after the burial of aunt charlotte, lesable thought again of the million, and, tormented by a rage all the more violent because it must be kept secret, he hated all the world on account of his deplorable ill-luck. "why, having been married two years, have i not had a child?" he asked himself, and the fear of seeing his household remain sterile made his heart sink. then, as an urchin who sees from afar the shining prize at the end of the goal, and swears to himself to attain it, and exerts all the vigour and tenacity necessary to reach it, so lesable took the desperate resolution to become a parent. so many others had, why might not he also? perhaps he had been negligent, careless, ignorant of something, the consequence of complete indifference. never having felt a violent desire for an heir, he had never directed all his energies to obtaining this result. he determined to concentrate all his efforts; he would neglect nothing, and he must succeed because he so much desired to. but when he returned home, he felt ill enough to take to his bed. the disappointment had been too bitter and he bowed himself to the blow.

this nervous strain brought him to such a state that the physician judged his condition serious enough to prescribe absolute rest as well as an interminable course of treatment. they feared brain fever. in eight days, however, he was about again and resumed his work at the office. but he dare not yet, he believed, approach the conjugal bed. he hesitated and trembled as a general who is going to give battle, a battle on which depends his future. each evening he awaited the next day, hoping for an access of virility and energy, a happy moment in which he might accomplish his desire. he felt his pulse every minute, and if it was too feeble or too rapid, he took a tonic, ate raw meat, and strengthened himself in every possible way. as his improvement was not very rapid, lesable determined to pass the hot months in the country. he persuaded himself that the country air would be a sovereign balm for his weakness, and he assured himself of the accomplishment of the hoped-for success. he said to his father-in-law, in a confidential tone: "when we are once in the country my health will improve, and all will go well." that one word "country" seemed to carry for him a mysterious significance.

they rented a small house in the village of bezons, and the whole family took up their residence there. the two men started out on foot every morning for the station of colombes, returning in the evening.

cora, enchanted at living thus on the banks of the peaceful river, would seat herself on the sward, gather flowers, and bring home great bunches of delicate, trembling ferns.

every evening they all three walked along the river as far as the tollgate of morue, and, entering, drank a bottle of beer at the restaurant des tilleuls. the river, retarded by the long file of stakes, poured between them and leaped, bubbled, and foamed for the distance of a hundred feet. the roaring of the falls made the ground tremble, while a fine mist of vapour floated in the air, rising from the cascade like a light smoke, throwing on the surroundings a delightful odour of spray and a savour of wet earth. as night fell, a great light below and in front indicated paris, and cachelin exclaimed every evening: "what a city, after all!"

from time to time, a train, passing on the iron bridge which crossed the end of the island, made a rolling as of thunder and suddenly disappeared, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right, toward paris or toward the sea. they returned home slowly, seating themselves on the bank, watching the moon rise and pour on the river her soft and yellow light, which seemed to fuse with the water, and the wrinkles of the current moved like waves of fire. the toads uttered their short and metallic cries. the calls of the night birds rang out on the air, and sometimes a large, mute shadow glided on the river, troubling her calm and luminous course. it was a band of freebooters who, throwing in suddenly their net, drew it back without noise into their boat, dragging in its vast and sombre mesh a shoal of shining and trembling gudgeons, like a treasure drawn from the bottom of the sea, a living treasure of silver fish.

cora, deeply moved, leaned tenderly upon the arm of her husband, whose design she suspected, although nothing of it had been spoken between them. it was for them like a new betrothal, a second expectation of the kiss of love. sometimes he would bestow a furtive caress behind her ear, on that charming spot of tender flesh where curls the first hair. she responded by a pressure of the hand, and they attracted while refusing each other, incited and held back by a will more energetic, by the phantom of the million. cachelin, appeased by the hope which he felt around him, was happy. he drank deeply and ate much, feeling, born in him at twilight, the hour of poetry, that foolish tenderness which comes to the dullest persons in certain aspects of nature: a rain of light through the branches, a sunset behind the distant hills, with purple reflections on the water. he declared: "as for me, in the presence of such things i believe in god. it touches me here," and he indicated the pit of his stomach. "i feel myself turned upside down. i feel queer. it seems to me i have been steeped in a bath which makes me want to cry."

as for lesable, his health rapidly improved. he was seized with sudden ardours, which he did not understand, and he felt a desire to run like a young colt, to roll in the grass and neigh with delight.

he thought the favoured time was approaching. it was a true wedding night. then they had a new-honeymoon full of caresses and hopes. later they perceived that their experiments were fruitless and their confidence was in vain.

but in the midst of despair lesable did not lose courage; he continued to make the most superhuman efforts. his wife, moved by the same desire and trembling with the same fear, more robust too than he, encouraged him in his attempts and stimulated his flagging ardour. they returned to paris in the early days of october.

life became hard for them again. unkind words fell from their lips, and cachelin, who scented the situation, harassed them with the coarse and venomous epigrams of an old trooper.

and one incessant thought pursued them, tortured them, and sharpened their mutual rancour—that of the unattainable legacy. cora now carried a sharp tongue, and lashed her husband. she treated him like a little boy, a mere brat, a man of no importance. cachelin at every meal repeated: "if i were rich, i should have children in plenty; when one is poor it is necessary to be reasonable." then turning to his daughter he added: "you must be like me; but there—" and he looked at his son-in-law significantly, accompanying the look with a movement of the shoulders full of contempt.

lesable made no reply. he felt himself to be a superior man allied to a family of boors.

at the ministry they noticed the alteration in his manner, and even the chief one day asked him: "are you not ill? you appear to me to be somewhat changed."

lesable replied: "not at all, my dear sir. i am a little tired, perhaps, having worked very constantly, as you may have seen."

he counted very surely on his promotion at the end of the year, and he had resumed, in this hope, the laborious life of a model employee. but among the meagre bonuses that were distributed lesable's was the smallest of all, and cachelin received nothing. struck to the heart, lesable sought the chief, whom, for the first time, he addressed as "monsieur."

"of what use is it, monsieur, to work as i do, if i do not reap any reward?"

the head of monsieur torchebeuf appeared to bristle.

"i have already told you. monsieur lesable, that i will admit of no discussion of this nature between us. i repeat to you again that your claim is unreasonable, your actual fortune being so great as compared to the poverty of your colleagues—"

lesable could not contain himself. "but i have nothing, monsieur. our aunt has left her fortune to the first child which shall be born of our marriage. we live, my father-in-law and i, on our salaries."

the chief was greatly surprised. "if you have no fortune to-day, you will be rich, in any case, at some future day. it amounts to the same thing."

lesable withdrew, more cast down by his failure than by the uncertainty of aunt charlotte's million.

as cachelin came to his desk some days later the handsome maze entered with a smile on his lips; next pitolet appeared, his eyes shining; then boissel opened the door, and advanced with an excited air, tittering and exchanging meaning looks with the others. old savon continued his copying, his clay pipe in the corner of his mouth, seated on his high chair, his feet twisted about the rounds after the fashion of little boys. nobody spoke. they seemed to be waiting for something, and cachelin continued to register his papers, announcing in a loud voice according to his custom: "toulon: furniture for the officers of the richelieu. lorient: diving apparatus for the desaix. brest: samples of sails of english manufacture."

lesable entered. he came now every morning for information in regard to the affairs which concerned him, his father-in-law no longer taking the trouble to send him instructions by the office boy.

while he was looking amongst the papers spread out on the table of the chief-clerk, maze watched him from his corner, rubbing his hands, and pitolet, who was rolling a cigarette, seemed full of mirth he could not control. he turned toward the copying-clerk:

"say now, papa savon, you have learned many things in your time, haven't you?"

the old man, knowing they meant to tease him and to speak to him of his wife, did not reply.

pitolet began: "you must have discovered the secret of begetting children, since you have had several."

the old clerk raised his head. "you know, m. pitolet, that i do like any joking on this subject. i have had the misfortune to marry an unworthy woman, and when i became convinced of her faithlessness i separated from her."

maze asked in an indifferent tone: "you have had several proofs of her infidelity, have you not?"

and the old man gravely replied: "i have."

pitolet put in again: "that has not prevented you from becoming the father of three or four children, i am told."

the poor old man, growing very red, stammered: "you are trying to wound me. monsieur pitolet; but you will not succeed. my wife has had, in fact, three children. i have reason to believe that the first born is mine, but i deny the two others."

pitolet continued: "everybody says, in truth, that the first one is yours. that is sufficient. it is very gratifying to have a child, very gratifying and very delightful. i wager lesable there would be enchanted to have one—only one, like you."

cachelin had stopped writing. he did not laugh, although old savon was his butt ordinarily, and he had poured out his stock of cruel jokes on the subject of the old clerk's conjugal sorrows.

lesable had collected his papers; but feeling himself attacked he wished to remain, held back by pride, confused and irritated, and wishing to know who had betrayed his secret.

then the recollection of the confidence he had made to his chief came back to him, and he at once understood it was necessary to express his indignation if he did not wish to become the butt of the whole ministry.

boissel marched up and down the room, all the time tittering. he imitated the hoarse voices of the street criers, and bellowed: "the secret of begetting children, for ten centimes—two sous! buy the secret of begetting children—revealed by monsieur savon, with many horrible details." everybody began to laugh except lesable and his father-in-law, and pitolet, turning toward the order-clerk, said: "what is the matter with you, cachelin? you seem to have lost your habitual gaiety. one would think that you do not find it amusing to believe that old savon could have had a child by his wife. i think it very funny. everybody cannot do as much."

lesable pretended to be deeply absorbed in his papers and to hear nothing of what was going on about him, but he was as white as a ghost.

boissel took up the strain in the same mocking voice: "the utility of heirs for getting an inheritance, ten centimes, two sous; who will buy?"

then maze, who thought this was very poor sort of wit, and who personally was enraged at lesable having robbed him of the hope of a fortune which he had secretly cherished, said pointedly: "what is the matter with you, lesable? you are very pale."

lesable raised his head and looked his colleague full in the face. he hesitated a second, while his lip trembled as he tried to formulate a bitter reply, but, unable to find the phrase he sought, he responded: "there is nothing the matter with me. i am only astonished that you display so much delicacy."

maze, who stood with his back to the fire and his hands under his coat-tails, replied, laughing: "one does the best one can, old man. we are like you, we do not always succeed—"

an explosion of laughter interrupted his words. old savon, who now vaguely comprehended that the clerks no longer addressed their railleries to him, looked around with his mouth gaping and his pen suspended in the air. and cachelin waited, ready to come to blows with the first person who came in his way.

lesable stammered: "i do not understand. in what have i not succeeded?"

the handsome maze dropped the tails of his coat, and began to stroke his mustache. "i know that you ordinarily succeed in all that you undertake. i have done wrong to speak of you. besides, we were speaking of old savon's children, and not of yours, as you haven't any. now since you succeed in all your enterprises, it is evident that, if you do not have children, it is because you do not want them."

"what business is it of yours?" demanded lesable sharply.

at this provoking tone maze in his turn raised his voice: "hold on! what do you take me for? try to be polite, or i'll settle you!"

lesable trembled with anger, and losing all self-control, replied: "monsieur maze, i am not, like you, a great booby, or a great coxcomb. and i forbid you ever to speak to me again. i care neither for you nor your kind." and he threw a look of defiance at pitolet and boissel.

maze suddenly understood that true force is in calmness and irony, but wounded in his most vulnerable part—his vanity—he wished to strike his enemy to the very heart, and replied in the protecting tone of a benevolent well-wisher, but with rage in his eyes: "my dear lesable, you pass all bounds. but i understand your vexation. it is pitiful to lose a fortune, and to lose it for so little, for a thing so easy, so simple. if you wish, i will do you this service myself, for nothing, out of pure friendship. it is only an affair of five minutes—"

he was still speaking when lesable hurled the inkstand of old savon full at his head.

a flood of ink covered his face and metamorphosed him into a negro with surprising rapidity. he sprang forward, rolling the whites of his eyes, with his hands raised ready to strike. but cachelin covered his son-in-law, and grasping maze by the arms pushed him aside, and, after pounding him well, dashed him against the wall. maze disengaged himself with a violent effort, and rushed through the door, crying to the two men: "you shall soon hear from me!" pitolet and boissel followed him.

boissel explained his moderation by declaring he should have killed some one if he had taken part in the struggle.

as soon as he entered his room maze endeavoured to remove the stain, but without success. the ink was violet, and was indelible and ineffaceable. he stood before his glass furious and disconsolate, rubbing savagely at his face with a napkin rolled in a knot. he obtained only a richer black, mixed with red, the blood coming to the surface with the friction.

boissel and pitolet strove to advise and console him. one suggested the application of pure olive oil, the other prescribed a bath of ammonia. the office boy was sent to ask the advice of a chemist. he brought back a yellow liquid and pumice stone, which was used with no result.

maze, disheartened, sank into a chair and declared: "now it only remains to settle the question of honour. will you act as seconds for me, and demand of monsieur lesable a sufficient apology, or the reparation by arms?"

they both at once consented, and began to discuss the steps to be taken. they had no idea about affairs of this kind, but not wishing to betray their ignorance, and desiring to appear correct, their advice were timorous and conflicting. it was finally decided that they should consult a sea captain who was attached to the ministry to look after the coal distribution. but he was as ignorant as they were. after some moments of reflection, however, he advised them to go and see lesable and ask to be put in touch with two of his friends.

as they proceeded to the office of their colleague, boissel suddenly stopped. "is it not imperative that we should have gloves?" he asked.

pitolet hesitated an instant. "perhaps it is," he replied seriously. but in order to procure the gloves it would have been necessary to go out, and the chief was rather severe.

they sent the office boy to bring an assortment from the nearest glove-store.

to decide upon the colour was a question of time. boissel preferred black. pitolet thought that shade out of place in the circumstances. at last they chose violet.

seeing the two men enter gloved and solemn, lesable raised his head and brusquely demanded: "what do you want?"

pitolet replied: "monsieur, we are charged by our friend. monsieur maze, to ask of you an apology, or a reparation by arms for the insult you have inflicted on him."

lesable, still greatly exasperated, cried: "what, he insults me, and sends you to provoke me? tell him that i despise him—that i despise all he can say or do."

boissel advanced with a tragic air. "you will force us. monsieur, to publish in the papers an official report, which will be very disagreeable to you."

pitolet maliciously added: "and which will gravely injure your honour, and your future advancement."

lesable, overwhelmed, looked at them. what should he do? he sought to gain time. "will you wait a moment in the office of monsieur pitolet? you shall have my answer in ten minutes."

when at last alone he looked around him, seeking for some counsel, some protection.

a duel! he was going to fight a duel!

he sat terrified, with a beating heart. he, a peaceful man, who had never dreamed of such a possibility, who was not prepared for the risk, whose courage was not equal to such a formidable event. he rose from his chair and sat down again, his heart wildly beating, his legs sinking under him. his anger and his strength had totally deserted him.

but the thought of the opinion of the ministry, the gossip the story would make among his acquaintances, aroused his failing pride, and, not knowing what to decide, he sought his chief to ask his advice. m. torchebeuf was surprised and perplexed. an armed encounter seemed to him unnecessary, and he thought a duel would demoralise the service. he replied: "i can give you no advice. it is a question of honour, which does not concern me. do you wish that i should give you a note to commandant bouc? he is a competent man in such matters, and will be able to advise you."

lesable accepted the offer, and saw the commandant, who even consented to be his second; he took an under-chief for another.

boissel and pitolet waited with their gloves on. they had borrowed two chairs from another office, in order to have four seats.

they saluted gravely and took their places, while pitolet explained the situation. the commandant, having listened attentively, replied: "the case is serious, but it does not appear to me to be irreparable. everything depends on the intention." he was a sly old sailor, who was enjoying himself.

a long discussion began regarding the reciprocal apologies the principals should make. m. maze acknowledging not to have had the intention to offend, m. lesable should hasten to avow himself in the wrong in throwing the inkstand at the head of m. maze, and pray to be excused for his inconsiderate violence.

the four proxies returned to their clients.

maze, seated before his table, was agitated by the dread of the possible duel, although expecting to see his adversary retreat, and regarded his face attentively in one of those little, round tin mirrors which the employees concealed in a drawer for the purpose of adjusting their hair and ties before leaving in the evening. he read the letter of apology which had been prepared by the seconds of both parties, and declared with evident satisfaction: "that appears to me to be very honourable; i am willing to sign it."

lesable, for his part, accepted without discussion the arrangement of his seconds, and declared: "as this is the result of your mutual consultation, i can but acquiesce."

the four plenipotentiaries assembled. the letters were exchanged, they saluted gravely, and so the affair terminated. an extraordinary excitement reigned in the ministry. the employees, carrying the news, passed from one door to the other, and lingered to gossip about in the lobbies. when they heard how the affair had ended, there was general disappointment. some one said: "still, that will not get lesable a baby." and the saying took. one employee made a rhyme upon it.

but at the moment when everything seemed adjusted, a difficulty suggested itself to boissel: "what would be the attitude of the two adversaries when they found themselves face to face? would they speak, or would they ignore each other?" it was decided that they should meet, as if by chance, in the office of the chief, and exchange, in the presence of m. torchebeuf, some words of politeness.

this ceremony was accordingly accomplished, and maze, having sent for a carriage, returned home, to try to remove the stain from his face.

lesable and cachelin drove home together without speaking, mutually exasperated, each blaming the other for the disgraceful affair.

the moment he entered the house, lesable threw his hat violently on the table and cried to his wife: "i have had enough of it! i have a duel on your account now!" she looked at him in angry surprise.

"a duel? how is that?"

"because maze has insulted me on your account."

she approached him. "on my account? how?"

he threw himself passionately into an armchair and exclaimed: "he has insulted me—no need to say any more about it."

but she would know. "you must repeat to me the words he used about me."

lesable blushed, and then stammered: "he told me—he told me—it was in regard to your sterility."

she gave a start; then recoiling in fury, the paternal rudeness showing through the woman's nature, she burst out:

"i! i am sterile, am i? what does that clown know about it? sterile with you, yes; because you are not a man. but if i had married another, no matter who, do you hear? i should have had children. ah, you had better talk! it has cost me dear to have married a softy like you! and what did you reply to this good-for-nothing?"

lesable, frightened before this storm, stuttered: "i—i slapped his face."

she looked at him in astonishment.

"and what did he do?"

"he sent me a challenge; that was all."

she was instantly interested, attracted, like all women, by the dramatic element, and she asked, immediately softened, and suddenly seized with a sort of esteem for this man who was going to risk his life for her sake:

"when are you going to fight him?"

he replied tranquilly: "we are not going to fight: the matter has been arranged by our seconds. maze has sent me an apology."

transported with rage, she boxed his ears. "ah, he insults me in your presence, and you permit it, and refuse to fight him! it needed but this to make you a coward."

enraged at this he cried: "i command you to hold your tongue. i know better than you do how to protect my honour. to convince you, here is the letter of m. maze; take it and read it, and see for yourself."

she took the letter, ran her eye over it, and divining the whole truth, sneered: "you wrote him a letter also? you are afraid of each other. what cowards men are! if we were in your place, we women—after all, it is i who have been insulted, your wife, and you are willing to let it pass. that need not astonish me, for you are not man enough to beget a child. that explains everything. you are as impotent before women as you are cowardly among men. ah, i have married a nice worm!"

she had suddenly assumed the voice and gestures of her father, the coarse and vulgar manners of an old trooper, and the intonations of a man.

standing before him, her hands on her hips, tall, strong, vigorous, her chest protruding, her cheeks flushed, her voice deep and vibrant, she looked at this little man seated in front of her, a trifle bald, clean shaven except for the short side-whiskers of the lawyer, and she felt a desire to crush, to strangle him.

she continued: "you are capable of nothing—of nothing whatever! you allow everybody at the ministry, even, to be promoted over your head!"

the door opened, and cachelin entered, attracted by the sound of their voices, and demanded to know what was the matter. "i told the truth to that worm!" answered cora.

lesable raised his eyes, and for the first time noticed the resemblance between father and daughter. it seemed to him that a veil was lifted and the pair were revealed in their true colours—the same coarse nature was common to both; and he, a ruined man, was condemned to live between the two forever.

cachelin exclaimed: "if you only could get a divorce! it is not very satisfactory to have married a capon."

at that word, trembling and blazing with fury, lesable sprang up with a bound. he rushed at his father-in-law shouting: "get out of here! begone! you are in my house—do you understand?—and i order you to leave it." he seized from the table a bottle of sedative water and brandished it like a club.

cachelin, intimidated, backed out of the room, muttering: "what will he do next, i wonder?"

but lesable was too angry to be easily appeased. he turned upon his wife, who regarded this outburst in astonishment, and placing the bottle on the table cried: "as for you—as for you—" but as words failed him to express his rage, he was choked into silence, and stood glaring at her with a distorted visage.

she began to laugh.

this mocking laughter put him beside himself, and springing upon her he seized her by the throat with his left hand, while he boxed her ears furiously with the right. she recoiled, terrified and suffocating, and fell backward on the bed, while he continued to strike her. suddenly he raised himself, out of breath, exhausted and heartily ashamed of his brutality; he stammered: "there—there—there—that will do!"

but she did not move; it seemed as if he had killed her. she lay on her back, on the side of the bed, her face concealed by her hands.

he approached her in alarm, wondering what had happened, and expecting her to uncover her face and look at him. she made no sign, and suspense becoming intolerable he murmured: "cora, cora, speak!" but she did not move or reply.

what was the matter with her? what was she going to do?

his rage had passed—fallen as suddenly as it had been aroused. he felt that his conduct was odious, almost criminal. he had beaten his wife, his own wife—he who was circumspect, cold, and courteous. and in the softness his remorse awakened, he would ask her forgiveness. he threw himself on his knees at her side and covered with kisses the cheek he had just smitten. he softly touched the end of a finger of the hand that covered her face. she seemed to feel nothing. he coaxed her, caressing her as one caresses a beaten dog. she took no notice of him. "cora, listen: i have done wrong! cora, hear me!" she seemed as one dead. then he tried to take her hand from her face. it obeyed his effort passively, and he saw an open eye, which stared at him with a fixed and alarming gaze.

he continued: "listen, cora, i was transported with fury. it was your father who drove me to do this shameful thing. a man cannot take such an insult as that." she made no reply, as if she heard nothing. he did not know what to say, or what to do. he kissed her under the ear, and raising himself he saw a tear in the corner of her eye, a great tear which rolled slowly down her cheek, and her eyelids fluttered and closed convulsively. he was seized with shame, deeply moved, and opening his arms he threw himself on his wife; he removed the other hand from her face and covered it with kisses, crying: "my poor cora, forgive me! forgive me!"

still she wept, without a sound, without a sob, as one weeps from the deepest grief. he held her pressed closely against him, caressing her and whispering in her ear all the tender words he could command. but she remained insensible. however, she ceased to weep. they continued thus a long time locked in each other's arms.

the night fell, folding in its sombre shadow the little room; and when it was entirely dark he was emboldened to solicit her pardon in a manner that was calculated to revive their hopes.

when they had risen he resumed his ordinary voice and manner, as if nothing had happened. she appeared, on the contrary, softened, and spoke in a gentler tone than usual, regarding her husband with submissive, almost caressing eyes, as if this unexpected correction had relaxed her nerves and softened her heart.

lesable said quietly: "your father must be tired of being alone so long. it will soon be dinner-time; go and fetch him."

she obeyed him.

it was seven o'clock indeed, and the little maid announced dinner, as cachelin, serene and smiling, appeared with his daughter. they seated themselves at table and talked on this evening with more cordiality than they had done for a long time, as if something agreeable had happened to everybody.