“Come, let us go,” said he. Catherine, humiliated and angry, did not resist. Without once turning her head, Madame Barrau walked away, bewildered and wretched. No one had thought of interfering between the man and wife. Country people, as a rule, have great respect for strength and authority. Savin’s behavior seemed to them quite the natural sequence of Catherine’s. A profound silence reigned for several minutes. By tacit consent all waited until the gamekeeper and his wife were beyond hearing, and then soon enough each tongue began to wag. Catherine was very pretty, and therefore could not escape calumny. More than one venomous smile was to be seen on the lips of her enemies. “Did you see what a look she gave him when they started?” “And how vexed she was because he came?” “She could have strangled him,” said Andoche, wickedly. “Poor Barrau! how sad!” Bruno alone was silent. Now and then he opened his mouth as though he had something to say, but he closed it again without speaking. Amid the babble Firmin ventured a word. He had been a valet in Paris, and more than one pretty chambermaid had smiled upon him: so he felt himself to be quite a squire of dames. “Madame Barrau is such a fine-looking woman that her husband ought to be satisfied if--if--don’t you know?” Every one save Bruno burst into laughter. He turned pale, clinched his fists, and muttered something to himself. Finally he said with vehemence, as he planted himself before Firmin: “You are a scoundrel. You, at least, have no right to say anything. I repeat, you are a scoundrel!” “Ah, my dear fellow, how excited you are!” “You know very well that Madame Catherine is an honest woman. I will answer for it, and I forbid you to say a word to the contrary.” “You forbid me! You forbid me!” retorted Firmin, pale and exasperated. “And what if I laugh in your face?” “I will break your head as I would a cat’s,” cried Bruno, more and more enraged. “Ah, ha!” said Andoche, in his maddening way: “_you_ are then in love with Madame Catherine?” “I also forbid you to speak like that, Andoche. Indeed, one ought never to allow drunkards in company.” He must be a hot-brained fellow to speak like that--this young Bruno. Fair-skinned, slight, graceful, and blond, the son of Mother Mathurine would have been taken anywhere for a gentleman. But he could not boast that strength of limb and muscle which distinguished the young fellows with whom he had often come in contact, and who were always ready for a quarrel. Firmin was as strong as an ox, and Andoche, the old blacksmith, had sinews of steel. Young Bruno could hardly expect to enter the lists with either, and he was rather foolhardy to challenge a dispute. Firmin and Andoche Grignon were both well enough settled in life, in a pecuniary way; while young Bruno was but the son of a poor mother, who passed as a good woman, though his father had insisted upon remaining away from home for over twenty years.