"Has ever any one seen such impudence? This is not all; he has written at the bottom, in red letters, 'Cabrion, to his good friend Pipelet, for life,'" said the portress, examining the picture by the light. "His good friend for life!" murmured Alfred; raising his hands as if to call heaven to witness this new outrageous irony. [Illustration: Louise in Prison] "But how could he do it?" said Anastasia. "This portrait was not there this morning when I made the bed, very sure. You took the key with you just now: nobody could have entered while you were absent? How, then, once more, could this portrait get there? Could it be you, by chance, who put it there, old darling?" At this monstrous hypothesis, Alfred bounced from his seat; he opened his eyes wide and threatening. "I fasten in my alcove the portrait of this evil-doer, who, not content with persecuting me by his odious presence, pursues me at night in my dreams--the daytime in a picture! Would you make me mad, Anastasia? mad enough to be chained?" "Well! for the sake of making peace, you might have agreed with Cabrion during my absence. Where would be the great harm?" "I make up with--oh, merciful powers! you hear her?" "And then, he might have given you his portrait, as a pledge of friendship. If this is so, do not deny it." "Anastasia!" "If this is so, it must be confessed you are as capricious as a pretty woman." "Wife!" "In short, it must have been you who placed the portrait!" "I--oh!" "But who is it then?" "You, madame." "I!" "Yes," cried Pipelet wildly, "it is you; I have reason to believe it is you. This morning, having my back turned toward the bed I could see nothing." "But, old darling, I tell you it must be you, otherwise I shall think it was the devil." "I have not left the lodge, and when I went upstairs to answer to the call of the masculine organ, I had the key; the door was shut. You opened it; deny that!" "Ma foi; it is true!" "You confess, then?" "I confess that I comprehend nothing. It's a game, and it is prettily played." "A game!" cried Pipelet, carried away by frenzied indignation. "Ah! there you are again! I tell you, I, that all this conceals some abominable plot; there is something under all this--a plot. The abyss is hidden under flowers--they try to stun me to prevent my seeing the precipice from which they wish to plunge me. It only remains for me to place myself under the protection of the laws. Happily, the Lord is on our side;" and Pipelet turned toward the door, "Where are you going, old darling?" "To the commissary's, to lodge my complaint, and this portrait as proof of the persecutions I am overwhelmed with." "But what will you complain of?"