She immediately set about tidying her room, after which, utterly worn out, and as white as wax, she again lay down. It was thus that Madame Josserand found her, when she had made up her mind to go up-stairs toward nine o’clock, greatly surprised at not seeing Adèle come down. The servant having complained of a violent attack of diarrhoea which had kept her awake all night, madame exclaimed:
“Of course! you must have eaten too much again! You think of nothing else but stuffing yourself.”
The girl’s paleness, however, made her uneasy, and she talked of sending for the doctor; but she was glad to save the three francs, when Adèle vowed that she merely needed rest. Since her husband’s death, Madame Josserand had been living with her daughter Hortense, on an allowance made her by the brothers Bernheim, but which did not prevent her from bitterly alluding to them as persons who lived on the brains of others; and she spent less than ever on food, so as not to descend to a lower level of society by quitting her apartments and giving up her Tuesday receptions.
“That’s right; sleep,” said she. “There is some cold beef left which will do for this morning, and to-night we dine out. If you cannot come down to help Julie, she will have to do without you.”
The dinner that evening at the Duveyriers’ was a very cordial one. All the family was there: the two Vabres and their wives, Madame Josserand, Hortense, Léon, and even uncle Bachelard, who behaved well. Moreover, they had invited Trublot to fill a vacant place, and Madame Dambreville, so as not to separate her from Léon. The latter, after his marriage with the niece, had once again fallen into the arms of the aunt, who was still necessary to him. They were seen to arrive together in all the drawing-rooms, and they would apologize for the young wife, whom a cold or a feeling of idleness, said they, kept at home. That evening the whole table complained of scarce knowing her: they loved her so much, she was so beautiful! Then they talked of the chorus which Clotilde was to give at the end of the evening; it was the “Blessing of the Daggers” again, but this time with five tenors, something complete and magisterial. For two months past, Duveyrier himself, who had become quite charming, had been looking up the friends of the house, and saying to every one he met: “You are quite a stranger, come and see us; my wife is going to give her choruses again.” Therefore, half through the dinner, they talked of nothing but music. The happiest good-nature and the most free-hearted gayety prevailed throughout.
Then, after the coffee, and whilst the ladies sat round the drawing-room fire, the gentlemen formed a group in the parlor and began to exchange some grave ideas. The other guests were now arriving. And among the earliest were Campardon, Abbé Mauduit, and Doctor Juillerat, without including the diners, with the exception of Trublot, who had disappeared on leaving the table. They almost immediately commenced talking politics. The debates in the Chamber deeply interested the gentlemen, and they had not yet given over discussing the success of the opposition candidates for Paris, all of whom had been returned at the May elections. This triumph of the dissatisfied portion of the middle classes made them feel anxious at heart, in spite of their apparent delight.
“Dear me!” declared Léon, “Monsieur Thiers is certainly a most talented man. But he puts so much acrimony into his speeches on the Mexican expedition that he quite spoils their effect.”
He had just been named to a higher appointment, through Madame Dambreville’s influence, and had at once joined the government party. The only thing that remained in him of the famished demagogue, was an unbearable intolerance of all doctrines.
“Not long ago you were accusing the government of every sin,” said the doctor, smiling. “I hope you at least voted for Monsieur Thiers.”
The young man avoided answering. Théophile, whose stomach was no longer able to digest his food, and who was worried with fresh doubts as to his wife’s constancy, exclaimed: