“I came to ask you for Duveyrier’s new address. I suppose you know it.”
“Duveyrier’s address, Duveyrier’s address,” stammered the uncle. “You mean Clarisse’s address. Wait a moment.”
And he went and opened the door of Fifi’s bed-room. Auguste was greatly surprised on seeing Gueulin, whom the old man had locked in, come forth. He had wished to give him time to dress himself, and also to detain him, so as to decide afterward what he would do with him. The sight of the young man looking all upset, his hair still unbrushed, revived his anger.
“What! wretch! it’s you, my nephew, who dishonors me! You soil your family, you drag my white hairs in the mire! Ah! you’ll end badly, we shall see you one of these days in the dock of the assize-court!”
Gueulin listened with bowed head, feeling at once both embarrassed and furious.
“I say, uncle, you’re going too far,” murmured he. “There’s a limit to everything. I don’t think it funny either. Why did you bring me to see mademoiselle? I never asked you. You dragged me here. You drag everybody here.”
But Bachelard, again overcome with tears, continued:
“You’ve taken everything from me; I had only her left. You’ll be the cause of my death, and I won’t leave you a sou, not a sou!”
Then Gueulin, quite beside himself, burst out:
“Go to the deuce! I’ve had enough of it! Ah! it’s as I’ve always told you! here they come, here they come, the annoyances of the morrow! See how it succeeds with me, when for once in a way I’ve been fool enough to take advantage of an opportunity. Of course! the night was very pleasant; but, afterward, go to blazes! one will be blubbering like a calf for the rest of one’s life.”