This insolent banter made the Baron leave the room as precipitately as Lot departed from Gomorrah, but he did not look back like Mrs. Lot.
Hulot went home, striding along in a fury, and talking to himself; he found his family still playing the game of whist at two sous a point, at which he left them. On seeing her husband return, poor Adeline imagined something dreadful, some dishonor; she gave her cards to Hortense, and led Hector away into the very room where, only five hours since, Crevel had foretold her the utmost disgrace of poverty.
“What is the matter?” she said, terrified.
“Oh, forgive me—but let me tell you all these horrors.” And for ten minutes he poured out his wrath.
“But, my dear,” said the unhappy woman, with heroic courage, “these creatures do not know what love means—such pure and devoted love as you deserve. How could you, so clear-sighted as you are, dream of competing with millions?”
“Dearest Adeline!” cried the Baron, clasping her to his heart.
The Baroness’ words had shed balm on the bleeding wounds to his vanity.
“To be sure, take away the Duc d’Herouville’s fortune, and she could not hesitate between us!” said the Baron.
“My dear,” said Adeline with a final effort, “if you positively must have mistresses, why do you not seek them, like Crevel, among women who are less extravagant, and of a class that can for a time be content with little? We should all gain by that arrangement.—I understand your need—but I do not understand that vanity——”
“Oh, what a kind and perfect wife you are!” cried he. “I am an old lunatic, I do not deserve to have such a wife!”