“You know that I am devoted to you,” said Lisbeth. “I am here, that says everything. I am wearing out the last shreds of my strength in watching over your interests, since they are one with our dear Valerie’s. Her house costs one-tenth of what any other does that is kept on the same scale. But for me, Cousin, instead of two thousand francs a month, you would be obliged to spend three or four thousand.” “I know all that,” replied the Baron out of patience; “you are our protectress in many ways,” he added, turning to Madame Marneffe and putting his arm round her neck.--“Is not she, my pretty sweet?” “On my honor,” exclaimed Valerie, “I believe you are gone mad!” “Well, you cannot doubt my attachment,” said Lisbeth. “But I am also very fond of my cousin Adeline, and I found her in tears. She has not seen you for a month. Now that is really too bad; you leave my poor Adeline without a sou. Your daughter Hortense almost died of it when she was told that it is thanks to your brother that we had any dinner at all. There was not even bread in your house this day. “Adeline is heroically resolved to keep her sufferings to herself. She said to me, ‘I will do as you have done!’ The speech went to my heart; and after dinner, as I thought of what my cousin had been in 1811, and of what she is in 1841--thirty years after--I had a violent indigestion.--I fancied I should get over it; but when I got home, I thought I was dying--” “You see, Valerie, to what my adoration of you has brought me! To crime--domestic crime!” “Oh! I was wise never to marry!” cried Lisbeth, with savage joy. “You are a kind, good man; Adeline is a perfect angel;--and this is the reward of her blind devotion.” “An elderly angel!” said Madame Marneffe softly, as she looked half tenderly, half mockingly, at her Hector, who was gazing at her as an examining judge gazes at the accused. “My poor wife!” said Hulot. “For more than nine months I have given her no money, though I find it for you, Valerie; but at what a cost! No one else will ever love you so, and what torments you inflict on me in return!” “Torments?” she echoed. “Then what do you call happiness?” “I do not yet know on what terms you have been with this so-called cousin whom you never mentioned to me,” said the Baron, paying no heed to Valerie’s interjection. “But when he came in I felt as if a penknife had been stuck into my heart. Blinded I may be, but I am not blind. I could read his eyes, and yours. In short, from under that ape’s eyelids there flashed sparks that he flung at you--and your eyes!--Oh! you have never looked at me so, never! As to this mystery, Valerie, it shall all be cleared up. You are the only woman who ever made me know the meaning of jealousy, so you need not be surprised by what I say.--But another mystery which has rent its cloud, and it seems to me infamous----” “Go on, go on,” said Valerie.