And that was the fault of those three wretches! the fault of that worthless woman, of that infamous friend and of that tall, light-haired lad who put on insolent airs.  Now, he felt as angry with the child as he did with the other two!  Was he not Limousin’s son?  Would Limousin have kept him and loved him, otherwise would not Limousin very quickly have got rid of the mother and of the child if he had not felt sure that it was his, certainly his?  Does anybody bring up other people’s children?  And now they were there, quite close to him, those three who had made him suffer so much.

Parent looked at them, irritated and excited at the recollection of all his sufferings and of his despair, and was especially exasperated at their placid and satisfied looks.  He felt inclined to kill them, to throw his syphon of Seltzer water at them, to split open Limousin’s head, which he every moment bent over his plate and raised it up again immediately.  And they continued to live like that, without cares or anxiety of any kind.  No! no!  That was really too much, after all!  He would avenge himself, he would have his revenge now, on the spot, as he had them under his hand.  But how?  He tried to think of some means, he pictured such dreadful things as one reads of in the newspapers occasionally, but could not hit on anything practical.  And he went on drinking to excite himself, to give himself courage not to allow such an occasion to escape him, as he should certainly not meet with it again.

Suddenly an idea struck him, a terrible idea, and he left off drinking to mature it.  A smile rose to his lips, and he murmured:  “I have got them, I have got them.  We will see; we will see.”  A waiter asked him:  “What would you like now, Monsieur?” “Nothing.  Coffee and cognac.  The best.”  And he looked at them, as he sipped his brandy.  There were too many people in the restaurant for what he wanted to do, so he would wait and follow them, for they would be sure to walk on the terrace or in the forest.  When they had got a little distance off, he would join them, and then he would have his revenge, yes, he would have his revenge!  It was certainly not too soon, after twenty-three years of suffering.  Ah!  They little guessed what was to happen to them.

They finished their luncheon slowly, and they talked in perfect security.  Parent could not hear what they were saying, but he saw their calm movements, and his wife’s face, especially, exasperated him.  She had assumed a haughty air, the air of a stout, devout woman, of an irreproachably devout woman, sheathed in principles, iron-clad in virtue.  Then they paid the bill and got up, and then he saw Limousin.  He might have been taken for a retired diplomatist, for he looked a man of great importance with his soft, white whiskers, the tips of which fell onto the facings of his coat.