Chardin attempted to trace some zigzag lines in the air with the forefinger of his right hand.

Lisbeth, not listening to him, read these few words: 

  “DEAR COUSIN,—­Be my Providence; give me three hundred francs this
  day.

“HECTOR.”

“What does he want so much money for?”

“The lan’lord!” said Chardin, still trying to sketch arabesques.  “And then my son, you see, has come back from Algiers through Spain and Bayonee, and, and—­he has found nothing—­against his rule, for a sharp cove is my son, saving your presence.  How can he help it, he is in want of food; but he will repay all we lend him, for he is going to get up a company.  He has ideas, he has, that will carry him—­”

“To the police court,” Lisbeth put in.  “He murdered my uncle; I shall not forget that.”

“He—­why, he could not bleed a chicken, honorable lady.”

“Here are the three hundred francs,” said Lisbeth, taking fifteen gold pieces out of her purse.  “Now, go, and never come here again.”

She saw the father of the Oran storekeeper off the premises, and pointed out the drunken old creature to the porter.

“At any time when that man comes here, if by chance he should come again, do not let him in.  If he should ask whether Monsieur Hulot junior or Madame la Baronne Hulot lives here, tell him you know of no such persons.”

“Very good, mademoiselle.”

“Your place depends on it if you make any mistake, even without intending it,” said Lisbeth, in the woman’s ear.—­“Cousin,” she went on to Victorin, who just now came in, “a great misfortune is hanging over your head.”

“What is that?” said Victorin.

“Within a few days Madame Marneffe will be your wife’s stepmother.”

“That remains to be seen,” replied Victorin.

For six months past Lisbeth had very regularly paid a little allowance to Baron Hulot, her former protector, whom she now protected; she knew the secret of his dwelling-place, and relished Adeline’s tears, saying to her, as we have seen, when she saw her cheerful and hopeful, “You may expect to find my poor cousin’s name in the papers some day under the heading ‘Police Report.’”

But in this, as on a former occasion, she let her vengeance carry her too far.  She had aroused the prudent suspicions of Victorin.  He had resolved to be rid of this Damocles’ sword so constantly flourished over them by Lisbeth, and of the female demon to whom his mother and the family owed so many woes.  The Prince de Wissembourg, knowing all about Madame Marneffe’s conduct, approved of the young lawyer’s secret project; he had promised him, as a President of the Council can promise, the secret assistance of the police, to enlighten Crevel and rescue a fine fortune from the clutches of the diabolical courtesan, whom he could not forgive either for causing the death of Marshal Hulot or for the Baron’s utter ruin.