At this Madame Vernet uttered a despairing shriek, and throwing both arms round Monsieur Bouchard’s neck, screamed:
“You must avenge this insult, Paul! And you must at least give me the two thousand francs!”
But Monsieur Bouchard was so perfectly delighted with the notion that de Meneval had the necklace and Pierre the two thousand francs, that his countenance changed as if by magic. He struggled to his feet, and after vainly to disengage himself from Madame Vernet’s encircling arms, much to the amusement of the three young ladies and Major Fallière, cried:
“I am perfectly overjoyed to make an explanation—an explanation that will cause you, Léontine, and you, de Meneval, to forget all the unpleasant events of this evening. This necklace is paste—and the one Léontine has is real. You may remember, de Meneval, you came to my apartment a week ago last Monday evening, bringing Léontine’s real diamond necklace with you. You told me that when you bought it for her you also bought an imitation one for seventy-five francs, which you kept a secret from her.”
De Meneval, during this speech, had lost his dashing and determined attitude.
“I believe I did something of the kind,” he said, meekly.
“And that you had, still unknown to Léontine, put the paste one in place of the real one; and you threatened, if I did not advance money to pay a large bill you owed at the Pigeon House for things like this—” Monsieur Bouchard indicated the supper table and the guests with one wave of his arm—“you would take the necklace to the pawnbroker.”
De Meneval turned to Léontine, and knowing what was coming, said, with a sickly smile:
“Dearest, will you forgive me?”