He set himself in front of them once more.
"And just fancy Elodie climbing up that ladder, and coming on a scene like that! She, so innocent, who knows nothing at all, over whose very thoughts we watch! On my honour, it makes one shiver! What a shock, if Madame Charles were here!"
At that very moment, glancing out of the window, he perceived the child, who had set her foot on the lowest rung of the ladder, out of mere curiosity. He rushed forward and called out, in an agonised voice, as if he had seen her on the brink of a precipice:
"Elodie! Elodie! Come down; go away for the love of Heaven!"
Then his legs gave way, and he sank into an arm-chair, continuing to lament over the immorality of servants. Had he not come upon one in the kitchen showing the child what the posteriors of fowls were like? He had quite enough worry as it was to keep her clear of the grossness of the peasantry, and the cynicism of animals; and he lost heart altogether to find a constant hot-bed of immorality in his own house.
"There she is coming in," he said, sharply. "You shall see."
He rang the bell, and having by an effort recovered his calm dignity, he received Honorine seated, and in solemn fashion.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "pack up your box and leave at once. You shall be paid a week's wages in lieu of notice."
The servant, a skinny, insignificant chit of a thing, of humble and shame-faced aspect, attempted to explain, stammering out excuses.
"It's no use. All I can do for you is not to hand you over to the authorities for indecent behaviour."
"Oh, so it's because I omitted to pay the fee."
He rose from his seat, tall and upright, and dismissed her with a majestic gesture, his finger pointing to the door. When she had gone he relieved his feelings coarsely.
"The idea of a strumpet like that bringing dishonour on my house."
"Ah, sure, she's one; that she is!" repeated Lise and Buteau, complaisantly.
"Then it's settled, isn't it, uncle? You'll come with the child?"
Monsieur Charles was still quivering. Feeling anxious, he had gone to look at himself in the glass, and was returning satisfied.
"Where? Oh, to be sure, to your wedding. It's the right thing to do, my children, to marry. Rely on me. I will be there; but I don't promise to bring Elodie, because, you know, people are a little free at weddings. I turned the baggage out pretty sharp, eh? I won't put up with women annoying me. Good-bye, rely on my coming."