Then, turning to his wife, he said, angrily:
"What! I warned you this morning that Bridou would spend several days here, and nothing is prepared?"
"But, monsieur, I ask again, where do you wish me to put the preceptor of my son if M. Bridou occupies his chamber?"
"The preceptor of my son," repeated Jacques, puffing up his cheeks and shrugging his shoulders; "you have only that in your mouth, playing the duchess. Ah well! the preceptor of your son can sleep with André, it won't kill him."
"But surely, monsieur," said Marie, "you do not think that—"
"Come now, do not provoke me, or I will go and tell your Latin spitter to march out of my house this instant, and see if I follow him on the road to Pont Brillant. It will amount in the end to my not being master of my own house, by God's thunder!"
Marie trembled. She knew M. Bastien capable of driving the preceptor brutally out of the house. She was silent a moment, then remembering the untiring devotion of David, she replied, trying to restrain her tears:
"Very well, monsieur, the preceptor will share André's chamber."
"Indeed," answered Jacques, with a sarcastic air, "that is very fortunate."
"And besides, you see, madame," added the bailiff with a conciliatory air, "a preceptor is little more than a servant, not anything more, because it is a person who takes wages, or I would not have him put out by the shoulders thus, as this great buffoon Jacques says."