“Encourage her, not if I know it! I found her in her chemise, sir! and with that man! Do you take me for a fool, that you wish me to kiss her! In her chemise, sir!”
Monsieur Josserand stood lost in amazement. Then he caught hold of Berthe’s arm.
“You say nothing; can it be true? On your knees, then!”
But Auguste had reached the door. He was hastening away. “Your comedies are useless! they don’t take me in! Don’t try to shove her on my shoulders again; I’ve had her once too often. You hear me; never again! I would sooner go to law about it. Pass her on to some one else, if she’s in your way. And, besides, you’re no better than she is!”
He waited till he was in the ante-room, and then further relieved himself by shouting out these last words:
“Yes, when one makes a strumpet of one’s daughter, one should not push her into a respectable man’s arms!”
The outer door banged, and a profound silence ensued. Berthe had mechanically gone back to her seat at the table, lowering her eyes, and looking at the coffee dregs in the bottom of her cup; whilst her mother sharply walked about, carried away by the tempest of her violent emotions. The father, utterly worn out, and with a face as white as that of a corpse, had sat down all by himself at the other end of the room, against the wall. An odor of rancid butter—butter of inferior quality purposely bought at the Halles—quite infected the apartment.
“Now that that vulgar person has gone,” said Madame Josserand, “one may be able to hear oneself speak. Ah! sir, these are the results of your incapacity. Do you at length acknowledge your errors? think you that such quarrels would be picked with either of the brothers Bernheim, with one of the owners of the Saint-Joseph glass works?”
Monsieur Josserand, with a lifeless look in his eyes, had not even stirred. She had stopped before him, with an enraged desire for a row; then, seeing he did not move, she continued to pace the room.
“Yes, yes, be disdainful. You know it will not affect me much. And we will see if you will again dare to speak ill of my relations after all that yours have done. Uncle Bachelard is quite a star! my sister is most polite! Listen; do you wish to know my opinion? Well! it is that if my father had not died, you would have killed him. As for your father——”