with the severity and authority of an all-powerful despot. She found
fault with him continually for everything that he did, or did not do,
reproached him bitterly for his slightest acts, his habits, his simple
pleasures, his tastes, his movements and walk, and for having a round
stomach and a placid voice.

He still loved her, however, but above all he loved the child which he
had had by her, and George, who was now three, had become the greatest
joy, and had preoccupation of his heart. He himself had a modest private
fortune, and lived without doing anything on his twenty thousand francs
a year, and his wife, who had been quite portionless, was constantly
angry at her husband's inactivity.

At last he reached his house, put down the child, wiped his forehead and
walked upstairs, and when he got to the second floor, he rang. An old
servant who had brought him up, one of those mistress-servants who are
the tyrants of families, opened the door to him, and he asked her
anxiously: "Has Madame come in yet?" The servant shrugged her shoulders:
"When have you ever known Madame to come home at half past six,
Monsieur?" And he replied with some embarrassment: "Very well; all the
better; it will give me time to change my things, for I am very hot."

The servant looked at him with angry and contemptuous pity, and
grumbled: "Oh! I can see that well enough, you are covered with
perspiration, Monsieur. I suppose you walked quickly and carried the
child, and only to have to wait until half past seven, perhaps, for
Madame. I have made up my mind not to have it ready at the time. Shall
get it for eight o'clock, and if you have to wait, I cannot help it;
roast meat ought not to be burnt!" Monsieur Parent, however, pretended
not to hear, but only said: "All right! all right. You must wash