“You have a handsome pair of boots, sir,” he said.
“Like everything else about him,” said Coralie.
“I should be very glad of your bootmaker’s address.”
“Oh, how like the Rue des Bourdonnais to ask for a tradesman’s address,” cried Coralie. “Do you intend to patronize a young man’s bootmaker? A nice young man you would make! Do keep to your own top-boots; they are the kind for a steady-going man with a wife and family and a mistress.”
“Indeed, if you would take off one of your boots, sir, I should be very much obliged,” persisted Camusot.
“I could not get it on again without a button-hook,” said Lucien, flushing up.
“Bérénice will fetch you one; we can do with some here,” jeered Camusot.
“Papa Camusot!” said Coralie, looking at him with cruel scorn, “have the courage of your pitiful baseness. Come, speak out! You think that this gentleman’s boots are very like mine, do you not?—I forbid you to take off your boots,” she added, turning to Lucien.—“Yes, M. Camusot. Yes, you saw some boots lying about in the fender here the other day, and that is the identical pair, and this gentleman was hiding in my dressing-room at the time, waiting for them; and he had passed the night here. That was what you were thinking, hein? Think so; I would rather you did. It is the simple truth. I am deceiving you. And if I am? I do it to please myself.”
She sat down. There was no anger in her face, no embarrassment; she looked from Camusot to Lucien. The two men avoided each other’s eyes.
“I will believe nothing that you do not wish me to believe,” said Camusot. “Don’t play with me, Coralie; I was wrong——”