ers, the servants,
everybody, and almost before the cab had stopped, she jumped out and ran
past the porter who was standing outside his lodge. He must know
everything, everything!--her address, her name, her husband's
profession--everything, for those porters are the most cunning of
policemen! For two years she had intended to bribe him, to give him (to
throw at him one day as she passed him) a hundred-franc bank-note, but
she had never once dared to do it. She was frightened! What of? She did
not know! Of his calling her back, if he did not understand? Of a
scandal? Of a crowd on the stairs? Of being arrested, perhaps? To reach
the Viscount's door, she had only to ascend a half a flight of stairs,
and it seemed to her as high as the tower of Saint Jacques' Church.

As soon as she had reached the vestibule, she felt as if she were caught
in a trap, and the slightest noise before or behind her, nearly made her
faint. It was impossible for her to go back, because of that porter who
barred her retreat; and if anyone came down at that moment she would not
dare to ring at Martelet's door, but would pass it as if she had been
going elsewhere! She would have gone up, and up, and up! She would have
mounted forty flights of stairs! Then, when everything would seem quiet
again down below, she would run down, feeling terribly frightened, lest
she would not recognize the lobby.

He was there in a velvet coat lined with silk, very stylish, but rather
ridiculous, and for two years he had never altered his manner of
receiving her, not in a single movement! As soon as he had shut the
door, he used to say this: "Let me kiss your hands, my dear, dear
friend!" Then he followed her into the room, when with closed shutters
and lighted candles, out of refinement, no doubt, he knelt down before
her and looked at her from head to foot with an air of adoration. On the
first occasion that had been very nice and very successful; but now it
seemed to her as if she saw Monsieur Delauney acting the last scene of a
successful piece for the hundred and twentieth time. He might really
change his manner of acting. But no, he never altered his manner of
acting, poor fellow. What a good fellow he was, but very commonplace!

And how difficult it was to undress and dress without a lady's maid!
Perhaps that was the moment when she began to take a dislike to him.
When he said: "Do you want me to help you?" she could have killed him.
Certainly there were no