'What a wretch!' cried Suzanne.
'She is such a fool,' remarked the Baron, 'and Crucé is known to be a connaisseur. Besides, if poor Ethorel didn't have him to consult, his money would go just the same in absolute rubbish. All is for the best in this best of possible worlds. Well, go on.'
'Little de Brèves and you. Hark!' she exclaimed, stopping to listen. 'Some one is coming up—I have such an ear.' And then, looking at the Baron in precisely the same way she had looked, at René, she added, with a pretty look of annoyance, 'Mon Dieu! What a bother! Oh! it's no one,' breaking into a silvery laugh as the servant opened the door; 'it's only my husband. Good afternoon, Paul.'
'That sounds very complimentary,' said the man who had just entered, a tall, well-built fellow with frank, fearless eyes, and one of those pale but healthy complexions that reveal great energy. His features had that stamp of regularity which is only to be met with in Paris in very young men, for a face of that kind in a man of more than thirty-five indicates a perfectly clear conscience. The depth of his love was easily measured by the way in which Moraines looked at his wife, and his sincerity by the manner in which he shook hands with the Baron.
After a hearty laugh at Suzanne's exclamation, he added, with mock gravity, 'Am I intruding, madame?'
'Do you want any tea?' asked Suzanne, quietly; 'I must tell you that it's cold. "Yes, please," or "No, thank you?"'
'No, thank you,' replied Moraines, dropping into an arm-chair, and preparing his words as if to produce an effect, like some visitor. 'Some husbands are real idiots, and I blush for the community. Have you heard about Hacqueville? The story was told me at the club just now. Haven't heard it, eh? Well, this morning he happens to open a letter addressed to his wife which leaves no doubt as to the lady's virtue.'
'Poor Mainterne,' cried Suzanne, 'he was so fond of Lucie!'
'That's the beauty of it,' shouted Moraines, in the triumphal accents of one who is about to astonish his hearers; 'the letter didn't come from Mainterne, but Laverdin! Lucie had more than two strings to her bow. And guess to whom Hacqueville takes the letter and looks for advice?'
'To Mainterne,' replied the Baron.