“I think you are going crazy,” she said
nervously, “let me alone!”
He was wild with rage, not knowing what to say, exasperated,
and he shook her with all his might, repeating:
“Do you hear me, do you hear me?”
She made an abrupt effort to disengage herself and
the tips of her fingers touched her husband’s
nose. He was furious, thinking she had tried
to hit him, and he sprang upon her holding her down;
and boxing her ears with all his might, he cried:
“Take that, and that, there, there, wretch!”
When he was out of breath and exhausted, he rose and
went toward the dressing table to prepare a glass
of eau sucree with orange flower, for he felt as if
he should faint.
She was weeping in bed, sobbing bitterly, for she
felt as if her happiness was over, through her own
fault.
Then, amidst her tears, she stammered out:
“Listen, Antoine, come here, I told you a lie,
you will understand, listen.”
And prepared to defend herself now, armed with excuses
and artifice, she raised her disheveled head with
its nightcap all awry.
Turning toward her, he approached, ashamed of having
struck her, but feeling in the bottom of his heart
as a husband, a relentless hatred toward this woman
who had deceived the former husband, Souris.
A white-haired old man begged us for alms. My
companion, Joseph Davranche, gave him five francs.
Noticing my surprised look, he said:
“That poor unfortunate reminds me of a story
which I shall tell you, the memory of which continually
pursues me. Here it is:
“My family, which came originally from Havre,
was not rich. We just managed to make both ends
meet. My father worked hard, came home late from
the office, and earned very little. I had two
sisters.
“My mother suffered a good deal from our reduced
circumstances, and she often had harsh words for her
husband, veiled and sly reproaches. The poor
man then made a gesture which used to distress me.
He would pass his open hand over his forehead, as
if to wipe away perspiration which did not exist,
and he would answer nothing. I felt his helpless
suffering. We economized on everything, and never
would accept an invitation to dinner, so as not to
have to return the courtesy. All our provisions
were bought at bargain sales. My sisters made
their own gowns, and long discussions would arise
on the price of a piece of braid worth fifteen centimes
a yard. Our meals usually consisted of soup and
beef, prepared with every kind of sauce.
“They say it is wholesome and nourishing, but
I should have preferred a change.
“I used to go through terrible scenes on account
of lost buttons and torn trousers.
“Every Sunday, dressed in our best, we would
take our walk along the breakwater. My father,
in a frock coat, high hat and kid gloves, would offer
his arm to my mother, decked out and beribboned like
a ship on a holiday. My sisters, who were always
ready first, would await the signal for leaving; but
at the last minute some one always found a spot on
my father’s frock coat, and it had to be wiped
away quickly with a rag moistened with benzine.
