"You are a rude, unmannerly woman!"
"Alfred, deary, just fetch me your boot-jack: I'll give that old chatterer such a mark that his own mother shall not know her darling again!"
"Really, madame, I can't say I understand receiving such rough treatment when I come, by your own directions, to make inquiries respecting what you or your husband have publicly notified in the streets."
"But, sir-r-r—!" cried the unhappy porter.
"Sir!" interrupted the hitherto placid inquirer, now worked up into extreme rage, "Sir! You may carry your friendship with your M. Cabrion as far as you please, but, give me leave to tell you, you have no business to parade yourself or your friendships in the face of everybody in the streets. And I think it right, sir, to let you know a bit of my mind; which is, that you are a boasting braggart, and that I shall go at once and lay a formal complaint against you at the police office." Saying which, the individual departed in an apparently towering passion.
"Anastasie," moaned out poor Pipelet, in a dolorous voice, "I shall never survive all this! I feel but too surely that I am struck with death,—I have not a hope of escape! You hear my name is publicly exposed in the open streets, in company with that scoundrel's! He has dared to placard the hideous tale of my having entered into a treaty of friendship with him! And the innocent, unsuspecting public will read the hateful statement—remember it—repeat it—spread the detestable report! Oh, monstrous, enormous, devilish invention! None but a fiend could have had such a thought. But there must be an end to this. The measure is full,—ay, to overflowing; and things have come to such a pass that either this accursed painter or myself must perish in the deadly struggle!" And, wrought up to such a state of vigorous resolution as to completely conquer his usual apathy, M. Pipelet seized the portrait of Cabrion and rushed towards the door.
"Where are you going, Alfred?" screamed the wife.
"To the commissary of police, and, at the same time, to tear down that vile board! Then, bearing the board in one hand and the portrait in the other, I will cry aloud to the commissary, 'Defend, avenge an injured man! Deliver me from Cabrion!'"
"So do, old darling! There, hold up your head and pluck up courage! And I tell you what, if the board is too high for you to reach, ask the man at the wine-shop to lend you his small ladder. That blackguard of a Cabrion! I only wish I had him in my power, I'd fry him for half an hour in my largest stew-pan! Why, scores of people have been publicly executed who did not deserve death a quarter as much as he does! The villain! I should like to see him just ready to have the guillotine dropped upon his head. Wouldn't I give him my blessing in a friendly way? A rascal!"
Alfred, amid all his woes, yet displayed a rare magnanimity, contrasting strongly with the vindictive spirit of his partner.