# The Revolt of the Angels/Chapter 28

CHAPTER XXVIII
WHICH TREATS OF A PAINFUL DOMESTIC SCENE
O long as Maurice confined his selection of mistresses to respectable women, his conduct had called forth no reproach. It was a different matter when he took up with Bouchotte. His mother, who had closed her eyes to liaisons which, though guilty, were elegant and discreet, was scandalised when it came to her ears that her son was openly parading about with a music-hall singer. By dint of much prying and probing, Berthe, Maurice’s younger sister, had got to know of her brother’s adventures, and she narrated them, without any indignation, to her young girl friends. His little brother Léon declared to his mother one day, in the presence of several ladies, that when he was big he, too, would go on the spree, like Maurice. This was a sore wound to the maternal heart of Madame d’Esparvieu.
About the same time there occurred a family event of a very grave nature which occasioned much alarm to Monsieur René d’Esparvieu. Drafts were ​presented to him signed in his name by his son. His writing had not been forged, but there was no doubt that it had been the son’s intention to pass off the signature as his father’s. It showed a perverted moral sense; whence it appeared that Maurice was living a life of profligacy, that he was running into debt and on the point of outraging the decencies. The paterfamilias talked the matter over with his wife. It was arranged that he should give his son a very severe lecture, hint at vigorous corrective measures, and that in due course the mother should appear with gentle and sorrowing mien and endeavour to soothe the righteous indignation of the father. This plan being agreed upon, Monsieur René d’Esparvieu sent for his son to come to him in his study. To add to the solemnity of the occasion, he had arrayed himself in his frock-coat. As soon as Maurice saw it he knew there was something serious in the wind. The head of the family was pale, and his voice shook a little (for he was a nervous man), as he declared that he would no Jonger put up with his son’s irregular behaviour, and insisted on an immediate and absolute reform. No more wild courses, no more running into debt, no more undesirable companions, but work, steadiness, and reputable connexions.
Maurice was quite willing to give a respectful reply to his father, whose complaints, after all, ​were perfectly justified; but, unfortunately, Maurice, like his father, was shy, and the frock-coat which Monsieur d’Esparvieu had donned in order to discharge his magisterial duty with greater dignity seemed to preclude the possibility of any open and unconstrained intercourse. Maurice maintained an awkward silence, which looked very much like insolence, and this silence compelled Monsieur d’Esparvieu to reiterate his complaints, this time with additional severity. He opened one of the drawers in his historic bureau (the bureau on which Alexandre d’Esparvieu had written his “Essay on the Civil and Religious Institutions of the World”), and produced the bills which Maurice had signed.
“Do you know, my boy,” said he, “that this is nothing more nor less than forgery? To make up for such grave misconduct as that——”
At this moment Madame d’Esparvieu, as arranged, entered the room attired in her walking-dress. She was supposed to play the angel of forgiveness, but neither her appearance nor her disposition was suitable to the part. She was harsh and unsympathetic. Maurice harboured within him the seeds of all the ordinary and necessary virtues. He loved his mother and respected her. His love, however, was more a matter of duty than of inclination, and his respect arose from habit rather than from feeling. Madame ​René d’Esparvieu’s complexion was blotchy, and having powdered herself in order to appear to advantage at the domestic tribunal, the colour of her face suggested raspberries sprinkled over with sugar. Maurice, being possessed of some taste, could not help realising that she was ugly and rather repulsively so. He was out of tune with her, and when she began to go through all the accusations his father had brought against him, making them out to be blacker than ever, the prodigal turned away his head to conceal his irritation.
“Your Aunt de Saint-Fain,” she went on, “met you in the street in such disgraceful company that she was really thankful that you forbore to greet her.”
“Aunt de Saint-Fain!” Maurice broke out. “I like to hear her talking about scandals! Everyone knows the sort of life she has led, and now the old hypocrite wants to——”
He stopped. He had caught sight of his father, whose face was even more eloquent of sorrow than of anger. Maurice began to feel as though he had committed murder, and could not imagine how he had allowed such words to escape him. He was on the point of bursting into tears, falling on his knees, and imploring his father to forgive him, when his mother, looking up at the ceiling, said with a sigh:
“What offence can I have committed against ​God, to have brought such a wicked son into the world?”
This speech struck Maurice as a piece of ridiculous affectation, and it pulled him up with a jerk. The bitterness of contrition suddenly gave place to the delicious arrogance of wrong-doing. He plunged wildly into a torrent of insolence and revolt, and breathlessly delivered himself of utterances quite unfit for a mother’s ear.
“If you will have it, mamma, rather than forbid me to continue my friendship with a talented lyrical artist, you would be better employed in preventing my elder sister, Madame de Margy, from appearing, night after night, in society and at the theatres with a contemptible and disgusting individual that everybody knows is her lover. You should also keep an eye on my little sister Jeanne, who writes objectionable letters to herself in a disguised hand, and then, pretending she has found them in her prayer-book, shows them to you with assumed innocence, to worry and alarm you. It would be just as well, too, if you prevented my little brother Léon, a child of seven, from being quite so much with Mademaiselle Caporal, and you might tell your maid . . .”
“Get out, sir, I will not have you in the house!” cried Monsieur René d’Esparvieu, white with anger, pointing a trembling finger at the door.