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.