FELIAT. And what are you now? RENE. At any rate I am not quite useless any longer. I'm not a boy now, obliged to do what he's told because he's perfectly incapable of doing for himself. FELIAT. Have you found something to do? RENE. I'm in phosphates. FELIAT. And what the devil are you in phosphates? RENE. Representative. FELIAT. How do you mean? RENE. A commercial traveller, as father said with great contempt. GUERET. Well, it was not with a view to that sort of future that he had you called to the Bar. RENE. At the Bar I could have earned my own living in about ten years--possibly. When I had to give up marrying Therese I saw how useless I was. Thanks to her I found myself out. She gave me a bit of her own courage. She woke up my self-respect. Besides, after that I had something to work for, an aim, and I seemed to understand why I was alive. I worked and read a lot; my firm noticed me; they sent me to Tunis. I asked them to let me give up clerk work and have a try on my own. Over there I got into touch with three small firms. I placed their goods. I earn four hundred francs a month. Next year I mean to start a little branch in this district where we will manufacture superphosphates. From now until then I shall travel about the district and try and get customers; and my wife--and Therese--will go on with her work here, if you will be so good as to keep her. GUERET. Ouf! Think of a young man who can talk as long as that, without taking breath, giving up the Bar. What a pity! FELIAT [_to Rene_] Have you told all that to your people? RENE. Yes. They're not at all proud of my business. And after refusing to let me marry Therese because she had no money they won't let me marry her now because she works for her living. To be directress of a bindery, even of your bindery, uncle, is not distinguished enough for them. FELIAT. Well, my boy, you certainly couldn't have stood up to things like that a year ago. What d'you want us to do for you? Therese doesn't want our consent to marry; nor do you. _While Monsieur Feliat has been speaking, old Mother Bougne has come in from the right. She is a poor old workwoman who walks with difficulty, leaning on a broom, from which one feels that she never parts. She has a bunch of keys at her waistbelt; her apron is turned up and makes a sort of pocket into which she slips pieces of paper and scraps that she picks up from the floor. Rene looks at her with surprise._ FELIAT. You're looking at Mother Bougne. Good-morning, Mother Bougne. MOTHER BOUGNE. Good-morning, Monsieur Feliat. FELIAT. When does the Committee of your Union sit? MOTHER BOUGNE. On Wednesday, Monsieur Feliat. FELIAT. You won't miss it, will you? MOTHER BOUGNE. I haven't missed one up to now, Monsieur Feliat.