"You have talked nonsense enough."

"It is time that Charles should learn to read and write; later in
life, he will find difficulties sufficient to disgust him."

Here, you talk for ten minutes without interruption, and you close
with an appealing "Well?" armed with an intonation which suggests an
interrogation point of the most crooked kind.

"Well!" she replies, "it is not yet time for Charles to go to school."

You have gained nothing at all.

"But, my dear, Monsieur Deschars certainly sent his little Julius to
school at six years. Go and examine the schools and you will find lots
of little boys of six there."

You talk for ten minutes more without the slightest interruption, and
then you ejaculate another "Well?"

"Little Julius Deschars came home with chilblains," she says.

"But Charles has chilblains here."

"Never," she replies, proudly.

In a quarter of an hour, the main question is blocked by a side
discussion on this point: "Has Charles had chilblains or not?"

You bandy contradictory allegations; you no longer believe each other;