a thousand suspicions cropped up in her mind, as, in India, tall,
rank plants spring up in a night-time.

By the end of three weeks, Madame Marneffe was intensely irritated by
Hortense. Women of that stamp have a pride of their own; they insist
that men shall kiss the devil's hoof; they have no forgiveness for the
virtue that does not quail before their dominion, or that even holds its
own against them. Now, in all that time Wenceslas had not paid one visit
in the Rue Vanneau, not even that which politeness required to a woman
who had sat for Delilah.

Whenever Lisbeth called on the Steinbocks, there had been nobody at
home. Monsieur and madame lived in the studio. Lisbeth, following the
turtle doves to their nest at le Gros-Caillou, found Wenceslas hard at
work, and was informed by the cook that madame never left monsieur's
side. Wenceslas was a slave to the autocracy of love. So now Valerie, on
her own account, took part with Lisbeth in her hatred of Hortense.

Women cling to a lover that another woman is fighting for, just as
much as men do to women round whom many coxcombs are buzzing. Thus any
reflections _a propos_ to Madame Marneffe are equally applicable to any
lady-killing rake; he is, in fact, a sort of male courtesan. Valerie's
last fancy was a madness; above all, she was bent on getting her
group; she was even thinking of going one morning to the studio to see
Wenceslas, when a serious incident arose of the kind which, to a woman
of that class, may be called the spoil of war.

This is how Valerie announced this wholly personal event.

She was breakfasting with Lisbeth and her husband.

"I say, Marneffe, what would you say to being a second time a father?"

"You don't mean it--a baby?--Oh, let me kiss you!"

He rose and went round the table; his wife held up her head so that he
could just kiss her hair.

"If that is so," he went on, "I am head-clerk and officer of the Legion
of Honor at once. But you must understand, my dear, Stanislas is not to
be the sufferer, poor little man."

"Poor little man?" Lisbeth put in. "You have not set your eyes on him
these seven months. I am supposed to be his mother at the school; I am
the only person in the house who takes any trouble about him."

"A brat that costs us a hundred crowns a quarter!" said Valerie. "And
he, at any rate, is your own child, Marneffe. You ought to pay for his
schooling out of your salary.--The newcomer, far from reminding us of
butc