It was the marquis's fault, it was his wife's fault, the fault of all his family.

Had he ever thought of politics at all, until Monsieur de Carnavant and Felicite had driven him to that tomfoolery?
"I wash my hands of it altogether," he cried.

"It's you two who are responsible for the blunder.

Wasn't it better to go on living on our little savings in peace and quietness?
But then, you were always determined to have your own way! You see what it has brought us to." He was losing his head completely, and forgot that he had shown himself as eager as his wife.

However, his only desire now was to vent his anger, by laying the blame of his ruin upon others.
"And, moreover," he continued, "could we ever have succeeded with children like ours?
Eugene abandons us just at the critical moment; Aristide has dragged us through the mire, and even that big simpleton Pascal is compromising us by his philanthropic practising among the insurgents.