The two conspirators entered the salon together, and found Rochefide aged by two years; he had not even put on his corset, his beard had sprouted, and all his elegance was gone.
“Well, my dear marquis?” said Maxime.
“Ah, my dear fellow, my life is wrecked.”
Arthur talked for ten minutes, and Maxime listened gravely, thinking all the while of his own marriage, which was now to take place within a week.
“My dear Arthur,” he replied at last; “I told you the only means I knew to keep Aurelie, but you wouldn’t—”
“What was it?”
“Didn’t I advise you to go and sup with Antonia?”
“Yes, you did. But how could I? I love, and you, you only make love—”
“Listen to me, Arthur; give Aurelie three hundred thousand francs for that little house, and I’ll promise to find some one to suit you better. I’ll talk to you about it later, for there’s d’Ajuda making signs that he wants to speak to me.”
And Maxime left the inconsolable man for the representative of a family in need of consolation.