"I see that Monsieur le Bleeder's police can still be relied on." "So you'll hide me somewhere and I'll slip off when you've gone to bed. And now, Dodger, let's talk of serious things."
Chéri-Bibi's face became so solemn that Hilaire felt that they were about to discuss certain things that he had been forbidden to mention, and of which he had the discretion not to breathe a word.
"Have you had any news during the last five years?" began Chéri-Bibi.
Hilaire broke in at once:
"None during the five years that Madame la Marchioness——"
Chéri-Bibi sprang from his chair with a fierce gesture.
"Who told you to speak of her?" he demanded, choking for breath.
He succeeded in at once mastering his intense excitement. He fell back into his seat, and passing his hand over his forehead, said in quiet, gloomy tones with an air of the deepest dejection:
"My dear old Dodger, you must never speak of her or her child. Our lips are not pure enough for us to dare utter her name; and as to her child, I fear lest we should bring bad luck upon him. I am dead, actually dead. You must never forget that. Chéri-Bibi may be alive, but Monsieur le Marquis is dead. And Chéri-Bibi himself is dead to them so long as they have no need of him. I know that at the present moment they are abroad and happy. Her son is growing up by her side, and she is making of him one of the finest and best of the sons of men. If she wants me later on, we shall see what we shall see. Meantime, let us sever all connection with the past. Is that agreed. Dodger?"
"I blush, my dear Monsieur le Bleeder, for having thoughtlessly stirred up so many painful memories."