When she returned she found daughter and mother in each other’s arms, the mother soothing her daughter’s fears, telling her:‘It’s nothing: just an attack of nerves.… Here is your father,’ she added, recognizing the Baron’s ring. ‘On no account are you to mention this to him.…’

Adeline rose to go to meet her husband, with the intention of taking him into the garden before dinner, meaning to speak to him about the broken-off marriage negotiations, ask him for information about his intentions, and try to give him some advice.

Baron Hector Hulot presented an appearance at once parliamentary and Napoleonic, for it is easy to distinguish the Imperials, men who served under the Empire, by their military erectness, their blue coats with gold buttons, buttoned high, their black silk cravats, and the air of command developed in them by the habitual exercise of despotic authority necessary in the rapidly changing circumstances of their careers. In the Baron, it must be agreed, nothing suggested age. His sight was still so good that he read without glasses; his handsome oval face, framed in black side-whiskers – too black, alas! – had a high colour, with the veining that indicates a sanguine temperament; and his figure, controlled by a belt, was still, as Brillat-Savarin would have described it, majestic. A high aristocratic air and great affability cloaked the libertine with whom Crevel had had so many joyous sprees. He was, indeed, one of those men whose eyes light up at the sight of a pretty woman, who smile at every beautiful creature, even at a passer-by whom they will never see again.

‘Did you speak in the debate, my dear?’ Adeline asked, noticing that he looked preoccupied and worried.

‘No,’ replied Hector, ‘but I am tired to death of listening to speeches dragged out for two hours before they put the question to the vote. They fight battles of words, with speeches like cavalry charges that fail to scatter the enemy! Words have taken the place of action now, which is not very enjoyable for men who are used to marching, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. But it’s quite bad enough to be bored on the Ministers’ benches, let’s enjoy ourselves here.… Good evening, Nanny! How are you, little kid?’

And he put his arm round his daughter’s neck, kissed her and pinched her cheek, drew her to his knee with her head on his shoulder and her beautiful golden hair against his face.

‘He is tired and harassed,’ Madame Hulot said to herself;‘and now I’m about to add to his worries. Perhaps I ought to wait.… Are you going to spend this evening with us?’ she said aloud.

‘No, my dear children. I must leave you after dinner; and if it had not been the day that Nanny comes, and my children, and my brother, you would not have seen me at all.’

The Baroness picked up the newspaper, looked at the theatre list, and laid it down again when she had read the announcement of Robert le Diable at the Opera. Josépha, whom the Italian Opera had surrendered to the French Opera six months before, was singing the part of Alice. This pantomime did not escape the Baron’s notice, and he stared at his wife. Adeline lowered her eyes. She went out to the garden, and he followed her.

‘What is it, Adeline?’ he said, putting his arm round her, drawing her to him and holding her close. ‘Surely you know that I love you more than…’

‘More than Jenny Cadine and Josépha!’ she boldly interrupted him.

‘And who told you that?’ demanded the Baron, releasing his wife and stepping back.

‘I received an anonymous letter, which I burned, and it told me, my dear, that Hortense’s marriage came to nothing because of our financial difficulties. As your wife, my dear Hector, I would never have uttered a word. I knew of your liaison with Jenny Cadine – did I ever complain? But as Hortense’s mother I must not shrink from the truth.’

Hulot, after a moment’s silence most painful to his wife in which the heavy beating of her heart could be heard, uncrossed his arms and put them round her, pressed her to his heart and kissed her brow, saying with the intensity of strong emotion:

‘Adeline, you are an angel, and I’m a miserable wretch.…’

‘No, no,’ answered the Baroness, at once laying her fingers on his lips to stop his denigration of himself.

‘Yes, I haven’t a sou at this moment to give Hortense, and I feel desperately worried; but since you open your heart to me like this, I can confide in you, pour out troubles that are stifling me.… If your Uncle Fischer is finding himself in difficulties, it’s my fault; he has backed bills of exchange for me for twenty-five thousand francs. And all that for the sake of a woman who deceives me, who ridicules me behind my back, who calls me an old dyed tom-cat! Oh, it’s appalling that it should cost more to satisfy a vice than to support a family! And it is impossible to resist.… I might promise you here and now never to return to that abominable Jewess, and yet if she scrawled me a couple of lines I would go, like a man going into battle under the Emperor.’

‘Don’t torment yourself, Hector,’ said the poor woman, in despair, forgetting her daughter at the sight of tears in her husband’s eyes. ‘You know, I have my diamonds. You must save my uncle, no matter what happens.’

‘Your diamonds are hardly worth twenty thousand francs today. That would not be enough for old Fischer; so keep them for Hortense. I’ll see the Marshal tomorrow.’

‘My poor dear!’ exclaimed the Baroness, taking her Hector’s hands and kissing them.

That was all she said in rebuke. Adeline offered her diamonds; the father gave them to Hortense. The gesture seemed to her sublime, and she was completely disarmed.

‘He is the master – he has the right to take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds! How noble he is!’

So this woman thought, and indeed she had gained more by her gentleness than another might have done by jealous anger.

The moralist cannot deny that, generally speaking, well-bred people addicted to a vice are much more likeable than the virtuous are. Being conscious of their own shortcomings, they are careful to show a broadminded attitude towards their critics’ weaknesses; and so they purchase lenience for themselves, and are considered first-class fellows. There may be some delightful people among the virtuous, but virtue usually believes that it is fair enough of itself to be able to dispense with trying to please. Besides, really virtuous people, leaving hypocrites out of account, have nearly all certain misgivings about their situation. They think that they have had the worst of a bargain in life’s market, and their remarks are apt to be charged with acid, in the tone of those who consider themselves not properly appreciated.

And so the Baron, who was reproaching himself with ruining his family, exerted all the resources of his wit and his graces as a charmer in order to please his wife, his children, and his Cousin Bette. When he saw his son arriving with Célestine Crevel, who was nursing a little Hulot, he was charming to his daughter-in-law and plied her with compliments, a diet to which Célestine’s vanity was unaccustomed, for never was a daughter of wealth so commonplace and so utterly insignificant. The grandfather took the little boy, kissed him, declared him to be a delight and an enchanting fellow.