Read A Place of Greater Safety Online
Authors: Hilary Mantel
A Place of Greater Safety (36 page)
Brissot hopped up from the desk, and considerately lifted the jacket from her shoulders, folded it carefully and laid it over a vacant chair. This reduced her to—what? A pretty-enough young woman in a white dress. She was displeased. There was a weight in the pocket of the tunic. “You carry firearms?” Brissot said, surprised.
“I got my pistol when we raided the Invalides. Remember, Camille?” She swished across the room. “You’re not seen much on the streets, these last weeks.”
“Oh, I couldn’t cut the figure,” Camille murmured. “Not like you.”
Théroigne took his hand and turned it palm up. You could still just see the bayonet cut, not much thicker than a hair, that he had got on July 13. Théroigne, meditatively, drew her forefinger along it. Brissot’s mouth became slightly unhinged. “Look, am I in your way?”
“Absolutely not.” The last thing he wanted was any rumors about Théroigne coming to Lucile’s ears. As far as he knew, Anne was leading a chaste and blameless life; the strange thing was, that she seemed dedicated to giving the contrary impression. The royalist scandal sheets were not slow to pick anything up; Théroigne was a gift from God, as far as they were concerned.
“Can I write for you, my love?” she said.
“You can try. But I have very high standards.”
“Turn me down, would you?” she said.
“I’m afraid I would. The fact is, there’s just too much on offer.”
“As long as we know where we stand,” she said. She scooped up her jacket from the chair where Brissot had disposed it, and—out of some perverse form of charity—placed a kiss on his sunken cheek.
When she’d gone, an odor trailed behind her—female sweat, lavender water. “Calonne,” Brissot said. “He used lavender water. Remember?”
“I didn’t move in those circles.”
“Well, he did.”
Brissot would know. He would know everything, really. He believed in the Brotherhood of Man. He believed that all the enlightened men in Europe should come together to discuss good government and the development of the arts and sciences. He knew Jeremy Bentham and Joseph Priestley. He ran an anti-slavery society, and wrote about jurisprudence, the English parliamentary system and the Epistles of Saint Paul. He had arrived at his present cramped apartment on the rue de Grétry by way of Switzerland, the United States, a cell in the Bastille and a flat on Brompton Road. Tom Paine was a great friend of his (he
said) and George Washington had more than once asked for his advice. Brissot was an optimist. He believed that common sense and love of liberty would always prevail. Towards Camille he was kind, helpful, faintly patronizing. He liked to talk about his past life, and congratulate himself on the better days ahead.
said) and George Washington had more than once asked for his advice. Brissot was an optimist. He believed that common sense and love of liberty would always prevail. Towards Camille he was kind, helpful, faintly patronizing. He liked to talk about his past life, and congratulate himself on the better days ahead.
Now Théroigne’s visit—perhaps the kiss, particularly—put him into a regular fit of how-did-we-get-here and ain’t-life-strange. “I had a hard time,” he said. “My father died, and shortly afterwards my mother became violently insane.”
Camille put his head down on his desk, and laughed and laughed, until they really thought he would make himself quite ill.
On Fridays, Fréron would usually be in the office. Camille would go out to lunch for several hours. Then they would have a writ conference, to decide whether to apologize. Since Camille would not be entirely sober, they never apologized. The staff of the
Révolutions
was never off duty. They were committed to leaping out of bed in the small hours with some hair-raising bright idea; they were doomed to be spat at in the street. Each week, after the type was set, Camille would say, never again, this is the last edition, positively. But next Saturday the paper would be out again, because he could not bear anyone to think that THEY had frightened him, with their threats and insults and challenges, with their money and rapiers and friends at Court. When it was time to write, and he took his pen in his hand, he never thought of consequences; he thought of style. I wonder why I ever bothered with sex, he thought; there’s nothing in this breathing world so gratifying as an artfully placed semicolon. Once paper and ink were to hand, it was useless to appeal to his better nature, to tell him he was wrecking reputations and ruining people’s lives. A kind of sweet venom flowed through his veins, smoother than the finest cognac, quicker to make the head spin. And, just as some people crave opium, he craves the opportunity to exercise his fine art of mockery, vituperation and abuse; laudanum might quieten the senses, but a good editorial puts a catch in the throat and a skip in the heartbeat. Writing’s like running downhill; can’t stop if you want to.
Révolutions
was never off duty. They were committed to leaping out of bed in the small hours with some hair-raising bright idea; they were doomed to be spat at in the street. Each week, after the type was set, Camille would say, never again, this is the last edition, positively. But next Saturday the paper would be out again, because he could not bear anyone to think that THEY had frightened him, with their threats and insults and challenges, with their money and rapiers and friends at Court. When it was time to write, and he took his pen in his hand, he never thought of consequences; he thought of style. I wonder why I ever bothered with sex, he thought; there’s nothing in this breathing world so gratifying as an artfully placed semicolon. Once paper and ink were to hand, it was useless to appeal to his better nature, to tell him he was wrecking reputations and ruining people’s lives. A kind of sweet venom flowed through his veins, smoother than the finest cognac, quicker to make the head spin. And, just as some people crave opium, he craves the opportunity to exercise his fine art of mockery, vituperation and abuse; laudanum might quieten the senses, but a good editorial puts a catch in the throat and a skip in the heartbeat. Writing’s like running downhill; can’t stop if you want to.
A
few low intrigues to wrap up the
annus mirabilis
… Lafayette tells Duke Philippe that he is seeking proofs of his involvement in the October riots and that if he finds them he will … proceed. The general wants the Duke out of the country; Mirabeau, finding him essential to his schemes, wants him in Paris. “Tell me who is pressuring you,” Mirabeau begs; not that he can’t guess.
few low intrigues to wrap up the
annus mirabilis
… Lafayette tells Duke Philippe that he is seeking proofs of his involvement in the October riots and that if he finds them he will … proceed. The general wants the Duke out of the country; Mirabeau, finding him essential to his schemes, wants him in Paris. “Tell me who is pressuring you,” Mirabeau begs; not that he can’t guess.
The Duke is confused. He should have been King by now, but he isn’t. “You set these thing afoot,” he complains to de Sillery, “and other people take them out of your hands.”
Charles-Alexis is sympathetic: “Not exactly plain sailing, is it?”
“Please,” the Duke says, “I am not in the mood for your naval metaphors this morning.”
The Duke is frightened—frightened of Mirabeau, frightened of Lafayette and marginally more frightened of the latter. He is even frightened of Deputy Robespierre, who sits in the Assembly opposing everyone and everything, never raising his voice, never losing his temper, his gentle eyes implacable behind his spectacles.
After the October days, Mirabeau conceives a plan for the escape of the royal family—you have to talk, now, in terms of “escape.” The Queen loathes him, but he is trying to manipulate the situation so that he seems to the Court a necessary man. He despises Lafayette, but believes he might be turned to some account; the general has his fingers on the purse strings of the Secret Service funds, and that is no small matter, if one has to entertain, to pay one’s secretaries, to help out needy young men who happen to put their talents at your disposal.
“They may pay me,” the Comte says, “but they have not bought me. If someone would trust me, I wouldn’t need to be so devious.”
“Yes, Monsieur,” Teutch says stonily. “I wouldn’t go marketing that epigram, if I were you, Monsieur.”
A
nd meanwhile, General Lafayette brooded: “Mirabeau,” he said coldly, “is a charlatan. If I cared to expose his schemes I could bring the sky around his ears. The idea of him in the ministry is unthinkable. He is massively corrupt. It is wonderful how the man’s popularity survives. I might say it grows. It does, it grows. I will offer him a place, some embassy, get him out of France … .” Lafayette ran his fingers through his scanty blond hair. It was fortunate that Mirabeau had once said—said in public—that he wouldn’t have Philippe as his valet. Because if they should ally themselves … no, it’s unthinkable. Orléans must leave France, Mirabeau must be bought off, the King must be guarded day and night by six National Guardsmen, likewise the Queen; tonight I dine with Mirabeau and I will offer … He had lapsed into silent thought. It didn’t matter where his sentences began and ended, because he was talking to himself—who else could he trust? He glanced up once to a mirror, to the thin, fair face and receding hairline that the Cordeliers’ pamphleteers found so risible; then, sighing, walked out of the empty room.
nd meanwhile, General Lafayette brooded: “Mirabeau,” he said coldly, “is a charlatan. If I cared to expose his schemes I could bring the sky around his ears. The idea of him in the ministry is unthinkable. He is massively corrupt. It is wonderful how the man’s popularity survives. I might say it grows. It does, it grows. I will offer him a place, some embassy, get him out of France … .” Lafayette ran his fingers through his scanty blond hair. It was fortunate that Mirabeau had once said—said in public—that he wouldn’t have Philippe as his valet. Because if they should ally themselves … no, it’s unthinkable. Orléans must leave France, Mirabeau must be bought off, the King must be guarded day and night by six National Guardsmen, likewise the Queen; tonight I dine with Mirabeau and I will offer … He had lapsed into silent thought. It didn’t matter where his sentences began and ended, because he was talking to himself—who else could he trust? He glanced up once to a mirror, to the thin, fair face and receding hairline that the Cordeliers’ pamphleteers found so risible; then, sighing, walked out of the empty room.
The Comte de Mirabeau to the Comte de la Marck:
Yesterday, late, I saw Lafayette. He spoke of the place and the pay; I refused; I should prefer a written promise of the first major embassy; a part of the pay is to be advanced to me tomorrow. Lafayette is very anxious about the Duke of Orléans … . If a thousand louis seems to you indiscreet, do not ask for it, but that is the amount I urgently need … .
O
rléans left for London, with a sulky expression and Laclos. “A diplomatic mission,” the official announcement said. Camille was with Mirabeau when the bad news came. The Comte strode about, he said, swearing.
rléans left for London, with a sulky expression and Laclos. “A diplomatic mission,” the official announcement said. Camille was with Mirabeau when the bad news came. The Comte strode about, he said, swearing.
And another disappointment for the Comte: early November, the Assembly passed a motion debarring deputies from office as ministers.
“They unite to ostracize me,” Mirabeau howled. “This is Lafayette’s doing, Lafayette’s.”
“We fear for your health,” said the slave Clavière, “when you get into these rages.”
“That’s right, slight me, sneer, abandon me,” the Comte roared. “Place-seekers. Fair-weather friends. Toadying swine.”
“The measure was aimed at you, there is no doubt.”
“I’ll break that bastard. Who does he think he is? Cromwell?”
D
ecember 3, 1789: Maître G.-J. Danton paid over to Maitre Huet de Paisy and Mlle. Françoise Duhauttoir the sum of 12,000 livres, with 1,500 livres interest.
ecember 3, 1789: Maître G.-J. Danton paid over to Maitre Huet de Paisy and Mlle. Françoise Duhauttoir the sum of 12,000 livres, with 1,500 livres interest.
He thought he’d tell his father-in-law; it would be a weight off his mind. “But that’s sixteen months early!” Charpentier said. He was adding up in his head, calculating income and expenditure. He smiled, swallowed. “Well, you’ll feel more settled,” he said.
Privately, he thought: it’s impossible. What in God’s name is Georges-Jacques up to?
Liberty, Gaiety, royal Democracy
“O
ur characters make our destiny,” Félicité de Genlis says. “Ordinary people for that reason do not have destinies, they belong to chance. A pretty, intelligent woman who has original ideas should have a life full of extraordinary events.”
ur characters make our destiny,” Félicité de Genlis says. “Ordinary people for that reason do not have destinies, they belong to chance. A pretty, intelligent woman who has original ideas should have a life full of extraordinary events.”
W
e are now in 1790. Certain events befall Gabrielle—a few of them extraordinary.
e are now in 1790. Certain events befall Gabrielle—a few of them extraordinary.
I
n May this year, I gave my husband a son. We called him Antoine. He seems strong; but so did my first baby. We never talk about our first son now. Sometimes, though, I know that Georges thinks about him. Tears come into his eyes.
n May this year, I gave my husband a son. We called him Antoine. He seems strong; but so did my first baby. We never talk about our first son now. Sometimes, though, I know that Georges thinks about him. Tears come into his eyes.
I will tell you what else has happened, in the larger world. In January my husband was elected to the Commune, along with Legendre, our butcher. I did not say so—I never say anything now—but I was surprised that he put himself up for office, because he criticizes the Commune all the time, and Mayor Bailly most of all.
Just before he went to take his seat, there was the business of Dr. Marat. Marat insulted the authorities so much that an order was put out for his arrest. He was staying at the Hotel de la Fautrière, within our district. They sent four officers to arrest him, but a woman ran to warn him, and he got away.
I didn’t understand why Georges should be so concerned about Marat. He usually brings Dr. Marat’s paper into the house, then in the middle
of reading it cries, “Scum, scum, scum!” and throws it across the room, or into the fire if he happens to be standing near it. But anyway, he said it was a matter of principle. He told the District Assembly that no one was going to be arrested in our district without his permission. “My writ runs here,” he said.
of reading it cries, “Scum, scum, scum!” and throws it across the room, or into the fire if he happens to be standing near it. But anyway, he said it was a matter of principle. He told the District Assembly that no one was going to be arrested in our district without his permission. “My writ runs here,” he said.
Dr. Marat went into hiding. I thought, that will be the end of the newspaper for a while, we shall have some peace. But Camille said, “Well, I think we should help each other, I’m sure I can get the next issue out on time.” The next issue of the paper insulted the people at City Hall still worse.
On January 21, M. Villette, who is our battalion commander now, came round and asked to see Georges urgently. Georges came out of his office. M. Villette waved a piece of paper and said, “Order from Lafayette. Arrest Marat, top priority. What do I do?”
Georges said, “Put a cordon round the Hotel de la Fautrière.”
The next thing that happened was that the sheriff’s officers came again with the warrant—and a thousand men.
Georges was in a fury. He said it was an invasion by foreign troops. The whole district turned out. Georges found the commander and walked up to him and said, “What the hell is the use of these troops, do you think? I’ll ring the tocsin, I’ll have Saint-Antoine out. I can put twenty thousand armed men on the streets, just like
that
.” And he snapped his fingers under the man’s nose.
that
.” And he snapped his fingers under the man’s nose.
“P
ut your head out of the window,” Marat said. “See if you can hear what Danton is saying. I’d put my own head out, but somebody might shoot it off.”
ut your head out of the window,” Marat said. “See if you can hear what Danton is saying. I’d put my own head out, but somebody might shoot it off.”
“He is saying, where is that fucking battalion commander.”
“I wrote to Mirabeau and Barnave.” Marat turned to Camille his tired, gold-flecked eyes. “I thought they needed enlightenment.”
“I expect they didn’t reply.”
“No.” He thought. “I renounce moderation,” he said.
“Moderation renounces you.”
“That’s all right.”
“Danton is sticking his neck out for you.”
“What an expression,” Marat said.
“Yes, I don’t know where I pick them up.”
“Why don’t they ever try arresting you? I’ve been on the run since October.” Marat wandered around the room, pursuing a muttered monologue and scratching himself occasionally. “This affair could be the making
of Danton. We lack good men. We could blow the Riding School up, it would be no great loss. There are only half a dozen deputies who are any use at all. Buzot has some of the right ideas, but he’s too bloody high-minded. Pétion is a fool. I have some hopes for Robespierre.”
of Danton. We lack good men. We could blow the Riding School up, it would be no great loss. There are only half a dozen deputies who are any use at all. Buzot has some of the right ideas, but he’s too bloody high-minded. Pétion is a fool. I have some hopes for Robespierre.”
“Me too. But I don’t think a single measure he has proposed has ever been passed. Just to know that he supports a motion is enough to make most of the deputies vote against it.”
“But he has perseverance,” Marat said sharply. “And the Riding School is not France, is it? As for you, your heart is in the right place, but you are mad. Danton I esteem. He will do something. What I should like to see—” he stopped, and pulled at the filthy kerchief knotted around his neck—“I should like to see the people dispense with the King, the Queen, the ministers, Bailly, Lafayette, the Riding School—and I should like to see the country governed by Danton and Robespierre. And I should be there to keep an eye on them.” He smiled. “One may dream.”
G
abrielle: It was like this for the rest of the day, our men ringing the building, Dr. Marat inside, and the troops Lafayette had sent drawn up around the cordon. Georges came home to check that we were safe, and he seemed quite calm, but every time he went out onto the streets he seemed to be in a towering rage. He made a speech to the troops, he said, “You can stay here till tomorrow if you want, but it won’t bloody get you anywhere.”
abrielle: It was like this for the rest of the day, our men ringing the building, Dr. Marat inside, and the troops Lafayette had sent drawn up around the cordon. Georges came home to check that we were safe, and he seemed quite calm, but every time he went out onto the streets he seemed to be in a towering rage. He made a speech to the troops, he said, “You can stay here till tomorrow if you want, but it won’t bloody get you anywhere.”
There was a great deal of bad language that day.
As the morning wore on, our men and their men started talking to each other. There were regular troops, and volunteers, too, and people said, after all, these are our brothers from other districts, of course they’re not going to fight us. And Camille went around saying, of course they’re not going to arrest Marat, he’s the People’s Friend.
Then Georges went down to the Assembly. They wouldn’t let him speak at the bar of the House, and they passed a motion saying that the Cordeliers district must respect the law. He seemed to be away for hours. I just kept finding things to do. Picture it. You marry a lawyer. One day you find you’re living on a battlefield.
“S
o here are the clothes, Dr. Marat,” François Robert said. “M. Danton hopes they fit.”
o here are the clothes, Dr. Marat,” François Robert said. “M. Danton hopes they fit.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Marat said. “I was hoping to make my escape by balloon. I’ve wanted for such a long time to ascend in a balloon.”
“We couldn’t get one. Not in the time we had.”
“I bet you didn’t try,” Marat said.
After he had washed, shaved, dressed in a frock coat, combed his hair, François Robert said, “Amazing.”
“One was always well dressed,” Marat said, “in one’s days in high society.”
“What happened?”
Marat glowered. “I became the People’s Friend.”
“But you could still dress normally, couldn’t you? For instance, you mention Deputy Robespierre as a patriot, and he is always wonderfully turned out.”
“There is perhaps a strain of frivolity in M. Robespierre,” Marat said drily. “For myself, I have no time for the luxuries, I think of the Revolution for twenty-four hours of the day. If you wish to prosper, you will do the same. “Now,” he said “I am going to walk outside, through the cordon and through Lafayette’s troops. I am going to smile, which I admit you do not often see, and affecting a jaunty air I am going to swing this elegant walking cane with which M. Danton has so thoughtfully provided me. It’s like a storybook, isn’t it? And then I am off to England, just until the fuss dies down. Which will be a relief to you all, I know.”
G
abrielle: When there was a knock at the door I didn’t know what to do. But it was only little Louise from upstairs. “I went out, Mme. Danton.”
abrielle: When there was a knock at the door I didn’t know what to do. But it was only little Louise from upstairs. “I went out, Mme. Danton.”
“Oh, Louise, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m not frightened. Besides—it’s all over. The troops are dispersing. Lafayette has lost his nerve. And I’ll tell you a secret, Mme. Danton, that M. Desmoulins told me to tell you. Marat isn’t even in there anymore. He got out an hour ago, disguised as a human being.”
A few minutes later Georges came home. That night we threw a party.
Next day my husband went to take his seat at City Hall. There was another row. Some people tried to stop him and said he had no right to be a member of the Commune because he had no respect for law and order. They said that in his own district he was acting like a king. They said a lot of terrible things about Georges at that time—that he was taking money from the English to stir up the Revolution and that he was taking money from the Court not to make the Revolution any worse. One day Deputy Robespierre came, and they talked about who was slandering Georges. Deputy Robespierre said he shouldn’t feel he was
alone. He brought a letter from his brother Augustin, from Arras, which he gave to Georges to read. It seemed that people in Arras were saying he was a godless man who wanted to kill the King—which absolutely can’t be true, because I’ve never met a more mild-mannered human being. I felt sorry for him; they had even printed in what Georges calls “the royalist rags” some stupid claim that he was descended from Damiens, the man who tried to kill the old King. They deliberately spelled his name wrong, to insult him. When he was elected for a term as president of the Jacobin Club, Lafayette walked out in protest.
alone. He brought a letter from his brother Augustin, from Arras, which he gave to Georges to read. It seemed that people in Arras were saying he was a godless man who wanted to kill the King—which absolutely can’t be true, because I’ve never met a more mild-mannered human being. I felt sorry for him; they had even printed in what Georges calls “the royalist rags” some stupid claim that he was descended from Damiens, the man who tried to kill the old King. They deliberately spelled his name wrong, to insult him. When he was elected for a term as president of the Jacobin Club, Lafayette walked out in protest.
After Antoine was born, Georges’s mother came up from the country for a few days to see the baby. Georges’s stepfather would have come with her but he couldn’t spare any time from inventing spinning machines—at least, that was the story, but I should think the poor man was glad to be on his own for a few days. It was terrible. I hate to say it, but Mme. Recordain is the most disagreeable woman I have ever met.
The first thing she said was, “Paris is filthy, how can you bring a child up here? No wonder you lost your first. You’d better send this one to Arcis when he’s weaned.”
I thought, yes, what a good idea, let him be gored by bulls and scarred for life.
Then she looked around and said, “This wallpaper must have cost a pretty penny.”
At the first meal she complained about the vegetables, and asked how much I paid our cook. “Far too much,” she said. “Anyway, where does all the money come from?” I explained to her how hard Georges worked, but she just snorted, and said that she had an idea of how much lawyers earned at his age and it wasn’t enough to keep a house like a palace and a wife in the lap of luxury.
That’s where she thinks I am.
When I took her shopping, she thought the prices were a personal insult. She had to admit we got good meat, but she said Legendre was common, and that she didn’t bring up Georges
with all the care she’d lavished on him
to see him associate with someone who ran a butcher’s shop. She amazed me—it isn’t as if Legendre stands there wrapping up bleeding parcels of beef these days. You never see him in an apron. He puts on a black coat like a lawyer and sits beside Georges at City Hall.
with all the care she’d lavished on him
to see him associate with someone who ran a butcher’s shop. She amazed me—it isn’t as if Legendre stands there wrapping up bleeding parcels of beef these days. You never see him in an apron. He puts on a black coat like a lawyer and sits beside Georges at City Hall.
Madame Recordain would say, in the mornings: “Of course, I don’t require to go anywhere.” But if we didn’t, she would say in the evening, “It’s a long way to come and sit and see four walls.”
I thought I’d take her to visit Louise Robert—seeing as Madame is such a snob, and Louise is so wellborn. Louise couldn’t have been more
charming. She didn’t say a single word about the republic, or Lafayette, or Mayor Bailly. Instead she showed Madame all her stock and explained to her where all the spices came from and how they were grown and prepared and what they were for, and offered to make her up a parcel of nice things to take home. But after ten minutes Her Ladyship was looking like thunder, and I had to make my excuses to Louise and follow her out. In the street she said, “It’s a disgrace for a woman to marry beneath her. It shows low appetites. And it wouldn’t surprise me if I found out they weren’t married at all.”
charming. She didn’t say a single word about the republic, or Lafayette, or Mayor Bailly. Instead she showed Madame all her stock and explained to her where all the spices came from and how they were grown and prepared and what they were for, and offered to make her up a parcel of nice things to take home. But after ten minutes Her Ladyship was looking like thunder, and I had to make my excuses to Louise and follow her out. In the street she said, “It’s a disgrace for a woman to marry beneath her. It shows low appetites. And it wouldn’t surprise me if I found out they weren’t married at all.”
Georges said, “Look, because my mother comes, does it mean I can’t see my friends? Invite some people to supper. Somebody she’ll like. How about the Gélys? And little Louise?”
I knew this was a sacrifice on his part, because he’s not over-fond of Mme. Gély; in fact, the strain was showing in his face already. And I had to say, “Well, no, they’ve already met. Your mother thinks Mme. Gély is mincing and ridiculous and mutton dressed as lamb. And Louise is precocious and needs a stick taken to her.”
“Oh dear,” Georges said, which was quite mild for him, don’t you think? “We must know somebody nice. Don’t we?”
I sent a note to Annette Duplessis, saying, please please could Lucile come to supper? Georges’s mother would be there, it would be perfectly proper, she’d never be alone with etc. So Lucile was allowed to come; she wore a white dress with blue ribbons, and she behaved like an angel, asking Madame all sorts of intelligent questions about life in Champagne. Camille was so polite—as, indeed, he almost always is, except in his newspaper—I had hidden the back numbers, of course. I asked Fabre, too, because he’s so good at keeping a conversation going—and he tried really hard with Madame. But she kept snubbing him, and in the end he gave up and started to look at her through his lorgnette, which I had given him strict instructions not to do.
Madame walked out as we were having coffee, and I found her in our bedroom running her finger under the windowsill, looking for dust. I said to her very politely, “Is there anything the matter?” and she said in the most sour tone you can imagine, “There’ll be plenty the matter with you if you don’t watch that girl with your husband.”
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