midnight, my dear fellow. What
the devil are your doing here? You are airing yourself under a pleasant
drizzle. That is not wholesome at our time of life. Will you let me give
you a little piece of advice? Let each of us go home; for, between you
and me, you will not see the candle in the window."

The last words made the Baron suddenly aware that he was sixty-three,
and that his cloak was wet.

"Who on earth told you--?" he began.

"Valerie, of course, _our_ Valerie, who means henceforth to be _my_
Valerie. We are even now, Baron; we will play off the tie when you
please. You have nothing to complain of; you know, I always stipulated
for the right of taking my revenge; it took you three months to rob me
of Josepha; I took Valerie from you in--We will say no more about that.
Now I mean to have her all to myself. But we can be very good friends,
all the same."

"Crevel, no jesting," said Hulot, in a voice choked by rage. "It is a
matter of life and death."

"Bless me, is that how you take it!--Baron, do you not remember what you
said to me the day of Hortense's marriage: 'Can two old gaffers like us
quarrel over a petticoat? It is too low, too common. We are _Regence_,
we agreed, Pompadour, eighteenth century, quite the Marechal Richelieu,
Louis XV., nay, and I may say, _Liaisons dangereuses_!"

Crevel might have gone on with his string of literary allusions; the
Baron heard him as a deaf man listens when he is but half deaf. But,
seeing in the gaslight the ghastly pallor of his face, the triumphant
Mayor stopped short. This was, indeed, a thunderbolt after Madame
Olivier's asservations and Valerie's parting glance.

"Good God! And there are so many other women in Paris!" he said at last.

"That is what I said to you when you took Josepha," said Crevel.

"Look here, Crevel, it is impossible. Give me some proof.--Have you a
key, as I have, to let yourself in?"

And having reached the house, the Baron put the key into the lock; but
the gate was immovable; he tried in vain to open it.

"Do not make a noise in the streets at night," said Crevel coolly. "I
tell you, Baron, I have far better proof than you can show."

"Proofs! give me proof!" cried the Baron, almost crazy with
exasperation.

"Come, and you shall have them," said Crevel.

And in obedience to Valerie's instructions, he led the Baron away
towards the quay, down the Rue Hillerin-Bertin. The unhappy Baron walked
on, as a merchant walks on the day