For dinner they had boiled beef and broth. It seemed to me that Monsieur and Madame were very cool toward each other. Monsieur read the "Petit Journal" with provoking ostentation. He crumpled the paper, rolling all the time his kind, comical, gentle eyes. Even when he is in anger, Monsieur's eyes remain gentle and timid. At last, doubtless to start the conversation, Monsieur, with his nose still buried in his paper, exclaimed: "Hello! another woman cut to pieces!" Madame made no answer. Very stiff, very straight, austere in her black silk dress, her forehead wrinkled, her look stern, she did not cease her dreaming. About what? It is, perhaps, because of me that Madame is sulky with Monsieur. IV _September 26._ For a week I have been unable to write a single line in my diary. When it comes night, I am tired, exhausted, at the end of my strength. I think of nothing but going to bed and to sleep. To sleep! If I could always sleep! Oh! what a shabby place, My God! You can have no idea of it! For a yes, for a no, Madame makes you run up and down the two cursed flights of stairs. One has not even time to sit down in the linen-room and breathe a little, when ... drinn!... drinn!... drinn!... one has to get up and start again. It makes no difference if one is not feeling well, drinn!... drinn!... drinn! In these days I have pains in my loins that bend me in two, and gripe my stomach, and almost make me cry out. That cuts no figure; drinn!... drinn!... drinn!... One has no time to be sick; one has not the right to suffer. Suffering is a master's luxury. We, we must walk, and fast, and forever; walk at the risk of falling. Drinn!... drinn!... drinn!... And if one is a little slow in coming at the sound of the bell, then there are reproaches and angry scenes. "Well, what are you about? You do not hear, then? Are you deaf? I have been ringing for three hours. It is getting to be very provoking." And this is what generally happens. "Drinn!... drinn!... drinn!..." That throws you from your chair, as if impelled by a spring. "Bring me a needle." I go for the needle. "All right! Bring me some thread." I go for the thread. "Very good! Bring me a button." I go for the button. "What is this button? I did not ask for this button. You never understand anything. A white button, number four. And be quick about it." And I go for the white button, number four. You can imagine how I storm, and rage, and abuse Madame, within myself. During these goings and comings, these ascents and descents, Madame has changed her mind. She wants something else, or she wants nothing at all. "No, take away the needle and the button. I have no time." My back is broken, my knees absolutely stiff, I can do no more. That suffices for Madame; she is satisfied. And to think that there is a society for the protection of animals! In the evening, when making her examination of the linen-room, she storms: