Eight o’clock struck; the door reopened and Julie reappeared. She no longer wore her air of exasperation, but an air of cold, malicious resolution still more formidable.
“Monsieur,” she said, “I served your mother till her last day; I brought you up from your birth to this very day. I may say that I’m devoted to the family. …”
She awaited a reply.
“Why, yes, my good Julie,” stammered Parent.
“You know very well,” she continued, “that I’ve never done aught for the sake of money, but always in your interests, that I’ve never deceived you or lied to you; that you’ve never had any fault to find with me. …”
“Why, yes, my good Julie.”
“Well, Monsieur, this can’t go on any longer. It was out of friendship for you that I never spoke, that I left you in your ignorance; but it is too much; the neighbourhood is making too merry at your expense. You can do what you like about it, but everybody knows; and I must tell you too, though it goes sore against the grain. If Madame comes home at these absurd hours, it’s because she’s doing abominable things.”
He sat there bewildered, not understanding. He could only stammer:
“Be silent. … You know I forbade you …”
She cut him short with ruthless determination.
“No, Monsieur, I must tell you all now. For a long time now Madame has been deceiving you with Monsieur Limousin. More than twenty times I’ve caught them kissing behind doors. Oh, don’t you see? If Monsieur Limousin had been rich, it would not have been Monsieur Parent that Madame married. If Monsieur would only remember how the marriage came about, he would understand the business from beginning to end.”
Parent had risen, livid, stammering:
“Be silent. … Be silent … or …”
“No,” she continued, “I will tell you all. Madame married Monsieur for his money; and she has deceived him from the very first day. Why, Lord-a-mercy, it was an understood thing between them; a minute’s thought is enough to realise that. Then, as Madame was not pleased at having married Monsieur, whom she did not love, she made his life a burden to him, such a burden that it broke my heart to see it. …”
He advanced two steps, his fists clenched, repeating:
“Be silent. … Be silent …” for he could find no reply.
The old servant did not draw back; she looked ready to go to any lengths.
But Georges, at first bewildered, then frightened by these harsh voices, began to utter shrill cries. He stood there behind his father, and howled, with his mouth wide open and his face puckered up.
Parent was exasperated by his son’s uproar; it filled him with courage and rage. He rushed upon Julie with uplifted arms, prepared to smite with both hands, and crying:
“You wretch! You’ll turn the child’s brain.”
His hands were almost on her; she flung the words in his face.
“Monsieur can strike me if he likes, me that brought him up: it won’t stop his wife deceiving him, nor her child not being his.”
He stopped dead, and let his arms fall to his sides; and stood facing her, so astounded that he no longer understood what she was saying.
“You’ve only to look at the little one to recognise the father,” she added. “Why, Lord-a-mercy, he’s the living image of Monsieur Limousin. You’ve only to look at his eyes and his forehead. Why, a blind man wouldn’t be deceived. …”
But he had seized her by the shoulders and was shaking her with all his strength, muttering:
“Viper … viper! Out of here, viper! … Be off, or I’ll kill you! … Be off! … Be off! …”
With a desperate effort he flung her into the next room. She fell upon the table set for dinner, and the glasses tumbled and smashed; then she got up again and put the table between herself and her master, and while he pursued her in order to seize her again, spat hideous remarks at him.
“Monsieur has only to go out … this evening, after dinner … and come back again at once. … He will see! … he will see if I have lied! … Let Monsieur try … he will see.”
She had reached the door of the kitchen and fled through it. He ran after her, rushed up the back stairs to her bedroom, where she had locked herself in, and, beating on the door, cried out:
“You will leave the house this instant.”
“You may be sure I shall,” she replied through the panel. “Another hour, and I’ll be gone.”
At that he slowly descended the stairs again, clinging to the banisters to keep from falling, and went back to the drawing room where Georges was crying, sitting on the floor.
Parent collapsed into a chair and stared dully at the child. He could not understand anything now; he was no longer conscious of anything; he felt dazed, stupefied, crazy, as though he had just fallen on to his head; he could scarcely remember the horrible things his servant had told him. Then, little by little, his reason, like a turbid pool, grew calm and clear, and the revolting secret he had learned began to turn and twist in his breast.
Julie had spoken so clearly, with such vigour, certainty, and sincerity, that he did not question her good faith, but he persisted in questioning her perspicacity. She might well have been mistaken, blinded by her devotion to him, impelled
