Firmin, taking her _au serieux_, went to Savin, who by this time was thoroughly vexed and who retorted to the young man not a little harshly. Savin was most disgusted at his wife’s conduct. Instead of profiting by this occasion to settle their differences, Catherine played a disagreeable and unexpected _rôle_. One by one the young men sought him out to ask permission to dance with his wife. It became a painful persecution to him; but when, at length, he divined her intention he decided to make as light of the situation as possible. “How stupid you are,” said he to the young men. “Don’t you see that Catherine is only joking you?” But the farce continued. Each moment brought a fresh applicant and Savin’s patience was about exhausted. Besides, he felt that his wife was making a fool of him, and that everybody was amused at the little comedy being acted by Catherine and himself. To be made a laughing-stock for the sake of his charming spouse he could not endure. Everybody felt more or less oppressed by the heat of the room and excited by the wine, and the gamekeeper was by no means an exception. Irritated beyond forbearance, Savin approached his wife and bade her to get ready to go home. Then he added: “You do not wish a reconciliation, it seems. Very well.” “Perhaps you have some complaint to make against me right here,” remarked Catherine, with a provoking air. Savin felt himself the object of a hundred eyes. “I have no desire to pass for a fool whose wife may ridicule him at will.” “You will always pass for just what you are.” “Catherine, pray do not get in a passion here.” The young woman looked crestfallen and feigned fear. She hypocritically looked to the right and to the left, as though seeking protection and as though afraid of violence from her husband. “You ought to be ashamed,” exclaimed Mademoiselle Faillot, coming up at that moment, “to treat a woman in such a manner.” “Please do not meddle in my affairs, Mademoiselle. I do not accuse you of your little peccadilloes, nor do I _ask how you dispense the money intrusted to you for the babes of wet-nurses that you have in charge_.” “What! What is that?” shouted the old spinster, turning crimson with rage. “Mademoiselle, when one has a cousin like Fadard, one need have no uneasiness.” “Ah, indeed. Not so a man who has married the daughter of a criminal.” The young bride now interposed. “Mademoiselle,” she said, “you were not invited--at the last moment--to insult my friends.” “Very well. Then your friends should not make any such insinuations.” “Oh, if I had a husband like other husbands,” broke in Catherine, “all would go well.”