Limousin rushed at him. Parent pushed him back, and, sneering in his fury, he said: “Ah! you are brave now! You are braver than you were that day when you ran downstairs because you thought I was going to murder you. Very well! If she will not reply, tell me yourself. You ought to know as well as she. Tell me, are you this young fellow's father? Come! Come! Tell me!” He turned to his wife again. “If you will not tell me, at any rate tell your son. He is a man, now, and he has the right to know who his father is. I do not know, and I never did know, never, never! I cannot tell you, my boy.” He seemed to be losing his senses; his voice grew shrill and he worked his arms about as if he had an epileptic 'fit. “Come!... Give me an answer. She does not know... I will make a bet that she does not know... No... she does not know, by Jove! Ha! ha! ha! Nobody knows... nobody... How can one know such things? “You will not know either, my boy, you will not know any more than I do ... never.... Look here... Ask her you will find that she does not know... I do not know either... nor does he, nor do you, nobody knows. You can choose... You can choose... yes, you can choose him or me... Choose. “Good evening... It is all over. If she makes up her mind to tell you, you will come and let me know, will you not? I am living at the Hotel des Continents... I should be glad to know... Good evening... I hope you will enjoy yourselves very much...” And he went away gesticulating, talking to himself under the tall trees, in the quiet, the cool air, which was full of the fragrance of growing plants. He did not turn round to look at them, but went straight on, walking under the stimulus of his rage, under a storm of passion, with that one fixed idea in his mind. All at once he found himself outside the station. A train was about to start and he got in. During the journey his anger calmed down, he regained his senses and returned to Paris, astonished at his own boldness, full of aches and pains as if he had broken some bones. Nevertheless, he went to have a “bock” at his brewery. When she saw him come in, Mademoiselle Zoe asked in surprise: “What! back already? are you tired?” “Yes--yes, I am tired... very tired... You know, when one is not used to going out... I've had enough of it. I shall not go into the country again. It would have been better to have stayed here. For the future, I shall not stir out.” She could not persuade him to tell her about his little excursion, much as she wished to. For the first time in his life he got thoroughly drunk that night, and had to be carried home. QUEEN HORTENSE