“You’ll always take care of it,” said Thuillier.  “Housekeeping is your very life; you will be the first to get over this affair.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Brigitte; “after twenty years of devotion, to be treated like the lowest of the low!”

And rushing to the door, which she slammed after her with violence, she went away.

Thuillier was not disturbed by this exit.

“Were you there, Flavie,” he asked, “when the scene took place?”

“No, it happened in Celeste’s room.  What did she do to her?”

“What I said,—­raised her hand to her and locked her in like a child.  Celeste may certainly be rather dull-minded, but there are limits that must not be passed.”

“She is not always pleasant, that good Brigitte,” said Flavie; “she and I have just had a little set-to.”

“Oh, well,” said Thuillier, “it will all pass off.  I want to tell you, my dear Flavie, what fine success we have had this morning.  The ‘National’ quotes two whole paragraphs of an article in which there were several sentences of mine.”

Thuillier was again interrupted in the tale of his great political and literary success,—­this time by the entrance of Josephine the cook.

“Can monsieur tell me where to find the key of the great trunk?” she said.

“What do you want with it?” asked Thuillier.

“Mademoiselle told me to take it to her room.”

“What for?”

“Mademoiselle must be going to make a journey.  She is getting her linen out of the drawers, and her gowns are on the bed.”

“Another piece of nonsense!” said Thuillier.  “Flavie, go and see what she has in her head.”

“Not I,” said Madame Colleville; “go yourself.  In her present state of exasperation she might beat me.”

“And my stupid wife, who must needs raise a fuss about the contract!” cried Thuillier.  “She really must have said something pretty sharp to turn Brigitte off her hinges like this.”

“Monsieur has not told me where to find the key,” persisted Josephine.

“I don’t know anything about it,” said Thuillier, crossly; “go and look for it, or else tell her it is lost.”

“Oh, yes!” said Josephine, “it is likely I’d dare to go and tell her that.”

Just then the outer door-bell rang.

“No doubt that’s la Peyrade,” said Thuillier, in a tone of satisfaction.

The Provencal appeared a moment later.

“Faith, my dear friend,” cried Thuillier, “it is high time you came; the house is in revolution, all about you, and it needs your silvery tongue to bring it back to peace and quietness.”

Then he related to his assistant editor the circumstances of the civil war which had broken out.

La Peyrade turned to Madame Colleville.

“I think,” he said, “that under the circumstances in which we now stand there is no impropriety in my asking for an interview of a few moments with Mademoiselle Colleville.”