'It is wrong of you, my dear, to show yourself so neglectful of your husband. I saw him yesterday and he is quite angry about it. I am well aware that he often behaves in a very ridiculous manner, but that does not justify you in neglecting your home.'
Marthe fixed her eyes upon her mother.
'Ah! he has been complaining about me!' she said curtly. 'The least he could do would be to keep silent, for I never complain about him.'
Then she began to talk of other matters, but Madame Rougon brought her back to the subject of her husband by inquiring after Abbé Faujas.
'Perhaps Mouret isn't very fond of the Abbé, and finds fault with you in consequence. Is that the case, do you think?'
Marthe showed great surprise.
'What an idea!' she exclaimed. 'What makes you think that my husband does not like Abbé Faujas? He has certainly never said anything to me which would lead me to imagine such a thing. He hasn't said anything to you, has he? Oh no! you are quite mistaken. He would go up to their rooms to fetch them if the mother didn't come down to have her game of cards with him.'
Mouret, indeed, never complained in any way about Abbé Faujas. He joked with him a little bluntly sometimes, and occasionally brought his name into the teasing banter with which he tormented his wife, but that was all.
One morning, as he was shaving, he said to Marthe:
'I'll tell you what, my dear; if ever you go to confession, take the Abbé for your director, and then your sins will, at any rate, be kept amongst ourselves.'