“He whistled softly; then said aloud, ‘After all, perhaps it is better so.’”
Colonel Vallenot looked at Baudoin, as though to make sure he was not making fun of him. Then he shrugged his shoulders, as though he did not understand, and declared, in vexed tones—
“Good! Good! Well, we will say no more about it.”
With a friendly gesture to the former soldier, he said—
“Good night, Baudoin. If you need anything send for me. We were all very fond of M. de Trémont.”
And he passed along, muttering to himself—
“Everybody I meet seems to have lost his head.”
Baudoin descended the large staircase. He went out into the street, after shaking hands with the concierge, and made his way towards the small café, where, in condescending fashion, Laforêt watched the billiard players, during the absinthe hour, eagerly playing pools. He was seated in his usual place, smoking his pipe, and speaking to a neighbour, a retired business man, who was telling him his domestic worries.
“Yes, sir; a woman who is always out of the house, and has never enough money. The vaults of the Bank would not suffice for her. And whenever I remonstrate with her she rouses the whole house with her cries. We cannot keep servants, for she will not pay them, and when she is not pleased, then there are blows! I have already been several times before the Justice of the Peace on her account. The life she leads me is a regular inferno!”
“Divorce her,” said Laforêt, curtly.