Parent sat by the side of the child, very much upset and distressed at all that had happened.  He gave the boy his dinner, and endeavored to eat something himself, but he could only swallow with an effort, as his throat felt paralyzed.  By degrees he was seized with an insane desire to look at Limousin, who was sitting opposite to him, making bread pellets, to see whether George was like him, but he did not venture to raise his eyes for some time.  At last, however, he made up his mind to do so, and gave a quick, sharp look at the face which he knew so well, although he almost fancied that he had never examined it carefully.  It looked so different to what he had imagined.  From time to time he looked at Limousin, trying to recognize a likeness in the smallest lines of his face, in the slightest features, and then he looked at his son, under the pretext of feeding him.

Two words were sounding in his ears:  “His father! his father! his father!” They buzzed in his temples at every beat of his heart.  Yes, that man, that tranquil man who was sitting on the other side of the table, was, perhaps, the father of his son, of George, of his little George.  Parent left off eating; he could not swallow any more.  A terrible pain, one of those attacks of pain which make men scream, roll on the ground, and bite the furniture, was tearing at his entrails, and he felt inclined to take a knife and plunge it into his stomach.  He started when he heard the door open.  His wife came in.  “I am hungry,” she said; “are not you, Limousin?”

He hesitated a little, and then said:  “Yes, I am, upon my word.”  She had the leg of mutton brought in again.  Parent asked himself “Have they had dinner?  Or are they late because they have had a lovers’ meeting?”

They both ate with a very good appetite.  Henriette was very calm, but laughed and joked.  Her husband watched her furtively.  She had on a pink teagown trimmed with white lace, and her fair head, her white neck and her plump hands stood out from that coquettish and perfumed dress as though it were a sea shell edged with foam.

What fun they must be making of him, if he had been their dupe since the first day!  Was it possible to make a fool of a man, of a worthy man, because his father had left him a little money?  Why could one not see into people’s souls?  How was it that nothing revealed to upright hearts the deceits of infamous hearts?  How was it that voices had the same sound for adoring as for lying?  Why was a false, deceptive look the same as a sincere one?  And he watched them, waiting to catch a gesture, a word, an intonation.  Then suddenly he thought:  “I will surprise them this evening,” and he said: 

“My dear, as I have dismissed Julie, I will see about getting another girl this very day.  I will go at once to procure one by to-morrow morning, so I may not be in until late.”

“Very well,” she replied; “go.  I shall not stir from here.  Limousin will keep me company.  We will wait for you.”  Then, turning to the maid, she said:  “You had better put George to bed, and then you can clear away and go up to your room.”