“For an instant, Madame Peloux took on her authentic character in her son’s eyes; that is to say, he estimated her at her proper value, a woman high-spirited, all-consuming, calculating and at the same time rash, like a high financier; a woman capable of taking a humorist’s delight in spiteful cruelty. “She is a scourge, certainly,” he said to himself, “and no more. A scourge, but not a stranger.”