you will understand,
listen."

And prepared to defend herself now, armed with excuses and artifice, she
raised her disheveled head with its nightcap all awry.

Turning toward her, he approached, ashamed of having struck her, but
feeling in the bottom of his heart as a husband, a relentless hatred
toward this woman who had deceived the former husband, Souris.

MY UNCLE JULES

A white-haired old man begged us for alms. My companion, Joseph
Davranche, gave him five francs. Noticing my surprised look, he said:

"That poor unfortunate reminds me of a story which I shall tell you, the
memory of which continually pursues me. Here it is:

"My family, which came originally from Havre, was not rich. We just
managed to make both ends meet. My father worked hard, came home late
from the office, and earned very little. I had two sisters.

"My mother suffered a good deal from our reduced circumstances, and she
often had harsh words for her husband, veiled and sly reproaches. The
poor man then made a gesture which used to distress me. He would pass
his open hand over his forehead, as if to wipe away perspiration
which did not exist, and he would answer nothing. I felt his helpless
suffering. We economized on everything, and never would accept an
invitation to dinner, so as not to have to return the courtesy. All
our provisions were bought at bargain sales. My sisters made their own
gowns, and long discussions would arise on the price of a piece of braid
worth fifteen centimes a yard. Our meals usually consisted of soup and
beef, prepared with every kind of sauce.

"They say it is wholesome and nourishing, but I should have preferred a
change.

"I used to go through terrible scenes on account of lost buttons and
torn trousers.

"Every Sunday, dressed in our best, we would take our walk along the
breakwater. My father, in a frock coat, high hat and kid gloves, would
offer his arm to my mother, decked out and beribboned like a ship on a
holiday. My sisters, who were always ready first, would await the signal
for leaving; but at the last minute some one always found a spot on
my father's frock coat, and it had to be wiped away quickly with a rag
moistened with benzine.

"My father, in his shirt sleeves, his silk hat on his head, would
await the completion of the operation, while my mother, putting on her
spectacles, and taking off her gloves in order not to spoil them, would
make haste.

"Then we set out ceremoniousl