After dinner, in the salon. Monsieur and Madame had a hot quarrel.
"I tell you that you are paying attention to this girl."
"I? Well, indeed, that's an idea! Come, my pet; such a loose creature,—a dirty thing, and possibly diseased. Oh! really, that is too much."
"Do you think, then, that I don't know your conduct and your tastes?"
"Permit me; oh! permit me"
"And all the dirty creatures whom you meet in the fields!"
I heard the floor creak under Monsieur's feet, as he walked back and forth in the salon, with feverish animation.
"I? Well, indeed, such ideas as you have! Where did you find them all, my pet?"
Madame was obstinate:
"And the little Jézureau? And only fifteen years old, you wretch! And on whose account I had to pay five hundred francs! But for which, to-day you perhaps would be in prison, like your thief of a father."
Monsieur stopped walking. He sank into a chair. He became sient.