“Really, you men, when you have a notion in your head, you would burn a house down to get into it!” exclaimed she.  “Lisbeth is not in a fit state to admit you.—­Are you afraid of catching cold in the street?  Be off there—­or good-night.”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said the Baron to the other two.

Hulot, when piqued in his old man’s vanity, was bent on proving that he could play the young man by waiting for the happy hour in the open air, and he went away.

Marneffe bid his wife good-night, taking her hands with a semblance of devotion.  Valerie pressed her husband’s hand with a significant glance, conveying: 

“Get rid of Crevel.”

“Good-night, Crevel,” said Marneffe.  “I hope you will not stay long with Valerie.  Yes!  I am jealous—­a little late in the day, but it has me hard and fast.  I shall come back to see if you are gone.”

“We have a little business to discuss, but I shall not stay long,” said Crevel.

“Speak low.—­What is it?” said Valerie, raising her voice, and looking at him with a mingled expression of haughtiness and scorn.

Crevel, as he met this arrogant stare, though he was doing Valerie important services, and had hoped to plume himself on the fact, was at once reduced to submission.

“That Brazilian——­” he began, but, overpowered by Valerie’s fixed look of contempt, he broke off.

“What of him?” said she.

“That cousin—­”

“Is no cousin of mine,” said she.  “He is my cousin to the world and to Monsieur Marneffe.  And if he were my lover, it would be no concern of yours.  A tradesman who pays a woman to be revenged on another man, is, in my opinion, beneath the man who pays her for love of her.  You did not care for me; all you saw in me was Monsieur Hulot’s mistress.  You bought me as a man buys a pistol to kill his adversary.  I wanted bread—­I accepted the bargain.”

“But you have not carried it out,” said Crevel, the tradesman once more.

“You want Baron Hulot to be told that you have robbed him of his mistress, to pay him out for having robbed you of Josepha?  Nothing can more clearly prove your baseness.  You say you love a woman, you treat her like a duchess, and then you want to degrade her?  Well, my good fellow, and you are right.  This woman is no match for Josepha.  That young person has the courage of her disgrace, while I—­I am a hypocrite, and deserve to be publicly whipped.—­Alas!  Josepha is protected by her cleverness and her wealth.  I have nothing to shelter me but my reputation; I am still the worthy and blameless wife of a plain citizen; if you create a scandal, what is to become of me?  If I were rich, then indeed; but my income is fifteen thousand francs a year at most, I suppose.”

“Much more than that,” said Crevel.  “I have doubled your savings in these last two months by investing in Orleans.”