“I do not care so much for the ten thousand francs in an annuity, which would bring me nearly five hundred francs a year, as for absolute secrecy,” said Lisbeth. “For, you see, my dear Monsieur Crevel, the Baron is very good to me; he is to pay my rent----” “Oh yes, long may that last! I advise you to trust him,” cried Crevel. “Where will he find the money?” “Ah, that I don’t know. At the same time, he is spending more than thirty thousand francs on the rooms he is furnishing for this little lady.” “A lady! What, a woman in society; the rascal, what luck he has! He is the only favorite!” “A married woman, and quite the lady,” Lisbeth affirmed. “Really and truly?” cried Crevel, opening wide eyes flashing with envy, quite as much as at the magic words _quite the lady_. “Yes, really,” said Lisbeth. “Clever, a musician, three-and-twenty, a pretty, innocent face, a dazzling white skin, teeth like a puppy’s, eyes like stars, a beautiful forehead--and tiny feet, I never saw the like, they are not wider than her stay-busk.” “And ears?” asked Crevel, keenly alive to this catalogue of charms. “Ears for a model,” she replied. “And small hands?” “I tell you, in few words, a gem of a woman--and high-minded, and modest, and refined! A beautiful soul, an angel--and with every distinction, for her father was a Marshal of France----” “A Marshal of France!” shrieked Crevel, positively bounding with excitement. “Good Heavens! by the Holy Piper! By all the joys in Paradise!--The rascal!--I beg your pardon, Cousin, I am going crazy!--I think I would give a hundred thousand francs----” “I dare say you would, and, I tell you, she is a respectable woman--a woman of virtue. The Baron has forked out handsomely.” “He has not a sou, I tell you.” “There is a husband he has pushed----” “Where did he push him?” asked Crevel, with a bitter laugh. “He is promoted to be second in his office--this husband who will oblige, no doubt;--and his name is down for the Cross of the Legion of Honor.” “The Government ought to be judicious and respect those who have the Cross by not flinging it broadcast,” said Crevel, with the look of an aggrieved politician. “But what is there about the man--that old bulldog of a Baron?” he went on. “It seems to me that I am quite a match for him,” and he struck an attitude as he looked at himself in the glass. “Heloise has told me many a time, at moments when a woman speaks the truth, that I was wonderful.” “Oh,” said Lisbeth, “women like big men; they are almost always good-natured; and if I had to decide between you and the Baron, I should choose you. Monsieur Hulot is amusing, handsome, and has a figure; but you, you are substantial, and then--you see--you look an even greater scamp than he does.” “It is incredible how all women, even pious women, take to men who have that about them!” exclaimed Crevel, putting his arm round Lisbeth’s waist, he was so jubilant.