Piping Hot! (Pot-Bouille): A Realistic Novel by Émile Zola - HTML preview

 CHAPTER XVIII.

In December, the eighth month of her morning, Madame Josserand for the first time accepted an invitation to dine out. It was merely at the Duveyriers’, almost a family gathering, with which Clotilde opened her Saturday receptions of the new winter. The day before, Adèle had been told that she would have to help Julie with the washing-up. The ladies were in the habit of thus lending their servants to each other on the days when they gave parties.

“And above all, try and put a little more go into yourself,” said Madame Josserand to her maid-of-all-work. “I don’t know what you’ve got in your body now, you’re as limp as rags. Yet you’re fat and plump.”

Adèle was simply nine months gone in the family way. For a long time she had thought she was merely growing stouter, which greatly surprised her however; and she would get into a perfect rage, with her ever hungry empty stomach, on the days when madame triumphantly showed her to her guests; ah, well! those who accused her of weighing her servant’s bread might come and look at that great glutton, it was not likely she got so fat by merely licking the walls! When, in her stupidity, Adèle at length became aware of her misfortune, she restrained herself twenty times from telling the truth to her mistress, who was really taking advantage of her condition to make the neighborhood think that she was at length feeding her.

But, from this moment, terror stultified her entirely. Her village ideas once more took possession of her obtuse skull. She thought herself damned, she fancied that the gendarmes would come and take her, if she admitted her pregnancy. Then all her low cunning was made use of to hide it. She concealed the feelings of sickness, twice she thought she would drop down dead before her kitchen fire, whilst stirring some sauces. The pain that she had endured for the two last months with the obstinacy of an heroic silence was indeed frightful.

Adèle went up to bed that night about eleven o’clock. The thought of to-morrow evening terrified her; more drudgery, more bullying by Julie! and she could scarcely move about.

During the night she was seized with labor pains, and a desire came over her to move about, so as to walk them off. She therefore lighted the candle and began to wander round the room, her tongue dried up, tormented with a burning thirst, and her cheeks on fire. Hours passed in this cruel wandering, without her daring to put on her shoes, for fear of making a noise, whilst she was only protected against the cold by an old shawl thrown across her shoulders. Two o’clock struck, then three o’clock.

Not a soul stirred in the adjoining rooms, every one was snoring; she could hear Julie’s sonorous hum, whilst Lisa made a kind of hissing noise like the shrill notes of a fife. Four o’clock had just struck, when, seized with a violent pain, she felt that the end was approaching, and could not restrain uttering a loud cry.

At this the occupants of the other rooms began to rouse up. Voices thick with sleep were heard saying: “Well! what? who’s being murdered?—Some one’s being taken by force!—Don’t dream out loud like that!” Dreadfully frightened, she drew the bedclothes over the new-born child, which was uttering plaintive cries like a little kitten. But she soon heard Julie snoring again, after turning over; whilst Lisa, once more asleep, no longer uttered a sound. Then she experienced an immense relief, an infinite comfort of calm and repose, and lay as one dead.

She must have dozed thus for the best part of an hour. When six o’clock struck, the consciousness of her position awoke her again. Time was flying, she rose up painfully, and did whatever things came into her head, without deciding on them beforehand. A frosty moon shone full into the room. After dressing herself, she wrapped the infant up in some old rags, and then folded a couple of newspapers around it. It uttered no cry now, yet its little heart was beating.

Not one of the servants was about as yet, and, after getting slumbering Monsieur Gourd to unfasten the door from his room, she was able to go out and lay her bundle in the Passage Choiseul, the gates of which had just been opened, and then quietly returned up-stairs. She met no one. For once in her lifetime, luck was on her side!

She immediately set about tidying her room, after which, utterly worn out, and as white as wax, she again lay down. It was thus that Madame Josserand found her, when she had made up her mind to go up-stairs toward nine o’clock, greatly surprised at not seeing Adèle come down. The servant having complained of a violent attack of diarrhoea which had kept her awake all night, madame exclaimed:

“Of course! you must have eaten too much again! You think of nothing else but stuffing yourself.”

The girl’s paleness, however, made her uneasy, and she talked of sending for the doctor; but she was glad to save the three francs, when Adèle vowed that she merely needed rest. Since her husband’s death, Madame Josserand had been living with her daughter Hortense, on an allowance made her by the brothers Bernheim, but which did not prevent her from bitterly alluding to them as persons who lived on the brains of others; and she spent less than ever on food, so as not to descend to a lower level of society by quitting her apartments and giving up her Tuesday receptions.

“That’s right; sleep,” said she. “There is some cold beef left which will do for this morning, and to-night we dine out. If you cannot come down to help Julie, she will have to do without you.”

The dinner that evening at the Duveyriers’ was a very cordial one. All the family was there: the two Vabres and their wives, Madame Josserand, Hortense, Léon, and even uncle Bachelard, who behaved well. Moreover, they had invited Trublot to fill a vacant place, and Madame Dambreville, so as not to separate her from Léon. The latter, after his marriage with the niece, had once again fallen into the arms of the aunt, who was still necessary to him. They were seen to arrive together in all the drawing-rooms, and they would apologize for the young wife, whom a cold or a feeling of idleness, said they, kept at home. That evening the whole table complained of scarce knowing her: they loved her so much, she was so beautiful! Then they talked of the chorus which Clotilde was to give at the end of the evening; it was the “Blessing of the Daggers” again, but this time with five tenors, something complete and magisterial. For two months past, Duveyrier himself, who had become quite charming, had been looking up the friends of the house, and saying to every one he met: “You are quite a stranger, come and see us; my wife is going to give her choruses again.” Therefore, half through the dinner, they talked of nothing but music. The happiest good-nature and the most free-hearted gayety prevailed throughout.

Then, after the coffee, and whilst the ladies sat round the drawing-room fire, the gentlemen formed a group in the parlor and began to exchange some grave ideas. The other guests were now arriving. And among the earliest were Campardon, Abbé Mauduit, and Doctor Juillerat, without including the diners, with the exception of Trublot, who had disappeared on leaving the table. They almost immediately commenced talking politics. The debates in the Chamber deeply interested the gentlemen, and they had not yet given over discussing the success of the opposition candidates for Paris, all of whom had been returned at the May elections. This triumph of the dissatisfied portion of the middle classes made them feel anxious at heart, in spite of their apparent delight.

“Dear me!” declared Léon, “Monsieur Thiers is certainly a most talented man. But he puts so much acrimony into his speeches on the Mexican expedition that he quite spoils their effect.”

He had just been named to a higher appointment, through Madame Dambreville’s influence, and had at once joined the government party. The only thing that remained in him of the famished demagogue, was an unbearable intolerance of all doctrines.

“Not long ago you were accusing the government of every sin,” said the doctor, smiling. “I hope you at least voted for Monsieur Thiers.”

The young man avoided answering. Théophile, whose stomach was no longer able to digest his food, and who was worried with fresh doubts as to his wife’s constancy, exclaimed:

“I voted for him. When men refuse to live as brothers, so much the worse for them!”

“And so much the worse for you, as well, eh?” remarked Duveyrier, who, speaking but little, uttered some very profound observations.

Théophile, greatly scared, looked at him. Auguste no longer dared admit that he had also voted for Monsieur Thiers. Then every one was very much surprised to hear uncle Bachelard utter a legitimist profession of faith: he thought it the most genteel. Campardon seconded him warmly; he had abstained from voting himself, because the official candidate, Monsieur Dewinck, did not offer sufficient guarantees as regards religion; and he furiously declaimed against Renan’s “Life of Jesus,” which had recently made its appearance.

“It is not the book that should be burnt; it is the author,” repeated he.

“You are, perhaps, too radical, my friend,” interrupted the priest, in a conciliatory tone. “But, indeed, the symptoms are becoming terrible. There is some talk of driving away the pope, the revolution has invaded parliament. We are walking on the edge of a precipice.”

“So much the better!” said Doctor Juillerat, simply.

Then the others all protested. He renewed his attacks against the middle classes, prophesying that there would be a clean sweep the day when the masses wished to enjoy power in their turn; and the others loudly interrupted him, exclaiming that the middle classes represented the virtue, the industry, and the thrift of the nation. Duveyrier was at length able to make himself heard. He owned it before all: he had voted for Monsieur Dewinck, not that Monsieur Dewinck exactly represented his opinions, but because he was the symbol of order. Yes, the saturnalia of the Reign of Terror might one day return. Monsieur Rouher, that remarkable statesman who had just succeeded Monsieur Billault, had formally prophesied it in the Chamber. He concluded with these striking words:

“The triumph of the opposition is the preliminary subsidence of the structure. Take care that it does not crush you in falling!”

The other gentlemen held their peace, with the unavowed fear of having allowed themselves to be carried away even to compromising their personal safety. They beheld workmen begrimed with powder and blood, entering their homes, violating their maidservants and drinking their wine. No doubt, the Emperor deserved a lesson; only, they were beginning to regret having given him so severe a one.

“Be easy!” concluded the doctor, scoffingly. “We will manage to save you from the bullets.”

But he was going too far, they set him down as an original. It was, moreover, thanks to this reputation for originality, that he did not lose his connection. He continued, by resuming with Abbé Mauduit their eternal quarrel respecting the approaching downfall of the Church. Léon now sided with the priest: he talked of Providence, and, on Sundays, accompanied Madame Dambreville to nine o’clock mass.

Meanwhile, the guests continued to arrive, the drawing-room was becoming quite filled with ladies. Valérie and Berthe were exchanging little secrets, like two good friends. The other Madame Campardon, whom the architect had brought no doubt in place of poor Rose, who was already in bed up-stairs and reading Dickens, was giving Madame Josserand an economical recipe for washing clothes without soap; whilst Hortense, seated all by herself and expecting Verdier, did not take her eyes off the door. But suddenly Clotilde, while conversing with Madame Dambreville, rose up and held out her hands. Her friend, Madame Octave Mouret, had just entered the room. The marriage had taken place early in November, at the end of her mourning.

“And your husband?” asked the hostess. “He is not going to disappoint me, I hope?”

“No, no,” answered Caroline, with a smile. “He will be here directly; something detained him at the last moment.”

There was some whispering, glances full of curiosity were directed toward her, so calm and so lovely, ever the same, with the pleasant assurance of a woman who succeeds in everything she undertakes. Madame Josserand pressed her hand, as though she were delighted to see her again. Berthe and Valérie left off talking and examined her at their ease, studying her costume, a straw-color dress covered with lace. But, in the midst of this quiet forgetfulness of the past, Auguste, whom the political discussion had left quite cool, was giving signs of indignant amazement as he stood near the parlor door. What! his sister was going to receive the family of his wife’s former lover! And, in his marital rancor, there was a touch of the jealous anger of the tradesman ruined by a triumphant competition; for “The Ladies’ Paradise,” by extending its business and creating a special department for silk, had so drained his resources that he had been obliged to take a partner. He drew near, and, whilst every one was making much of Madame Mouret, he whispered to Clotilde:

“You know, I will never put up with it.”

“Put up with what?” asked she, greatly surprised.

“I do not mind the wife so much, she has not done me any harm. But if the husband comes, I shall take hold of Berthe by the arm, and leave the room in the presence of everybody.”

She looked at him, and then shrugged her shoulders. Caroline was her oldest friend, she was certainly not going to give up seeing her, just to satisfy his caprices. As though any one even recollected the matter. He would do far better not to rake up things forgotten by everybody but himself. And as, deeply affected, he looked to Berthe for support, expecting that she would get up and follow him at once, she calmed him with a frown; was he mad? did he wish to make himself more ridiculous than he had ever been before?

“But it is in order that I may not appear ridiculous!” replied he, in despair.

Then Madame Josserand inclined toward him, and, said in a severe tone of voice:

“It is becoming quite indecent; every one is looking at you. Do behave yourself for once in a way.”

He held his tongue, but without submitting. From this moment a certain uneasiness existed among the ladies. The only one who preserved her smiling tranquillity was Madame Mouret, now sitting beside Clotilde and opposite Berthe. They watched Auguste, who had retired to the window recess where his marriage had been decided, not so very long before. His anger was bringing on a headache, and he now and again pressed his forehead against the icy-cold panes.

Octave did not arrive till very late. As he reached the landing, he met Madame Juzeur, who had just come down, wrapped in a shawl. She complained of her chest, and had got up on purpose not to disappoint the Duveyriers. Her languid state did not prevent her falling into the young man’s arms, as she congratulated him on his marriage.

“How delighted I am with such a splendid result, my friend! Really! I was quite in despair about you, I never thought you would have succeeded. Tell me, you rascal, how did you manage to get over her?”

Octave smiled and kissed her fingers. But some one who was bounding up-stairs with the agility of a goat, disturbed them; and, greatly surprised, they fancied they recognized Saturnin. It was indeed Saturnin, who a week before had left the Asile des Moulineaux, where for a second time Doctor Chassagne declined to detain him any longer, still considering him not sufficiently mad. No doubt he was going to spend the evening with Marie Pichon, just as in former days, when his parents had company. And those bygone times were suddenly evoked. Octave could hear an expiring voice coming from above, singing the ballad with which Marie whiled away her vacant hours; he beheld her once more eternally alone, beside the crib in which Lilitte slumbered, and awaiting Jules’ return with all the complacency of a gentle and useless woman.

“I wish you every happiness with your wife,” repeated Madame Juzeur, tenderly squeezing Octave’s hands.

In order not to enter the drawing-room with her, he was purposely occupying some time in removing his overcoat, when Trublot, in his dress clothes, bareheaded, and looking quite upset, came from the passage leading to the kitchen.

“You know she’s not at all well!” murmured he, whilst Hippolyte announced Madame Juzeur.

“Who isn’t?” asked Octave.

“Why Adèle, the servant up-stairs.”

Hearing there was something the matter with her, he had gone up quite paternally, on leaving the dinner-table. It must have been a very severe attack of cholerine; a good glass of mulled wine was what she ought to have, and she had not even a lump of sugar. Then, as he noticed that his friend smiled in an indifferent sort of way, he added:

“Hallo! I forgot you’re married, you joker! This sort of thing no longer interests you. I never thought of that when I found you with madame. Anything you like except that!”

They entered together. The ladies were just then speaking of their servants, and were taking such interest in the conversation, that they did not notice them at first. All were complacently approving Madame Duveyrier, who was trying to explain, in an embarrassed way, why she continued to keep Clémence and Hippolyte: he was rough, but she dressed her so well that one could not help shutting one’s eyes to other matters. Neither Valérie nor Berthe could succeed in securing a decent girl; they had given it up in despair, after trying every registry office, the good-for-nothing servants from which had done no more than pass through their kitchens. Madame Josserand violently abused Adèle, of whom she related some fresh abominable and stupid doings of extraordinary character; and yet she did not send her about her business. As for the other Madame Campardon, she was quite enthusiastic in her praises of Lisa: a pearl, not a thing to reproach her with; in short, one of those deserving domestics to whom one gives prizes.

“She is quite one of the family now,” said she. “Our little Angèle is attending some lectures at the Hôtel de Ville, and Lisa accompanies her. Oh! they might remain out together for days; we should not be in the least anxious.”

It was at this moment that the ladies caught sight of Octave. He was advancing to wish Clotilde good-evening. Berthe looked at him; then, without the least affectation, she resumed her conversation with Valérie, who had exchanged with him the affectionate glance of disinterested friendship. The others—Madame Josserand, Madame Dambreville—without throwing themselves at him, surveyed him with sympathetic interest.

“So here you are at last!” said Clotilde, who was most amiable. “I was beginning to tremble for the chorus.”

And, as Madame Mouret gently scolded her husband for being so late, he made some excuses.

“But, my dear, I was unable to come sooner. I am most sorry, madame. However, I am now entirely at your disposal.” Meanwhile, the ladies were anxiously watching the window recess into which Auguste had retired. They received a momentary fright when they beheld him turn round at the sound of Octave’s voice. His headache was no doubt worse; he had a restless look about the eyes, which seemed full of the darkness of the street. He at length appeared to make up his mind, and, returning to his former position beside his sister’s chair, he said.

“Send them away, or else we will leave.”

Clotilde again shrugged her shoulders. Then Auguste seemed disposed to give her time to consider: he would wait a few minutes longer, more especially as Trublot had taken Octave into the parlor. The other ladies were still uneasy, for they had heard the husband whisper in his wife’s ear:

“If he comes back here, you must get up and follow me. Otherwise, you may return to your mother’s.”

In the parlor, the gentlemen greeted Octave quite as cordially. If Léon made a point of showing a little coolness, Uncle Bachelard, and even Théophile, seemed to declare, as they held out their hands to Octave, that the family forgot everything. He congratulated Campardon, who, decorated two days previously, now wore a broad red ribbon; and the beaming architect scolded him for never calling now and then to pass an hour with his wife: though one got married, it was scarcely nice to forget friends of fifteen years’ standing. But the young man felt quite surprised and anxious as he stood before Duveyrier. He had not seen him since his recovery. He looked uneasily at his jaw, all out of place, dropping too much on the left side, and which now gave a horrid squinting expression to his countenance. Then, when the counselor spoke, he had another surprise: his voice had lowered two tones; it had become quite sepulchral.

“Don’t you think him much better thus?” said Trublot to Octave, as they returned to the drawing-room door. “It positively gives him a certain majestic air. I saw him presiding at the assizes, the day before yesterday—Listen! they are talking of it.”

And indeed the gentlemen had abandoned politics to take up morality. They were listening to Duveyrier as he gave some details of an affair in which his attitude had been particularly noticed. He was even about to be named a president and an officer of the Legion of Honor. It was respecting an infanticide already a year old. The unnatural mother, a regular savage, as he said, happened to be the boot-stitcher, his former tenant, that tall, pale and friendless girl, whose pregnant condition had roused Monsieur Gourd’s indignation so much. And besides that, she was altogether stupid! for, without reflecting that her appearance would betray her, she had gone and cut her child in two and kept it at the bottom of a bonnet-box. She had naturally told the jury quite a ridiculous romance: a seducer who had deserted her; misery, hunger, and then a fit of mad despair on seeing herself unable to supply the little one’s wants: in a word, the same story they all told. But it was necessary to make an example. Duveyrier congratulated himself on having summed up with that lucidity which often decided a jury’s verdict.

“And what was your sentence?” asked the doctor.

“Five years,” replied the counselor in his new voice, which seemed both hoarse and sepulchral. “It is time to oppose a dyke to the debauchery which threatens to submerge Paris.”

Trublot nudged Octave’s elbow; they were both acquainted with the facts of the attempt at suicide.

“Eh? you hear him?” murmured he. “Without joking, it improves his voice: it stirs one more, does it not? it goes straight to the heart now. Ah! if you had only seen him, standing up, draped in his long red robes, with his mug all askew! On my word! he quite frightened me; he was extraordinary; oh! you know! a style in his majesty enough to make your flesh creep!”

But he left off speaking, and listened to the ladies in the drawingroom, who were again on the subject of servants. That very morning, Madame Duveyrier had given Julie a week’s notice; she had nothing certainly to say against the girl’s cooking; only, good behavior came before everything in her eyes. The truth was that, warned by Doctor Juillerat, and anxious for the health of her son, whose little goings-on she tolerated at home, so as to keep them under control, she had had an explanation with Julie, who had been unwell for some time past; and the latter, like a genteel cook, whose style was not to quarrel with her employers, had accepted her week’s notice. Madame Josserand at once shared Clotilde’s indignation; yes, one should be very strict on the question of morality; for instance, if she kept that slut Adèle in spite of her dirty ways, and her stupidity, it was because the girl was virtuous. Oh! on that point, she had nothing whatever to reproach her with!

“Poor Adèle! when one only thinks!” murmured Trublot, again affected at the thought of the wretched creature, half frozen upstairs beneath her thin blanket.

Then, bending toward Octave’s ear, he added with a chuckle:

“I say, Duveyrier might at least take her up a bottle of claret!”

“Yes, gentlemen,” the counselor was continuing, “statistics will bear me out, the crime of infanticide is increasing in the most frightful proportions. Sentiment prevails to too great an extent in the present day, and far too much consideration is shown to science, to your pretended physiology, all of which will end by there soon being neither good nor evil. One cannot cure debauchery; the thing is to destroy it at its root.”

This refutation was addressed above all to Doctor Juillerat, who had wished to give a medical explanation of the boot-stitcher’s case.

The other gentlemen also exhibited great severity and disgust. Campardon could not understand vice, uncle Bachelard defended infancy, Théophile demanded an inquiry, Léon discussed the question of prostitution in its relations with the state; whilst Trublot, in answer to an inquiry of Octave’s, talked of Duveyrier’s new mistress, who was a decent sort of a woman this time, rather mature, but romantic, with a soul expanded by that ideal which the counselor required to purify love; in short, a worthy person who gave him a peaceful home, imposing upon him as much as she liked and sleeping with his friends, without making any unnecessary fuss. And the Abbé Mauduit alone remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground, his mind sorely troubled, and full of an infinite sadness.

They were now about to sing the “Blessing of the Daggers.” The drawing-room had filled up, a flood of rich dresses was crushing in the brilliant light from the chandelier and the lamps, whilst gay bursts of laughter ran along the rows of chairs; and, in the midst of the buzz, Clotilde in a low voice roughly chided Auguste, who, on seeing Octave enter with the other gentlemen of the chorus, had caught hold of Berthe’s arm to make her leave her seat. But he was already beginning to yield, feeling more and more embarrassed in the presence of the ladies’ dumb disapproval, whilst his head had become entirely the prey of triumphant neuralgia. Madame Dambreville’s stern looks quite drove him to despair, and even the other Madame Campardon was against him. It was reserved to Madame Josserand to finish him off. She abruptly interfered, threatening to take back her daughter and never to pay him the fifty thousand francs dowry; for she was always promising this dowry with the greatest coolness imaginable. Then, turning toward uncle Bachelard, seated behind her, and next to Madame Juzeur, she made him renew his promises. The uncle placed his hand on his heart; he knew his duty, the family before everything! Auguste, repulsed on all sides, beat a retreat, and again sought refuge in the window recess, where he once more pressed his burning forehead against the icy-cold panes.

Then Octave experienced a singular sensation as though his Paris life was beginning over again. It was as though the two years he had lived in the Rue de Choiseul had been a blank. His wife was there, smiling at him, and yet nothing seemed to have passed in his existence; to-day was the same as yesterday, there was neither pause nor ending. Trublot showed him the new partner standing beside Berthe, a little fair fellow very neat in his ways, who gave her, it was said, no end of presents. Uncle Bachelard, who was now going in for poetry, was revealing himself in a sentimental light to Madame Juzeur, whom he quite affected with some intimate details respecting Fifi and Gueulin. Théophile, devoured by doubts, doubled up by violent fits of coughing, was imploring Doctor Juillerat in an out-of-the-way corner to give his wife something to quiet her. Campardon, his eyes fixed on cousin Gasparine, was talking of the diocese of Evreux, and jumping from that to the great works of the new Rue du Dix Décembre, defending God and art, sending the world about its business, for at heart he did not care a hang for it, he was an artist! And behind a flower-stand there could even be seen the back of a gentleman, whom all the marriageable girls contemplated with an air of profound curiosity; it was Verdier, who was talking with Hortense, the pair of them having an acrimonious explanation, again putting off their marriage till the spring, so as not to turn the woman and her child into the street in the depth of winter.

Then the chorus was sung afresh. The architect, with his mouth wide open, gave out the first line. Clotilde struck a chord, and uttered her cry. And the other voices burst forth, the uproar increased little by little, and spread with a violence that scared the candles and caused the ladies to turn pale. Trublot, having been found wanting among the basses, was being tried a second time as a baritone. The five tenors were much noticed, Octave especially, to whom Clotilde regretted being unable to give a solo. When the voices fell, and she had applied the soft pedal, imitating the cadenced and distant footsteps of a departing patrol, the applause was deafening, and she, together with the gentlemen, had every praise showered upon them. And at the farthest end of the adjoining room, right behind a triple row of men in evening dress, one beheld Duveyrier clenching his teeth so as not to cry aloud with anguish, with his mouth all on one side, and his festering eruptions almost bleeding.

The tea coming next, unrolled the same procession, distributed the same cups and the same sandwiches. For a moment, the Abbé Mauduit found himself once more in the middle of the deserted drawing-room. He looked through the wide-open door, on the crush of guests; and, vanquished, he smiled, he again cast the mantle of religion over this corrupt middle-class society, like a master in the ceremonies draping the canker, to stave off the final decomposition. He must save the Church, as Heaven had not answered his cry of misery and despair.

At length, the same as on every Saturday, when midnight struck, the guests began to withdraw. Campardon was among the first to leave, with the other Madame Campardon. Léon and Madame Dambreville were not long in maritally following them. Verdier’s back had long ago disappeared, when Madame Josserand went off with Hortense, bullying her for what she called her romantic obstinacy. Uncle Bachelard, very drunk from the punch he had taken, detained Madame Juzeur a moment at the door, finding her advice full of experience quite refreshing. Trublot, who had stolen some sugar for Adèle, was making for the passage leading to the kitchen, when the presence of Berthe and Auguste in the anteroom embarrassed him, and he pretended to be looking for his hat.<