"Are you going to stop beating that child?" he said in a voice that trembled with anger.
Julien turned round in astonishment.
"But don't you see what a state the little wretch has got his livery into?"
"What does that matter to me?" exclaimed the baron, with his head between the two. "You sha'n't be so rough with him."
Julien got angry.
"Kindly leave me alone," he said; "it's nothing to do with you;" and he raised his hand to strike the lad again. The baron caught hold of his son-in-law's wrist, and flung his uplifted hand heavily down against the woodwork of the seat, crying:
"If you don't stop that, I'll get out and soon make you."
He spoke in so determined a tone that the vicomte's rage suddenly vanished, and, shrugging his shoulders, he whipped up the horses, and the carriage moved on again. All this time Jeanne and her mother had sat still, pale with fright, and the beating of the baroness's heart could be distinctly heard. At dinner that evening Julien was more agreeable than usual, and behaved as if nothing had happened. Jeanne, her father, and Madame Adélaïde easily forgave, and, touched by his good temper, they joined in his gayety with a feeling of relief. When Jeanne mentioned the Brisevilles, her husband even made a joke about them, though he quickly added:
"But one can see directly that they are gentlepeople."
No more visits were paid, as everyone dreaded any reference to Marius, but they were going to send cards to their neighbors on New Year's day, and then wait to call on them until spring came, and the weather was warmer.