“Well, how goes it?”
“It is all right,” answered the old lady.
“Nothing queer?”
“Absolutely nothing. Never away—in bed at nine—and looking quite happy.”
“Ah, confound it,” replied the major, “I knew very well he only wanted a shaking. He has some heart left, the dog!”
When Burle appeared he almost crushed the major’s hands in his grasp, and standing before the fire, waiting for the dinner, they conversed peacefully, honestly, together, extolling the charms of home life. The captain vowed he wouldn’t exchange his home for a kingdom and declared that when he had removed his braces, put on his slippers and settled himself in his armchair, no king was fit to hold a candle to him. The major assented and examined him. At all events his virtuous conduct had not made him any thinner; he still looked bloated; his eyes were bleared, and his mouth was heavy. He seemed to be half asleep as he repeated mechanically: “Home life! There’s nothing like home life, nothing in the world!”
“No doubt,” said the major; “still, one mustn’t exaggerate—take a little exercise and come to the cafe now and then.”
“To the cafe, why?” asked Burle. “Do I lack anything here? No, no, I remain at home.”
When Charles had laid his books aside Laguitte was surprised to see a maid come in to lay the cloth.
“So you keep a servant now,” he remarked to Mme Burle.