“The magistrate makes no progress, and seems to me as though about to abandon the matter altogether.” “You told this to the Minister?” “Yes, not five minutes ago.” “And how did he receive the communication?” “He whistled softly; then said aloud, ‘After all, perhaps it is better so.’” Colonel Vallenot looked at Baudoin, as though to make sure he was not making fun of him. Then he shrugged his shoulders, as though he did not understand, and declared, in vexed tones— “Good! Good! Well, we will say no more about it.” With a friendly gesture to the former soldier, he said— “Good night, Baudoin. If you need anything send for me. We were all very fond of M. de Trémont.” And he passed along, muttering to himself— “Everybody I meet seems to have lost his head.” Baudoin descended the large staircase. He went out into the street, after shaking hands with the concierge, and made his way towards the small café, where, in condescending fashion, Laforêt watched the billiard players, during the absinthe hour, eagerly playing pools. He was seated in his usual place, smoking his pipe, and speaking to a neighbour, a retired business man, who was telling him his domestic worries. “Yes, sir; a woman who is always out of the house, and has never enough money. The vaults of the Bank would not suffice for her. And whenever I remonstrate with her she rouses the whole house with her cries. We cannot keep servants, for she will not pay them, and when she is not pleased, then there are blows! I have already been several times before the Justice of the Peace on her account. The life she leads me is a regular inferno!” “Divorce her,” said Laforêt, curtly. “But the greater part of our common stock is hers!” “Then put up with her!” “I can do it no longer.” “Well, treat her as she treats her servants.” “Ah! No! The deuce! She would pay me back in the same coin!” Baudoin’s arrival interrupted the consultation. The unhappy tradesman arose, and said— “The only place where I have a little quiet is here.” “Well, that is something. Good-bye, sir. Consider me at your service if I can be of any use to you.” Baudoin had taken a seat. Laforêt leaned over in his direction. “Well, anything fresh?” “Yes. I want you. But we had better leave here.” The agent arose, took his stick, and left the café, accompanied by Baudoin. “Where shall we go?” “Where we shall be neither disturbed nor overheard.” “Then come along with me.” They proceeded along the banks of the Seine, and, on reaching a quay, Laforêt led the way down a flight of stone stairs leading to the embankment. Under the shade of the elms, which twisted their knotty boughs above the slimy, swift-flowing river, they sat down. On the opposite bank the gardens of the Tuileries exposed to view their lovely verdure. Lighters were unloading sand fifty yards on the left. Ferry-boats sped swiftly along, crowded with passengers, and the distant rolling of carriages formed a rumbling accompaniment to their words.