God grant he may know how to control his passions!" etc., etc.
While all these catastrophes were happening in the rue de Vendome and the rue de Bethisy, Clapart, sitting in the chimney corner, wrapped in an old dressing-gown, watched his wife, who was engaged over the fire in their bedroom in simultaneously making the family broth, Clapart's "tisane," and her own breakfast.
"Mon Dieu! I wish I knew how the affair of yesterday ended.

Oscar was to breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale and spend the evening with a marquise--" "Don't trouble yourself! Sooner or later you'll find out about your swan," said her husband.

"Do you really believe in that marquise?
Pooh! A young man who has senses and a taste for extravagance like Oscar can find such ladies as that on every bush--if he pays for them.

Some fine morning you'll find yourself with a load of debt on your back." "You are always trying to put me in despair!" cried Madame Clapart.

"You complained that my son lived on your salary, and never has he cost you a penny.