Then Madame Josserand inclined toward him, and, said in a severe tone of voice:
“It is becoming quite indecent; every one is looking at you. Do behave yourself for once in a way.”
He held his tongue, but without submitting. From this moment a certain uneasiness existed among the ladies. The only one who preserved her smiling tranquillity was Madame Mouret, now sitting beside Clotilde and opposite Berthe. They watched Auguste, who had retired to the window recess where his marriage had been decided, not so very long before. His anger was bringing on a headache, and he now and again pressed his forehead against the icy-cold panes.
Octave did not arrive till very late. As he reached the landing, he met Madame Juzeur, who had just come down, wrapped in a shawl. She complained of her chest, and had got up on purpose not to disappoint the Duveyriers. Her languid state did not prevent her falling into the young man’s arms, as she congratulated him on his marriage.
“How delighted I am with such a splendid result, my friend! Really! I was quite in despair about you, I never thought you would have succeeded. Tell me, you rascal, how did you manage to get over her?”
Octave smiled and kissed her fingers. But some one who was bounding up-stairs with the agility of a goat, disturbed them; and, greatly surprised, they fancied they recognized Saturnin. It was indeed Saturnin, who a week before had left the Asile des Moulineaux, where for a second time Doctor Chassagne declined to detain him any longer, still considering him not sufficiently mad. No doubt he was going to spend the evening with Marie Pichon, just as in former days, when his parents had company. And those bygone times were suddenly evoked. Octave could hear an expiring voice coming from above, singing the ballad with which Marie whiled away her vacant hours; he beheld her once more eternally alone, beside the crib in which Lilitte slumbered, and awaiting Jules’ return with all the complacency of a gentle and useless woman.
“I wish you every happiness with your wife,” repeated Madame Juzeur, tenderly squeezing Octave’s hands.
In order not to enter the drawing-room with her, he was purposely occupying some time in removing his overcoat, when Trublot, in his dress clothes, bareheaded, and looking quite upset, came from the passage leading to the kitchen.
“You know she’s not at all well!” murmured he, whilst Hippolyte announced Madame Juzeur.
“Who isn’t?” asked Octave.