Old Uncle Stephen, upon this harangue, let out a little sharp laugh, and mumbled:
“He talks well. A little long-winded, but he talks well.”
The widow, for her part, much agitated, put her hands together and implored the Lord’s assistance.
“You have finished?” asked Mr. Roquevillard, not without a hint of rudeness.
“I’m through.”
“If I’ve understood you correctly then, you’d be perfectly willing to throw Maurice overboard.”
“Excuse me, uncle; he jumps overboard. If he were reasonable, he could easily enough get out of the law’s clutches, safe and sound. But he doesn’t want to be reasonable. I’m always for being reasonable, myself.”
The head of the family turned toward his son-in-law.
“And you, Charles, are you also reasonable?”
Marcellaz hesitated before beginning his reply. He had always chafed a little at his father-in-law’s superiority; the superiority of his wife’s family over his own struck him on each comparison, and irritated him, especially since he had gone back again to the country of his origin. He was an industrious and economical young lawyer, building up his children’s future obstinately, and appeared jealous and watchful of his painfully acquired and moderate fortune. Business had absorbed him, making him limited and hard. But he loved Germaine, and if he mistrusted agitations and did not like to have his sensibilities stirred up, it was not because he did not have any. He hesitated, deploring the past, and hating this situation that did not solve itself.