g-room where he had last
seen her.

"And is it the fact, old man," she went on, "that you have killed your
brother and your uncle, ruined your family, mortgaged your children's
house over and over again, and robbed the Government till in Africa, all
for your princess?"

Hulot sadly bent his head.

"Well, I admire that!" cried Josepha, starting up in her enthusiasm.
"It is a general flare-up! It is Sardanapalus! Splendid, thoroughly
complete! I may be a hussy, but I have a soul! I tell you, I like a
spendthrift, like you, crazy over a woman, a thousand times better than
those torpid, heartless bankers, who are supposed to be so good, and who
ruin no end of families with their rails--gold for them, and iron for
their gulls! You have only ruined those who belong to you, you have sold
no one but yourself; and then you have excuses, physical and moral."

She struck a tragic attitude, and spouted:

"'Tis Venus whose grasp never parts from her prey.

And there you are!" and she pirouetted on her toe.

Vice, Hulot found, could forgive him; vice smiled on him from the midst
of unbridled luxury. Here, as before a jury, the magnitude of a crime
was an extenuating circumstance. "And is your lady pretty at any rate?"
asked Josepha, trying as a preliminary act of charity, to divert Hulot's
thoughts, for his depression grieved her.

"On my word, almost as pretty as you are," said the Baron artfully.

"And monstrously droll? So I have been told. What does she do, I say? Is
she better fun than I am?"

"I don't want to talk about her," said Hulot.

"And I hear she has come round my Crevel, and little Steinbock, and a
gorgeous Brazilian?"

"Very likely."

"And that she has got a house as good as this, that Crevel has given
her. The baggage! She is my provost-marshal, and finishes off those I
have spoiled. I tell you why I am so curious to know what she is
like, old boy; I just caught sight of her in the Bois, in an open
carriage--but a long way off. She is a most accomplished harpy, Carabine
says. She is trying to eat up Crevel, but he only lets her nibble.
Crevel is a knowing hand, good-natured but hard-headed, who will always
say Yes, and then go his own way. He is vain and passionate; but his
cash is cold. You can never get anything out of such fellows beyond
a thousand to three thousand francs a month; they jib at any serious
outlay, as a donkey does at a running stream.

"Not like you, old boy. You are a man of pa