"She may have forgotten it."

"What makes you think so?"

"It wouldn't be the first time she has forgotten things for us,--for
God knows how people without means are treated."

"Well," said the poor woman, to change the conversation and escape
Clapart's cavilling, "Oscar must be at Presles by this time. How he
will enjoy that fine house and the beautiful park."

"Oh! yes," snarled Clapart, "you expect fine things of him; but, mark
my words, there'll be squabbles wherever he goes."

"Will you never cease to find fault with that poor child?" said the
mother. "What has he done to you? If some day we should live at our
ease, we may owe it all to him; he has such a good heart--"

"Our bones will be jelly long before that fellow makes his way in the
world," cried Clapart. "You don't know your own child; he is
conceited, boastful, deceitful, lazy, incapable of--"

"Why don't you go to meet Poiret?" said the poor mother, struck to the
heart by the diatribe she had brought upon herself.

"A boy who has never won a prize at school!" continued Clapart.

To bourgeois eyes, the obtaining of school prizes means the certainty
of a fine future for the fortunate child.