“But, my dear Brigitte,” interrupted Flavie, turning upon her at this impertinence, “you may dispense with reminding us in this harsh way of our poverty; for, after all, we have never asked you for anything, and we pay our rent punctually; and as for the ‘dot,’ Monsieur Felix Phellion is quite ready to take Celeste with no more than a bank-messenger could carry in his _bag_.” And she emphasized the last word by her way of pronouncing it. “Ha! so you too are going to meddle in this, are you?” cried Brigitte. “Very good; go and fetch him, your Felix. I know, my little woman, that this marriage has never suited you; it IS disagreeable to be nothing more than a mother to your son-in-law.” Flavie had recovered the coolness she had lost for an instant, and without replying to this speech she merely shrugged her shoulders. At this moment Thuillier returned; his air of beatitude had deserted him. “My dear Brigitte,” he said to his sister, “you have a most excellent heart, but at times you are so violent--” “Ho!” said the old maid, “am I to be arraigned on this side too?” “I certainly do not blame you for the cause of the trouble, and I have just rebuked Celeste for her assumption; but there are proper forms that must be kept.” “Forms! what are you talking about? What forms have I neglected?” “But, my dear friend, to raise your hand against your sister!” “I, raise my hand against that imbecile? What nonsense you talk!” “And besides,” continued Thuillier, “a woman of Celeste’s age can’t be kept in prison.” “Your wife!--have I put her in prison?” “You can’t deny it, for I found the door of her room double-locked.” “Parbleu! all this because in my anger at the infamous things she was spitting at me I may have turned the key of the door without intending it.” “Come, come,” said Thuillier, “these are not proper actions for people of our class.” “Oh! so it is I who am to blame, is it? Well, my lad, some day you’ll remember this, and we shall see how your household will get along when I have stopped taking care of it.” “You’ll always take care of it,” said Thuillier. “Housekeeping is your very life; you will be the first to get over this affair.” “We’ll see about that,” said Brigitte; “after twenty years of devotion, to be treated like the lowest of the low!” And rushing to the door, which she slammed after her with violence, she went away. Thuillier was not disturbed by this exit. “Were you there, Flavie,” he asked, “when the scene took place?” “No, it happened in Celeste’s room. What did she do to her?” “What I said,--raised her hand to her and locked her in like a child. Celeste may certainly be rather dull-minded, but there are limits that must not be passed.” “She is not always pleasant, that good Brigitte,” said Flavie; “she and I have just had a little set-to.”