"Ay, old sly fox, you are right, we are swindled like—like shareholders!" said Crevel. "All such women are an unlimited liability, and we the sleeping partners."
"Then it was she who told you about the candle in the window?"
"My good man," replied Crevel, striking an attitude, "she has fooled us both. Valerie is a—She told me to keep you here.—Now I see it all. She has got her Brazilian!—Oh, I have done with her, for if you hold her hands, she would find a way to cheat you with her feet! There! she is a minx, a jade!"
"She is lower than a prostitute," said the Baron. "Josepha and Jenny Cadine were in their rights when they were false to us; they make a trade of their charms."
"But she, who affects the saint—the prude!" said Crevel. "I tell you what, Hulot, do you go back to your wife; your money matters are not looking well; I have heard talk of certain notes of hand given to a low usurer whose special line of business is lending to these sluts, a man named Vauvinet. For my part, I am cured of your 'real ladies.' And, after all, at our time of life what do we want of these swindling hussies, who, to be honest, cannot help playing us false? You have white hair and false teeth; I am of the shape of Silenus. I shall go in for saving. Money never deceives one. Though the Treasury is indeed open to all the world twice a year, it pays you interest, and this woman swallows it. With you, my worthy friend, as Gubetta, as my partner in the concern, I might have resigned myself to a shady bargain—no, a philosophical calm. But with a Brazilian who has possibly smuggled in some doubtful colonial produce——"
"Woman is an inexplicable creature!" said Hulot.
"I can explain her," said Crevel. "We are old; the Brazilian is young and handsome."
"Yes; that, I own, is true," said Hulot; "we are older than we were. But, my dear fellow, how is one to do without these pretty creatures —seeing them undress, twist up their hair, smile cunningly through their fingers as they screw up their curl-papers, put on all their airs and graces, tell all their lies, declare that we don't love them when we are worried with business; and they cheer us in spite of everything."
"Yes, by the Power! It is the only pleasure in life!" cried Crevel. "When a saucy little mug smiles at you and says, 'My old dear, you don't know how nice you are! I am not like other women, I suppose, who go crazy over mere boys with goats' beards, smelling of smoke, and as coarse as serving-men! For in their youth they are so insolent!—They come in and they bid you good-morning, and out they go.—I, whom you think such a flirt, I prefer a man of fifty to these brats. A man who will stick by me, who is devoted, who knows a woman is not to be picked up every day, and appreciates us.—That is what I love you for, you old monster!'—and they fill up these avowals with little pettings and prettinesses and—Faugh! they are as false as the bills on the Hotel de Ville."
"A lie is sometimes better than the truth," said Hulot, remembering sundry bewitching scenes called up by Crevel, who mimicked Valerie. "They are obliged to act upon their lies, to sew spangles on their stage frocks—"