“An allegorical tableau!” he announced. “The angel of virtue destroying the hydra of vice!”
And the humour of the scene was twice as great because Lupin was appearing under the aspect of M. Nicole, in the clothes and figure of that wizened, awkward, nervous private tutor.
A sad smile flickered across Mme. Mergy’s face, her first smile for many a long month. But, at once returning to the reality of things, she besought him:
“Please, please . . . think of Gilbert!”
He ran up to her, caught her in his arms and, obeying a spontaneous impulse, so frank that she could but laugh at it, gave her a resounding kiss on either cheek:
“There, lady, that’s the kiss of a decent man! Instead of Daubrecq, it’s I kissing you.... Another word and I’ll do it again . . . and I’ll call you darling next.... Be angry with me, if you dare. Oh, how happy I am!”
He knelt before her on one knee. And, respectfully:
“I beg your pardon, madame. The fit is over.”
And, getting up again, resuming his whimsical manner, he continued, while Clarisse wondered what he was driving at:
“What’s the next article, madame? Your son’s pardon, perhaps? Certainly! Madame, I have the honour to grant you the pardon of your son, the commutation of his sentence to penal servitude for life and, to wind up with, his early escape. It’s settled, eh, Growler? Settled, Masher, what? You’ll both go with the boy to New Caledonia and arrange for everything. Oh, my dear Daubrecq, we owe you a great debt! But I’m not forgetting you, believe me! What would you like? A last pipe? Coming, coming!”