Madame Josserand, standing up before her, had been listening for a minute with indignant amazement.
“Eh? I said that!” cried she.
But Berthe, warming with her subject, would not stop.
“You have said so twenty times. And, besides, I should have liked to have seen you in my place. Auguste is not kind like papa. You would have been fighting together about money matters before a week had passed. He would precious soon have made you say that men are only good to be taken in!”
“Eh? I said that!” repeated the mother, quite beside herself.
She advanced so menacingly toward her daughter, that the father held out his hands in a suppliant gesture imploring mercy. The sounds of the two women’s voices struck him to the heart unceasingly; and, at each shock, he felt the wound extend. Tears gushed from his eyes as he stammered:
“Do leave off, spare me.”
“No, it is dreadful!” resumed Madame Josserand, in louder tones than ever. “This wretched creature now pretends I am the cause of her shamelessness! You will see she will soon make out that it is I who have deceived her husband. So, it’s my fault! for that is what you seem to mean. It’s my fault!”
Berthe remained with her elbows on the table, very pale, but resolute.
“It’s very certain that, if you had brought me up differently——”