Valerie shot a flash from her eye which would have killed him on the spot if looks could effect the vengeance they express. The police-officer smiled; he had laid a snare, and the woman had fallen into it. Marneffe desired his wife to go into the other room and clothe herself decently, for he and the Baron had come to an agreement on all points, and Hulot fetched his dressing-gown and came out again. “Gentlemen,” said he to the two officials, “I need not impress on you to be secret.” The functionaries bowed. The police-officer rapped twice on the door; his clerk came in, sat down at the “bonheur-du-jour,” and wrote what the constable dictated to him in an undertone. Valerie still wept vehemently. When she was dressed, Hulot went into the other room and put on his clothes. Meanwhile the report was written. Marneffe then wanted to take his wife home; but Hulot, believing that he saw her for the last time, begged the favor of being allowed to speak with her. “Monsieur, your wife has cost me dear enough for me to be allowed to say good-bye to her--in the presence of you all, of course.” Valerie went up to Hulot, and he whispered in her ear: “There is nothing left for us but to fly, but how can we correspond? We have been betrayed--” “Through Reine,” she answered. “But my dear friend, after this scandal we can never meet again. I am disgraced. Besides, you will hear dreadful things about me--you will believe them--” The Baron made a gesture of denial. “You will believe them, and I can thank God for that, for then perhaps you will not regret me.” “He will _not_ die a second-class clerk!” said Marneffe to Hulot, as he led his wife away, saying roughly, “Come, madame; if I am foolish to you, I do not choose to be a fool to others.” Valerie left the house, Crevel’s Eden, with a last glance at the Baron, so cunning that he thought she adored him. The Justice of the Peace gave Madame Marneffe his arm to the hackney coach with a flourish of gallantry. The Baron, who was required to witness the report, remained quite bewildered, alone with the police-officer. When the Baron had signed, the officer looked at him keenly, over his glasses. “You are very sweet on the little lady, Monsieur le Baron?” “To my sorrow, as you see.” “Suppose that she does not care for you?” the man went on, “that she is deceiving you?” “I have long known that, monsieur--here, in this very spot, Monsieur Crevel and I told each other----” “Oh! Then you knew that you were in Monsieur le Maire’s private snuggery?” “Perfectly.” The constable lightly touched his hat with a respectful gesture. “You are very much in love,” said he. “I say no more. I respect an inveterate passion, as a doctor respects an inveterate complaint.--I saw Monsieur de Nucingen, the banker, attacked in the same way--” “He is a friend of mine,” said the Baron. “Many a time have I supped with his handsome Esther. She was worth the two million francs she cost him.”