The Baron started; he believed that the funds had been sent at last which he had been asking for these two months, to pay up his bills; he left the family-party, and hurried out to the anteroom.

“You are Monsieur de Paron Hulot?”

“Yes.”

“Your own self?”

“My own self.”

The man, who had been fumbling meanwhile in the lining of his cap, drew out a letter, of which the Baron hastily broke the seal, and read as follows:—­

“DEAR NEPHEW,—­Far from being able to send you the hundred thousand francs you ask of me, my present position is not tenable unless you can take some decisive steps to save me.  We are saddled with a public prosecutor who talks goody, and rhodomontades nonsense about the management.  It is impossible to get the black-chokered pump to hold his tongue.  If the War Minister allows civilians to feed out of his hand, I am done for.  I can trust the bearer; try to get him promoted; he has done us good service.  Do not abandon me to the crows!”

This letter was a thunderbolt; the Baron could read in it the intestine warfare between civil and military authorities, which to this day hampers the Government, and he was required to invent on the spot some palliative for the difficulty that stared him in the face.  He desired the soldier to come back next day, dismissing him with splendid promises of promotion, and he returned to the drawing-room.  “Good-day and good-bye, brother,” said he to the Marshal.—­“Good-bye, children.—­Good-bye, my dear Adeline.—­And what are you going to do, Lisbeth?” he asked.

“I?—­I am going to keep house for the Marshal, for I must end my days doing what I can for one or another of you.”

“Do not leave Valerie till I have seen you again,” said Hulot in his cousin’s ear.—­“Good-bye, Hortense, refractory little puss; try to be reasonable.  I have important business to be attended to at once; we will discuss your reconciliation another time.  Now, think it over, my child,” said he as he kissed her.

And he went away, so evidently uneasy, that his wife and children felt the gravest apprehensions.

“Lisbeth,” said the Baroness, “I must find out what is wrong with Hector; I never saw him in such a state.  Stay a day or two longer with that woman; he tells her everything, and we can then learn what has so suddenly upset him.  Be quite easy; we will arrange your marriage to the Marshal, for it is really necessary.”

“I shall never forget the courage you have shown this morning,” said Hortense, embracing Lisbeth.

“You have avenged our poor mother,” said Victorin.

The Marshal looked on with curiosity at all the display of affection lavished on Lisbeth, who went off to report the scene to Valerie.

This sketch will enable guileless souls to understand what various mischief Madame Marneffes may do in a family, and the means by which they reach poor virtuous wives apparently so far out of their ken.  And then, if we only transfer, in fancy, such doings to the upper class of society about a throne, and if we consider what kings’ mistresses must have cost them, we may estimate the debt owed by a nation to a sovereign who sets the example of a decent and domestic life.