He tried to be gay when he entered his own house.  He raised his little boy aloft with one arm, before kissing him, exclaiming, “Houp la!” A moment later he kissed his young wife and held her close to him, tenderly, as he asked, with an anxious look: 

“Have you coughed much to-day?”

She always replied, hanging her head like a child who tells an untruth, “No, not very much.”

The father would then put on an old coat—­the one he took off was not very new.  Amedee was then seated in a high chair before his mug, and the young mother, going into the kitchen, would bring in the supper.  After opening his napkin, the father would brush back behind his ear with his hand a long lock on the right side, that always fell into his eyes.

“Is there too much of a breeze this evening? you afraid to go out upon the balcony, Lucie?  Put a shawl on, then,” said M. Violette, while his wife was pouring the water remaining in the carafe upon a box where some nasturtiums were growing.

“No, Paul, I am sure—­take Amedee down from his chair, and let us go out upon the balcony.”

It was cool upon this high balcony.  The sun had set, and now the great clouds resembled mountains of gold, and a fresh odor came up from the surrounding gardens.

“Good-evening, Monsieur Violette,” suddenly said a cordial voice.  “What a fine evening!”

It was their neighbor, M. Gerard, an engraver, who had also come to take breath upon his end of the balcony, having spent the entire day bent over his work.  He was large and bald-headed, with a good-natured face, a red beard sprinkled with white hairs, and he wore a short, loose coat.  As he spoke he lighted his clay pipe, the bowl of which represented Abd-el-Kader’s face, very much colored, save the eyes and turban, which were of white enamel.

The engraver’s wife, a dumpy little woman with merry eyes, soon joined her husband, pushing before her two little girls; one, the smaller of the two, was two years younger than Amedee; the other was ten years old, and already had a wise little air.  She was the pianist who practised one hour a day Marcailhou’s Indiana Waltz.

The children chattered through the trellis that divided the balcony in two parts.  Louise, the elder of the girls, knew how to read, and told the two little ones very beautiful stories:  Joseph sold by his brethren; Robinson Crusoe discovering the footprints of human beings.

Amedee, who now has gray hair upon his temples, can still remember the chills that ran down his back at the moment when the wolf, hidden under coverings and the grandmother’s cap, said, with a gnashing of teeth, to little Red Riding Hood:  “All the better to eat you with, my child.”

It was almost dark then upon the terrace.  It was all delightfully terrible!

During this time the two families, in their respective parts of the balcony, were talking familiarly together.  The Violettes were quiet people, and preferred rather to listen to their neighbors than to talk themselves, making brief replies for politeness’ sake—­“Ah!” “Is it possible?” “You are right.”