ady for you. She lives like
clockwork. She keeps no secrets from her maid, and Reine keeps nothing
from me, you may be sure. Reine can't if she would--along of my son,
for she is very sweet upon him. So, you see, if madame had any
intimacy with Monsieur Crevel, we should be bound to know it."

The Baron went upstairs again with a beaming countenance, convinced
that he was the only man in the world to that shameless slut, as
treacherous, but as lovely and as engaging as a siren.

Crevel and Marneffe had begun a second rubber at piquet. Crevel was
losing, as a man must who is not giving his thoughts to his game.
Marneffe, who knew the cause of the Mayor's absence of mind, took
unscrupulous advantage of it; he looked at the cards in reverse, and
discarded accordingly; thus, knowing his adversary's hand, he played
to beat him. The stake being a franc a point, he had already robbed
the Mayor of thirty francs when Hulot came in.

"Hey day!" said he, amazed to find no company. "Are you alone? Where
is everybody gone?"

"Your pleasant temper put them all to flight," said Crevel.

"No, it was my wife's cousin," replied Marneffe. "The ladies and
gentlemen supposed that Valerie and Henri might have something to say
to each other after three years' separation, and they very discreetly
retired.--If I had been in the room, I would have kept them; but then,
as it happens, it would have been a mistake, for Lisbeth, who always
comes down to make tea at half-past ten, was taken ill, and that upset
everything--"

"Then is Lisbeth really unwell?" asked Crevel in a fury.

"So I was told," replied Marneffe, with the heartless indifference of
a man to whom women have ceased to exist.

The Mayor looked at the clock; and, calculating the time, the Baron
seemed to have spent forty minutes in Lisbeth's rooms. Hector's
jubilant expression seriously incriminated Valerie, Lisbeth, and
himself.

"I have just seen her; she is in great pain, poor soul!" said the
Baron.

"Then the sufferings of others must afford you much joy, my friend,"
retorted Crevel with acrimony, "for you have come down with a face
that is positively beaming. Is Lisbeth likely to die? For your
daughter, they say, is her heiress. You are not like the same man. You
left this room looking like the Moor of Venice, and you come back with
the air of Saint-Preux!--I wish I could see Madame Marneffe's face at
this minute----"

"And pray, what do you mean by that?" said Marn