"
"They submit to have a man's arms round their knees, it would seem!"
thought the saintly woman, covering her face with her hands.
"Once you offered me a fortune!" said she, turning red.
"Ay, mother! but that was three years ago!" replied Crevel. "Well, you
are handsomer now than ever I saw you!" he went on, taking the
Baroness' arm and pressing it to his heart. "You have a good memory,
my dear, by Jove!--And now you see how wrong you were to be so
prudish, for those three hundred thousand francs that you refused so
magnanimously are in another woman's pocket. I loved you then, I love
you still; but just look back these three years.
"When I said to you, 'You shall be mine,' what object had I in view? I
meant to be revenged on that rascal Hulot. But your husband, my
beauty, found himself a mistress--a jewel of a woman, a pearl, a
cunning hussy then aged three-and-twenty, for she is six-and-twenty
now. It struck me as more amusing, more complete, more Louis XV., more
Marechal de Richelieu, more first-class altogether, to filch away that
charmer, who, in point of fact, never cared for Hulot, and who for
these three years has been madly in love with your humble servant."
As he spoke, Crevel, from whose hands the Baroness had released her
own, had resumed his favorite attitude; both thumbs were stuck into
his armholes, and he was patting his ribs with his fingers, like two
flapping wings, fancying that he was thus making himself very
attractive and charming.
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