The chambermaid aroused them next morning as it was striking eight. When they had drank the cup of tea she had placed on the night-table, Duroy looked at his wife, then suddenly, with the joyful impulse of the fortunate man who has just found a treasure, he clasped her in his arms, exclaiming: "My little Made, I am sure that I love you ever so much, ever so much, ever so much."
She smiled with her confident and satisfied smile, and murmured, as she returned his kisses: "And I too—perhaps."
But he still felt uneasy about the visit of his parents. He had already forewarned his wife, had prepared and lectured her, but he thought fit to do so again.
"You know," he said, "they are only rustics—country rustics, not theatrical ones."
She laughed.
"But I know that: you have told me so often enough. Come, get up and let me get up."
He jumped out of bed, and said, as he drew on his socks:
"We shall be very uncomfortable there, very uncomfortable. There is only an old straw palliasse in my room. Spring mattresses are unknown at Canteleu."
She seemed delighted.
"So much the better. It will be delightful to sleep badly—beside—beside you, and to be woke up by the crowing of the cocks."