Mme. Oreille was a very economical woman; she
knew the value of a centime, and possessed a whole
storehouse of strict principles with regard to the
multiplication of money, so that her cook found the
greatest difficulty in making what the servants call
their market-penny, and her husband was hardly allowed
any pocket money at all. They were, however,
very comfortably off, and had no children; but it really
pained Mme. Oreille to see any money spent; it
was like tearing at her heartstrings when she had
to take any of those nice crown-pieces out of her
pocket; and whenever she had to spend anything, no
matter how necessary it might be, she slept badly
the next night.
Oreille was continually saying to his wife:
“You really might be more liberal, as we have
no children, and never spend our income.”
“You don’t know what may happen,”
she used to reply. “It is better to have
too much than too little.”
She was a little woman of about forty, very active,
rather hasty, wrinkled, very neat and tidy, and with
a very short temper.
Her husband frequently complained of all the privations
she made him endure; some of them were particularly
painful to him, as they touched his vanity.
He was one of the head clerks in the War Office, and
only stayed on there in obedience to his wife’s
wish, to increase their income which they did not
nearly spend.
For two years he had always come to the office with
the same old patched umbrella, to the great amusement
of his fellow clerks. At last he got tired of
their jokes, and insisted upon his wife buying him
a new one. She bought one for eight francs and
a half, one of those cheap articles which large houses
sell as an advertisement. When the men in the
office saw the article, which was being sold in Paris
by the thousand, they began their jokes again, and
Oreille had a dreadful time of it. They even
made a song about it, which he heard from morning till
night all over the immense building.
Oreille was very angry, and peremptorily told his
wife to get him a new one, a good silk one, for twenty
francs, and to bring him the bill, so that he might
see that it was all right.
She bought him one for eighteen francs, and said,
getting red with anger as she gave it to her husband:
“This will last you for five years at least.”
Oreille felt quite triumphant, and received a small
ovation at the office with his new acquisition.
When he went home in the evening his wife said to
him, looking at the umbrella uneasily:
“You should not leave it fastened up with the
elastic; it will very likely cut the silk. You
must take care of it, for I shall not buy you a new
one in a hurry.”
She took it, unfastened it, and remained dumfounded
with astonishment and rage; in the middle of the silk
there was a hole as big as a six-penny-piece; it had
been made with the end of a cigar.
