raw.  Though he was hardly thirty years old, he looked fifty.  Amidst his bushy beard and the locks of hair which hung over his face in poodle fashion, one could only distinguish the gleam of his brown eyes, the furtive sorrowful glance of a man of vagrant instincts, rendered vicious by wine and a pariah life.  Although no crimes had actually been brought home to him, no theft or murder was ever perpetrated in the district without suspicion at once falling upon him.

And it was this ogre, this brigand, this scoundrel Macquart, whom Adelaide had chosen!  In twenty months she had two children by him, first a boy and then a girl.  There was no question of marriage between them.  Never had the Faubourg beheld such audacious impropriety.  The stupefaction was so great, the idea of Macquart having found a young and wealthy mistress so completely upset the gossips, that they even spoke gently of Adelaide.  “Poor thing!  She’s gone quite mad,” they would say.  “If she had any relatives she would have been placed in confinement long ago.”  And as they never knew anything of the history of those strange amours, they accused that rogue Macquart of having taken advantage of Adelaide’s weak mind to rob her of her money.

The legitimate son, little Pierre Rougon, grew up with his mother’s other offspring.  The latter, Antoine and Ursule, the young wolves as they were called in the district, were kept at home by Adelaide, who treated them as affectionately as her first child.  She did not appear to entertain a very clear idea of the position in life reserved for these two poor creatures.  To her they were the same in every respect as her first-born.  She would sometimes go out holding Pierre with one hand and Antoine with the other, never noticing how differently the two little fellows were already regarded.

It was a strange home.  For nearly twenty years everyone lived there after his or her fancy, the children like the mother.  Everything went on free from control.  In growing to womanhood, Adelaide had retained the strangeness which had been taken for shyness when she was fifteen.  It was not that she was insane, as the people of the Faubourg asserted, but there was a lack of equilibrium between her nerves and her blood, a disorder of the brain and heart which made her lead a life out of the ordinary, different from that of the rest of the world.  She was certainly very natural, very consistent with herself; but in the eyes of the neighbours her consistency became pure insanity.  She seemed desirous of making herself conspicuous, it was thought she was wickedly determined to turn things at home from bad to worse, whereas with great naivete she simply acted according to the impulses of her nature.