PRESIDENT. Ah, there! No! At a pinch I could understand that excuse—a very bad one—being employed in the case of other women; but not in yours, who enjoy the incomparable advantage of being protected by the State. You are never out of work. SCHOOLMISTRESS. I earn eighty-three francs a month. My husband, who is a teacher, too, gets as much. That makes a hundred and sixty-six francs a month to live on and bring up two children. When there were four of us, we could almost do it; with five it would have been impossible. PRESIDENT. You omit to say that during your confinement you have the right to a month’s leave with full salary. SCHOOLMISTRESS. That used to be true, President. It is so no longer. A departmental circular of 1900 informed us that the funds were insufficient for more than half salaries to be paid, as a rule, at such times. To obtain the whole salary, a detailed report from the inspector is required, and you must petition for it. PRESIDENT. Then why not petition? SCHOOLMISTRESS. It’s hard to seem like a beggar simply because you have feelings. PRESIDENT. Proud, are you? SCHOOLMISTRESS. There’s no law against that. PRESIDENT. So that is why you went to the defendant Thomas? SCHOOLMISTRESS. Yes, sir. My husband and I arranged our little finances so: the evening our salaries were paid we used to divide the money into different parts and put them by; so much for rent, so much for food, so much for clothing. We just managed to get along by calculating carefully, and more than once having to cut down expenses that seemed inevitable. The prospect of a third child upset everything. It made our existence impossible. We should have all gone hungry. And then the inspectors and the head mistresses don’t like you to have many children, especially if you nurse them yourself. The last time I was nursing I was made to hide myself—I only had ten minutes during the break at ten o’clock and again at two; and when my mother brought the baby, I had to take him into a dark closet. PRESIDENT. That has nothing to do with it. COUNSEL. Yes, President, it has. It ought to be known how the State, which preaches the increase of the population, treats its servants when they have children. PRESIDENT [_furiously_] I can’t hear you now! _[To the schoolmistress_] You haven’t anything more to say? SCHOOLMISTRESS. No, sir. PRESIDENT. Sit down. MME. D’AMERGUEUX. I think M. Calvon lets their counsel talk too much. M. DE FORGEAU. He’s rather afraid of him. PRESIDENT. Tupin, stand up. TUPIN [_a man of mean and wretched appearance_] After you, Calvon. PRESIDENT. What’s that? TUPIN. I said, ‘After you, Calvon.’ That’s your name, isn’t it? PRESIDENT. I warn you I shall not stand the least insolence from you. TUPIN. I said, ‘After you, Calvon,’ just as you said, ’Stand up Tupin.’ If that’s insolence, I didn’t begin it. PRESIDENT. I will have you removed. Stand up. TUPIN. All right. It’ll let me stretch my legs a bit. PRESIDENT. Your profession?