Short Stories, vol 12 | Page 5

he fed him on cake and candies. Then Celeste would
grow angry and exclaim:
"It's a shame, monsieur, a shame. You are spoiling this child. But it will
have to stop; yes, sir, I tell you it will have to stop, and before long,
too."
M. Lemonnier would answer, smiling:
"What can you expect? I love him too much, I can't resist him; you

must get used to it."
Jean was delicate, rather. The doctor said that he was anaemic,
prescribed iron, rare meat and broth.
But the little fellow loved only cake and refused all other nourishment;
and the father, in despair, stuffed him with cream-puffs and chocolate
eclairs.
One evening, as they were sitting down to supper, Celeste brought on
the soup with an air of authority and an assurance which she did not
usually have. She took off the cover and, dipping the ladle into the dish,
she declared:
"Here is some broth such as I have never made; the young one will
have to take some this time."
M. Lemonnier, frightened, bent his head. He saw a storm brewing.
Celeste took his plate, filled it herself and placed it in front of him.
He tasted the soup and said:
"It is, indeed, excellent."
The servant took the boy's plate and poured a spoonful of soup in it.
Then she retreated a few steps and waited.
Jean smelled the food and pushed his plate away with an expression of
disgust. Celeste, suddenly pale, quickly stepped forward and forcibly
poured a spoonful down the child's open mouth.
He choked, coughed, sneezed, spat; howling, he seized his glass and
threw it at his nurse. She received it full in the stomach. Then,
exasperated, she took the young shaver's head under her arm and began
pouring spoonful after spoonful of soup down his throat. He grew as
red as a beet, and he would cough it up, stamping, twisting, choking,
beating the air with his hands.
At first the father was so surprised that he could not move. Then,
suddenly, he rushed forward, wild with rage, seized the servant by the
throat and threw her up against the wall stammering:
"Out! Out! Out! you brute!"
But she shook him off, and, her hair streaming down her back, her eyes
snapping, she cried out:
"What's gettin' hold of you? You're trying to thrash me because I am
making this child eat soup when you are filling him with sweet stuff!"
He kept repeating, trembling from head to foot:
"Out! Get out-get out, you brute!"

Then, wild, she turned to him and, pushing her face up against his, her
voice trembling:
"Ah!--you think-you think that you can treat me like that? Oh! no. And
for whom?--for that brat who is not even yours. No, not yours! No, not
yours--not yours! Everybody knows it, except yourself! Ask the grocer,
the butcher, the baker, all of them, any one of them!"
She was growling and mumbling, choked with passion; then she
stopped and looked at him.
He was motionless livid, his arms hanging by his sides. After a short
pause, he murmured in a faint, shaky voice, instinct with deep feeling:
"You say? you say? What do you say?"
She remained silent, frightened by his appearance. Once more he
stepped forward, repeating:
"You say--what do you say?"
Then in a calm voice, she answered:
"I say what I know, what everybody knows."
He seized her and, with the fury of a beast, he tried to throw her down.
But, although old, she was strong and nimble. She slipped under his
arm, and running around the table once more furious, she screamed:
"Look at him, just look at him, fool that you are! Isn't he the living
image of M. Durefour? just look at his nose and his eyes! Are yours
like that? And his hair! Is it like his mother's? I tell you that everyone
knows it, everyone except yourself! It's the joke of the town! Look at
him!"
She went to the door, opened it, and disappeared.
Jean, frightened, sat motionless before his plate of soup.
At the end of an hour, she returned gently, to see how matters stood.
The child, after doing away with all the cakes and a pitcher full of
cream and one of syrup, was now emptying the jam-pot with his
soup-spoon.
The father had gone out.
Celeste took the child, kissed him, and gently carried him to his room
and put him to bed. She came back to the dining-room, cleared the
table, put everything in place, feeling very uneasy all the time.
Not a single sound could be heard throughout the house. She put her
ear against's her master's door. He seemed to be perfectly still. She put
her eye to the keyhole. He was writing, and seemed