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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. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPING HOT! *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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