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He at once examined the child, felt and sounded him; then with his kindly yet serious air he said: "No, no, there's nothing. It is the mere effect of growth. The lad has become rather pale through spending the winter in Paris, but a few months in the open air, in the country, will set him right again." "I told you so!" cried Beauchene. Constance had kept her son's little hand in her own.
What most astonished him was the promptness with which Beauchene regained his self-possession as soon as Norine had fled, and the majesty with which he withdrew to his office after threatening the others and restoring order.
By the way, she has no great liking for Madame Beauchene, as you must know." Then she again reverted to the manufacturer's wife, declared that little Maurice, however sturdy he might look, was simply puffed out with bad flesh; and she remarked that it would be a terrible blow for the parents if they should lose that only son.
But however that might be, her feelings for the time remained confused, and the only clear thing was her desperate torment at being now and forever childless, a torment which goaded her on to seek another's child with the wild idea of making that child in some slight degree her own. Mathieu, however, asked her, "Am I to inform Beauchene of the steps I take?" "Do you as you please," she answered.
The door of the master's private room was suddenly thrown wide open and Beauchene appeared tall, with a ruddy face, a narrow brow, and big brown, protruding eyes.
She colored when she caught sight of Madame Beauchene, so keenly was she impressed by that perfect model of wealth and distinction, whom she ever strove to imitate. Constance, however, profited by the diversion of Valerie's arrival to declare that she unfortunately could not remain any longer, as a friend must now be waiting for her at home.
When she came back, sobbing in her handkerchief, she sank into an armchair between Marianne and her husband. He remained there motionless, staring fixedly with his dim eyes. And silence fell again throughout the lifeless house, whither the rumble of the works, now deserted, fireless and frozen, ascended no longer. But Beauchene, followed by Blaise, at last made his appearance.
"It stupefies me, my dear fellow," declared Beauchene, "that you can live in this awful solitude in the depth of winter. It is enough to kill anybody. I am all in favor of work, you know; but, dash it! one must have some amusement too." "But we do amuse ourselves," said Mathieu, waving his hand round that rustic kitchen in which centred all their pleasant family life.
Besides, the thought of Norine was reviving in her mind; she remembered the girl's child, and almost feared some fresh understanding between Beauchene and Mathieu. All at once, however, she gave a cry of great relief: "Ah! here is Maurice."
"And you, old Moineaud, how many children have you?" he inquired. "Seven, Monsieur Beauchene," the workman replied, somewhat taken aback. "I've lost three." "So, including them, you would now have ten? Well, that's a nice state of things! How can you do otherwise than starve?" Moineaud began to laugh like the gay thriftless Paris workman that he was. The little ones?
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