But, at Antoine's first suggestion of it, the
poor, lazy, lethargic creature firmly refused to bring trouble on her
eldest son.
"I am an unhappy woman," she stammered; "it is quite right of you to get
angry. But I should feel too much remorse if I caused one of my sons to
be sent to prison. No; I'd rather let you beat me."
He saw that he would get nothing but tears out of her, and contented
himself with saying that she was justly punished, and that he had no
pity for her. In the evening, upset by the continual quarrels which her
son had sought with her, Adelaide had one of those nervous attacks which
kept her as rigid as if she had been dead. The young man threw her on
her bed, and then began to rummage the house to see if the wretched
woman had any savings hidden away. He found about forty francs. He took
possession of them, and, while his mother still lay there, rigid and
scarce able to breathe, he quietly took the diligence to Marseilles.
He had just bethought himself that Mouret, the journeyman hatter who had
married his sister Ursule, must be indignant at Pierre's roguery, and
would no doubt be willing to defend his wife's interests. But he did
not find in him the man he expected. Mouret plainly told him that he had
become accustomed to look upon Ursule as an orphan, and would have no
contentions with her family at any price. Their affairs were prospering.
Antoine was received so coldly that he hastened to take the diligence
home again.
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