iveness. Such a contrast is irresistible to a
man of the Crevel type; he is flattered by believing himself sole
author of the comedy, thinking it is performed for his benefit alone,
and he laughs at the exquisite hypocrisy while admiring the hypocrite.

Valerie had taken entire possession of Baron Hulot; she had persuaded
him to grow old by one of those subtle touches of flattery which
reveal the diabolical wit of women like her. In all evergreen
constitutions a moment arrives when the truth suddenly comes out, as
in a besieged town which puts a good face on affairs as long as
possible. Valerie, foreseeing the approaching collapse of the old beau
of the Empire, determined to forestall it.

"Why give yourself so much bother, my dear old veteran?" said she one
day, six months after their doubly adulterous union. "Do you want to
be flirting? To be unfaithful to me? I assure you, I should like you
better without your make-up. Oblige me by giving up all your
artificial charms. Do you suppose that it is for two sous' worth of
polish on your boots that I love you? For your india-rubber belt, your
strait-waistcoat, and your false hair? And then, the older you look,
the less need I fear seeing my Hulot carried off by a rival."

And Hulot, trusting to Madame Marneffe's heavenly friendship as much
as to her love, intending, too, to end his days with her, had taken
this confidential hint, and ceased to dye his whiskers and hair. After
this touching declaration from his Valerie, handsome Hector made his
appearance one morning perfectly white. Madame Marneffe could assure
him that she had a hundred times detected the white line of the growth
of the hair.

"And white hair suits your face to perfection," said she; "it softens
it. You look a thousand times better, quite charming."

The Baron, once started on this path of reform, gave up his leather
waistcoat and stays; he threw off all his bracing. His stomach fell
and increased in size. The oak became a tower, and the heaviness of
his movements was all the more alarming because the Baron grew
immensely older by playing the part of Louis XII. His eyebrows were
still black, and left a ghostly reminiscence of Handsome Hulot, as
sometimes on the wall of some feudal building a faint trace of
sculpture remains to show what the castle was in the days of its
glory. This discordant detail made his eyes, still bright and
youthful, all the more remarkable in his tanned face, because it had