The comic plaint of the old actor, who was trembling for his social status, put a note of buffoonery into the adventure. I soothed the old man to the best of my ability, assuring him that he was mistaken, though without hope of convincing him. What a fine picture he would have made, with his mobile blue eyes looking out piercingly from his clean-shaven face, over which seemed to float an everlasting grimace! He had so much and such astounding good fortune that his glance upon the real bad side of life was like that of a diplomat. His countless mistresses had so well instructed him in the particulars of Parisian fashionable and gay life that he was no longer the dupe of any one or anything. He nodded his head incredulously at my protests and replied to me with the inherent familiarity of his profession, in spite of the principles of breeding he had just professed with such solemnity. “You know, my dear fellow, La Croix, I am a very good boy and I like to try and give pleasure by appearing to believe what I am told, but I can’t swallow that!” Our little conversation had taken us, the actor and myself, into a corner of the drawing-room near the hall door, which was open. I judged that poor Camille would not be long in leaving, and that the best thing would be for me to wait for her outside and speak to her then so that Bonnivet’s eyes would not be fixed upon us during our talk. If no unfortunate accident happened I felt sure that now Queen Anne would arrange to definitely withdraw from the intrigue. I was quite sure, too, that Jacques would not be the one to end the affair. I knew his self-control. He would not betray himself. I knew that outbursts like Camille’s are at once followed by prostration, and I felt sure that she had allowed herself to be taken to the buffet like a cowed animal. Senneterre and Bressoré, the other two witnesses who had understood all the secrets of this scene, were not the men to let their perspicacity be apparent. One loved Madam de Bonnivet too sincerely, the other was too preoccupied in playing his part as the correct artist. Only I myself was likely by my nervousness to betray my knowledge. I therefore glided between two groups towards the staircase, and as I was doing so felt my hand seized. It was Molan, who said in a jerky voice— “Let us leave together. I want to speak to you.” “I am going at once,” I replied. “So am I; the coast is clear, let us be off.” We went downstairs without exchanging a word. We put on our coats in silence under the critical eyes of the footmen. It was not till we reached the street that Jacques said to me, while he clutched my arm with a force which proved his anger— “Were you present at the scene? Did you see what that infamous actress dared to do to me?” “I saw that she had her revenge,” I told him. “Frankly, you well deserved it, both you and Madam de Bonnivet. But still it had no consequences and no one perceived her intentions.”