that you
were on your way to me when I was on my way to you; that, at any rate,
will set this morning's business right. Good-bye."

Lisbeth, called down by Reine, ran after Wenceslas and caught him up
at the corner of the Rue Hillerin-Bertin; she was afraid of his Polish
artlessness. Not wishing to be involved in the matter, she said a few
words to Wenceslas, who in his joy hugged her then and there. She had
no doubt pushed out a plank to enable the artist to cross this awkward
place in his conjugal affairs.

At the sight of her mother, who had flown to her aid, Hortense burst
into floods of tears. This happily changed the character of the
hysterical attack.

"Treachery, dear mamma!" cried she. "Wenceslas, after giving me his word
of honor that he would not go near Madame Marneffe, dined with her last
night, and did not come in till a quarter-past one in the morning.--If
you only knew! The day before we had had a discussion, not a quarrel,
and I had appealed to him so touchingly. I told him I was jealous, that
I should die if he were unfaithful; that I was easily suspicious, but
that he ought to have some consideration for my weaknesses, as they came
of my love for him; that I had my father's blood in my veins as well as
yours; that at the first moment of such discovery I should be mad, and
capable of mad deeds--of avenging myself--of dishonoring us all, him,
his child, and myself; that I might even kill him first and myself
after--and so on.

"And yet he went there; he is there!--That woman is bent on breaking all
our hearts! Only yesterday my brother and Celestine pledged their all
to pay off seventy thousand francs on notes of hand signed for that
good-for-nothing creature.--Yes, mamma, my father would have been
arrested and put into prison. Cannot that dreadful woman be content with
having my father, and with all your tears? Why take my Wenceslas?--I
will go to see her and stab her!"

Madame Hulot, struck to the heart by the dreadful secrets Hortense
was unwittingly letting out, controlled her grief by one of the heroic
efforts which a magnanimous mother can make, and drew her daughter's
head on to her bosom to cover it with kisses.

"Wait for Wenceslas, my child; all will be explained. The evil cannot
be so great as you picture it!--I, too, have been deceived, my dear
Hortense; you think me handsome, I have lived blameless; and yet I have
been utterly forsaken for three-and-twenty years--for a Jenny Cadine,