"My dear little mother, that won't do.

Have you ceased to love your son ?" "Are you worthy of love?
Have you forgotten what you did yesterday?
Go and find yourself another home; you cannot live with us any longer,--that is, after to-morrow," she added; "for in the state you are in now it is difficult--" "To turn me out,--is that it ?" he interrupted.

"Ha! are you going to play the melodrama of 'The Banished Son'?
Well done! is that how you take things?
You are all a pretty set! What harm have I done?
I've cleaned out the old woman's mattress.

What the devil is the good of money kept in wool?
Do you call that a crime?
Didn't she take twenty thousand francs from you?
We are her creditors, and I've paid myself as much as I could get,--that's all." "My God! my God!" cried the dying woman, clasping her hands and praying.
"Be silent!" exclaimed Joseph, springing at his brother and putting his hand before his mouth.
"To the right about, march! brat of a painter!" retorted Philippe, laying his strong hand on Joseph's head, and twirling him round, as he flung him on a sofa.

"Don't dare to touch the moustache of a commander of a squadron of the dragoons of the Guard!" "She has paid me back all that she owed me," cried Agathe, rising and turning an angry face to her son; "and besides, that is my affair.