"It is impossible for this state of things to continue," he said to his
wife, as they were retiring to rest. "It looks as if we were hiding, as
if we were guilty in the matter. I will go to see that man in the
morning. There is only one thing, and a very simple one, to be done,
those unhappy children must be married. For our part we consent, is it
not so? And it is to that man's advantage to consent also. To-morrow the
matter must be settled."
On the following day, Monday, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Mathieu
set out for the mill. But certain complications, a tragic drama, which he
could not possibly foresee, awaited him there. For years now a stubborn
struggle had been going on between Lepailleur and his wife with respect
to Antonin. While the farmer had grown more and more exasperated with his
son's idleness and life of low debauchery in Paris, the latter had
supported her boy with all the obstinacy of an illiterate woman, who was
possessed of a blind faith in his fine handwriting, and felt convinced
that if he did not succeed in life it was simply because he was refused
the money necessary for that purpose. In spite of her sordid avarice in
some matters, the old woman continued bleeding herself for her son, and
even robbed the house, promptly thrusting out her claws and setting her
teeth ready to bite whenever she was caught in the act, and had to defend
some twenty-franc piece or other, which she had been on the point of
sending away.
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