"But you will marry, all the same?" asked the Baron, in an agony of
jealousy.
"Eighty thousand francs a year!" said she, with almost comical
enthusiasm. "And Crevel loves me so much that he will die of it!"
"Ah! I understand," said Montes.
"Well, then, in a few days we will come to an understanding," said
she.
And she departed triumphant.
"I have no scruples," thought the Baron, standing transfixed for a few
minutes. "What! That woman believes she can make use of his passion to
be quit of that dolt, as she counted on Marneffe's decease!--I shall
be the instrument of divine wrath."
Two days later those of du Tillet's guests who had demolished Madame
Marneffe tooth and nail, were seated round her table an hour after she
has shed her skin and changed her name for the illustrious name of a
Paris mayor. This verbal treason is one of the commonest forms of
Parisian levity.
Valerie had had the satisfaction of seeing the Brazilian in the
church; for Crevel, now so entirely the husband, had invited him out
of bravado. And the Baron's presence at the breakfast astonished no
one. All these men of wit and of the world were familiar with the
meanness of passion, the compromises of pleasure.
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