"Last
evening I heard from Stidmann that Wenceslas is to pick him up at
eleven this morning to go on business to Chanor's; so that gawk
Hortense will be there alone."
"But after such a trick as that," replied Lisbeth, "I cannot continue
to be your friend in the eyes of the world; I shall have to break with
you, to be supposed never to visit you, or even to speak to you."
"Evidently," said Valerie; "but--"
"Oh! be quite easy," interrupted Lisbeth; "we shall often meet when I
am Madame la Marechale. They are all set upon it now. Only the Baron
is in ignorance of the plan, but you can talk him over."
"Well," said Valerie, "but it is quite likely that the Baron and I may
be on distant terms before long."
"Madame Olivier is the only person who can make Hortense demand to see
the letter," said Lisbeth. "And you must send her to the Rue
Saint-Dominique before she goes on to the studio."
"Our beauty will be at home, no doubt," said Valerie, ringing for
Reine to call up Madame Olivier.
Ten minutes after the despatch of this fateful letter, Baron Hulot
arrived. Madame Marneffe threw her arms round the old man's neck with
kittenish impetuosity.
"Hector, you are a father!" she said in his ear. "That is what comes
of quarreling and making friends again----"
Perceiving a look of surprise, which the Baron did not at once
conceal, Valerie assumed a reserve which brought the old man to
despair. She made him wring the proofs from her one by one.
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