'Well, that's an offer I really can't refuse.'
When Rose had brought him out a glass of wine, he sat down on the balustrade of the terrace and slowly sipped the beverage, smacking his tongue and holding up the glass to the light.
'This comes from the district of Saint-Eutrope,' he said. 'I'm not to be deceived in matters of this kind. I know the different districts thoroughly.'
He wagged his head and again sniggered.
Then Mouret, with an intonation that was full of meaning, suddenly asked him:
'And how are things getting on at Les Tulettes?'
Macquart raised his eyes and looked at them all. Then giving a final cluck of his tongue and putting down the glass on the stone-work by his side, he said, quite unconcernedly:
'Oh! very well. I heard of her the day before yesterday. She is still just the same.'
Félicité had turned her head away. For a moment no one spoke. Mouret had just put his finger upon one of the family's sore places, by alluding to old Adelaide, the mother of Rougon and Macquart, who for several years now had been shut up as a mad woman in the asylum at Les Tulettes. Macquart's little property was near the mad-house, and it seemed as though Rougon had posted the old scamp there to keep watch over their mother.
'It is getting late,' Macquart said at last, rising from his seat on the balustrade, 'and I want to get back again before night. I shall expect to see you over at my house one of these days, Mouret, my boy. You have promised me several times to come, you know.'