M. de Rênal kept examining the second anonymous letter which the reader may remember was composed of printed words glued on to a paper verging on blue. He did not say a word for fear of giving himself away. “They still make fun of me in every possible way,” said M. de Rênal to himself, overwhelmed with exhaustion. “Still more new insults to examine and all the time on account of my wife.” He was on the point of heaping on her the coarsest insults. He was barely checked by the prospects of the Besançon legacy. Consumed by the need of venting his feelings on something, he crumpled up the paper of the second anonymous letter and began to walk about with huge strides. He needed to get away from his wife. A few moments afterwards he came back to her in a quieter frame of mind.
“The thing is to take some definite line and send Julien away,” she said immediately, “after all it is only a labourer’s son. You will compensate him by a few crowns and besides he is clever and will easily manage to find a place, with M. Valenod for example, or with the sub-prefect De Maugiron who both have children. In that way you will not be doing him any wrong....” “There you go talking like the fool that you are,” exclaimed M. de Rênal in a terrible voice. “How can one hope that a woman will show any good sense? You never bother yourself about common sense. How can you ever get to know anything? Your indifference and your idleness give you no energy except for hunting those miserable butterflies, which we are unfortunate to have in our houses.”
Madame de Rênal let him speak and he spoke for a long time. He was working off his anger, to use the local expression.
“Monsieur,” she answered him at last, “I speak as a woman who has been outraged in her honour, that is to say, in what she holds most precious.”
Madame de Rênal preserved an unalterable sang-froid during all this painful conversation on the result of which depended the possibility of still living under the same roof as Julien. She sought for the ideas which she thought most adapted to guide her husband’s blind anger into a safe channel. She had been insensible to all the insulting imputations which he had addressed to her. She was not listening to them, she was then thinking about Julien. “Will he be pleased with me?”
“This little peasant whom we have loaded with attentions, and even with presents, may be innocent,” she said to him at last, “but he is none the less the occasion of the first affront that I have ever received. Monsieur, when I read this abominable paper, I vowed to myself that either he or I should leave your house.”
“Do you want to make a scandal so as to dishonour me and yourself as well? You will make things hum in Verrières I can assure you.”
“It is true, the degree of prosperity in which your prudent management has succeeded in placing you yourself, your family and the town is the subject of general envy.... Well, I will urge Julien to ask you for a holiday to go and spend the month with that wood-merchant of the mountains, a fit friend to be sure for this little labourer.”
“Mind you do nothing at all,” resumed M. de Rênal with a fair amount of tranquillity. “I particularly insist on your not speaking to him. You will put him into a temper and make him quarrel with me. You know to what extent this little gentleman is always spoiling for a quarrel.”
“That young man has no tact,” resumed Madame de Rênal. “He may be learned, you know all about that, but at bottom he is only a peasant. For my own part I never thought much of him since he refused to marry Elisa. It was an assured fortune; and that on the pretext that sometimes she had made secret visits to M. Valenod.”