"A mercy, yes--but you who can go and come and amuse yourself, never
think what this life must be to me, cooped up like a rat in his hole.
There are times when I believe I should do better to give myself up."
"For the sake of Heaven, Jean--!"
"At any rate," said Jean, descending from his heights, "I will not have
that _imbecile_ here. You understand?"
Marie looked at him indulgently. "Yes, my friend, I understand."
"I'll lay a wager you never got that journal from old Plon-Plon?"
"He had not finished with it."
"Of course not. Then I shall go to sleep, for there is nothing else for
me to do."
He flung a handkerchief over his eyes as he spoke, put his feet on
Perine's stool, and his elbow on the table. Marie moved quietly about,
set the saucepan again on the stove, and taking some needlework from a
box, sat down near her husband, stitching rapidly. Every now and then
she glanced at him, and her mind was tenderly busy over his concerns all
the while, so that tears would have stood in her eyes if they had not
had other work to do.
"How sad the poor fellow looks!" she thought. "I'm glad he's asleep,
after that unfortunate affair with the pipe. When I remember how hard it
is to get tobacco for him, for I am dreadfully afraid that some one will
suspect me when I ask for it, I must own that Perine is an unlucky
child.
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