him to his door. A child screamed. A man's angry voice cried: "What
is the brat howling about?"

A woman's voice replied: "Nicolas has been tripped up on the
landing-place by the journalist's sweetheart."

Duroy retreated, for he heard the rustling of skirts. Soon there was
a knock at his door, which he opened, and Mme. de Marelle rushed in,
crying: "Did you hear?" Georges feigned ignorance of the matter.

"No; what?"

"How they insulted me?"

"Who?"

"Those miserable people below."

"Why, no; what is it? Tell me."

She sobbed and could not speak. He was forced to place her upon his
bed and to lay a damp cloth upon her temples. When she grew calmer,
anger succeeded her agitation. She wanted Duroy to go downstairs at
once, to fight them, to kill them.

He replied: "They are working-people. Just think, it would be
necessary to go to court where you would be recognized; one must not
compromise oneself with such people."

She said: "What shall we do? I cannot come here again."