st cruel things!"

Then she again sobbed. Gentle and indolent by nature, desirous of peace
and quietness before anything else, she was incapable of deceiving her
husband, as he well knew. But the trouble was that an addition to the
family would upset the whole economy of the household.

"_Mon Dieu_!" said Madame Theodore at last, "you brought up the others,
and you'll bring up this one too."

At this an explosion of anger dried the other's eyes; and she rose,
exclaiming: "You are good, you are! One can see that our purse isn't
yours. How are we to bring up another child when we can scarcely make
both ends meet as it is?"

And thereupon, forgetting the _bourgeois_ pride which usually prompted
her to silence or falsehood, she freely explained their embarrassment,
the horrid pecuniary worries which made their life a perpetual misery.
Their rent amounted to 700 francs,* so that out of the 3000 francs**
which the husband earned at his office, barely a couple of hundred were
left them every month. And how were they to manage with that little sum,
provide food and clothes, keep up their rank and so forth? There was the
indispensable black coat for monsieur, the new dress which madame must
have at regular intervals, under penalty of losing caste, the new boots
which the children required almost every month, in fact, all sorts of
things that could not possibly be dispensed with. One might strike a dish
or two out of the daily menu, and even go without wine; but evenings came
when it was absolutely necessary to take a cab. And, apart from all this,
one had to reckon with the wastefulness of the children, the disorder in
which the discouraged wife left the house, and the despair of the
husband, who was convinced that he would never extricate himself from his
difficulties, even should his salary some day be raised to as high a
figure as 4000 francs. Briefly, one here found the unbearable penury of
the petty clerk, with consequences as disastrous as the black want of the
artisan: the mock facade and lying luxury; all the disorder and suffering
which lie behind intellectual pride at not earning one's living at a
bench or on a scaffolding.

* $140.

** $600.

"Well, well," repeated Madame Theodore, "you can't kill the child."

"No, of course not; but it's the end of everything," answered Hortense,
sinking into the armchair again. "What will become of us, _mon Dieu_!
What will become of us!" Then she collapsed in her unbut