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Updated: May 27, 2025
"How do you feel now?" he said to his wife, in spite of the coldness that separated them. "Pretty well, Jules," she answered in a coaxing voice, "do come and dine beside me." "Very good," he said, giving her the letter. "Here is something Fouguereau gave me for you." Clemence, who was very pale, colored high when she saw the letter, and that sudden redness was a fresh blow to her husband.
Clemence's face crimsoned at this personality, and an angry gleam shot from his sister-in-law's eyes, that amused the gentleman not a little. He understood her thoroughly, or thought he did, and knew the look boded no good for Clemence.
Charvet, for his part, showed himself almost amiable; and whether he and the others knew anything of Florent's antecedents, they at all events indulged in no embarrassing allusions. "Did Manoury pay you in small change?" Logre asked Clemence. She answered affirmatively, and produced a roll of francs and another of two-franc pieces, and unwrapped them.
Clemence was pleased that they had, as she thought, at last begun to appreciate her many excellent qualities, but she could not understand exactly why these kind people should be at such pains to flaunt their good deeds.
Was it not a genuine triumph for Clemence to reduce a man of his recognized talent, who was usually anything but timid, to this state of embarrassment? What witty response, what passionate speech could equal the flattery of this poet with bent head and this expression of deep sadness upon his face? Madame de Bergenheim continued her raillery, but in a softer tone.
Mademoiselle Clemence, one who took in ironing, well, she lived life as she pleased. She was so kind to animals though and had such a good heart that you couldn't say anything against her. It was a pity, a fine girl like her, the company she kept. She'd be walking the streets before long.
That fatherly heart trembled for my happiness as much as I trembled for myself; but it dared not speak, obeying the same delicacy that kept me mute. Yes, Jules, I believed that you could not love the daughter of Gratien Bourignard as you loved your Clemence. Without that terror could I have kept back anything from you, you who live in every fold of my heart?
That makes thirty-two handkerchiefs, Madame Bijard; and two more, thirty-four." But Coupeau was not sleepy. He stood there wagging his body from side to side like the pendulum of a clock and chuckling in an obstinate and teasing manner. Gervaise, wanting to finish with Madame Bijard, called to Clemence to count the laundry while she made the list.
The one, at the request of the other, explained how he had come to be with the little doctor in such extremity. It seems that Clemence, seeing and understanding the doctor's imprudence, had sallied out with the resolve to set some person on his track. We have said that she went in search of her master.
These little subterfuges, however, did not always have the desired effect, and more than once Clemence was annoyed by an unmistakable glance of admiration and a remark to the effect that after she left, things would resume their former dilapidated appearance. "What coarse manners this person has," she would think on these occasions, "and how much his poor wife must suffer in his boorish society."
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