“Dear Paul, protect me from this dreadful person!”
Monsieur Bouchard was not at that moment able to protect anybody. He looked the picture of abject despair as he clutched the arms of his chair. He could only say, feebly:
“Go away! go away!”
“Is that the way you speak to your own Adèle!” cried Madame Vernet, burying her head on Monsieur Bouchard’s reluctant bosom and bursting into tears. “Oh, what a change within one short week! Last week it was nothing but ‘Dearest Adèle, when will you name the day?’ And now it is ‘Go away! go away!’” Madame Vernet’s voice was lost in sobs, but she continued to rub her left ear vigorously into Monsieur Bouchard’s shirt front.
“It is false!” wailed Monsieur Bouchard, trying to escape from Madame Vernet’s left ear.
“Do you pretend to deny,” sobbed that timid and trustful creature, “that only a week ago you gave me this?” She took from her pocket the paste necklace, and at the sight of it a shock like a galvanic battery ran down the backbones of de Meneval and Léontine. “And that when I found it to be paste you offered me two thousand francs, in humble apology for the attempt to deceive me?”
“It is false!” again cried Monsieur Bouchard, almost weeping.
“And that we were to meet here to-night in order to make exchange? Oh, dearest Paul, we have had lovers’ quarrels before, but nothing like this!”
Monsieur Bouchard was too much overcome by Madame Vernet’s affectionate attentions to do more than groan and try to push her away. But de Meneval, walking coolly up to her, quietly and very unexpectedly took the necklace out of her hand, saying:
“This is the property of my wife, and as such I take possession of it, and call on Monsieur Bouchard to make an explanation.”