Pierre, dejected and less tenacious than herself, would have gone
into liquidation a score of times had it not been for his wife's firm
obstinacy. She longed to be rich. She perceived that her ambition could
only be attained by fortune. As soon as they possessed a few hundred
thousand francs they would be masters of the town. She would get her
husband appointed to an important post, and she would govern. It was
not the attainment of honours which troubled her; she felt herself
marvellously well armed for such a combat. But she could do nothing to
get together the first few bags of money which were needed. Though the
ruling of men caused her no apprehensions, she felt a sort of impotent
rage at the thought of those inert, white, cold, five-franc pieces over
which her intriguing spirit had no power, and which obstinately resisted
her.

The battle lasted for more than thirty years. The death of Puech proved
another heavy blow. Felicite, who had counted upon an inheritance of
about forty thousand francs, found that the selfish old man, in order
to indulge himself in his old age, had sunk all his money in a life
annuity. The discovery made her quite ill. She was gradually becoming
soured, she was growing more lean and harsh. To see her, from morning
till night, whirling round the jars of oil, one would have thought she
believed that she could stimulate the sales by continually flitting
about like a restless fly. Her husband, on the contrary, became heavier;
misfortune fattened him, making him duller and more indolent. These
thirty years of combat did not, however, bring him to ruin. At each
annual stock-taking they managed to make both ends meet fairly well; if
they suffered any loss during one season, they recouped themselves the
next. However, it was precisely this living from hand to mouth which
exasperated Felicite. She would, by far, have preferred a big failure.
They would then, perhaps, have been able to commence life over again,