"Yes, she is full of fun," said Hulot, who had now quite forgotten his wife.
The colleagues went to bed the best friends in the world, reminding each other of Valerie's perfections, the tones of her voice, her kittenish way, her movements, her fun, her sallies of wit, and of affections; for she was an artist in love, and had charming impulses, as tenors may sing a scena better one day than another. And they fell asleep, cradled in tempting and diabolical visions lighted by the fires of hell.
At nine o'clock next morning Hulot went off to the War Office, Crevel had business out of town; they left the house together, and Crevel held out his hand to the Baron, saying:
"To show that there is no ill-feeling. For we, neither of us, will have anything more to say to Madame Marneffe?"
"Oh, this is the end of everything," replied Hulot with a sort of horror.
By half-past ten Crevel was mounting the stairs, four at a time, up to Madame Marneffe's apartment. He found the infamous wretch, the adorable enchantress, in the most becoming morning wrapper, enjoying an elegant little breakfast in the society of the Baron Montes de Montejanos and Lisbeth. Though the sight of the Brazilian gave him a shock, Crevel begged Madame Marneffe to grant him two minutes' speech with her. Valerie led Crevel into the drawing-room.
"Valerie, my angel," said the amorous Mayor, "Monsieur Marneffe cannot have long to live. If you will be faithful to me, when he dies we will be married. Think it over. I have rid you of Hulot.--So just consider whether this Brazilian is to compare with a Mayor of Paris, a man who, for your sake, will make his way to the highest dignities, and who can already offer you eighty-odd thousand francs a year."
"I will think it over," said she. "You will see me in the Rue du Dauphin at two o'clock, and we can discuss the matter. But be a good boy--and do not forget the bond you promised to transfer to me."
She returned to the dining-room, followed by Crevel, who flattered himself that he had hit on a plan for keeping Valerie to himself; but there he found Baron Hulot, who, during this short colloquy, had also arrived with the same end in view. He, like Crevel, begged for a brief interview. Madame Marneffe again rose to go to the drawing-room, with a smile at the Brazilian that seemed to say, "What fools they are!
Cannot they see you?"
"Valerie," said the official, "my child, that cousin of yours is an American cousin--"
"Oh, that is enough!" she cried, interrupting the Baron. "Marneffe never has been, and never will be, never can be my husband! The first, the only man I ever loved, has come back quite unexpectedly. It is no fault of mine! But look at Henri and look at yourself. Then ask yourself whether a woman, and a woman in love, can hesitate for a moment. My dear fellow, I am not a kept mistress. From this day forth I refuse to play the part of Susannah between the two Elders. If you really care for me, you and Crevel, you will be our friends; but all else is at an end, for I am six-and-twenty, and henceforth I mean to be a saint, an admirable and worthy wife--as yours is."
"Is that what you have to say?" answered Hulot. "Is this the way you receive me when I come like a Pope with my hands full of Indulgences?
--Well, your husband will never be a first-class clerk, nor be promoted in the Legion of Honor."
"That remains to be seen," said Madame Marneffe, with a meaning look at Hulot.
"Well, well, no temper," said Hulot in despair. "I will call this evening, and we will come to an understanding."
"In Lisbeth's rooms then."
"Very good--at Lisbeth's," said the old dotard.
Hulot and Crevel went downstairs together without speaking a word till they were in the street; but outside on the sidewalk they looked at each other with a dreary laugh.
"We are a couple of old fools," said Crevel.
"I have got rid of them," said Madame Marneffe to Lisbeth, as she sat down once more. "I never loved and I never shall love any man but my Jaguar," she added, smiling at Henri Montes. "Lisbeth, my dear, you don't know. Henri has forgiven me the infamy to which I was reduced by poverty."
"It was my own fault," said the Brazilian. "I ought to have sent you a hundred thousand francs."
"Poor boy!" said Valerie; "I might have worked for my living, but my fingers were not made for that--ask Lisbeth."
The Brazilian went away the happiest man in Paris.
At noon Valerie and Lisbeth were chatting in the splendid bedroom where this dangerous woman was giving to her dress those finishing touches which a lady alone can give. The doors were bolted, the curtains drawn over them, and Valerie related in every detail all the events of the evening, the night, the morning.
"What do you think of it all, my darling?" she said to Lisbeth in conclusion. "Which shall I be when the time comes--Madame Crevel, or Madame Montes?"
"Crevel will not last more than ten years, such a profligate as he is," replied Lisbeth. "Montes is young. Crevel will leave you about thirty thousand francs a year. Let Montes wait; he will be happy enough as Benjamin. And so, by the time you are three-and-thirty, if you take care of your looks, you may marry your Brazilian and make a fine show with sixty thousand francs a year of your own--especially under the wing of a Marechale."
"Yes, but Montes is a Brazilian; he will never make his mark," observed Valerie.
"We live in the day of railways," said Lisbeth, "when foreigners rise to high positions in France."
"We shall see," replied Valerie, "when Marneffe is dead. He has not much longer to suffer."
"These attacks that return so often are a sort of physical remorse," said Lisbeth. "Well, I am off to see Hortense."
"Yes--go, my angel!" replied Valerie. "And bring me my artist.--Three years, and I have not gained an inch of ground! It is a disgrace to both of us!--Wenceslas and Henri--these are my two passions--one for love, the other for fancy."
