“Don’t trouble yourself!  Sooner or later you’ll find out about your swan,” said her husband.  “Do you really believe in that marquise?  Pooh!  A young man who has senses and a taste for extravagance like Oscar can find such ladies as that on every bush—­if he pays for them.  Some fine morning you’ll find yourself with a load of debt on your back.”

“You are always trying to put me in despair!” cried Madame Clapart.  “You complained that my son lived on your salary, and never has he cost you a penny.  For two years you haven’t had the slightest cause of complaint against him; here he is second clerk, his uncle and Monsieur Moreau pay all expenses, and he earns, himself, a salary of eight hundred francs.  If we have bread to eat in our old age we may owe it all to that dear boy.  You are really too unjust—­”

“You call my foresight unjust, do you?” replied the invalid, crossly.

Just then the bell rang loudly.  Madame Clapart ran to open the door, and remained in the outer room with Moreau, who had come to soften the blow which Oscar’s new folly would deal to the heart of his poor mother.

“What! he gambled with the money of the office?” she cried, bursting into tears.

“Didn’t I tell you so, hey?” said Clapart, appearing like a spectre at the door of the salon whither his curiosity had brought him.

“Oh! what shall we do with him?” said Madame Clapart, whose grief made her impervious to Clapart’s taunt.

“If he bore my name,” replied Moreau, “I should wait composedly till he draws for the conscription, and if he gets a fatal number I should not provide him with a substitute.  This is the second time your son has committed a folly out of sheer vanity.  Well, vanity may inspire fine deeds in war and may advance him in the career of a soldier.  Besides, six years of military service will put some lead into his head; and as he has only his last legal examination to pass, it won’t be much ill-luck for him if he doesn’t become a lawyer till he is twenty-six; that is, if he wants to continue in the law after paying, as they say, his tax of blood.  By that time, at any rate, he will have been severely punished, he will have learned experience, and contracted habits of subordination.  Before making his probation at the bar he will have gone through his probations in life.”

“If that is your decision for a son,” said Madame Clapart, “I see that the heart of a father is not like that of a mother.  My poor Oscar a common soldier!—­”

“Would you rather he flung himself headforemost into the Seine after committing a dishonorable action?  He cannot now become a solicitor; do you think him steady and wise enough to be a barrister?  No.  While his reason is maturing, what will he become?  A dissipated fellow.  The discipline of the army will, at least, preserve him from that.”

“Could he not go into some other office?  His uncle Cardot has promised to pay for his substitute; Oscar is to dedicate his graduating thesis to him.”