Every time he made her a present there was a fortress to be stormed, a conscience to be over-persuaded. The hapless Baron laid deep stratagems to offer her some trifle--costly, nevertheless--proud of having at last met with virtue and the realization of his dreams. In this primitive household, as he assured himself, he was the god as much as in his own. And Monsieur Marneffe seemed at a thousand leagues from suspecting that the Jupiter of his office intended to descend on his wife in a shower of gold; he was his august chief’s humblest slave. Madame Marneffe, twenty-three years of age, a pure and bashful middle-class wife, a blossom hidden in the Rue du Doyenne, could know nothing of the depravity and demoralizing harlotry which the Baron could no longer think of without disgust, for he had never known the charm of recalcitrant virtue, and the coy Valerie made him enjoy it to the utmost--all along the line, as the saying goes. The question having come to this point between Hector and Valerie, it is not astonishing that Valerie should have heard from Hector the secret of the intended marriage between the great sculptor Steinbock and Hortense Hulot. Between a lover on his promotion and a lady who hesitates long before becoming his mistress, there are contests, uttered or unexpressed, in which a word often betrays a thought; as, in fencing, the foils fly as briskly as the swords in duel. Then a prudent man follows the example of Monsieur de Turenne. Thus the Baron had hinted at the greater freedom his daughter’s marriage would allow him, in reply to the tender Valerie, who more than once had exclaimed: “I cannot imagine how a woman can go wrong for a man who is not wholly hers.” And a thousand times already the Baron had declared that for five-and-twenty years all had been at an end between Madame Hulot and himself. “And they say she is so handsome!” replied Madame Marneffe. “I want proof.” “You shall have it,” said the Baron, made happy by this demand, by which his Valerie committed herself. Hector had then been compelled to reveal his plans, already being carried into effect in the Rue Vanneau, to prove to Valerie that he intended to devote to her that half of his life which belonged to his lawful wife, supposing that day and night equally divide the existence of civilized humanity. He spoke of decently deserting his wife, leaving her to herself as soon as Hortense should be married. The Baroness would then spend all her time with Hortense or the young Hulot couple; he was sure of her submission. “And then, my angel, my true life, my real home will be in the Rue Vanneau.” “Bless me, how you dispose of me!” said Madame Marneffe. “And my husband----” “That rag!” “To be sure, as compared with you so he is!” said she with a laugh.