“You have sent away Julie?  Why, you must be mad.”

“Yes, I sent her away because she was insolent, and because—­because she was ill-using the child.”

“Julie?”

“Yes—­Julie.”

“What was she insolent about?”

“About you.”

“About me?”

“Yes, because the dinner was burnt, and you did not come in.”

“And she said——­”

“She said—­offensive things about you—­which I ought not—­which I could not listen to——­”

“What did she, say?”

“It is no good repeating them.”

“I want to hear them.”

“She said it was unfortunate for a man like me to be married to a woman like you, unpunctual, careless, disorderly, a bad mother, and a bad wife.”

The young woman had gone into the anteroom, followed by Limousin, who did not say a word at this unexpected condition of things.  She shut the door quickly, threw her cloak on a chair, and going straight up to her husband, she stammered out: 

“You say?  You say?  That I am——­”

Very pale and calm, he replied:  “I say nothing, my dear.  I am simply repeating what Julie said to me, as you wanted to know what it was, and I wish you to remark that I turned her off just on account of what she said.”

She trembled with a violent longing to tear out his beard and scratch his face.  In his voice and manner she felt that he was asserting his position as master.  Although she had nothing to say by way of reply, she tried to assume the offensive by saying something unpleasant.  “I suppose you have had dinner?” she asked.

“No, I waited for you.”

She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.  “It is very stupid of you to wait after half-past seven,” she said.  “You might have guessed that I was detained, that I had a good many things to do, visits and shopping,”

And then, suddenly, she felt that she wanted to explain how she had spent her time, and told him in abrupt, haughty words that, having to buy some furniture in a shop a long distance off, very far off, in the Rue de Rennes, she had met Limousin at past seven o’clock on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, and that then she had gone with him to have something to eat in a restaurant, as she did not like to go to one by herself, although she was faint with hunger.  That was how she had dined with Limousin, if it could be called dining, for they had only some soup and half a chicken, as they were in a great hurry to get back.

Parent replied simply:  “Well, you were quite right.  I am not finding fault with you.”

Then Limousin, who, had not spoken till then, and who had been half hidden behind Henriette, came forward and put out his hand, saying:  “Are you very well?”

Parent took his hand, and shaking it gently, replied:  “Yes, I am very well.”

But the young woman had felt a reproach in her husband’s last words.  “Finding fault!  Why do you speak of finding fault?  One might think that you meant to imply something.”