And, whilst the company passed slowly into the dining-room, she went up to her mother and murmured:
“I have had enough of it! He wants me to stay and tell him stories, or he threatens to smash everything!”
On a grey cloth which was too narrow, was served one of those teas laboriously got together, a cake bought at a neighbouring baker’s, with some mixed sweet biscuits, and some sandwiches on either side. At either end of the table quite a luxury of flowers, superb and costly roses, withdrew attention from the ancient dust on the biscuits, and the poor quality of the butter. The sight caused a commotion, and jealousies were kindled: really those Josserands were ruining themselves in trying to marry off their daughters. And the guests, having but poorly dined, and only thinking of going to bed with their bellies full, casting side glances at the bouquets, gorged themselves with weak tea and imprudently devoured the hard stale biscuits and the heavy cake. For those persons who did not like tea, Adèle handed round some glasses of red currant syrup. It was pronounced excellent.
Meanwhile, the uncle was asleep in a corner. They did not wake him, they even politely pretended not to see him. A lady talked of the fatigues of business. Berthe went from one to another, offering sandwiches, handing cups of tea, and asking the men if they would like any more sugar. But she was unable to attend to every one, and Madame Josserand was looking for her daughter Hortense, when she caught sight of her standing in the middle of the deserted drawing-room, talking to a gentleman, of whom one could only see the back.
“Ah! yes! he has come at last,” she permitted, in her anger, to escape her.
There was some whispering. It was that Verdier, who had been living with a woman for fifteen years past, whilst waiting to marry Hortense. Every one knew the story, the young ladies exchanged glances; but they bit their lips, and avoided speaking of it, out of propriety. Octave, being made acquainted with it, examined the gentleman’s back with interest. Trublot knew the mistress, a good girl, a reformed streetwalker, who was better now, said he, than the best of wives, taking care of her man, and looking after his clothes; and he was full of a fraternal sympathy for her. Whilst they were being watched from the dining-room, Hortense was scolding Verdier with all the sulkiness of a badly brought up virgin for having come so late.
“Hallo! red currant syrup!” said Trublot, seeing Adèle standing before him, a tray in her hand.
He sniffed it and declined. But, as the servant turned round, a stout lady’s elbow pushed her against him, and he pinched her back. She smiled, and returned to him with the tray.
“No, thanks,” said he. “By-and-by.”
