Marceline lowered the barrel of her revolver, and felt pleased at seeing her husband show such courage. “You see, my dear Signor Petito,” continued Théophraste, “that I am calm. A little while ago I was getting angry, but it was only at that little cat which was keeping me from going to sleep, and which I have thrown out of the window. Rut be assured, my dear Signor, I shall not throw you out of the window. You have not kept me from sleeping, you have even taken the precaution to put on slippers. Many thanks. But why, my dear Signor, do you make that ridiculous grimace? It is without doubt on account of your ear. I have some good news to tell you which will perhaps put you at ease about your ears. Your ears will make you suffer no more.” Having finished his sarcastic talk, Théophraste begged his wife to pass him a cloth, and ordered Signor Petito to go into the kitchen. “Do not be surprised that I receive you in the kitchen. I prize my carpets very much, and you will probably bleed like a pig.” M. Longuet drew towards him a white wooden table, which he placed in the middle of the kitchen. He asked Marceline to place an oil-cloth over the table, and get him a large bowl. He then asked for a carving set, which he said she would find in the dresser drawer, which stood in the dining-room. Marceline tried to ask for an explanation, but her husband looked at her so coldly and so strangely, that, shuddering, she could only obey. Signor Petito, in a cold perspiration, tried to reach the door of the kitchen, but M. Longuet stood between him and the means of exit, and commanded him to be seated. “Signor Petito,” said he, in a tone of the most sarcastic politeness, “you have a face which displeases me. It is not your fault; but then it is not mine, either. Certainly you are by far the most cowardly and the most despicable of thieves. But what does that matter? But do not smile, Signor Petito.” It is certain that Signor Petito had no intention of smiling. “You have ridiculously large ears, and surely with such ears, you dare not pass by the corner of the Guiliere.” Signor Petito clasped his hands and stammered, “But my wife awaits me.” “What are you doing, Marceline?” Théophraste cried impatiently. “Do not you see that Signor Petito is in a hurry? His wife is waiting for him. Have you the carving set?” “I could not find the fork,” answered Marceline in a trembling voice. (The truth was, Marceline did not know what to say, for she believed that her husband had become completely insane, and between Signor Petito the house-breaker, and Théophraste mad, she was in anything but an enviable position.) She had hidden herself behind a cupboard door, and her distress was so extreme, that in turning suddenly, when Théophraste hurled a volley of insults at her, she upset her favorite vase, which made a loud noise, thus adding to the confusion.