He had taken her by the shoulders, and was now shaking her with all his might.  “Viper, viper!” he said.  “Go out the room, viper!  Go out, or I shall kill you!  Go out!  Go out!”

And with a desperate effort he threw her into the next room.  She fell across the table, which was laid for dinner, breaking the glasses.  Then, rising to her feet, she put the table between her master and herself.  While he was pursuing her, in order to take hold of her again, she flung terrible words at him.

“You need only go out this evening after dinner, and come in again immediately, and you will see!  You will see whether I have been lying!  Just try it, and you will see.”  She had reached the kitchen door and escaped, but he ran after her, up the back stairs to her bedroom, into which she had locked herself, and knocking at the door, he said: 

“You will leave my house this very instant!”

“You may be certain of that, monsieur,” was her reply.  “In an hour’s time I shall not be here any longer.”

He then went slowly downstairs again, holding on to the banister so as not to fall, and went back to the drawing-room, where little George was sitting on the floor, crying.  He fell into a chair, and looked at the child with dull eyes.  He understood nothing, knew nothing more; he felt dazed, stupefied, mad, as if he had just fallen on his head, and he scarcely even remembered the dreadful things the servant had told him.  Then, by degrees, his mind, like muddy water, became calmer and clearer, and the abominable revelations began to work in his heart.

He was no longer thinking of George.  The child was quiet now and sitting on the carpet; but, seeing that no notice was being taken of him, he began to cry.  His father ran to him, took him in his arms, and covered him with kisses.  His child remained to him, at any rate!  What did the rest matter?  He held him in his arms and pressed his lips to his light hair, and, relieved and composed, he whispered: 

“George—­my little George—­my dear little George——­” But he suddenly remembered what Julie had said!  Yes, she had said that he was Limousin’s child.  Oh! it could not be possible, surely.  He could not believe it, could not doubt, even for a moment, that he was his own child.  It was one of those low scandals which spring from servants’ brains!  And he repeated:  “George—­my dear little George.”  The youngster was quiet again, now that his father was fondling him.

Parent felt the warmth of the little chest penetrate through his clothes, and it filled him with love, courage, and happiness; that gentle warmth soothed him, fortified him and saved him.  Then he put the small, curly head away from him a little, and looked at it affectionately, still repeating:  “George!  Oh, my little George!” But suddenly he thought: 

“Suppose he were to resemble Limousin, after all!” He looked at him with haggard, troubled eyes, and tried to discover whether there was any likeness in his forehead, in his nose, mouth, or cheeks.  His thoughts wandered as they do when a person is going mad, and his child’s face changed in his eyes, and assumed a strange look and improbable resemblances.