le Duc d'Herouville," the singer said, "a noble soul,
a true gentleman--" and Josepha related the settling and _marriage_ of
Monsieur Thoul.

"And so, thanks to you, mademoiselle, the Baron has wanted nothing?"

"We have done our best to that end, madame."

"And where is he now?"

"About six months ago, Monsieur le Duc told me that the Baron, known to
the notary by the name of Thoul, had drawn all the eight thousand
francs that were to have been paid to him in fixed sums once a quarter,"
replied Josepha. "We have heard no more of the Baron, neither I nor
Monsieur d'Herouville. Our lives are so full, we artists are so busy,
that I really have not time to run after old Thoul. As it happens, for
the last six months, Bijou, who works for me--his--what shall I say--?"

"His mistress," said Madame Hulot.

"His mistress," repeated Josepha, "has not been here. Mademoiselle
Olympe Bijou is perhaps divorced. Divorce is common in the thirteenth
arrondissement."

Josepha rose, and foraging among the rare plants in her stands, made a
charming bouquet for Madame Hulot, whose expectations, it may be said,
were by no means fulfilled. Like those worthy fold, who take men of
genius to be a sort of monsters, eating, drinking, walking, and speaking
unlike other people, the Baroness had hoped to see Josepha the opera
singer, the witch, the amorous and amusing courtesan; she saw a calm and
well-mannered woman, with the dignity of talent, the simplicity of an
actress who knows herself to be at night a queen, and also, better than
all, a woman of the town whose eyes, attitude, and demeanor paid full
and ungrudging homage to the virtuous wife, the _Mater dolorosa_ of
the sacred hymn, and who was crowning her sorrows with flowers, as the
Madonna is crowned in Italy.

"Madame," said the man-servant, reappearing at the end of half an hour,
"Madame Bijou is on her way, but you are not to expect little Olympe.
Your needle-woman, madame, is settled in life; she is married--"

"More or less?" said Josepha.

"No, madame, really married. She is at the head of a very fine business;
she has married the owner of a large and fashionable shop, on which they
have spent millions of francs, on the Boulevard des Italiens; and she
has left the embroidery business to her sister and mother. She is Madame
Grenouville. The fat tradesman--"

"A Crevel?"

"Yes, madame," said the man. "Well, he has settled thirty thousand
francs a year on Mademoiselle Bi