Madame Lemaire heard the hoarse shout in the kitchen, and her face went awry again:
“I’d go! I’d go!”
She hissed it under her breath.
“Sacré nom de Dieu! Marie!”
“V’là!”
“The devil! What a voice!” said Bouvier in the arbour.
Lemaire was half turned in his chair. His hands were slightly shaking, and his large white face, with its angry and distressed eyes, looked startled.
“Who was that?” he said, moving in his chair as if he were going to get up.
“Who? Your wife!”
“No, it wasn’t!”