on with Montes, and remained a minute with
Carabine.

"Now, child, I have but one fear, and that is that he will strangle
her! I should be in a very tight place; we must do everything gently.
I believe you have won your picture by Raphael; but they tell me it is
only a Mignard. Never mind, it is much prettier; all the Raphaels are
gone black, I am told, whereas this one is as bright as a Girodet."

"All I want is to crow over Josepha; and it is all the same to me
whether I have a Mignard or a Raphael!--That thief had on such pearls
this evening!--you would sell your soul for them."

Cydalise, Montes, and Madame Nourrisson got into a hackney coach that
was waiting at the door. Madame Nourrisson whispered to the driver the
address of a house in the same block as the Italian Opera House,
which they could have reached in five or six minutes from the Rue
Saint-Georges; but Madame Nourrisson desired the man to drive along the
Rue le Peletier, and to go very slowly, so as to be able to examine the
carriages in waiting.

"Brazilian," said the old woman, "look out for your angel's carriage and
servants."

The Baron pointed out Valerie's carriage as they passed it.

"She has told them to come for her at ten o'clock, and she is gone in a
cab to the house where she visits Count Steinbock. She has dined there,
and will come to the Opera in half an hour.--It is well contrived!" said
Madame Nourrisson. "Thus you see how she has kept you so long in the
dark."

The Brazilian made no reply. He had become the tiger, and had recovered
the imperturbable cool ferocity that had been so striking at dinner. He
was as calm as a bankrupt the day after he has stopped payment.

At the door of the house stood a hackney coach with two horses, of the
kind known as a _Compagnie Generale_, from the Company that runs them.

"Stay here in the box," said the old woman to Montes. "This is not an
open house like a tavern. I will send for you."

The paradise of Madame Marneffe and Wenceslas was not at all like that
of Crevel--who, finding it useless now, had just sold his to the Comte
Maxime de Trailles. This paradise, the paradise of all comers, consisted
of a room on the fourth floor opening to the landing, in a house close
to the Italian Opera. On each floor of this house there was a room which
had originally served as the kitchen to the apartments on that floor.
But the house having become a sort of inn, let out for clandestine love
affairs at