Madame Hulot saw a dirty
writing-table of some light wood, some letter-boxes, and a wretched
second-hand chair. A cap with a peak and a greasy green shade for the
eyes suggested either precautions for disguise, or weak eyes, which
was not unlikely in an old man.
"He is upstairs," said the stove-fitter. "I will go up and tell him to
come down."
Adeline lowered her veil and took a seat. A heavy step made the narrow
stairs creak, and Adeline could not restrain a piercing cry when she
saw her husband, Baron Hulot, in a gray knitted jersey, old gray
flannel trousers, and slippers.
"What is your business, madame?" said Hulot, with a flourish.
She rose, seized Hulot by the arm, and said in a voice hoarse with
emotion:
"At last--I have found you!"
"Adeline!" exclaimed the Baron in bewilderment, and he locked the shop
door. "Joseph, go out the back way," he added to the stove-fitter.
"My dear!" she said, forgetting everything in her excessive joy, "you
can come home to us all; we are rich. Your son draws a hundred and
sixty thousand francs a year! Your pension is released; there are
fifteen thousand francs of arrears you can get on showing that you are
alive. Valerie is dead, and left you three hundred thousand francs.
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