“Catherine,” said Barrau, in vibrating tones, “I am the master, you understand, and never shall I submit to being laughed at by a Firmin.”
“Pooh! You always see evil in everything. Am I doing wrong? Whenever I try to enjoy myself you are angry. In order to please you, I ought always to stay at home. But I don’t care for that sort of life—not I.”
“Come!”
“No.”
Savin was visibly disturbed. His resolute face looked pained. He said nothing, but going straight up to his wife, he took her by the arm and forced her to go by his side. Vexed with rage, she attempted to free herself, but in vain. Her husband held her closely. But rather than go with him she fell to the ground, sobbing.
“Catherine, my girl, come,” urged Savin, more gently. “Do not be a baby; come willingly. People are mocking at us.”
Did the young woman believe her husband would weaken? Or did she think it dramatic to make a scene? Who knows? At all events, she raised her hand to strike her husband on the face, when he, foreseeing the intention, arrested the blow. His movement was so rapid that he did not realize what strength he exerted in seizing her fingers. Held as firmly as though she were in a vice, Catherine uttered a little cry of pain.
“You hurt me, Savin. See! You hurt me!”
But the gamekeeper, swayed by his anger, did not listen to her complaint.
“A blow!” cried he. “You wished to strike me—you! Before all these people!”