The drawing-room clock struck two; and, in the excitement of that prolonged vigil, in her desire now become furious for an immediate marriage, the mother forgot herself in thinking out loud, making her daughter turn about like a papier-mache doll. The latter, without spirit or will, abandoned herself; but she felt very heavy at heart, fear and shame brought a lump to her throat. Suddenly, in the midst of a silvery laugh which her mother was forcing her to attempt, she burst into sobs, her face all upset:
“No! no! it pains me!” stammered she,
For a second, Madame Josserand remained incensed and amazed. Ever since she left the Dambrevilles’, her hand had been itching, there were slaps in the air. Then, she landed Berthe a clout with all her might.
“Take that! you are too aggravating! What a fool! On my word, the men are right!”
In the shock, her Lamartine, which she had kept under her arm, fell to the floor. She picked it up, wiped it, and without adding another word, she retired into the bedroom, royally drawing her ball-dress around her.
“It was bound to end thus,” murmured Monsieur Josserand, not daring to detain his daughter, who went off also, holding her cheek and crying louder than ever.
But, as Berthe felt her way across the ante-room, she found her brother Saturnin up, barefooted and listening. Saturnin was a big, ill-formed fellow of twenty-five, with wild-looking eyes, and who had remained childish after an attack of brain-fever. Without being mad, he terrified the household by attacks of blind violence, whenever he was thwarted. Berthe, alone, was able to subdue him with a look. He had nursed her when she was still quite a child, through a long illness, obedient as a dog to her little invalid girl’s caprices; and, ever since he had saved her, he was seized with an adoration for her, into which entered every kind of love.
“Has she been beating you again?” asked he in a low and ardent voice.
Berthe, uneasy at finding him there, tried to send him away.
“Go to bed, it is nothing to do with you.”