They are wrong-headed creatures that insist on being impaled through
the heart. The more jealous they are, the more jealous they want to
be. Monsieur talks of dealing death all round, but he will kill nobody
because he is in love.--However, I have brought him here to give him
the proofs of his discomfiture, which I have got from that little
Steinbock."
Montes was drunk; he listened as if the women were talking about
somebody else.
Carabine went to take off her velvet wrap, and read a facsimile of a
note, as follows:--
"DEAR PUSS.--He dines with Popinot this evening, and will come
to fetch me from the Opera at eleven. I shall go out at about
half-past five and count on finding you at our paradise. Order
dinner to be sent in from the _Maison d'or_. Dress, so as to be
able to take me to the Opera. We shall have four hours to ourselves.
Return this note to me; not that your Valerie doubts you--I would
give you my life, my fortune, and my honor, but I am afraid of the
tricks of chance."
"Here, Baron, this is the note sent to Count Steinbock this morning;
read the address. The original document is burnt."
Montes turned the note over and over, recognized the writing, and was
struck by a rational idea, which is sufficient evidence of the
disorder of his brain.
"And, pray," said he, looking at Carabine, "what object have you in
torturing my heart, for you must have paid very dear for the privilege
of having the note in your possession long enough to get it
lithographed?"
"Foolish man!" said Carabine, at a nod from Madame Nourrisson, "don't
you see that poor child Cydalise--a girl of sixteen, who has been
pining for you these three months, till she has lost her appetite for
food or drink, and who is heart-broken because you have never even
glanced at her?"
Cydalise put her handkerchief to her eyes with an appearance of
emotion--"She is furious," Carabine went on, "though she looks as if
butter would not melt in her mouth, furious to see the man she adores
duped by a villainous hussy; she would kill Valerie--"
"Oh, as for that," said the Brazilian, "that is my business!"
"What, killing?" said old Nourrisson.
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