But she continued: "You fool! Everybody knows it except you. I tell you,
this is his father. You need only look at him to see it."

Parent staggered backward, and then he suddenly turned round, took a
candle, and rushed into the next room; returning almost immediately,
carrying little George wrapped up in his bedclothes. The child, who had
been suddenly awakened, was crying from fright. Parent threw him into his
wife's arms, and then, without speaking, he pushed her roughly out toward
the stairs, where Limousin was waiting, from motives of prudence.

Then he shut the door again, double-locked and bolted it, but had
scarcely got back into the drawing-room when he fell to the floor at full
length.

Parent lived alone, quite alone. During the five weeks that followed
their separation, the feeling of surprise at his new life prevented him
from thinking much. He had resumed his bachelor life, his habits of
lounging, about, and took his meals at a restaurant, as he had done
formerly. As he wished to avoid any scandal, he made his wife an
allowance, which was arranged by their lawyers. By degrees, however, the
thought of the child began to haunt him. Often, when he was at home alone
at night, he suddenly thought he heard George calling out "Papa," and his
heart would begin to beat, and he would get up quickly and open the door,
to see whether, by chance, the child might have returned, as dogs or
pigeons do. Why should a child have less instinct than an animal? On
finding that he was mistaken, he would sit down in his armchair again and
think of the boy. He would think of him for hours and whole days. It was
not only a moral, but still more a physical obsession, a nervous longing
to kiss him, to hold and fondle him, to take him on his knees and dance