‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. But woe to those who disregard them! Of course, basically it is all wrong; and sometimes God must laugh at our ideas of rectitude. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand.
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