e! is that how you
take things? You are all a pretty set! What harm have I done? I've
cleaned out the old woman's mattress. What the devil is the good of
money kept in wool? Do you call that a crime? Didn't she take twenty
thousand francs from you? We are her creditors, and I've paid myself
as much as I could get,--that's all."

"My God! my God!" cried the dying woman, clasping her hands and
praying.

"Be silent!" exclaimed Joseph, springing at his brother and putting
his hand before his mouth.

"To the right about, march! brat of a painter!" retorted Philippe,
laying his strong hand on Joseph's head, and twirling him round, as he
flung him on a sofa. "Don't dare to touch the moustache of a commander
of a squadron of the dragoons of the Guard!"

"She has paid me back all that she owed me," cried Agathe, rising and
turning an angry face to her son; "and besides, that is my affair. You
have killed her. Go away, my son," she added, with a gesture that took
all her remaining strength, "and never let me see you again. You are a
monster."

"I kill her?"

"Her trey has turned up," cried Joseph, "and you stole the money for
her stake."

"Well, if she is dying of a lost trey, it isn't I who have killed
her," said the drunkard.

"Go, go!" said Agathe. "You fill me with horror; you have every vice.
My God! is this my son?"

A hollow rattle sounded in Madame Descoings's throat, increasing
Agathe's anger.

"I love you still, my mother,--you who are the cause of all my
misfortunes," said Philippe. "You turn me out of doors on
Christmas-day. What did you do to grandpa Rouget, to your father,
that he should drive you away and disinherit you? If you had not
displeased him, we should all be rich now, and I should not be
reduced to misery. What did you do to your father,--you who are a
good woman? You see by your own self, I may be a good fellow and
yet be turned out of house and home,--I, the glory of the family--"

"The disgrace of it!" cried the Descoings.

"You shall leave this room, or you shall kill me!" cried Joseph,
springing on his brother with the fury of a lion.

"My God! my God!" cried Agathe, trying to separate the brothers.

At this moment Bixiou and Haudry the doctor entered. Joseph had just
knocked his brother over and stretched him on the ground.

"He is a regular wild beast," he cried. "Don't speak another word, or
I'll--"

"I'll pay you for this!" roared Philippe.

"A family explanation," remark