“Let us look into the shop windows, papa,” said Hortense, as they went through the little gate to cross the wide square. “What--here?” said her father, laughing at her. “We are supposed to have come to see the pictures, and over there”--and she pointed to the stalls in front of the houses at a right angle to the Rue du Doyenne--“look! there are dealers in curiosities and pictures----” “Your cousin lives there.” “I know it, but she must not see us.” “And what do you want to do?” said the Baron, who, finding himself within thirty yards of Madame Marneffe’s windows, suddenly remembered her. Hortense had dragged her father in front of one of the shops forming the angle of a block of houses built along the front of the Old Louvre, and facing the Hotel de Nantes. She went into this shop; her father stood outside, absorbed in gazing at the windows of the pretty little lady, who, the evening before, had left her image stamped on the old beau’s heart, as if to alleviate the wound he was so soon to receive; and he could not help putting his wife’s sage advice into practice. “I will fall back on a simple little citizen’s wife,” said he to himself, recalling Madame Marneffe’s adorable graces. “Such a woman as that will soon make me forget that grasping Josepha.” Now, this was what was happening at the same moment outside and inside the curiosity shop. As he fixed his eyes on the windows of his new _belle_, the Baron saw the husband, who, while brushing his coat with his own hands, was apparently on the lookout, expecting to see some one on the square. Fearing lest he should be seen, and subsequently recognized, the amorous Baron turned his back on the Rue du Doyenne, or rather stood at three-quarters’ face, as it were, so as to be able to glance round from time to time. This manoeuvre brought him face to face with Madame Marneffe, who, coming up from the quay, was doubling the promontory of houses to go home. Valerie was evidently startled as she met the Baron’s astonished eye, and she responded with a prudish dropping of her eyelids. “A pretty woman,” exclaimed he, “for whom a man would do many foolish things.” “Indeed, monsieur?” said she, turning suddenly, like a woman who has just come to some vehement decision, “you are Monsieur le Baron Hulot, I believe?” The Baron, more and more bewildered, bowed assent. “Then, as chance has twice made our eyes meet, and I am so fortunate as to have interested or puzzled you, I may tell you that, instead of doing anything foolish, you ought to do justice.--My husband’s fate rests with you.” “And how may that be?” asked the gallant Baron. “He is employed in your department in the War Office, under Monsieur Lebrun, in Monsieur Coquet’s room,” said she with a smile. “I am quite disposed, Madame--Madame----?” “Madame Marneffe.”