"It is just so," she continued, "Bicêtre is with his wife, Linois and Caffin are with theirs, Hotot is with Felicité, every Jack has his Jill: the wretch! he shall have my life or I will have his; I don't mind being killed; (grinding her teeth and tearing her hair;) Jules, do not leave me, I will massacre them, my friend, I will massacre them!"
During this ebullition of vengeance, we were still going forward, until at length we reached the corner of the Rue des Arcis. "What are you doing, Melie?" grunted out a harsh voice, and a female approached us. "It is the petite Madelon," cried Emilie.
"Ah my lass! how are you? I am on the look out: have you seen Caffin this evening?"
"Caffin, do you say?"
"Yes, Caffin."
"They are at mother Bariole's."
No hour is unfitting that can be turned to its purpose. Besides Emilie was one of the house. We went in and learnt that Caffin was there, but that Hotot had not made his appearance. On this intelligence, Madame Hotot imagined that they wished to deceive her.
"Yes, you encourage his vice," she said to Bariole, "give me my man, you old ."
I do not remember the epithets she heaped upon her, but there was, for a quarter of an hour, an incessant firing, supported by a succession of glasses of tape poured upon the wine which had already fermented jealousy to its height. "Will you cease with your bullying?" interrupted Bariole, who was an excellent trumpeter. "Your man! your man! he is at the mill, and the devil may fetch him. Did you put him into my keeping? He is a fine kiddy! Every body's man! Such fellows as he are to be picked up—. You think he is with Caffin, then go and see: go to Taquet's chamber.'
Emilie did not allow her to say so twice, but went to convince herself, and returned. "Well," said Bariole, "are you satisfied now?"
