"You are mistaken, monsieur; I have always taught your son the respect that is due you, and this evening even—"
"Enough!" cried Hercules, interrupting his wife.
And he pursued his thought with the tenacity of the drunkard, who concentrates upon one idea all the lucidity of mind left to him.
"I tell you again," continued he, "that since our marriage you have served me in nothing; you have made of my son a coxcomb, who requires preceptors and pleasure excursions to drive away his hysterics, and who, over and above that, curses me; you have rifled my wood and my silver, you have stolen from me!"
"Monsieur!" cried Marie, indignant.
"You have stolen from me!" repeated Hercules, in such a thundering voice, that Marie clasped her hands, and murmured:
"Oh, for mercy's sake, monsieur, not so loud, not so loud!"
"Now then, since in these seventeen years you have done me nothing but evil, this cannot last."
"What do you mean?"
"I have enough of it."