As to D'Harmental, he felt a violent desire to break Boniface's head with a wine-bottle. Nevertheless, seeing the absurdity of the situation, he made an effort and restrained himself.
"But," said he, "I thought that the bourgeois whom I saw on the terrace—for no doubt it is of him that you speak, Monsieur Boniface—"
"Of himself, the old rascal; what did you think of him?"
"That he was her father."
"Her father! not quite. Mademoiselle Bathilde has no father."
"Then, at least, her uncle?"
"Her uncle after the Bretagne fashion, but in no other manner."
"Monsieur," said Madame Denis, majestically coming out of the room, to the most distant part of which she had doubtless consigned her daughters, "I have asked you, once for all, not to talk improprieties before your sisters."
"Ah, yes," said Boniface, "my sisters; do you believe that, at their age, they cannot understand what I said, particularly Emilie, who is three-and-twenty years old?"
"Emilie is as innocent as a new-born child," said Madame Denis, seating herself between Brigaud and D'Harmental.