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her child a shock like that of the affair at Presles, she continues in



a state of constant fear, and, by the manner in which his wife boasted

of Oscar every time he obtained the slightest success, Clapart knew



the extent of her secret uneasiness, and he took pains to rouse it on

every occasion.



"Well, Madame," Clapart would say, "Oscar is doing better than I even

hoped. That journey to Presles was only a heedlessness of youth. Where



can you find young lads who do not commit just such faults? Poor

child! he bears his privations heroically! If his father had lived, he



would never have had any. God grant he may know how to control his

passions!" etc., etc.



While all these catastrophes were happening in the rue de Vendome and

the rue de Bethisy, Clapart, sitting in the chimney corner, wrapped in



an old dressing-gown, watched his wife, who was engaged over the fire

in their bedroom in simultaneously making the family broth, Clapart's



"tisane," and her own breakfast.

"Mon Dieu! I wish I knew how the affair of yesterday ended. Oscar was



to breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale and spend the evening with a

marquise--"



"Don't trouble yourself! Sooner or later you'll find out about your

swan," said her husband. "Do you really believe in that marquise?



Pooh! A young man who has senses and a taste for extravagance like

Oscar can find such ladies as that on every bush--if he pays for them.



Some fine morning you'll find yourself with a load of debt on your

back."



"You are always trying to put me in despair!" cried Madame Clapart.

"You complained that my son lived on your salary, and never has he



cost you a penny. For two years you haven't had the slightest cause of

complaint against him; here he is second clerk, his uncle and Monsieur



Moreau pay all expenses, and he earns, himself, a salary of eight

hundred francs. If we have bread to eat in our old age we may owe it



all to that dear boy. You are really too unjust--"

"You call my foresightunjust, do you?" replied the invalid, crossly.



Just then the bell rang loudly. Madame Clapart ran to open the door,

and remained in the outer room with Moreau, who had come to soften the



blow which Oscar's new folly would deal to the heart of his poor

mother.



"What! he gambled with the money of the office?" she cried, bursting

into tears.



"Didn't I tell you so, hey?" said Clapart, appearing like a spectre at

the door of the salon whither his curiosity had brought him.



"Oh! what shall we do with him?" said Madame Clapart, whose grief made

her impervious to Clapart's taunt.



"If he bore my name," replied Moreau, "I should wait composedly till

he draws for the conscription, and if he gets a fatal number I should



not provide him with a substitute. This is the second time your son

has committed a folly out of sheer vanity. Well, vanity may inspire



fine deeds in war and may advance him in the career of a soldier.

Besides, six years of military service will put some lead into his



head; and as he has only his last legal examination to pass, it won't

be much ill-luck for him if he doesn't become a lawyer till he is



twenty-six; that is, if he wants to continue in the law after paying,

as they say, his tax of blood. By that time, at any rate, he will have



been severely punished, he will have learned experience, and

contracted habits of subordination. Before making his probation at the



bar he will have gone through his probations in life."

"If that is your decision for a son," said Madame Clapart, "I see that



the heart of a father is not like that of a mother. My poor Oscar a

common soldier!--"



"Would you rather he flung himself headforemost into the Seine after

committing a dishonorable action? He cannot now become a solicitor; do



you think him steady and wise enough to be a barrister? No. While his

reason is maturing, what will he become? A dissipated fellow. The



discipline of the army will, at least, preserve him from that."

"Could he not go into some other office? His uncle Cardot has promised



to pay for his substitute; Oscar is to dedicate his graduating thesis

to him."



At this moment carriage-wheels were heard, and a hackney-coach

containing Oscar and all his worldlybelongings stopped before the



door. The luckless young man came up at once.

"Ah! here you are, Monsieur Joli-Coeur!" cried Clapart.



Oscar kissed his mother, and held out to Moreau a hand which the

latter refused to take. To this rebuff Oscar replied by a reproachful



look, the boldness of which he had never shown before. Then he turned

on Clapart.



"Listen to me, monsieur," said the youth, transformed into a man. "You

worry my poor mother devilishly, and that's your right, for she is,






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