the ground of his health. He is to be away a month. Now,
we all know what waiting for a month means. You deliver me over to the
mockery of my enemies, and it is bad enough to be drummed upon one side;
drumming on both at once, monsieur, is apt to burst the drum."

"My dear Marneffe, it takes long patience to gain an end. You cannot be
made head-clerk in less than two months, if ever. Just when I must, as
far as possible, secure my own position, is not the time to be applying
for your promotion, which would raise a scandal."

"If you are broke, I shall never get it," said Marneffe coolly. "And if
you get me the place, it will make no difference in the end."

"Then I am to sacrifice myself for you?" said the Baron.

"If you do not, I shall be much mistaken in you."

"You are too exclusively Marneffe, Monsieur Marneffe," said Hulot,
rising and showing the clerk the door.

"I have the honor to wish you good-morning, Monsieur le Baron," said
Marneffe humbly.

"What an infamous rascal!" thought the Baron. "This is uncommonly like a
summons to pay within twenty-four hours on pain of distraint."

Two hours later, just when the Baron had been instructing Claude Vignon,
whom he was sending to the Ministry of Justice to obtain information
as to the judicial authorities under whose jurisdiction Johann Fischer
might fall, Reine opened the door of his private room and gave him a
note, saying she would wait for the answer.

"Valerie is mad!" said the Baron to himself. "To send Reine! It is
enough to compromise us all, and it certainly compromises that dreadful
Marneffe's chances of promotion!"

But he dismissed the minister's private secretary, and read as
follows:--

"Oh, my dear friend, what a scene I have had to endure! Though you
have made me happy for three years, I have paid dearly for it! He
came in from the office in a rage that made me quake. I knew he
was ugly; I have seen him a monster! His four real teeth
chattered, and he threatened me with his odious presence without
respite if I should continue to receive you. My poor, dear old
boy, our door is closed against you henceforth. You see my tears;
they are dropping on the paper and soaking it; can you read what I
write, dear Hector? Oh, to think of never seeing you, of giving
you up when I bear in me some of your life, as I flatter myself I
have your heart--it is enough to kill me. Think of our little
Hector!

"Do not forsake me, but