He sat down before the chimney piece, stretching out his muddy boots as if a bright fire had been burning.  Mme Burle was about to resume her own seat when she remarked that Charles, overcome by fatigue, had dropped his head between the open pages of his dictionary.  The arrival of the major had at first interested him, but, seeing that he remained unnoticed, he had been unable to struggle against his sleepiness.  His grandmother turned toward the table to slap his frail little hands, whitening in the lamplight, when Laguitte stopped her.

“No—­no!” he said.  “Let the poor little man sleep.  I haven’t got anything funny to say.  There’s no need for him to hear me.”

The old lady sat down in her armchair; deep silence reigned, and they looked at one another.

“Well, yes,” said the major at last, punctuating his words with an angry motion of his chin, “he has been and done it; that hound Burle has been and done it!”

Not a muscle of Mme Burle’s face moved, but she became livid, and her figure stiffened.  Then the major continued:  “I had my doubts.  I had intended mentioning the subject to you.  Burle was spending too much money, and he had an idiotic look which I did not fancy.  Thunder and lightning!  What a fool a man must be to behave so filthily!”

Then he thumped his knee furiously with his clenched fist and seemed to choke with indignation.  The old woman put the straightforward question: 

“He has stolen?”

“You can’t have an idea of it.  You see, I never examined his accounts; I approved and signed them.  You know how those things are managed.  However, just before the inspection—­as the colonel is a crotchety old maniac—­I said to Burle:  ’I say, old man, look to your accounts; I am answerable, you know,’ and then I felt perfectly secure.  Well, about a month ago, as he seemed queer and some nasty stories were circulating, I peered a little closer into the books and pottered over the entries.  I thought everything looked straight and very well kept—­”

At this point he stopped, convulsed by such a fit of rage that he had to relieve himself by a volley of appalling oaths.  Finally he resumed:  “It isn’t the swindle that angers me; it is his disgusting behavior to me.  He has gammoned me, Madame Burle.  By God!  Does he take me for an old fool?”

“So he stole?” the mother again questioned.

“This evening,” continued the major more quietly, “I had just finished my dinner when Gagneux came in—­you know Gagneux, the butcher at the corner of the Place aux Herbes?  Another dirty beast who got the meat contract and makes our men eat all the diseased cow flesh in the neighborhood!  Well, I received him like a dog, and then he let it all out—­blurted out the whole thing, and a pretty mess it is!  It appears that Burle only paid him in driblets and had got himself into a muddle—­a confusion of figures which the devil himself couldn’t disentangle.  In short, Burle owes the butcher two thousand francs, and Gagneux threatens that he’ll inform the colonel if he is not paid.  To make matters worse, Burle, just to blind me, handed me every week a forged receipt which he had squarely signed with Gagneux’s name.  To think he did that to me, his old friend!  Ah, curse him!”