"Death, and I am ready! my dear Hector--but a police court?--Oh!
never."
With one bound she passed the three spectators and crouched under the
little writing-table, hiding her face in her hands.
"Ruin! Death!" she cried.
"Monsieur," said Marneffe to Hulot, "if Madame Marneffe goes mad, you
are worse than a profligate; you will be a murderer."
What can a man do, what can he say, when he is discovered in a bed
which is not his, even on the score of hiring, with a woman who is no
more his than the bed is?--Well, this:
"Monsieur the Justice of the Peace, Monsieur the Police Officer," said
the Baron with some dignity, "be good enough to take proper care of
that unhappy woman, whose reason seems to me to be in danger.--You can
harangue me afterwards. The doors are locked, no doubt; you need not
fear that she will get away, or I either, seeing the costume we wear."
The two functionaries bowed to the magnate's injunctions.
"You, come here, miserable cur!" said Hulot in a low voice to
Marneffe, taking him by the arm and drawing him closer. "It is not I,
but you, who will be the murderer! You want to be head-clerk of your
room and officer of the Legion of Honor?"
"That in the first place, Chief!" replied Marneffe, with a bow.
"You shall be all that, only soothe your wife and dismiss these
fellows."
"Nay, nay!" said Marneffe knowingly. "These gentlemen must draw up
their report as eyewitnesses to the fact; without that, the chief
evidence in my case, where should I be? The higher official ranks are
chokeful of rascalities.
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