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 Marneffe to Crevel, packing
his cards and laying them down in front of him.

A light kindled in the eyes of this man, decrepit at the age of
forty-seven; a faint color flushed his flaccid cold cheeks, his
ill-furnished mouth was half open, and on his blackened lips a sort
of foam gathered, thick, and as white as chalk. This fury in such a
helpless wretch, whose life hung on a thread, and who in a duel would
risk nothing while Crevel had everything to lose, frightened the Mayor.

"I said," repeated Crevel, "that I should like to see Madame Marneffe's
face. And with all the more reason since yours, at this moment, is most
unpleasant. On my honor, you are horribly ugly, my dear Marneffe----"

"Do you know that you are very uncivil?"

"A man who has won thirty francs of me in forty-five minutes cannot look
handsome in my eyes."

"Ah, if you had but seen me seventeen years ago!" replied the clerk.

"You were so good-looking?" asked Crevel.

"That was my ruin; now, if I had been like you--I might be a mayor and a
peer."

"Yes," said Crevel, with a smile, "you have been too much in the wars;
and of the two forms of metal that may be earned by worshiping the
god of trade, you have taken the worse--the dross!" [This dialogue
is garnished with puns for which it is difficult to find any English
equivalent.] And Crevel roared with laughter. Though Marneffe could
take offence if his honor were in peril, he always took these rough
pleasantries in good part; they were the small coin of conversation
between him and Crevel.

"The daughters of Eve cost me dear, no doubt; but, by the powers! 'Short
and sweet' is my motto."

"'Long and happy' is more to my mind," returned Crevel.

Madame Marneffe now came in; she saw that her husband was at cards with
Crevel, and only the Baron in the room besides; a mere glance at the
municipal dignitary showed her the frame of mind he was in, and her line
of conduct was at once decided on.

"Marneffe, my dear boy," said she, leaning on her husband's shoulder,
and passing her pretty fingers through his dingy gray hair, but without
succeeding in co