“Oh! to be so well loved!  To see a woman so ill used, and to be so nearly seventy years old!” thought he.

Lisbeth had come to give the family the good news.  Adeline and Hortense had already heard that the Baron, not choosing to compromise himself in the eyes of the whole office by appointing Marneffe to the first class, would be turned from the door by the Hulot-hating husband.  Adeline, very happy, had ordered a dinner that her Hector was to like better than any of Valerie’s; and Lisbeth, in her devotion, was helping Mariette to achieve this difficult result.  Cousin Betty was the idol of the hour.  Mother and daughter kissed her hands, and had told her with touching delight that the Marshal consented to have her as his housekeeper.

“And from that, my dear, there is but one step to becoming his wife!” said Adeline.

“In fact, he did not say no when Victorin mentioned it,” added the Countess.

The Baron was welcomed home with such charming proofs of affection, so pathetically overflowing with love, that he was fain to conceal his troubles.

Marshal Hulot came to dinner.  After dinner, Hector did not go out.  Victorin and his wife joined them, and they made up a rubber.

“It is a long time, Hector,” said the Marshal gravely, “since you gave us the treat of such an evening.”

This speech from the old soldier, who spoiled his brother though he thus implicitly blamed him, made a deep impression.  It showed how wide and deep were the wounds in a heart where all the woes he had divined had found an echo.  At eight o’clock the Baron insisted on seeing Lisbeth home, promising to return.

“Do you know, Lisbeth, he ill-treats her!” said he in the street.  “Oh, I never loved her so well!”

“I never imagined that Valerie loved you so well,” replied Lisbeth.  “She is frivolous and a coquette, she loves to have attentions paid her, and to have the comedy of love-making performed for her, as she says; but you are her only real attachment.”

“What message did she send me?”

“Why, this,” said Lisbeth.  “She has, as you know, been on intimate terms with Crevel.  You must owe her no grudge, for that, in fact, is what has raised her above utter poverty for the rest of her life; but she detests him, and matters are nearly at an end.—­Well, she has kept the key of some rooms—­”

“Rue du Dauphin!” cried the thrice-blest Baron.  “If it were for that alone, I would overlook Crevel.—­I have been there; I know.”

“Here, then, is the key,” said Lisbeth.  “Have another made from it in the course of to-morrow—­two if you can.”

“And then,” said Hulot eagerly.

“Well, I will dine at your house again to-morrow; you must give me back Valerie’s key, for old Crevel might ask her to return it to him, and you can meet her there the day after; then you can decide what your facts are to be.  You will be quite safe, as there are two ways out.  If by chance Crevel, who is Regence in his habits, as he is fond of saying, should come in by the side street, you could go out through the shop, or vice versa.