He walked up and down the room with hands clenched, repeating:  “Hold your tongue—­hold your tongue——­” For he could find nothing else to say.  The old servant, however, would not yield; she seemed resolved on everything.

George, who had been at first astonished and then frightened at those angry voices, began to utter shrill screams, and remained behind his father, with his face puckered up and his mouth open, roaring.

His son’s screams exasperated Parent, and filled him with rage and courage.  He rushed at Julie with both arms raised, ready to strike her, exclaiming:  “Ah! you wretch.  You will drive the child out of his senses.”  He already had his hand on her, when she screamed in his face: 

“Monsieur, you may beat me if you like, me who reared you, but that will not prevent your wife from deceiving you, or alter the fact that your child is not yours——­”

He stopped suddenly, let his arms fall, and remained standing opposite to her, so overwhelmed that he could understand nothing more.

“You need only to look at the child,” she added, “to know who is its father!  He is the very image of Monsieur Limousin.  You need only look at his eyes and forehead.  Why, a blind man could not be mistaken in him.”

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: