She is a saintly creature, I
know her well; she will repay you every penny."
At the name of Hulot, at the words two hundred thousand francs, a
gleam from Valerie's eyes flashed from between her long eyelids like
the flame of a cannon through the smoke.
"What did the old thing do to move you to compassion? Did she show you
--what?--her--her religion?"
"Do not make game of her, sweetheart; she is a very saintly, a very
noble and pious woman, worthy of all respect."
"Am I not worthy of respect then, heh?" answered Valerie, with a
threatening gaze at Crevel.
"I never said so," replied he, understanding that the praise of virtue
might not be gratifying to Madame Marneffe.
"I am pious too," Valerie went on, taking her seat in an armchair;
"but I do not make a trade of my religion. I go to church in secret."
She sat in silence, and paid no further heed to Crevel. He, extremely
ill at ease, came to stand in front of the chair into which Valerie
had thrown herself, and saw her lost in the reflections he had been so
foolish as to suggest.
"Valerie, my little Angel!"
Utter silence. A highly problematical tear was furtively dashed away.
"One word, my little duck?"
"Monsieur!"
"What are you thinking of, my darling?"
"Oh, Monsieur Crevel, I was thinking of the day of my first communion!
How pretty I was! How pure, how saintly!--immaculate!--Oh! if any one
had come to my mother and said, 'Your daughter will be a hussy, and
unfaithful to her husband; one day a police-officer will find her in a
disreputable house; she will sell herself to a Crevel to cheat a Hulot
--two horrible old men--' Poof! horrible--she would have died before
the end of the sentence, she was so fond of me, poor dear!--"
"Nay, be calm.
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