“Eh, duckie?” she kept saying at every turn. “How we did use to laugh in those days when we went to Mother Josse’s school in the Rue Polonceau!” When the roast was being served the two women plunged into a world of reminiscences. They used to have regular chattering fits of this kind when a sudden desire to stir the muddy depths of their childhood would possess them. These fits always occurred when men were present: it was as though they had given way to a burning desire to treat them to the dunghill on which they had grown to woman’s estate. The gentlemen paled visibly and looked embarrassed. The young Hugons did their best to laugh, while Vandeuvres nervously toyed with his beard and Muffat redoubled his gravity. “You remember Victor?” said Nana. “There was a wicked little fellow for you! Why, he used to take the little girls into cellars!” “I remember him perfectly,” replied Satin. “I recollect the big courtyard at your place very well. There was a portress there with a broom!” “Mother Boche—she’s dead.” “And I can still picture your shop. Your mother was a great fatty. One evening when we were playing your father came in drunk. Oh, so drunk!” At this point Vandeuvres tried to intercept the ladies’ reminiscences and to effect a diversion, “I say, my dear, I should be very glad to have some more truffles. They’re simply perfect. Yesterday I had some at the house of the Duc de Corbreuse, which did not come up to them at all.” “The truffles, Julien!” said Nana roughly. Then returning to the subject: “By Jove, yes, Dad hadn’t any sense! And then what a smash there was! You should have seen it—down, down, down we went, starving away all the time. I can tell you I’ve had to bear pretty well everything and it’s a miracle I didn’t kick the bucket over it, like Daddy and Mamma.” This time Muffat, who was playing with his knife in a state of infinite exasperation, made so bold as to intervene. “What you’re telling us isn’t very cheerful.” “Eh, what? Not cheerful!” she cried with a withering glance. “I believe you; it isn’t cheerful! Somebody had to earn a living for us dear boy. Oh yes, you know, I’m the right sort; I don’t mince matters. Mamma was a laundress; Daddy used to get drunk, and he died of it! There! If it doesn’t suit you—if you’re ashamed of my family—” They all protested. What was she after now? They had every sort of respect for her family! But she went on: “If you’re ashamed of my family you’ll please leave me, because I’m not one of those women who deny their father and mother. You must take me and them together, d’you understand?”