Sure enough, the concierge entered, made an excuse for being late, took off his vest, and cast a look of defiance at the furniture. Then he hurled himself at the bed, grappled with the mattress, got a half-Nelson on it, and balancing himself, turning half around, hurled it onto the springs.
Durtal, followed by his cat, went into the other room, but suddenly Rateau ceased wrestling and came and stood before Durtal.
"Monsieur, do you know what has happened?" he blubbered.
"Why, no."
"My wife has left me."
"Left you! but she must be over sixty."
Rateau raised his eyes to heaven.
"And she ran off with another man?"
Rateau, disconsolate, let the feather duster fall from his listless hand.
"The devil! Then, in spite of her age, your wife had needs which you were unable to satisfy?"