“Lisbeth,” said the Baron, seizing his cousin by the hand and pointing to Hortense, “you can help me here.  My poor child’s brain is turned; she believes that her Wenceslas is Madame Marneffe’s lover, while all that Valerie wanted was to have a group by him.”

“Delilah!” cried the young wife.  “The only thing he has done since our marriage.  The man would not work for me or for his son, and he has worked with frenzy for that good-for-nothing creature.—­Oh, father, kill me outright, for every word stabs like a knife!”

Lisbeth turned to the Baroness and Victorin, pointing with a pitying shrug to the Baron, who could not see her.

“Listen to me,” said she to him.  “I had no idea—­when you asked me to go to lodge over Madame Marneffe and keep house for her—­I had no idea of what she was; but many things may be learned in three years.  That creature is a prostitute, and one whose depravity can only be compared with that of her infamous and horrible husband.  You are the dupe, my lord pot-boiler, of those people; you will be led further by them than you dream of!  I speak plainly, for you are at the bottom of a pit.”

The Baroness and her daughter, hearing Lisbeth speak in this style, cast adoring looks at her, such as the devout cast at a Madonna for having saved their life.

“That horrible woman was bent on destroying your son-in-law’s home.  To what end?—­I know not.  My brain is not equal to seeing clearly into these dark intrigues—­perverse, ignoble, infamous!  Your Madame Marneffe does not love your son-in-law, but she will have him at her feet out of revenge.  I have just spoken to the wretched woman as she deserves.  She is a shameless courtesan; I have told her that I am leaving her house, that I would not have my honor smirched in that muck-heap.—­I owe myself to my family before all else.

“I knew that Hortense had left her husband, so here I am.  Your Valerie, whom you believe to be a saint, is the cause of this miserable separation; can I remain with such a woman?  Our poor little Hortense,” said she, touching the Baron’s arm, with peculiar meaning, “is perhaps the dupe of a wish of such women as these, who, to possess a toy, would sacrifice a family.

“I do not think Wenceslas guilty; but I think him weak, and I cannot promise that he will not yield to her refinements of temptation.—­My mind is made up.  The woman is fatal to you; she will bring you all to utter ruin.  I will not even seem to be concerned in the destruction of my own family, after living there for three years solely to hinder it.

“You are cheated, Baron; say very positively that you will have nothing to say to the promotion of that dreadful Marneffe, and you will see then!  There is a fine rod in pickle for you in that case.”

Lisbeth lifted up Hortense and kissed her enthusiastically.

“My dear Hortense, stand firm,” she whispered.

The Baroness embraced Lisbeth with the vehemence of a woman who sees herself avenged.  The whole family stood in perfect silence round the father, who had wit enough to know what that silence implied.  A storm of fury swept across his brow and face with evident signs; the veins swelled, his eyes were bloodshot, his flesh showed patches of color.  Adeline fell on her knees before him and seized his hands.