“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.