‘What is the matter with my boy’s eye?’ asked Foulon. ‘It has been lacerated; it is unusually tender; it is bruised.’ Then, elevating his voice, and addressing those at the window, ‘Ah! who has been striking and scratching my good Berthier? I know it was that cat. Oh, puss! you sly puss, how demure you look! but that is all very well by day. At night, ah! then you show your claws.’ The sheriff, finding that everything necessary was in the carriage, mounted the steps to the house, and making his way to the corridor presented himself before his wife, Gabrielle, and the cat. He stood before them with his eyes down, and with a sullen expression of face. His right eye was discoloured and cut; it both watered and bled, and he repeatedly wiped it. ‘Madame,’ said he, with less of his usual insolence Of manner, ‘your father and I shall be absent for some days.’ ‘Look me in the face,’ said his wife. He lifted his eyes for an instant; the wounded organ evidently pained him, for it was glassy, and the lid closed over it immediately; the other fell before the glance of the lady. ‘Madame,’ he continued, ‘we are about to visit Conches on business, and, after a delay there of a day, we proceed to Évreux to meet the Count of Provence. He visits the bishop, and we dine with him at the palace on Thursday evening.’ ‘What is that to me?’ asked his wife. ‘I thought you would like to know, madame.’ ‘Why do you not call me Madame Plomb?’ His eyes fluttered up to hers and fell again. ‘Because you are a coward,’ said the lady. ‘I know you for a bully and a coward.’ ‘Madame, I shall retire,’ he said, scowling. ‘I came here in courtesy to announce to you our departure, and I meet with insult.’ ‘What is to become of this child?’ asked the lady, touching Gabrielle. ‘She remains here,’ answered Berthier; ‘I have engaged her to be your servant. I have hired her of her father.’ A look of triumph shot across his flabby countenance: ‘he has received six months’ wage in advance.’ Gabrielle uttered a faint cry and covered her face. ‘I doubt not he has returned the money,’ said Madame Berthier. ‘See! in this soiled rag is a sum; it was cast in at the window last night. If I mistake not, this blood which discolours the linen is yours. It looks like yours, it feels like yours--ugh! it smells like yours.’ ‘Madame, I know nothing about that money. I know that I have agreed with the girl’s father, that he has received payment for her services, and that I keep her here.’ ‘Whether she remains here or at home,’ said Madame Berthier, ‘she is safe from you, as long as I am here to protect her.’ ‘As long as you are here,’ answered Berthier, as he walked towards the stairs. Then turning to her, with his foot on the steps, he said, with a coarse laugh: ‘As long as you are here to protect her! Quite so, Madame Plomb. But how long will you be here?’ He disappeared down the stairs, and entering the carriage with Foulon, drove through the gay iron gates, and was gone.