there being familiar to him. Some voices

-      commenced the <i>Veni Creator</i>, the organs resumed their song of

-      triumph, and it was at this moment that Théophile discovered Octave, to

-      the left of the chancel, standing before the chapel of Saint-Joseph.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      His sister Clotilde tried to detain him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; stammered he; &ldquo;I will never submit to it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he made Duveyrier follow him, to represent the family. The <i>Veni

-      Creator</i> continued. A few persons looked round.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Théophile, who had talked of blows, was in such a state of agitation, when

-      planting himself before Octave, that he was unable at first to say a word,

-      vexed at being short, and raising himself up on tiptoe.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said he at length, &ldquo;I saw you yesterday with my wife&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But the <i>Veni Creator</i> was just coming to an end, and he was quite

-      scared on hearing the sound of his own voice. Moreover, Duveyrier, very

-      much annoyed by the incident, tried to make him understand that the time

-      was badly chosen for an explanation. The ceremony had now begun before the

-      altar. After addressing an affecting exhortation to the bride and

-      bridegroom, the priest took the wedding-ring to bless it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;<i>Benedic, Domine Deus noster, annulum nuptialem hunc, quem nos in tuo

-      nomine benedieimus</i>&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Théophile plucked up courage to repeat his words in a low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Sir, you were in this church yesterday with my wife.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, still bewildered by what Madame Josserand had said to him, and

-      without having thoroughly understood her, related the little story,

-      however, in an easy sort of way.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, I did indeed meet Madame Vabre, and we went and looked at the

-      repairing of the Calvary which my friend Campardon is directing.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You admit it,&rdquo; stammered the husband, again overcome with fury, &ldquo;you

-      admit it&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier was obliged to slap him on the shoulder to calm him. The shrill

-      voice of one of the boy choristers was responding:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;<i>Amen</i>.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And you no doubt recognize this letter,&rdquo; continued Théophile, offering a

-      piece of paper to Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come, not here!&rdquo; said the counselor, thoroughly scandalized. &ldquo;You are

-      going out of your mind, my dear fellow.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave unfolded the letter. The emotion had increased amongst the

-      congregation. There were whisperings, and nudgings of elbows, and glancing

-      over the tops of prayer-books; no one was now paying the least attention

-      to the ceremony. The bride and bridegroom alone remained grave and stiff

-      before the priest. Then Berthe, turning her head, caught sight of

-      Théophile getting whiter and whiter as he addressed Octave; and, from that

-      moment, her mind was absent&mdash;she kept casting bright side glances in

-      the direction of the chapel of Saint-Joseph.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, the young man was reading in a low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My duck, what bliss yesterday! Tuesday next, in the confessional of the

-      chapel of the Holy Angels.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The priest, after having obtained from the bridegroom the &ldquo;yes&rdquo; of a

-      serious man who signs nothing without reading it, had turned toward the

-      bride.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You promise and swear to be faithful to Monsieur Auguste Vabre in all

-      things, like a true wife should be to her husband, in accordance with

-      God's commandment?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Berthe, having seen the letter, and full of the thought of the blows

-      she was expecting would be given, was not listening, but was following the

-      scene from beneath her veil. There was an awkward silence. At length she

-      became aware that they were waiting for her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; she hastily replied, in a happen-what-may manner.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The abbé followed the direction of her glance with surprise; and, guessing

-      that something unusual was taking place in one of the aisles, he in turn

-      became singularly absent-minded. The story had now circulated; every one

-      knew it. The ladies, pale and grave, did not withdraw their eyes from

-      Octave. The men smiled in a discreetly waggish way. And, whilst Madame

-      Josserand reassured Madame Duveyrier, with slight shrugs of her shoulders,

-      Valérie alone seemed to give all her attention to the wedding, beholding

-      nothing else, as though overcome by emotion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My duck, what bliss yesterday&mdash;&rdquo; Octave read again, affecting

-      intense surprise.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, returning the letter to the husband, he said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I do not understand it, sir. The writing is not mine. See for yourself.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And taking from his pocket a note-book in which he wrote down his

-      expenses, like the careful fellow he was, he showed it to Théophile.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! not your writing!&rdquo; stammered the latter. &ldquo;You are making a fool of

-      me; it must be your writing.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The priest had to make the sign of the cross on Berthe's left hand. His

-      eyes elsewhere, he mistook the hand and made it on the right one.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;<i>In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti</i>.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;<i>Amen</i>,&rdquo; responded the boy chorister, also raising himself up to

-      see.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In short, the scandal was prevented. Duveyrier proved to poor, bewildered

-      Théophile that the letter could not have been written by Monsieur Mouret.

-      It was almost a disappointment for the congregation. There were sighs, and

-      a few hasty words exchanged. And when every one, still in a state of

-      excitement, turned again toward the altar, Berthe and Auguste were man and

-      wife, she without appearing to have been aware of what was going on, he

-      not having missed a word the priest had uttered, giving his whole

-      attention to the matter, only disturbed by his headache, which closed his

-      left eye.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The dear children!&rdquo; said Monsieur Josserand, absorbed in mind and his

-      voice trembling, to Monsieur Vabre, who ever since the commencement of the

-      ceremony had been busy counting the lighted tapers, always making a

-      mistake, and beginning his calculations over again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Admit nothing,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand to Valérie, as the family moved

-      toward the vestry after the mass.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In the vestry the married couple and their witnesses first of all wrote

-      their signatures. They were kept waiting, however, by Campardon, who had

-      taken some ladies to inspect the works at the Calvary, at the end of the

-      choir, behind a wooden hoarding. He at length arrived, and, apologizing,

-      proceeded to cover the register with a big flourish. The Abbé Manduit had

-      wished to honor the two families by handing round the pen himself, and

-      pointing out with his finger the place where each one was to sign; and he

-      smiled with his air of amiable, worldly tolerance in the center of the

-      grave apartment, the woodwork of which retained a continual odor of

-      incense.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! mademoiselle,&rdquo; said Campardon to Hortense, &ldquo;does not all this make

-      you long to do the same?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he regretted his want of tact. Hortense, who was the elder sister,

-      bit her lips. She was expecting to have a decisive answer from Verdier

-      that evening at the ball, for she had been pressing him to choose between

-      her and his creature. Therefore she replied in an unpleasant tone of

-      voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have plenty of time. Whenever I think proper.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, turning her back on the architect, she attacked her brother Léon, who

-      had only just arrived, late as usual.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are nice! papa and mamma are very pleased. Not even able to be in

-      time when one of your sisters is being married! We were expecting you at

-      least with Madame Dambreville.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame Dambreville does what she pleases,&rdquo; said the young man curtly,

-      &ldquo;and I do what I can.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A coolness had arisen between them. Léon considered that she was keeping

-      him too long for her own use, and was weary of a connection the burden of

-      which he had accepted in the sole hope of its leading to some grand

-      marriage; and for a fortnight past he had been requesting her to keep her

-      promises. Madame Dambreville, carried away by a passion of love, had even

-      complained to Madame Josserand of what she termed her son's crotchets.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yet a marriage is so soon settled!&rdquo; said Madame Dambreville, without

-      thinking of her words, and bestowing on him an imploring look to soften

-      him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Not always!&rdquo; retorted he, harshly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And he went and kissed Berthe, then shook his new brother-inlaw's hand,

-      whilst Madame Dambreville turned pale with anguish, drawing herself up in

-      her costume of the color of dead leaves, and smiling vaguely toward the

-      persons who entered.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the procession of friends, of simple acquaintances, of all the

-      guests gathered together in the church, which now passed through the

-      vestry. The newly married couple, standing up, were continually

-      distributing hand-shakes, and invariably with the same embarrassed and

-      delighted air. The Josserands and the Duveyriers were not always able to

-      go through the introductions. At times they looked at each other in

-      surprise, for Bachelard had brought persons whom nobody knew, and who

-      talked too loud. Little by little everything gave way to confusion; there

-      was quite a crush, hands were held out over the heads, young girls

-      squeezed between pot-bellied gentlemen, left pieces of their white skirts

-      on the legs of these fathers, these brothers, these uncles, still sweating

-      with some vice, enfranchised in a quiet neighborhood. Away from the crowd,

-      Gueulin and Trublot were relating to Octave how Clarisse had almost been

-      caught by Duveyrier the night before, and had now resigned herself to

-      smothering him with caresses, so as to shut his eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo!&rdquo; murmured Gueulin, &ldquo;he is kissing the bride; it must smell nice.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Valérie, who kept Madame Juzeur near her to help her to keep her

-      countenance, listened with emotion to the conciliatory words which the

-      Abbé Manduit also considered it his duty to address to her. Then, as they

-      were at length leaving the church, she paused before the two fathers, to

-      allow Berthe to pass on her husband's arm.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You ought to be satisfied,&rdquo; said she to Monsieur Josserand, wishing to

-      show how free her mind was. &ldquo;I congratulate you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; declared Monsieur Vabre in his clammy voice, &ldquo;it is a very

-      great responsibility the less.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, whilst Trublot and Gueulin rushed about seeing all the ladies to the

-      carriages, Madame Josserand, whose shawl attracted quite a crowd,

-      obstinately insisted on remaining the last on the pavement, publicly to

-      display her maternal triumph.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The repast that evening at the Hôtel du Louvre was likewise marred by

-      Théophile's unlucky affair. The latter was quite a plague, it had been the

-      topic of conversation all the afternoon in the carriages during the drive

-      in the Bois de Boulogne; and the ladies always came to this conclusion,

-      that the husband ought at least to have waited until the morrow before

-      finding the letter. None but the most intimate friends of both families

-      sat down to table. The only lively episode was a speech from uncle

-      Bachelard, whom the Josserands could not very well avoid inviting, in

-      spite of their terror. He was drunk, indeed, as early as the roast: he

-      raised his glass, and commenced with these words: &ldquo;I am happy in the joy I

-      feel,&rdquo; which he kept repeating, unable to say anything further. The other

-      guests smiled complacently. Auguste and Berthe, already worn out, looked

-      at each other every now and then, with an air of surprise at seeing

-      themselves opposite one another; and, when they remembered how this was,

-      they gazed in their plates in a confused way.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Nearly two hundred invitations had been issued for the ball. The guests

-      began to arrive as early as half-past nine. Three chandeliers lit up the

-      large red drawing-room, in which only some seats along the wall had been

-      left, whilst at one end, in front of the fireplace, the little orchestra

-      was installed; moreover, a bar had been placed at the farthest end of an

-      adjoining room, and the two families also had a small apartment into which

-      they could retire.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      As Madame Duveyrier and Madame Josserand were receiving the first

-      arrivals, that poor Théophile, who had been watched ever since the

-      morning, was guilty of a most regrettable piece of brutality. Campardon

-      was asking Valérie to grant him the first waltz. She laughed, and the

-      husband took it as a provocation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You laugh! you laugh!&rdquo; stammered he. &ldquo;Tell me who the letter is from? it

-      must be from somebody, that letter must.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He had taken the entire afternoon to disengage that one idea from the

-      confusion into which Octave's answers had plunged him. Now, he stuck to

-      it: if it was not Monsieur Mouret, it was then some one else, and he

-      demanded a name. As Valerie was walking off without answering him, he

-      seized hold of her arm and twisted it spitefully, with the rage of an

-      exasperated child, repeating the while:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I'll break it. Tell me, who is the letter from?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young woman, frightened, and stifling a cry of pain, had become quite

-      white. Campardon felt her abandoning herself against his shoulder,

-      succumbing to one of those nervous attacks which would shake her for hours

-      together. He had scarcely time to lead her into the apartment reserved for

-      the two families, where he laid her on a sofa. Some ladies had followed

-      him&mdash;Madame Juzeur, Madame Dambreville&mdash;who unlaced her, whilst

-      he discreetly retired.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Sir, I beg your pardon,&rdquo; said Théophile, going up to Octave, whose eyes

-      he had encountered when twisting his wife's arm. &ldquo;Every one in my place

-      would have suspected you; is it not so? But I wish to shake hands with

-      you, to prove to you that I admit myself to have been in the wrong.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He shook hands with him, and led him one side, tortured by a necessity to

-      unbosom himself, to find a confidant for the outpourings of his heart.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! sir, if I were to tell you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he talked for a long while of his wife. When a young girl, she was

-      delicate, it was said jokingly that marriage would set her right. She had

-      not sufficient air in her parents' shop, where, every evening for three

-      months, she had appeared to him very nice, obedient, of a rather sad

-      disposition, but charming.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! sir, marriage did not set her right&mdash;far from it. After a few

-      weeks she became terrible; we could no longer agree together. There were

-      quarrels about nothing at all. Changes of temper at every minute&mdash;laughing,

-      crying, without my knowing why. And absurd sentiments, ideas that would

-      knock a person down, a perpetual mania for making people wild. In short,

-      sir, my home has become a hell.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is very remarkable,&rdquo; murmured Octave, who felt a necessity for saying

-      something.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, the husband, ghastly pale, and drawing himself up on his short legs,

-      to override the ridiculous, came to what he called the wretched woman's

-      bad behavior. Twice he had suspected her; but he was too honorable; he

-      could not retain such an idea in his head. This time, though, he was

-      obliged to yield to evidence. It was not possible to doubt, was it? And,

-      with his trembling fingers, he felt the pocket of his waistcoat which

-      contained the letter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If she did it for money, I might understand it,&rdquo; added he. &ldquo;But they

-      never gave her any; I am sure of that; I should know it. Then, tell me

-      what it can be that she has in her skin? I am very nice myself; she has

-      everything at home. I cannot understand it. If you can understand it, sir,

-      explain it to me, I beg of you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is very curious, very curious,&rdquo; repeated Octave, embarrassed by all

-      these disclosures, and trying to make his escape.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But the husband, in a state of fever, and tormented by a want of

-      certitude, would not let him go. At this moment, Madame Juzeur,

-      reappearing, went and whispered a word to Madame Josserand, who was

-      greeting the arrival of a big jeweler of the Palais-Royal with a grand

-      curtesy; and she, quite upset, hastened to follow her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I think that your wife has a very violent attack,&rdquo; observed Octave to

-      Théophile.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Never mind her!&rdquo; replied the latter in a fury, vexed at not being ill, so

-      as to be coddled up also; &ldquo;she is only to pleased to have an attack! It

-      always puts every one on her side. My health is no better than hers, yet I

-      have never deceived her!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand did not return. The rumor circulated among the intimate

-      friends that Valérie was struggling in frightful convulsions. There should

-      have been men present to hold her down; but, as they had been obliged to

-      half undress her, they declined Trublot's and Gueulin's offers of

-      assistance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Doctor Juillerat! where is Doctor Juillerat?&rdquo; asked Madame Josserand,

-      rushing back into the room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The doctor had been invited, but no one had as yet seen him. Then she no

-      longer strove to hide the slumbering rage which had been collecting within

-      her since the morning. She spoke out before Octave and Campardon, without

-      mincing her words.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am beginning to have enough of it. It is not very pleasant for my

-      daughter, all this cuckoldom paraded before us!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She looked about for Hortense, and at length caught sight of her talking

-      to a gentleman, of whom she could only see the back, but whom she

-      recognized by its breadth. It was Verdier. This increased her ill-humor.

-      She sharply called the young girl to her, and, lowering her voice, told

-      her that she would do better to remain at her mother's disposal on such a

-      day as that. Hortense did not listen to the reprimand. She was triumphant;

-      Verdier had just fixed their marriage at two months from then, in June.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Shut up!&rdquo; said the mother.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I assure you, mamma. He already sleeps out three nights a week so as to

-      accustom the other to it, and in a fortnight he will stop away altogether.

-      Then it will be all over, and I shall have him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Shut up! I have already had more than enough of your romance! You will

-      just oblige me by waiting near the door for Doctor Juillerat, and by

-      sending him to me the moment he arrives. And, above all, not a word of all

-      this to your sister!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She returned to the adjoining room, leaving Hortense muttering that, thank

-      goodness! she required no one's approbation, and that they would all be

-      nicely caught one day, when they saw her make a better marriage than the

-      others. Yet, she went to the door, and watched for the doctor's arrival.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The orchestra was now playing a waltz. Berthe was dancing with one of her

-      husband's young cousins, so as to dispose of the relations in turn. All

-      the guests had an air of amusing themselves immensely, and expatiated

-      before them on the liveliness of the ball. It was, according to Campardon,

-      a liveliness of a good standard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The architect, with an effusion of gallantry, concerned himself a great

-      deal about Valérie's condition, without, however, missing a dance. He had

-      the idea to send his daughter Angèle for news in his name. The child,

-      whose fourteen years had been burning with curiosity since the morning

-      around the lady that every one was talking about, was delighted at being

-      able to penetrate into the little room. And, as she did not return, the

-      architect was obliged to take the liberty of slightly opening the door and

-      thrusting his head in. He beheld his daughter standing up beside the sofa,

-      deeply absorbed by the sight of Valérie, whose bosom, shaken by spasms,

-      had escaped from the unhooked bodice. Protestations arose, the ladies

-      called to him not to come in; and he withdrew, assuring them that he

-      merely wished to know how she was getting on.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She is no better, she is no better,&rdquo; said he, in a melancholy way to the

-      persons who happened to be near the door. &ldquo;There are four of them holding

-      her. How strong a woman must be, to be able to bound about like that

-      without hurting herself!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0193.jpg" alt="0193 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0193.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      But Doctor Juillerat quickly crossed the ball-room, accompanied by

-      Hortense, who was explaining matters to him. Madame Duveyrier followed

-      them. Some persons showed their surprise, more rumors circulated. Scarcely

-      had the doctor disappeared than Madame Josserand left the little room with

-      Madame Dambreville. Her rage was increasing; she had just emptied two

-      water bottles over Valerie's head; never before had she seen a woman as

-      nervous as that. Then she had decided to make the round of the ball-room,

-      so as to stop all remarks by her presence. Only, she walked with such a

-      terrible step, she distributed such sour smiles, that every one behind her

-      was let into the secret.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Dambreville did not leave her. Ever since the morning she had been

-      speaking to her of Léon, making vague complaints, trying to bring her to

-      speak to her son, so as to patch up their connection. She drew her

-      attention to him, as he was conducting a tall, scraggy girl back to her

-      place, and to whom he made a show of being very assiduous.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He abandons us,&rdquo; said she, with a slight laugh, trembling with suppressed

-      tears. &ldquo;Scold him now, for not so much as looking at us.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Léon!&rdquo; called Madame Josserand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When he came to her, she added roughly, not being in the temper to choose

-      her words:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why are you angry with madame? She bears you no ill-will. Make it up with

-      her. It does no good to be ill-tempered.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she left them embarrassed before each other. Madame Dambreville took

-      Léon's arm, and they went and conversed in the recess of a window; then

-      they tenderly left the ball-room together. She had sworn to arrange his

-      marriage in the autumn.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand, who continued to distribute smiles, was overcome by

-      emotion when she found herself before Berthe, who was out of breath at

-      having danced so much, and looked quite rosy in her white dress, which was

-      becoming rumpled. She clasped her in her arms, and almost fainted away at

-      a vague association of ideas, recalling, no doubt, the other one, whose

-      face was so frightfully convulsed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My poor darling, my poor darling!&rdquo; murmured she, giving her two big

-      kisses.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Berthe calmly asked:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How is she?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, Madame Josserand at once became very sour again. What! Berthe

-      knew it! Why of course she knew it, every one knew it. Her husband alone,

-      whom she pointed out conducting an old lady to the refreshment bar, was

-      still ignorant of the story. She even intended to get some one to tell him

-      everything, for it made him appear too stupid to be always behind every

-      one else, and never to know anything.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And I, who have been slaving to hide the catastrophe&rdquo; said Madame

-      Josserand, beside herself. &ldquo;Ah, well! I shall not put myself out any more,

-      it must be put a stop to. I will not tolerate their making you

-      ridiculous.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Every one did indeed know it. Only, so as not to cast a gloom over the

-      ball, it was not talked about.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She is better,&rdquo; Campardon, who had taken another peep, hastened to say.

-      &ldquo;One can go in.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A few male friends ventured to enter. Valerie was still lying down, only

-      the attack was passing off; and, out of decency, they had covered her

-      bosom with a napkin, found lying on a sideboard. Madame Juzeur and Madame

-      Duveyrier were standing before the window listening to Doctor Juillerat,

-      who was explaining that the attacks sometimes yielded to hot water

-      applications to the neck.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But the invalid, having seen Octave enter with Campardon, called him to

-      her by a sign, and spoke a few incoherent words to him in a final

-      hallucination. He had to sit down beside her, at the doctor's express

-      order, who was desirous above all not to thwart her; and thus the young

-      man listened to her disclosures, he who, during the evening, had already

-      heard the husband's. She trembled with fright, she took him for her lover,

-      and implored him to hide her. Then she recognized him, and burst into

-      tears, thanking him for his lie of the morning during mass. Octave thought

-      of that other attack, of which he had wished to take advantage, with the

-      greedy desire of a school-boy. Now, he was her friend, and she would tell

-      him everything, perhaps it would be better.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At this moment, Théophile, who had continued to wander up and down before

-      the door, wished to enter. Other men were there, so he could very well be

-      there himself. But his appearance created a regular panic. On hearing his

-      voice, Valérie was again seized with a fit of trembling, every one thought

-      she was about to have another attack. He, imploring, and struggling

-      amongst the ladies, whose arms thrust him back, kept obstinately

-      repeating:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I only ask her for the name. Let her tell me the name.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Madame Josserand, arriving, gave vent to her wrath. She drew

-      Théophile into the little room, to hide the scandal; and said to him

-      furiously:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Look here! will you shut up? Ever since this morning you have been

-      badgering us with your stupidities. You have no tact, sir; yes, you have

-      absolutely no tact at all! One should not harp on such things on a wedding

-      day.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Excuse me, madame,&rdquo; murmured he, &ldquo;this is my business, and does not

-      concern you!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! it does not concern me? but I form part of your family now, sir,

-      and do you think your affair amuses me on account of my daughter? Ah! you

-      have given her a pretty wedding! Not another word, sir, you are deficient

-      in tact!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This cry closed his mouth. He was so scared, so feeble looking, with his

-      slender limbs, and his face like a girl's, that the ladies smiled

-      slightly. When one had not the facilities for making a woman happy, one

-      ought not to marry. Hortense weighed him with a disdainful glance; little

-      Angèle, whom they had forgotten, hovered round him, with her sly air, as

-      though she had been looking for something; and he drew back embarrassed,

-      and blushed when he saw them all, so big and plump, hemming him in with

-      their sturdy hips. But they felt the necessity of patching up the matter.

-      Valérie had started off sobbing again, whilst the doctor continued to

-      bathe her temples. Then they understood one another with a glance, a

-      common feeling of defense drew them together. They puzzled their brains,

-      trying to explain the letter to the husband.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pooh!&rdquo; murmured Trublot, who had just rejoined Octave, &ldquo;it is easy

-      enough; they have only to say the letter was addressed to the servant.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand heard him. She turned round and looked at him with a

-      glance full of admiration. Then, turning toward Théophile:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Does an innocent woman lower herself to give explanations, when accused

-      with such brutality? Still, I may speak. The letter was dropped by

-      Françoise, that maid whom your wife had to pack off on account of her bad

-      conduct. There, are you satisfied? do you not blush with shame?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At first the husband shrugged his shoulders. But the ladies all remained

-      serious, answering his objections with very strong reasoning. He was

-      shaken, when, to complete his discomfiture, Madame Duveyrier got angry,

-      telling him that his conduct had been abominable, and that she disowned

-      him. Then, vanquished, and feeling a longing to be kissed, he threw his

-      arms round Valérie's neck, and begged her pardon. It was most touching.

-      Even Madame Josserand was deeply affected.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is always best to come to an understanding,&rdquo; said she, with relief.

-      &ldquo;The day will not end so badly, after all.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When they had dressed Valérie again, and she appeared in the ball-room on

-      Theophile's arm, the joy seemed to be redoubled. It was close upon three

-      o'clock, the guests were beginning to leave; but the orchestra continued

-      to get through the quadrilles with great gusto. Some of the men smiled

-      behind the backs of the reconciled couple. A medical remark of

-      Campardon's, respecting that poor Théophile, quite delighted Madame

-      Juzeur. The young girls hastened to stare at Valérie; then they put on

-      their stupid looks before their mothers' scandalized glances. Berthe, who

-      was at length dancing with her husband, must have whispered a word or two

-      in his ear; for Auguste, made aware of what had been taking place, turned

-      his head round, and, without getting out of step, looked at his brother

-      Théophile with the surprise and the superiority of a man to whom such

-      things cannot happen. There was a final galop, the guests were getting

-      more free in the stifling heat and the reddish light of the candles, the

-      vacillating flames of which caused the pendants of the chandeliers to

-      sparkle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are very intimate with her?&rdquo; asked Madame Hédouin, as she whirled

-      round on Octave's arm, having accepted his invitation to dance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The young man fancied he felt a slight quiver in her frame, so erect and

-      so calm.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;They mixed me up in the matter, which annoys me

-      immensely. The poor devil swallowed everything.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is very wrong,&rdquo; declared she, in her grave voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      No doubt Octave was mistaken. When he withdrew his arm from her waist,

-      Madame Hédouin was not even panting, her eyes were clear, and her hair not

-      the least disarranged. But a scandal upset the end of the ball. Uncle

-      Bachelard, who had finished himself off at the refreshment bar, ventured

-      on a lively idea. He had suddenly been seen dancing, a most indecent step

-      before Gueulin. Some napkins rolled round and stuffed in front of his

-      buttoned-up coat, gave him the bosom of a wet-nurse, and two big oranges

-      placed on the napkins, behind the lapels, displayed their roundness, in

-      the sanguineous redness of an excoriated skin. This time every one

-      protested: though one may earn heaps of money, yet there are limits which

-      a man who respects himself should never go beyond, especially before young

-      persons. Monsieur Josserand, ashamed and in despair, drew his

-      brother-in-law away. Duveyrier displayed the greatest disgust.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At four o'clock the newly married couple returned to the Rue de Choiseul.

-      They brought Théophile and Valérie back in their carriage. As they went up

-      to the second floor, where an apartment had been prepared for them, they

-      came across Octave, who was also retiring to rest. The young man wished to

-      draw politely on one side, but Berthe made a similar movement, and they

-      knocked up against each other.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! excuse me, mademoiselle,&rdquo; said he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The word &ldquo;mademoiselle&rdquo; amused them immensely. She looked at him, and he

-      recalled the first glance exchanged between them on that same staircase, a

-      glance of gayety and daring, the charming welcome of which he again

-      beheld. They understood each other perhaps; she blushed, whilst he went up

-      alone to his room, in the midst of the death-like peacefulness of the

-      upper floors.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste, with his left eye closed up, half mad with the headache which had

-      been clinging to him since the morning, was already in the apartment,

-      where the other members of the family were arriving. Then, at the moment

-      of quitting Berthe, Valérie yielded to a sudden fit of emotion, and

-      pressing her in her arms, and completing the rumpling of her white dress,

-      she kissed her, saying, in a low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! my dear, I wish you better luck than I have had!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER IX.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>wo days later,

-      toward seven o'clock, as Octave arrived at the Campardons' for dinner, he

-      found Rose by herself, dressed in a cream-color dressing-gown, trimmed

-      with white lace.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Are you expecting any one?&rdquo; asked he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied she, rather confused. &ldquo;We will have dinner directly Achille

-      comes in.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The architect was abandoning his punctual habits; was never there at the

-      proper time for his meals, arrived very red in the face, with a wild

-      expression, and cursing business. Then he went off again every evening, on

-      all kinds of pretexts, talking of appointments at cafés, inventing distant

-      meetings. Octave, on these occasions, would often keep Rose company till

-      eleven o'clock, for he had understood that the husband had him there to

-      board to amuse his wife, and she would gently complain, and tell him her

-      fears: ah! she left Achille very free, only she was so anxious when he

-      came home after midnight!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you not think he has been rather sad lately?&rdquo; asked she, in a tenderly

-      frightened tone of voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The young man had not noticed it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I think he is rather worried, perhaps. The works at Saint-Roch cause him

-      some anxiety.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But she shook her head, without saying anything further about it. Then she

-      was very kind to Octave, questioning him with a motherly and sisterly

-      affection as to how he had employed the day. During nearly nine months

-      that he had been boarding with them, she had always treated him thus as a

-      child of the house.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length the architect appeared.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good evening, my pet; good evening, my duck,&rdquo; said he, kissing her with

-      his doting air of a good husband. &ldquo;Another fool has been detaining me in

-      the street!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave moved away, and he heard them exchange a few words in a low voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Will she come?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No; what is the good? and, above all, do not worry yourself.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You declared to me that she would come.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! yes; she is coming. Are you pleased? It is for your sake that I

-      have done it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They took their seats at the table. During the whole of dinnertime they

-      talked of the English language, which little Angèle had been learning for

-      a fortnight past.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They were taking their dessert, when a ring at the bell caused Madame

-      Campardou to start.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is madame's cousin,&rdquo; Lisa returned and said, in the wounded tone of a

-      servant whom one has omitted to let into a family secret.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And it was indeed Gasparine who entered. She wore a black woolen dress,

-      looking very quiet, with her thin face, and her air of a poor shop-girl.

-      Rose, tenderly enveloped in her dressing-gown of cream-color silk, and

-      plump and fresh, rose up so moved that tears filled her eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! my dear,&rdquo; murmured she, &ldquo;you are good. We will forget everything;

-      will we not?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She took her in her arms and gave her two hearty kisses. Octave discreetly

-      wished to retire. But they grew angry: he could remain; he was one of the

-      family. So he amused himself by looking on. Campardon, at first greatly

-      embarrassed, turned his eyes away from the two women, puffing about, and

-      looking for a cigar; whilst Lisa, who was roughly clearing the table,

-      exchanged glances with surprised Angèle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is your cousin,&rdquo; at length said the architect to his daughter. &ldquo;You

-      have heard us speak of her. Come, kiss her now.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She kissed her with her sullen air, troubled by the sort of governess

-      glance with which Gasparine took stock of her, after asking some questions

-      respecting her age and education. Then, when the others passed into the

-      drawing-room, she preferred to follow Lisa, who slammed the door, saying,

-      without even fearing that she might be heard:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah, well! it'll become precious funny here now!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In the drawing-room, Campardon, still restless, began to excuse himself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;On my word of honor! the happy idea was not mine. It is Rose who wished

-      to be reconciled. Every morning, for more than a week past, she has been

-      saying to me: 'Now, go and fetch her.' So I ended by fetching you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as though he had felt the necessity of convincing Octave, he took him

-      up to the window.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! women are women. It bothered me, because I have a dread of rows.

-      One on the right, the other on the left, there was no squabbling possible.

-      But I had to give in. Rose says we shall be far happier thus. Anyhow, we

-      will try. It depends on these two, now, to make my life comfortable.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile Rose and Gasparine had seated themselves side by side on the

-      sofa. They were talking of the past, of the days lived at Plassans, with

-      good papa Domergue.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And your health?&rdquo; asked she, in a low voice. &ldquo;Achille spoke to me about

-      it. Is it no better?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; replied Rose, in a melancholy tone. &ldquo;You see, I eat; I look very

-      well. But it gets no better; it will never get any better.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As she began to cry, Gasparine, in her turn, took her in her arms and

-      pressed her against her flat and ardent breast, whilst Campardon hastened

-      to console them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why do you cry?&rdquo; asked she maternally. &ldquo;The main thing is that you do not

-      suffer. What does it matter if you have always people about you to love

-      you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Rose was becoming calmer, and already smiling amidst her tears. Then the

-      architect, carried away by his feelings, clasped them both in the same

-      embrace, kissing them alternately, and stammering:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0203.jpg" alt="0203 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0203.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes, we will love each other very much, we will love you such a

-      deal, my poor little duck. You will see how well everything will go, now

-      that we are united.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, turning toward Octave, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! my dear fellow, people may talk, there is nothing, after all, like

-      family ties!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The end of the evening was delightful. Campardon, who usually fell asleep

-      on leaving the table if he remained at home, recovered all his artist's

-      gayety, the old jokes and the broad songs of the School of Fine Arts.

-      When, toward eleven o'clock, Gasparine prepared to leave, Rose insisted on

-      accompanying her to the door, in spite of the difficulty she experienced

-      in walking that day: and, leaning over the balustrade, in the grave

-      silence of the staircase, she called after her:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come and see us often!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      On the morrow, Octave, feeling interested, tried to make the cousin talk

-      at &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo; whilst they were receiving a consignment of

-      linen goods together. But she answered curtly, and he felt that she was

-      hostile, annoyed at his having been a witness the evening before.

-      Moreover, she did not like him; she even displayed a sort of rancor toward

-      him in their business relations.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave had given himself six months, and, though scarcely four had passed,

-      he was becoming impatient. Every morning he asked himself whether he

-      should not hurry matters forward, seeing the little progress he had made

-      in the affections of this woman, always so icy and gentle. She had ended,

-      however, by showing a real esteem for him, won over by his enlarged ideas,

-      his dreams of vast modern warehouses discharging millions of merchandise

-      into the streets of Paris. Often, when her husband was not there, and she

-      opened the correspondence with the young man of a morning, she would

-      detain him beside her and consult him, profiting a great deal by his

-      advice, and a sort of commercial intimacy was thus gradually established

-      between them. Their hands met amidst bundles of invoices, their breaths

-      mingled as they added up columns of figures, and they yielded to moments

-      of emotion before the open cash-box after some extra fortunate receipts.

-      He even took advantage of these occasions, his tactics being now to reach

-      her heart through her good trader's nature, and to conquer her on a day of

-      weakness, in the midst of the great emotion occasioned by some unexpected

-      sale. So he remained on the watch for some surprising occurrence which

-      should deliver her up to him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      About this time, Monsieur Hédouin, having fallen ill, went to pass a

-      season at Vichy to take the waters. Octave, to speak frankly, was

-      delighted. Though as cold as marble, Madame Hédouin would become more

-      tender-hearted during her enforced widowhood. But he fruitlessly awaited a

-      quiver, a languidness of desire. Never had she been so active, her head so

-      free, her eye so clear.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At heart, though, the young man did not despair. At times he thought he

-      had reached the goal, and was already arranging his mode of living for the

-      near day when he would be the lover of his employer's wife. He had kept up

-      his connection with Marie to help him to wait patiently; only, though she

-      was convenient and cost him nothing, she might perhaps one day become

-      irksome, with her faithfulness of a beaten cur. Therefore, at the same

-      time that he took her in his arms on the nights when he felt dull, he

-      would be thinking of a way of breaking off with her. To do so abruptly

-      seemed to him to be worse than foolish. One holiday morning, when about to

-      rejoin his neighbor's wife, the neighbor himself having gone out early,

-      the idea had at length come to him of restoring Marie to Jules, of sending

-      them in a loving way into each other's arms, so that he might withdraw

-      with a clear conscience. It was, moreover, a good action, the touching

-      side of which relieved him of all remorse. He waited a while, however, not

-      wishing to find himself without a female companion of some kind.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At the Campardons' another complication was occupying Octave's mind. He

-      felt that the moment was arriving when he would have to take his meals

-      elsewhere. For three weeks past Gasparine had been making herself quite at

-      home there, with an authority daily increasing. At first she had begun by

-      coming every evening; then she had appeared at lunch: and, in spite of her

-      work at the shop, she was commencing to take charge of everything, of

-      Angèle's education, and of the household affairs. Rose was ever repeating

-      in Campardon's presence:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! if Gasparine only lived with us!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But each time the architect, blushing with conscientious scruples, and

-      tormented with shame, cried out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no; it cannot be. Besides, where would you put her to sleep?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he explained that they would have to give his study as a bedroom to

-      their cousin, whilst he would move his table and plans into the

-      drawing-room. It would certainly not inconvenience him in the least; he

-      would, perhaps, decide to make the alteration one day, for he had no need

-      of a drawing-room, and his study was becoming too cramped for all the work

-      he had in hand. Only, Gasparine might very well remain as she was. What

-      need was there to live all in a heap?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;When one is comfortable,&rdquo; repeated he to Octave, &ldquo;it is a mistake to wish

-      to be better.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      About that time he was obliged to go and spend two days at Evreux. He was

-      worried about the work in hand at the bishop's palace. He had yielded to

-      the bishop's desires without a credit having been opened for the purpose,

-      and the construction of the range for the new kitchens and of the heating

-      apparatus threatened to amount to a very large figure, which it would be

-      impossible to include in the cost of repairs. Besides that, the pulpit,

-      for which three thousand francs had been granted, would come to ten

-      thousand at least. He wished to talk the matter over with the bishop, so

-      as to take certain precautions.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Rose was only expecting him to return on the Sunday night. He arrived in

-      the middle of lunch, and his sudden entrance caused quite a scare.

-      Gasparine was seated at the table, between Octave and Angèle. They

-      pretended to be all at their ease; but there reigned a certain air of

-      mystery. Lisa had closed the drawing-room door at a despairing gesture

-      from her mistress, whilst the cousin kicked beneath the furniture some

-      pieces of paper that were lying about.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When Campardon talked of changing his things, they stopped him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Wait a while. Have a cup of coffee, as you lunched at Evreux.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At length, as he noticed Rose's embarrassment, she went and threw her arms

-      around his neck.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My dear, you must not scold me. If you had not returned till this

-      evening, you would have found everything straight.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She tremblingly opened the doors, and took him into the drawingroom and

-      the study. A mahogany bedstead, brought that morning by a furniture

-      dealer, occupied the place of the drawing-table, which had been moved into

-      the middle of the adjoining room; but as yet nothing had been put

-      straight; portfolios were knocking about amongst some of Gasparine's

-      clothes; the Virgin with the Bleeding Heart was lying against the wall,

-      kept in position by a new wash-stand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It was a surprise,&rdquo; murmured Madame Campardon, her heart bursting, as she

-      hid her face in her husband's waistcoat.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He, deeply moved, looked about him. He said nothing, and avoided

-      encountering Octave's eyes. Then, Gasparine asked, in her sharp voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Does it annoy you, cousin? It is Rose who pestered me. But, if you think

-      I am in the way, it is not too late for me to leave.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! cousin!&rdquo; at length exclaimed the architect. &ldquo;All that Rose does is

-      well done.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, the latter having burst out sobbing on his breast, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come, my duck, how foolish of you to cry! I am very pleased. You wish to

-      have your cousin with you; well! have your cousin with you. Everything

-      suits me. Now, do not cry any more! See! I kiss you like I love you, so

-      much! so much!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He devoured her with caresses. Then, Rose, who melted into tears for a

-      word, but who smiled at once, in the midst of her sobs, was consoled. She

-      kissed him in her turn, on his beard, saying to him, gently:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You were harsh. Kiss her also.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Campardon kissed Gasparine. They called Angèle, who had been looking on

-      from the dining-room, her eyes bright and her mouth wide open; and she had

-      to kiss her also. Octave had moved away, having arrived at the conclusion

-      that they were becoming far too loving in that family. He had noticed with

-      surprise Lisa's respectful attitude and smiling attentiveness toward

-      Gasparine. She was decidedly an intelligent girl, that hussy with the blue

-      eyelids!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, the architect had taken off his coat, and whistling and

-      singing, as lively as a boy, he spent the afternoon in arranging the

-      cousin's room. Then Octave understood that his presence interfered with

-      the free expansion of their hearts; he felt he was one too many in such a

-      united family, so mentioned that he was going to dine out that evening.

-      Moreover, he had made up his mind; on the morrow he would thank Madame

-      Campardon for her kind hospitality, and invent some story for no longer

-      trespassing upon it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Toward five o'clock, as he was regretting that he did not know where to

-      find Trublot, he had the idea to go and ask the Pichons for some dinner,

-      so as not to pass the evening alone. But, on entering their apartments, he

-      found himself in the midst of a deplorable family scene. The Vuillaumes

-      were there, trembling with rage and indignation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is disgraceful, sir!&rdquo; the mother was saying, standing up with her arm

-      thrust out toward her son-in-law, who was sitting in a chair in a state of

-      collapse. &ldquo;You gave me your word of honor.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And you,&rdquo; added the father, causing his daughter to draw back trembling

-      as far as the sideboard, &ldquo;do not try to defend him, you are quite as

-      guilty. Do you wish to die of hunger!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Vuillaume had put on her bonnet and shawl again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good-bye!&rdquo; uttered she, in a solemn tone. &ldquo;We will at least not encourage

-      your dissoluteness by our presence. As you no longer pay the least

-      attention to our wishes, we have nothing to detain us here. Good-bye!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as through force of habit her son-in-law rose to accompany them, she

-      added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not trouble yourself, we shall be able to find the omnibus very well

-      without you. Pass first, Monsieur Vuillaume. Let them eat their dinner,

-      and much good may it do them, for they won't always have one!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, thoroughly bewildered, drew on one side. When they had gone, he

-      looked at Jules, who was still in a state of collapse on his chair, and at

-      Marie leaning against the sideboard and looking very pale. Neither of them

-      said a word.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; asked he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But, without answering him, the young woman commenced scolding her husband

-      in a doleful voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I told you how it would be. You should have waited, and let them learn

-      the thing by degrees. There was no hurry, it does not show as yet.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; repeated Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, without even turning her head, she said bluntly, in the midst of her

-      emotion!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am in the family way.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have had enough of them!&rdquo; cried Jules, rising indignantly. &ldquo;I thought

-      it right to tell them at once of this bother. I wonder if they think it

-      amuses me! I am more taken in by it all than they are. More especially, by

-      Jove! as it is through no fault of mine. Is it not true, Marie, that we

-      have no idea how it has come about?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That is so, indeed,&rdquo; affirmed the young woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It quite affected Octave; and he felt a violent desire to do something

-      nice for the Pichons. Jules continued to grumble: they would receive the

-      child all the same, only it would have done better to have remained where

-      it was. On her side, Marie, generally so gentle, became angry, and ended

-      by agreeing with her mother, who never forgave disobedience. And the

-      couple were coming to a quarrel, throwing the youngster from one to the

-      other, accusing each other of being the cause of it, when Octave gayly

-      interfered.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is no use quarreling, now that it is there. Come, we won't dine here;

-      it would be too sad. I will take you to a restaurant, if you are

-      agreeable.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young woman blushed. Dining at a restaurant was her delight. She

-      spoke, however, of her little girl, who invariably prevented her from

-      having any pleasure. But it was decided that, for this once, Lilitte

-      should go too. And they spent a very pleasant evening. Octave took them to

-      the &ldquo;Bouf à la Mode,&rdquo; where they had a private room, to be more at their

-      ease, as he said. There, he overwhelmed them with food, with an earnest

-      prodigality, without thinking of the bill, happy at seeing them eat. He

-      even, at dessert, when they had laid Lilitte down between two of the sofa

-      cushions, called for champagne; and they sat there, their elbows on the

-      table, their eyes dim, all three full of heart, and feeling languid from

-      the suffocating heat of the room. At length, at eleven o'clock, they

-      talked of going home; but they were red, and the fresh air of the street

-      intoxicated them. Then, as the child, heavy with sleep, refused to walk,

-      Octave, to do things handsomely until the end, insisted on hailing a cab,

-      though the Rue de Choiseul was close by. In the cab, he was scrupulous to

-      the point of not pressing Marie's knees. Only, upstairs, whilst Jules was

-      tucking Lilitte in, he imprinted a kiss on the young woman's forehead, the

-      farewell kiss of a father parting with his daughter to a son-in-law. Then,

-      seeing them very loving and looking at each other in a drunken sort of

-      way, he left them to themselves, wishing them a good-night and many

-      pleasant dreams as he closed the door.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; thought he, as he jumped all alone into bed, &ldquo;it has cost me fifty

-      francs, but I owed them quite that. After all, my only wish is that her

-      husband may make her happy, poor little woman!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, with his heart full of emotion, he resolved, before falling asleep,

-      to make his grand attempt on the following evening.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Every Monday, after dinner, Octave assisted Madame Hédouin to examine the

-      orders of the week. For this purpose they both withdrew to the little

-      closet at the back, a narrow apartment which merely contained a safe, a

-      desk, two chairs and a sofa. But it so happened that on the Monday in

-      question the Duveyriers were going to take Madame Hédouin to the

-      Opéra-Comique. So, toward three o'clock, she sent for the young man. In

-      spite of the bright sunshine, they were obliged to burn the gas, for the

-      closet only received a pale light from an inner courtyard. He bolted the

-      door, and, as she looked at him in surprise, he murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No one can come and disturb us.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She nodded her head approvingly, and they set to work. The new summer

-      goods were going splendidly, the business of the house continued

-      increasing. That week especially the sale of the little woolens seemed so

-      promising that she heaved a sigh.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! if we only had enough room!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; said he, commencing the attack, &ldquo;it depends upon yourself. I have

-      had an idea for some time past, which I wish to lay before you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the stroke of andacity he had been waiting for. His idea was to

-      purchase the adjoining house in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, to give

-      notice to an umbrella-dealer and to a toy-merchant, and then to enlarge

-      the warehouses, to which they could add several other vast departments.

-      And he warmed up as he spoke, showing himself full of disdain for the old

-      way of doing business in the depths of damp, dark shops, without any

-      display, evoking a new commerce with a gesture, piling up in palaces of

-      crystal all the luxury pertaining to woman, turning over millions in the

-      light of day, and illuminating at night-time in a princely style.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will crush the other drapers of the Saint-Roch neighborhood,&rdquo; said

-      he; &ldquo;you will secure all the small customers.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Hédouin listened to him, her elbow on a ledger, her beautiful,

-      grave head buried in her hand. She was born at &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo;

-       which had been founded by her father and her uncle. She loved the house;

-      she could see it expanding, swallowing up the neighboring houses, and

-      displaying a royal frontage, and this dream suited her active

-      intelligence, her upright will, her woman's delicate intuition of the new

-      Paris.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Uncle Deleuze would never give his consent,&rdquo; murmured she. &ldquo;Besides, my

-      husband is too unwell.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, seeing her wavering, Octave assumed his most seductive voice&mdash;an

-      actor's voice, soft and musical. At the same time he looked tenderly at

-      her, with his eyes the color of old gold, which some women thought

-      irresistible. But, though the gas-jet flared close to the nape of her

-      neck, she remained as cool as ever; she merely fell into a revery, half

-      stunned by the young man's inexhaustible flow of words. He had come to

-      studying the affair from the money point of view, already making an

-      estimate with the impassioned air of a romantic page declaring a long pent

-      up love. When she suddenly awoke from her reflections, she found herself

-      in his arms. He was thinking that she was at length yielding.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me! so this is what it all meant!&rdquo; said she in a sad tone of voice,

-      freeing herself from him as from some tiresome child.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! yes, I love you,&rdquo; cried he. &ldquo;Oh! do not repel me. With you I will

-      do great things&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he went on thus to the end of the tirade, which had a false ring about

-      it. She did not interrupt him; she was standing up and again scanning the

-      pages of the ledger. Then, when he had finished, she replied:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I know all that&mdash;I have already heard it before. But I thought you

-      were more sensible than the others, Monsieur Octave. You grieve me, really

-      you do, for I had counted upon you. However, all young men are foolish. We

-      need a great deal of order in such a house as this, and you begin by

-      desiring things which would disturb us from morning to night. I am not a

-      woman here, I have too much to occupy me. Come, you who are so well

-      organized, how is it you did not comprehend that it could never be,

-      because in the first place it is stupid, in the second useless, and,

-      moreover, luckily for me, I do not care the least about it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He would have preferred her to have been indignantly angry, displaying

-      grand sentiments. Her calm tone of voice, her quiet reasoning of a

-      practical woman, sure of herself, disconcerted him. He felt himself

-      becoming ridiculous.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Have pity, madame,&rdquo; stammered he, before losing all hope. &ldquo;See how I

-      suffer.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, you do not suffer. Anyhow, you will get over it. Hark! there is some

-      one knocking, you would do better to open the door.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he had to draw the bolt. It was Mademoiselle Gasparine, who wished to

-      know if any lace-trimmed chemises were expected. The bolted door had

-      surprised her. But she knew Madame Hédouin too well; and, when she saw her

-      with her cold air standing in front of Octave, who was full of uneasiness,

-      a slight mocking smile played about her lips as she looked at him. It

-      exasperated him, and in his own mind he accused her of having been the

-      cause of his ill-success.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; declared he, abruptly, when Gasparine had withdrawn, &ldquo;I leave

-      your employment this evening.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This was a surprise for Madame Hédouin. She looked at him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why so? I do not discharge you. Oh! it will not make any difference; I

-      have no fear.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      These words decided him. He would leave at once; he would not endure his

-      martyrdom a minute longer.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Very good, Monsieur Octave,&rdquo; resumed she as serenely as ever. &ldquo;I will

-      settle with you directly. However, the firm will regret you, for you were

-      a good assistant.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Once out in the street, Octave perceived that he had behaved like a fool.

-      Four o'clock was striking, the gay spring sun covered with a sheet of gold

-      a whole corner of the Place Gaillon. And, angry with himself, he wandered

-      at hap-hazard down the Rue Saint-Roch, discussing the way in which he

-      ought to have acted. He would go and see if Campardon happened to be in

-      the church, and take him to the café to have a glass of Madeira. It would

-      help to divert his thoughts. He entered by the vestibule into which the

-      vestry door opened, a dark, dirty passage such as is to be met with in

-      houses of ill-repute.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are perhaps looking for Monsieur Campardon?&rdquo; said a voice close

-      beside him, as he stood hesitating, scrutinizing the nave with his glance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the Abbé Manduit, who had just recognized him. The architect being

-      away, he insisted on showing the works, about which he was most

-      enthusiastic, to the young man.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Walk in,&rdquo; said the Abbé Manduit, gathering up his cassock. &ldquo;I will

-      explain everything to you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here we are,&rdquo; continued the priest. &ldquo;I had the idea of lighting the

-      central group of the Calvary from above by means of an opening in the

-      cupola. You can fancy what an effect it will have.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; murmured. Octave, whose thoughts were diverted by this stroll

-      amidst building materials.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The Abbé Manduit, speaking in a loud voice, had the air of a

-      stage-carpenter directing the placing of some gorgeous scenery.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And he turned round to call out to a workman:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Move the Virgin on one side; you will be breaking her leg directly.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The workman called a comrade. Between them they got hold of the Virgin

-      round the small of her back, and carried her to a place of safety, like

-      some tall white girl who had fallen down under a nervous attack.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Be careful!&rdquo; repeated the priest, following them through the rubbish,

-      &ldquo;her dress is already cracked. Wait a while!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He gave them a hand, seizing Mary round the waist, and then, all covered

-      with plaster, withdrew from the embrace.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; resumed he, returning to Octave, &ldquo;just imagine that the two bays

-      of the nave there before us are open, and go and stand in the chapel of

-      the Virgin. Over the altar, and through the chapel of Perpetual Adoration,

-      you will behold the Calvary right at the back. Just fancy the effect:

-      these three enormous figures, this bare and simple drama in this

-      tabernacle recess, beyond the dim, mysterious light of the stained-glass

-      windows, the lamps and the gold candelabra. Eh? I think it will be

-      irresistible!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He was waxing eloquent, and, proud of his idea, he laughed joyfully.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The most skeptical will be moved,&rdquo; observed Octave, to please him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That is what I think!&rdquo; cried he. &ldquo;I am impatient to see everything in

-      place.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am going to see Monsieur Campardon this evening,&rdquo; at length said the

-      Abbe Manduit. &ldquo;Ask him to wait in for me. I wish to speak to him about an

-      improvement without being disturbed.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he bowed with his worldly air. Octave was calmed now. Saint-Roch, with

-      its cool vaults, had unbraced his nerves. He looked curiously at this

-      entrance to a church through a private house, at the doorkeeper's room,

-      from whence at night time the door was often opened for the cause of the

-      faith, at all that corner of a convent lost amidst the black

-      conglomeration of the neighborhood. Out in the street, he again raised his

-      eyes; the house displayed its bare frontage, with its barred and

-      curtainless windows; but boxes of flowers were fixed by iron supports to

-      the windows of the fourth floor; and, down below, in the thick walls, were

-      narrow shops, which helped to fill the coffers of the clergy&mdash;a

-      cobbler's, a clock-maker's, an embroiderer's, and even a wine shop, where

-      the mutes congregated whenever there was a funeral. Octave, who, from his

-      rebuff, was in a mood to renounce the world, regretted the quiet lives

-      which the priests' servants led up there in those rooms enlivened with

-      verbenas and sweet peas.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      That evening, at half past six, as he entered the Campardons' apartments

-      without ringing, he came suddenly upon the architect and Gasparine kissing

-      each other in the ante-room. The latter, who had just come from the

-      warehouse, had not even given herself time to close the door. Both stood

-      stock-still.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My wife is combing her hair,&rdquo; stammered the architect, for the sake of

-      saying something. &ldquo;Go in and see her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, feeling as embarrassed as themselves, hastened to knock at the

-      door of Rose's room, where he usually entered like a relation. He really

-      could no longer continue to board there, now that he caught them behind

-      the doors.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come in!&rdquo; cried Rose's voice. &ldquo;So it is you, Octave. Oh! there is no

-      harm.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had not, however, donned her dressing-gown, and her arms and

-      shoulders, as white and delicate as milk, were bare. Sitting attentively

-      before the looking-glass, she was rolling her golden hair in little curls.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So you are making yourself beautiful again to-night,&rdquo; said Octave,

-      smiling.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, for it is the only amusement I have,&rdquo; replied she. &ldquo;It occupies me.

-      You know I have never been a good housewife; and, now that Gasparine will

-      be here&mdash;Eh? don't you think that curl suits me? It consoles me a

-      little when I am well dressed and I feel that I look pretty.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As the dinuer was not ready, he told her of his having left &ldquo;The Ladies'

-      Paradise.&rdquo; He invented a story about some other situation he had long been

-      on the look-out for; and thus reserved to himself a pretext for explaining

-      his intention of taking his meals elsewhere. She was surprised that he

-      could give up a berth which held out great promises for the future. But

-      she was busy at her glass, and did not catch all he said.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Look at this red place behind my ear. Is it a pimple?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He had to examine the nape of her neck, which she held toward him with her

-      grand tranquillity of a sacred woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is nothing,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You must have dried yourself too roughly.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, when he had assisted her to put on her dressing-gown of blue satin

-      embroidered with silver, they passed into the diningroom. As early as the

-      soup, Octave's departure from the Hédouins' was discussed. Campardon did

-      not repress his surprise, whilst Gasparine smiled faintly; they were quite

-      at their ease together.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At dessert Gasparine sharply rated Lisa, who had answered her mistress

-      rudely respecting a piece of cheese that was missing. The maid became very

-      humble. Gasparine had already taken the household arrangements in hand,

-      and had mastered the servants; with a word, she could make Victoire

-      herself quake amongst her saucepans. So that Rose looked at her gratefully

-      with moist eyes; she was respected, now that her cousin was there, and her

-      longing was to get her also to leave &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo; and take

-      charge of Angèle's education.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; murmured she, caressingly, &ldquo;there is quite enough to occupy you

-      here. Angèle, implore your cousin, tell her how pleased you will be.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young girl implored her cousin, whilst Lisa nodded her head

-      approvingly. But Campardon and Gasparine remained grave; no, no, they must

-      wait, one should not take a leap in life without having something to hold

-      on to.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The evenings in the drawing-room were now delightful. The architect had

-      altogether given up going out. That evening he had arranged to hang some

-      engravings, which had come back from the framer, in Gasparine's room. Then

-      Octave, finding himself alone with Rose, resumed his story, and explained

-      that at the end of the month he would be obliged to take his meals away

-      from them. She seemed surprised, but her thoughts were elsewhere; she

-      returned at once to her husband and her cousin, whom she heard laughing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! how it amuses them to hang those pictures! What would you have!

-      Achille no longer stays out; for a fortnight past he has not left me of an

-      evening. No, no more going to the café, no more business meetings, no more

-      appointments; and you remember how anxious I used to be, when he was out

-      after midnight! Ah! it is a great ease to my mind now! I at least have him

-      by me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No doubt, no doubt,&rdquo; murmured Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And she continued speaking of the economy of the new arrangement.

-      Everything went on better in the house, they laughed from morning to

-      night.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;When I see Achille pleased,&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;I am satisfied.&rdquo; Then,

-      returning to the young man's affairs, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So you are really going to leave us? You should stay, though, as we are

-      all going to be so happy.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He recommenced his explanations. She comprehended, and lowered her eyes:

-      the young fellow would indeed interfere with their family effusions, and

-      she herself felt a certain relief at his departure, no longer requiring

-      him, moreover, to keep her company of an evening. He had to promise to

-      come and see her very often.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There you are, Mignon, supplicating Heaven!&rdquo; cried Campardon joyously.

-      &ldquo;Wait a moment, cousin; I will help you down.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They heard him take her in his arms and place her somewhere. There was a

-      short silence, and then a faint laugh. But the architect was already

-      entering the drawing-room; and he held his hot cheek to his wife.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is done, my duck. Kiss your old pet for working so well.&rdquo; But the

-      architect suddenly became virtuously indignant. He had just noticed that,

-      instead of studying her Scripture history, the child was reading the

-      &ldquo;Gazette de France,&rdquo; lying on the table.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Angèle,&rdquo; said he, severely, &ldquo;what are you doing? This morning, I crossed

-      out that article with a red pencil. You know very well that you are not to

-      read what is crossed out.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I was reading beside it, papa,&rdquo; replied the young girl.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      All the same, he took the paper away from her, complaining in low tones to

-      Octave of the demoralization of the press. That number contained the

-      report of another abominable crime. If families could no longer admit the

-      &ldquo;Gazette de France,&rdquo; then what paper could they take in? And he was

-      raising his eyes to heaven, when Lisa announced the Abbé Manduit.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes,&rdquo; observed Octave, &ldquo;he asked me to tell you he was coming.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The priest entered smiling. As the architect had forgotten to take off his

-      paper cross, he stammered in the presence of that smile. The Abbé Manduit

-      happened to be the person whose name was kept a secret and who had the

-      matter in hand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The ladies did it,&rdquo; murmured Campardon, preparing to take the cross off.

-      &ldquo;They are so fond of a joke.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no, keep it,&rdquo; exclaimed the priest, very amiably. &ldquo;It is well where

-      it is, and we will replace it by a more substantial one.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He at once asked after Rose's health, and greatly approved Gasparine's

-      coming to live with one of her relations. Single young ladies ran so many

-      risks in Paris! He said these things with all his good priest's unction,

-      though fully aware of the real state of affairs.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When the Abbé Manduit appeared, Octave had wished the Cam-pardons good

-      evening. As he crossed the ante-room, he heard Angèle's voice in the now

-      dark dining-room, she having also made her escape.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Was it about the butter that she was kicking up such a row?&rdquo; asked she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; answered another voice, which was Lisa's. &ldquo;She's as spiteful

-      as can be. You saw how she went on at me at dinner time. But I don't care

-      a fig! One must pretend to obey, with a person of that sort, but that

-      doesn't prevent our amusing ourselves all the same!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Angèle must have thrown her arms round Lisa's neck, for her voice

-      was drowned in the servant's bosom.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes. And, afterward, so much the worse! it's you I love!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was going up to bed, when a desire for fresh air brought him down

-      again. It was not more than ten o'clock, he would stroll as far as the

-      Palais-Royal. Now, he was single again: both Valérie and Madame Hédouin

-      had declined to have anything to do with his heart, and he had been too

-      hasty in restoring Marie to Jules, the only woman he had succeeded in

-      conquering, and without having done anything for it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      As he was placing his foot on the pavement, a woman's voice called to him;

-      and he recognized Berthe at the door of the silk warehouse, the shutters

-      of which were being put up by the porter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is it true, Monsieur Mouret?&rdquo; asked she, &ldquo;have you really left 'The

-      Ladies' Paradise?'&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He was surprised that it was already known in the neighborhood.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The young woman had called her husband. As he intended speaking to

-      Monsieur Mouret on the morrow, he might just as well do so then. And

-      Auguste abruptly offered Octave in a sour way a berth in his employ. The

-      young man, taken unawares, hesitated and was on the point of refusing,

-      thinking of the small importance of the house. But he caught sight of

-      Berthe's pretty face, as she smiled at him with her air of welcome, with

-      the gay glance he had already twice encountered, on the day of his arrival

-      and the day of the wedding.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! yes,&rdquo; said he resolutely.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER X.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEN, Octave found

-      himself brought into closer contact with the Duveyriers. Often, when

-      Madame Duveyrier returned from a walk, she would come through her

-      brother's shop, and stop to talk a minute with Berthe; and, the first time

-      that she saw the young man behind one of the counters, she amiably

-      reproached him for not keeping his word, reminding him of his

-      long-standing promise to come and see her one evening, and try his voice

-      at the piano. She wished to give a second performance of the &ldquo;Benediction

-      of the Daggers,&rdquo; at one of her first Saturdays at home of the coming

-      winter, but with two extra tenors, something very complete.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If it does not interfere with your arrangements,&rdquo; said Berthe one day to

-      Octave, &ldquo;you might go up to my sister-in-law's after dinner. She is

-      expecting you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She maintained toward him the attitude of a mistress, simply polite.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The fact is,&rdquo; he observed, &ldquo;I intended arranging these shelves this

-      evening.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not trouble about them,&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;there are plenty of people here

-      to do that. I give you your evening.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Toward nine o'clock, Octave found Madame Duveyrier awaiting him in her

-      grand white and gold drawing-room. Everything was ready, the piano open,

-      the candles lit. A lamp placed on a small round table beside the

-      instrument only imperfectly lighted the room, one half of which remained

-      in shadow. Seeing the young woman alone, he thought it proper to ask after

-      Monsieur Duveyrier. She replied that he was very well; his colleagues had

-      selected him to report on a very grave affair, and he had just gone out to

-      obtain certain information respecting it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know; the affair of the Rue de Provence,&rdquo; said she simply.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! he has that in hand!&rdquo; exclaimed Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was a scandal which was the talk of all Paris, quite a clandestine

-      prostitution, young girls of fourteen procured for high personages.

-      Clotilde added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, it gives him a great deal of work. For a fortnight past all of his

-      evenings have been taken up with it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No doubt! for he too has the cure of souls,&rdquo; murmured he, embarrassed by

-      her clear glance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! sir, shall we begin?&rdquo; resumed she. &ldquo;You will excuse my importunity,

-      will you not? And open your lungs, display all your powers, as Monsieur

-      Duveyrier is not here. You, perhaps, heard him boast that he did not like

-      music.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She put such contempt into the words, that he thought it right to risk a

-      faint laugh. Moreover, it was the sole bitter feeling which at times

-      escaped her before other people with respect to her husband, when

-      exasperated by his jokes on her piano, she who was strong enough to hide

-      the hatred and the physical repulsion with which he inspired her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How can one help liking music?&rdquo; remarked Octave with an air of ecstasy,

-      so as to make himself agreeable.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then she seated herself on the music-stool. A collection of old tunes was

-      open on the piano. She had already selected an air out of &ldquo;Zémire and

-      Azor,&rdquo; by Grétry. As the young man could only just manage to read his

-      notes, she made him go through it first in a low voice. Then she played

-      the prelude, and he sang the first verse.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Perfect!&rdquo; cried she with delight, &ldquo;a tenor, there is not the least doubt

-      of it, a tenor! Pray continue, sir.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, feeling highly flattered, gave out the two other verses. She was

-      beaming. For three years past she had been seeking for one! And she told

-      him of all her vexations, Monsieur Trublot, for instance; for it was a

-      fact, the causes of which were worth studying, that there were no longer

-      any tenors among the young men of society: no doubt it was owing to

-      tobacco.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Be careful, now!&rdquo; resumed she, &ldquo;we must put some expression into it.

-      Begin it boldly.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her cold face assumed a languid expression, her eyes turned toward him

-      with an expiring air. Thinking that she was warming, he became more

-      animated also, and considered her charming.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will get along very well,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Only, accentuate the time more.

-      See, like this.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she herself sang, repeating quite twenty times: &ldquo;More trembling than

-      you,&rdquo; bringing out the notes with the rigor of a sinless woman, whose

-      passion for music was not more than skin deep in her mechanism. Her voice

-      rose little by little, filling the room with shrill cries, when they both

-      suddenly heard some one exclaiming loudly behind their backs:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame! madame!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She started, and, recognizing her maid Clémence, exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? what?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame, your father has fallen with his face in his papers, and he

-      doesn't move. We are so frightened.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, without exactly understanding, and greatly surprised, she quitted

-      the piano and followed Clémence. Octave, who was uncertain whether to

-      accompany her, remained walking about the drawing-room. However, after a

-      few minutes of hesitation and embarrassment, as he heard people rushing

-      about and calling out distractedly, he made up his mind, and, crossing a

-      room that was in darkness, he found himself in Monsieur Vabre's

-      bedchamber.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He is in a fit,&rdquo; said Octave. &ldquo;He must not be left there. We must get him

-      onto his bed.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0227.jpg" alt="0227 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0227.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      But Madame Duveyrier was losing her head. Emotion was little by little

-      seizing upon her cold nature. She kept repeating:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you think so? do you think so? O good heavens! O my poor father!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hippolyte, a prey to an uneasy feeling, to a visible repugnance to touch

-      the old man, who might go off in his arms, did not hurry himself. Octave

-      had to call to him to help. Between them they laid him on the bed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Bring some warm water!&rdquo; resumed the young man, addressing Julie. &ldquo;Wipe

-      his face.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Now, Clotilde became angry with her husband. Ought he to have been away?

-      What would become of her if anything happened?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;To leave me alone like this!&rdquo; continued Clotilde. &ldquo;I don't know, but

-      there must be all sorts of affairs to settle. O my poor father!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Would you like me to inform the other members of the family?&rdquo; asked

-      Octave. &ldquo;I can fetch your brothers. It would be prudent.&rdquo; She did not

-      answer. Two big tears swelled her eyes, whilst Julie and Clémence tried to

-      undress the old man.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; observed Clémence, &ldquo;one side of him is already quite cold.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This increased Madame Duveyrier's anger. She no longer spoke, for fear of

-      saying too much before the servants. Her husband did not, apparently, care

-      a button for their interests! Had she only been acquainted with the law!

-      And she could not remain still; she kept walking up and down before the

-      bed. Octave, whose attention was diverted by the sight of the tickets,

-      looked at the formidable apparatus which covered the table; it was a big

-      oak box, filled with a series of cardboard tickets, scrupulously sorted,

-      the stupid work of a lifetime. Just as he was reading on one of these

-      tickets: &ldquo;'Isidore Charbotel;' 'Exhibition of 1857,' 'Atalanta;'

-      'Exhibition of 1859,' 'The Lion of Androcles;' 'Exhibition of 1861,'

-      'Portrait of Monsieur P&mdash;&mdash;-,'&rdquo; Clotilde went and stood before

-      him and said resolutely, in a low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go and fetch him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as he evinced his surprise, she seemed, with a shrug of her

-      shoulders, to cast off the story about the report of the affair of the Rue

-      dc Provence, one of those eternal pretexts which she invented for her

-      acquaintances. She let out everything in her emotion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know, Rue de la Cerisaie. All our friends know it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He wished to protest.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I assure you, madame&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not stand up for him!&rdquo; resumed she. &ldquo;I am only too pleased; he can

-      stay there. Ah! good heavens! if it were not for my poor father!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave bowed. Julie was wiping Monsieur Vabre's eye with the corner of a

-      towel; but the ink had dried, and the smudge remained in the skin, which

-      was marked with livid streaks. Madame Duvey-rier told her not to rub so

-      hard; then she returned to the young man, who was already at the door.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Not a word to any one,&rdquo; murmured she. &ldquo;It is needless to upset the house.

-      Take a cab, call there, and bring him back in spite of everything.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When he had gone, she sank onto a chair beside the patient's pillow. He

-      had not recovered consciousness; his breathing alone, a deep and painful

-      breathing, troubled the mournful silence of the chamber. Then, the doctor

-      not arriving, finding herself alone with the two servants, who stood by

-      with frightened looks, she burst out into a terrible fit of sobbing, in a

-      paroxysm of deep grief.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was at the Café Anglais that uncle Bachelard had invited Duveyrier to

-      dine, without any one knowing why, perhaps for the pleasure of treating a

-      counselor, and of showing him that tradespeople knew how to spend their

-      money. He had also invited Trublot and Gueulin&mdash;four men and no women&mdash;for

-      women do not know how to eat; they interfere with the truffles, and spoil

-      digestion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Drink away! drink away, sir!&rdquo; he kept saying to Duveyrier; &ldquo;when wines

-      are good they never intoxicate. It's the same with food; it never does one

-      harm so long as it's delicate.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0231.jpg" alt="0231 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0231.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      He, however, was careful. On this occasion he was posing for the

-      gentleman, shaved and brushed up, and with a rose in his buttonhole,

-      restraining himself from breaking the crockery, which he was in the habit

-      of doing. Trublot and Gueulin eat of everything. The uncle's theory seemed

-      the right one, for Duveyrier, who suffered a great deal from his stomach,

-      had drank considerably, and had returned to the crayfish salad, without

-      feeling the least indisposed, the red blotches on his face merely assuming

-      a purple hue.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, when the coffee had been served, with some liquors and cigars, and

-      all the attendants had withdrawn, uncle Bachelard suddenly leaned back in

-      his chair and heaved a sigh of satisfaction.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; declared he, &ldquo;one is comfortable.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot and Gueulin, also leaning back in their chairs, opened their arms.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Completely!&rdquo; said the one.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Up to the eyes!&rdquo; added the other.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier, who was puffing, nodded his head, and murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! the crayfish!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      All four looked at each other and chuckled. Their skins were well-nigh

-      bursting, and they were digesting in the slow and selfish way of four

-      worthy citizens who had just had a tuckout away from the worries of their

-      families. It had cost a great deal; no one had partaken of it with them;

-      there was no girl there to take advantage of their emotion; and they

-      unbuttoned their waistcoats, and laid their stomachs as it were on the

-      table. With eyes half-closed, they even avoided speaking at first, each

-      one absorbed in his solitary pleasure. Then, free and easy, and whilst

-      congratulating themselves that there were no women present, they placed

-      their elbows on the table, and, with their excited faces close together,

-      they did nothing but talk incessantly of them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;As for myself, I am disabused,&rdquo; declared uncle Bachelard. &ldquo;It is after

-      all far preferable to be virtuous.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This conversation tickled Duveyrier's fancy. He was sipping kummel, whilst

-      sharp twinges of sensuality kept shooting across his stiff, magisterial

-      face.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;For my part,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I cannot bear vice. It shocks me. Now, to be able

-      to love a woman, one must esteem her, is it not so? Love could not have a

-      nobler mission. In short, a virtuous mistress, you understand me? Then, I

-      do not deny I might succumb.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Virtuous mistresses! but I have had no end of them!&rdquo; cried Bachelard.

-      &ldquo;They are a far greater nuisance than the others; and such sluts too!

-      Wenches who, behind your back, lead a life fit to give you every possible

-      ailment! Take, for instance, my last, a very respectable-looking little

-      lady, whom I met at a church door. I set her up in business at Les Ternes

-      as a milliner, just to give her a position. She never had a single

-      customer, though. Well, sir, believe me or not as you like, but she had

-      the whole street to sleep with her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin was chuckling, whilst his carroty hair bristled more than usual,

-      and his forehead was bathed in perspiration from the heat of the candles.

-      He murmured, as he sucked his cigar:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And the other, the tall one at Passy, who had a sweet-stuff shop. And the

-      other, she who had a room over there, with her outfits for orphan

-      children. And the other, the captain's widow, you surely remember her! she

-      used to show the mark of a sword-thrust on her body. All, uncle, all of

-      them played the fool with you! Now, I may tell you, may I not? Well! I had

-      to defend myself one night against the one with the sword-thrust. She

-      wanted to, but I was not such a fool! One never knows what such women may

-      lead a man to!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard seemed annoyed. He recovered his good humor, however, and,

-      blinking his heavy eyelids, said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My little fellow, you can have them all; I have something far better.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he refused to explain himself further, delighted at having awakened

-      the others' curiosity. Yet he was burning to be indiscreet, to let them

-      imagine what a treasure he possessed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A young girl,&rdquo; said he at length, &ldquo;and a genuine one, on my word of

-      honor.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; cried Trublot, &ldquo;Such things no longer exist.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of good family!&rdquo; asked Duveyrier.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of most excellent family,&rdquo; affirmed the uncle. &ldquo;Imagine something

-      stupidly chaste. A mere chance. She submitted quite innocently. She has no

-      idea of anything even now.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin listened to him in surprise; then, making a skeptical gesture,

-      murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes, I know.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What? you know!&rdquo; said Bachelard angrily. &ldquo;You know nothing at all, my

-      little fellow; no one knows anything. She is for yours truly. She is

-      neither to be seen nor touched. Hands off!&rdquo; And, turning to Duveyrier, he

-      added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will understand, sir, you who have feeling. It affects me so much

-      going there, that when I come away I feel quite young again. In short, it

-      is a cozy little nook for me, where I can recruit myself after all those

-      hussies. And, if you only knew, she is so polite and so fresh, with a skin

-      like a flower, and a figure not in the least thin, sir, but as round and

-      firm as a peach!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The counselor's red blotches were almost bleeding through the rush of

-      blood to his face. Trublot and Gueulin looked at the uncle; and they felt

-      a desire to slap him as they beheld him with his set of false teeth, which

-      were too white, and at the corners of which the saliva trickled.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard became quite tender-hearted, and resumed, licking the brim of

-      his liquor glass with the tip of his tongue:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;After all, my sole dream is to make the child happy! But there, my

-      pot-belly tells me I am getting old; I'm like a father to her. I give you

-      my word! if I found a very good young fellow, I'd give her to him, oh! in

-      marriage, not otherwise.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You would make two happy ones,&rdquo; murmured Duveyrier sentimentally.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was almost stifling in the small apartment. A glass of chartreuse that

-      had been upset had made the tablecloth all sticky, and it was also covered

-      with cigar-ash. The gentlemen were in want of some fresh air.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Would you like to see her?&rdquo; abruptly asked the uncle, rising from his

-      seat.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They consulted one another with a glance. Well, yes, they were willing, if

-      it could afford him any pleasure; and their affected indifference hid a

-      gluttonous satisfaction at the thought of going and finishing their

-      dessert with the old fellow's little one.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Let's get along, uncle! Which is the way?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard became quite grave again, tortured by his ridiculously vain

-      longing to exhibit Fifi, and by his terror of being robbed of her. For a

-      moment he looked to the left, then to the right, in an anxious way. At

-      length he boldly said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! no, I won't.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he obstinately adhered to his determination, without caring a straw

-      for Trublot's chaff, nor even deigning to explain by some pretext his

-      sudden change of mind. They therefore had to turn their steps in

-      Clarisse's direction. As it was a splendid evening, they decided to walk

-      all the way, with the hygienic idea of hastening their digestion. Then

-      they started off down the Rue de Richelieu, pretty steady on their legs,

-      but so full that they considered the pavements far too narrow.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The house in the Rue de la Cerisaie seemed asleep amidst the solitude and

-      the silence of the street. Duveyrier was surprised at not seeing any

-      lights in the third-floor windows. Trublot said, with a serious air, that

-      Clarisse had no doubt gone to bed to wait for them; or perhaps, Gueulin

-      added, she was playing a game of bézique in the kitchen with her maid.

-      They knocked. The gas on the staircase was burning with the straight and

-      immovable flame of a lamp in some chapel. Not a sound, not a breath. But,

-      as the four men passed before the room of the doorkeeper, the latter

-      hastily came out.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Sir, sir, the key!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier stood stock-still on the first step.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is madame not there, then?&rdquo; asked he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, sir. And, wait a moment, you must take a candle with you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As he handed him the candlestick, the doorkeeper allowed quite a chuckle

-      of ferocious and vulgar jocosity to pierce through the exaggerated respect

-      depicted on his pallid countenance. Neither of the two young men nor the

-      uncle had said a word. It was in the midst of this silence, and with bent

-      backs, that they ascended the stairs in single file, the interminable

-      noise of their footsteps resounding up each mournful flight. At their

-      head, Duveyrier, who was puzzling himself trying to understand, lifted his

-      feet with the mechanical movement of a somnambulist; and the candle, which

-      he held with a trembling hand, cast their four shadows on the wall,

-      resembling in their strange ascent a procession of broken puppets.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On the third floor, a faintness came over him, and he was quite unable to

-      find the key-hole. Trublot did him the service of opening the door. The

-      key turned in the lock with a sonorous and reverberating noise, as though

-      beneath the vaulted roof of some cathedral.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Jupiter!&rdquo; murmured he, &ldquo;it doesn't seem as if the place was inhabited.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It sounds empty,&rdquo; said Bachelard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A little family vault,&rdquo; added Gueulin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They entered. Duveyrier passed first, holding high the candle. The

-      ante-room was empty, even the hat-pegs had disappeared. The drawing-room

-      and the parlor were also empty: not a stick of furniture, not a curtain at

-      the windows, not even a brass rod. Duveyrier stood as one petrified, first

-      looking down at his feet, then raising his eyes to the ceiling, and then

-      searchingly gazing at the walls, as though he had been seeking the hole

-      through which everything had disappeared.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What a clear out!&rdquo; Trublot could not help exclaiming.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Perhaps the place is going to be done up,&rdquo; observed Gueulin, without as

-      much as a smile. &ldquo;Let us see the bed-room. The furniture may have been

-      moved in there.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But the bed-room was also bare, with that ugly and chilly bareness of

-      plaster walls from which the paper has been torn off. Where the bedstead

-      had stood, the iron supports of the canopy, also removed, left gaping

-      holes; and, one of the windows having been left partly open, the air from

-      the street filled the apartment with the humidity and the unsavoriness of

-      a public square.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My God! my God!&rdquo; stuttered Duveyrier, at length able to weep, unnerved by

-      the sight of the place where the friction of the mattresses had rubbed the

-      paper off the wall.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Uncle Bachelard became quite paternal.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Courage, sir!&rdquo; he kept repeating. &ldquo;The same thing happened to me, and I

-      did not die of it. Honor is safe, damn it all!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The counselor shook his head, and went into the dressing-room, and then

-      into the kitchen. The evidence of the disaster increased. The piece of

-      American cloth behind the washstand in the dressing-room had been taken

-      down, and the hooks had been removed from the kitchen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, that is too much, it is pure capriciousness!&rdquo; said Gueulin, in

-      amazement. &ldquo;She might have left the hooks.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I can't stand this any longer, you know,&rdquo; Trublot ended by declaring, as

-      they visited the drawing-room for the third time.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Really! I would give ten sous for a chair.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      All four came to a halt, standing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;When did you see her last?&rdquo; asked Bachelard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yesterday, sir!&rdquo; exclaimed Duveyrier.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin wagged his head. By Jove! it had not taken long, it had been

-      neatly done. But Trublot uttered an exclamation. He had just caught sight

-      of a dirty collar and a damaged cigar on the mantelpiece.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not complain,&rdquo; said he, laughing, &ldquo;she has left you a keepsake. It is

-      always something.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier looked at the collar with sudden emotion. Then he murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Twenty-five thousand francs' worth of furniture, there was twenty-five

-      thousand francs' worth! Well! no, no, it is not that which I regret!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will not have the cigar?&rdquo; interrupted Trublot. &ldquo;Then, allow me to. It

-      has a hole in it, but I can stick a cigarette paper over that.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He lighted it at the candle which the counselor was still holding, and,

-      letting himself drop down against the wall, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So much the worse! I must sit down a while on the floor. My legs will not

-      bear me any longer.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I beg of you,&rdquo; at length said Duveyrier, &ldquo;to explain to me where she can

-      possibly be.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard and Gueulin looked at each other. It was a delicate matter.

-      However, the uncle came to a manly decision, and he told the poor fellow

-      everything, all Clarisse's goings-on, her continual escapades, the lovers

-      she picked up behind his back, at each of their parties. She had no doubt

-      gone off with the last one, big Payan, that mason of whom a Southern town

-      wished to make an artist. Duveyrier listened to the abominable story with

-      an expression of horror. He allowed this cry of despair to escape him:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There is, then, no honesty left on earth!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And suddenly opening his heart, he told them all he had done for her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Leave her alone!&rdquo; exclaimed Bachelard, delighted with the counselor's

-      misfortune, &ldquo;she will humbug you again. There is nothing like virtue,

-      understand! It is far better to take a little one devoid of malice, as

-      innocent as the child just born. Then, there is no danger, one may sleep

-      in peace.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot meanwhile was smoking, leaning against the wall with his legs

-      stretched out. He was gravely reposing, the others had forgotten him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If you particularly want it, I can find the address for you,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I

-      know the maid.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier turned round, surprised at that voice which seemed to issue from

-      the boards; and, when he beheld him smoking all that remained of Clarisse,

-      puffing big clouds of smoke, in which he fancied he beheld the twenty-five

-      thousand francs' worth of furniture evaporating, he made an angry gesture

-      and replied:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, she is unworthy of me. She must beg my pardon on her knees.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo! here she is coming back!&rdquo; said Gueulin, listening.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And some one was indeed walking in the ante-room, whilst a voice said:

-      &ldquo;Well! what's up? is every one dead?&rdquo; And Octave appeared. He was quite

-      bewildered by the open doors and the empty rooms. But his amazement

-      increased still more when he beheld the four men in the midst of the

-      denuded drawing-room, one sitting on the floor, and the other three

-      standing up, and only lighted by the meager candle which the counselor was

-      holding, like a taper at church. A few words sufficed to inform him of

-      what had occurred.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It isn't possible!&rdquo; cried he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Did they not tell you anything, then, down-stairs?&rdquo; asked Gueulin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, nothing at all; the doorkeeper quietly watched me come up. Ah! so

-      she's gone! It does not surprise me. She had such queer hair and eyes!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He asked some particulars, and stood talking a minute, forgetful of the

-      sad news which he had brought. Then, turning abruptly toward Duveyrier, he

-      said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;By the way, it's your wife who sent me to fetch you. Your father-in-law

-      is dying.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; simply observed the counselor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Old Vabre!&rdquo; murmured Bachelard. &ldquo;I expected as much.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pooh! when one gets to the end of one's reel!&rdquo; remarked Gueulin,

-      philosophically.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, it's best to take one's departure,&rdquo; added Trublot, in the act of

-      sticking a second cigarette paper round his cigar.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The gentlemen at length decided to leave the empty apartment. Octave

-      repeated he had given his word of honor that he would bring Duveyrier back

-      with him at once, no matter what state he was in. The latter carefully

-      shut the door, as though he had left his dead affections there; but,

-      down-stairs, he was overcome with shame, and Trublot had to return the key

-      to the doorkeeper. Then, outside on the pavement, there was a silent

-      exchange of hearty hand-shakes; and, directly the cab had driven off with

-      Octave and Duveyrier, Uncle Bachelard said to Gueulin and Trublot, as they

-      stood in the deserted street:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Jove's thunder! I must show her to you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      For a minute past he had been stamping about, greatly excited by the

-      despair of that big noodle of a counselor, bursting with his own

-      happiness, with that happiness which he considered due to his own deep

-      malice, and which he could no longer contain.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know, uncle,&rdquo; said Gueulin, &ldquo;if it's only to take us as far as the

-      door again, and then to leave us&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, Jove's thunder! you shall see her. It will please me. True, it's

-      nearly midnight, but she shall get up if she's in bed. You know, she's the

-      daughter of a captain, Captain Menu, and she has a very respectable aunt,

-      born at Villeneuve, near Lille, on my word of honor! Messieurs Mardienne

-      Brothers, of the Rue Saint-Sulpice, will give her a character. Ah! Jove's

-      thunder! we're in need of it; you'll see what virtue is!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he took hold of their arms, Gueulin on his right, Trublot on his left,

-      putting his best foot forward as he started off in quest of a cab, to

-      arrive there the sooner.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile Octave briefly related to the counselor all he knew of Monsieur

-      Vabre's attack, without hiding that Madame Duveyrier was acquainted with

-      the address of the Rue de la Cerraise. After a pause, the counselor asked,

-      in a doleful voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you think she will forgive me?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave remained silent. The cab continued to roll along, in the obscurity

-      lighted up every now and then by a ray from a gas-lamp. Just as they were

-      reaching their destination Duveyrier, tortured with anxiety, put another

-      question:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The best thing for me to do for the present is to make it up with my

-      wife; do you not think so?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It would, perhaps, be wise,&rdquo; replied the young man, obliged to answer.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, Duveyrier felt the necessity of regretting his father-in-law. He was

-      a man of great intelligence, with an incredible capacity for work.

-      However, they would, very likely, be able to set him on his legs again. In

-      the Rue de Choiseul, they found the street-door open, and quite a group

-      gathered before Monsieur Gourd's room. But they held their tongues,

-      directly they caught sight of Duveyrier.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; inquired the latter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The doctor is applying mustard poultices to Monsieur Vabre,&rdquo; replied

-      Hippolyte. &ldquo;Oh! I had such difficulty to find him!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Up-stairs in the drawing-room, Madame Duveyrier came forward to meet them.

-      She had cried a great deal, her eyes sparkled beneath the swollen lids.

-      The counselor, full of embarrassment, opened his arms; and he embraced her

-      as he murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My poor Clotilde!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Surprised at this unusual display of affection, she drew back. Octave had

-      kept behind; but he heard the husband add, in a low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Forgive me, let us forget our grievances on this said occasion. You see,

-      I have come back to you, and for always. Ah! I am well punished!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She did not reply, but disengaged herself. Then, resuming in Octave's

-      presence her attitude of a woman who desires to ignore everything, she

-      said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I should not have disturbed you, my dear, for I know how important that

-      inquiry respect the Rue de Provence is. But I was all alone, I felt that

-      your presence was necessary. My poor father is lost. Go and see him: you

-      will find the doctor there.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When Duveyrier had gone into the next room, she drew near to Octave, who,

-      so as not to appear to be listening to them, was standing in front of the

-      piano.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Was he there?&rdquo; asked she briefly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, madame.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, what has happened? what is the matter with him?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The person has left him, madame, and taken all the furniture away with

-      her. I found him with nothing but a candle between the bare walls.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Clothilde made a gesture of despair. She understood. An expression of

-      repugnance and discouragement appeared on her beautiful face. It was not

-      enough that she had lost her father, it seemed as though this misfortune

-      was also to serve as a pretext for a reconciliation with her husband! She

-      knew him well, he would be forever after her, now that there would be

-      nothing elsewhere to protect her; and, in her respect for every duty, she

-      trembled at the thought that she would be unable to refuse to submit to

-      the abominable service. For an instant, she looked at the piano. Bitter

-      tears came to her eyes, as she simply said to Octave:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Thank you, sir.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They both passed in turn into Monsieur Vabre's bed-chamber. Duveyrier,

-      looking very pale, was listening to Doctor Juillerat, who was giving him

-      some explanations in a low voice. It was an attack of serous apoplexy; the

-      patient might last till the morrow, but there was not the slightest hope

-      of his recovery. Clotilde just at that moment entered the room; she heard

-      this giving over of the patient, and dropped into a chair, wiping her eyes

-      with her handkerchief, already soaked with tears, and twisted up, and

-      almost reduced to a pulp. She, however, found strength to ask the doctor

-      if her poor father would recover consciousness. The doctor had his doubts;

-      and, as though he had penetrated the object of the question, he expressed

-      the hope that Monsieur Vabre had long since put his affairs in order.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I presume the family knows what has happened,&rdquo; said Doctor Juillerat.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! no,&rdquo; murmured Clotilde. &ldquo;I received such a shock! My first thought

-      was to send Monsieur Mouret for my husband.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier gave her another glance. Now they understood each other. He

-      slowly approached the bed, and examined Monsieur Vabre, stretched out in

-      his corpse-like stiffness, and whose immovable face was streaked with

-      yellow blotches. One o'clock struck. The doctor talked of withdrawing, for

-      he had tried all the usual remedies, and could do nothing more. He would

-      call again early on the morrow. At length, he was going off with Octave,

-      when Madame Duveyrier called the latter back.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We will wait till to-morrow,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;you can send Berthe to me under

-      some pretext; I will also get Valérie to come, and they shall break the

-      news to my brothers. Ah! poor things, let them sleep in peace this night!

-      There is quite enough with our having to watch in tears.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she and her husband remained alone with the old man, whose death

-      rattle chilled the chamber.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER XI.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Octave went

-      down on the morrow at eight o'clock, he was greatly surprised to find the

-      entire house acquainted with the attack of the night before, and the

-      desperate condition of the landlord. The house, however, was not concerned

-      about the patient: it was solely interested in what he would leave behind

-      him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The Pichons were seated before some basins of chocolate in their little

-      dining-room. Jules called Octave in.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I say, what a fuss there will be if he dies like that! We shall see

-      something funny. Do you know if he has made a will?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young man, without answering, asked them where they had heard the

-      news. Marie had learnt it at the baker's; moreover, it crept from story to

-      story, and even to the end of the street by means of the servants. Then,

-      after slapping Lilitte, who was soaking her fingers in her chocolate, the

-      young woman observed in her turn:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! all that money! If he only thought of leaving us as many sous as

-      there are five franc pieces. But there is no fear of that!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as Octave took his departure, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have finished your books, Monsieur Mouret. Will you please take them

-      when convenient?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He was hastening down-stairs, feeling anxious, as he recollected having

-      promised Madame Duveyrier to send Berthe to her before anything was known

-      of the matter, when, on the third floor, he came in contact with

-      Campardon, who was going out.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said the latter, &ldquo;so your employer is coming in for something. I

-      have heard that the old fellow has close upon six hundred thousand francs,

-      besides this property. You see, he spent nothing at the Duveyriers', and

-      he had a good deal left of what he brought from Versailles, without

-      counting the twenty and odd thousand francs received in rent from the

-      house. Eh? it is a fine cake to share, when there are only three to

-      partake of it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Whilst talking thus, he continued to go down behind Octave. But, on the

-      second floor, they met Madame Juzeur, who was returning from seeing what

-      her little maid, Louise, could be doing of a morning, taking over an hour

-      to fetch four sous' worth of milk. She entered naturally into the

-      conversation, being very well informed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is not known how he has settled his affairs,&rdquo; murmured she in her

-      gentle way. &ldquo;There will perhaps be some bother.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah, well!&rdquo; said the architect, gayly, &ldquo;I should like to be in their

-      shoes. It would not take long. One makes three equal shares, each takes

-      his own, and there you are!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Juzeur leant over the balusters, then raised her head, and made

-      sure that no one else was on the stairs. At length, lowering her voice,

-      she observed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And if they did not find what they expected? There are rumors about.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The architect opened his eyes wide with amazement. Then he shrugged his

-      shoulders. Pooh! mere gossip! Old Vabre was a miser who hid his savings in

-      worsted stockings. And he went off, as he had an appointment at Saint-Roch

-      with the Abbé Manduit.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My wife complains of you,&rdquo; said he to Octave, looking back, after going

-      down three stairs. &ldquo;Call in and have a chat with her now and then.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Juzeur detained the young man a moment.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And I, how you neglect me! I thought you loved me a little. When you

-      come, I will let you taste a liquor from the West Indies, oh! something

-      delicious!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave at length entered the warehouse. The first person he beheld, seated

-      at the cashier's desk, was Madame Josserand under arms, polished up and

-      laced, and her hair already done. Close beside her, Berthe, who had no

-      doubt come down in haste, in the charming deshabille of a dressing-gown,

-      appeared to be very excited. But they stopped talking on catching sight of

-      him, and the mother looked at him with a terrible eye.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So, sir,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;it is thus that you love the firm? You enter into

-      the plots of my daughter's enemies.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He wished to defend himself, and state the facts of the case. But she

-      prevented him from speaking, she accused him of having spent the night

-      with the Duveyriers, looking for the will, to insert all sorts of things

-      in it. And, as he laughed, asking what interest he could have had in doing

-      such a thing, she resumed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Your own interest, your own interest. In short! sir, you should have

-      hastened to inform us, as God was good enough to make you a witness of the

-      occurrence. When one thinks that, had it not been for me, my daughter

-      might still have been in ignorance of it! Yes, she would have been

-      despoiled, had I not run down-stairs the moment I heard the news. Eh! your

-      interest, your interest, sir, who knows? Though Madame Duveyrier is very

-      faded, yet some people, not over particular, may still find her good

-      enough, perhaps.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! mamma!&rdquo; said Berthe, &ldquo;Clotilde, who is so virtuous!&rdquo; But Madame

-      Josserand shrugged her shoulders pityingly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pooh! you know very well people will do anything for money!&rdquo; Octave was

-      obliged to relate to them all the circumstances of the attack. They

-      exchanged glances: as the mother said, there had evidently been maneuvers.

-      Clotilde was really too kind to wish to spare her relations' emotions!

-      However, they let the young man start on his work, though still having

-      their doubts as to his conduct in the matter. Their lively explanation

-      continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And who will pay the fifty thousand francs agreed upon in the contract?&rdquo;

-       said Madame Josserand. &ldquo;We are not likely to see a single one of them when

-      he is dead and buried.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! the fifty thousand francs!&rdquo; murmured Berthe, in an embarrassed way.

-      &ldquo;You know he only agreed, as we did, to pay ten thousand francs every six

-      months. The time is not up yet; the best thing is to wait.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Wait! wait till he comes back and brings them to you, I suppose! You

-      great blockhead, do you want to be robbed? No, no! you must demand them at

-      once out of the estate. As for us, we are still alive, thank goodness! It

-      is not known whether we shall pay or not; but with him it is another

-      thing; as he is dead, he must pay.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she made her daughter swear not to yield, for she had never given any

-      one the right to take her for a fool.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go up too!&rdquo; she ended by exclaiming, in a cry from her heart: &ldquo;Auguste is

-      too weak; they are sure to be taking him in again!&rdquo; Then Berthe went off

-      up-stairs. Octave, who was arranging the display in the window, had

-      listened to what they said. When he found himself alone with Madame

-      Josserand, and saw her moving in the direction of the door, he asked her,

-      in the hope of a holiday, whether it would not be proper to close the

-      warehouse.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Whatever for?&rdquo; inquired she. &ldquo;Wait till he is dead. It is not worth while

-      losing a day's sale.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, as he folded a remnant of poppy-colored silk, she added, to soften

-      the harshness of her words:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Only, you may as well, I think, not put any red in the window.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Up on the first floor, Berthe found Auguste with his father. The room had

-      in no way changed since the day before; it was still dampish and silent,

-      save for the same long and painful death-rattle. The old man on the bed

-      continued perfectly rigid, in a complete annihilation of all feeling and

-      movement.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! my dear, what a frightful visitation!&rdquo; said Clotilde, going up to and

-      embracing Berthe.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why not have informed us of it?&rdquo; asked the latter, with her mother's

-      affected pout. &ldquo;We were there to help you to bear it.&rdquo; Auguste, with a

-      glance, begged her to keep silent. The moment for quarreling had not

-      arrived. They could wait. Doctor Juillerat, who had already been once, was

-      to call again; but he still gave no hope; the patient would not live

-      through the day. Auguste was informing his wife of this, when Théophile

-      and Valérie entered in their turn. Clotilde at once advanced to meet them,

-      and repeated, as she embraced Valérie:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What a frightful visitation, my dear!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Théophile was in a state of great excitement. &ldquo;So, now,&rdquo; said he,

-      without even lowering his voice, &ldquo;when one's father is dying one only

-      hears of it through the charcoal dealer. Did you, then, require time to

-      rifle his pockets?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier rose up indignantly. But Clotilde motioned him aside, whilst she

-      answered her brother very gently:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Unhappy man! is our father's death agony not even sacred to you? Look at

-      him; behold your work! yes, it is you who have brought him to this, by

-      refusing to pay your overdue rent.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Valérie burst out laughing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;you are not speaking seriously.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! not speaking seriously!&rdquo; resumed Clotilde, filled with indignation.

-      &ldquo;You know how much he liked to collect his rents. Had you really wished to

-      kill him, you could not have acted in a better way.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And they came to high words; they reciprocally accused one another of

-      wishing to lay hands on the estate, when Auguste, still sullen and calm,

-      requested them to recollect where they were.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Keep quiet! You have plenty of time. It is not decent at such a moment.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the others, admitting the justice of this observation, settled

-      themselves around the bed. A deep silence ensued; again nothing but the

-      death rattle was heard in the moist atmosphere of the room. Berthe and

-      Auguste were at the dying man's feet; Valérie and Théophile, being the

-      last comers, had been obliged to seat themselves at the table, some

-      distance off; whilst Clotilde was at the head of the bed, with her husband

-      behind her; and she had pushed her son Gustave, whom the old man adored,

-      close up against the edge of the mattresses. They now all looked at one

-      another, without exchanging a word. But the bright eyes, the

-      tightly-compressed lips, told of the hidden thoughts, the surmises full of

-      anxiety and irritation, which were passing in the pale-faced heads of

-      those next-of-kin, with their red and swollen eyelids. The sight of the

-      collegian, so close to the bed, especially exasperated the two young

-      couples; for it was self-evident that the Duveyriers were counting on

-      Gustave's presence to influence the grandfather's affections if he

-      recovered consciousness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Moreover, this maneuver was a proof that in all probability no will

-      existed; and the Vabres glanced covertly at the old iron safe which the

-      retired notary had brought with him from Versailles and had had fixed in

-      the wall of his bed-chamber. He had a mania for shutting up all sorts of

-      things inside it. No doubt the Duveyriers had hastened to ransack this

-      safe during the night. Théophile had the idea of laying a trap for them to

-      compel them to speak.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I say,&rdquo; he at length went and whispered in the counselor's ear, &ldquo;suppose

-      we send for the notary. Papa may wish to alter his will.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier did not at first hear. As he felt excessively bored in that

-      room, he had allowed his thoughts all through the night to revert to

-      Clarisse. The wisest thing would decidedly be to make it up with his wife;

-      but then the other was so funny, when she threw her chemise over her head,

-      with the gesture of a street-arab; and with his vague glance fixed on the

-      dying man, he still had visions of her, and would have given everything to

-      have had her with him again. Théophile was obliged to repeat his question.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have questioned Monsieur Renandin,&rdquo; at length answered the counselor in

-      a bewildered way. &ldquo;There is no will.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But here?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No more here than at the notary's.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Théophile looked at Auguste; was it not sufficiently evident? the

-      Duveyriers had searched everything. Clotilde saw the glance, and was

-      greatly irritated with her husband. What was the matter with him? was

-      grief sending him to sleep? And she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Papa has no doubt done what he thought right. We shall learn it only too

-      soon, heaven knows!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, the hours passed away. At eleven o'clock they had a diversion,

-      Doctor Juillerat again calling. The patient's condition was becoming worse

-      and worse, it was now even doubtful whether he would be able to recognize

-      his children before dying. And the sobbing started afresh when Clémence

-      announced the Abbe Mand-uit. Clotilde, who rose to meet him, was the first

-      to receive his consolations. He appeared to be deeply affected by the

-      family visitation; he had an encouraging word for each. Then, with much

-      tact, he talked of the rites of religion, insinuating that they should not

-      let that soul pass away without the succor of the Church.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I had thought of it,&rdquo; murmured Clotilde.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But Théophile raised objections. The father was not at all religious; he

-      had at one time very advanced ideas, for he was a reader of Voltaire's

-      works; in short, the best thing was to do nothing, as they were unable to

-      consult him. In the heat of the discussion, he even added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is as though you brought the sacrament to that piece of furniture.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The three women compelled him to leave off. They were all trembling with

-      emotion, and said that the priest was right, whilst they excused

-      themselves for not having sent for him before, through the confusion in

-      which the catastrophe had plunged them. Monsieur Vabre would certainly

-      have consented had he been able to speak, for he had a horror of acting

-      different to other people. Moreover, the ladies would take the

-      responsibility on their own shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It should be done, if only on account of the neighbors,&rdquo; repeated

-      Clotilde.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said the Abbé Manduit, who hastened to give his approval. &ldquo;A

-      man of your father's position should set a good example.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste had no opinion either way. But Duveyrier, aroused from his

-      recollections of Clarisse, whose way of putting on her stockings with one

-      leg in the air he was just then thinking of, energetically demanded the

-      sacraments. They were absolutely necessary; not a member of the family

-      should die without them. Doctor Juillerat, who had discreetly moved on one

-      side, hiding his freethinker's disdain, then went up to the priest, and

-      said familiarly to him, in a whisper, the same as to a colleague often

-      encountered under similar circumstances:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Be quick; you have no time to lose.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The priest hastened to take his departure. He announced that he would

-      bring the sacrament and the extreme unction, so as to be prepared for

-      every emergency. And Théophile, in his obstinacy, murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah, well! so dying people are now made to receive the communion in spite

-      of themselves!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But they all at once experienced a great emotion. On regaining her place,

-      Clotilde had found the dying man with his eyes wide open. She could not

-      repress a faint cry; the others hastened to the bedside; and the old

-      fellow's glance slowly wandered round the circle, without the least

-      movement of his head. Doctor Juillerat, with an air of surprise, came and

-      bent over his patient, to follow this last crisis.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Father, it is us; do you know us?&rdquo; asked Clotilde.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Vabre looked at her fixedly; then his lips moved, but not a sound

-      came from them. They were all pushing one another, wishing to secure his

-      last word. Valérie, who found herself right at the rear, and obliged

-      therefore to stand on tip-toe, said, harshly:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are stifling him. Do move away from him. If he desired anything, no

-      one would be able to know.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The others had to draw on one side. And Monsieur Vabre's eyes were indeed

-      looking round the room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He wants something, that is certain,&rdquo; murmured Berthe.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here's Gustave,&rdquo; said Clotilde. &ldquo;You see him, do you not? He has come

-      expressly from school to embrace you. Kiss your grandfather, my child.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As the youngster drew back, frightened, she kept him there with her arm,

-      whilst she waited a smile on the dying man's distorted features. But

-      Auguste, who had been watching his eyes, declared that he was looking at

-      the table; no doubt he wished to write. This caused quite a shock. All

-      tried to be first. They brought the table to the bedside, and fetched some

-      paper, an inkstand, and a pen. Then they raised him, propping him up with

-      three pillows. The doctor gave his consent to all this with a simple blink

-      of the eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Give him the pen,&rdquo; said Clotilde, quivering, and without leaving go of

-      Gustave, whom she continued to hold toward him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then came a solemn moment. The relations, pressed round the bed, awaited

-      anxiously. Monsieur Vabre, who did not appear to recognize any one, had

-      let the penholder drop from his fingers. For a moment his eyes wandered

-      over the table, on which was the oak box full of tickets. Then, slipping

-      from off his pillows, and falling forward like a piece of rag, he

-      stretched out his arm in a final effort, and, plunging his hand among the

-      tickets, he dabbled about in the happy manner of a baby playing with

-      something dirty. He brightened up, and wished to speak, but he could only

-      lisp one syllable, ever the same, one of those syllables into which brats

-      in swaddling-clothes put a whole host of sensations.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ga&mdash;ga&mdash;ga&mdash;ga&mdash;&mdash;-&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was to the work of his life, to his great statistical study, that he

-      was bidding good-bye. Suddenly his head rolled over. He was dead.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I expected as much,&rdquo; murmured the doctor, who, seeing how scared the

-      relations were, carefully laid him out, and closed his eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Was it possible? Auguste had removed the table; they all remained chilled

-      and dumb. Soon their sobs burst forth. Well! as there was nothing more to

-      hope for, they would manage all the same to share the fortune. And

-      Clotilde, after hastening to send Gustave away, to spare him the frightful

-      spectacle, gave free vent to her tears, her head leaning against Berthe,

-      who was sobbing the same as Valérie. Standing at the window, Théophile and

-      Auguste were roughly rubbing their eyes. But Duveyrier, especially,

-      exhibited a most extraordinary amount of grief, stifling heart-rending

-      sobs in his handkerchief. No, really, he could not live without Clarisse;

-      he would rather die at once, like the other one there; and the loss of his

-      mistress, coming in the midst of all this mourning, caused him immense

-      bitterness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; announced Clémence, &ldquo;here are the sacraments.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Abbé Manduit appeared on the threshold. Behind his shoulder, one caught a

-      glimpse of the face full of curiosity of a boy chorister. On beholding the

-      display of grief, the priest questioned the doctor with a glance, whilst

-      the latter extended his arms, as though to say it was not his fault. So,

-      after mumbling a few prayers, Abbé Mand uit withdrew with an air of

-      embarrassment, taking his paraphernalia along with him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is a bad sign,&rdquo; said Clémence to the other servants, standing in a

-      group at the door of the ante-room. &ldquo;The sacraments are not to be brought

-      for nothing. You will see they will be back in the house before another

-      year goes by.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Vabre's funeral did not take place till the day after the morrow.

-      Duveyrier, all the same, had inserted in the circulars announcing his

-      demise, the words, &ldquo;provided with the sacraments of the Church.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As the warehouse did not open on that day, Octave was free. This holiday

-      delighted him, as, for a long time past, he had wished to put his room

-      straight, alter the position of some of the furniture, and arrange his few

-      books in a little bookcase he had bought second-hand. He had risen earlier

-      than usual, and was just finishing what he was about toward eight o'clock

-      on the morning of the funeral, when Marie knocked at the door. She had

-      brought him back a heap of books.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;As you do not come for them,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I am delighted to take the

-      trouble to return them to you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But she blushingly refused to enter, shocked at the idea of being in a

-      young man's room. Their intimate relations had, moreover, completely

-      ceased, in quite a natural manner, because he had not returned to her. And

-      she remained quite as affectionate with him, always greeting him with a

-      smile whenever they met.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was very merry that morning. He wished to tease her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So it is Jules who won't let you come into my room?&rdquo; he kept saying. &ldquo;How

-      do you get on with Jules now? Is he amiable? Yes, you know what I mean.

-      Answer now!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She laughed, and was not at all scandalized.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, of course! whenever you take him out, you treat him to vermouth, and

-      tell him things which send him home like a madman. Oh I he is too amiable.

-      You know, I don't ask for so much. Still, I prefer it should take place at

-      home than elsewhere, that's very certain.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She became serious again, and added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here, I have brought you back your Balzac, I was not able to finish it.

-      It's too sad. That gentleman has nothing but disagreeable things to tell

-      one!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When Octave was dressed, he remembered his promise to go and see Madame

-      Campardon. He had two good hours to while away, the funeral being timed

-      for eleven o'clock, and he thought of utilizing his morning in making a

-      few calls in the house. Rose received him in bed: he apologized, fearing

-      that he disturbed her; but she herself called him in. They saw so little

-      of him, and she was so delighted at having some one to talk to.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! my dear child,&rdquo; declared she at once, &ldquo;it is I who ought to be below,

-      nailed up between four planks!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Yes, the landlord was very lucky, he had finished with existence. And

-      Octave, surprised at finding her a prey to such melancholy, asked her if

-      she felt worse.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, thank you. It is always the same. Only there are times when I have

-      had enough of it. Achille has been obliged to have a bed put up in his

-      work-room, because it annoyed me whenever he moved in the night. And you

-      know that Gasparine has yielded to our entreaties, and has left the

-      drapery establishment. I am very grateful to her, she nurses me so

-      tenderly! Ah! I could no longer live were it not for all these kind

-      affections around me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Just then, Gasparine, with her submissive air of a poor relation, fallen

-      to the rank of a servant, brought her a cup of coffee and some bread and

-      butter. She helped her to raise herself, propped her up against some

-      cushions, and served her on a little tray covered with a napkin. And Rose,

-      dressed in a little loose embroidered jacket, ate with a hearty appetite,

-      amidst the linen, edged with lace. She was quite fresh, looking younger

-      than ever, and very pretty, with her white skin, and short, fair, curly

-      hair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! the stomach is all right, it is not the stomach that is ailing,&rdquo; she

-      kept saying, as she soaked her slices of bread and butter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Two tears dropped into her coffee. Then Gasparine scolded her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If you cry, I shall call Achille. Are you not pleased? are you not

-      sitting there like a queen?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When Madame Campardon had finished, and she again found herself alone with

-      Octave, she was quite consoled. Out of coquetry, she again returned to the

-      subject of death, but with the gentle gayety of a woman idling away the

-      morning between her warm sheets. Well! she would go off all the same, when

-      her turn came; only, they were right, she was not unhappy, she could let

-      herself live; for, in point of fact, they spared her all the main cares of

-      life.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, as the young man rose to leave, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now, do try and come oftener? Amuse yourself well, don't let the funeral

-      make you too sad. One dies a trifle every day, the thing is to get used to

-      it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the little maid Louise who opened the door to Octave at Madame

-      Juzeur's, on the same landing. She ushered him into the drawing-room,

-      looked at him a moment as she laughed in her bewildered sort of way, and

-      then ended by stating that her mistress was just finishing dressing.

-      Madame Juzeur appeared almost at once, dressed in black, and looking

-      gentler and more refined than ever in her mourning.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I felt sure you would call this morning,&rdquo; sighed she with a weary air.

-      &ldquo;All night long I have been dreaming and seeing you. It is impossible to

-      sleep, you understand, with that corpse in the house!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she admitted that she had got up three times in the night to look

-      under the furniture.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But you should have called me!&rdquo; said the young man, gallantly. &ldquo;Two in a

-      bed are never frightened.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She assumed a charming air of shame.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hold your tongue, it's naughty!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she held her open hand over his lips. He was naturally obliged to kiss

-      it. Then she spread the fingers out, laughing the while as though being

-      tickled. But he, excited by this play, sought to push matters farther. He

-      had caught hold of her, and was pressing her against his breast, without

-      her making the least attempt to free herself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In her determination there was a sort of jesuitical reserve, a fear of the

-      confessional, a certainty of having her minor sins forgiven, whilst the

-      great one would cause her no end of unpleasantness with her spiritual

-      director. Then, there were other unavowed sentiments, her honor and

-      self-esteem blended together, the coquetry of always having the advantage

-      of men by never satisfying them, and a shrewd personal enjoyment in being

-      smothered with kisses, without any after consequences. She liked this

-      better, and she stuck to it; not a man could flatter himself of having

-      succeeded with her, since her husband's cowardly desertion. And she was a

-      respectable woman!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, sir; not one! Ah! I can hold up my head, I can! What a number of

-      wretched women, in my position, would have misconducted themselves!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She pushed him gently aside, and rose from the sofa.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Leave me. It worries me so much, does that corpse downstairs. It seems to

-      me that the whole house smells of it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile the time for the funeral was approaching. She wished to be at

-      the church beforehand, so as not to see all the funeral trappings. But,

-      while escorting him to the door, she recollected having mentioned her

-      liquor; she therefore made him come in again, and fetched the bottle and a

-      couple of glasses herself. It was a very sweet cream, with a perfume of

-      flowers. When she had drank of it, a greediness, like that of a little

-      girl, gave an air of languid delight to her face. She could have lived on

-      sugar; vanilla and rose-scented sweeties had the same effect on her as an

-      amorous caress.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It will sustain us,&rdquo; said she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, when he kissed her on the mouth in the ante-room, she closed her

-      eyes. Their sugary lips seemed to be melting like sweetmeats.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was close upon eleven o'clock. The coffin had not been brought down for

-      exhibition, as the undertaker's men; after wasting their time at a

-      neighboring wine shop, had not finished putting up the hangings. Octave

-      went to have a look out of curiosity. The porch was already closed in at

-      the back by a large black curtain, but the men had still to fix the

-      hangings over the door. And outside on the pavement a group of

-      maid-servants were gossiping with their noses in the air; whilst

-      Hippolyte, dressed in deep mourning, hastened on the work with a dignified

-      air.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Madame Gourd, who had remained in her arm-chair on account of her

-      poor legs, rose painfully on her feet. As she was quite unable to get even

-      as far as the church, Monsieur Gourd had told her to be sure and salute

-      the landlord's corpse when it passed their room. It was a matter of duty.

-      She went to the door with a mourning cap on her head, and curtesied as the

-      coffin went by.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At Saint-Roch, Doctor Juillerat made a show of not going inside during the

-      ceremony. There was, however, a tremendous crowd, and quite a group of men

-      preferred to remain on the steps. The weather was very mild&mdash;a superb

-      June day. And, as they were unable to smoke, their conversation turned

-      upon politics. The principal door was left open, and at moments the sound

-      of the organs issued from the church, which was draped in black and filled

-      with lighted tapers, looking like so many stars.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know that Monsieur Thiers will stand for our district next year,&rdquo;

-       announced Léon Josserand, in his grave way.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;Of course you will not vote for him&mdash;you are

-      a Republican?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young man, whose opinions cooled down the more Madame Dambreville

-      introduced him into good society, curtly answered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why not? He is the declared adversary of the Empire.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then a heated discussion ensued. Léon talked of tactics, whilst Doctor

-      Juillerat stuck to principles. According to the latter, the middle classes

-      had had their day; they were an obstacle in the road of the Revolution;

-      now that they had acquired property, they barred the future with greater

-      obstinacy and blindness than the old nobility.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are afraid of everything; you go in for the very worst reaction the

-      moment you fancy yourself threatened!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this Campardon flew into a passion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I, sir, have been a Jacobin and an atheist like you. But, thank heaven!

-      reason came to me. No, I will not even stoop to your Monsieur Thiers. A

-      blunderhead&mdash;a man who amuses himself with chimeras!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      However, all the Liberals present&mdash;Monsieur Josserand, Octave,

-      Trublot even, who did not care a straw, declared that they would vote for

-      Monsieur Thiers. The official candidate was a great chocolate manufacturer

-      of the Rue Saint-Honoré, Monsieur Dewinck, whom they chaffed immensely.

-      This Monsieur Dewinck had not even the support of the clergy, who were

-      uneasy at his relations with the Tuileries. Campardon, decidedly gone over

-      to the priests, greeted his name with reserve. Then, suddenly changing the

-      subject, he exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Look here! the bullet which wounded your Garibaldi in the foot ought to

-      have pierced his heart!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, so as not to be seen any longer in the company of these gentlemen, he

-      entered the church, where the Abbé Manduit's shrill voice was responding

-      to the lamentations of the chanters.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He sleeps there now,&rdquo; murmured the doctor, shrugging his shoulders. &ldquo;Ah!

-      what a clean sweep ought to be made of it all!&rdquo; The Roman question

-      interested him immensely. Then, as Léon reminded them of the words of the

-      Cabinet Minister to the Senate that the Empire had sprung from the

-      Revolution, only in order to keep it within bounds, they returned to the

-      coming elections. All were agreed upon the necessity of giving the Emperor

-      a lesson; but they were beginning to be troubled with anxiety, they were

-      already divided respecting the candidates, whose names gave rise to

-      visions of the red specter at night time. Close to them Monsieur Gourd,

-      dressed as correctly as a diplomatist, listened with supreme contempt to

-      what they were saying; he was for the powers that be, pure and simple.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The service was drawing to a close; a long, melancholy wail which issued

-      from the depths of the church, silenced them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;<i>Requiescat in pace!</i>&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;<i>Amen!</i>&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Whilst the body was being lowered into the grave at the Père-Lachaise

-      cemetery, Trublot, who had not let go of Octave's arm, saw him exchange

-      another smile with Madame Juzeur.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes,&rdquo; murmured he, &ldquo;the very unhappy little woman. Anything you like

-      except that!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave started. What! Trublot also! The latter made a gesture of disdain:

-      no, not he, one of his friends. And, moreover, everybody who cared for

-      that kind of thing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; added he. &ldquo;As the old fellow's now stowed away, I will go and

-      render Duveyrier an account of something which I undertook to see after

-      for him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The relations were retiring, silent and doleful. Then Trublot detained the

-      counselor behind the others, to tell him that he had seen Clarisse's maid;

-      but he did not know the new address, the maid having left Clarisse the day

-      before she moved out, after a battle royal. It was the last hope which had

-      flown. Duveyrier buried his face in his handkerchief, and rejoined the

-      other relations.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      That very evening quarrels commenced, The family found itself in the

-      presence of a disaster. Monsieur Vabre, with that skeptical carelessness

-      which notaries occasionally display, had not left any will. All the

-      furniture was ransacked in vain, and the worst was that there was not a

-      rap of the expected six or seven hundred thousand francs, neither money,

-      title-deeds nor shares; they discovered merely seven hundred and

-      thirty-four francs in ten-sou pieces, the hoard of a silly, paralytic old

-      man. And undeniable traces, a note-book covered with figures, letters from

-      stockbrokers, opened the eyes of the next-of-kin, pale with passion, to

-      the old fellow's secret vice, an ungovernable passion for gambling, an

-      unskillful and desperate craving for stock-jobbing, which he hid behind

-      the innocent mania for his great statistical work. All had been engulfed,

-      the money he had saved at Versailles, the rents of his house, even the

-      sous he had sneaked from his children; and, during the latter years, he

-      had gone to the point of mortgaging the house for one hundred and fifty

-      thousand francs, at three different periods. The family stood

-      thunder-stricken before the famous safe, in which it thought the fortune

-      was locked up, but which simply contained a host of singular things,

-      broken scraps picked up in the various rooms, pieces of old iron,

-      fragments of glass, ends of ribbon, jumbled amidst wrecked toys stolen

-      from young Gustave in bygone days.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the most violent recriminations were indulged in. They called the old

-      fellow a swindler. It was disgraceful to fritter away his money thus, like

-      a sly person who does not care a straw for any one, and who acts an

-      infamous comedy in order to get people to continue to coddle him. The

-      Duveyriers were inconsolable at having boarded him for twelve years,

-      without once asking him for the eighty thousand francs of Clotilde's

-      dowry, of which they had only had ten thousand francs. It was always ten

-      thousand francs, rejoined Théophile, who had not had a sou of the fifty

-      thousand promised him at the time of his marriage. But Auguste, in his

-      turn, complained more bitterly still, reproaching his brother with having

-      at least secured the interest of the money during three months; whilst he

-      would never have a shadow of the fifty thousand francs inserted in his

-      contract. And Berthe, incited by her mother, said some very unpleasant

-      things with an indignant air at having entered a dishonest family. And

-      Valérie, bemoaning the rent she had so long been stupid enough to pay the

-      old chap, for fear of being disinherited, could not stomach it, regretting

-      the money as though it had been used for an immoral purpose, employed in

-      supporting debauchery.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      For fully a fortnight all these stories formed an exciting topic of

-      conversation to the occupants of the house. The long and short of it was

-      that there remained nothing but the building, estimated to be worth three

-      hundred thousand francs; when the mortgage had been paid off, there would

-      be about half that sum to divide between Monsieur Vabre's three children.

-      It was fifty thousand francs for each; a meager consolation, but they

-      would have to make the most of it. Théophile and Auguste had already

-      decided what they would do with their shares. It was settled that the

-      building should be sold. Duveyrier undertook all the arrangements in his

-      wife's name. Then, on the day of the sale, after five or six bids, Maître

-      Renandin abruptly knocked the house down to Duveyrier for the sum of one

-      hundred and forty-nine thousand francs. There was not even sufficient to

-      pay the mortgage. It was the final blow.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      One never knew the particulars of the terrible scene which was enacted

-      that same evening at the Duveyriers'. The solemn walls of the house

-      stifled the sounds. Théophile most probably called his brother-in-law a

-      scoundrel: he publicly accused him of having fought over the notary, by

-      promising to get him appointed a justice of the peace. As for Auguste, he

-      simply talked of the assize-court, where he wished to drag Maître

-      Renandin, whose rogueries were the talk of the neighborhood. But, though

-      one always ignored how it was that the relatives got to the point of

-      knocking each other about, as rumor said they did, one heard the last

-      words exchanged on the threshold, words which had an unpleasant ring in

-      the respectable severity of the staircase.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dirty scoundrel!&rdquo; shouted Auguste. &ldquo;You sentence people to penal

-      servitude who have not done nearly so much!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Théophile, who came out last, held the door, whilst he almost choked with

-      rage and coughing. .

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Robber! robber! Yes, robber! And you, too, Clotilde; do you hear?

-      robber!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He swung the door to so roughly that all the other doors on the staircase

-      shook. Monsieur Gourd, who was listening, was quite alarmed. He darted a

-      searching glance at the different floors, but he merely caught sight of

-      Madame Juzeur's sharp profile. Arching his back, he returned on tiptoe to

-      his room, where he resumed his dignified demeanor. One could deny

-      everything. He, delighted, considered the new landlord in the right.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A few days later there was a reconciliation between Auguste and his

-      sister. The whole house was amazed. Octave had been seen to go to the

-      Duveyriers. The counselor, feeling anxious, had agreed not to charge any

-      rent for the warehouse for five years, thus shutting one of the grumbler's

-      mouths. When Théophile learnt this, he went with his wife and had another

-      row, this time with his brother. So he had sold himself; he had gone over

-      to the bandits! But Madame Josserand happened to be in the shop, and he

-      was soon shut up. She plainly advised Valérie not to sell herself any more

-      than her daughter had sold herself. And Valérie had to beat a retreat,

-      exclaiming:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, we're the only ones who get nothing? May the devil take me if I pay

-      my rent! I've a lease. The convict won't dare to turn us out. And as for

-      you, my little Berthe, we'll see one day what it'll cost to have you!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The doors banged again. The two families were sworn enemies for life.

-      Octave, who had rendered some services, was present, and entered into the

-      private affairs of the family. Berthe almost fainted in his arms, whilst

-      Auguste was ascertaining whether the customers had overheard anything.

-      Even Madame Josserand confided in the young man. She, moreover, continued

-      to judge the Duveyriers very severely.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The rent is something,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But I want the fifty thousand francs.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course, if you paid yours,&rdquo; Berthe ventured to observe.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The mother did not appear to understand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You hear me, I want them! No, no; he must be laughing too much in his

-      grave, that old scoundrel Vabre. I will not let him boast of having taken

-      me in. What rascals there are in the world! to promise money one does not

-      possess! Oh! they will pay you, my daughter, or I will dig him up again

-      and spit in his face!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER XII.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne morning that

-      Berthe happened to be at her mother's, Adèle came and said with a scared

-      look that Monsieur Saturnin was there with a man. Doctor Chassagne, the

-      director of the Asile des Moulineaux, had already warned the parents

-      several times that he would he unable to keep their son, for he did not

-      consider him sufficiently mad. And, hearing of the signature which Berthe

-      had obtained from her brother for the three thousand francs, dreading

-      being compromised in the matter, he suddenly sent him home to his family.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It created quite a scare. Madame Josserand, who was afraid of being

-      strangled, wished to argue with the man. But all she could get out of him

-      was:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The director told me to inform you that when one is sufficiently sensible

-      to give money to one's parents, one is sensible enough to live with them.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But he is mad, sir! he will murder us.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Anyhow, he is not too mad to sign his name!&rdquo; answered the man, going off.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      However, Saturnin came home very quietly, with his hands in his pockets,

-      just as though he had returned from a stroll in the Tuileries gardens. He

-      did not even allude to where he had been staying. He embraced his father,

-      who was crying, and likewise heartily kissed his mother and his sister

-      Hortense, whilst they both trembled tremendously. Then, when he caught

-      sight of Berthe, he was indeed delighted, and caressed her with all the

-      pretty ways of a little boy. She at once took advantage of his affected

-      and confused condition to inform him of her marriage. He displayed no

-      anger, not appearing at first to understand, as though he had forgotten

-      his former fits of passion. But when she wished to return to her home

-      down-stairs, he began to howl; he did not mind whether she was married or

-      not, so long as she remained where she was, always with him and close to

-      him. Then, seeing her mother's frightened looks as she ran and locked

-      herself in another room, it occurred to Berthe to take Saturnin to live

-      with her. They would be able to find him something to do in the basement

-      of the warehouse, though it were only to tie up parcels.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      That same evening, Auguste, in spite of his evident repugnance, acceded to

-      Berthe's desire. They had scarcely been married three months and a secret

-      disunion was already cropping up between them; it was the collision of two

-      different constitutions and educations, a surly, fastidious and

-      passionless husband, and a lively woman who had been reared in the

-      hot-house of false Parisian luxury, who played fast and loose with

-      existence, so as to enjoy it all alone like a spoiled and selfish child.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The husband's main revolts were on account of these too glaring costumes,

-      the usefulness of which he was unable to see. Why dress himself thus above

-      one's means and position in life? What need was there to spend in such a

-      manner the money that was so necessary for his business? He generally said

-      that when one sold silks to other women, one should wear woolens oneself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      As a result of matrimony, Berthe was gradually acquiring her mother's

-      build. She was growing fatter, and resembled her more than she had ever

-      done before. She was no longer the girl who did not seem to care about

-      anything and who quietly submitted to the maternal cuffs; she had grown

-      into a woman, who was rapidly becoming more obstinate every day, and who

-      had formed the intention of making everything bow to her pleasure. Auguste

-      looked at her at times, astounded at such a sudden change. At first, she

-      had felt a vain joy in throning herself at the cashier's desk, in a

-      studied costume of elegant simplicity. Then she had soon wearied of trade,

-      suffering from constant want of exercise, threatening to fall ill, yet

-      resigning herself to it all the same, but with the attitude of a victim

-      who sacrifices her life to the prosperity of her home. And, from that

-      moment, a struggle at every hour of the day had commenced between her and

-      her husband. She shrugged her shoulders behind his back, the same as her

-      mother did behind her father's; she went again through all the family

-      quarrels which had disturbed her youth, treating her husband as the

-      gentleman who had simply got to pay, overwhelming him with that contempt

-      for the male sex which was, so to say, the basis of her education.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! mamma was right!&rdquo; she would exclaim after each of their quarrels.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Yet, in the early days, Auguste had tried to please her. He liked peace,

-      he longed for a quiet little home, he already had his whims like an old

-      man, and had got thoroughly into the habits of his chaste and economical

-      bachelor life. His old lodging on the &ldquo;entresol&rdquo; no longer sufficing, he

-      had taken the suite of apartments on the second floor, overlooking the

-      courtyard, and thought himself sufficiently insane in spending five

-      thousand francs on furniture. Berthe, at first delighted with her room

-      upholstered in thuja and blue silk, had shown the greatest contempt for it

-      after visiting a friend who had just married a banker. Then quarrels arose

-      with respect to the servants. The young woman, used to the waiting of poor

-      semi-idiotic girls, who had their bread even cut for them, insisted on

-      their doing things which set them crying in their kitchens for afternoons

-      together. Auguste, not particularly tender-hearted as a rule, having

-      imprudently gone and consoled one, had to turn her out of the place an

-      hour later on account of madame's tears, and her request that he should,

-      choose between her and that creature.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Afterward a wench had come who appeared to have made up her mind to stop.

-      Her name was Rachel, and she was probably a Jewess, but she denied it, and

-      let no one know whence she had sprung. She was about twenty-five years

-      old, with harsh features, a large nose, and very black hair. At first,

-      Berthe declared that she would not allow her to stop two days; then, in

-      presence of her dumb obedience, her air of understanding and saying

-      nothing, she had little by little allowed herself to be satisfied, as

-      though she had yielded in her turn, and was keeping her for her good

-      qualities, and also through an unavowed fear. Rachel, who submitted

-      without a murmur to the hardest tasks, accompanied by dry bread, took

-      possession of the establishment, with her eyes open and her mouth shut,

-      like a servant of foresight biding the fatal and foreseen hour when her

-      mistress would be able to refuse her nothing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, from the ground floor of the house to the servants' story, a

-      great calm had succeeded to the emotions caused by Monsieur Vabre's sudden

-      death. The staircase had again become as peaceful as a church; not a

-      breath issued from behind the mahogany doors, which were forever closed

-      upon the profound respectability of the various homes. There was a rumor

-      that Duveyrier had become reconciled with his wife. As for Valérie and

-      Théophile, they spoke to no one, but passed by stiff and dignified. Never

-      before had the house exhaled a more strict severity of principles.

-      Monsieur Gourd, in his cap and slippers, wandered about it with the air of

-      a solemn beadle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      One evening, toward eleven o'clock, Auguste continued going to the door of

-      the warehouse, stretching his head out, and glancing up and down the

-      street. An impatience which had increased little by little was agitating

-      him. Berthe, whom her mother and sister had fetched away during dinner,

-      without even giving her time to finish her dessert, had not returned home

-      after an absence of more than three hours, and in spite of her distinct

-      promise to be back by closing time.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! good heavens! good heavens!&rdquo; he ended by saying, clasping his hands

-      together, and making his fingers crack.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And he stood still before Octave, who was ticketing some remnants of silk

-      on a counter. At that late hour of the evening, no customer ever appeared

-      in that out-of-the-way end of the Rue de Choiseul. The shop was merely

-      kept open to put things straight.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Surely you know where the ladies have gone?&rdquo; inquired Auguste of the

-      young man.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The latter raised his eyes with an innocent and surprised air.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But, sir, they told you. To a lecture.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A lecture, a lecture,&rdquo; grumbled the husband. &ldquo;Their lecture was over at

-      ten o'clock. Respectable women should be home at this hour!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he resumed his walk, casting side glances at his assistant, whom he

-      suspected of being an accomplice of the ladies, or at least of excusing

-      them. Octave, also feeling anxious, slyly observed him. He had never

-      before seen him so nervously excited. What was it all about? And, as he

-      turned his head, he caught sight of Saturnin at the other end of the shop

-      cleaning a looking-glass with a sponge dipped in spirit. Little by little,

-      the family set the madman to do housework, so that he might at least earn

-      his food. But that evening Saturnin's eyes sparkled strangely. He crept

-      behind Octave, and said, in a very low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Beware of him. He has found a paper. Yes, he has a paper in his pocket.

-      Look out, if it's anything of yours!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he quickly resumed rubbing his glass. Octave did not understand. For

-      some time past the madman had been displaying a singular affection for

-      him, like the caress of an animal yielding to an instinct. Why did he

-      speak to him of a paper? He had written no letter to Berthe; as yet he

-      only ventured to look at her with tender glances, watching for an

-      opportunity of making her some trifling present. It was a tactic he had

-      adopted after deep reflection.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ten minutes past eleven!&mdash;damnation! damnation!&rdquo; suddenly exclaimed

-      Auguste, who never swore.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But at that very moment the ladies returned. Berthe had on a delicious

-      dress, of pink silk, embroidered over with white jet, whilst her sister,

-      always in blue, and her mother, always in mauve, still wore their glaring

-      and laboriously obtained costumes, altered every season. Madame Josserand,

-      broad and imposing, entered first, so as at once to nip in the hud the

-      reproaches which all three had just foreseen, at a council held at the end

-      of the street, her son-in-law would begin to make. She even deigned to

-      explain that they were late through having loitered before the

-      shop-windows. But Auguste, who was very pale, did not utter a single

-      complaint; he answered curtly; it was evident he was keeping it in and

-      waiting. For a moment longer, the mother, who felt the coming storm

-      through her great knowledge of domestic broils, tried to intimidate him;

-      then she was obliged to go up-stairs, merely adding:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good night, my child. And sleep well, you know, if you wish to live

-      long.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Directly she had gone, Auguste, losing all patience, forgetting that

-      Octave and Saturnin were present, withdrew a crumpled paper from his

-      pocket, and thrust it under Berthe's nose, whilst he stammered out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe had not even had time to take her bonnet off. She turned very red.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That?&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;why, it's a bill!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, a bill! and for false hair, too! Is it possible? for hair! as though

-      you had none left on your head! But that's not all. You've paid the bill;

-      tell me, what did you pay it with?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young woman, becoming more and more confused, ended by replying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;With my own money, of course!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Your money! but you haven't any. Some one must have given you some, or

-      else you have taken it from here. And, listen! I know all; you're in debt.

-      I will tolerate what you like; but no debts, understand me, no debts!&mdash;never!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he put into these words all the horror of a prudent fellow, all his

-      commercial integrity, which consisted in never owing anything. For a long

-      while he relieved his pent-up feelings, reproaching his wife with her

-      constant goings-out, her visits all over Paris, her dresses, her luxury,

-      which he could not provide for. Was it sensible for people in their

-      position to stop out till eleven o'clock at night, with pink silk dresses

-      embroidered with white jet? When one had such tastes as those, one should

-      bring five hundred thousand francs as a marriage portion. Moreover, he

-      knew who was the guilty one; it was the silly mother who brought up her

-      daughters to squander fortunes, without even being able to give them so

-      much as a chemise on their wedding-day.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Don't say a word against mamma!&rdquo; cried Berthe, raising her head and

-      thoroughly exasperated at last. &ldquo;No one can reproach her with anything;

-      she has done her duty. And your family&mdash;it's a nice one! People who

-      killed their father!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave had buried himself in his tickets, and pretended not to hear. But

-      he followed the quarrel from out of the corner of his eye, and especially

-      watched Saturnin, who was all in a tremble, and had left off rubbing the

-      glass, his fists clenched, his eyes glaring, ready to spring at the

-      husband's throat.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Let us leave our families alone,&rdquo; resumed the latter. &ldquo;We have quite

-      enough with our own home. Listen! you must alter your ways, for I will not

-      give another sou for all this tomfoolery. Oh! I have quite made up my

-      mind. Your place is here at the till, in a quiet dress, like a woman who

-      has some respect for herself. And if you incur any more debts, we'll see.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe was almost stifling, in presence of that brutal husband's foot set

-      down upon her habits, her pleasures, and her dresses. It was the

-      extinction of all she loved, of all she had dreamed of when marrying. But,

-      with a woman's tactics, she hid the wound from which her heart was

-      bleeding; she gave a pretext to the passion which was swelling her face,

-      and repeated more violently than ever:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I will not permit you to insult mamma!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste shrugged his shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Your mother! Listen? you're like her, you're quite ugly, when you put

-      yourself in that state. Yes, I scarcely know you; it is she herself. On my

-      word, it quite frightens me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, Berthe calmed down, and, looking him full in the face, exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Only go and tell mamma what you were saying just now, and see how quickly

-      she'll show you the door.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! she'll show me the door!&rdquo; yelled the husband, in a fury. &ldquo;Well, then!

-      I'll go up and tell her at once.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he did indeed move toward the door. It was time he went, for Saturnin,

-      with his wolf-like eyes, was treacherously advancing to strangle him from

-      behind. The young woman had dropped into a chair, where she was murmuring,

-      in a low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! good heavens! I'd take care not to marry him, if I had my choice over

-      again!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Up-stairs, Monsieur Josserand, greatly surprised, answered the door, Adèle

-      having just gone up to bed. As he was then preparing to pass the night in

-      addressing wrappers, in spite of the ill-health he had been lately

-      complaining of, it was with a certain embarrassment, a shame at being

-      found out, that he ushered his son-in-law into the dining-room; and he

-      spoke of some pressing work, a copy of the last inventory of the Saint

-      Joseph glass factory. But, when Auguste deliberately accused his daughter,

-      reproaching her with running into debt, relating all the quarrel brought

-      about by the matter of the false hair, the poor old man's hands were

-      seized with a nervous trembling. Struck to the heart, he could only manage

-      to stammer out a few words, whilst his eyes filled with tears. His

-      daughter in debt, living as he had lived himself, in the midst of constant

-      matrimonial squabbles! All the unhappiness of his life was then going to

-      be gone through again in the person of his daughter! And another fear

-      almost froze him on his chair: he dreaded every minute to hear his

-      son-in-law broach the money question, demand the dowry, and call him a

-      thief. No doubt the young man knew everything, as he burst in upon them at

-      past eleven o'clock at night.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My wife is going to bed,&rdquo; stammered he, his head in a whirl. &ldquo;It is

-      useless to disturb her, is it not? I am really amazed at the things you

-      have told me! Poor Berthe is not wicked, though, I assure you. Be

-      indulgent. I will speak to her. As for ourselves, my dear Auguste, we have

-      done nothing, I think, which can displease you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he sounded him, so to speak, with his glance, already reassured, as he

-      saw that he could know nothing as yet, when Madame Josserand appeared on

-      the threshold of the bed-room. She was in her night-gown, all white and

-      terrible. Auguste, though greatly excited, drew back. No doubt she had

-      been listening at the door, for she commenced with a direct thrust.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's not your ten thousand francs you've come for, I suppose? There are

-      still two months before the time they become due. And in two months' time

-      we will pay them to you, sir. We don't die to get out of our engagements.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This superb assurance completely overwhelmed Monsieur Josserand. However,

-      Madame Josserand continued dumbfounding her son-in-law by the most

-      extraordinary declarations, without allowing him time to speak.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You're by no means smart, sir. When you've made Berthe ill, you'll have

-      to call in the doctor, and that will occasion some expense at the

-      chemist's, and it will still be you who'll have to pay. A little while

-      ago, I went off, when I saw that you were bent on making a fool of

-      yourself. Do as you like! Beat your wife, my maternal heart is easy, for

-      God is watching, and retribution is never long in coming!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At length Auguste was able to state his grievances. He returned to the

-      constant goings-out, the dresses, and was even so bold as to condemn the

-      way in which Berthe had been brought up. Madame Josserand listened to him

-      with an air of supreme contempt. Then, when he had finished, she retorted:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What you say is so absurd that it does not deserve an answer, my dear

-      fellow! I've my conscience, and that suffices me. A man to whom I confided

-      an angel! I'll have nothing more to do with the matter, as I'm insulted.

-      Settle it between yourselves.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But your daughter will end by deceiving me, madame!&rdquo; exclaimed Auguste,

-      again overcome with passion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand, who was going off, turned round, and looked him full in

-      the face.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You're doing all you can to bring such a thing about, sir.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she retired into her room with the dignity of a colossal

-      triple-breasted Ceres draped in white.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The father kept Auguste a few minutes longer. He was conciliatory, giving

-      him to understand that with women it was best to put up with everything,

-      and finally sent him off calmed and resolved to forgive. But when the poor

-      old man found himself alone again in the dining-room, seated in front of

-      his little lamp, he burst into tears. It was all over; there was no longer

-      any happiness; he would never have time enough of a night to address

-      sufficient wrappers to enable him to assist his daughter clandestinely.

-      The thought that his child might run into debt crushed him like some

-      personal fault. And he felt ill; he had just received another blow;

-      strength would fail him one of those nights. At length, restraining his

-      tears, he painfully recommenced his work.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Down-stairs in the shop, her face buried in her hands, Berthe had remained

-      for a while immovable. After putting up the shutters, the porter had

-      returned to the basement. Then Octave thought he might approach the young

-      woman. Ever since the husband's departure, Saturnin had been making signs

-      to him over his sister's head, as though inviting him to console her. Now

-      he was beaming and multiplied his winks; fearing that he was not

-      understood, he emphasized his advice by blowing kisses into space, with a

-      child's overflowing effusion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! you want me to kiss her?&rdquo; asked Octave by signs.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; replied the madman, with an enthusiastic nod of the head.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And, when he beheld the young man smiling before his sister, who had

-      noticed nothing, he seated himself on the floor, behind a counter, hiding,

-      so as not to be in their way. In the profound silence of the closed

-      warehouse the gas-jets were still burning with tall flames. There reigned

-      a death-like peacefulness, a closeness of atmosphere mingled with the

-      unsavory odor of the dressed silk.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not take it so much to heart, madame, I beg of you,&rdquo; said Octave, in

-      his caressing tones.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She started at finding him so close to her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Excuse me, Monsieur Octave. It is not my fault that you assisted at this

-      painful scene. And I must ask you to excuse my husband, for he could not

-      have been very well this evening. You know that in all families there are

-      little unpleasantnesses&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Sobs choked her utterance. The mere idea of extenuating her husband's

-      faults before the world had brought on a copious flood of tears, which

-      quite unnerved her. Saturnin raised his anxious face on a level with the

-      counter; but he dived down again directly he saw Octave take hold of his

-      sister's hand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I beg of you, madame, summon up a little courage,&rdquo; said the assistant.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, I cannot help it,&rdquo; stammered she. &ldquo;You were there&mdash;you heard

-      everything. For ninety-five francs' worth of hair! As though all women did

-      not wear false hair now! But he knows nothing&mdash;he understands

-      nothing. He knows no more about women than the Grand Turk; he has never

-      had anything to do with them, no never, Monsieur Octave! Ah! I am very

-      miserable!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She said all this in her feverish spite. A man whom she pretended she had

-      married for love, and who would soon allow her to go without a chemise!

-      Did she not fulfill her duties? Had he the least negligence to reproach

-      her with? If he had not flown into a passion on the day when she asked him

-      for some hair, she would never have been reduced to the necessity of

-      paying for it out of her own pocket! And for the least thing there was the

-      same story over again; she could never express a wish, desire the most

-      insignificant article of dress, without coming into contact with his

-      ferocious sullenness. She naturally had her pride, so she no longer asked

-      for anything, preferring to go without necessaries rather than to

-      humiliate herself to no purpose. Thus, for a fortnight past, she had been

-      ardently longing for a fancy set of ornaments which she had seen with her

-      mother in a jeweler's window in the Palais-Royal.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know, three stars in paste for the hair. Oh! a mere trifle&mdash;a

-      hundred francs, I think. Well! although I spoke of them from morning till

-      night, don't imagine that my husband understood!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave would never have dared to hope for such an opportunity. He hastened

-      matters.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes, I know. You mentioned the subject several times in my presence.

-      And, dear me! madame, your parents received me so well; you yourself have

-      welcomed me so kindly, that I thought I might venture&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As he spoke he withdrew from his pocket an oblong box, in which the three

-      stars were sparkling on some cotton wool. Berthe had risen from her seat,

-      deeply affected.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But it is impossible, sir. I will not&mdash;you were very wrong indeed.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He pretended to be very simple, inventing various pretexts. In the South

-      such things were done constantly. And, besides, the ornaments were of no

-      value whatever. She had turned quite rosy, and was no longer weeping,

-      whilst her eyes, fixed on the box, acquired a fresh luster from the

-      sparkling of the imitation gems.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I beg of you, madame. Just to show me that you are satisfied with my

-      work.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, really, Monsieur Octave; do not insist. You pain me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Saturnin had reappeared, and he looked at the jewels in ecstasy, as though

-      he were beholding some reliquary. But his sharp ear heard Auguste's

-      returning footsteps. He warned Berthe by making a slight noise with his

-      tongue. Then the latter came to a decision just as her husband was about

-      to enter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! listen,&rdquo; murmured she rapidly, popping the box into her pocket,

-      &ldquo;I'll say that my sister Hortense made me a present of them.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste gave orders for the gas to be turned out, and then went up with

-      her to bed, without saying a word about the quarrel, delighted at heart at

-      finding her all right again and very lively, as though nothing had taken

-      place between them. The warehouse became wrapped in intense darkness; and,

-      just as Octave was also retiring, he felt hot hands squeezing his own

-      almost sufficient to crush them in the obscurity. It was Saturnin, who

-      slept in the basement.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Friend&mdash;friend&mdash;friend,&rdquo; repeated the madman, with an outburst

-      of wild tenderness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Disconcerted in his expectations, Octave little by little became seized

-      with a young and passionate desire for Berthe. If he had at first been

-      merely following his old plan, his wish to succeed by the aid of women, he

-      now no longer beheld in her the employer simply, whose possession would

-      place the whole establishment in his hands; he desired above all the

-      Parisian, that adorable creature of luxury and grace, which he had never

-      had an opportunity of tasting at Marseilles; he felt a sudden hunger for

-      her little gloved hands, her tiny feet encased in high-heeled boots, her

-      delicate neck hidden by gewgaws, even for the questionable unseen, the

-      make-shifts which, he suspected, were covered by her gorgeous costumes;

-      and this sudden attack of passion went so far as to get the better of his

-      shrewd economical nature to the extent of causing him to squander in

-      presents and all sorts of other expenses the five thousand francs which he

-      had brought with him from the South, and had already doubled by financial

-      operations which he never mentioned to anybody.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On the morrow of the quarrel, Octave, delighted at having prevailed on the

-      young woman to accept his present, thought that it would be well for him

-      to ingratiate himself with the husband. Therefore, as he took his meals at

-      his employer's table&mdash;the latter being in the habit of feeding his

-      assistants, so as always to have them at hand&mdash;he showed him the

-      utmost attention, listened to him at desserts and warmly approved all he

-      said. He even went so far in private as to appear to sympathize with his

-      complaints against his wife, pretending, too, to watch her, and making him

-      little reports. Auguste felt greatly touched; he admitted one night to the

-      young man that he had been on the point of discharging him, under the idea

-      that he was conniving with his mother-in-law.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You understand me, you do!&rdquo; he would say to the young man. &ldquo;I merely want

-      peace. Beyond that I don't care a hang, virtue excepted, of course, and

-      providing my wife doesn't carry off the cash-box. Eh? am I not reasonable?

-      I don't ask her for anything extraordinary?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And Octave lauded his wisdom, and they celebrated together the sweetness

-      of an uneventful existence, year after year, always the same, passed in

-      measuring off silk. One evening he had alarmed Auguste by reverting to his

-      dream of vast modern bazars, and by advising him, as he had advised Madame

-      Hédouin, to purchase the adjoining house, so as to enlarge his premises.

-      Auguste, whose head was already splitting between his four counters, had

-      looked at him with the frightened air of a tradesman accustomed to

-      dividing farthings into four, that he had hastened to withdraw his

-      suggestion and to go into raptures over the honest security of small

-      dealings.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Days passed by; Octave was making his little nest in the place, a cozy

-      nest lined with wool which would keep him nice and warm. The husband

-      esteemed him; Madame Josserand herself, with whom, however, he avoided

-      being too polite, looked at him encouragingly. As for Berthe, she was

-      becoming charmingly familiar with him. But his great friend was Saturnin,

-      whose dumb affection he felt was increasing daily&mdash;a faithful dog's

-      devotion which grew as his longing for the young woman became more

-      intense. Toward every one else the madman displayed a gloomy jealousy; a

-      man could not approach his sister without his becoming at once uneasy,

-      curling up his lips, and preparing to bite. But if, on the contrary,

-      Octave leant freely toward her, and caused her to laugh with the soft and

-      tender laughter of a happy mistress, he laughed himself with delight, and

-      his face reflected a little of their sensual joy. The poor creature seemed

-      to feel a gratitude full of happiness for the chosen lover. He would

-      detain the latter in all the corners, casting mistrustful glances about;

-      then, if he found they were alone, he would speak to him of her, always

-      repeating the same stories in broken phrases.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;When she was little, she had tiny limbs as large as that; and already

-      plump, and quite rosy, and so gay; then, she used to sprawl about on the

-      floor. It amused me; I would go down on my knees and watch her. Then,

-      bang! bang! bang! she would kick me in the stomach, and I would be so

-      pleased, oh! so pleased!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave thus learnt all about Berthe's childhood, with its little ailments,

-      its playthings, its growth of a charming, uncontrolled little creature.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      His eyes lighted up; he laughed and cried, just as though these events had

-      occurred the day before. From his broken sentences the history of this

-      strange affection could be spun together: his poor, half-witted devotion

-      at the little patient's bedside, when she had been given up by the

-      doctors, his heart and body devoted to the dying darling, whom he nursed

-      in her nudity with all the tenderness of a mother; his affection and his

-      desires had been arrested there, checked forevermore by this drama of

-      suffering, from the shock of which he never recovered; and, from that

-      time, in spite of the ingratitude which followed the recovery, Berthe

-      remained everything to him, a mistress before whom he trembled, a child

-      and a sister whom he had saved from death, an idol which he worshiped with

-      a jealous adoration. So that he pursued the husband with the furious

-      hatred of a displeased lover, never at a loss for ill-natured remarks as

-      he opened his heart to Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He's got his eye bunged up again. His headache's becoming a nuisance!&mdash;You

-      heard him dragging his feet about yesterday&mdash;Look, there he is

-      squinting into the street. Eh? isn't he a fool?&mdash;Dirty beast, dirty

-      beast!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And Auguste could scarcely move without angering the madman. Then would

-      come the disquieting proposals.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If you like, we'll bleed him like a pig between us.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave would calm him. Then, on his quiet days, Saturnin would go from

-      Octave to the young woman, with an air of delight, repeating what one had

-      said about the other, doing their errands, and acting like a continual

-      bond of tenderness between them. He would have thrown himself on the floor

-      at their feet, to serve them as a carpet.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe had not again alluded to the present. She did not seem to notice

-      Octave's trembling attentions, but treated him as a friend, without the

-      least confusion. He had never before been so careful in his dress, and he

-      was ever caressing her with his eyes of the color of old gold, and whose

-      velvety softness he deemed irresistible.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      One day, however, she experienced a great emotion. On returning from a

-      dog-show, Octave beckoned to her to descend to the basement; and there

-      handed her a bill, amounting to sixty-two francs, for some embroidered

-      stockings which had been brought during her absence. She turned quite

-      pale, and in a cry that came from her heart, at once asked:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good heavens! has my husband seen this?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He hastened to set her mind at rest, telling her what trouble he had had

-      to get hold of the bill under Auguste's very nose. Then, in an embarrassed

-      way, he was obliged to add in a low voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I paid it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then she made a show of feeling in her pockets, and, finding nothing, said

-      simply:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I will pay you back. Ah! what thanks I owe you, Monsieur Octave! It would

-      have killed me if Auguste had seen this.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, this time, she took hold of both his hands, and for a moment held

-      them pressed between her own. But the sixty-two francs were never again

-      mentioned.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Thus, little by little, the breach between the couple widened, in spite of

-      the husband's efforts, he being desirous of having no disturbance in his

-      existence. He desperately defended his desire for a somnolent and idiotic

-      peacefulness, he closed his eyes to small faults, and even stomached some

-      big ones, with the constant dread of discovering something abominable

-      which would drive him into a furious passion. He therefore tolerated

-      Berthe's lies, by which she attributed to her sister's or her mother's

-      affection a host of little things, the purchase of which she could not

-      have otherwise explained; he even no longer grumbled overmuch when she

-      went out of an evening, thus enabling Octave to take her twice privately

-      to the theater, accompanied by Madame Josserand and Hortense; delightful

-      outings, after which these ladies agreed together that the young man knew

-      how to live.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was on a Saturday that a frightful quarrel occurred between the husband

-      and wife, with respect to twenty sous which were deficient in Rachel's

-      accounts. While Berthe was balancing up the book, Auguste brought,

-      according to his custom, the money necessary for the household expenses of

-      the ensuing week. The Josserands were to dine there that evening, and the

-      kitchen was littered with things&mdash;a rabbit, a leg of mutton, and some

-      cauliflowers. Saturnin, squatting on the tiled floor beside the sink, was

-      blacking his sister's shoes and his brother-in-law's boots. The quarrel

-      began with long arguments respecting the twenty sou piece. What had become

-      of it? How could one mislay twenty sous? Auguste would go over all the

-      additions again. During this time, Rachel, always pliant in spite of her

-      harsh looks, her mouth closed but her eyes on the watch, was quietly

-      spitting the leg of mutton. At length he gave fifty francs, and was on the

-      point of going down-stairs again, when he returned, worried by the thought

-      of the missing coin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It must be found, though,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Perhaps you borrowed it of Rachel,

-      and have forgotten doing so.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe felt greatly hurt at this.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Accuse me of cooking the accounts! Ah! you are nice!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Everything started from that, and they soon came to high words. Auguste,

-      in spite of his desire to purchase peace at a dear price, became

-      aggressive, excited by the sight of the rabbit, the leg of mutton and the

-      cauliflowers, beside himself before the pile of food, which she was going

-      to thrust all at once under her parents' noses. He looked through the

-      account book, expressing astonishment at almost every item. It was

-      incredible! She must be in league with the servant to make something on

-      the marketing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I! I!&rdquo; exclaimed the young woman, thoroughly exasperated; &ldquo;I in league

-      with the servant! But it's you, sir, who pay her to spy upon me! Yes, I am

-      forever feeling her about me; I can't move a step without encountering her

-      eyes. Ah! she may watch me through the key-hole, when I'm changing my

-      under-linen. I do no harm, and I don't care a straw for your system of

-      police. Only, don't you dare to reproach me with being in league with

-      her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This unexpected attack quite dumbfounded the husband for a moment. Rachel

-      turned round, still holding the leg of mutton; and, placing her hand upon

-      her heart, she protested.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! madame, how can you think so? I who respect madame so much!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She's mad!&rdquo; said Auguste, shrugging his shoulders. &ldquo;Don't take the

-      trouble to defend yourself, my girl. She's mad!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But a noise behind his back caused him some anxiety. It was Saturnin, who

-      had violently thrown down one of the half-polished shoes to fly to his

-      sister's assistance. With a terrible expression in his face and his fists

-      clenched, he stuttered out that he would strangle the dirty rascal if he

-      again called her mad. Thoroughly frightened, Auguste sought refuge behind

-      the filter, calling out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's really become unbearable; I can no longer make a remark to you

-      without his thrusting himself in between us! I allowed him to come here,

-      but he must leave me alone! He's another nice present of your mother's!

-      She was frightened to death of him, and so she saddled him on me,

-      preferring to see me murdered in her stead. Thanks for nothing! He's got a

-      knife now. Do make him desist!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0287.jpg" alt="0287 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0287.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      Berthe disarmed her brother, and calmed him with a look, whilst Auguste,

-      who had turned very pale, continued to mumble angry words. Always knives

-      being caught up! An injury is so soon done; and, with a madman, one could

-      do nothing; justice would even refuse to avenge it! In short, it was not

-      proper to make a bodyguard of such a brother, rendering a husband

-      powerless, even in circumstances of the most legitimate indignation, going

-      as far as forcing him to submit to his shame.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You've no tact, sir,&rdquo; declared Berthe, disdainfully. &ldquo;A gentleman would

-      not discuss such matters in a kitchen.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she withdrew to her room, slamming the doors behind her. Rachel had

-      returned to the roaster, as though no longer hearing the quarrel between

-      her master and mistress.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do understand, my dear,&rdquo; said Auguste to Berthe, whom he had rejoined in

-      the bed-room, &ldquo;it was not in reference to you that I spoke, it was for

-      that girl who robs us. Those twenty sous ought certainly to be found.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young woman trembled nervously with exasperation. She looked him full

-      in the face, very pale and resolute.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Will you leave off bothering me about your twenty sous? It's not twenty

-      sous I want, it's five hundred francs a month. Yes, five hundred francs

-      for my dress. Ah! you discuss money matters in the kitchen, before the

-      servant! Well! that has decided me to discuss them also! I've been

-      restraining myself for a long time past. I want five hundred francs.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He stood aghast at such a demand. And she commenced the grand quarrel

-      which, during twenty years, her mother had picked with her father,

-      regularly every fortnight. Did he expect to see her walk about barefoot?

-      When one married a woman, one should at least arrange to clothe and feed

-      her decently. She would sooner beg than resign herself to such a pauper

-      existence! It was not her fault if he proved incapable of managing his

-      business properly; oh! yes, incapable, without ideas or initiative, only

-      knowing how to split farthings into four. A man who ought to have made it

-      his glory to acquire a fortune quickly, so as to dress her like a queen,

-      and make the people of The &ldquo;Ladies' Paradise&rdquo; die with rage! But no! with

-      such a poor head as his, bankruptcy was sure to come sooner or later. And

-      from this flow of words emerged the respect, the furious appetite for

-      money, all that worship of wealth, the adoration of which she had learnt

-      in her family, when beholding the mean tricks to which one stoops, merely

-      to appear to possess it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Five hundred francs!&rdquo; said Auguste at length. &ldquo;I would sooner shut up the

-      shop.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She looked at him coldly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You refuse. Very well, I will run up bills.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;More debts, you wretched woman!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In a sudden violent movement, he seized her by the arms, and pushed her

-      against the wall. Then, without a cry, choking with passion, she ran and

-      opened the window, as though to throw herself out; but she retraced her

-      steps, and pushing him in her turn toward the door, turned him out of the

-      room gasping:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go away, or I shall do you an injury!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she noisily pushed the bolt behind his back. For a moment he listened

-      and hesitated. Then he hastened to go down to the warehouse, again seized

-      with terror, as he beheld Saturnin's eyes gleaming in the shadow, the

-      noise of the short struggle having brought him from the kitchen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Down-stairs, Octave, who was selling silk handkerchiefs to an old lady, at

-      once noticed his agitated appearance. The assistant looked at him out of

-      the corner of his eye as he feverishly paced up and down before the

-      counters. When the customer had gone, Auguste's heart quite overflowed.

-      &ldquo;My dear fellow, she's going mad,&rdquo; said he without naming his wife. &ldquo;She

-      has shut herself in. You ought to oblige me by going up and speaking to

-      her. I fear an accident, on my word of honor, I do!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young man pretended to hesitate. It was such a delicate matter!

-      Finally, he agreed to do so out of pure devotion. Up-stairs, he found

-      Saturnin keeping guard before Berthe's door. On hearing footsteps, the

-      madman uttered a menacing grunt. But when he recognized the assistant, his

-      face brightened.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes, you,&rdquo; murmured he. &ldquo;You're all right. She mustn't cry. Be nice,

-      say something to her. And you know, stop there. There's no danger. I'm

-      here. If the servant tries to peep, I'll settle her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he squatted down on the floor, guarding the door. As he still held one

-      of his brother-in-law's boots, he commenced to polish it, to pass away the

-      time.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave made up his mind to knock. No answer, not a sound.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he gave his name. The bolt was at once drawn. And, opening the door

-      slightly, Berthe begged him to enter. Then she closed and bolted it again

-      with a nervous hand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I don't mind you,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;but I won't have him!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She paced the room, carried away by passion, going from the bedstead to

-      the window, which still remained open. And she muttered disconnected

-      sentences: he might entertain her parents at dinner, if he liked; yes, he

-      could account to them for her absence, for she would not appear at the

-      table; she would sooner die! Besides, she preferred to go to bed. With her

-      feverish hands, she already began to tear off the quilt, shake up the

-      pillows, and turn down the sheet, forgetful of Octave's presence to the

-      extent that she was about to unhook her dress. Then she jumped to another

-      idea.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Just fancy! He beat me, beat me, beat me! And only because, ashamed of

-      always going about in rags, I asked him for five hundred francs!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, standing up in the middle of the room, tried to find some

-      conciliating words. She was wrong to allow it to upset her so much.

-      Everything would come right again. And he ended by timidly offering her

-      assistance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If you are worried about any bill, why not apply to your friends? I

-      should be so pleased! Oh! simply a loan. You could return it to me some

-      other time.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She looked at him. After a pause, she replied:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Never! it cannot be. What would people think, Monsieur Octave?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her refusal was so decided that there was no further question of money.

-      But her anger seemed to have left her. She breathed heavily, and bathed

-      her face; and she looked quite pale, very calm, rather wearied, with

-      large, resolute eyes. Standing before her, he felt himself overcome by

-      that timidity of love, which he held in such contempt. Never before had he

-      loved so ardently; the strength of his desire communicated an awkwardness

-      to his charms of a handsome assistant. Whilst continuing to advise a

-      reconciliation in vague phrases, he was reasoning clearly in his own mind,

-      asking himself if he ought not to take her in his arms; but the fear of

-      being again repulsed made him hesitate. She, without uttering a word,

-      continued to look at him with her decided air, her forehead contracted by

-      a faint wrinkle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Really!&rdquo; he stammeringly continued, &ldquo;you must be patient. Your husband is

-      not a bad fellow. If you only go the right way to work with him, he will

-      give you whatever you ask for.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And beneath the emptiness of these words, they both felt the same thought

-      take possession of them. They were alone, free, safe from all surprise,

-      with the door bolted. This security, the close warmth of the room,

-      exercised its influence on them. Yet he did not dare; the feminine side of

-      his nature, his womanly feeling, refined him in that moment of passion to

-      the point of making him the woman in their encounter. Then, as though

-      recollecting one of her former lessons, Berthe dropped her handkerchief.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! thank you,&rdquo; said she to the young man, who picked it up. Their

-      fingers touched, they were drawn closer together by that momentary

-      contact. Now she smiled tenderly, and gave an easy suppleness to her form,

-      as she recollected that men detest sticks. It would never do to act the

-      simpleton, one must permit a little playfulness without seeming to do so,

-      if one would hook one's fish.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Night is coming on,&rdquo; resumed she, going and pushing the window to.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He followed her, and there, in the shadow of the curtains, she allowed him

-      to take her hand. She laughed louder, bewildering him with her ringing

-      tones, enveloping him with her pretty gestures; and, as he at length

-      became bolder, she threw back her head, displaying her neck, her young and

-      delicate neck all quivering with her gayety. Distracted by the sight, he

-      kissed her under the chin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! Monsieur Octave!&rdquo; said she in confusion, making a pretense of

-      prettily putting him back into his place.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      His moment of triumph had come, but it was no sooner over than all the

-      ferocious disdain of woman which was hidden beneath his air of wheedling

-      adoration, returned. And when Berthe rose up, without strength in her

-      wrists, and her face contracted by a pang, her utter contempt for man was

-      thrown into the dark glance which she cast upon him. The room was wrapped

-      in complete silence. One only heard Saturnin, on the other side of the

-      door, polishing her husband's boot with a regular movement of the brush.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave's thoughts reverted to Valérie and Madame Hédouin. At last he was

-      something more than little Pichon's lover! It seemed like a rehabilitation

-      in his own eyes. Then, encountering Berthe's uneasy glance, he experienced

-      a slight sense of shame, and kissed her with extreme gentleness. She was

-      resuming her air of resolute recklessness, and, with a gesture, seemed to

-      say: &ldquo;What's done can't be undone.&rdquo; But she afterward experienced the

-      necessity of giving expression to a melancholy thought.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! If you had only married me!&rdquo; murmured she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He felt surprised, almost uneasy; but this did not prevent him from

-      replying, as he kissed her again:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! yes, how nice it would have been!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      That evening the dinner with the Josserands was most delightful, Berthe

-      had never shown herself so gentle. She did not say a word of the quarrel

-      to her parents, she received her husband with an air of submission. The

-      latter, delighted, took Octave aside to thank him; and he imparted so much

-      warmth into the proceeding, pressing his hands and displaying such a

-      lively gratitude, that the young man felt quite embarrassed. Moreover,

-      they one and all overwhelmed him with marks of their affection. Saturnin,

-      who behaved very well at table, looked at him with approving eyes.

-      Hortense on her part deigned to listen to him, whilst Madame Josserand,

-      full of maternal encouragement, kept filling his glass.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me! yes,&rdquo; said Berthe at dessert, &ldquo;I intend to resume my painting.

-      For a long time past I have been wanting to decorate a cup for Auguste.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The latter was deeply moved at this loving conjugal thought. Ever since

-      the soup, Octave had kept his foot on the young woman's under the table;

-      it was like a taking of possession in the midst of this little

-      middle-class gathering. Yet Berthe was not without a secret uneasiness

-      before Rachel, whose eyes she always found looking her through and

-      through. Was it, then, visible? The girl was decidedly one to be sent away

-      or else to be bought over.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand, who was near his daughter, finished soothing her by

-      passing her nineteen francs done up in paper under the tablecloth. He bent

-      down and whispered in her ear:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know, they come from my little work. If you owe anything, you must

-      pay it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, between her father, who nudged her knee, and her lover, who gently

-      rubbed her boot, she felt quite happy. Life would now be delightful. And

-      they united in throwing aside all reserve, enjoying the pleasure of a

-      family gathering unmarred by a single quarrel. In truth, it was hardly

-      natural, something must have brought them luck. Auguste, alone, had his

-      eyes half closed, suffering from a headache, which he had moreover

-      expected after so many emotions. Toward nine o'clock he was even obliged

-      to retire to bed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER XIII.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or some time past,

-      Monsieur Gourd had been prowling about with an uneasy and mysterious air.

-      He was met gliding noiselessly along, his eyes open, his ears pricked up,

-      continually ascending the two staircases, where lodgers had even

-      encountered him going his rounds in the dead of night. The morality of the

-      house was certainly worrying him; he felt a kind of breath of shameful

-      things which troubled the cold nakedness of the courtyard, the calm

-      peacefulness of the vestibule, the beautiful domestic virtues of the

-      different stories.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      One evening, Octave had found the doorkeeper standing motionless and

-      without a light at the end of his passage, close to the door which opened

-      onto the servants' staircase. Greatly surprised, he questioned him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I wish to ascertain something, Monsieur Mouret,&rdquo; simply answered Monsieur

-      Gourd, deciding to go off to bed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The young man was very much frightened. Did the doorkeeper suspect his

-      relations with Berthe? He was perhaps watching them. Their attachment

-      encountered continual obstacles in that house, where there was always some

-      one prying about and the inmates of which professed the most strict

-      principles.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It happened to be a Tuesday night when Octave discovered Monsieur Gourd

-      watching close to his room. This increased his uneasiness. For a week

-      past, he had been imploring Berthe to come up and join him in his

-      apartment, when all the house would be asleep. Had the doorkeeper guessed

-      this? Octave went back to his room dissatisfied, tormented with fear and

-      desire.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The night was a close one, and, overcome by the heat, Octave had dozed off

-      in an easy-chair, when toward midnight he was roused by a gentle knocking.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's I,&rdquo; faintly whispered a woman's voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was Berthe. He opened the door and clasped her in his arms in the

-      obscurity. When he had lighted his candle, he saw that she was deeply

-      troubled about something. The day before, not having sufficient money in

-      his pocket, he had been unable to pay for the bonnet at the time: and as

-      in her delight she had so far forgotten herself as to give her name, they

-      had sent her the bill that evening. Then, trembling at the thought that

-      they might call on the morrow when her husband was there, she had dared to

-      come up, gathering courage from the great silence of the house, and

-      confident that Rachel was asleep.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;To-morrow morning, you will be sure to pay it to-morrow morning, won't

-      you?&rdquo; implored she, trying to escape.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But he again clasped her in his arms.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Stay!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She remained. The clock slowly struck the hours in the voluptuous warmth

-      of the room; and, at each sound of the bell, he begged her so tenderly to

-      stay, that her strength seemed to desert her and she yielded to his

-      entreaties. Then, toward four o'clock, just as she had at length

-      determined to go, they both dropped off to sleep locked in each other's

-      arms. When they again opened their eyes, the bright daylight was entering

-      at the window, it was nine o'clock. Berthe uttered a cry.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good heavens! I'm lost!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then ensued a moment of confusion. With her eyes half closed with sleep

-      and fatigue, feeling vaguely about with her hands scarcely able to

-      distinguish anything, she gave vent to stifled exclamations of regret. He,

-      seized with a similar despair, had thrown himself before the door, to

-      prevent her from going out at such an hour. Was she mad? people might meet

-      her on the stairs, it was too risky; they must think the matter over, and

-      devise a way for her to go down without being noticed. But she was

-      obstinate, simply wishing to get away; and she again made for the door,

-      which he defended. Then he thought of the servants' staircase. Nothing

-      could be more convenient; she could go quickly through her own kitchen

-      into her apartment. Only, as Mario Pichon was always in the passage of a

-      morning, Octave considered it prudent to divert her attention, whilst the

-      other young woman made her escape.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He went out in his ordinary quiet way, and was surprised to find Saturnin

-      making himself at home at Marie's, and calmly watching her do her

-      housework. The madman loved thus to seek refuge beside her as in former

-      days, delighted with the manner in which she left him to himself, and

-      certain of not being jostled. Moreover, he was not in her way, and she

-      willingly tolerated him, though his conversational powers were not great.

-      It was company all the same, and she would still sing her ballad in a low

-      and expiring voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo! so you're with your lover?&rdquo; said Octave, maneuvering so as to keep

-      the door shut behind his back.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Marie turned crimson. Oh! that poor Monsieur Saturnin! Was it possible? He

-      who seemed to suffer even when any one touched his hand by accident! And

-      the madman also got angry. He would not be any one's lover&mdash;never,

-      never! Whoever told his sister such a lie would have him to deal with.

-      Octave, amazed at his sudden irritation, felt it necessary to calm him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile Berthe made her way to the servants' staircase. She had two

-      flights to descend. At the first step a shrill laugh, issuing from Madame

-      Juzeur's kitchen below, caused her to stop; and she tremblingly stood

-      against the landing window, opened wide onto the narrow courtyard.

-    </p>

-    <h3>

-      ++++

-    </h3>

-    <p>

-      Suddenly a voice exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here's master coming for his hot water!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And windows were quickly closed, and doors slammed. The silence of death

-      ensued, yet Berthe did not at first dare to move. When she at length went

-      down, the thought came to her that Rachel was probably in the kitchen,

-      waiting for her. This caused her fresh anguish. She now dreaded to enter,

-      she would have preferred to reach the street and fly away in the distance

-      forever. She nevertheless pushed the door ajar, and felt relieved on

-      beholding that the servant was not there. Then, seized with a childish joy

-      on finding herself at home again and safe, she hurried to her room. But

-      there was Rachel standing before the bed, which had not even been opened.

-      She looked at the bed, and then at her mistress with her expressionless

-      face. In her first moment of fright, the young woman lost her head to the

-      point of trying to excuse herself, and talked of an illness of her

-      sister's. She stammered out the words, and then, frightened at the

-      poorness of her lie, understanding that denial was utterly useless, she

-      suddenly burst into tears. Dropping onto a chair, she continued crying.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      This lasted a good while. Not a word was exchanged, sobs alone disturbed

-      the perfect quiet of the room. Rachel, exaggerating her habitual

-      discretion, maintaining her cold manner of a girl who knows everything,

-      but who says nothing, had turned her back, and was making a pretence of

-      beating up the pillows, as though she was just finishing arranging the

-      bed. At length, when madame, more and more upset by this silence, was

-      giving too loud a vent to her despair, the maid, who was then dusting,

-      said simply, in a respectful tone of voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame is wrong to take on so, master is not so very pleasant.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe left off crying. She would pay the girl, that was all Without

-      waiting further she gave her twenty francs. Then, not thinking that

-      sufficient, and already feeling uneasy, having fancied she saw her curl

-      her lips disdainfully, she rejoined her in the kitchen, and brought her

-      back to make her a present of an almost new dress.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At the same moment, Octave, on his part, was again in a state of alarm, on

-      account of Monsieur Gourd. On leaving the Pichons', he had found him

-      standing immovable, the same as the night before, listening behind the

-      door communicating with the servants' staircase. He followed him without

-      even daring to speak to him. The doorkeeper gravely went back again down

-      the grand staircase. On the floor below he took a key from his pocket and

-      entered the room which was let to the distinguished individual, who came

-      there to work one night every week. And through the door, which remained

-      open for a moment, Octave obtained a clear view of that room which was

-      always kept as closely shut as a tomb. It was in a terrible state of

-      disorder that morning, the gentleman having no doubt worked there the

-      night before. A huge bed, with the sheets stripped off, a wardrobe with a

-      glass door, empty, save for the remnants of a lobster and two partly

-      filled bottles, two dirty hand-basins lying about, one beside the bed and

-      the other on a chair. Monsieur Gourd, with his calm air of a retired

-      judge, at once occupied himself with emptying and rinsing out the basins.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      As he hurried to the Passage de la Madeleine to pay for the bonnet, the

-      young man was tormented by a painful uncertainty. Finally, he determined

-      to engage the doorkeepers in conversation on his return. Madame Gourd,

-      reclining in her commodious armchair, was getting a breath of fresh air

-      between the two pots of flowers, at the open window of their room.

-      Standing up beside the door, old mother Pérou was waiting in a humble and

-      frightened manner.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Have you a letter for me?&rdquo; asked Octave, as a commencement.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Gourd just then came down from the room on the third floor.

-      Seeing after that was the only work that he now condescended to do in the

-      house; and he showed himself highly flattered by the confidence of the

-      gentleman, who paid him well on condition that his basins should not pass

-      through any other hands.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, Monsieur Mouret, nothing at all,&rdquo; answered he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He had seen old mother Pérou perfectly well, but he pretended not to be

-      aware of her presence. The day before he had got into such a rage with her

-      for upsetting a pail of water in the middle of the vestibule, that he had

-      sent her about her business on the spot. And she had called for her money,

-      but the mere sight of him made her tremble, and she almost sank into the

-      ground with humility.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      However, as Octave remained some time doing the amiable with Madame Gourd,

-      the doorkeeper roughly turned toward the poor old woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So, you want to be paid. What's owing to you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Madame Gourd interrupted him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Look, darling, there's that girl again with her horrible little beast.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was Lisa, who, a few days before, had found a spaniel in the street.

-      And this occasioned continual disputes with the doorkeepers. The landlord

-      would not allow any animals in the house. No, no animals, and no women!

-      The little dog was even forbidden to go into the courtyard; the street was

-      quite good enough for him. As it had been raining that morning, and the

-      little beast's paws were sopping wet, Monsieur Gourd rushed forward,

-      exclaiming:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I will not have him walk up the stairs, you hear me! Carry him in your

-      arms.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So that he shall make me all in a mess!&rdquo; said Lisa, insolently. &ldquo;What a

-      great misfortune it'll be if he wets the servants' staircase a bit! Up you

-      go, doggie.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Gourd tried to seize hold of her, and almost slipped, so he fell

-      to abusing those sluts of servants. He was always at war with them,

-      tormented with the rage of a former servant who wishes to be waited on in

-      his turn. But Lisa turned upon him, and with the verbosity of a girl who

-      had grown up in the gutters of Montmartre, she shouted out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh! just you leave me alone, you miserable old flunkey! Go and empty the

-      duke's jerries!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the only insult capable of silencing Monsieur Gourd, and the

-      servants all took advantage of it. He returned to his room quivering with

-      rage and mumbling to himself, saying that he was certainly very proud of

-      having been in service at the duke's, and that she would not have staid

-      there two hours even, the baggage! Then he assailed mother Pérou, who

-      almost jumped out of her skin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! what is it you're owed? Eh! you say twelve francs sixty-five

-      centimes. But it isn't possible? Sixty-three hours at twenty centimes the

-      hour. Ah! you charge a quarter of an hour. Never! I warned you, I only pay

-      the hours that are completed.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he did not even give her her money then, he left her perfectly

-      terrified, and joined in the conversation between his wife and Octave. The

-      latter was cunningly alluding to all the worries that such a house must

-      cause them, hoping thus to get them to talk about the lodgers. Such

-      strange things must sometimes take place behind the doors! Then the

-      doorkeeper chimed in, as grave as ever:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What concerns us, concerns us, Monsieur Mouret, and what doesn't concern

-      us, doesn't concern us. Over there, for instance, is something which quite

-      puts me beside myself. Look at it, look at it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, stretching out his arm, he pointed to the boot-stitcher, that tall,

-      pale girl who had arrived at the house in the middle of the funeral. She

-      walked with difficulty; she was evidently in the family way, and her

-      condition was exaggerated by the sickly skinniness of her neck and legs.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;On my word of honor! sir, if this sort of thing was likely to continue,

-      we would prefer to retire to our home at Mort-la-Ville; would we not,

-      Madame Gourd? for, thank heaven! we have sufficient to live on, we are

-      dependent on no one. A house like this to be made the talk of the place by

-      such a creature! for so it is, sir!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She seems very ill,&rdquo; said Octave, following her with his eyes, not daring

-      to pity her too much. &ldquo;I always see her looking so sad, so pale, so

-      forlorn. But, of course, she has a lover.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, Monsieur Gourd gave a violent start.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now we have it! Do you hear, Madame Gourd? Monsieur Mouret is also of

-      opinion that she has a lover. It's clear, such things don't come of

-      themselves. Well, sir! for two months past I've been on the watch, and

-      I've not yet seen the shadow of a man. How full of vice she must be! Ah!

-      if I only found her chap, how I would chuck him out! But I can't find him,

-      and it's that which worries me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Perhaps no one comes,&rdquo; Octave ventured to observe.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The doorkeeper looked at him with surprise.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That would not be natural. Oh! I'm determined I'll catch him. I've still

-      six weeks before me, for I got the landlord to give her notice to quit in

-      October. Just fancy her being confined here!&rdquo; and, with his arm still

-      thrust out, he pointed to the young woman, who was painfully wending her

-      way up the servants' staircase. Madame Gourd was obliged to calm him: he

-      took the respectability of the house too much to heart; he would end by

-      making himself ill. Then, mother Pérou having dared to manifest her

-      presence by a discreet cough, he returned to her, and coolly deducted the

-      sou she had charged for the odd quarter of an hour. She was at length

-      going off with her twelve francs sixty centimes, when he offered to take

-      her back, but at three sous an hour only. She burst into tears, and

-      accepted.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I shall always be able to get some one,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You're no longer

-      strong enough; you don't even do two sous' worth.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave felt his mind relieved as he returned to his room for a minute. On

-      the third floor he caught up Madame Juzeur, who was also going to her

-      apartments. She was obliged now to run down every morning after Louise,

-      who loitered at the different shops.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How proud you are becoming,&rdquo; said she, with her sharp smile. &ldquo;One can see

-      very well that you are being spoilt elsewhere.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      These words once more aroused all the young man's anxiety. He followed her

-      into her drawing-room, pretending to joke with her the while. Only one of

-      the curtains was slightly drawn back, and the carpet and the hangings

-      before the doors subdued still more this alcove-like light; and the noise

-      of the street did not penetrate more than to the extent of a faint buzz,

-      in this room as soft as down. She made him seat himself beside her on the

-      low, wide sofa. But, as he did not take her hand and kiss it, she asked

-      him archly:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you, then, no longer love me?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He blushed, and protested that he adored her. Then she gave him her hand

-      of her own accord, with a little stifled laugh; and he was obliged to

-      raise it to his lips, so as to dispel her suspicions, if she had any. But

-      she almost immediately withdrew it again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no; though you pretend to excite yourself, it gives you no pleasure.

-      Oh, I feel it does not, and, besides, it is only natural!&rdquo; What? what did

-      she mean? He seized her round the waist, and pressed her with questions,

-      but she would not answer; she abandoned herself to his embrace, and kept

-      shaking her head. At length, to oblige her to speak, he commenced tickling

-      her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, you see,&rdquo; she ended by murmuring, &ldquo;you love another.&rdquo; She named

-      Valérie, and reminded him of the evening at the Josserands when he

-      devoured her with his eyes. Then, as he declared that Valérie was nothing

-      to him, she retorted, with another laugh, that she knew that very well,

-      and had been only teasing him. Only, there was another, and this time she

-      named Madame Hédouin, laughing more than ever, and amused at his

-      protestations, which were very energetic. Who, then? Was it Marie Pichon?

-      Ah! he could not deny that one. Yet he did do so, but she shook her head.

-      She assured him that her little finger never told stories. And to draw

-      each of these women's names from her, he was obliged to redouble his

-      caresses.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But she had not named Berthe. He was loosening his hold of her, when she

-      resumed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now, there's the last one.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What last one?&rdquo; inquired he, anxiously.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Screwing up her mouth, she again obstinately refused to say anything more,

-      so long as he had not opened her lips with a kiss.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He continued to hold her reclining in his arms. She languishingly alluded

-      to the cruel being who had deserted her after having only been married a

-      week. A miserable woman like her knew too much of the tempests of the

-      heart! For a longtime past she had guessed what she styled Octave's

-      &ldquo;little games;&rdquo; for not a kiss could be exchanged in the house without her

-      hearing it. And, in the depths of the wide sofa, they had quite a cozy

-      little chat, interrupted now and then with all sorts of delightful

-      caresses.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When Octave left her he felt more at ease. She had restored his good

-      humor, and she amused him with her complicated principles of virtue.

-      Down-stairs, directly he entered the warehouse, he reassured Berthe with a

-      sign, as her eyes questioned him with reference to the bonnet. Then all

-      the terrible adventure of the morning was forgotten. When Auguste

-      returned, a little before lunch-time, he found them both looking the same

-      as usual, Berthe very much bored at the pay-desk, and Octave gallantly

-      measuring off some silk for a lady.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But, after that day, the lovers' private meetings became rarer still. As a

-      practical fellow, he ended by thinking it stupid to be always paying, when

-      she, on her side, only gave him her foot under the table. Paris had

-      decidedly brought him ill-luck; at first, repulses, and then this silly

-      passion, which was fast emptying his purse. He could certainly not be

-      accused of succeeding through women. He now found a certain honor in it by

-      way of consolation, in his secret rage at the failure of his plan so

-      clumsily carried out up till then.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Yet Auguste was not much in their way. Ever since the bad turn affairs had

-      taken at Lyons, he had suffered more than ever with his headaches. On the

-      first of the month, Berthe had experienced a sudden joy on seeing him, in

-      the evening, place three hundred francs under the bed-room timepiece for

-      her dress; and, in spite of the reduction on the amount which she had

-      demanded, as she had given up all hope of ever seeing a sou of it, she

-      threw herself into his arms, all warm with gratitude. On this occasion the

-      husband had a night of hugging such as the lover never experienced.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      September passed away in this manner, in the great calm of the house

-      emptied of its occupants by the summer months. The people of the second

-      floor had gone to the seaside in Spain, which caused Monsieur Gourd, full

-      of pity, to shrug his shoulders: what a fuss! as though the most

-      distinguished people were not satisfied with Trouville! The Duveyriers,

-      since the beginning of Gustave's holidays, had been at their country house

-      at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. Even the Josserands went and spent a

-      fortnight at a friend's, near Pontoise, spreading a rumor beforehand that

-      they were going to some watering-place.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      This clearance, these deserted apartments, the staircase slumbering in a

-      greater silence than ever, seemed to Octave to offer less danger; and he

-      argued and so wearied Berthe that she at last received him in her room one

-      evening whilst Auguste was away at Lyons. But this meeting also nearly

-      took a bad turn. Madame Josserand, who had returned home two days before,

-      was seized with such an attack of indigestion after dining out, that

-      Hortense, filled with anxiety, went down-stairs for her sister.

-      Fortunately, Rachel was just finishing scouring her saucepans, and she was

-      able to let the young man out by the servants' staircase. On the following

-      days, Berthe availed herself of that alarm to again refuse him everything.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Besides, they were so foolish as not to reward the servant. She attended

-      to them in her cold way, and with her superior respect of a girl who hears

-      and sees nothing; only, as madame was forever crying after money, and as

-      Monsieur Octave already spent too much in presents, she curled her lip

-      more and more in that wretched establishment, where the mistress' lover

-      did not even present her with ten sous when he stayed there.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Madame Juzeur wept with that lovesick darling who could only

-      gaze on his mistress from a distance; and she gave him the very best

-      advice. Octave's passion reached such a pitch that he thought one day of

-      imploring her to lend him her apartment; no doubt she would not have

-      refused, but he feared rousing Berthe's indignation by his indiscretion.

-      He also had the idea of utilizing Saturnin; perhaps the madman would watch

-      over them like a faithful dog in some out-of-the-way room; only, he

-      displayed such a fantastical humor, at one time overwhelming his sister's

-      lover with the most awkward caresses, at another, sulking with him and

-      casting suspicious glances gleaming with a sudden hatred. One could almost

-      have thought him jealous, with the nervous and violent jealousy of a

-      woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Just as September was drawing to a close, and the lodgers were on the

-      point of returning home, a wild idea came to Octave in the midst of his

-      torment. Rachel had asked her permission to sleep out on one of the

-      Tuesdays that her master would be at Lyons, in order to enable her to

-      attend the wedding of one of her sisters in the country; and it was merely

-      a question of passing the night in the servant's room, where no one in the

-      world would think of seeking them. Berthe, feeling deeply hurt at the

-      suggestion, at first displayed the greatest repugnance; but he implored

-      her with tears in his eyes; he talked of leaving Paris, where he suffered

-      too much; he confused and wearied her with such a number of arguments,

-      that, scarcely knowing what she did, she ended by consenting. All was

-      settled. The Tuesday evening, after dinner, they took a cup of tea at the

-      Josserands', so as to dispel any suspicions. Trublot, Gueulin, and uncle

-      Bachelard were there; and, very late in the evening, Duveyrier, who

-      occasionally came to sleep at the Rue de Choiseul, on account of business

-      which he pretended he had to attend to early in the morning, even put in

-      an appearance. Octave made a show of joining freely in the conversation of

-      these gentlemen; then, when midnight struck, he withdrew, and went and

-      locked himself in Rachel's room, where Berthe was to join him an hour

-      later when all the house was asleep.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Upstairs, the arrangement of the room occupied him during the first

-      half-hour. He had provided himself with clean bed linen, and he proceeded

-      to remake the bed, awkwardly, and occupying a long while over it, through

-      fear of being overheard. Then, like Trublot, he sat down on a box and

-      tried to wait patiently. The servants came up to bed, one by one; and

-      through the thin partitions the sounds of women undressing themselves

-      could be heard. One o'clock struck, then the quarter, then the half hour

-      past. He began to feel anxious; why was Berthe so long in coming? She must

-      have left the Josserands' about one o'clock at the latest; and it could

-      not take her more than ten minutes to go to her rooms and come out again

-      by the servants' staircase. When two o'clock struck, he imagined all sorts

-      of catastrophes. At length, he heaved a sigh of relief, on fancying he

-      recognized her footstep. And he opened the door, in order to light her.

-      But surprise rooted him to the spot. Opposite Adèle's door, Trublot, bent

-      almost double, was looking through the key-hole, and jumped up, frightened

-      by that sudden light.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! it's you again!&rdquo; murmured Octave, with annoyance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot began to laugh, without appearing the least surprised at finding

-      him there at such a time of night.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Just fancy,&rdquo; explained he, very softly, &ldquo;that fool Adèle hasn't given me

-      her key, and she has gone and joined Duveyrier in his room. Eh? what's the

-      matter with you? Ah! you didn't know Duveyrier slept with her. It is so,

-      my dear fellow. He really is reconciled with his wife, who, however, only

-      resigns herself to him now and then; so he falls back upon Adèle. It's

-      convenient, whenever he comes to Paris.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He interrupted himself, and stooped down again, then added, between his

-      clenched teeth.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What a confounded brainless girl that Adèle is! If she had only given me

-      her key, I could have made myself comfortable here.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he returned to the loft where he had been, previously waiting, taking

-      Octave with him, who, moreover, desired to question him respecting the

-      finish of the evening at the Josserands'. But, for some time, Trublot

-      would not allow him to open his mouth.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave was at length able to question him as to the wind-up of the party.

-      It seemed that Berthe had left her mother's shortly after midnight,

-      looking very composed. No doubt, she was now in Rachel's room. But

-      Trublot, delighted at the meeting, would not let him go.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's idiotic, keeping me waiting so long,&rdquo; continued he. &ldquo;Besides, I'm

-      almost asleep as it is. My governor has put me into the liquidation

-      department, and I'm up all night three times a week, my dear fellow. If

-      Julie were only there, she would make room for me. But Duveyrier only

-      brings Hippolyte up from the country. And, by the way, you know Hippolyte,

-      that tall, ugly chap! Well! I just saw him going to join Louise, that

-      frightened brat of a foundling, whose soul Madame Juzeur wished to save.

-      Eh? it's a fine success for Madame! 'Anything you like except that.'&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      That night, Trublot, who was greatly bored, was full of philosophical

-      reflections. He added, almost in a whisper:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, you know! like master, like man. When landlords set the example,

-      it's scarcely surprising if the servants' tastes are not exactly refined.

-      Ah! everything's decidedly going to the dogs in France!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; said Octave; &ldquo;I'm off.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Trublot still detained him, enumerating the servants' rooms where he

-      might have slept, as the summer had emptied nearly the whole of them; only

-      the worst was that they all double-locked their doors, even when they were

-      merely going to the end of the passage, they had such a fear of being

-      robbed by each other.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length Octave was able to get free. He was on the point of leaving

-      Trublot in the profound obscurity of the loft, when the latter suddenly

-      expressed his surprise.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But you, what are you doing amongst the maids? Ah! rascal, you come here

-      too!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he laughed with delight, and promising to keep Octave's secret, sent

-      him off, wishing him a pleasant night of it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When Octave found himself back in Rachel's room, he experienced a fresh

-      deception. Berthe was not there. Anger got the better of him now: Berthe

-      had humbugged him, she had promised him merely to get rid of his

-      importunities. Whilst he was chafing there, she was sleeping, happy at

-      being alone, occupying the whole breadth of the conjugal couch. Then,

-      instead of returning to his room and going to sleep himself, he

-      obstinately waited, throwing himself all dressed as he was on the bed, and

-      passing the night in forming projects of revenge. Three o'clock chimed out

-      in the distance. The snores of robust maid-servants arose on his left;

-      while on his right there was a continual wail, a woman moaning with pain

-      in the fever of a sleepless night. He ended by recognizing the

-      boot-stitcher's voice. The wretched woman was lying suffering all alone in

-      one of those poverty-stricken closets next to the roof.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Just as day was breaking, Octave fell asleep. A profound silence reigned;

-      even the boot-stitcher no longer moaned, but lay like one dead. The sun

-      was peering through the narrow window, when the door opening abruptly

-      awoke the young man.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was Berthe, who, urged by an irresistible desire, had come up to see if

-      he was still there; she had at first scouted the idea, then she had

-      furnished herself with pretexts, the need for going to the room and

-      putting everything straight, in case he had left it anyhow in his rage.

-      Moreover, she no longer expected to find him there. When she beheld him

-      rise from the little iron bedstead, ghastly pale and menacing, she stood

-      dumbfounded; and she listened with bowed head to his furious reproaches.

-      He pressed her to answer, to give him at least some explanation. At length

-      she murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;At the last moment I could not do it. It was too indelicate. I love you,

-      oh! I swear it. But not here, not here!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, seeing him approach her, she drew back, afraid that he might wish to

-      take advantage of the opportunity. Eight o'clock was striking, the

-      servants had all gone down, even Trublot had departed. Then, as he tried

-      to take hold of her hands, saying that, when one loves a person, one

-      accepts everything, she complained that the closeness of the room made her

-      feel unwell, and she slightly opened the window. But he again tried to

-      draw her toward him, overpowering her with his importunities. At this

-      moment a turbid torrent of foul words ascended from the inner courtyard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Pig! slut! have you done? Your dish-cloth's again fallen on my head.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, turning ghastly pale, and quivering from head to foot, released

-      herself, murmuring:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you hear those girls? They make me shiver all over. The other day, I

-      thought I should have been ill. No, leave me alone, and I promise to see

-      you, on Tuesday next, in your room.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The two lovers, standing up and not daring to move, were compelled to hear

-      everything.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Show yourself a moment,&rdquo; continued Lisa, who was furious, &ldquo;so that I may

-      shy it back in your ugly face!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Adèle went and leant out of her kitchen window.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There's a fuss about a bit of rag! To begin with, I only used it for

-      washing up with yesterday. And then it fell out by accident.&rdquo; They made

-      peace together, and Lisa asked her what they had had for dinner at her

-      place the day before. Another stew! What misers! She would have ordered

-      chops for herself, if she had been in such a hole! She was forever

-      inciting Adèle to sneak the sugar, the meat, the candles, just to show

-      that she could do as she liked; as for herself, never being hungry, she

-      left Victoire to rob the Cam-pardons, without even taking her share.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Adèle, who was gradually becoming corrupted, &ldquo;the other night I

-      hid some potatoes in my pocket. They quite burnt my leg. It was jolly, it

-      was jolly! And, you know, I like vinegar, I do. I don't care, I drink it

-      out of the cruet now.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Victoire came and leant out in her turn, as she finished drinking some

-      cassis mixed with brandy, which Lisa treated her to now and then of a

-      morning, to pay her for concealing her day and night escapades. And, as

-      Louise thrust out her tongue at them from the depths of Madame Juzeur's

-      kitchen, Victoire was at once down upon her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Wait a bit! you street foundling; I'll shove your tongue somewhere for

-      you!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come along, then, old swiller!&rdquo; retorted the little one. &ldquo;I saw you

-      yesterday bringing it all up again in your plate.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, the rush of foul words again rebounded from wall to wall of the

-      pestiferous hole. Adèle herself, who was mastering the Paris gift of the

-      gab, called Louise a filthy drab, whilst Lisa yelled out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I'll make her shut up if she bothers us. Yes, yes, little strumpet, I'll

-      tell Clémence. She'll settle you. But, hush! here's the man. He's a nice,

-      dirty beast, he is!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hippolyte, just then appeared at the Duveyriers' window, blacking his

-      master's boots. The other servants, in spite of everything, were polite to

-      him, for he belonged to the aristocracy, and he despised Lisa, who, in her

-      turn, despised Adèle, with more haughtiness than rich masters show to

-      masters in difficulties. They asked him for news of Mademoiselle Clémence

-      and Mademoiselle Julie. Well! really, they were almost bored to death

-      there, but they were pretty well. Then, jumping to another subject, he

-      asked:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Did you hear that girl last night, wriggling about with her stomach-ache?

-      Wasn't it annoying? Luckily she's going to leave soon. I had half a mind

-      to call out to her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This allusion to the boot-stitcher's condition caused them to pass all the

-      ladies of the house in review.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At first they talked of Madame Campardon, who at least had nothing more to

-      fear; then of Madame Juzeur, who took her precautions; next of Madame

-      Duveyrier, who was disgusted with her husband; and of Madame Valérie, who

-      went and got her children away from home. And at each recital bursts of

-      laughter arose in blasts from the squalid hole.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe had again turned pale. She waited, no longer even daring to leave

-      the room, her eyes cast down with shame, like one to whom violence was

-      being offered in Octave's presence. He, exasperated with the servants,

-      felt that they were becoming too filthy, and that he could not again take

-      her in his arms; his desire was giving place to a weariness and a great

-      sadness. But suddenly the young woman started. Lisa had just uttered her

-      name.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Talking of enjoying oneself, there's one who seems to me to go in for a

-      rare dose of it! Eh! Adèle, isn't it true that your Mademoiselle Berthe

-      was up to all manner of tricks at the time you used to wash her

-      petticoats?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Victoire, &ldquo;she gets her husband's assistant to give her a

-      dusting!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; exclaimed Hippolyte softly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What for? Her jade of a servant isn't there to-day. A sly hussy who'd eat

-      you, when one speaks of her mistress! You know she's a Jewess, and she

-      murdered some one once. Perhaps the handsome Octave dusts her also, in the

-      corners. The governor must have engaged him just to increase the family,

-      the big ninny!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Berthe, suffering indescribable anguish, raised her eyes to her

-      lover. And, cast down, imploring some aid, she stammered, in a painful

-      voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My God! my God!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave took her hand and squeezed it tightly; he was choking with impotent

-      rage. What was to be done? he could not show himself and force those women

-      to leave off. The foul words continued, words which the young woman had

-      never heard before, all the overflow of a sewer which every morning found

-      an outlet there, close to her, and of which she had never had the least

-      suspicion. Their love, so carefully hidden as they thought, was now being

-      dragged amidst the vegetable parings and the kitchen slops. These women

-      knew all, without any one having spoken. Lisa related how Saturnin held

-      the candle. Victoire was highly amused by the husband's headaches, and

-      said that he would do well to get himself another eye and have it placed

-      somewhere; even Adèle had a fling at her mistress' young lady, whose

-      ailments, private habits, and toilet secrets she ruthlessly exposed. And a

-      filthy chaff soiled all that remained that was good and tender in their

-      love.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Look out below!&rdquo; suddenly exclaimed Victoire; &ldquo;here's some of yesterday's

-      carrots which stink enough to poison one! They'll do for that crapulous

-      old Gourd!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The servants, out of spite, threw all the filth they could into the inner

-      courtyard, so that the doorkeeper should have it to sweep up.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And here's a bit of moldy kidney!&rdquo; said Adèle in her turn.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      All the scrapings of the saucepans, all the muck from the washing-up

-      basins, found their way there, whilst Lisa continued to pull Berthe and

-      Octave to pieces. The pair remained standing, hand-in-hand, face to face,

-      unable to turn away their eyes; and their hands became as cold as ice, and

-      their looks acknowledged the impurity of their intimacy. This was what

-      their love had come to, this fornication beneath a downpour of putrid meat

-      and stale vegetables!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And you know,&rdquo; said Hippolyte, &ldquo;the young gentleman doesn't care for the

-      missis. He merely took her to help him along in the world. Oh! he's a

-      miser at heart in spite of his airs, an unscrupulous fellow, who, with his

-      pretensions of loving women, is not above slapping them!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, her eyes on Octave, saw him turn pale, his face so upset, so

-      changed, that he frightened her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;On my word! the two make a nice pair,&rdquo; resumed Lisa. &ldquo;I wouldn't give

-      much for her skin either. Badly brought up, with a heart as hard as a

-      stone, caring for nothing except her own pleasure, and sleeping with

-      fellows for the sake of their money, yes, for their money! for I know the

-      sort of woman.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The tears streamed from Berthe's eyes. Octave beheld her features all

-      distorted. It was as if they had been flayed before each other, laid

-      utterly bare, without any possibility of protesting. Then the young woman,

-      suffocated by this open cesspool which discharged its exhalations full in

-      her face, wished to fly. He did not detain her, for disgust with

-      themselves made their presence a torture, and they longed for the relief

-      of no longer seeing each other.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You promise to come, next Tuesday, to my room?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she hurried away, quite distracted. Left alone, he walked about the

-      room, fumbling with his hands, putting the linen he had brought, into a

-      bundle. He was no longer listening to the servants, when their last words

-      attracted his attention.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I tell you that Monsieur Hédouin died last night. If handsome Octave had

-      foreseen that, he would have continued to cultivate Madame Hédouin, who's

-      worth a lot.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This news, learnt there, amidst those surroundings, re-echoed in the

-      innermost recesses of his being. Monsieur Hédouin was dead! And he was

-      seized with an immense regret. He thought out loud, he could not restrain

-      himself from saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! yes, by Jove! I've been a fool!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      When Octave at length went down, with his bundle, he met Rachel coming up

-      to her room. Had she been a few minutes sooner, she would have caught them

-      there. Down-stairs, she had again found her mistress in tears; but, this

-      time, she had not got anything out of her, neither an avowal, nor a sou.

-      And furious, understanding that they took advantage of her absence to see

-      each other and thus to do her out of her little profits, she stared at the

-      young man with a look black with menace. A singular schoolboy timidity

-      prevented Octave from giving her ten francs; and, desirous of displaying

-      perfect ease of mind, he went in to joke with Marie a while, when a grunt

-      proceeding from a corner caused him to turn round: it was Saturnin, who

-      rose up saying, in one of his jealous fits:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Take care! we're mortal enemies!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      That morning was the 8th of October, and the boot-stitcher had to clear

-      out before noon. For a week past, Monsieur Gourd had been watching her

-      with a dread that increased hourly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The boot-stitcher had implored the landlord to let her stay a few days

-      longer, so as to get over her confinement, but had met with an indignant

-      refusal. Pains were seizing her at every moment; during the last night,

-      she had fancied she would be brought to bed all alone. Then, toward nine

-      o'clock, she had begun her moving, helping the youngster whose little

-      truck was in the courtyard, leaning against the furniture or sitting down

-      on the stairs, whenever a formidable spasm doubled her up.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Gourd, however, had discovered nothing. Not a man! He had been

-      regularly humbugged. So that, all the morning, he prowled about in a cold

-      rage. Octave, who met him, shuddered at the thought that he also must know

-      of their intimacy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At a quarter to twelve, the work-girl appeared, with her wax-like face,

-      her perpetual sadness, her mournful despondency. She could scarcely move

-      along. Monsieur Gourd trembled until she was safe out in the street. Just

-      as she handed him her key, Duveyrier issued from the vestibule, so heated

-      by his night's work that the red blotches on his forehead seemed almost

-      bleeding. He put on a haughty air, an implacable moral severity, when the

-      creature passed before him. Ashamed and resigned, she bowed her head; and,

-      following the little truck, she went off with the same despairing step as

-      she had come, the day when she had been engulfed by the undertaker's black

-      hangings.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, only, did Monsieur Gourd triumph. As though this woman had carried

-      off with her all the uneasiness of the house, the disreputable things with

-      which the very walls shuddered, he called out to the landlord:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A good riddance, sir! One will be able to breathe now, for, on my word of

-      honor! it was becoming disgusting. It has lifted a hundred weight from off

-      my chest. No, sir; you see, in a house which is to be respected, there

-      should be no single women, and especially none of those women who work!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER XIV.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the following

-      Tuesday Berthe did not keep her promise to Octave. This time she had

-      warned him not to expect her, in a rapid explanation they had had that

-      evening, after the warehouse closed; and she sobbed; she had been to

-      confession the day before, feeling a want of religious comfort, and was

-      still quite upset by Abbé Manduit's grievous exhortations. Since her

-      marriage she had thrown aside all religion, but, after the foul words with

-      which the servants had sullied her, she had suddenly felt so sad, so

-      abandoned, so unclean, that she had returned for an hour to the belief of

-      her childhood, inflamed with a hope of purification and salvation. On her

-      return, the priest having wept with her, her sin quite horrified her.

-      Octave, impotent and furious, shrugged his shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, three days later, she again promised for the following Tuesday. At a

-      meeting with her lover, in the Passage des Panoramas, she had seen some

-      Chantilly lace shawls, and she was incessantly alluding to them, whilst

-      her eyes were filled with desire. So that, on the Monday morning, the

-      young man laughingly said to her, in order to soften the brutal nature of

-      the bargain, that, if she at last kept her word, she would find a little

-      surprise for herself up in his room. She understood him, and again burst

-      into tears. No! no! she would not go now; he had spoilt all the pleasure

-      she had anticipated from their being together. She had spoken of the shawl

-      thoughtlessly; she no longer wanted it; she would throw it on the fire if

-      he gave it her. However, on the morrow, they made all their arrangements:

-      she was to knock three times at his door very softly half an hour after

-      midnight.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      That day, when Auguste started for Lyons, he struck Berthe as being rather

-      peculiar. She had caught him whispering with Rachel behind the kitchen

-      door; besides which, he was quite yellow, and shivering, with one eye

-      closed up; but, as he complained a good deal of his headache, she thought

-      he was ill, and told him that the journey would do him good. Directly he

-      had left, she returned to the kitchen, still feeling slightly uneasy, and

-      tried to sound the servant. The girl continued to be discreet and

-      respectful, and maintained the stiff attitude of her early days. The young

-      woman, however, felt that she was vaguely dissatisfied, and she thought

-      that she had been very foolish to give her twenty francs and a dress, and

-      then to stop all further gratuities, although compelled to do so, for she

-      was forever in want of a five franc piece herself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My poor girl,&rdquo; said she to her, &ldquo;I have not been very generous, have I?

-      But it is not my fault. I have not forgotten you, and I shall recompense

-      you by-and-by.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame owes me nothing,&rdquo; answered Rachel, in her cold way.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Berthe went and fetched two of her old chemises, wishing at least to

-      show her good nature. But the servant, on receiving them, observed that

-      they would do for rags for the kitchen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Thank you, madame; calico irritates my skin; I only wear linen.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, however, found her so polite, that she became more easy. She made

-      herself very familiar with her, told her she was going to sleep out, and

-      even asked her to leave a lamp alight, in case she required it. The door

-      leading on to the grand staircase could be bolted, and she would go out by

-      way of the kitchen, the key of which she would take with her. The servant

-      received these instructions as coolly as if it had been a question of

-      cooking a piece of beef for the morrow's dinner.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      By a refinement of discretion, as his mistress was to dine with her

-      parents that evening, Octave accepted an invitation to the Campar-dons'.

-      He counted on staying there till ten o'clock, and then going and shutting

-      himself up in his room, and waiting for half-past twelve with as much

-      patience as possible.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The dinner at the Campardons' was quite patriarchal. The architect, seated

-      between his wife and her cousin, lingered over the dishes&mdash;regular

-      family dishes&mdash;abundant and wholesome, as he described them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eat away,&rdquo; cried the architect to Octave; &ldquo;you may be eaten yourself some

-      day.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Campardon, bending toward the young man's ear, was once more

-      congratulating herself on the happiness which the cousin had brought the

-      household; an economy of quite cent. per cent.; the servants made to be

-      respectful; Angèle looked after properly, and receiving good examples.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;In short,&rdquo; murmured she, &ldquo;Achille continues to be as happy as a fish in

-      water, and, as for me, I have absolutely nothing whatever left to do,

-      absolutely nothing. Listen! she even washes me now. I can live without

-      moving either arms or legs; she has taken all the cares of the household

-      on her own shoulders.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the architect related how &ldquo;he had settled those jokers of the

-      Ministry of Public Instruction.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Just fancy, my dear fellow, they made no end of a fuss about the work

-      I've done at Evreux, You see, I wished, above all, to please the bishop.

-      Only, the range for the new kitchens and the heating apparatus have come

-      to more than twenty thousand francs. No credit was voted for them, and it

-      is not easy to get twenty thousand francs out of the small sum allowed for

-      repairs.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They laughed all round the table, without the least respect for the

-      Ministry, of which they spoke with disdain, their mouths full of rice.

-      Rose declared that it was best to be on the side of religion. Ever since

-      the works at Saint-Roch, Achille was overwhelmed with orders; the greatest

-      families would employ no one else; it was impossible for him to attend to

-      them all; he would have to work all night as well as all day. God wished

-      them well, most decidedly, and the family returned thanks to Him, both

-      night and morning.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They were having dessert, when Campardon exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;By the way, my dear fellow, you know that Duveyrier has found &mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He was about to name Clarisse. But he recollected that Angèle was present,

-      so, casting a side glance toward his daughter, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He has found his relative, you know.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, biting his lip and winking his eye, he at length made himself

-      understood by Octave, who at first did not in the least catch what he

-      meant.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, Trublot, whom I met, told me so. The day before yesterday, when it

-      was pouring in torrents, Duveyrier stood up inside a doorway, and who do

-      you think he saw there? why, his relative shaking out her umbrella.

-      Trublot had been seeking her for a week past, so as to restore her to

-      him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Angèle had modestly lowered her eyes onto her plate, and began swallowing

-      enormous mouthfuls. The family rigorously excluded all indecent words from

-      their conversation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is she good looking?&rdquo; asked Rose of Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That's a matter of taste,&rdquo; replied the latter. &ldquo;Some people may think

-      so.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She had the andacity to come to the shop one day,&rdquo; said Gasparine, who,

-      in spite of her own skinniness, detested thin people. &ldquo;She was pointed out

-      to me. A regular bean-stalk.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;All the same,&rdquo; concluded the architect, &ldquo;Duveyrier's hooked again. His

-      poor wife&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He intended saying that Clotilde was probably relieved and delighted.

-      Only, he remembered a second time that Angèle was present, and put on a

-      doleful air to declare:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Relations do not always agree together. Yes! every family has its

-      worries.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Lisa, on the other side of the table, with a napkin on her arm, looked at

-      Angèle, and the latter, seized with a mad fit of laughter, hastened to

-      take a long drink, and hide her face in her glass.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A little before ten o'clock, Octave pretended to be very fatigued, and

-      retired to his room. In spite of Rose's affectionate ways, he was ill at

-      ease in that family circle, where he felt Gasparine's hostility to him to

-      be ever on the increase. Yet, he had never done anything to her. She

-      detested him for being a handsome man, she suspected him of having

-      overcome all the women of the house, and that exasperated her, though she

-      did not desire him the least in the world, but merely yielded, at the

-      thought of his happiness, to the instinctive anger of a woman whose beauty

-      had faded too soon.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Directly he had left, the family talked of retiring for the night. Before

-      getting into bed, Rose spent an hour in her dressing-room every evening.

-      She proceeded to wash and scent herself all over, then did her hair,

-      examined her eyes, her mouth, her ears, and even placed a tiny patch under

-      her chin. At night-time, she replaced her luxury of dressing-gowns by a

-      luxury of night-caps and chemises.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On that occasion she selected a chemise and a cap trimmed with

-      Valenciennes lace. Gasparine had assisted her, handing her the basins,

-      wiping up the water she spilt, drying her with a soft towel, little things

-      which she did far better than Lisa.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! I do feel comfortable!&rdquo; said Rose at length, stretched out in her

-      bed, whilst the cousin tucked in the sheets and raised the bolster.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And she laughed with delight, all alone in the middle of the big bed. With

-      her soft, delicate, and spotless body, reclining amidst the lace, she

-      looked like some beautiful creature awaiting the idol of her heart. When

-      she felt herself pretty, she slept better, she used to say. Besides, it

-      was the only pleasure left her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is it all right?&rdquo; asked Campardon, entering the room. &ldquo;Well! good-night,

-      little duck.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He pretended he had some work to do. He would have to sit up a little

-      longer. But she grew angry, she wished him to take some rest; it was

-      foolish to work himself to death like that!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You hear me, now go to bed. Gasparine, promise me to make him go to bed.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The cousin, who had just placed a glass of sugar and water, and one of

-      Dickens' novels on the night table, looked at her. Without answering, she

-      bent over and said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are so nice, this evening!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she kissed her on both cheeks, with her dry lips and bitter mouth, in

-      the resigned manner of a poor and ugly relation. Campardon, his face very

-      red, and suffering from a difficult digestion, also looked at his wife.

-      His mustache quivered slightly as he kissed her in his turn.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good night, my little duck.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good night, my darling. Now, mind you go to bed at once.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Never fear!&rdquo; said Gasparine. &ldquo;If he's not in bed asleep at eleven

-      o'clock, I'll get up and put his lamp out.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Toward eleven o'clock, Campardon, who was yawning over a Swiss cottage,

-      the fancy of a tailor of the Rue Rameau, rose from his seat and undressed

-      himself slowly, thinking of Rose, so pretty and so clean; then, after

-      opening his bed, on account of the servants, he went and joined Gasparine

-      in hers. It was so narrow that they slept very uncomfortably in it, and

-      their elbows were constantly digging into each other's ribs. He especially

-      always had one leg quite stiff in the morning, through his efforts to

-      balance himself on the edge of the mattress.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At the same time, as Victoire had gone to her room, having finished her

-      washing up, Lisa came, in accordance with her usual custom, to see if

-      mademoiselle required anything more. Angèle was waiting for her

-      comfortably in her bed; and thus, every evening, unknown to the parents,

-      they had endless games at cards, on a corner of the counterpane, which

-      they spread out for the purpose. They played at beggar-my-neighbor, while

-      abusing cousin Gasparine, a dirty creature, whom the maid coarsely pulled

-      to pieces before the child. They both avenged themselves for their

-      hypocritical submission during the day, and Lisa took a low delight in

-      this corruption of Angèle, and in satisfying the curiosity of this sickly

-      girl, agitated by the crisis of her thirteen years. That night they were

-      furious with Gasparine, who, for two days past, had taken to locking up

-      the sugar, with which the maid filled her pockets, to empty them afterward

-      on the child's bed. What a bear she was! now they were not even able to

-      get a lump of sugar to suck when going to sleep!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yet, your papa gives her plenty of sugar!&rdquo; said Lisa, with a sensual

-      laugh.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! yes!&rdquo; murmured Angèle, laughing also.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What does your papa do to her? Come, show me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the child caught the maid round the neck, pressed her in her bare

-      arms, and kissed her violently on the mouth, saying as she did so:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;See! like this. See! like this.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Midnight struck. Campardon and Gasparine were moaning in their over-narrow

-      bed, whilst Rose, stretching herself out in the middle of hers, and

-      extending her limbs, was reading Dickens, with tears of emotion. A

-      profound silence followed; the chaste night cast its shadow over the

-      respectability of the family.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On going up to his room, Octave found that the Pichons had company. Jules

-      called him in, and persisted on his taking a glass of something. Monsieur

-      and Madame Vuillaume were there, having made it up with the young people,

-      on the occasion of Marie's churching, she having been confined in

-      September. They had even agreed to come to dinner one Tuesday, to

-      celebrate the young woman's recovery, which only fully dated from the day

-      before. Anxious to pacify her mother, whom the sight of the child, another

-      girl, annoyed, she had sent it out to nurse, not far from Paris. Lilitte

-      was sleeping on the table, overcome by a glass of pure wine, which her

-      parents had forced her to drink to her little sister's health.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! two may still be put up with!&rdquo; said Madame Vuillaume, after

-      clinking glasses with Octave. &ldquo;Only, don't do it again, son-in-law.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The others all laughed. But the old woman remained perfectly grave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There is nothing laughable in that,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;We accept this

-      child, but I swear to you that if another were to come&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! if another came,&rdquo; finished Monsieur Vuillaume, &ldquo;you would have

-      neither heart nor brains. Dash it all! one must be serious in life, one

-      should restrain oneself, when one has not got hundreds and thousands to

-      spend in pleasures.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, turning toward Octave, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You see, sir, I am decorated. Well! I may tell you that, so as not to

-      dirty too many ribbons, I don't wear my decoration at home. Therefore, if

-      I deprive my wife and myself of the pleasure of being decorated in our own

-      home, our children can certainly deprive themselves of the pleasure of

-      having daughters. No, sir, there are no little economies.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But the Pichons assured him of their obedience. They were not likely to be

-      caught at that game again!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;To suffer what I've suffered!&rdquo; said Marie, still quite pale.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I would sooner cut my leg off,&rdquo; declared Jules.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The Vuillaumes nodded their heads with a satisfied air. They had their

-      word, so they forgave them that time. And, as ten was striking by the

-      clock, they tenderly embraced all round; and Jules put on his hat to see

-      them to the omnibus. This resumption of the old ways affected them so much

-      that they embraced a second time on the landing. When they had taken their

-      departure, Marie, who stood watching them go down, leaning over the

-      balustrade, beside Octave, took the latter back to the dining-room,

-      saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! mamma is not unkind, and she is quite right: children are no joke!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had shut the door, and was clearing the table of the glasses which

-      still lay about. The narrow room, with its smoky lamp, was quite warm from

-      the little family jollification. Lilitte continued to slumber on a corner

-      of the American cloth.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I'm off to bed,&rdquo; murmured Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But he sat down, feeling very comfortable there.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! going to bed already!&rdquo; resumed the young woman. &ldquo;You don't often

-      keep such good hours. Have you something to see to, then, early

-      to-morrow?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered he. &ldquo;I feel sleepy, that is all. Oh! I can very well stay

-      another ten minutes or so.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He just then thought of Berthe. She would not be coming up till half-past

-      twelve: he had plenty of time. And this thought, the hope of having her

-      with him for a whole night, which had been consuming him for weeks past,

-      no longer had the same effect on him. The fever of the day, the torment of

-      his desire counting the minutes, evoking the continual image of

-      approaching bliss, gave way beneath the fatigue of waiting.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Will you have another small glass of brandy?&rdquo; asked Marie.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! yes, I don't mind.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He thought that it would set him up a bit. When she had taken the glass

-      from him, he caught hold of her hands, and held them in his, whilst she

-      smiled, without the least alarm. He thought her charming, with her

-      paleness of a woman who had recently gone through a deal of suffering. All

-      the hidden tenderness with which he felt himself again invaded, ascended

-      with sudden violence to his throat, and to his lips. He had one evening

-      restored her to her husband, after placing a father's kiss upon her brow,

-      and now he felt a necessity to take her back again, an acute and immediate

-      longing, in which all desire for Berthe vanished, like something too

-      distant to dwell upon.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are not afraid, then, to-day?&rdquo; asked he, squeezing her hands tighter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, since it has now become impossible. Oh! we shall always be good

-      friends!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she gave him to understand that she knew everything. Saturnin must

-      have spoken. Moreover, she always noticed when Octave received a certain

-      person in his room. As he turned pale with anxiety, she hastened to ease

-      his mind: she would never say a word to any one, she was not angry, on the

-      contrary she wished him much happiness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; repeated she, &ldquo;I'm married, so I can't bear you any ill will.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He took her on his knees, and exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But it's you who I love!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0325.jpg" alt="0325 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0325.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      And he spoke truly. At that moment he loved her and only her, and with an

-      absolute and infinite passion. All his new intrigue, the two months spent

-      in pursuing another, were as naught. He again beheld himself in that

-      narrow room, coming and kissing Marie on the neck, behind Jule's back,

-      ever finding her willing, with her passive gentleness. This was true

-      happiness, how was it that he had disdained it? Regret almost broke his

-      heart. He still wished for her, and he felt that, if he had her no more,

-      he would be eternally miserable.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Let me be,&rdquo; murmured she, trying to release herself. &ldquo;You are not

-      reasonable, you will end by grieving me. Now that you love another, what

-      is the use of continuing to torment me?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She defended herself thus, in her gentle and irresolute way, merely

-      feeling a certain repugnance for what did not amuse her much. But he was

-      getting crazy, he squeezed her tighter, he kissed her throat through the

-      coarse material of her woolen dress.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's you who I love, you cannot understand&mdash;Listen! on what I hold

-      most sacred, I swear to you I do not lie. Tear my heart open and see. Oh!

-      I implore you, be kind!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Marie, paralyzed by the will of this man, made a movement as though to

-      take slumbering Lilitte into the next apartment; but he prevented her,

-      fearing that she would awaken the child. The peacefulness of the house, at

-      that hour of the night, filled the little room with a sort of buzzing

-      silence. Suddenly the lamp went down, and they were about to find

-      themselves in the dark, when Marie, rising, was just in time to wind it up

-      again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Tears filled her eyes, and she remained sad, though still without anger.

-      When he left her, he felt dissatisfied, he would have liked to have gone

-      to sleep. But the other one would be there shortly, he must wait for her,

-      and this thought weighed terribly on him; after having spent feverish

-      nights in concocting extravagant plans for getting her to visit him in his

-      room, he longed for something to happen which would prevent her from

-      coming up. Perhaps she would once again fail to keep her word. It was a

-      hope with which he scarcely dared delude himself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Midnight struck. Octave, quite tired out, stood listening, fearing to hear

-      the rustling of her skirts along the narrow passage. At half past twelve,

-      he was seized with real anxiety; at one o'clock, he thought himself saved,

-      but a secret irritation mingled with his relief, the annoyance of a man

-      made a fool of by a woman. But, just as he made up his mind to undress

-      himself, yawning for want of sleep, there came three gentle taps at the

-      door. It was Berthe. He felt both annoyed and flattered, and advanced to

-      meet her with open arms, when she motioned him aside, and stood trembling

-      and listening against the door, which she had hastily shut after her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; asked he, in a low voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I don't know, I was frightened,&rdquo; stammered she. &ldquo;It is so dark on the

-      stairs, I thought that somebody was following me. Dear me! how stupid all

-      this is! Some harm is sure to happen to us.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This chilled them both. They did not even kiss each other.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am going back,&rdquo; said she, without leaving her chair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What, you are going?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you think I sell myself? You are always hurting my feelings; you have

-      again spoilt all my pleasure to-night. Why did you buy it, when I forbade

-      you to do so?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She got up, and at length consented to look at it. But, when she opened

-      the box, she experienced such a disappointment, that she could not

-      restrain this indignant exclamation:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! it is not Chantilly at all, it is llama!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, who was reducing his presents, had yielded to a miserly idea. He

-      tried to explain to her that there was some superb llama, quite equal to

-      Chantilly; and he praised up the article, just as though he had been

-      behind his counter, making her feel the lace, and swearing that it would

-      last her forever. But she shook her head, and silenced him by observing

-      contemptuously.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The long and short of it is, this costs one hundred francs, whereas the

-      other would have cost three hundred.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, seeing him turn pale, she added, so as to soften her words: &ldquo;You are

-      very kind all the same, and I am much obliged to you. It is not the value

-      which makes the present, when one's intention is good.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She sat down again, and a pause ensued. She was still quite upset by her

-      silly fright on the stairs! And she returned to her misgivings with

-      respect to Rachel, relating how she had found Auguste whispering with the

-      maid behind the door. Yet, it would have been so easy to have bought the

-      girl over by giving her a five franc piece from time to time. But to do

-      this, it was necessary to have some five franc pieces; she never had one,

-      she had nothing. Her voice became harsh, the llama shawl, which she no

-      longer alluded to, was working her up to such a pitch of rancor and

-      despair, that she ended by picking the quarrel with her lover which had

-      already existed so long between her and her husband.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come, now, is it a life worth living? never a sou, always at any one's

-      mercy for the least thing! Oh! I've had enough of it, I've had enough of

-      it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, who was pacing the room, stopped short to ask her:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But why do you tell me all this?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? sir, why? But there are things which delicacy alone ought to tell

-      you, without my being made to blush by having to discuss such matters with

-      you. Ought you not, long ere now, and without having to be told, to have

-      made me easy by bringing this girl to our feet?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She paused, then she added, in a tone of disdainful irony:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It would not have ruined you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      There was another silence. The young man, who was again pacing the room,

-      at length replied:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am not rich, and I regret it for your sake.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then matters went from bad to worse, the quarrel assumed quite conjugal

-      violence.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Say that I love you for your money!&rdquo; cried she, with all the bluntness of

-      her mother, whose very words seemed to come to her lips. &ldquo;I am a

-      money-loving woman, am I not? Well! yes, I am a money-loving woman,

-      because I am a sensible woman. It is no use pretending the contrary; money

-      will ever be money in spite of everything. As for me, whenever I have had

-      twenty sous, I have always pretended that I had forty, for it is better to

-      create envy than pity.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He interrupted her to say, in a weary voice, like a man who only desires

-      peace.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Listen, if it annoys you so much that it's a llama shawl, I will give you

-      one in Chantilly.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Your shawl!&rdquo; continued she, in a regular fury, &ldquo;why, I've already

-      forgotten all about your shawl! The other things are what exasperate me,

-      understand! Oh! moreover, you're just like my husband. You wouldn't care a

-      bit if I hadn't a pair of boots to go out in. Yet, when one loves a woman,

-      good nature alone should prompt one to feed and dress her. But no man will

-      ever understand that. Why, between the two of you, you would soon let me

-      go out with nothing on but my chemise, if I was agreeable!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, tired out by this domestic squabble, decided not to answer, having

-      noticed that Auguste sometimes got rid of her in that way. He let pass the

-      flow of words, and thought of the ill-luck of his amours. Yet, he had

-      ardently desired this one, even to the point of upsetting all his

-      calculations; and, now that she was in his room, it was to quarrel with

-      him, to make him pass a sleepless night, as though they had already left

-      six months of married life behind them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And full of conciliation, without desire, but polite, he tried to kiss

-      her. She pushed him away, and burst into tears.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go on, reproach me also with my outings,&rdquo; stammered she in the midst of

-      her sobs. &ldquo;Accuse me of being too great an expense to you. Oh! I see

-      clearly now; it's all on account of that wretched present. If you could

-      shut me up in a box, you would do so. I have lady friends; I go to call on

-      them; that is no crime. And as for mamma&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;For heaven's sake leave your mamma alone,&rdquo; interrupted Octave; &ldquo;and allow

-      me to tell you that she has given you a precious bad temper.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She mechanically commenced to undress herself, and becoming more and more

-      excited, she raised her voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Mamma has always done her duty. It's not for you to speak of her here. I

-      forbid you to mention her name. It only remained for you to attack my

-      family!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Finding a difficulty in undoing the string of her petticoat, she broke it.

-      Then, seating herself on the edge of the bed, her bosom heaving with anger

-      in the midst of the surrounding lace of her chemise, she continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! how I regret my weakness, sir! how one would reflect, if one could

-      only foresee everything!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave, who had made a show of lying with his face to the wall, suddenly

-      bounced round, exclaiming:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! you regret having loved me?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Most certainly, a man incapable of understanding a woman's heart!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And they looked at each other close together, with hardened faces, quite

-      devoid of love.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! good heavens! if it were only to come over again!&rdquo; added she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You would take another, wouldn't you?&rdquo; said he, brutally and in a very

-      low voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She was about to answer fin the same exasperated tone, when there came a

-      sudden hammering at the door. Not understanding at first what it meant,

-      they remained immovable, and their blood seemed to freeze in their veins.

-      A hollow voice said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Open the door, I can hear you at your dirty tricks. Open, or I will burst

-      it in!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the husband's voice. Still the lovers did not move, their heads

-      were filled with such a buzzing that they could think of nothing; and they

-      felt very cold, just like corpses. Berthe at length jumped from the bed,

-      with an instinctive desire to fly from her lover, whilst, on the other

-      side of the door, Auguste repeated:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Open! open, I say!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then ensued a terrible confusion, an inexpressible anguish. Berthe turned

-      about the room in a state of distraction, seeking for some outlet, with a

-      fear of death which made her turn ghastly pale. Octave, whose heart jumped

-      to his mouth at each blow, had gone and mechanically leant against the

-      door, as though to strengthen it. The noise was becoming unbearable, the

-      fool would wake the whole house up, he would have to open the door. But,

-      when she understood his determination, she hung onto his arms, imploring

-      him with terrified eyes; no, no, mercy! the other would rush upon them

-      with a pistol or a knife. He, as pale as herself, and partly overcome by

-      her fright, slipped on his trousers, and beseeched her to dress herself.

-      Still bewildered, she only managed to put on her stockings. All this time

-      the husband continued his uproar.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You won't; you don't answer. Very well, you'll see.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Every since he had last paid his rent, Octave had been asking his landlord

-      for some slight repairs&mdash;two new screws in the staple of his lock,

-      which scarcely held to the wood. Suddenly the door cracked, the staple

-      yielded, and Auguste, unable to stop himself, rolled into the middle of

-      the room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Damnation!&rdquo; swore he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He simply held a key in his hand, which was bleeding through becoming

-      grazed in his fall. When he got up, livid, and filled with rage and shame

-      at the thought of his ridiculous entry, he hit out into space, and wished

-      to spring upon Octave. But the latter, in spite of the awkwardness of

-      being barefooted and having his trousers all awry, seized him by the

-      wrists, and, being the stronger of the two, mastered him, at the same time

-      exclaiming:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Sir, you are violating my domicile. It is disgraceful; you should act

-      like a gentleman.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he almost beat him. During their short struggle, Berthe had made off

-      in her chemise by the door which had remained wide open; she fancied she

-      beheld a kitchen knife in her husband's bleeding fist, and she seemed to

-      feel the cold steel between her shoulders. As she rushed along the dark

-      passage, she thought she heard the sound of blows, without being able to

-      make out who had dealt them, or who received them. Voices, which she no

-      longer recognized, were saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am at your service whenever you please.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Very well, you will hear from me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      With a bound she gained the servants' staircase. But when she had rushed

-      down the two flights, as though there had been the flames of a

-      conflagration behind her, she found the kitchen door locked, and

-      remembered she had left the key up-stairs in the pocket of her

-      dressing-gown. Moreover, there was no lamp; not the least glimmer of a

-      light beneath the door; it was evidently the servant who had sold them.

-      Without stopping to take breath, she tore up-stairs again, passing once

-      more before the passage leading to Octave's room, where the two men's

-      voices still continued in violent altercation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0333.jpg" alt="0333 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0333.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      They were going on abusing each other; she would have time, perhaps. And

-      she rapidly descended the grand staircase, with the hope that her husband

-      had left their outer door open. She would bolt herself in her room, and

-      open to nobody. But there, for the second time, she encountered a locked

-      door. Then, shut out from her home, with scarcely a covering to her body,

-      she lost her head, and scampered from floor to floor, like some hunted

-      animal which knows not where to take earth. She would never have the

-      courage to knock at her parents' door. At one moment she thought of taking

-      refuge with the doorkeepers, but shame drove her up-stairs again. She

-      listened, raised her head, bent over the hand-rail, her ears deafened by

-      the beating of her heart in the profound silence, her eyes blinded by

-      lights which seemed to shoot out from the dense obscurity. And it was

-      always the knife, the knife in Auguste's bleeding fist, the icy cold point

-      of which was about to pierce her. Suddenly there was a noise; she fancied

-      he was coming, and she shivered to her very marrow; and, as she was

-      opposite Campardons' door, she rang desperately, furiously, almost

-      breaking the bell.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good heavens! is the house on fire?&rdquo; asked an agitated voice inside.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The door opened at once. It was Lisa, who was only then leaving

-      mademoiselle, walking softly, and with a candlestick in her hand. The mad

-      ringing of the bell had made her start, just as she was crossing the

-      ante-room. When she caught sight of Berthe in her chemise, she stood

-      rooted to the spot.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What's the matter?&rdquo; asked she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The young woman had entered, violently slamming the door behind her; and,

-      panting and leaning against the wall, she stammered out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hush! keep quiet! He wants to kill me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Lisa was trying to get a sensible explanation from her, when Campardon

-      appeared, looking very anxious. This incomprehensible uproar had disturbed

-      Gasparine and him in their narrow bed. He had simply slipped on his

-      trousers, and his fat face was swollen and covered with perspiration,

-      whilst his yellow beard was quite flaccid and full of the white down of

-      the pillow. He was all out of breath, and endeavoring to assume the

-      assurance of a husband who sleeps alone.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is that you, Lisa?&rdquo; called he from the drawing-room. &ldquo;It's absurd! How is

-      it you're not up-stairs?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I was afraid I had not fastened the door properly, sir; I could not sleep

-      for thinking of it, so I came down to make sure. But it's madame&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The architect, seeing Berthe leaning against the wall of his anteroom with

-      nothing but her chemise on, stood lost in amazement also. Berthe forgot

-      how scantily she was clad.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! sir, keep me here,&rdquo; repeated she. &ldquo;He wants to kill me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Who does?&rdquo; asked he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My husband.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The cousin now put in an appearance behind the architect. She had taken

-      time to don a dress, and, her hair untidy and also full of down, her

-      breast flat and hanging, her bones almost protruding through her garment,

-      she brought with her the rancor arising from her interrupted repose. The

-      sight of the young woman, of her plump and delicate nudity, only increased

-      her ill-humor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Whatever have you done, then, to your husband?&rdquo; she asked.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At this simple question Berthe was overcome by a great shame. She

-      remembered she was half-naked, and blushed from head to foot. In this long

-      thrill of shame, she crossed her arms over her bosom, as though to escape

-      the glances directed at her. And she stammered out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He found me&mdash;he caught me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The two others understood, and looked at each other with indignation in

-      their eyes. Lisa, whose candle lighted up the scene, pretended to share

-      her master's reprehension. At this moment, however, the explanation was

-      interrupted by Angèle also hastening to the spot; and she pretended to

-      have just woke up, rubbing her eyes heavy with sleep. The sight of the

-      lady with nothing on her but a chemise suddenly brought her to a

-      standstill, with a jerk, a quivering of her precocious young girl's

-      slender body.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she simply exclaimed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's nothing; go back to bed!&rdquo; cried her father.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, understanding that some sort of story was necessary, he related the

-      first that came into his head, but it was really too ludicrous.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame sprained her ankle coming down-stairs, so she's come here for

-      assistance. Go back to bed; you'll catch cold!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Lisa choked back a laugh on encountering Angele's wide-open eyes, as the

-      latter returned to her bed, all rosy, and quite delighted at having seen

-      such a sight. For some minutes past Madame Campardon had been calling from

-      her room. She had not put her light out, being so interested in her

-      Dickens, and she wished to know what had happened. What did it all mean?

-      who was there? why did not some one come to set her mind at rest?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come, madame,&rdquo; said the architect, taking Berthe with him. &ldquo;And you,

-      Lisa, wait a minute.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In the bed-room, Rose was still spread out in the middle of the big bed.

-      She throned there with her queenly luxury, her quiet serenity of an idol.

-      She was deeply affected by what she had read, and she had placed the book

-      on her breast, with the heavings of which it gently rose and fell. When

-      the cousin in a few words had made her acquainted with what had taken

-      place, she also appeared to be scandalized. How could one go with a man

-      who was not one's husband? and she was filled with disgust for that which

-      was denied to her. But the architect now cast confused glances at the

-      young woman, and this ended by making Gasparine blush.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is shocking!&rdquo; cried she. &ldquo;Cover yourself up, madame, for it is really

-      shocking! Pray cover yourself up!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she herself threw a shawl of Rose's over Berthe's shoulders, a large

-      knitted woolen shawl which was lying about. It did not reach to her knees,

-      however, and in spite of himself the architect's eyes wandered over the

-      young woman's person.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe was still trembling. Though she was in safety, she kept starting

-      and looking toward the door. Her eyes were full of tears, and she

-      beseeched this lady, who seemed so calm and comfortable as she lay in bed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! madame, keep me, save me. He wants to kill me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A pause ensued. The three were consulting one another with their eyes,

-      without hiding their disapproval of such culpable conduct. Besides, it was

-      not proper to come in a state of nudity and wake people up after midnight,

-      and perhaps put them to great inconvenience. No, such a thing was not

-      right; it showed a want of discretion, besides placing them in a very

-      awkward position.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We have a young girl here,&rdquo; said Gasparine at length. &ldquo;Think of our

-      responsibility, madame.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You would be better with your parents,&rdquo; insinuated the architect, &ldquo;and if

-      you will allow me to see you to their door&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe was again seized with terror.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no! He is on the stairs; he would kill me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she implored him to let her remain: a chair was all she needed to wait

-      on till morning; on the morrow, she would go quietly away. The architect

-      and his wife would have consented; he won over by such tender charms; she

-      interested by the drama of this surprise in the middle of the night. But

-      Gasparine remained inflexible. Yet she had her curiosity to satisfy, and

-      she ended by asking:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Wherever were you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Up-stairs, in the room at the end of the passage, you know.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, Campardon held up his arms and exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! with Octave! it isn't possible!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      With Octave, with that bean-stalk, such a pretty, plump little woman! He

-      was annoyed. Rose, also, felt vexed, and was now inclined to be severe. As

-      for Gasparine, she was quite beside herself, stung to the heart by her

-      instinctive hatred of the young man. He again! she knew very well that he

-      had them all; but she was certainly not going to be so stupid as to keep

-      them warm for him in her home.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Put yourself in our place,&rdquo; resumed she, harshly. &ldquo;I tell you again we

-      have a young girl here.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; said Campardon, in his turn, &ldquo;there is the house to be

-      considered; there is your husband, with whom I have always been on the

-      best of terms. He would have a right to be surprised. It will never do for

-      us to appear to publicly approve your conduct, madame, oh! a conduct which

-      I do not permit myself to judge, but which is rather&mdash;what shall I

-      say?&mdash;rather indiscreet, is it not?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We are certainly not going to cast stones at you,&rdquo; continued Rose. &ldquo;Only,

-      the world is so wicked! People will say that you had your meetings here.

-      And, you know, my husband works for some very strait-laced people. At the

-      least stain on his morality, he would lose everything. But, allow me to

-      ask you, madame, how is it you were not restrained by religion? The Abbé

-      Manduit was talking to us of you quite paternally, only the day before

-      yesterday.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe turned her head about between the three of them, looking at the one

-      who spoke, in a bewildered sort of way. In the midst of her fright, she

-      was beginning to understand; she felt surprised at being there. Why had

-      she rang; what was she doing amongst these people whom she disturbed? She

-      saw them clearly now&mdash;the wife occupying the whole width of the bed,

-      the husband in his drawers, and the cousin in a thin skirt, the pair of

-      them white with the feathers of the same pillow. They were right; it was

-      not proper to tumble amongst people in that way. And, as the architect

-      pushed her gently toward the ante-room, she went off without even

-      answering Rose's religious regrets.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Shall I accompany you as far as your parents' door?&rdquo; asked Campardon.

-      &ldquo;Your place is with them.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She refused, with a terrified gesture.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, wait a moment; I will take a look up and down the stairs, for I

-      should deeply regret if the least harm happened to you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Lisa had remained in the middle of the ante-room, with her candle. He took

-      it, went out onto the landing, and returned almost immediately.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I assure you there is no one. Run up quick.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Berthe, who had not again opened her lips, hastily took off the

-      woolen shawl, and threw it on the floor, saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here! this is yours. It's no use keeping it, as he's going to kill me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she went out into the darkness, with nothing on but her chemise, the

-      same as when she came. Campardon double locked the door in a fury,

-      murmuring the while:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh! go and get tumbled elsewhere!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, as Lisa burst out laughing behind him, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's true, they'd be coming every night, if one received them. Every one

-      for himself. I would have given her a hundred francs: but my reputation!

-      no, by Jove!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In the bed-room, Rose and Gasparine were recovering themselves. Had any

-      one ever seen such a shameless creature? to walk about the staircase with

-      nothing on! Really! there were women who respected nothing, at certain

-      times! But it was close upon two o'clock; they must get to sleep. And they

-      embraced again: good night, my darling&mdash;good night, my duck. Eh! was

-      it not nice to love each other, and to always agree together, when one

-      beheld such catastrophes occurring in other families? Rose again took up

-      her Dickens; he supplied all her requirements; she would read a few more

-      pages, then let the book slip into the bed, the same as she did every

-      night, and fall off asleep, weary with emotion. Campardon followed

-      Gasparine, made her get into bed first, and then laid himself down beside

-      her. They both grumbled; the sheets had become cold again; they were not

-      at all comfortable; it would take them another half-hour to get warm.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And Lisa, who, before going up-stairs, had returned to Angèle's room, was

-      saying to her:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The lady has sprained her ankle. Come, show me how she sprained it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why! like this!&rdquo; replied the child, throwing herself on the maid's neck,

-      and kissing her on her lips.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe was on the stairs shivering. It was cold, the heating apparatus was

-      not lighted till the beginning of November. Her fright had at length

-      abated. She had gone down and listened at her door: nothing, not a sound.

-      Then she had gone up, not daring to venture as far as Octave's room, but

-      listening from a distance: there was a death-like silence, unbroken by a

-      murmur.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Suddenly, a noise affrighted her, causing her to jump up, and she was

-      about to hammer with both her fists on her mother's door, when some one

-      calling out stopped her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was a voice almost as faint as a zephyr.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame&mdash;madame&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She looked down-stairs, but saw nothing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame&mdash;madame&mdash;it's I.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And Marie showed herself in her chemise also. She had heard all the

-      disturbance, and had slipped out of bed, leaving Jules asleep, whilst she

-      remained listening in her little dining-room without a light.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come in. You are in trouble. I am a friend.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She gently reassured her, and told her all that had taken place. The men

-      had not hurt each other: he had cursed and swore, and pushed the chest of

-      drawers up against his door, to shut himself in; whilst the other had gone

-      down-stairs with a bundle in his hand, the things she had left behind, her

-      shoes and petticoat, which he must have rolled up mechanically in her

-      dressing-gown, on seeing them lying about. In short, it was all over. It

-      would be easy enough to prevent them fighting on the morrow.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But Berthe remained standing on the threshold with a remnant of fear and

-      shame at thus entering the abode of a lady whom she did not habitually

-      frequent. Marie was obliged to lead her in by the hand.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will sleep there, on that sofa. I will lend you a shawl, and I will

-      go and see your mother. Good heavens! what a misfortune! When one is in

-      love, one does not stop to think.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! for the little pleasure we had!&rdquo; said Berthe, with a sigh, which was

-      full of the cruelty and stupidity of her unprofitable night. &ldquo;He does

-      right to swear. If he's like me, he's had more than enough of it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They were on the point of speaking of Octave. They said nothing further,

-      but suddenly fell sobbing into each other's arms in the dark. Their limbs

-      clasped with a convulsive passion, their bosoms, hot with tears, were

-      pressed close together beneath their crumpled chemises. It was a final

-      weariness, an immense sadness, the end of everything. They did not say

-      another word, whilst their tears flowed, flowed without ceasing, in the

-      midst of the darkness and of the profound slumber of that house so full of

-      decency.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER XV.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hat morning the

-      house awoke with a great middle-class dignity. Nothing of the staircase

-      preserved a trace of the scandals of the night, neither the imitation

-      marble which had reflected that gallop of a woman in her chemise, nor the

-      Wilton carpet from which all the odor of her semi-nudity had evaporated.

-      Monsieur Gourd alone, when he went up-stairs toward seven o'clock to give

-      his look round, sniffed at the walls; but what did not concern him, did

-      not concern him; and as, on going down-stairs again, he saw two of the

-      servants in the courtyard, Lisa and Julie, who were no doubt discussing

-      the catastrophe, for they seemed deeply interested, he stared at them so

-      fixedly that they at once separated. Then he went outside to make sure of

-      the tranquillity of the street. It was calm. Only, the servants must

-      already have been talking, for some of the neighbors' wives stopped,

-      tradespeople came to their shop doors, looking up in the air, examining

-      and searching the different floors, in the gaping way in which the crowd

-      scrutinizes houses where a crime has been committed. In the presence of

-      the rich frontage, however, people held their tongues and politely passed

-      on.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At half-past seven, Madame Juzeur appeared in a dressing-gown, to look

-      after Louise, she said. Her eyes sparkled, and her hands were feverishly

-      hot. She stopped Marie, who was going up with her milk, and endeavored to

-      get her to talk; but she could draw nothing out of her, and did not even

-      learn how the mother had received her guilty daughter. Then, under the

-      pretense of waiting a minute for the postman, she entered the Gourds'

-      room, and ended by asking why Monsieur Octave did not come down; perhaps

-      he was ill. The doorkeeper replied that he did not know; moreover,

-      Monsieur Octave never came down before ten minutes past eight. At this

-      moment, the other Madame Campardon, pale and erect, passed by; every one

-      bowed to her. And Madame Juzeur, obliged to go up-stairs again, had the

-      luck, on reaching the landing, to meet the architect just starting off and

-      putting on his gloves. At first they both looked at each other in a

-      dejected sort of way; then he shrugged his shoulders.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Poor things!&rdquo; murmured she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no, it serves them right!&rdquo; said he ferociously. &ldquo;An example must be

-      made of them. A fellow whom I introduce into a respectable house,

-      beseeching him not to bring any women there, and who, to humbug me, goes

-      and sleeps with the landlord's sister-in-law! I look like a fool in it

-      all!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      No more was said. Madame Juzeur entered her apartments, whilst Campardon

-      continued on his way down-stairs in such a state of fury that he tore one

-      of his gloves.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Just as eight o'clock was striking, Auguste, looking very dejected, his

-      features contracted by an atrocious headache, crossed the courtyard to go

-      to his warehouse. Filled with shame, and dreading to meet any one, he had

-      come down by way of the servants' staircase. However, he could not leave

-      his business to take care of itself. When in the midst of his counters,

-      and before the pay-desk where Berthe usually sat, his emotion almost

-      choked him. The porter was taking down the shutters, and Auguste was

-      giving the orders for the day, when the abrupt appearance of Saturnin

-      coming up from the basement gave him an awful fright. The madman's eyes

-      were like flames of fire, his white teeth resembled a famished wolf's. He

-      went straight up to the husband, clenching his fists.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Where is she? If you touch her, I'll bleed you to death like a pig!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste drew back, exasperated.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here's this one, now!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Shut up, or I'll bleed you!&rdquo; repeated Saturnin, making a rush at him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the husband preferred to beat a retreat. He had a horror of madmen;

-      one could not reason with such people. But, as he went out into the porch,

-      calling to the porter to shut Saturnin up in the basement, he found

-      himself face to face with Valérie and Théophile. The latter, who had

-      caught a frightful cold, was wrapped up in a big red comforter, and

-      coughed and moaned. They must both have known everything, for they stopped

-      before Auguste with an air of condolence. Since the quarrel about the

-      inheritance, the two couples had been sworn enemies, and were no longer on

-      speaking terms.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You still have a brother,&rdquo; said Théophile, shaking him by the hand, when

-      he had finished coughing. &ldquo;I wish you to remember it in your misfortune.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; added Valérie, &ldquo;this ought to avenge me, for she said some filthy

-      things to me, did she not? But we pity you all the same, for we are not

-      quite heartless.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste, deeply touched by their kind manner, led them to the end of his

-      warehouse, keeping an eye on Saturnin, who was prowling about. And, there,

-      their reconciliation became complete. Berthe's name was not mentioned;

-      only, Valérie allowed it to be understood that all the unpleasantness

-      arose from that woman, for there never had been a disagreeable word said

-      in the family till she had entered it to dishonor them. Auguste, his eyes

-      cast on the ground, listened and nodded his head approvingly. And a

-      certain gayety gleamed beneath Théophile's commiseration, for he was

-      delighted at no longer being the only one, and he examined his brother's

-      face to see how a person looks when in that awkward position.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now, what have you decided to do?&rdquo; inquired he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;To challenge him, of course!&rdquo; firmly replied the husband.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Théophile's joy was spoilt. His wife and he became cooler, in the presence

-      of Auguste's courage. The latter related to them the frightful scene of

-      the night&mdash;how, having been foolish enough to hesitate purchasing a

-      pistol, he had been forced to content himself with merely slapping the

-      gentleman's face; and to tell the truth, the gentleman had done the same

-      to him, but that did not prevent his having received a pretty good hiding!

-      A scoundrel who had been making a fool of him for six months past by

-      pretending to take his part against his wife, and whose impudence had gone

-      as far as making reports respecting her on the days she went out! As for

-      her, the creature, as she had gone to her parents, she could remain with

-      them; he would never take her back.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Would you believe that last month I allowed her three hundred francs for

-      her dress!&rdquo; cried he. &ldquo;I who am so kind, so tolerant, who had decided to

-      put up with everything sooner than make myself ill! But one cannot put up

-      with that&mdash;no! no! one cannot!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Théophile was thinking of death. He trembled feverishly, and almost choked

-      as he said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's absurd, you will get spitted. I would not fight.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as Valérie looked at him, he added, in an embarrassed manner:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If such a thing happened to me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! the wretched woman!&rdquo; then murmured his wife, &ldquo;when one thinks that

-      two men are going to kill each other on account of her! In her place I

-      could never sleep again.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste remained firm. He would fight. Moreover, his plans were settled.

-      As he particularly wished Duveyrier to be second, he was going up to

-      inform him of what had taken place, and to send him at once to Octave.

-      Valérie, who was most obliging to Auguste, ended by offering to attend at

-      the pay-desk, to give him time to find a suitable person.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Only,&rdquo; added she, &ldquo;I must take Camille to the Tuileries gardens toward

-      two o'clock.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! it does not matter for once in a way!&rdquo; said her husband. &ldquo;It's

-      raining, too.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no, the child wants air. I must go out.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At length the two brothers went up to the Duveyriers'. But an abominable

-      fit of coughing obliged Théophile to stop on the very first stair. He held

-      on the hand-rail, and, when he was able to speak, though still with a

-      slight rattle in his throat, he stammered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know, I'm very happy now; I'm quite sure of her, No; I've not the

-      least thing to reproach her with, and she has given me proofs.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste stared at him without comprehending, and saw how yellow and half

-      dead he looked, with the scanty hairs of his beard drying up in his flabby

-      flesh. The look completed Théophile's annoyance, whilst he felt quite

-      embarrassed by his brother's valor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am speaking of my wife,&rdquo; he resumed. &ldquo;Ah! poor old fellow, I pity you

-      with all my heart! You recollect my stupidity on your wedding day. But

-      with you there can be no mistake, as you saw them.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; said Auguste, doing the brave, &ldquo;I'll spit him like a lark. On my

-      word, I shouldn't care a hang if I hadn't such a headache!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Just as they rang at the Duveyriers' door, Théophile suddenly thought that

-      very likely the counselor would not be in, for since the day he had found

-      Clarisse, he had been drifting into bad habits, and had now even got to

-      the point of sleeping out. Hippolyte, who opened the door to them, avoided

-      answering with respect to his master; but he said that the gentlemen would

-      find madame playing her scales. They entered. Clotilde, tightly laced up

-      from the moment she got out of bed, was seated at her piano, practicing

-      with a regular and continuous movement of her hands; and, as she went in

-      for this kind of exercise for two hours every day, so as not to lose the

-      lightness of her touch, she occupied her mind in another way, by reading

-      the &ldquo;Revue des deux Mondes,&rdquo; which stood open on the piano before her,

-      without the agility of her fingers being in any way hampered.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why! it's you!&rdquo; said she, when her brothers had drawn her from the volley

-      of notes, which isolated and enveloped her like a storm of hail.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And she did not even show her surprise when she caught sight of Théophile.

-      The latter, moreover, kept himself very stiff, like a man who had come on

-      another's account. Auguste, filled with shame at the thought of telling

-      his sister of his misfortune, and afraid of terrifying her with his duel,

-      had a story all ready. But she did not give him time to lie, she

-      questioned him in her quiet way, after looking at him intently.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What do you intend doing now?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He started and blushed. So every one knew it, then? and he answered in the

-      brave tone which had already closed Théophile's mouth:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, fight, of course!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said she, greatly surprised this time.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      However, she did not disapprove. It would increase the scandal, but yet

-      honor had to be satisfied. She contented herself with recalling that she

-      had at first opposed the marriage. One could expect nothing of a young

-      girl who appeared to be ignorant of all a woman's duties. Then, as Auguste

-      asked her where her husband was:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He is traveling,&rdquo; answered she, without the least hesitation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then he was quite distressed, for he did not wish to do anything before

-      consulting Duveyrier. She listened to him, without mentioning the new

-      address, unwilling to acquaint her family with her home troubles. At

-      length she hit on an expedient: she advised him to go to Monsieur

-      Bachelard, in the Rue d'Enghien; perhaps he would be able to tell him

-      something. And she returned to her piano.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's Auguste who asked me to come up,&rdquo; Théophile, who had not spoken

-      until then, thought it necessary to declare. &ldquo;Will you let me kiss you,

-      Clotilde? We are all in trouble.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She presented her cold cheek, and said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My poor fellow, only those are in trouble who choose to be. As for me, I

-      forgive every one. And take care of yourself, you seem to me to have a

-      very had cough.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, calling to Auguste, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If the matter does not get settled, let me know, for I shall then be very

-      anxious.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The storm of notes recommenced, enveloping and drowning her; and, whilst

-      her nimble fingers practiced the scales in every key, she gravely resumed

-      her reading of the &ldquo;Revue dex deux Mondes,&rdquo; in the midst of it all.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Down-stairs, Auguste for a moment discussed the question whether he should

-      go to Bachelard's or not. How could he say to him: &ldquo;Your niece has

-      deceived me?&rdquo; At length, he decided to obtain Duveyrier's address from the

-      uncle, and to tell him nothing. Everything was settled: Valérie would look

-      after the warehouse, whilst Théophile would watch the home, until his

-      brother's return. The latter had sent for a cab, and he was just going

-      off, when Saturnin, who had disappeared a moment before, came up from the

-      basement with a big kitchen knife, which he flourished about, as he cried:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I'll bleed him! I'll bleed him!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This created another scare. Auguste, turning very pale, jumped

-      precipitately into the cab, and pulled the door to, saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He's got another knife! Wherever does he find all those knives? I beseech

-      you, Théophile, send him away, try and arrange that he shall no longer be

-      here when I come back. As though what has already happened were not bad

-      enough for me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The porter had hold of the madman by his shoulders. Valérie told the

-      driver the address. But he, a fat and filthy looking man, with a face the

-      color of bullock's blood, and still drunk from the night before, did not

-      hurry himself, but took his time to gather up the reins and make himself

-      comfortable on the box.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;By distance, governor?&rdquo; asked he, in a hoarse voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, by the hour, and quickly please. There will be something handsome for

-      yourself.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In the Rue d'Enghein, he met with another vexation. To begin with, the

-      commission agent's doorway was so blocked up with vans that he almost got

-      crushed; then he found himself in the courtyard with the glass roof,

-      amidst a crowd of packers all violently nailing up cases, and not one of

-      whom could tell him where Bachelard was. The hammering seemed to split his

-      skull. He was, however, making up his mind to wait for the uncle, when an

-      apprentice, pitying his suffering look, came and whispered an address in

-      his ear: Mademoiselle Fifi, Rue Saint-Marc, third floor. Old Bachelard was

-      most likely there.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Where do you say?&rdquo; asked the driver, who had fallen asleep.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Rue Saint-Marc, and a little faster, if it's possible.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The cab resumed its funereal crawl. On the boulevards, the wheel caught in

-      an omnibus. The panels cracked, the springs uttered plaintive cries, a

-      gloomy melancholy more and more overcame the husband in his search of his

-      second. However, they at last reached the Rue Saint-Marc.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On the third floor, the door was opened by a little old woman, plump and

-      white. She seemed suffering from some strong emotion, and she admitted

-      Auguste directly he asked for Monsieur Bachelard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! sir, you are one of his friends, surely. Pray try to calm him.

-      Something happened to vex him a little while ago, the poor dear man. You

-      know me, no doubt, he must have spoken to you of me: I am Mademoiselle

-      Menu.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste, feeling quite scared, found himself in a narrow room overlooking

-      the courtyard, and as clean and peaceful as a country home. One could

-      almost detect the odor of order and work, the purity of the happy

-      existence of people in a quiet way. Seated before an embroidery frame, on

-      which a priest's stole was stretched, a fair young girl, pretty and having

-      a candid air, was weeping bitterly; whilst uncle Bachelard, standing up,

-      his nose inflamed, his eyes bloodshot, was driveling with rage and

-      despair. He was so upset that Auguste's entry did not appear to surprise

-      him in the least. He immediately called upon him to bear witness, and the

-      scene continued.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come now, Monsieur Vabre, who are an honest man, what would you say in my

-      place? I arrived here this morning a little earlier than usual. I entered

-      her room with the sugar from the café and three four-sou pieces, just for

-      a surprise for her, and I find her with that pig Gueulin! No, there,

-      frankly what would you say?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste, greatly embarrassed, turned very red. He at first thought that

-      the uncle knew of his misfortune and was making a fool of him. But the

-      other added, without even waiting for a reply:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! listen, mademoiselle, you don't know what it is you have done! I who

-      was becoming young again, who felt so delighted at having found a nice

-      quiet little nook, where I was once more beginning to believe in

-      happiness! Yes, you were an angel, a flower, in short something fresh

-      which helped me to forget a lot of dirty women.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A genuine emotion contracted his throat, his voice choked in accents of

-      profound suffering. Everything was crumbling away, and he wept for the

-      loss of the ideal, with the hiccoughs of a remnant of drunkenness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I did not know uncle,&rdquo; stammered Fifi, whose sobs redoubled in presence

-      of this pitiful spectacle; &ldquo;no, I did not know it would cause you so much

-      grief.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And indeed she did not look as if she did know. She retained her ingenuous

-      eyes, her odor of chastity, the naivete of a little girl unable as yet to

-      distinguish a gentleman from a lady. Aunt Menu, moreover, swore that at

-      heart she was innocent.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do be calm, Monsieur Narcisse. She loves you well all the same. I felt

-      that it would not be very agreeable to you. I said to her: 'If Monsieur

-      Narcisse learns this, he will be annoyed.' But she has scarcely lived as

-      yet, has she? She does not know what pleases, nor what does not please. Do

-      not weep any more, as her heart is always for you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      As neither the child nor the uncle listened to her, she turned toward

-      Auguste, she told him how much more anxious such an adventure made her

-      feel for her niece's future.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Perhaps you know Villeneuve, near Lille?&rdquo; said she in conclusion. &ldquo;I come

-      from there. It is a pretty large town&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Auguste's patience was at an end. He shook himself free of the aunt,

-      and turned toward Bachelard, whose noisy despair was calming down.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I came to ask you for Duveyrier's new address. I suppose you know it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Duveyrier's address, Duveyrier's address,&rdquo; stammered the uncle. &ldquo;You mean

-      Clarisse's address. Wait a moment.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he went and opened the door of Fifi's bed-room. Auguste was greatly

-      surprised on seeing Gueulin, whom the old man had locked in, come forth.

-      He had wished to give him time to dress himself, and also to detain him,

-      so as to decide afterward what he would do with him. The sight of the

-      young man looking all upset, his hair still unbrushed, revived his anger.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! wretch! it's you, my nephew, who dishonors me! You soil your

-      family, you drag my white hairs in the mire! Ah! you'll end badly, we

-      shall see you one of these days in the dock of the assize-court!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Gueulin listened with bowed head, feeling at once both embarrassed and

-      furious.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I say, uncle, you're going too far,&rdquo; murmured he. &ldquo;There's a limit to

-      everything. I don't think it funny either. Why did you bring me to see

-      mademoiselle? I never asked you. You dragged me here. You drag everybody

-      here.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Bachelard, again overcome with tears, continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You've taken everything from me; I had only her left. You'll be the cause

-      of my death, and I won't leave you a sou, not a sou!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Gueulin, quite beside himself, burst out:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go to the deuce! I've had enough of it! Ah! it's as I've always told you!

-      here they come, here they come, the annoyances of the morrow! See how it

-      succeeds with me, when for once in a way I've been fool enough to take

-      advantage of an opportunity. Of course! the night was very pleasant; but,

-      afterward, go to blazes! one will be blubbering like a calf for the rest

-      of one's life.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am in a great hurry,&rdquo; Auguste ventured to observe. &ldquo;Please give me the

-      address, just the name of the street and the number, I require nothing

-      further.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The address,&rdquo; said the uncle, &ldquo;wait a bit, directly.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, carried away by his feelings, which were overflowing, he caught hold

-      of Gueulin's hands.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You ungrateful fellow, I was keeping her for you, on my word of honor! I

-      said to myself: If he's good, I'll give her to him. Oh! in a proper

-      manner, with a dowry of fifty thousand francs. And, you dirty beast! you

-      can't wait, you go and take her like that, all on a sudden!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, let me be!&rdquo; said Gueulin, affected by the old chap's kindness of

-      heart. &ldquo;I see very well that the annoyances are going to continue.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Bachelard dragged him before the young girl and asked her:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come now, Fifi, look at him, would you have loved him?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If it would have pleased you, uncle,&rdquo; answered she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      This kind reply quite broke his heart. He wiped his eyes, blew his nose,

-      and almost choked. Well! he would see. He had always wished to make her

-      happy. And he suddenly sent Gueulin off about his business.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Be off. I will think about it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Just as Gueulin was leaving, Bachelard called him back.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Kiss her on the forehead; I permit it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <h3>

-      ++++

-    </h3>

-    <p>

-      And then he went himself and put him outside the door, after which he

-      returned to Auguste, and, placing his hand on his heart, he said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's no joke; I give you my word of honor that I intended giving her to

-      him, later on.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And the address?&rdquo; asked the other, losing all patience.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The uncle appeared surprised, as though he had answered him before.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? what? Clarisse's address? Why, I don't know it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste made an angry gesture. Everything was going wrong: there seemed to

-      be a regular plot to render him ridiculous! Seeing him so upset, Bachelard

-      made a suggestion. No doubt, Trublot knew the address, and they might find

-      him at his employer's&mdash;the stockbroker, Desmarquay. And the uncle,

-      with the obliging manner of one accustomed to knock about, offered to

-      accompany his young friend. The latter accepted.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; said the uncle to Fifi, after kissing her in his turn on the

-      forehead: &ldquo;here's the sugar from the café, all the same, and three

-      four-sou bits for your money-box. Behave well whilst awaiting my orders.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young girl, looking very modest, continued drawing her needle with

-      exemplary application. A ray of sunshine, coming from over a neighboring

-      roof, enlivened the little room, gilded this nook of innocence, into which

-      the noise of the passing vehicles did not even penetrate. All the poetry

-      of Bachelard's nature was stirred.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;May God bless you, Monsieur Narcisse!&rdquo; said aunt Menu to him as she saw

-      him to the door. &ldquo;I am more easy now. Only listen to the dictates of your

-      heart, for it will inspire you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The driver had again fallen asleep, and he grumbled when the uncle gave

-      him Monsieur Desmarquay's address in the Rue Saint-Lazare. No doubt the

-      horse was asleep also, for it required quite a hail of blows to get him to

-      move. At length the cab rolled painfully along.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's hard all the same,&rdquo; resumed the uncle, after a pause. &ldquo;You can't

-      imagine the effect it had on me when I saw Gueulin in his shirt. No; one

-      must have gone through such a thing to understand it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he went on, entering into every detail, without noticing Auguste's

-      increasing uneasiness. At length the latter, feeling his position becoming

-      falser and falser, told him why he was in such a hurry to find Duveyrier.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Berthe with that counter-jumper!&rdquo; cried the uncle. &ldquo;You astonish me,

-      sir!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And it seemed that his astonishment was especially on account of his

-      niece's choice. However, after a little reflection, he became very

-      indignant. His sister Eléonore had a great deal to reproach herself with.

-      He would have nothing more to do with the family. Of course, he was not

-      going to mix himself up with the duel; but he considered it indispensable.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Thus, just now, when I saw Fifi with a man, my first thought was to

-      murder every one. If the same thing should ever happen to you&mdash;&mdash;-&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A painful start of Auguste's caused him to interrupt himself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! true, I was forgetting. My story does not interest you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Another pause ensued, whilst the cab swayed in a melancholy fashion.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I told you Rue Saint-Lazare,&rdquo; called out the uncle to the driver. &ldquo;It

-      isn't at Chaillot. Turn to the left.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At length the cab stopped. Out of prudence they sent up for Trublot, who

-      came down bareheaded to talk to them in the doorway.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know Clarisse's address?&rdquo; asked Bachelard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Clarisse's address?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, of course! Rue d'Assas.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They thanked him, and were about to re-enter their cab, when Auguste asked

-      in his turn:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What's the number?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The number! Ah! I don't know the number.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, the husband declared that he preferred to give up seeing

-      Duveyrier altogether. Trublot did all he could to try and remember. He had

-      dined there once, it was just behind the Luxembourg; but he could not

-      recollect whether it was at the end of the street, or on the right or the

-      left, But he knew the door well; oh! he could have said at once, &ldquo;That's

-      it.&rdquo; Then the uncle had another idea; he begged him to accompany them in

-      spite of Auguste's protestations, and his talking of returning home and

-      not wishing to disturb any one any further. Trublot, however, refused in a

-      constrained manner. No, he would not trust himself in that hole again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, I'm off, as Monsieur Trublot can't come,&rdquo; said Auguste, whose

-      worries were increased by all these stories.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But Trublot then declared that he would accompany them all the same; only,

-      he would not go up; he would merely show them the door. And, after

-      fetching his hat, and giving a pretext for going out, he joined them in

-      the cab. &ldquo;Rue d'Assas,&rdquo; said he to the driver. &ldquo;Straight down the street;

-      I'll tell you when to stop.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The driver swore. Rue d'Assas, by Jove! there were people who liked going

-      about. However, they would get there when they did get there. The big

-      white horse steamed away without making hardly any progress, his neck

-      dislocated in a painful bow at every step.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Bachelard was already relating his misfortune to Trublot. Such things

-      always made him talkative. Yes, with that pig Gueulin, a most delicious

-      little thing! But at this point of his story he recollected Auguste, who,

-      gloomy and doleful, was sitting in a heap in a corner of the cab.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! true; I beg your pardon!&rdquo; murmured he; &ldquo;I keep forgetting.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, addressing Trublot, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Our friend has met with a misfortune in his home also, and that is why we

-      are trying to find Duveyrier. Yes, he found his wife last night&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He finished with a gesture, then added simply:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Octave, you know.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot, always plain-spoken, was about to say that it did not surprise

-      him. Only, he caught back his words, and replaced them by others, full of

-      disdainful anger, and the explanation of which the husband did not dare to

-      ask him for:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What an idiot that Octave is!&rdquo; said he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At this appreciation of adultery there ensued another pause. Each of the

-      three men was buried in his own reflections. The cab scarcely moved at

-      all. It seemed to have been rolling for hours over a bridge, when Trublot,

-      who was the first to emerge from his thoughts, ventured on making this

-      judicious remark:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;This cab doesn't get along very fast.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But nothing could increase the horse's pace. It was eleven o'clock when

-      they reached the Rue d'Assas. And there they wasted nearly another quarter

-      of an hour, for, in spite of Trublot's boasts, he could not find the door.

-      At first he allowed the driver to go along the street to the very end

-      without stopping him; then he made him drive up and down three times over.

-      And, on his precise indications, Auguste kept entering every tenth house;

-      but the doorkeepers all answered that they knew no one of the name. At

-      length a green-grocer pointed out the door to him. He went in with

-      Bachelard, leaving Trublot in the cab.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was the big rascal of a brother who admitted them. He had a cigarette

-      stuck between his lips, and blew the smoke into their faces as he showed

-      them into the drawing-room. When they asked for Monsieur Duveyrier, he

-      stood looking at them in a jocular manner without answering. Then he

-      disappeared, perhaps to fetch him. In the middle of the blue satin

-      drawing-room, all luxuriously new, yet already stained with grease, one of

-      the sisters, the youngest, was seated on the carpet scouring out a

-      saucepan which she had brought from the kitchen; whilst the other, the

-      eldest, was hammering with her clenched fists on a magnificent piano, the

-      key of which she had just found. On seeing the gentlemen enter, they had

-      both raised their heads; neither, however, left off her occupation, but

-      continued on the contrary hammering and scouring more energetically than

-      ever. Five minutes passed, yet no one came. The visitors, feeling almost

-      deafened, stood looking at each, when some yells, issuing from a

-      neighboring room, completely terrified them; it was the invalid aunt being

-      washed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length an old woman, Madame Bocquet, Clarisse's mother, passed her head

-      through a partly opened door, not daring to show any more of her person,

-      because of the filthy dress she had on.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What do you gentlemen desire?&rdquo; asked she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, Monsieur Duveyrier!&rdquo; exclaimed the uncle, losing patience. &ldquo;We have

-      already told the servant. Let him know that Monsieur Auguste Vabre and

-      Monsieur Narcisse Bachelard wish to see him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Bocquet shut the door again. The eldest of the sisters was now

-      mounted on the music stool, and was hammering with her elbows, whilst the

-      youngest was scraping the saucepan with an iron fork, so as to get all she

-      could out of it. Another five minutes passed by. Then, in the midst of the

-      uproar, which did not seem to disturb her in the least, Clarisse appeared.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! it's you!&rdquo; said she to Bachelard, without even looking at Auguste.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know, my old fellow,&rdquo; added she, &ldquo;if you've come to tipple, you may

-      as well get out at once. The old life's done with. I now intend to be

-      respected.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We haven't called on your account,&rdquo; replied Bachelard, recovering

-      himself, used as he was to the lively receptions of such ladies. &ldquo;We must

-      speak to Duveyrier.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Clarisse looked ar the other gentleman. She took him for a bailiff,

-      knowing that Alphonse was already in a mess.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! after all, I don't care,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;You can take him and keep him if

-      you like. It's not so very pleasant to have to dress his pimples!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She no longer even took the trouble to conceal her disgust, certain,

-      moreover, that all her cruelties only attached him to her the more.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And opening a door, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here! come along, as these gentlemen persist in seeing you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier, who seemed to have been waiting behind the door, entered and

-      shook their hands, trying to conjure up a smile. He no longer had the

-      youthful air of bygone days, when he used to spend the evening at her

-      rooms in the Rue de la Cerisaie; he looked overcome with weariness, he was

-      mournful and much thinner, starting at every moment, as though he were

-      uneasy about something behind him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Clarisse remained to listen. Bachelard, who did not intend to speak before

-      her, invited the counselor to lunch.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now, do accept, Monsieur Vabre wants you. Madame will be kind enough to

-      excuse&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But the latter had at length caught sight of her sister hammering on the

-      piano, and she slapped her and turned her out of the room, taking the same

-      opportunity to cuff and drive away the little one with her saucepan. There

-      was a most infernal uproar. The invalid aunt in the next room again

-      started off yelling, thinking they were coming to beat her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you hear, my darling?&rdquo; murmured Duveyrier, &ldquo;these gentlemen have

-      invited me to lunch.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But she was not listening to him, she was trying the instrument with

-      frightened tenderness. For a month past, she had been learning to play the

-      piano. It was the secret dream of her whole life, a far-away ambition the

-      realization of which could alone stamp her a woman of society. Having

-      satisfied herself that there was nothing broken, she was about to prevent

-      her lover from going, simply to annoy him, when Madame Bocquet once more

-      bobbed her head in at the door, again hiding her skirt.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Your music-master,&rdquo; said she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At this Clarisse changed her mind, and called to Duveyrier:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That's it, be off! I'll lunch with Théodore. We don't want you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      After kissing her on the hair, he discreetly withdrew, leaving her with

-      Théodore. In the ante-room, the big rascal of a brother asked him in his

-      jocular way for a franc for tobacco. Then, as they wont down-stairs,

-      Bachelard expressed surprise at his conversion to the charms of the piano,

-      and he swore he had never disliked it; he talked of the ideal, saying how

-      much Clarisse's simple scales stirred his soul, yielding to his continual

-      mania for having a bright side to his coarse masculine appetites.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Down below, Trublot had given the driver a cigar, and was listening to his

-      history with the liveliest interest. The uncle insisted on lunching at

-      Foyot's; it was the proper time, and they could talk better whilst eating.

-      Then, when the cab had managed to start off again, he told everything to

-      Duveyrier, who became very grave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste's uneasiness seemed to have increased at Clarisse's, where he had

-      not opened his mouth; and now, worn out by this interminable drive, his

-      head entirely a prey to a violent aching, he abandoned himself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When the counselor questioned him as to what he intended doing, he opened

-      his eyes, and remained a moment filled with anguish; then he repeated his

-      former phrase:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why, fight, of course!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Only, his voice was weaker, and he added, as he closed his eyes, as though

-      to ask to be left alone:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Unless you have anything else to suggest.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the gentlemen held a grand council in the midst of the laborious

-      jolts of the vehicle. Duveyrier, the same as Bachelard, considered the

-      duel indispensable; and he was deeply affected by it, on account of the

-      blood likely to be spilt, a long black stream of which he pictured soiling

-      the stairs of his property; but honor demanded it, and one cannot compound

-      with honor. Trublot had broader views: it was too stupid to place one's

-      honor in what out of decency he termed a woman's frailty. And Auguste

-      approved what he said by a weary blink of his eyelids, thoroughly incensed

-      at last by the bellicose rage of the two others, whose duty it was on the

-      contrary to have been conciliatory. In spite of his fatigue, he was

-      obliged to relate once more the scene of the night before, the blow he had

-      given and the blow he had received; and soon the fact of the adultery was

-      lost sight of, the discussion bore solely upon these two blows: they were

-      commented upon, and analyzed, as a satisfactory solution was sought for.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What refinement!&rdquo; Trublot ended by contemptuously saying. &ldquo;If they hit

-      each other, well! they're quits.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier and Bachelard looked at one another, evidently shaken in their

-      opinions. But just then they arrived at the restaurant, and the uncle

-      declared that they would first of all have a good lunch. It would help to

-      clear their ideas. He stood treat, ordering a copious meal, with costly

-      dishes and wines, which kept them three hours in a private room. The duel

-      was not even once mentioned. From the very beginning, the conversation had

-      necessarily turned on the question of women; Fifi and Clarisse were during

-      the whole time explained, turned inside out, and pulled to pieces.

-      Bachelard now admitted himself to have been in the wrong, so as not to

-      appear to the counselor as having been vilely chucked over; whilst the

-      latter, taking his revenge for the evening when the uncle had seen him

-      weep in the middle of the empty rooms in the Rue de la Cerisaie, lied

-      about his happiness, to the point of believing in it and being affected by

-      it himself. Seated before them, Auguste, prevented by his neuralgia both

-      from eating and drinking, appeared to be listening, an elbow on the table,

-      and a confused look in his eyes. At dessert, Trublot recollected the

-      driver, who had been forgotten outside: and, full of sympathy, he sent him

-      the remnants of the dishes and what was left in the bottles; for, said he,

-      from certain things he had let drop, he had a suspicion the man was an

-      ex-priest. Three o'clock struck. Duveyrier complained of being assessor at

-      the next sitting of the assizes; Bachelard, who was now very drunk, spat

-      sideways onto Trublot's trousers, without the latter noticing it; and the

-      day would have been finished there, amidst the liquors, if Auguste had not

-      suddenly roused himself with a start.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, what's going to be done?&rdquo; asked he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! young'un,&rdquo; replied the uncle, speaking most familiarly, &ldquo;if you

-      like, we'll settle matters nicely for you. It's stupid to fight.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      No one appeared surprised at this conclusion. Duveyrier signified his

-      approval with a nod of the head. The uncle continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I'll go with Monsieur Duveyrier and see the fellow, and he shall

-      apologize, or my name isn't Bachelard. The mere sight of me will make him

-      cave in, just because I shall have no business there. I don't care a hang

-      for anyone!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste shook him by the hand; but he did not seem to feel relieved, the

-      pain in his head had become so unbearable. At length they left the private

-      room. Down in the street, the driver was still at lunch, inside the cab;

-      and, completely intoxicated, he had to shake the crumbs out, digging

-      Trublot fraternally in the stomach. Only the horse, which had had nothing

-      at all, refused to walk, with a despairing wag of the head. They pushed

-      him, and he ended by going down the Rue de Tournon, as though he were

-      rolling along. Four o'clock had struck, when the animal at length stopped

-      in the Rue de Choiseul. Auguste had had the cab seven hours. Trublot, who

-      remained inside, engaged it for himself, and declared that he would wait

-      there for Bachelard, whom he wished to invite to dinner.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well! you have been a time,&rdquo; said Théophile to his brother, as he

-      hastened to meet him. &ldquo;I thought you were dead.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And directly the gentlemen had entered the warehouse, he related how the

-      day had passed. He had been watching the house ever since nine o'clock.

-      But nothing particular had occurred. At two o'clock, Valérie had gone to

-      the Tuileries gardens with their son Camille. Then, toward half past

-      three, he had seen Octave go out. And that was all. Nothing moved, not

-      even at the Josserands'. Saturnin, who had been seeking his sister under

-      the furniture, having gone up to ask for her, Madame Josserand had shut

-      the door in his face, doubtless to get rid of him, saying that Berthe was

-      not there. Since then, the madman had been prowling about with clenched

-      teeth.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Bachelard, &ldquo;we'll wait for the gentleman. We shall see

-      him come in from here.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste, whose head was in a whirl, was making great efforts to keep on

-      his legs. Then Duveyrier advised him to go to bed. There was no other cure

-      for headache.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go up now, we no longer require you. We will inform you of the result. My

-      dear fellow, you know you should avoid all emotions.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And the husband went up to lie down.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At five o'clock, the two others were still waiting for Octave. The latter,

-      without any definite object, simply desirous of having some fresh air and

-      of forgetting the events of the night, had at first passed before &ldquo;The

-      Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo; where he had stopped to wish Madame Hédouin good-day,

-      as she stood in the doorway, dressed in deep mourning; and as he informed

-      her of his having left the Vabres', she had quietly asked him why he did

-      not return to her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Opposite to him, Valérie was taking leave of a bearded gentleman, at the

-      door of a low lodging-house in the darkest corner. She blushed and

-      hastened away, pushing open the padded door of the church; then, seeing

-      that the young man was following her and smiling, she preferred to await

-      him under the porch, where they conversed together very cordially.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You run away from me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Are you, then, angry with me?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Angry?&rdquo; repeated she, &ldquo;why should I be angry? Ah! they may quarrel and

-      eat each other up if they like, it doesn't matter to me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She was speaking of her relations. And she at once gave vent to her old

-      rancor against Berthe, making at first simply allusions so as to sound the

-      young man; then, when she felt he was secretly weary of his mistress,

-      being still exasperated with the night's proceedings, she no longer

-      restrained herself, but poured out her heart. To think that that woman had

-      accused her of selling herself&mdash;she, who never accepted a sou, not

-      even a present! Yes, though, a few flowers at times, some bunches of

-      violets. And now everybody knew which of the two was the one to sell

-      herself. She had prophesied that one day it would be known how much she

-      could be bought for.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It cost you more than a bunch of violets, did it not?&rdquo; asked she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; murmured he basely.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In his turn he let out some disagreeable things about Berthe, saying that

-      she was spiteful, and even making her out to be too fat, as though seeking

-      to avenge himself for the worry she was causing him. He had been waiting

-      all day for her husband's seconds, and he was then returning home to see

-      if any one had called. It was a most stupid adventure; she might very well

-      have prevented this duel taking place. He ended by relating all that had

-      occurred at their ridiculous meeting&mdash;their quarrel, then Auguste's

-      arrival on the scene, before they had even exchanged a caress.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;On all I hold most sacred,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I had not even touched her.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Valérie laughed, and was getting quite excited. She gradually yielded to

-      the tender intimacy of this exchange of confidences, drawing nearer to

-      Octave as though to some female friend who knew all. At times, a devotee

-      coming from the church disturbed them; then the door generally closed to

-      again, and they once more found themselves alone in the drum, hung with

-      green baize, as though in the innermost recesses of some discreet and

-      religious asylum.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I scarcely know why I live with such people,&rdquo; resumed she, returning to

-      the subject of her relations. &ldquo;Oh! no doubt, I am not free from reproach

-      on my side. But, frankly, I cannot feel any remorse, they affect me so

-      little. And yet if I were to tell you how much love bores me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come now, not so much as all that!&rdquo; said Octave gayly. &ldquo;People are not

-      always as silly as we were yesterday. There are blissful moments.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then she confessed herself. It was not entirely the hatred she felt for

-      her husband, the continual fever which shook his frame, his impotence, nor

-      yet his perpetual blubbering like a little boy, which had caused her to

-      misbehave herself six months after her marriage; no, she often did it

-      involuntarily, solely because her head got filled with things of which she

-      was unable to explain the why and the wherefore. Everything gave way; she

-      became quite ill, and could almost kill herself. Then, as there was

-      nothing to restrain her, she might as well take that leap as another.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But really now, do you never have a nice time of it?&rdquo; again asked Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well, never like people describe,&rdquo; replied she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He looked at her full of a pitying sympathy. All for nothing, and without

-      the least pleasure. It was certainly not worth the trouble she gave

-      herself, in her continual fear of being caught. And he especially felt a

-      certain relief to his pride, for he had always suffered a little at heart

-      from her old disdain. He recalled the circumstance to her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You remember, after one of your attacks?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! yes, I remember. Still, I did not dislike you; but listen! it is far

-      better as it is, we should be detesting each other now.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She gave him her little gloved hand. He squeezed it, as he repeated:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are right; it is better as it is. Really, one only cares for the

-      women one has had nothing to do with.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was quite a blissful moment. They stood for a while hand in hand,

-      deeply affected. Then, without another word, they pushed open the padded

-      door of the church, inside which she had left her son Camille in care of

-      the woman who let out the chairs. The child had fallen asleep. She made

-      him kneel down, and did the same herself for a minute, burying her face in

-      her hands, as though in the midst of a fervent prayer. And she was rising

-      to her feet when Abbé Manduit, who was coming from a confessional, greeted

-      her with a paternal smile.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave had simply passed through the church. When he returned home every

-      one was on the alert. In the doorway, as Octave passed, Lisa, who was

-      gossiping with Adèle, had to content herself with merely staring at him;

-      and both resumed their complaints of the dear price of poultry beneath the

-      stern look of Monsieur Gourd, who bowed to the young man. As the latter

-      was going up to his room, Madame Juzeur, who had been on the watch ever

-      since the morning, slightly opened her door, and, seizing hold of his

-      hands, drew him into her ante-room, where she kissed him on the forehead

-      and murmured:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Poor child! There, I won't keep you. Come back and talk with me when it's

-      all over.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he had scarcely reached his own apartment when Duveyrier and Bachelard

-      called. At first, amazed at seeing the uncle, he wished to give them the

-      names of two of his friends. But these gentlemen, without answering, spoke

-      of their age, and preached him a sermon on his misconduct. Then, as in the

-      course of conversation he announced his intention of leaving the house at

-      the earliest possible moment, they both solemnly declared that that proof

-      of his discretion was quite sufficient. There had been more than enough

-      scandal; the time had come when respectable people had the right to expect

-      them to make the sacrifice of their passions. Duveyrier accepted Octave's

-      notice to quit on the spot, and withdrew, whilst, behind his back,

-      Bachelard invited the young man to dine with him that evening.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Mind, I count upon you. We're on the spree; Trublot is waiting below. I

-      don't care a button for Eléonore. But I don't wish to see her, and I'll go

-      down first, so that no one shall meet us together.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He took his departure, and, five minutes later, Octave, delighted with the

-      issue of affairs, joined him below. He slipped into the cab, and the

-      melancholy horse, which had been dragging the husband about for seven

-      hours, limped along with them to a restaurant near the Halles, where some

-      marvelous tripe was to be obtained.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier had gone back to Théophile in the warehouse. Valérie also had

-      just come in, and all three were talking together when Clotilde herself

-      returned from a concert. She had gone there, moreover, with a mind

-      perfectly at ease, certain, said she, that some arrangement satisfactory

-      to every one would be arrived at. Then ensued a pause, a momentary

-      embarrassment between the two families. Théophile, seized with an

-      abominable fit of coughing, was almost spitting his teeth out. As it was

-      to their mutual interest to be reconciled, they ended by taking advantage

-      of the emotion into which the new family troubles had plunged them. The

-      two women embraced; Duveyrier swore to Théophile that the Vabre

-      inheritance was ruining him, yet he promised to indemnify him by remitting

-      his rent for three years.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I must go and tranquilize poor Auguste,&rdquo; at length observed the

-      counselor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He was ascending the stairs, when some terrible cries, resembling those of

-      an animal being butchered, issued from the bed-room. It was Saturnin, who,

-      armed with his kitchen knife, had noiselessly crept as far as the alcove;

-      and there, his eyes as red as flaming coals, his mouth covered with foam,

-      he had rushed upon Auguste.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Tell me! where have you put her?&rdquo; cried he. &ldquo;Give her back to me, or I'll

-      bleed you like a pig!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The husband, suddenly roused from his painful slumber, tried to fly. But

-      the madman, with the strength of his fixed idea, had caught him by the

-      tail of his shirt, and, pushing him back on the mattress, placing his neck

-      on the edge of the bed, over a basin which happened to be there, he held

-      him in the position of an animal at the slaughter-house.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0365.jpg" alt="0365 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0365.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! it's all right this time. I'm going to bleed you&mdash;I'm going to

-      bleed you like a pig!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Fortunately, the others arrived and were able to release the victim. But

-      Saturnin, who was raving mad, had to be shut up: and, two hours later, the

-      commissary of police having been sent for, he was taken for the second

-      time to the Asile des Moulineaux, with the consent of the family. Poor

-      Auguste lay trembling. He said to Duveyrier, who informed him of the

-      arrangement that had been come to with Octave:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, I should have preferred to have fought the duel. One cannot defend

-      oneself against a madman. Why has he such a mania for wishing to bleed me,

-      the brigand? because his sister has made a cuckold of me? Ah! I've had

-      enough of it, my friend, I've had enough of it, on my word of honor!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER XVI.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the Wednesday

-      morning, when Marie brought Berthe to Madame Josserand, the latter,

-      bursting with anger at the thought of an adventure which she felt was a

-      sad blow to her pride, became quite pale and unable to utter a word.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She caught hold of her daughter's hand with the roughness of a teacher

-      dragging a refractory scholar to the black-hole, and, leading her to

-      Hortense's room, she pushed her inside, saying at length:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hide yourself, never show yourself again. You will kill your father if

-      you do.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What's up? Whatever have you done?&rdquo; asked her sister, whose astonishment

-      increased on seeing her wrapped in an old shawl which Marie had lent her.

-      &ldquo;Has poor Auguste fallen ill at Lyons?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Berthe would not answer. No, later on; there were things she could not

-      speak about; and she beseeched Hortense to go away, to let her have the

-      room to herself, so that she could at least weep there in peace. The day

-      passed thus. Monsieur Josserand had gone off to his office, without having

-      the faintest idea of what had occurred; then, when he returned home in the

-      evening, Berthe still remained in hiding. As she had refused all food, she

-      ended by ravenously devouring the little dinner which Adèle brought to her

-      in secret. The maid remained watching her, and, in presence of her

-      appetite, said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Don't worry yourself so much, pick up your strength. The house is quite

-      quiet. And as for any one being killed or wounded, there's nobody hurt at

-      all.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the young woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She questioned Adèle, who gave her a long account of how the day had

-      passed; the duel which had not come off; what Monsieur Auguste had said,

-      and what the Duveyriers and the Vabres had done. She listened to her, and

-      seemed to live again, gobbling everything up, and asking for more bread.

-      In all truth it was foolish of her to take the matter so much to heart

-      when the others seemed to be already consoled!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So you won't tell me?&rdquo; asked Hortense again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But, my darling,&rdquo; answered Berthe, &ldquo;you're not married. I really can't.

-      It's a quarrel I've had with Auguste. He came back, you know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And as she interrupted herself, her sister resumed, impatiently:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Get along with you! What a fuss! Good heavens! at my age, I'm quite old

-      enough to know!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Berthe confessed herself, at first choosing her words, then letting

-      out everything, talking of Octave and talking of Auguste. Hortense

-      listened as she lay on her back in the dark, and merely uttered a few

-      words to question her sister or to give an opinion: &ldquo;What did he say to

-      you then? And you, how did you feel? Well, that's funny; I shouldn't like

-      that! Ah! really! so that's the way!&rdquo; Midnight, one o'clock, then two

-      struck; still they went on with the story, their limbs little by little

-      irritated by the sheets, and themselves gradually becoming drowsy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! as for me, with Verdier, it will be very simple,&rdquo; declared Hortense,

-      abruptly. &ldquo;I shall do just as he wishes.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At the mention of Verdier's name Berthe gave a movement of surprise. She

-      thought the marriage was broken off, for the woman with whom he had been

-      living for fifteen years past had just had a child, at the very moment

-      that he intended leaving her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you, then, expect to marry him all the same?&rdquo; asked she. &ldquo;Well land

-      why not? I was stupid enough to wait too long. But the child will die.

-      It's a girl, and all scrofulous.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Poor woman!&rdquo; Berthe was unable to help exclaiming.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How, poor woman!&rdquo; cried Hortense, sourly. &ldquo;It's easy to see that you also

-      have things to reproach yourself with!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She at once regretted her cruelty, and, taking her sister in her arms,

-      kissed her, and swore that she did not mean it. Then they were silent. But

-      still they could not sleep, so continued the story, their eyes wide open

-      in the darkness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The next morning, Monsieur Josserand did not feel very well. Up till two

-      o'clock, he had persisted in addressing wrappers, in spite of a lowness of

-      spirits, and of a gradual loss of strength, of which he had been

-      complaining for some time. He got up, however, and dressed himself; but,

-      when he was on the point of starting for his office, he felt so feeble

-      that he sent a messenger with a letter to inform the brothers Bernheim of

-      his indisposition.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The family were about to have their breakfast. On seeing her husband

-      remain, Madame Josserand decided not to hide Berthe any longer; she was

-      already sick of all the mystery, and was, moreover, expecting every minute

-      to see Auguste come up and create a disturbance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! you're going to breakfast with us! whatever is the matter?&rdquo; asked

-      the father in great surprise, on beholding his daughter, her eyes heavy

-      with sleep, her bosom half-bursting through Hortense's too tight

-      dressing-gown.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My husband has written to say that he is obliged to stay at Lyons,&rdquo;

-       answered she, &ldquo;so I thought of spending the day with you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Is it really true? You are not hiding anything from me?&rdquo; murmured he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What an idea! why should I hide anything from you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand merely allowed herself to shrug her shoulders. What was

-      the use of all those precautions? to gain an hour, perhaps; it was not

-      worth while; the father would always have to receive the blow in the end.

-      The breakfast, however, passed off most pleasantly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But a regrettable scene spoilt the end of the breakfast. All on a sudden,

-      Madame Josserand addressed the servant:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Whatever are you eating?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      For some little while past she had been watching her. Adèle, dragging her

-      shoes after her, turned clumsily round the table.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Nothing, madame,&rdquo; replied she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How! nothing! You're chewing; I'm not blind. See! you've got your mouth

-      full of it. Oh! it's no use drawing in your cheeks; it's easy to see in

-      spite of that. And you've got some in your pocket, haven't you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Adèle became confused, and tried to draw back. But Madame Josserand caught

-      hold of her by the skirt.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;For a quarter of an hour past, I've been watching you take something out

-      of there and thrust it under your nose, after hiding it in your hand. It

-      must be something very good. Let me see what it is.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She dived into the pocket in her turn, and withdrew a handful of cooked

-      prunes. The juice was still trickling from them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is this?&rdquo; cried she furiously.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Prunes, madame,&rdquo; said the servant, who, seeing herself caught, became

-      insolent.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! you eat my prunes! So that's why they go so quickly and never again

-      appear on the table! I could never have believed it possible; prunes! in a

-      pocket!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she also accused her of drinking her vinegar. Everything disappeared;

-      one could not even have a potato about without being certain of never

-      seeing it again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You're a regular gulf, my girl.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Give me sufficient to eat,&rdquo; retorted Adèle boldly, &ldquo;and then I won't

-      touch your potatoes.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This was too much. Madame Josserand rose from her seat, majestic and

-      terrible.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hold your tongue, and don't answer me! Oh! I know, it's the other

-      servants who've spoilt you. Directly a simpleton arrives in a house from

-      the country, all the hussies in the place at once put her up to all sorts

-      of horrors. You no longer go to mass, and now you steal!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Adèle, who had indeed been worked up by Lisa and Julie, did not yield.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;When I was a simpleton, as you say, you should not have taken advantage

-      of me. It's ended now.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Leave the room, I discharge you!&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand, pointing to the

-      door with a tragical gesture.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She sat down quite shaken, whilst the maid, without hurrying herself,

-      dragged her shoes after her, and swallowed another prune before returning

-      to the kitchen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The breakfast, however, finished in the most affectionate intimacy.

-      Monsieur Josserand, deeply moved, spoke of poor Saturnin, who had had to

-      be taken away the day before during his absence from home; and, as he

-      believed, in a sudden fit of raving madness, with which his son had been

-      seized in the middle of the shop, for such was the story that had been

-      told him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How is the marriage getting on?&rdquo; asked Monsieur Josserand, discreetly.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At first the mother replied in well-chosen phrases, on account of

-      Hortense. Now, she was at the feet of her son, a young fellow who was sure

-      to succeed; and she would even throw his name in the father's face at

-      times, saying that, thank goodness! he took after her, and would never

-      leave his wife without a pair of shoes. She little by little warmed with

-      her subject.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;In short, he's had enough of it! It was all very well for a while, and

-      did him no harm. But, if the aunt doesn't give him the niece, good night!

-      he'll cut off all supplies. I think he is quite right.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hortense, out of decency, sipped her coffee, making a show of obliterating

-      herself behind the cup; whilst Berthe, who for the future might hear

-      anything, gave a slight pout of repugnance at her brother's successes. The

-      family were about to rise from table, and Monsieur Josserand, who was more

-      cheerful and feeling much better, was talking of going to his office all

-      the same, when Adèle brought in a card. The person was waiting in the

-      drawingroom.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What, it's her! and at this hour of the morning!&rdquo; exclaimed Madame

-      Josserand. &ldquo;And I who haven't got my stays on! So much the worse! it's

-      time I gave her a piece of my mind!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The visitor was Madame Dambreville. The father and his two daughters

-      remained talking in the dining-room, whilst the mother directed her steps

-      to the drawing-room. But she stopped at the door before opening it, and

-      anxiously examined her old green silk dress, trying to button it up,

-      picking off the threads gathered from the floors, and driving in her

-      immense bosom with a tap.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Excuse me, dear madame,&rdquo; said the visitor, with a smile. &ldquo;I was passing,

-      so could not resist calling to see how you were.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She was all laced up, and had her hair done in the most correct style,

-      while she conversed in the easy way of an amiable woman who had just come

-      up to wish a friend good-day. Only, her smile, trembled, and behind her

-      society graces one could detect a frightful anguish, with which her whole

-      frame quivered. She at first talked of all sorts of things, avoiding any

-      mention of Léon's name, but at length she took from her pocket a letter

-      which she had just received from him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! such a letter, such a letter,&rdquo; murmured she, in an altered voice,

-      half-broken with sobs. &ldquo;Whatever is it he has to complain of, dear madame?

-      He says he will never come to our house again!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And her feverish hand held out the letter, which quite shook as she

-      offered it to Madame Josserand. The latter read it coldly. It was a

-      breaking off of the acquaintance in three lines of most cruel conciseness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Really!&rdquo; said she, as she returned the letter, &ldquo;Léon is not perhaps

-      altogether wrong&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Madame Dambreville at once began to praise up the widow&mdash;a woman

-      scarcely thirty-five years old, most accomplished and sufficiently rich,

-      who would make a Minister of her husband, she was so active. In short, she

-      had kept her promises, she had found a fine match for Léon; whatever had

-      he to be angry about? And, without waiting for a reply, making up her mind

-      with a nervous start, she named Raymonde, her niece. Really, now, was it

-      possible? a chit of sixteen, a young savage who knew nothing of life!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; Madame Josserand kept repeating at each interrogation, &ldquo;why

-      not, if he loves her?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      No! no! he did not love her&mdash;he could not love her! Madame

-      Dambreville struggled, and gradually abandoned herself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;I only ask him for a little gratitude. It's I who have

-      made him, it's thanks to me that he is an auditor, and he will receive a

-      higher appointment on his wedding day. Madame, I implore you, tell him to

-      return to me, tell him to do me that pleasure. I appeal to his heart, to

-      your motherly heart, yes, to all that is noble in your nature&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She clasped her hands, her words became inarticulate. A pause ensued,

-      during which they were standing face to face. Then suddenly she burst out

-      into the most bitter sobs, vanquished, and no longer mistress of herself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Not with Raymonde,&rdquo; stuttered she, &ldquo;oh! no, not with Raymonde!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Keep quiet, my dear, you make me quite ashamed,&rdquo; replied Madame

-      Josserand, angrily. &ldquo;I have daughters who might hear you. I know nothing,

-      and I don't wish to know anything. If you have affairs with my son, you

-      must settle them together. I will never place myself in a questionable

-      position.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Yet she loaded her with advice. At her age, one should resign oneself to

-      the inevitable.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Just think, dear friend, he is not yet thirty. I should be grieved to

-      appear unkind, but you might be his mother. Oh, he knows what he owes you,

-      and I myself am filled with gratitude. You will remain his guardian angel.

-      Only, when a thing is ended, it is ended. You could not possibly have

-      hoped to have kept him always!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And as the wretched woman refused to listen to reason, wishing simply to

-      have him back, and at once, the mother grew quite angry.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do have done, madâme! It is kind on my part to be so obliging. The boy

-      will have no more of it! it is easily to be understood. Look at yourself,

-      pray! It is I now who would call him back to his duty, if he submitted

-      again to your exactions; for, I ask you, what good can there be in it for

-      both of you in future? It so happens that he is coming here, and if you

-      have counted on me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Of all these words, Madame Dambreville only heard the last phrase. For a

-      week past she had been running about after Léon, without succeeding in

-      seeing him. Her face brightened up; she uttered this cry from her heart:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;As he is coming, I shall stay!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      From that moment she made herself at home, seating herself like a heavy

-      mass in an arm-chair, her eyes fixed on vacancy, declining any further

-      questioning with the obstinacy of an animal which will not yield, even

-      when beaten. Madame Josserand, bitterly regretting having said too much,

-      exasperated with this sort of mile-stone which had become a fixture in her

-      drawing-room, yet not daring to turn her out, ended by leaving her to

-      herself. Moreover, some sounds coming from the dining-room made her feel

-      uneasy. She fancied she recognized Auguste's voice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;On my word of honor! madame, one never heard of such a thing before!&rdquo;

-       said she, violently slamming the door. &ldquo;It is most indiscreet!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was indeed Auguste, who had come up to have the explanation with his

-      wife's parents which he had been meditating since the day before. Monsieur

-      Josserand, feeling jollier still, and more inclined for a little enjoyment

-      than for office duties, was proposing a walk to his daughters, when Adèle

-      came and announced Madame Berthe's husband. It created quite a scare. The

-      young woman turned pale.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! your husband?&rdquo; said the father. &ldquo;But he was at Lyons! Ah! you were

-      not speaking the truth. There is some misfortune; for two days past I have

-      seemed to feel it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as she rose from her seat, he detained her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Tell me, have you been quarreling again? about money, is it not? Eh?

-      perhaps because of the dowry, of the ten thousand francs we have not paid

-      him?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes, that's it,&rdquo; stammered Berthe, who released herself and fled.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Hortense also had risen. She ran after her sister, and both took refuge in

-      her room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come in, come in, my dear Auguste,&rdquo; said he, in a choking tone of voice.

-      &ldquo;Berthe has just told me of your quarrel. I'm not very well, and they've

-      been spoiling me. I regret immensely not being able to give you that

-      money. I did wrong in promising, I know&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, sir, I know all. You completely took me in with your lies. I don't

-      mind so much not having the money; but it's the hypocrisy of the thing

-      which exasperates me! Why all that nonsense about an assurance which did

-      not exist? Why give yourself such airs of tenderness and affection, by

-      offering to advance sums which, according to you, you would not be

-      entitled to receive till three years later? And you were not even blessed

-      with a sou! Such behavior has only one name in every country.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand opened his mouth to exclaim: &ldquo;It is not I; it is them!&rdquo;

-       But he was ashamed to accuse the family; he bowed his head, thus accepting

-      the responsibility of the disgraceful action. Auguste continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Moreover, every one was against me, even that Duveyrier behaved like a

-      rascal, with his scoundrel of a notary; for I asked to have the assurance

-      mentioned in the contract, as a guarantee, and I was made to shut up. Had

-      I insisted, though, you would have been guilty of swindling. Yes, sir,

-      swindling!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this accusation, the father, who was very pale, rose to his feet, and

-      he was about to answer, to offer his labor, to purchase his daughter's

-      happiness with all of his existence that remained to him, when Madame

-      Josserand, quite beside herself through Madame Dambreville's obstinacy, no

-      longer thinking of her old green silk dress, now splitting, through the

-      heaving of her angry bosom, entered like a blast of wind.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? what?&rdquo; cried she; &ldquo;who talks of swindling? Is it you, sir? You would

-      do better, sir, to go first to Père-Lachaise cemetery to see if it's your

-      father's pay-day!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Auguste had expected this, but he was all the same horribly annoyed. She

-      went on, with head erect, and quite crushing in her audacity:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;We've got them, your ten thousand francs. Yes, they're there in a drawer.

-      But we will only give them to you when Monsieur Vabre returns to give you

-      the others. What a family! a gambler of a father who lets us all in, and a

-      thief of a brother-in-law who pops the inheritance into his own pocket!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Thief! thief!&rdquo; stammered Auguste, unable to contain himself any longer;

-      &ldquo;the thieves are here, madame!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They both stood with heated countenances in front of each other. Monsieur

-      Josserand, quite upset by all this wrangling, separated them. He beseeched

-      them to be calm; and, trembling all over, he was obliged to sit down

-      again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Anyhow,&rdquo; resumed the son-in-law, after a pause, &ldquo;I won't have any

-      strumpet in my house. Keep your money and keep your daughter That is what

-      I came up to tell you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are changing the subject,&rdquo; quietly observed the mother. &ldquo;Very well,

-      we will discuss the fresh one.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I told you she would deceive me!&rdquo; cried Auguste, with an air of indignant

-      triumph.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And I answered that you were doing everything to lead to such a result!&rdquo;

-       declared Madame Josserand, victoriously. &ldquo;Oh! I do not pretend that Berthe

-      is right; what she has done is simply idiotic; and she won't lose anything

-      by waiting. I shall let her know what I think of it. But, however, as she

-      is not present, I can state the fact&mdash;you alone are guilty.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! I guilty?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Undoubtedly, my dear fellow. You don't know how to deal with women.

-      Here's an instance! Do you even deign to come to my Tuesday receptions?

-      No; you perhaps put in an appearance three times during the season, and

-      then only stay half-an-hour Though one may have headaches, one should be

-      polite. Oh! of course, it's no great crime; anyhow, it judges you; you

-      don't know how to live.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her voice hissed with a slowly gathered rancor; for, on marrying her

-      daughter, she had above all counted on her son-in-law to fill her

-      drawing-room. And he brought no one; he did not even come himself; it was

-      the end of one of her dreams; she would never be able to struggle against

-      the Duveyriers' choruses.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;However,&rdquo; added she, ironically. &ldquo;I force no one to come and amuse

-      himself in my home.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The truth is, it is not very amusing there,&rdquo; replied he, out of all

-      patience.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      This threw her into a towering rage.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That's it, insult away! Learn, sir, that I might have all the high life

-      of Paris if I wished, and that I was not looking to you to help me to keep

-      my rank in society!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      There was no longer any question of Berthe; the adultery had disappeared

-      before this personal quarrel. Monsieur Josserand continued to listen to

-      them, as though he were tossing about in the midst of some nightmare. It

-      was not possible; his daughter could not have caused him this grief; and

-      he ended by painfully rising again from his seat and going, without saying

-      a word, in search of Berthe. Directly she was there, she would throw

-      herself into Auguste's arms, and then everything would be explained and

-      forgotten. He found her in the midst of a quarrel with Hortense, who was

-      urging her to implore her husband's forgiveness, having already had enough

-      of her, and being unwilling to share her room any longer. The young woman

-      resisted, yet she ended by following her father. As they returned to the

-      dining-room, where the breakfast cups were still scattered over the table,

-      Madame Josserand was exclaiming:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, on my word of honor! I don't pity you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      On catching sight of Berthe she stopped speaking, and again retired into

-      her stern majesty. When his wife appeared before him, Auguste made a

-      gesture of protest, as though to remove her from his path.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said Monsieur Josserand, in his gentle and trembling voice, &ldquo;what

-      is the matter with you all? I can't make it out; you will drive me mad

-      with all your quarreling. Your husband is mistaken, is he not, my child?

-      You will explain things to him. You must have a little consideration for

-      your old parents. Embrace each other; now, come, do it for my sake.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, who would all the same have kissed Auguste, stood there awkwardly,

-      and half-choked by her dressing-gown, on seeing him draw back with an air

-      of tragical repugnance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! you refuse to, my darling?&rdquo; continued the father. &ldquo;You should take

-      the first step, and you, my dear boy, encourage her; be indulgent.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The husband at length gave free vent to his anger.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Encourage her, not if I know it! I found her in her chemise, sir! and

-      with that man! Do you take me for a fool, that you wish me to kiss her! In

-      her chemise, sir!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand stood lost in amazement. Then he caught hold of

-      Berthe's arm.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You say nothing; can it be true? On your knees, then!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Auguste had reached the door. He was hastening away. &ldquo;Your comedies

-      are useless! they don't take me in! Don't try to shove her on my shoulders

-      again; I've had her once too often. You hear me; never again! I would

-      sooner go to law about it. Pass her on to some one else, if she's in your

-      way. And, besides, you're no better than she is!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He waited till he was in the ante-room, and then further relieved himself

-      by shouting out these last words:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, when one makes a strumpet of one's daughter, one should not push her

-      into a respectable man's arms!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The outer door banged, and a profound silence ensued. Berthe had

-      mechanically gone back to her seat at the table, lowering her eyes, and

-      looking at the coffee dregs in the bottom of her cup; whilst her mother

-      sharply walked about, carried away by the tempest of her violent emotions.

-      The father, utterly worn out, and with a face as white as that of a

-      corpse, had sat down all by himself at the other end of the room, against

-      the wall. An odor of rancid butter&mdash;butter of inferior quality

-      purposely bought at the Halles&mdash;quite infected the apartment.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Now that that vulgar person has gone,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand, &ldquo;one may be

-      able to hear oneself speak. Ah! sir, these are the results of your

-      incapacity. Do you at length acknowledge your errors? think you that such

-      quarrels would be picked with either of the brothers Bernheim, with one of

-      the owners of the Saint-Joseph glass works?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand, with a lifeless look in his eyes, had not even

-      stirred. She had stopped before him, with an enraged desire for a row;

-      then, seeing he did not move, she continued to pace the room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, yes, be disdainful. You know it will not affect me much. And we will

-      see if you will again dare to speak ill of my relations after all that

-      yours have done. Uncle Bachelard is quite a star! my sister is most

-      polite! Listen; do you wish to know my opinion? Well! it is that if my

-      father had not died, you would have killed him. As for your father&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand's face became whiter than ever as he remarked:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I beseech you, Eléonore. I abandon my father to you, and also all my

-      relations. Only, I beseech you, let me be. I do not feel well.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, taking pity on him, raised her head.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do leave him alone, mamma,&rdquo; said she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      So, turning toward her daughter, Madame Josserand resumed more violently

-      than ever:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I've been keeping you for the last; you won't lose by waiting! Yes, ever

-      since yesterday I've been bottling it up. But, I warn you, I can no longer

-      keep it in&mdash;I can no longer keep it in. With that counter-jumper; I

-      can scarcely believe it! Have you, then, lost all pride? I thought that

-      you were making use of him, that you were just sufficiently amiable to

-      cause him to interest himself in the business down-stairs; and I assisted

-      you, I encouraged him. In short, tell me what advantage you saw in it

-      all?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;None whatever,&rdquo; stammered the young woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, why did you take up with him? It was even more stupid than wicked.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How absurd you are, mamma: one can never explain such things.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand was again walking about.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! you can't explain! Well! but you ought to be able to! There is not

-      the slightest shadow of sense in misbehaving oneself like that, and it is

-      this which exasperates me! Did I ever tell you to deceive your husband?

-      did I ever deceive your father? He is here; ask him. Let him say if he

-      ever caught me with any other man.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her pace slackened and became quite majestic, and she slapped herself on

-      her green bodice, driving her breasts back under her arms.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Nothing; not a fault, not the least forgetfulness, even in thought. My

-      life has been a chaste one. Yet God knows what I have had to put up with

-      from your father! I have had every excuse; many women would have avenged

-      themselves. But I had some sense, and that saved me. Before heaven!&rdquo; said

-      she, &ldquo;I swear I would have restrained myself, even if the Emperor had

-      pestered me! One loses too much.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She took a few steps in silence, apparently reflecting, and then added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Moreover, it is the greatest possible shame.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand looked at her, looked at his daughter, and his lips

-      moved, though no sound came from them; and his whole suffering being

-      conjured them to put an end to this cruel explanation. But Berthe, who

-      bent before violence, was wounded by her mother's lesson. She at length

-      rebelled, for she was quite unconscious of her fault, thanks to the old

-      education which she had received when a girl in search of a husband.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said she, boldly planting her elbows on the table, &ldquo;you should not

-      have made me marry a man I did not love. Now I hate him, and I have taken

-      another.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;In short, he bores me, and I bore him,&rdquo; declared she. &ldquo;It's not my fault,

-      we don't understand one another. As early as the morrow of our

-      wedding-day, he looked as though he thought we had taken him in; yes, he

-      was cold and put out, just like when he has a bad day's sale. For my part,

-      I did not amuse myself particularly with him. Really! I don't think much

-      of marriage if it offers no more pleasure than that! And that's how it all

-      began. So much the worse! it was bound to come; I'm not the most guilty.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She left off speaking, but shortly added, with an air of profound

-      conviction:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! mamma, how well I understand you now! You remember, when you told us

-      you had had more than enough of it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand, standing up before her, had been listening for a minute

-      with indignant amazement.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? I said that!&rdquo; cried she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But Berthe, warming with her subject, would not stop.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You have said so twenty times. And, besides, I should have liked to have

-      seen you in my place. Auguste is not kind like papa. You would have been

-      fighting together about money matters before a week had passed. He would

-      precious soon have made you say that men are only good to be taken in!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? I said that!&rdquo; repeated the mother, quite beside herself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She advanced so menacingly toward her daughter, that the father held out

-      his hands in a suppliant gesture imploring mercy. The sounds of the two

-      women's voices struck him to the heart unceasingly; and, at each shock, he

-      felt the wound extend. Tears gushed from his eyes as he stammered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do leave off, spare me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, it is dreadful!&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand, in louder tones than ever.

-      &ldquo;This wretched creature now pretends I am the cause of her shamelessness!

-      You will see she will soon make out that it is I who have deceived her

-      husband. So, it's my fault! for that is what you seem to mean. It's my

-      fault!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe remained with her elbows on the table, very pale, but resolute.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's very certain that, if you had brought me up differently&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She did not finish. Her mother gave her a clout with all her might, and

-      such a hard one that it hanged Berthe's head down onto the table-cover.

-      Her hand had been itching to give it, ever since the day before; it had

-      been making her fingers tingle, the same as in those far-off days when the

-      child used to oversleep herself.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;that's for your education! Your husband ought to have

-      beaten you to a jelly.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young woman did not rise, but sat there sobbing, her cheek pressed

-      against her arm. She forgot her twenty-four years, this clout brought her

-      back to the slaps of other times, to a whole past of timorous hypocrisy.

-      All her resolution of an emancipated grownup person melted away in the

-      great sorrow of a little girl.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But, on hearing her weep so bitterly, the father was seized with a

-      terrible emotion. He at length got up, quite distracted, and he pushed the

-      mother away, saying:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You wish, then, to kill me between you? Tell me, must I go on my knees to

-      you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand, having relieved her feelings, and having nothing to add,

-      was withdrawing in a royal silence, when she found Hortense listening

-      behind the door as she suddenly opened it. This caused a fresh outburst.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! so you were listening to all this filth? The one does the most

-      horrible things, and the other takes a delight in hearing about them; the

-      two make the pair. But, good heavens! whoever was it that brought you up?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hortense, without being in the least moved, entered the room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It was not necessary to listen, one can even hear you in the kitchen. The

-      servant is wriggling with laughter. Besides, I'm old enough to be married;

-      there is no harm in my knowing.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Verdier, eh?&rdquo; resumed the mother bitterly. &ldquo;That's all the satisfaction

-      you give me. Now, you are waiting for the death of a brat. You may wait,

-      she's big and plump, so I've been told. It serves you right.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      A rush of bile gave a yellow hue to the young girl's skinny countenance.

-      And, with clenched teeth, she replied:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Though she's big and plump, Verdier can leave her. And I will make him

-      leave her sooner than you think, just to spite you all. Yes, yes, I will

-      get married without any one else's assistance. They're far too solid, the

-      marriages you put together!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, as her mother was advancing toward her, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! you know, I don't intend to be slapped! Take care.&rdquo; They looked each

-      other straight in the eyes, and Madame Josserand was the first to yield,

-      hiding her retreat beneath an air of scornful domination. But the father

-      thought the battle was going to begin again. In the midst of his sobs, he

-      kept repeating:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I can bear it no longer&mdash;I can bear it no longer&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The dining-room became once more wrapped in silence. Berthe, her cheek on

-      her arm, and still heaving long, nervous sighs, was growing calmer.

-      Hortense had quietly seated herself at the other end of the table, and was

-      buttering the remainder of a roll, so as to pull herself together again.

-      Well! butter at twenty-two sous could only be poison. And, as it left a

-      stinking deposit at the bottom of the saucepans, Adèle was explaining that

-      it was not even economical, when a dull thud, a distant shake of the

-      floor, suddenly caused them to listen intently.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, all anxiety, at length raised her head.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What's that!&rdquo; asked she.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's perhaps madame and the other lady, in the drawing-room,&rdquo; said Adèle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand had started with surprise, as she crossed the

-      drawing-room. A woman was there all alone.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What? you again?&rdquo; cried she, when she had recognized Madame Dambreville,

-      whom she had forgotten.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The latter did not stir. The family quarrels, the noisy voices, the

-      slamming of doors, seemed to have passed over her without her having felt

-      the least breath of them. She remained immovable, looking into vacancy,

-      buried in a heap in her love-sick mania. But there was something at work

-      within her, the advice of Léon's mother had upset her, and was deciding

-      her to dearly purchase a few remnants of happiness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; resumed Madame Josserand, roughly, &ldquo;you can't, you know, sleep

-      here. I have had a note from my son, he is not coming.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Madame Dambreville spoke, her mouth all clammy from her long silence,

-      as though she were just waking up.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am going, pray excuse me. And tell him from me that I have reflected. I

-      consent. Yes, I will reflect still further, and perhaps I may help him to

-      marry that girl, as he insists upon it. But it is I who give her to him,

-      and I wish him to ask me for her, me alone, you understand! Oh! he must

-      come back, he must come back!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Her ardent voice became quite beseeching. She added, in a lower tone, in

-      the obstinate way of a woman who, after sacrificing everything, clings to

-      a last satisfaction.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;He shall marry her, but he must live with us. Otherwise nothing will be

-      done. I would sooner lose him.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she went off. Madame Josserand was most charming again. In the

-      ante-room, she said all sorts of consoling things, she promised to send

-      her son submissive and tender, that very evening, affirming that he would

-      be delighted to live at his aunt-in-law's. Then, when she had shut the

-      door behind Madame Dambreville's back, filled with a pitying tenderness,

-      she thought:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Poor boy! what a price she will make him pay for it!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But, at this moment, she also heard the dull thud, which caused the boards

-      to tremble. Well? what was it? was the servant smashing all the crockery,

-      now? She hastened to the dining-room, and questioned her daughters.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What is it? Is the sugar-basin broken?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, mamma. We don't know.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She turned round, looking for Adèle, when she beheld her listening at the

-      door of the bed-room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Whatever are you doing?&rdquo; cried she. &ldquo;Everything is being smashed in your

-      kitchen, and your're there spying on your master. Yes, yes, one begins

-      with prunes, and one ends with something else. For some time past, you

-      have had a way about you which greatly displeases me; you smell of men, my

-      girl&mdash;&mdash;-&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The servant stood looking at her with wide-open eyes. At length she

-      interrupted her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That's not what's the matter. I think master has fallen down in there.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good heavens! she's right,&rdquo; said Berthe, turning pale, &ldquo;it was just like

-      some one falling.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They entered the room. Monsieur Josserand, seized with a fainting fit, was

-      lying on the floor before the bed; his head had come in contact with a

-      chair, and a little stream of blood was issuing from the right ear. The

-      mother, the two daughters and the servant surrounded and examined him.

-      Berthe, alone, wept, again seized with the bitter sobs which the blow had

-      called forth. And, when the four of them raised him to place him on the

-      bed, they heard him murmur:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It's all over. They've killed me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER XVII.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>onths passed by,

-      and spring had come again. At the house in the Rue de Choiseul, every one

-      was talking of the approaching marriage of Octave and Madame Hédouin.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Matters, however, were not so far advanced. Octave was again in his old

-      place at &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo; the business of which developed daily.

-      Since her husband's death, Madame Hédouin was unable to attend properly to

-      the incessantly growing concern by herself. Her uncle, old Deleuze, nailed

-      to his easy-chair by rheumatism, troubled himself about nothing; and,

-      naturally, the young man, who was very active and a constant prey to the

-      mania for doing business on a large scale, had in a little while reached a

-      position of decisive importance in the house.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      From this moment their relations became most intimate. They would shut

-      themselves for hours together in the small room right at the back. In

-      former days, when he had sworn to himself to seduce her, he had pursued

-      certain tactics there, trying to take advantage of her commercial

-      emotions, whispering figures close to her neck, watching for the days of

-      heavy takings to profit by her enthusiasm. Now, he was simply

-      good-natured, having no other aim but to push the business. He no longer

-      even desired her, though he retained the recollection of her gentle quiver

-      when waltzing with him on Berthe's wedding night. Perhaps she had loved.

-      In any case it was best to remain as they were; for, as she justly said,

-      the business demanded a great amount of order, and it would be impolitic

-      to wish for things which would disturb them from morning till night.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Seated together at the narrow desk, they would often forget themselves,

-      after going through the books and settling the orders. He would then

-      return to his dreams of enlargement. He had sounded the owner of the next

-      house, and had found him willing to sell. They would give notice to the

-      second-hand dealer and to the umbrella man, and then establish a special

-      department for silk. She, very grave, would listen, not daring to venture

-      yet.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length, as they sat side by side one evening examining some invoices

-      beneath the scorching flame of a gas-jet, she said slowly:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have spoken to my uncle, Monsieur Octave. He consents, so we will buy

-      the house. Only&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He interrupted her joyfully to exclaim:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Then, the Vabres are done for!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She smiled, and murmured reproachfully:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do you detest them, then? It is not proper on your part; you are the last

-      who should wish them ill.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had never spoken to him of his relations with Berthe. This sudden

-      allusion embarrassed him immensely, without his exactly knowing why. He

-      blushed and tried to stammer out some explanation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no, it does not concern me,&rdquo; resumed she, still smiling and very

-      calm. &ldquo;Excuse me, it quite escaped me; I never intended to speak to you on

-      the subject. You are young. So much the worse for those who are willing,

-      is it not so? It is the place of the husbands to guard their wives when

-      the latter are unable to guard themselves.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He experienced a sensation of relief, on understanding she was not angry.

-      He had often dreaded a coldness on her part if she came to know of his

-      former connection.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You interrupted me, Monsieur Octave,&rdquo; resumed she, gravely. &ldquo;I was about

-      to add that if I purchase the next house, and thus double the importance

-      of my business, it will be impossible for me to remain single. I shall be

-      obliged to marry again.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave sat lost in astonishment. What! she already had a husband in view,

-      and he was in ignorance of it! He at once felt that his position there was

-      compromised.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My uncle,&rdquo; continued she, &ldquo;told me so himself. Oh, there is no hurry just

-      yet. I have only been eight months in mourning; I shall wait till the

-      autumn. Only, in trade one must put one's heart on one side, and consider

-      the necessities of the situation. A man is absolutely necessary here.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She discussed all this calmly, like a matter of business, and he gazed on

-      her regular and healthy beauty, on her pure complexion beneath her neatly

-      arranged black hair. Then he regretted not having, since her widowhood,

-      renewed the effort to become her lover.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is always a very serious matter,&rdquo; stammered he; &ldquo;it requires

-      reflection.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      No doubt, she was quite of that opinion. And she spoke of her age.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I am already old; I am five years older than you, Monsieur Octave&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Deeply agitated, yet thinking he understood, he interrupted her, and

-      seizing hold of her hands, he repeated:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh, madame! oh, madame!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But she rose from her seat and released herself. Then she turned down the

-      gas.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, that's enough for to-day. You have some very good ideas, and it is

-      natural I should think of you to put them into execution. Only there will

-      be a deal of worry; we must thoroughly study the project. I know that at

-      heart you are very serious. Think the matter over on your side, and I will

-      think it over on mine. That is why I have named it to you. We can talk

-      about it again later on.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And things remained thus for weeks. The establishment continued just the

-      same as usual. As Madame Hédouin always maintained her smiling serenity

-      when in Octave's company, without an allusion to the slightest tender

-      feeling, he affected on his side a similar peace of mind, and he ended by

-      becoming like her, healthfully happy, placing his confidence in the logic

-      of things. She often repeated that sensible things always happened of

-      themselves. Therefore she was never in a hurry. The gossip which commenced

-      to circulate respecting her intimacy with the young man did not in the

-      least affect her. They waited.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In the Rue de Choiseul, therefore, the entire house vowed that the

-      marriage was as good as accomplished. Octave had given up his room to

-      lodge in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, near &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise.&rdquo; He no

-      longer visited any one&mdash;neither the Campar-dons nor the Duveyriers,

-      who were quite shocked at the scandal of his amours. Monsieur Gourd

-      himself, whenever he saw him, pretended not to recognize him, so as to

-      avoid having to bow. Only Marie and Madame Juzuer, on the mornings when

-      they met him in the neighborhood, went and stood a moment in some doorway

-      to have a chat with him. Madame Juzeur, who passionately questioned him

-      respecting Madame Hédouin, tried to persuade him to call upon her, so as

-      to be able to talk the matter over nicely; and Marie, who was greatly

-      distressed, complaining of again being in the family way, and who told him

-      of Jules' amazement and of her parents' terrible anger. Then, when the

-      rumor of his marriage became more persistent, Octave was surprised to

-      receive a low bow from Monsieur Gourd. Campardon, without exactly making

-      friends again, gave him a cordial nod across the street, whilst Duveyrier,

-      calling one evening to buy some gloves, showed himself most amiable. The

-      entire house was beginning to pardon him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      However, the uneasiness caused by the adulterous act was still there,

-      imperceptible to uneducated people, but most disagreeable to those of

-      refined morals. Auguste obstinately persisted in not taking his wife back,

-      and, so long as Berthe lived with her parents, the scandal would not be

-      effaced&mdash;there would ever linger a material vestige of it.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was Duveyrier especially who, as landlord, carried the burden of this

-      persistent and unmerited misfortune. For some time past Clarisse had been

-      torturing him to such a pitch that he would at times come home to his wife

-      to weep. But the scandal of the adultery had struck him to the heart; he

-      saw, said he, the passer-by look at his house from top to bottom&mdash;that

-      house which his father-in-law and he had striven to decorate with every

-      domestic virtue; and, as this sort of thing could not be allowed to last,

-      he talked of purifying the building for his personal honor. Therefore he

-      urged Auguste, in the name of public decency, to become reconciled with

-      his wife. Unfortunately, Auguste resisted, backed up in his rage by

-      Théophile and Valérie, who had definitely installed themselves at the

-      pay-desk, and who were delighted with the existing discord. Then, as

-      matters were going badly at Lyons, and the silk warehouse was in jeopardy

-      for want of capital, Duveyrier conceived a practical idea. The Josserands

-      were probably longing to get rid of their daughter; the thing to do was to

-      offer to take her back, but only on condition that they paid the dowry of

-      fifty thousand francs. Perhaps uncle Bachelard would yield to their

-      entreaties and give the money. At first, Auguste violently refused to be a

-      party to any such arrangement; even were the sum a hundred thousand

-      francs, he would not think it sufficient. Then, becoming very anxious as

-      his April payments drew near, he had given in to the counselor's

-      arguments, as the latter pleaded the cause of morality and spoke merely of

-      a good action to be done.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When they were agreed, Clotilde selected the Abbé Manduit for negotiator.

-      It was a delicate matter; only a priest could interfere in it without

-      compromising himself. It so happened that the reverend man was deeply

-      grieved by the deplorable catastrophes which had befallen one of the most

-      interesting households of his parish; and he had already offered his

-      advice, his experience and his authority to put an end to a scandal at

-      which the enemies of religion might take delight. However, when Clotilde

-      spoke to him of the dowry, asking him to be the bearer of Auguste's

-      conditions to the Josserands, he bowed his head, and maintained a painful

-      silence.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is money due that my brother asks for,&rdquo; repeated she. &ldquo;It is no

-      bargain, understand. Moreover, my brother insists upon it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is necessary, and I will go,&rdquo; said the priest, at length.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The Josserands had been expecting the proposal for days. Valérie must have

-      spoken of it, all the tenants were discussing the affair: were they so

-      hard up as to be forced to keep their daughter? would they be able to

-      obtain the fifty thousand francs to get rid of her? Since the question had

-      reached this point, Madame Josserand had been in a constant rage. What!

-      after having had such trouble to marry Berthe at first, she now had to

-      marry her a second time! Everything was upset, the dowry was again

-      demanded, all the money worries were going to commence afresh! Never

-      before had a mother had such a task to go through twice over. And all

-      owing to the fault of that silly fool, whose stupidity went so far as to

-      make her forget her duty.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The house was becoming a hell upon earth; Berthe suffered a continual

-      torture, for even her sister Hortense, furious at no longer sleeping

-      alone, never uttered a sentence without introducing some insulting

-      allusion into it. She was even reproached with the food she ate. When one

-      had a husband somewhere, it was all the same very funny that one should go

-      and share one's parents' meals, which were already too sparing. Then the

-      young woman, in despair, would sob in corners, accusing herself of being a

-      coward, but unable to pick up sufficient courage to go down-stairs and

-      throw herself at Auguste's feet, and say:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Here! beat me, I cannot be more unhappy than I am.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Monsieur Josserand alone showed some affection for his child. But that

-      child's faults and tears were killing him; he was dying through the

-      cruelties of the family, with an unlimited holiday from business, spent

-      mostly in bed. Doctor Juillerat, who attended him, talked of a

-      decomposition of the blood: it was a dissolution of the entire system,

-      during which each organ was attacked, one after the other.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;When you have made your father die of grief, perhaps you will be

-      satisfied!&rdquo; cried the mother.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And Berthe scarcely dared enter the invalid's room. Directly the father

-      and daughter met, they wept together, and did each other a great deal of

-      harm.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length, Madame Josserand came to a grand decision: she invited uncle

-      Bachelard, resolved to humiliate herself once more. She would have given

-      the fifty thousand francs out of her own pocket, if she had possessed

-      them, so as not to have to keep that big married girl, whose presence

-      dishonored her Tuesday receptions. But she had learnt some shocking things

-      about the uncle, and, if he did not do as she wished, she intended, once

-      for all, to give him a bit of her mind.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      During dinner, Bachelard behaved in a most abominable manner. He had

-      arrived in an advanced state of intoxication; for, since he had left Fifi,

-      he had fallen into the lowest depths of vice.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Narcisse,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand, &ldquo;the situation is a grave one&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, slowly and solemnly, she explained this situation, her daughter's

-      regrettable misfortune, the husband's revolting venality, the painful

-      resolution she had been obliged to come to of giving the fifty thousand

-      francs, so as to put a stop to the scandal which covered the family with

-      shame. Then she severely continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Remember what you promised, Narcisse. On the evening of the signing of

-      the marriage contract, you again slapped your chest and swore that Berthe

-      might rely on her uncle's affections. Well! where is this affection? the

-      moment has arrived to display it. Monsieur Josserand, join me in showing

-      him his duty, if your weak state of health will allow you to do so.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In spite of his great repugnance, the father murmured, out of love for his

-      daughter:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is true; you promised, Bachelard. Come, before I leave you forever, do

-      me the pleasure of behaving as you should.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But Berthe and Hortense, in the hope of working upon the uncle's feelings,

-      had filled his glass once too often. He was in such a fuddled condition,

-      that one could not even take advantage of him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? what?&rdquo; stuttered he, without having the least necessity for

-      exaggerating his intoxication. &ldquo;Never promise&mdash;Don't understand&mdash;Tell

-      me again, Eléonore.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The latter recommenced her story, made weeping Berthe embrace him,

-      besought him for the sake of her husband's health, and proved to him that

-      in giving the fifty thousand francs, he would be fulfilling a sacred duty.

-      Then, as he began to doze off again, without appearing to be in the least

-      affected by the sight of the invalid or of the chamber of sickness, she

-      abruptly broke out into the most violent language.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Listen! Narcisse, this sort of thing has been lasting too long&mdash;you're

-      a scoundrel! I know of all your beastly goings-on. You've just married

-      your mistress to Gueulin, and you've given them fifty thousand francs, the

-      very amount you promised us. Ah! it's decent; little Gueulin plays a

-      pretty part in it all! And you, you're worse still, you take the bread

-      from our mouth, you prostitute your fortune, yes! you prostitute it, by

-      robbing us of money which was ours for the sake of that harlot!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Never before had she relieved her feelings to such an extent. Hortense

-      busied herself with her father's medicine, so as not to show her

-      embarrassment. Monsieur Josserand, who was made far worse by this scene,

-      tossed about on his pillow, and murmured in a trembling voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I beseech you, Eléonore, do be quiet; he will give nothing. If you wish

-      to say such things to him, take him away that I may not hear you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Berthe, on her side, sobbed louder than ever, and joined her father in his

-      entreaties.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Enough, mamma, do as papa asks. Good heavens! how miserable I am to be

-      the cause of all these quarrels! I would sooner leave you all, and go and

-      die somewhere.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Madame Josserand deliberately put the question to the uncle.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Will you, yes or no, give the fifty thousand francs, so that your niece

-      may hold her head up?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Regularly scared, he tried to go into explanations.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Listen a moment. I found Gueulin and Fifi together. What could I do? I

-      was obliged to marry them. It wasn't my fault.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Will you, yes or no, give the dowry you promised?&rdquo; repeated she

-      furiously.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He wavered, his intoxication increased to such a pitch that he could

-      scarcely find words to utter:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Can't, word of honor!&mdash;Completely ruined. Otherwise, at once&mdash;Candidly

-      you know&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She interrupted him with a terrible gesture, and declared:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good, then I shall call a family council and have you declared incapable

-      of managing your affairs. When uncles become driveling, it's time to send

-      them to an asylum.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, the uncle was seized with intense emotion. He glanced about him,

-      and found the room had a sinister aspect with its feeble light; he looked

-      at the dying man, who, held up by his daughters, was swallowing a spoonful

-      of some black liquid; and his heart overflowed, he sobbed as he accused

-      his sister of never having under stood him. Yet, he had already been made

-      unhappy enough by Gueulin's treachery. They knew he was very sensitive,

-      and they did wrong to invite him to dinner, to make him sad afterward. In

-      short, in place of the fifty thousand francs, he offered all the blood in

-      his veins.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand, who was quite worn out, had decided to leave him to

-      himself, when the servant announced Doctor Juillerat and the Abbé Manduit.

-      They had met on the landing, and entered together. The doctor found

-      Monsieur Josserand much worse, he was still suffering from the shock

-      occasioned by the scene in which he had been forced to play a part. When,

-      on his side, the priest wished to take Madame Josserand into the

-      drawing-room, having, he said, a communication to make to her, the latter

-      guessed on what subject he had called, and answered majestically that she

-      was with her family and prepared to hear everything there; the doctor

-      himself would not be in the way, for a physician was also a confessor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Madame,&rdquo; then said the priest, with slightly embarrassed gentleness, &ldquo;you

-      behold in the step I am taking an ardent desire to reconcile two families&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My dear Abbé Manduit, allow me to interrupt you,&rdquo; said Madame Josserand.

-      &ldquo;We are deeply moved by your efforts. But never, you understand me! never

-      will we traffic in our daughter's honor. People who have already become

-      reconciled over this child's back! Oh! I know all; they were at daggers

-      drawn, and now they are inseparable, reviling us from morning till night.

-      No; such a bargain would be a disgrace&mdash;-&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It seems to me, though, madame&mdash;&rdquo; ventured the priest.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But she drowned his voice, as she superbly continued:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;See! my brother is here. You can question him. He was again saying to me

-      only a little while ago: 'Here are the fifty thousand francs, Eléonore;

-      settle this miserable matter!' Well! ask him what reply I made. Get up,

-      Narcisse. Tell the truth.&rdquo; The uncle had already again fallen asleep in an

-      arm-chair, at the end of the room. He moved, and uttered a few

-      disconnected words. Then, as his sister insisted, he placed his hand on

-      his heart, and stammered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;When duty speaks, one must obey. The family comes before everything.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You hear him?&rdquo; cried Madame Josserand, with a triumphant air. &ldquo;No money;

-      it's disgraceful! Tell those people from us that we don't die to avoid

-      having to pay. The dowry is here; we would have given it; but, now that

-      it's exacted as the price of our daughter, the matter becomes too

-      disgusting. Let Auguste take Berthe back first, and then we will see later

-      on.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She had raised her voice, and the doctor, who was examining his patient,

-      was obliged to make her leave off.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Speak lower, madame!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;your husband suffers.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the Abbé Manduit, whose embarrassment had increased, went up to the

-      bedside, and found some kind words to say. And he afterward withdrew,

-      without again referring to the matter, hiding the confusion of having

-      failed beneath his amiable smile, with a curl of grief and disgust on his

-      lips. As the doctor went off in his turn, he roughly informed Madame

-      Josserand that there was no hope for the invalid: the greatest precautions

-      must be taken, for the least emotion might carry him off. She was

-      thunderstruck, and returned to the dining-room, where her two daughters

-      and their uncle had already withdrawn, to let Monsieur Josserand rest, as

-      he seemed disposed to go to sleep.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Berthe,&rdquo; murmured she, &ldquo;you have killed your father. The doctor has just

-      said so.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And they all three, seated round the table, gave way to their grief,

-      whilst Uncle Bachelard, also in tears, mixed himself a glass of grog.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      When Auguste learned the Josserands' answer, his rage against his wife

-      knew no bounds, and he swore he would kick her away the day she came to

-      ask for forgiveness. Yet, in reality, he wanted her; there was a voidness

-      in his life; he seemed to be out of his element, amidst the new worries of

-      his abandonment, quite as grave as those of his married life.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Besides all this, another more serious anxiety bothered him: &ldquo;The Ladies'

-      Paradise&rdquo; was prospering, and already menaced his business, which

-      decreased daily. He certainly did not regret that miserable Octave, yet he

-      was just, and recognized that the fellow possessed very great abilities.

-      How swimmingly everything would have gone had they only got on better

-      together! He was seized with the most tender regrets; there were hours

-      when, sick of his loneliness, feeling life giving way beneath him, he felt

-      inclined to go up to the Josserands and ask them to give Berthe back to

-      him for nothing.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Duveyrier, too, moreover, did not yield, and, more and more cut up by the

-      moral disfavor into which such an affair threw his building, he was

-      forever urging his brother-in-law to a reconciliation.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Each day life became more and more cruel for Duveyrier at this mistress',

-      where he encountered all the worries of his own home again, but this time

-      in the midst of a regular hell. The whole tribe of hawkers&mdash;the

-      mother, the big blackguard of a brother, the two little sisters, even the

-      invalid aunt&mdash;impudently robbed him, lived on him openly, to the

-      point of emptying his pockets during the nights he slept there. His

-      position was also becoming a serious one in another respect; he had got to

-      the end of his money; he trembled at the thought of being compromised on

-      his judicial bench; he could certainly not be removed, only, the young

-      barristers were beginning to look at him in a saucy kind of way, which

-      made it awkward for him to administer justice. And, when driven away by

-      the filth and the uproar, seized with disgust of himself, he flew from the

-      Rue d'Assas and sought refuge in the Rue de Choiseul, his wife's malignant

-      coldness completed the crushing of him. Then he would lose his head; he

-      would look at the Seine on his way to the court, with thoughts of jumping

-      in some evening when a final suffering should impart to him the requisite

-      courage.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Clotilde had noticed her husband's emotion, and felt anxious and irritated

-      with that mistress of his who did not even make a man happy in his

-      misconduct. But, for her part, she was greatly annoyed by a most

-      deplorable adventure, the consequences of which quite revolutionized the

-      house. On going up-stairs one morning for a handkerchief, Clémence had

-      caught Hippolyte with Louise, and, since then, she had taken to slapping

-      him in the kitchen for the least thing, which of course greatly interfered

-      with the attendance. The worst was that madame could no longer close her

-      eyes to the illicit connection existing between her maid and her footman;

-      the other servants laughed, the scandal was reported amongst the

-      tradespeople; it was absolutely necessary to oblige them to get married if

-      she wished to retain them, and, as she continued to be very well satisfied

-      with Clémence, she thought of nothing but this marriage.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      To negotiate between lovers who were forever fighting with each other

-      seemed such a delicate affair that she decided on employing the Abbé

-      Manduit, whose moralizing character seemed specially suited to the

-      occasion. Her servants, moreover, had been causing her a great deal of

-      trouble for some time past. When down in the country, she had noticed the

-      intimacy of her big, hobbledehoy Gustave with Julie; she had at one moment

-      thought of sending the latter about her business, though regretfully, for

-      she liked her cooking; then, after sound reflection, she had decided to

-      keep her, preferring that the youngster should have a mistress at home, a

-      clean girl who would never be any trouble. There is no knowing what a

-      youth may get hold of outside, when he begins too young. She was watching

-      them, therefore, without saying a word, and now the other two must needs

-      worry her with their affair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It so happened that, one morning, as Madame Duveyrier was preparing to

-      call on the priest, Clémence came, and announced that the Abbé Manduit was

-      taking the extreme unction up to Monsieur Josserand. After meeting him on

-      the staircase, the maid had returned to the kitchen, exclaiming:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I said that he would come again this year!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, alluding to the catastrophes which had befallen the house, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It has brought ill-luck to every one.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This time the priest did not arrive too late, and that was an excellent

-      sign for the future. Madame Duveyrier hastened to Saint-Roch, where she

-      awaited the Abbé Manduit's return. He listened to her, and for a while

-      maintained a sad silence; then he was unable to refuse to enlighten the

-      maid and the footman on the immorality of their position. Moreover, the

-      other matter would have obliged him to return shortly to the Rue de

-      Choiseul, for poor Monsieur Josserand would certainly not last through the

-      night; and he mentioned that he saw in this circumstance a cruel but happy

-      opportunity for reconciling Auguste and Berthe. He would try and arrange

-      the two affairs simultaneously. It was high time that Heaven consented to

-      bless their efforts.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I have prayed, madame,&rdquo; said the priest. &ldquo;The Almighty will triumph.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, indeed, that evening, at seven o'clock, Monsieur Josserand's death

-      agony began. The entire family was there, excepting uncle Bachelard, who

-      had been sought for in vain in all the cafés, and Saturnin, who was still

-      confined at the Asile des Moulineaux. Léon, whose marriage was most

-      unfortunately postponed through his father's illness, displayed a

-      dignified grief. Madame Josserand and Hortense showed some courage. Berthe

-      alone sobbed so loudly that, so as not to affect the invalid, she had gone

-      and stowed herself away in the kitchen, where Adèle, taking advantage of

-      the general confusion, was drinking some mulled wine. Monsieur Josserand

-      expired in the quietest fashion; it was his honesty which finished him. He

-      had passed a useless life, and he went off like a worthy man tired of the

-      wicked things of the world, heart-broken by the quiet indifference of the

-      only beings he had ever loved. At eight o'clock he stammered out

-      Saturnin's name, turned his face to the wall, and expired. No one thought

-      him dead, for all had dreaded a terrible agony. They sat patiently for

-      some time, letting him, as they thought, sleep. When they found he was

-      already becoming cold, Madame Josserand, in the midst of the general

-      wailing, flew into a passion with Hortense, whom she had instructed to

-      fetch Auguste, counting on restoring Berthe to the latter's arms amidst

-      the great grief of her husband's last moments.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You think of nothing!&rdquo; said she, wiping her eyes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But, mamma,&rdquo; replied the girl, in tears, &ldquo;no one thought papa would go

-      off so suddenly! You told me not to go for Auguste till nine o'clock, so

-      as to be sure of keeping him till the end.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The sorely afflicted family found some distraction in this quarrel.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was another matter gone wrong; they never succeeded in anything.

-      Fortunately, there was still the funeral to take advantage of to bring the

-      husband and wife together.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The funeral was a pretty decent one, though it was not so grand as

-      Monsieur Vabre's. Moreover, it did not give rise to nearly the same

-      excitement in the house and the neighborhood, for the deceased was not a

-      landlord; he was merely a quiet-going body, whose demise did not even

-      disturb Madame Juzeur's slumbers.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Madame Josserand and her daughters had to be supported to their coach.

-      Léon, assisted by uncle Bachelard, was most attentive, whilst Auguste

-      followed behind in an embarrassed way. He got into another coach with

-      Duveyrier and Théophile. Clotilde detained the Abbé Manduit, who had not

-      officiated, but who had gone to the cemetery, wishing to give the family a

-      proof of his sympathy. The horses started on the homeward journey more

-      gayly, and she at once asked the priest to return to the house with them,

-      for she felt that the time was favorable. He consented.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The three mourning coaches silently drew up in the Rue de Choiseul with

-      the relations. Théophile at once rejoined Valérie, who had remained behind

-      to superintend a general cleaning, the warehouse being closed.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You may pack up!&rdquo; cried he, furiously. &ldquo;They're all at him. I bet he'll

-      end by begging her pardon.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They all, indeed, felt a pressing necessity for putting an end to the

-      unpleasantness. Misfortune should at least be good for something. Auguste,

-      in the midst of them, understood very well what they wanted; and he was

-      alone, without strength to resist, and filled with shame. The relations

-      slowly walked in under the porch hung with black. No one spoke. On the

-      stairs, the silence continued&mdash;a silence full of deep thought&mdash;whilst

-      the crape skirts, soft and sad, ascended higher and higher. Auguste,

-      seized with a final feeling of revolt, had taken the lead, with the

-      intention of quickly shutting himself up in his own apartments; but, as he

-      opened, the door, Clotilde and the priest, who had followed close behind,

-      stopped him. Directly after them, Berthe, dressed in deep mourning,

-      appeared on the landing, accompanied by her mother and her sister. They

-      all three had red eyes; Madame Josserand, especially, was quite painful to

-      behold.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come, my friend,&rdquo; simply said the priest, overcome by tears.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      And that was sufficient. Auguste gave in at once, seeing that it was

-      better to make his peace at that honorable opportunity. His wife wept, and

-      he wept also, as he stammered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come in. We will try not to do it again.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the relations kissed all around. Clotilde congratulated her brother;

-      she had had full confidence in his heart. Madame Josserand showed a

-      broken-hearted satisfaction, like a widow who is no longer the least

-      affected by the most unhoped-for happiness. She associated her poor

-      husband with the general joy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are doing your duty, my dear son-in-law. He who is now in Heaven

-      thanks you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; repeated Auguste, quite upset.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But Rachel, attracted by the noise, now appeared in the anteroom; and

-      Berthe hesitated a moment in presence of the speechless exasperation which

-      caused the maid to turn ghastly pale. Then she sternly entered, and

-      disappeared with her black mourning in the shadow of the apartment.

-      Auguste followed her, and the door closed behind them.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      A deep sigh of relief ascended the staircase, and filled the house with

-      joy. The ladies pressed the hands of the priest, whose prayers had been

-      granted. Just as Clotilde was taking him off to settle the other matter,

-      Duveyrier, who had lagged behind with Léon and Bachelard, arrived, walking

-      painfully. The happy result had all to be explained to him; but he, who

-      had been desiring it for months past, scarcely seemed to understand, a

-      strange expression overspreading his face, and his mind a prey to a fixed

-      idea, the torture of which quite absorbed him. Whilst the Josserands

-      regained their apartments, he returned to his own, behind his wife and the

-      priest. And they had just reached the ante-room, when some stifled cries

-      caused them to start.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Do not be uneasy, madame. It is the little lady up-stairs in labor,&rdquo;

-       Hippolyte complacently explained. &ldquo;I saw Dr. Juillerat run up just now.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, when he was alone, he added philosophically:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;One goes, another comes.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Clotilde made the Abbé Manduit comfortable in the drawingroom, saying that

-      she would first of all send him Clémence; and, to help him to while away

-      the time, she gave him the &ldquo;Revue des Deux Mondes,&rdquo; which contained some

-      really charming verses. She wished to prepare her maid for the interview.

-      But, on entering her dressing-room, she found her husband seated on a

-      chair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Ever since the morning, Duveyrier had been in a state of agony. For the

-      third time he had caught Clarisse with Théodore; and, as he complained,

-      the whole family of hawkers, the mother, the brother, the sisters, had

-      fallen upon him, and driven him down-stairs with kicks and blows; whilst

-      Clarisse had called him a poverty-stricken wretch, and furiously

-      threatened him with the police if he ever dared to show himself there

-      again. It was all over; down below the doorkeeper had told him that for a

-      week past a very rich old fellow had been anxious to provide for madame.

-      Then, driven away, and no longer having a warm nook to nestle in,

-      Duveyrier, after wandering about the streets, had entered an

-      out-of-the-way shop and purchased a pocket revolver. Life was becoming too

-      sad; he could at least put an end to it, as soon as he had found a

-      suitable place for doing so. This selection of a quiet corner was

-      occupying his mind, as he mechanically returned to the Rue de Choiseul to

-      assist at Monsieur Josserand's funeral. Then, when following the corpse,

-      he had had a sudden idea of killing himself at the cemetery; he would go

-      to the furthest end and hide behind a tombstone. This flattered his taste

-      for the romantic, the necessity for a tender ideal, which was wrecking his

-      life, beneath his rigid middle-class attitude. But, as the coffin was

-      being lowered into the grave, he began to tremble, seized with an earthly

-      chill. The spot would decidedly not do; he would have to seek elsewhere.

-      And, having returned in a worse state than ever, entirely a prey to this

-      one idea, he sat thinking on a chair in the dressing-room, trying to

-      decide which was the most suitable place in the house&mdash;perhaps the

-      bed-room, beside the bed, or simply just where he was, without moving.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Will you have the kindness to leave me to myself?&rdquo; said Clotilde to him.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      He already had his hand on the revolver in his pocket.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; asked he, with an effort.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Because I wish to be alone.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He thought that she wanted to change her dress, and that she would not

-      even let him see her bare arms, so repugnant he felt was he to her. For an

-      instant he looked at her with his dim eyes, and beheld her so tall, so

-      beautiful, with a complexion clear as marble, her hair gathered up in

-      deep, golden tresses. Ah! if she had only consented, how everything might

-      have been arranged! He rose stumblingly from his chair, and, opening his

-      arms, tried to take hold of her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What, now?&rdquo; murmured she, greatly surprised. &ldquo;What's the matter with you?

-      Not here, surely. Have you the other one no longer, then? It is going to

-      begin again, that abomination?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And she exhibited such utter disgust, that he drew back. Without a word,

-      he left her, stopping in the ante-room as he hesitated for a moment; then,

-      as there was a door facing him, the door of the closet, he pushed it open;

-      and, without the slightest hurry, he sat down. It was a quiet spot, no one

-      would come and disturb him there. He placed the barrel of the little

-      revolver in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, Clotilde, who had been struck since the morning by his strange

-      manner, had listened to ascertain if he were obliging her by returning to

-      Clarisse. On learning where he had gone, by a creak peculiar to that door,

-      she no longer bothered herself about him, and was at length in the act of

-      ringing for Clémence, when the dull report of a fire-arm filled her with

-      surprise. Whatever was it? it was just, like the noise a saloon rifle

-      would make. She hastened to the ante-room, not daring at first to question

-      him; then, as a strange sound issued from where he was, she called him,

-      and, on receiving no answer, opened the door. The bolt had not even been

-      fastened. Duveyrier, stunned by fright more than by the injury he had

-      received, remained squatting, in a most lugubrious posture, his eyes wide

-      open, and his face streaming with blood. He had missed his object. After

-      grazing his jaw, the bullet had passed out again through the left cheek.

-      And he no longer had the courage to fire a second time.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;What! that is what you come to do here?&rdquo; cried Clotilde quite beside

-      herself. &ldquo;Just go and kill yourself outside!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She was most indignant. Instead of softening her, this spectacle threw her

-      into a supreme exasperation. She bullied him, and raised him up without

-      the least precaution, wishing to carry him away so that no one should see

-      him in such a place. In that closet! and to miss killing himself too! It

-      was too much.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, whilst she supported him to lead him to the bed-room, Duveyrier, who

-      had his throat filled with blood, and whose teeth were dropping out,

-      stuttered between two rattles:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You never loved me!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">

-      <img src="images/0407.jpg" alt="0407 " width="100%" /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h5>

-      <a href="images/0407.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>

-    </h5>

-    <p>

-      And he burst into sobs, he bewailed the death of poetry, that little blue

-      flower which it had been denied him to pluck. When Clotilde had put him to

-      bed, she at length became softened, seized with a nervous emotion in the

-      midst of her anger. The worst of it was that Clémence and Hippolyte were

-      coming in answer to the bell. She at first talked to them of an accident;

-      their master had fallen on his chin: then she was obliged to abandon this

-      fable, for, on going to wipe up the blood, the footman had found the

-      revolver. The wounded man was still losing a great deal of blood, when the

-      maid remembered that Dr. Juillerat was up-stairs attending to Madame

-      Pichon, and she hastened to him, meeting him on the staircase, on his way

-      home, after a most successful delivery. The doctor immediately reassured

-      Clotilde; perhaps the jaw would be slightly out of its place, but her

-      husband's life was not in the least danger. He was proceeding to dress the

-      wound, in the midst of basins of water and red stained rags, when the Abbé

-      Manduit, uneasy at all this commotion, ventured to enter the room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Whatever has happened?&rdquo; asked he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      This question completed upsetting Madame Duveyrier. She burst into tears

-      at the first words of explanation. The priest, fully aware of the hidden

-      miseries of his flock, had moreover quite understood matters. Already,

-      whilst waiting in the drawing-room, he had been taken with a feeling of

-      uneasiness, and almost regretted the success which had attended his

-      efforts, that wretched young woman whom he had once more united to her

-      husband without her showing the slightest remorse. He was filled with a

-      terrible doubt, perhaps God was not with him. And his anguish still

-      further increased as he beheld the counselor's fractured jaw. He went up

-      to him, bent upon energetically condemning suicide. But the doctor, who

-      was very busy, thrust him aside.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;After me, my dear Abbé Manduit. By-and-by. You can see very well that he

-      has fainted.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And indeed, directly the doctor touched him, Duveyrier had lost

-      consciousness. Then Clotilde, to get rid of the servants who were no

-      longer needed, and whose staring eyes embarrassed her very much, murmured,

-      as she wiped her eyes:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Go into the drawing-room. Abbé Manduit has something to say to you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The priest was obliged to take them there. It was another unpleasant piece

-      of business. Hippolyte and Clémence followed him in profound surprise.

-      When they were alone together, he began preaching them a rather confused

-      sermon: Heaven rewarded good behavior, whereas a single sin led one to

-      hell; moreover, it was time to put a stop to scandal and to think of one's

-      salvation. Whilst he spoke thus, their surprise turned to bewilderment;

-      with their hands hanging down beside them, she with her slender limbs and

-      tiny mouth, he with his flat face and his big bones like a gendarme, they

-      exchanged anxious glances! Had madame found some of her napkins up-stairs

-      in a trunk? or was it because of the bottle of wine they took up with them

-      every evening?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;My children,&rdquo; the priest ended by saying, &ldquo;you set a bad example. The

-      greatest of crimes is to pervert one's neighbor, and to bring the house

-      where one lives into disrepute. Yes, you live in a disorderly way, whieh,

-      unfortunately, is no longer a secret to any one, for you have been

-      fighting together for a week past.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He blushed; a modest hesitation caused him to choose his words.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile the two servants had sighed with relief. They smiled now and

-      strutted about in quite a happy manner. It was only that! really, there

-      was no occasion to be so frightened!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But it's all over, sir,&rdquo; declared Clémence, glancing at Hippolyte in the

-      fondest manner. &ldquo;We have made it up. Yes, he explained everything to me.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The priest in his turn exhibited an astonishment full of sadness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You do not understand me, my children. You cannot continue to live

-      together; you sin against God and man. You must get married.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, their amazement returned. Get married! whatever for?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I don't want to,&rdquo; said Clémence. &ldquo;I've quite another idea.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the Abbé Manduit tried to convince Hippolyte.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Come, my fine fellow, you who are a man, use your influence with her,

-      talk to her of her honor. It will change nothing in your mode of living.

-      Be married.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The footman grinned in a jocular and embarrassed manner. At length he

-      declared, as he looked down at the toes of his boots:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I daresay, I don't say the contrary; but I'm already married.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This answer put a stop to all the priest's moral preaching. Without adding

-      a word, he folded up his arguments, and put religion, now become useless,

-      back into his pocket, deeply regretting ever having risked it in such a

-      disgraceful matter. Clotilde, who rejoined him at this moment, had heard

-      everything; and she gave vent to her indignation in a furious gesture. At

-      her order, the footman and the maid left the room, one behind the other,

-      looking very serious, but in reality feeling highly amused. After a short

-      pause, Abbé Manduit complained bitterly: why expose him in that manner?

-      why stir up things it was far better to let rest? The condition of affairs

-      had now become most disgraceful. But Clotilde repeated her gesture: so

-      much the worse! she had far greater worries. Moreover, she would certainly

-      not send the servants away, for fear the whole neighborhood learnt the

-      story of the attempted suicide that very evening. She would decide what to

-      do later on.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You will not forget, will you? the most complete repose,&rdquo; urged the

-      doctor, coming from the bed-room. &ldquo;He will get over it perfectly, but all

-      fatigue must be avoided. Take courage, madame.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, turning toward the priest, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You can preach him a sermon later on, my dear friend. I do not give him

-      up to you yet. If you are returning to Saint-Roch, I will accompany you;

-      we can walk together.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Then they left the house, and slowly followed the Rue

-      Neuve-Saint-Augustin. As they raised their heads, on arriving at the end

-      of the street, they beheld Madame Hédouin smiling at them, at the door of

-      &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise.&rdquo; Standing behind her was Octave, also laughing.

-      That very morning they had settled on their marriage, after a serious

-      conversation. They would wait till the autumn. And they were both full of

-      joy at having at length arranged the matter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good day, my dear Abbé Manduit!&rdquo; said Madame Hédouin, gayly. &ldquo;And you,

-      doctor, always paying visits?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as the latter congratulated her on her good looks, she added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! if there were only me, you might give up business at once.&rdquo; They

-      stood conversing a moment. The doctor having mentioned Marie's

-      confinement, Octave seemed delighted to hear of his former neighbor's

-      happy delivery. But, when he learnt that it was a third daughter, he

-      exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Can't her husband manage a boy, then? She thought she might still get

-      Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume to put up with a boy; but they'll never

-      stomach another girl.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I should think not,&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;They have both taken to their bed,

-      the news of their daughter's pregnancy upset them so much. And they sent

-      for a notary, so that their son-in-law should not even inherit their

-      furniture.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      There was a little chaff. The priest alone remained silent, with his eyes

-      cast on the ground. Madame Hédouin asked him if he was unwell. Yes, he

-      felt very tired, he was going to take a little rest. And, after a cordial

-      exchange of good wishes, he went down the Rue Saint-Roch, still

-      accompanied by the doctor. On arriving before the church, the latter

-      abruptly said:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;A bad customer, eh?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Who is?&rdquo; asked the priest in surprise.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That lady who sells linen. She does not care a pin for either of us. No

-      need for religion, nor for medicine. All the same, when one is always so

-      well, it is no longer interesting.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And he went on his way, whilst the priest entered the church. Abbé Manduit

-      intended to go up to his room. But a great agitation, a violent necessity,

-      had forced him to enter the church and kept him there. It seemed to him

-      that God was calling him, with a confused and far-off voice, the orders

-      proceeding from which he was unable to catch. He slowly crossed the

-      church, and was trying to read within himself, to quiet his alarms, when,

-      suddenly, as he passed behind the choir, a superhuman spectacle shook his

-      entire frame.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      It was beyond the marble chapel of the Virgin, as white as a lily, beyond

-      the gold and silver plate of the chapel of the Adoration, with its seven

-      golden lamps, its golden candelabra, and its golden altar shining in the

-      tawny shadow of the aureate stained windows; it was in the depths of this

-      mysterious night, past this tabernacle background, a tragical apparition,

-      a simple yet harrowing drama: Christ nailed to the cross, between the

-      Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen, weeping at his feet; and the white statues,

-      which an invisible light coming from above caused to stand out from

-      against the bare wall, seemed to advance and increase in size, making the

-      bleeding humanity of this death, and these tears, the divine symbol of

-      eternal woe.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The priest, thoroughly distracted, fell on his knees. He had whitened that

-      plaster, arranged that mode of lighting, prepared that phenomenon; and,

-      now that the boarding was removed, the architect and the workmen gone, he

-      was the first to be thunderstruck at the sight. From the terrible severity

-      of the Calvary came a breath which overpowered him. He fancied the

-      Almighty passing over him; he bent beneath this breath, filled with

-      misgivings, tortured by the thought that he was perhaps a bad priest.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      <br /><br />

-    </p>

-    <hr />

-    <p>

-      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>

-    </p>

-    <div style="height: 4em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-    <h2>

-      CHAPTER XVIII.

-    </h2>

-    <p class="pfirst">

-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n December, the

-      eighth month of her morning, Madame Josserand for the first time accepted

-      an invitation to dine out. It was merely at the Duveyriers', almost a

-      family gathering, with which Clotilde opened her Saturday receptions of

-      the new winter. The day before, Adèle had been told that she would have to

-      help Julie with the washing-up. The ladies were in the habit of thus

-      lending their servants to each other on the days when they gave parties.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And above all, try and put a little more go into yourself,&rdquo; said Madame

-      Josserand to her maid-of-all-work. &ldquo;I don't know what you've got in your

-      body now, you're as limp as rags. Yet you're fat and plump.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Adèle was simply nine months gone in the family way. For a long time she

-      had thought she was merely growing stouter, which greatly surprised her

-      however; and she would get into a perfect rage, with her ever hungry empty

-      stomach, on the days when madame triumphantly showed her to her guests;

-      ah, well! those who accused her of weighing her servant's bread might come

-      and look at that great glutton, it was not likely she got so fat by merely

-      licking the walls! When, in her stupidity, Adèle at length became aware of

-      her misfortune, she restrained herself twenty times from telling the truth

-      to her mistress, who was really taking advantage of her condition to make

-      the neighborhood think that she was at length feeding her.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But, from this moment, terror stultified her entirely. Her village ideas

-      once more took possession of her obtuse skull. She thought herself damned,

-      she fancied that the gendarmes would come and take her, if she admitted

-      her pregnancy. Then all her low cunning was made use of to hide it. She

-      concealed the feelings of sickness, twice she thought she would drop down

-      dead before her kitchen fire, whilst stirring some sauces. The pain that

-      she had endured for the two last months with the obstinacy of an heroic

-      silence was indeed frightful.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Adèle went up to bed that night about eleven o'clock. The thought of

-      to-morrow evening terrified her; more drudgery, more bullying by Julie!

-      and she could scarcely move about.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      During the night she was seized with labor pains, and a desire came over

-      her to move about, so as to walk them off. She therefore lighted the

-      candle and began to wander round the room, her tongue dried up, tormented

-      with a burning thirst, and her cheeks on fire. Hours passed in this cruel

-      wandering, without her daring to put on her shoes, for fear of making a

-      noise, whilst she was only protected against the cold by an old shawl

-      thrown across her shoulders. Two o'clock struck, then three o'clock.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Not a soul stirred in the adjoining rooms, every one was snoring; she

-      could hear Julie's sonorous hum, whilst Lisa made a kind of hissing noise

-      like the shrill notes of a fife. Four o'clock had just struck, when,

-      seized with a violent pain, she felt that the end was approaching, and

-      could not restrain uttering a loud cry.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At this the occupants of the other rooms began to rouse up. Voices thick

-      with sleep were heard saying: &ldquo;Well! what? who's being murdered?&mdash;Some

-      one's being taken by force!&mdash;Don't dream out loud like that!&rdquo;

-       Dreadfully frightened, she drew the bedclothes over the new-born child,

-      which was uttering plaintive cries like a little kitten. But she soon

-      heard Julie snoring again, after turning over; whilst Lisa, once more

-      asleep, no longer uttered a sound. Then she experienced an immense relief,

-      an infinite comfort of calm and repose, and lay as one dead.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She must have dozed thus for the best part of an hour. When six o'clock

-      struck, the consciousness of her position awoke her again. Time was

-      flying, she rose up painfully, and did whatever things came into her head,

-      without deciding on them beforehand. A frosty moon shone full into the

-      room. After dressing herself, she wrapped the infant up in some old rags,

-      and then folded a couple of newspapers around it. It uttered no cry now,

-      yet its little heart was beating.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Not one of the servants was about as yet, and, after getting slumbering

-      Monsieur Gourd to unfasten the door from his room, she was able to go out

-      and lay her bundle in the Passage Choiseul, the gates of which had just

-      been opened, and then quietly returned up-stairs. She met no one. For once

-      in her lifetime, luck was on her side!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      She immediately set about tidying her room, after which, utterly worn out,

-      and as white as wax, she again lay down. It was thus that Madame Josserand

-      found her, when she had made up her mind to go up-stairs toward nine

-      o'clock, greatly surprised at not seeing Adèle come down. The servant

-      having complained of a violent attack of diarrhoea which had kept her

-      awake all night, madame exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Of course! you must have eaten too much again! You think of nothing else

-      but stuffing yourself.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The girl's paleness, however, made her uneasy, and she talked of sending

-      for the doctor; but she was glad to save the three francs, when Adèle

-      vowed that she merely needed rest. Since her husband's death, Madame

-      Josserand had been living with her daughter Hor-tense, on an allowance

-      made her by the brothers Bernheim, but which did not prevent her from

-      bitterly alluding to them as persons who lived on the brains of others;

-      and she spent less than ever on food, so as not to descend to a lower

-      level of society by quitting her apartments and giving up her Tuesday

-      receptions.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;That's right; sleep,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;There is some cold beef left which will

-      do for this morning, and to-night we dine out. If you cannot come down to

-      help Julie, she will have to do without you.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The dinner that evening at the Duveyriers' was a very cordial one. All the

-      family was there: the two Vabres and their wives, Madame Josserand,

-      Hortense, Léon, and even uncle Bachelard, who behaved well. Moreover, they

-      had invited Trublot to fill a vacant place, and Madame Dambreville, so as

-      not to separate her from Léon. The latter, after his marriage with the

-      niece, had once again fallen into the arms of the aunt, who was still

-      necessary to him. They were seen to arrive together in all the

-      drawing-rooms, and they would apologize for the young wife, whom a cold or

-      a feeling of idleness, said they, kept at home. That evening the whole

-      table complained of scarce knowing her: they loved her so much, she was so

-      beautiful! Then they talked of the chorus which Clotilde was to give at

-      the end of the evening; it was the &ldquo;Blessing of the Daggers&rdquo; again, but

-      this time with five tenors, something complete and magisterial. For two

-      months past, Duveyrier himself, who had become quite charming, had been

-      looking up the friends of the house, and saying to every one he met: &ldquo;You

-      are quite a stranger, come and see us; my wife is going to give her

-      choruses again.&rdquo; Therefore, half through the dinner, they talked of

-      nothing but music. The happiest good-nature and the most free-hearted

-      gayety prevailed throughout.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, after the coffee, and whilst the ladies sat round the drawing-room

-      fire, the gentlemen formed a group in the parlor and began to exchange

-      some grave ideas. The other guests were now arriving. And among the

-      earliest were Campardon, Abbé Manduit, and Doctor Juillerat, without

-      including the diners, with the exception of Trublot, who had disappeared

-      on leaving the table. They almost immediately commenced talking politics.

-      The debates in the Chamber deeply interested the gentlemen, and they had

-      not yet given over discussing the success of the opposition candidates for

-      Paris, all of whom had been returned at the May elections. This triumph of

-      the dissatisfied portion of the middle classes made them feel anxious at

-      heart, in spite of their apparent delight.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; declared Léon, &ldquo;Monsieur Thiers is certainly a most talented

-      man. But he puts so much acrimony into his speeches on the Mexican

-      expedition that he quite spoils their effect.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He had just been named to a higher appointment, through Madame

-      Dambreville's influence, and had at once joined the government party. The

-      only thing that remained in him of the famished demagogue, was an

-      unbearable intolerance of all doctrines.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Not long ago you were accusing the government of every sin,&rdquo; said the

-      doctor, smiling. &ldquo;I hope you at least voted for Monsieur Thiers.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The young man avoided answering. Théophile, whose stomach was no longer

-      able to digest his food, and who was worried with fresh doubts as to his

-      wife's constancy, exclaimed:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I voted for him. When men refuse to live as brothers, so much the worse

-      for them!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And so much the worse for you, as well, eh?&rdquo; remarked Duvey-rier, who,

-      speaking but little, uttered some very profound observations.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Théophile, greatly scared, looked at him. Auguste no longer dared admit

-      that he had also voted for Monsieur Thiers. Then every one was very much

-      surprised to hear uncle Bachelard utter a legitimist profession of faith:

-      he thought it the most genteel. Cam-pardon seconded him warmly; he had

-      abstained from voting himself, because the official candidate, Monsieur

-      Dewinck, did not offer sufficient guarantees as regards religion; and he

-      furiously declaimed against Renan's &ldquo;Life of Jesus,&rdquo; which had recently

-      made its appearance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is not the book that should be burnt; it is the author,&rdquo; repeated he.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You are, perhaps, too radical, my friend,&rdquo; interrupted the priest, in a

-      conciliatory tone. &ldquo;But, indeed, the symptoms are becoming terrible. There

-      is some talk of driving away the pope, the revolution has invaded

-      parliament. We are walking on the edge of a precipice.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So much the better!&rdquo; said Doctor Juillerat, simply.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the others all protested. He renewed his attacks against the middle

-      classes, prophesying that there would be a clean sweep the day when the

-      masses wished to enjoy power in their turn; and the others loudly

-      interrupted him, exclaiming that the middle classes represented the

-      virtue, the industry, and the thrift of the nation. Duveyrier was at

-      length able to make himself heard. He owned it before all: he had voted

-      for Monsieur Dewinck, not that Monsieur Dewinck exactly represented his

-      opinions, but because he was the symbol of order. Yes, the saturnalia of

-      the Reign of Terror might one day return. Monsieur Rouher, that remarkable

-      statesman who had just succeeded Monsieur Billault, had formally

-      prophesied it in the Chamber. He concluded with these striking words:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;The triumph of the opposition is the preliminary subsidence of the

-      structure. Take care that it does not crush you in falling!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      The other gentlemen held their peace, with the unavowed fear of having

-      allowed themselves to be carried away even to compromising their personal

-      safety. They beheld workmen begrimed with powder and blood, entering their

-      homes, violating their maidservants and drinking their wine. No doubt, the

-      Emperor deserved a lesson; only, they were beginning to regret having

-      given him so severe a one.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Be easy!&rdquo; concluded the doctor, scoffingly. &ldquo;We will manage to save you

-      from the bullets.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But he was going too far, they set him down as an original. It was,

-      moreover, thanks to this reputation for originality, that he did not lose

-      his connection. He continued, by resuming with Abbé Manduit their eternal

-      quarrel respecting the approaching downfall of the Church. Léon now sided

-      with the priest: he talked of Providence, and, on Sundays, accompanied

-      Madame Dambreville to nine o'clock mass.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Meanwhile, the guests continued to arrive, the drawing-room was becoming

-      quite filled with ladies. Valérie and Berthe were exchanging little

-      secrets, like two good friends. The other Madame Cam-pardon, whom the

-      architect had brought no doubt in place of poor Rose, who was already in

-      bed up-stairs and reading Dickens, was giving Madame Josserand an

-      economical recipe for washing clothes without soap; whilst Hortense,

-      seated all by herself and expecting Verdier, did not take her eyes off the

-      door. But suddenly Clotilde, while conversing with Madame Dambreville,

-      rose up and held out her hands. Her friend, Madame Octave Mouret, had just

-      entered the room. The marriage had taken place early in November, at the

-      end of her mourning.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And your husband?&rdquo; asked the hostess. &ldquo;He is not going to disappoint me,

-      I hope?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; answered Caroline, with a smile. &ldquo;He will be here directly;

-      something detained him at the last moment.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      There was some whispering, glances full of curiosity were directed toward

-      her, so calm and so lovely, ever the same, with the pleasant assurance of

-      a woman who succeeds in everything she undertakes. Madame Josserand

-      pressed her hand, as though she were delighted to see her again. Berthe

-      and Valérie left off talking and examined her at their ease, studying her

-      costume, a straw-color dress covered with lace. But, in the midst of this

-      quiet forgetfulness of the past, Auguste, whom the political discussion

-      had left quite cool, was giving signs of indignant amazement as he stood

-      near the parlor door. What! his sister was going to receive the family of

-      his wife's former lover! And, in his marital rancor, there was a touch of

-      the jealous anger of the tradesman ruined by a triumphant competition; for

-      &ldquo;The Ladies' Paradise,&rdquo; by extending its business and creating a special

-      department for silk, had so drained his resources that he had been obliged

-      to take a partner. He drew near, and, whilst every one was making much of

-      Madame Mouret, he whispered to Clotilde:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know, I will never put up with it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Put up with what?&rdquo; asked she, greatly surprised.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I do not mind the wife so much, she has not done me any harm. But if the

-      husband comes, I shall take hold of Berthe by the arm, and leave the room

-      in the presence of everybody.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      She looked at him, and then shrugged her shoulders. Caroline was her

-      oldest friend, she was certainly not going to give up seeing her, just to

-      satisfy his caprices. As though any one even recollected the matter. He

-      would do far better not to rake up things forgotten by everybody but

-      himself. And as, deeply affected, he looked to Berthe for support,

-      expecting that she would get up and follow him at once, she calmed him

-      with a frown; was he mad? did he wish to make himself more ridiculous than

-      he had ever been before?

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But it is in order that I may not appear ridiculous!&rdquo; replied he, in

-      despair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Madame Josserand inclined toward him, and, said in a severe tone of

-      voice:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It is becoming quite indecent; every one is looking at you. Do behave

-      yourself for once in a way.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He held his tongue, but without submitting. From this moment a certain

-      uneasiness existed among the ladies. The only one who preserved her

-      smiling tranquillity was Madame Mouret, now sitting beside Clotilde and

-      opposite Berthe. They watched Auguste, who had retired to the window

-      recess where his marriage had been decided, not so very long before. His

-      anger was bringing on a headache, and he now and again pressed his

-      forehead against the icy-cold panes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave did not arrive till very late. As he reached the landing, he met

-      Madame Juzeur, who had just come down, wrapped in a shawl. She complained

-      of her chest, and had got up on purpose not to disappoint the Duveyriers.

-      Her languid state did not prevent her falling into the young man's arms,

-      as she congratulated him on his marriage.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;How delighted I am with such a splendid result, my friend! Really! I was

-      quite in despair about you, I never thought you would have succeeded. Tell

-      me, you rascal, how did you manage to get over her?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave smiled and kissed her fingers. But some one who was bounding

-      up-stairs with the agility of a goat, disturbed them; and, greatly

-      surprised, they fancied they recognized Saturnin. It was indeed Saturnin,

-      who a week before had left the Asile des Moulineaux, where for a second

-      time Doctor Chassagne declined to detain him any longer, still considering

-      him not sufficiently mad. No doubt he was going to spend the evening with

-      Marie Pichon, just as in former days, when his parents had company. And

-      those bygone times were suddenly evoked. Octave could hear an expiring

-      voice coming from above, singing the ballad with which Marie whiled away

-      her vacant hours; he beheld her once more eternally alone, beside the crib

-      in which Lilitte slumbered, and awaiting Jules' return with all the

-      complacency of a gentle and useless woman.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I wish you every happiness with your wife,&rdquo; repeated Madame Juzeur,

-      tenderly squeezing Octave's hands.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      In order not to enter the drawing-room with her, he was purposely

-      occupying some time in removing his overcoat, when Trublot, in his dress

-      clothes, bareheaded, and looking quite upset, came from the passage

-      leading to the kitchen.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You know she's not at all well!&rdquo; murmured he, whilst Hippo-lyte announced

-      Madame Juzeur.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Who isn't?&rdquo; asked Octave.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Why Adèle, the servant up-stairs.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Hearing there was something the matter with her, he had gone up quite

-      paternally, on leaving the dinner-table. It must have been a very severe

-      attack of cholerine; a good glass of mulled wine was what she ought to

-      have, and she had not even a lump of sugar. Then, as he noticed that his

-      friend smiled in an indifferent sort of way, he added:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo! I forgot you're married, you joker! This sort of thing no longer

-      interests you. I never thought of that when I found you with madame.

-      Anything you like except that!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      They entered together. The ladies were just then speaking of their

-      servants, and were taking such interest in the conversation, that they did

-      not notice them at first. All were complacently approving Madame

-      Duveyrier, who was trying to explain, in an embarrassed way, why she

-      continued to keep Clémence and Hippo-lyte: he was rough, but she dressed

-      her so well that one could not help shutting one's eyes to other matters.

-      Neither Valérie nor Berthe could succeed in securing a decent girl; they

-      had given it up in despair, after trying every registry office, the

-      good-for-nothing servants from which had done no more than pass through

-      their kitchens. Madame Josserand violently abused Adèle, of whom she

-      related some fresh abominable and stupid doings of extraordinary

-      character; and yet she did not send her about her business. As for the

-      other Madame Campardon, she was quite enthusiastic in her praises of Lisa:

-      a pearl, not a thing to reproach her with; in short, one of those

-      deserving domestics to whom one gives prizes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;She is quite one of the family now,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Our little Angèle is

-      attending some lectures at the Hôtel de Ville, and Lisa accompanies her.

-      Oh! they might remain out together for days; we should not be in the least

-      anxious.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      It was at this moment that the ladies caught sight of Octave. He was

-      advancing to wish Clotilde good-evening. Berthe looked at him; then,

-      without the least affectation, she resumed her conversation with Valérie,

-      who had exchanged with him the affectionate glance of disinterested

-      friendship. The others&mdash;Madame Josserand, Madame Dambreville&mdash;without

-      throwing themselves at him, surveyed him with sympathetic interest.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So here you are at last!&rdquo; said Clotilde, who was most amiable. &ldquo;I was

-      beginning to tremble for the chorus.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And, as Madame Mouret gently scolded her husband for being so late, he

-      made some excuses.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;But, my dear, I was unable to come sooner. I am most sorry, madame.

-      However, I am now entirely at your disposal.&rdquo; Meanwhile, the ladies were

-      anxiously watching the window recess into which Auguste had retired. They

-      received a momentary fright when they beheld him turn round at the sound

-      of Octave's voice. His headache was no doubt worse; he had a restless look

-      about the eyes, which seemed full of the darkness of the street. He at

-      length appeared to make up his mind, and, returning to his former position

-      beside his sister's chair, he said.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Send them away, or else we will leave.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Clotilde again shrugged her shoulders. Then Auguste seemed disposed to

-      give her time to consider: he would wait a few minutes longer, more

-      especially as Trublot had taken Octave into the parlor. The other ladies

-      were still uneasy, for they had heard the husband whisper in his wife's

-      ear:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;If he comes back here, you must get up and follow me. Otherwise, you may

-      return to your mother's.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      In the parlor, the gentlemen greeted Octave quite as cordially. If Léon

-      made a point of showing a little coolness, Uncle Bachelard, and even

-      Théophile, seemed to declare, as they held out their hands to Octave, that

-      the family forgot everything. He congratulated Campardon, who, decorated

-      two days previously, now wore a broad red ribbon; and the beaming

-      architect scolded him for never calling now and then to pass an hour with

-      his wife: though one got married, it was scarcely nice to forget friends

-      of fifteen years' standing. But the young man felt quite surprised and

-      anxious as he stood before Duveyrier. He had not seen him since his

-      recovery. He looked uneasily at his jaw, all out of place, dropping too

-      much on the left side, and which now gave a horrid squinting expression to

-      his countenance. Then, when the counselor spoke, he had another surprise:

-      his voice had lowered two tones; it had become quite sepulchral.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Don't you think him much better thus?&rdquo; said Trublot to Octave, as they

-      returned to the drawing-room door. &ldquo;It positively gives him a certain

-      majestic air. I saw him presiding at the assizes, the day before yesterday&mdash;Listen!

-      they are talking of it.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      And indeed the gentlemen had abandoned politics to take up morality. They

-      were listening to Duveyrier as he gave some details of an affair in which

-      his attitude had been particularly noticed. He was even about to be named

-      a president and an officer of the Legion of Honor. It was respecting an

-      infanticide already a year old. The unnatural mother, a regular savage, as

-      he said, happened to be the boot-stitcher, his former tenant, that tall,

-      pale and friendless girl, whose pregnant condition had roused Monsieur

-      Gourd's indignation so much. And besides that, she was altogether stupid!

-      for, without reflecting that her appearance would betray her, she had gone

-      and cut her child in two and kept it at the bottom of a bonnet-box. She

-      had naturally told the jury quite a ridiculous romance: a seducer who had

-      deserted her; misery, hunger, and then a fit of mad despair on seeing

-      herself unable to supply the little one's wants: in a word, the same story

-      they all told. But it was necessary to make an example. Duveyrier

-      congratulated himself on having summed up with that lucidity which often

-      decided a jury's verdict.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;And what was your sentence?&rdquo; asked the doctor.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Five years,&rdquo; replied the counselor in his new voice, which seemed both

-      hoarse and sepulchral. &ldquo;It is time to oppose a dyke to the debauchery

-      which threatens to submerge Paris.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Trublot nudged Octave's elbow; they were both acquainted with the facts of

-      the attempt at suicide.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh? you hear him?&rdquo; murmured he. &ldquo;Without joking, it improves his voice:

-      it stirs one more, does it not? it goes straight to the heart now. Ah! if

-      you had only seen him, standing up, draped in his long red robes, with his

-      mug all askew! On my word! he quite frightened me; he was extraordinary;

-      oh! you know! a style in his majesty enough to make your flesh creep!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But he left off speaking, and listened to the ladies in the drawingroom,

-      who were again on the subject of servants. That very morning, Madame

-      Duveyrier had given Julio a week's notice; she had nothing certainly to

-      say against the girl's cooking; only, good behavior came before everything

-      in her eyes. The truth was that, warned by Doctor Juillerat, and anxious

-      for the health of her son, whose little goings-on she tolerated at home,

-      so as to keep them under control, she had had an explanation with Julie,

-      who had been unwell for some time past; and the latter, like a genteel

-      cook, whose style was not to quarrel with her employers, had accepted her

-      week's notice. Madame Josserand at once shared Clotilde's indignation;

-      yes, one should be very strict on the question of morality; for instance,

-      if she kept that slut Adèle in spite of her dirty ways, and her stupidity,

-      it was because the girl was virtuous. Oh! on that point, she had nothing

-      whatever to reproach her with!

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Poor Adèle! when one only thinks!&rdquo; murmured Trublot, again affected at

-      the thought of the wretched creature, half frozen upstairs beneath her

-      thin blanket.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then, bending toward Octave's ear, he added with a chuckle:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;I say, Duveyrier might at least take her up a bottle of claret!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Yes, gentlemen,&rdquo; the counselor was continuing, &ldquo;statistics will bear me

-      out, the crime of infanticide is increasing in the most frightful

-      proportions. Sentiment prevails to too great an extent in the present day,

-      and far too much consideration is shown to science, to your pretended

-      physiology, all of which will end by there soon being neither good nor

-      evil. One cannot cure debauchery; the thing is to destroy it at its root.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      This refutation was addressed above all to Doctor Juillerat, who had

-      wished to give a medical explanation of the boot-stitcher's case.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The other gentlemen also exhibited great severity and disgust. Campardou

-      could not understand vice, uncle Bachelard defended infancy, Théophile

-      demanded an inquiry, Léon discussed the question of prostitution in its

-      relations with the state; whilst Trublot, in answer to an inquiry of

-      Octave's, talked of Duveyrier's new mistress, who was a decent sort of a

-      woman this time, rather mature, but romantic, with a soul expanded by that

-      ideal which the counselor required to purify love; in short, a worthy

-      person who gave him a peaceful home, imposing upon him as much as she

-      liked and sleeping with his friends, without making any unnecessary fuss.

-      And the Abbé Manduit alone remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground,

-      his mind sorely troubled, and full of an infinite sadness.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      They were now about to sing the &ldquo;Blessing of the Daggers.&rdquo; The

-      drawing-room had filled up, a flood of rich dresses was crushing in the

-      brilliant light from the chandelier and the lamps, whilst gay bursts of

-      laughter ran along the rows of chairs; and, in the midst of the buzz,

-      Clotilde in a low voice roughly chided Auguste, who, on seeing Octave

-      enter with the other gentlemen of the chorus, had caught hold of Berthe's

-      arm to make her leave her seat. But he was already beginning to yield,

-      feeling more and more embarrassed in the presence of the ladies' dumb

-      disapproval, whilst his head had become entirely the prey of triumphant

-      neuralgia. Madame Dambreville's stern looks quite drove him to despair,

-      and even the other Madame Campardon was against him. It was reserved to

-      Madame Josserand to finish him off. She abruptly interfered, threatening

-      to take back her daughter and never to pay him the fifty thousand francs

-      dowry; for she was always promising this dowry with the greatest coolness

-      imaginable. Then, turning toward uncle Bachelard, seated behind her, and

-      next to Madame Juzeur, she made him renew his promises. The uncle placed

-      his hand on his heart; he knew his duty, the family before everything!

-      Auguste, repulsed on all sides, beat a retreat, and again sought refuge in

-      the window recess, where he once more pressed his burning forehead against

-      the icy-cold panes.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then Octave experienced a singular sensation as though his Paris life was

-      beginning over again. It was as though the two years he had lived in the

-      Rue de Choiseul had been a blank. His wife was there, smiling at him, and

-      yet nothing seemed to have passed in his existence; to-day was the same as

-      yesterday, there was neither pause nor ending. Trublot showed him the new

-      partner standing beside Berthe, a little fair fellow very neat in his

-      ways, who gave her, it was said, no end of presents. Uncle Bachelard, who

-      was now going in for poetry, was revealing himself in a sentimental light

-      to Madame Juzeur, whom he quite affected with some intimate details

-      respecting Fifi and Gueulin. Théophile, devoured by doubts, doubled up by

-      violent fits of coughing, was imploring Doctor Juillerat in an

-      out-of-the-way corner to give his wife something to quiet her. Campardon,

-      his eyes fixed on cousin Gasparine, was talking of the diocese of Evreux,

-      and jumping from that to the great works of the new Rue du Dix Décembre,

-      defending God and art, sending the world about its business, for at heart

-      he did not care a hang for it, he was an artist! And behind a flower-stand

-      there could even be seen the back of a gentleman, whom all the

-      marriageable girls contemplated with an air of profound curiosity; it was

-      Verdier, who was talking with Hortense, the pair of them having an

-      acrimonious explanation, again putting off their marriage till the spring,

-      so as not to turn the woman and her child into the street in the depth of

-      winter.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Then the chorus was sung afresh. The architect, with his mouth wide open,

-      gave out the first line. Clotilde struck a chord, and uttered her cry. And

-      the other voices burst forth, the uproar increased little by little, and

-      spread with a violence that scared the candles and caused the ladies to

-      turn pale. Trublot, having been found wanting among the basses, was being

-      tried a second time as a baritone. The five tenors were much noticed,

-      Octave especially, to whom Clotilde regretted being unable to give a solo.

-      When the voices fell, and she had applied the soft pedal, imitating the

-      cadenced and distant footsteps of a departing patrol, the applause was

-      deafening, and she, together with the gentlemen, had every praise showered

-      upon them. And at the farthest eud of the adjoining room, right behind a

-      triple row of men in evening dress, one beheld Duveyrier clenching his

-      teeth so as not to cry aloud with anguish, with his mouth all on one side,

-      and his festering eruptions almost bleeding.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The tea coming next, unrolled the same procession, distributed the same

-      cups and the same sandwiches. For a moment, the Abbé Manduit fouud himself

-      once more in the middle of the deserted drawing-room. He looked through

-      the wide-open door, on the crush of guests; and, vanquished, he smiled, he

-      again cast the mantle of religion over this corrupt middle-class society,

-      like a master in the ceremonies draping the canker, to stave off the final

-      decomposition. He must save the Church, as Heaven had not answered his cry

-      of misery and despair.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      At length, the same as on every Saturday, when midnight struck, the guests

-      began to withdraw. Campardon was among the first to leave, with the other

-      Madame Campardon. Léon and Madame Dambreville were not long in maritally

-      following them. Verdier's back had long ago disappeared, when Madame

-      Josserand went off with Hortense, bullying her for what she called her

-      romantic obstinacy. Uncle Bachelard, very drunk from the punch he had

-      taken, detained Madame Juzeur a moment at the door, finding her advice

-      full of experience quite refreshing. Trublot, who had stolen some sugar

-      for Adèle, was making for the passage leading to the kitchen, when the

-      presence of Berthe and Auguste in the anteroom embarrassed him, and he

-      pretended to be looking for his hat.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      But, just at this minute, Octave and his wife, escorted by Clotilde, also

-      came out and asked for their wraps. There ensued a few seconds of

-      embarrassment, The ante-room was not large, Berthe and Madame Mouret were

-      pressed against each other, whilst Hippolyte was searching for their

-      things. They both smiled. Then, when the door was opened, the two men,

-      Octave and Auguste, brought face to face, did the polite, each stepping

-      aside. At length, Berthe consented to pass out first, after an exchange of

-      bows. And Valérie, who was leaving in her turn with Théophile, again

-      looked at Octave in the affectionate way of a disinterested friend. He and

-      she alone might have told each other everything.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; repeated Clotilde graciously to the two families, before

-      returning to the drawing-room.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Octave stopped short. He had just caught sight on the next floor of the

-      partner, the neat little fair fellow, taking his departure like the rest,

-      and whose hands Saturnin, who had just left Marie, was pressing in an

-      outburst of savage tenderness, stuttering the while: &ldquo;Friend&mdash;friend&mdash;friend&mdash;&rdquo;

-       A singular feeling of jealousy at first darted through him. Then he

-      smiled. It was the past; and he again recalled his amours, all his

-      campaign of Paris, the complacencies of that good little Pichon, the

-      repulse he received from Valérie, of whom he preserved a pleasant

-      recollection, his stupid connection with Berthe, which he regretted as

-      pure waste of time. Now he had transacted his business, Paris was

-      conquered; and he gallantly followed her whom in his heart he still styled

-      Madame Hédouin, every now and then stooping to see that the train of her

-      dress did not catch in the stair-rods.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The house had once more resumed its grand air of middle-class dignity. He

-      fancied he could hear Marie's distant and expiring ballad. Beneath the

-      porch he met Jules coming in: Madame Vuillaume was at death's door, and

-      refused to see her daughter. Then, that was all, the doctor and the priest

-      retired last and still arguing; Trublot had shyly gone up to Adèle to

-      attend to her; and the deserted staircase slumbered in a heavy warmth with

-      its chaste doors inclosing respectable alcoves. One o'clock was striking,

-      when Monsieur Gourd, whom Madame Gourd was snugly awaiting In bed, turned

-      out the gas. Then the whole house lapsed into silent darkness, as though

-      annihilated by the decency of its sleep. Nothing remained, life resumed

-      its level of indifference and stupidity.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      On the following morning, Adèle dragged herself down to her kitchen, so as

-      to allay suspicion. A thaw had set in during the night, and she opened the

-      window, feeling stifled, when Hippolyte's voice rose furiously from the

-      depths of the narrow courtyard.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You dirty hussies! Who has been emptying her slops out of the window

-      again? Madame's dress is quite spoilt!&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      He had hung out one of Madame Duveyrier's dresses given him to brush, and

-      he fouud it all spattered with sour broth. Then, from the top to the

-      bottom, the servants appeared at their windows and violently exculpated

-      themselves. The sluice was open and a rush of the most abominable words

-      flowed from the foul spot. In times of thaw, the walls were steeped with

-      humidity, and quite a pestilence ascended from the obscure little

-      courtyard, all the hidden corruptions of the different floors seeming to

-      melt and ooze out by this common sewer of the house.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;It wasn't me,&rdquo; said Adèle, leaning out. &ldquo;I've only just come.&rdquo; Lisa

-      abruptly raised her head.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hallo! so you're on your legs again. Well, what was the matter? Is it

-      true that you almost croaked?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Oh! yes, I had such colics, and not at all funny, I can tell you!&rdquo; This

-      put a stop to the quarrel. Valérie and Berthe's new servants, a big camel

-      and a little jade, as they were termed, looked curiously at Adèle's pale

-      face. Victoire and Julie also wished to see her, and stretched their

-      necks, and leant their heads back. They all had an idea that there was

-      something wrong, for it was unnatural to have such gripes and yell out as

-      she did.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Perhaps you've had something which didn't agree with you,&rdquo; said Lisa.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      The others burst out laughing, another rush of foul language overflowed,

-      whilst the wretched creature, awfully frightened, stammered:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Hold your tongues, with your nasty words! I'm quite ill enough as it is.

-      You don't want to finish me off, do you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      No, of course not. She was as stupid as stupid could be, and dirty enough

-      to disgust a whole neighborhood; but they all held too closely together to

-      bring her into any trouble. And they naturally turned to abusing their

-      masters and mistresses; they criticised the party of the previous evening

-      with looks of profound repugnance.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;So they've all made it up again now?&rdquo; asked Victoire as she sipped her

-      glass of syrup and brandy.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      Hippolyte, who was wiping madame's dress, replied:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They've no more heart than my shoes. When they've spat in one another's

-      faces, they wash themselves with it, to make one believe they're clean.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;They must manage to agree somehow or other,&rdquo; said Lisa.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Otherwise it wouldn't take long before our turn came.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      But there was a moment of panic. A door opened, and the servants were

-      already diving back into their kitchens, when Lisa announced that it 'was

-      only little Angèle: there was nothing to fear with her, she understood.

-      And, from the foul spout, there again arose all the rancor of the

-      domestics, in the midst of the poisonous stench caused by the thaw. There

-      was a grand spreading out of all the dirty linen of the last two years. It

-      was quite consoling not to be ladies and gentlemen, when one beheld the

-      masters and mistresses living in the midst of it all, and apparently

-      enjoying it, as they were preparing to go through it all again.

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Eh! I say, you, up there!&rdquo; suddenly shouted Victoire, &ldquo;was it with

-      Mug-askew that you had what didn't agree with you?&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      At this, a ferocious yell of delight quite shook the stinking cesspool.

-      Hippolyte actually tore madame's dress; but he did not care, it was far

-      too good for her as it was! The big camel and the little jade were bent

-      over the hand-rails of their windows, wriggling in a mad burst of

-      laughter. Adèle, however, who was quite scared, and who was half asleep

-      through weakness, started, and she retorted in the midst of the jeers:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;You're all of you heartless things. When you're dying, I'll come and

-      dance at your bedsides.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Ah! mademoiselle,&rdquo; resumed Lisa, leaning out to speak to Julie, &ldquo;how

-      happy you must feel at leaving such a wretched house in a week! On my

-      word, one becomes wicked here in spite of oneself. I wish you a better

-      home in your next place.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <p>

-      Julie, her arms bare, and dripping with the blood from a turbot she had

-      been just cleaning for that evening's dinner, returned to the window

-      beside the footman. She shrugged her shoulders, and concluded with this

-      philosophical reply:

-    </p>

-    <p>

-      &ldquo;Dear me! mademoiselle, here or there, they're all alike. In the present

-      day, whoever has been in the one has been in the other. It's all Filth and

-      Company.&rdquo;

-     </p>

-    <h3>

-      THE END.

-    </h3>

-    <div style="height: 6em;">

-      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />

-    </div>

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-<pre>

-

-

-

-

-

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