At this Madame Faujas went downstairs muttering and growling. The threat of making a disturbance always compelled her to beat a retreat. Olympe began to sing jeeringly as soon as her mother's back was turned. But whenever she went down into the garden the other took her revenge, keeping everlastingly at her heels, watching her hands, never ceasing to play the spy upon her. She would not allow her in the kitchen or dining-room for a moment. She embroiled her with Rose about a saucepan that had been borrowed and never returned; but she did not dare to attempt to undermine Marthe's friendship for her for fear of causing some scandal which might prove prejudicial to the priest.
'Since you are so regardless of your own interests,' she said to her son one day, 'I must look after them for you. Make yourself easy. I shan't do anything foolish; but if I were not here, your sister would snatch the very bread out of your hands.'
Marthe had no notion of the drama that was being played around her. To her the house simply seemed more lively and cheerful, now that all these people thronged the hall and the stairs and the passages. The place was as noisy as an hotel, what with all the echoes of quarrelling, the banging of doors, the free and independent life of each of the tenants, and the flaming fire in the kitchen, where Rose seemed to have a whole table d'hôte to provide for. There was a continual procession of tradesmen to the house. Olympe, who became very particular about her hands and refused to risk spoiling them by washing plates and dishes, had everything sent from a confectioner's in the Rue de la Banne, who catered for the townspeople. Marthe smiled and said she enjoyed the present bustle of the house. She now greatly disliked being left alone, and felt the necessity of occupation of some sort to allay the fever that was consuming her.
Mouret, however, to escape from all the racket, used to shut himself up in a room on the first floor, which he called his office. He had overcome his distaste for solitude; he now scarcely ever went down into the garden, but kept himself locked up from morning till night.
'I should very much like to know what he finds to do in there,' said Rose to Madame Faujas. 'One can't hear him move, and you might almost fancy he was dead. If he wants to hide himself in that way, it must be because he is doing something that's neither right nor proper; don't you think so, eh?'
When the summer came round once more, the house grew still livelier. Abbé Faujas received the guests of both the sub-prefect and the presiding judge beneath the arbour at the bottom of the garden. Rose, by Marthe's orders, purchased a dozen rustic chairs, so that the visitors might enjoy the fresh air without it being necessary to carry the dining-room chairs hither and thither. It was now the regular thing for the doors communicating with the little lane to remain open every Tuesday afternoon, and the ladies and gentlemen came to salute Abbé Faujas like friendly neighbours, the men often in their slippers and with their coats carelessly unbuttoned, and the ladies in straw hats and with skirts looped up with pins. The visitors arrived one by one, and gradually the two sets of guests found themselves mixing together, gossiping and amusing themselves with perfect familiarity.
'Aren't you afraid,' said Monsieur Bourdeu to Monsieur Rastoil one day, 'that these meetings with the sub-prefect's friends may be ill advised? The general elections are getting near.'
'Why should they be ill advised?' asked Monsieur Rastoil. 'We don't go to the Sub-Prefecture; we keep on neutral ground. Besides, my good friend, there is no ceremony about the matter. I keep my linen jacket on, and it's a mere private friendly visit. No one has any right to pass judgment upon what I do at the back of my house. In the front it's another matter. In the front we belong to the public. When Monsieur Péqueur and I meet each other in the streets we merely bow.'
'Monsieur Péqueur de Saulaies improves much on acquaintance,' the ex-prefect ventured to remark after a short pause.
'Certainly, certainly,' replied the presiding judge; 'I am delighted to have made his acquaintance. And what a worthy man Abbé Faujas is! No, no; I have no fear of any slander arising from our going to pay our respects to our excellent neighbour.'