"Your country has claims on you, and your family
first of all. They ought to shut you up."
He insisted that the letter should be written that very moment, but
Clerambault simply turned his back on him. So he left, banging the
door after him, and vowing that he would never set foot there again,
that all was over between them.
After this poor Clerambault had to submit to a string of questions
from his wife who, without knowing what he had done, lamented his
imprudence and asked with tears: "Why, why he had not kept silent? Had
they not trouble enough? What was this mania he had for talking? And
particularly for talking differently from other people?"
While this was going on, Rosine came back from an errand, and
Clerambault appealed to her, telling her in a confused manner of the
painful scene that had just taken place, and begging her to sit down
there by his table and let him read the article to her. Without even
taking off her hat and gloves, Rosine did sit down near him, and
listened sensibly, sweetly, and when he had done, kissed him and said:
"Yes, I think it's fine,--but, dear Papa, why did you do it?"
Clerambault was completely taken aback.
"What? You ask why I did it? Don't you think it is right?"
"I don't know. Yes, I believe it must be right since you say so.
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