though
his mother had offered to purchase some more becoming clothes for him.
But no; he preferred to make a display of his rags, and paraded them on
Sundays in the most frequented parts of the Cours Sauvaire.

One of his most exquisite pleasures was to pass Pierre's shop ten
times a day. He would enlarge the holes in his jacket with his fingers,
slacken his step, and sometimes stand talking in front of the door, so
as to remain longer in the street. On these occasions, too, he would
bring one of his drunken friends and gossip to him; telling him about
the theft of the fifty thousand francs, accompanying his narrative
with loud insults and menaces, which could be heard by everyone in
the street, and taking particular care that his abuse should reach the
furthest end of the shop.

"He'll finish by coming to beg in front of our house," Felicite used to
say in despair.

The vain little woman suffered terribly from this scandal. She even at
this time felt some regret at ever having married Rougon; his family
connections were so objectionable. She would have given all she had in
the world to prevent Antoine from parading his rags. But Pierre, who
was maddened by his brother's conduct, would not allow his name to be
mentioned. When his wife tried to convince him that it would perhaps
be better to free himself from all annoyance by giving Antoine a little
money: "No, nothing; not a sou," he cried with rage. "Let him starve!"

He confessed, however, at last that Antoine's demeanour was becoming
intolerable. One day, Felicite, desiring to put an end to it, called to
"that man," as she styled him with a disdainful curl on her lip. "That
man" was in the act of calling her a foul name in the middle of the
street, where he stood with one of his friends, even more ragged than
himself. They were both drunk.

"Come, they want us in there," said Antoine to his companion in a
jeering tone.

But Felicite drew back, muttering: "It's you alone we wish to speak to."

"Bah!" the young man replied, "my friend's a decent fellow. You needn't
mind him hearing. He'll be my witness."

The witness sank heavily on a chair. He did not take off his hat, but
began to stare around him, with the maudlin, stupid grin of drunkards
and coarse people who know that they are insolent. Felicite was so
ashamed that she stood in front of the shop door in order that
people outside might not see what strange company she was receiving.
Fortunately her husba