The head clerk was chivalrous, a feminist, and imbued with a local patriotism stimulated by the scholarly learning of an archivist. Had he not discovered from statistics--into what will statistics not inquire?--that "the number of deceived husbands is less in Dauphiné than anywhere else," this being an opinion which an old author named Chateaumières de Grenaille had formulated as early as the 16th century, stating that it was "almost a miracle to hear of a woman in Grenoble having a love-affair to the damage or prejudice of her reputation." Nothing less than this learned authority could have induced him to side against M. Derize, whose almost universal reputation as an historian would otherwise have had great weight with him. "Pooh, let's wait for the answer," protested young Malaunay, who, at the age of seventeen or eighteen, after having gone through many offices, was profoundly skeptical in all matters of morals. But his doubts were not shared by his three colleagues, for they had seen the pretty, quiet Madame Derize in the street, in the public garden, on the quays of the Isère, and they earnestly and unanimously vouched for the innocence of their new client. "I hope you're right, I'm sure," said the office boy indifferently. "All the same I had anticipated this case." He gave this retrospective prophecy with the air of one who knows life not merely from legal document, but from every angle of personal observation. "What do you mean?" asked Dauras and Lestaque, who had but one thought in common. "Well, one day at the museum--" "What were you doing at the museum?" "Copying a deed, perhaps--one day at the museum, M. Derize was showing his wife the pictures. I was behind them--they had stopped in front of the portrait of an old man, all wrinkled, who, at first glance, looked very ugly to me." "Who was the artist?" asked Vitrolle, before risking an opinion. "I don't know--it's all the same to me." "You have no taste." "He was saying, 'Look at that face; see how it sums up the whole of peasant life with its daily struggles, its sorrows, its parsimony indelibly written in the wrinkles, its dreams--and perhaps a little alcohol too--in the glassy eye.' He spoke excitedly, and said a lot of other things that I've forgotten. I profited by his lessons. But Madame Derize did not stir any more than a post. She certainly is beautiful, but I find her too impassive. Really, I thought the old man quite alive, instead of just a portrait in a frame hanging on the wall." "What then?" "Listen. To the right of the old man there was a picture of a lady in a low cut dress. A red dress with all kinds of dangles on the sleeves and bodice. Mme. Derize took in the costume at a glance, you understand; she said: 'Lace looks very well with velvet.' Her husband was furious and did not say another word while they were in the gallery." "And after that?" said Vitrolle. "After that? Nothing. Divorce, that's all."