“Really, you men, when you have a notion in your head, you would burn a house down to get into it!” exclaimed she. “Lisbeth is not in a fit state to admit you.—Are you afraid of catching cold in the street? Be off there—or good-night.”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” said the Baron to the other two.
Hulot, when piqued in his old man’s vanity, was bent on proving that he could play the young man by waiting for the happy hour in the open air, and he went away.
Marneffe bid his wife good-night, taking her hands with a semblance of devotion. Valerie pressed her husband’s hand with a significant glance, conveying:
“Get rid of Crevel.”
“Good-night, Crevel,” said Marneffe. “I hope you will not stay long with Valerie. Yes! I am jealous—a little late in the day, but it has me hard and fast. I shall come back to see if you are gone.”
“We have a little business to discuss, but I shall not stay long,” said Crevel.
“Speak low.—What is it?” said Valerie, raising her voice, and looking at him with a mingled expression of haughtiness and scorn.
Crevel, as he met this arrogant stare, though he was doing Valerie important services, and had hoped to plume himself on the fact, was at once reduced to submission.
“That Brazilian——” he began, but, overpowered by Valerie’s fixed look of contempt, he broke off.