“There is also another religion which teaches that, my dearest love, one of which you are the all-supreme goddess, and I but a humble neophyte.... And I am wrong in wishing evil to the scoundrel, for it was owing to the treacherous and cowardly way in which he attacked and did for me, that I had the opportunity I had so long wished for, of being introduced into this house. The lucky blow on my forehead with his stone, made me faint; and because you saw I had fainted, you called your husband; it was on account of your husband finding me without consciousness beneath your window, and believing I had been set upon by thieves, that he had me carried indoors; and lastly, because you were so moved by pity at the thought of what I had suffered for you, that you were willing to let me in here. And so, this good-for-nothing fellow, this contemptible scamp, is after all the source of all good, for all the good of life for me is in your love; nevertheless if ever he comes within reach of my whip, he will not have a very pleasant time of it.” “It seems then,” muttered Thibault, swearing to himself, “that my wish has again turned to the advantage of someone else! Ah! my friend, black wolf, I have still something to learn, but, confound it all! I will in future think so well over my wishes before expressing them that the pupil will become master ... but to whom does that voice, that I seem to know, belong?” Thibault continued, trying to recall it, “for the voice is familiar to me, of that I am certain!” “You would be even more incensed against him, poor wretch, if I were to tell you something.” “And what is that, my love?” “Well, that good-for-nothing fellow, as you call him, is making love to me.” “Phew!” “That is so, my lord,” said Madame Suzanne, laughing. “What! that boor, that low rascal! Where is he? Where does he hide himself? By Beelzebub! I’ll throw him to my dogs to eat!” And then, all at once, Thibault recognised his man. “Ah! my lord Baron,” he muttered, “it’s you, is it?” “Pray do not trouble yourself about it, my lord,” said Madame Suzanne, laying her two hands on her lover’s shoulders, and obliging him to sit down again, “your lordship is the only person whom I love, and even were it not so, a man with a lock of red hair right in the middle of his forehead is not the one to whom I should give away my heart.” And as the recollection of this lock of hair, which had made her laugh so at dinner, came back to her, she again gave way to her amusement. A violent feeling of anger towards the Bailiff’s wife took possession of Thibault. “Ah! traitress!” he exclaimed to himself, “what would I not give for your husband, your good, upright husband, to walk in at this moment and surprise you.”