Adamas took sides with Mario, who had just entered the boudoir adjoining the bedroom.
At that moment they heard Bellinde engaged in a warm dispute with the child. He was pulling her by the skirt, and she resisted by saying that he took liberties above his age.
The marquis rose indignantly.
"Libertine!" he cried in despair; "already a libertine?"
Poor Mario ran forward, weeping bitterly.
"Father," he cried, throwing himself into his arms, "she is a wicked girl. I was trying to bring her to you to show you what she has on her hands. She touched my ruff, saying that it was stained, and it is she who puts the stains on it; she wants to make you feel grieved and prevent you from loving me. She takes advantage of the foolish things I do to put other wicked things on my back. Father, she isn't a good woman; she makes you think I am a liar, and, if you believe her——"
"No, no, my son, I do not believe her!" cried the marquis.—"Adamas!"
But Adamas was no longer there; he had run after Bellinde; he seized her on the staircase, tried to drag her back by force, and received for his pains a hearty cuff which made him relax his grasp.
At the sound of this scuffle, the marquis darted out into the hall. Adamas had received a violent blow; he was dazed and was pressing his cheek.
"That hussy must have used her claws!" he exclaimed, "my face is all—Why, no, monsieur," he cried suddenly, overjoyed, "it isn't blood! Look! it's the beautiful rouge from your phials! It's conclusive evidence! Ah! upon my word! this business is clear enough at last. Now I hope that you will have no further doubt of that red-headed girl's malice!"