Crevel and Marneffe had begun a second rubber at piquet. Crevel was
losing, as a man must who is not giving his thoughts to his game.
Marneffe, who knew the cause of the Mayor's absence of mind, took
unscrupulous advantage of it; he looked at the cards in reverse, and
discarded accordingly; thus, knowing his adversary's hand, he played
to beat him. The stake being a franc a point, he had already robbed
the Mayor of thirty francs when Hulot came in.
"Hey day!" said he, amazed to find no company. "Are you alone? Where
is everybody gone?"
"Your pleasant temper put them all to flight," said Crevel.
"No, it was my wife's cousin," replied Marneffe. "The ladies and
gentlemen supposed that Valerie and Henri might have something to say
to each other after three years' separation, and they very discreetly
retired.--If I had been in the room, I would have kept them; but then,
as it happens, it would have been a mistake, for Lisbeth, who always
comes down to make tea at half-past ten, was taken ill, and that upset
everything--"
"Then is Lisbeth really unwell?" asked Crevel in a fury.
"So I was told," replied Marneffe, with the heartless indifference of
a man to whom women have ceased to exist.
The Mayor looked at the clock; and, calculating the time, the Baron
seemed to have spent forty minutes in Lisbeth's rooms. Hector's
jubilant expression seriously incriminated Valerie, Lisbeth, and
himself.
"I have just seen her; she is in great pain, poor soul!" said the
Baron.
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