It was a little worm-eaten bench, placed at a turn in the alley. Every time they came in this direction Alexandre was accustomed to making a short pause on this seat.
He sat down and with a proud and familiar gesture he took his beautiful white beard in his hand, and, closing his, fingers over it, ran them down to the point, which he held for a minute at the pit of his stomach, as if once more to verify the length of this growth.
Madame Maramballe continued: “I married him; it is only just and natural that I should bear his injustice; but what I do not understand is why you also should have supported it, my good Alexandre!”
He merely shrugged his shoulders and answered: “Oh! I—madame.”
She added: “Really. I have often wondered. When I married him you were his orderly and you could hardly do otherwise than endure him. But why did you remain with us, who pay you so little and who treat you so badly, when you could have done as every one else does, settle down, marry, have a family?”
He answered: “Oh, madame! with me it's different.”
Then he was silent; but he kept pulling his beard as if he were ringing a bell within him, as if he were trying to pull it out, and he rolled his eyes like a man who is greatly embarrassed.
Madame Maramballe was following her own train of thought: “You are not a peasant. You have an education—”
He interrupted her proudly: “I studied surveying, madame.”
“Then why did you stay with us, and blast your prospects?”