There was a moment’s pause. Then Micheline, in a constrained manner, said:
“What griefs could I have?”
Madame Desvarennes lost all patience, and giving vent to her feelings exclaimed, bitterly:
“Those which your husband causes you!”
Micheline arose abruptly.
“Mother!” she cried.
But the mistress had commenced, and with unrestrained bitterness, went on:
“That gentleman has behaved toward me in such a manner as to shake my confidence in him! After vowing that he would never separate you from me, he brought you here, knowing that I could not leave Paris.”
“You are unjust,” retorted Micheline. “You know the doctors ordered me to go to Nice.”
“Pooh! You can make doctors order you anything you like!” resumed her mother, excitedly, and shaking her head disdainfully. “Your husband said to our good Doctor Rigaud: ‘Don’t you think that a season in the South would do my wife good?’ The doctor answered: ‘If it does not do her any good it certainly won’t do her any harm.’ Then your husband added, ‘just take a sheet of paper and write out a prescription. You understand? It is for my mother-in-law, who will not be pleased at our going away.’”