oned her," he continued; "but the man who beats his wife and then
pardons her is lost. In the future, she took better precautions, became
a greater hypocrite, and that was all. In the meanwhile, Madame Gerdy
took back her child; and Claudine had nothing more to restrain her.
Protected and counselled by her mother, whom she had taken to live with
us, on the pretence of looking after Jacques, she managed to deceive me
for more than a year. I thought she had given up her bad habits, but not
at all; she lived a most disgraceful life. My house became the resort of
all the good-for-nothing rogues in the country, for whom my wife brought
out bottles of wine and brandy, whenever I was away at sea, and they got
drunk promiscuously. When money failed, she wrote to the count or his
mistress, and the orgies continued. Occasionally I had doubts which
disturbed me; and then without reason, for a simple yes or no, I would
beat her until I was tired, and then I would forgive her, like a coward,
like a fool. It was a cursed life. I don't know which gave me the most
pleasure, embracing her or beating her. My neighbors despised me, and
turned their backs on me; they believed me an accomplice or a willing
dupe. I heard, afterwards, that they believed I profited by my wife's
misconduct; while in reality she paid her lovers. At all events, people
wondered where all the money came from that was spent in my house. To
distinguish me from a cousin of mine, also named Lerouge, they tacked
an infamous word on to my name. What disgrace! And I knew nothing of all
the scandal, no, nothing. Was I not the husband? Fortunately, though, my
poor father was dead."

M. Daburon pitied the speaker sincerely.

"Rest a while, my friend," he said; "compose yourself."

"No," replied the sailor, "I would rather get through with it quickly.
One man, the priest, had the charity to tell me of it. If ever he should
want Lerouge! Without losing a minute, I went and saw a lawyer, and
asked him how an honest sailor who had had the misfortune to marry a
hussy ought to act. He said that nothing could be done. To go to law was
simply to publish abroad one's own dishonour, while a separation would
accomplish nothing. When once a man has given his name to a woman, he
told me, he cannot take it back; it belongs to her for the rest of her
days, and she has a right to dispose of it. She may sully it, cover it
with mire, drag it from wine shop to wine shop, and her husband can d