Sunday by Georges Simenon

respite, and it would not be long before one or other was the victor.
    Berthe, of course! And it was true that Paola was dirty, that she had never taken a bath in her life and that she spread around her an aroma of old skirts.
    But it was also true that Paola was passionately attached to Emile, that for her he was the man, that there was no questioning his every deed or word, and that nothing Berthe said was of any importance.
    If Berthe gave her an order, Paola would not reply yes nor no, would keep a tight face, as if carved in seasoned olive wood and, a little while later, would go and seek confirmation from Emile.
    There would be other little wars of the kind to follow. Emile was resigned in advance.
    He could feel then, in advance as well, just from the quiver of his mother-in-law's lips, that she was going to attack him.
    Berthe had this same characteristic. When she was about to say something unpleasant, her face became quite expressionless, no doubt because she was keeping a hold on herself, but she could not stop her upper lip from trembling.
    'Do you know, my children, I lately read an article in the newspaper which will interest you. I even cut it out for you. It's in my bag. I'll give it to you presently . . .'
    The article had not appeared in a newspaper, but in a popular weekly which dedicated two pages to horoscopes, two others to more or less new methods of healing and the rest to film stars.
    'In the old days, when a family was without children, it was considered always to be the fault of the wife. It seems this isn't correct, that it's more often because of the man . . .'
    The lip was quivering more than ever, the eyes were fixed upon the wine glass on the table, while the voice grew soft.
    'Perhaps you should consult a doctor, Emile?'
    He had said nothing, had simply turned a shade paler, his nostrils slightly pinched.
    If he had an answer on the tip of his tongue, he swore to himself not to utter it:
    'I would like to have a child off any girl in the street just to show you I am capable . . .'
    The fact was that Berthe answered for him.
    'I don't want any children, Mama.'
    'You? What are you saying?'
    'The truth. I am perfectly all right as I am.'
    She believed it, plainly. She had got everything she wanted. Not only did Emile belong to her, but La Bastide as well, and, if the guests did sometimes make mistakes, she was nonetheless the real mistress of the house.
    That was the name, besides, which the local people gave her: the mistress. They had not chosen the name at random. They were in the habit of watching people, especially outsiders, and they knew Emile, who played bowls with them on winter afternoons, well.
    The second year he had bought a van. Then Berthe had forced him to sack Paola, for she insisted that it should be he who spoke to her, who should seem to have taken the decision.
    'If she stays in the house, I shall not come down from my room again.'
    When Emile had taken Paola aside, she had already understood.
    'Don't you worry about me, my poor monsieur. I've been expecting it for a long time, and I'm ready to pack up my bits and pieces.'
    Berthe, who had put an advertisement in the newspaper, had chosen Madame Lavaud from among the applicants. Here was a clean body at last, one who had a certain air of dignity.
    Was Berthe hoping that the new arrival would join forces with her instead of going over to Emile's camp?
    For that was the point they had reached. It was not obvious. There was no open struggle, no declared sides.
    What it was, was that nobody, either in the house or in the neighbourhood, had adopted her. She remained an outsider. People were polite with her, too polite even: they showed her only too willingly an exaggerated respect and she was subtle enough to understand.
    When the postman came in the morning, leaving his bicycle on the terrace, he would go and lean on the bar.
    'How about it, Emile? Shall we make up a game tonight?'
    If he caught sight of Berthe, he would take off