“You are living in the country, are you not?” she asked again, turning towards Mathieu.

“Yes, we have been there for three weeks past.”

“Constance told me of it.  I met her the other day at Madame Seguin’s.  We are on the best terms possible, you know, now that I give my brother good advice.”

In point of fact her sister-in-law, Constance, hated her, but with her usual boldness she treated the matter as a joke.

“We talked about Dr. Gaude,” she resumed; “I fancied that she wanted to ask for his address; but she did not dare.”

“Dr. Gaude!” interrupted Morange.  “Ah! yes, a friend of my wife’s spoke to her about him.  He’s a wonderfully clever man, it appears.  Some of his operations are like miracles.”

Then he went on talking of Dr. Gaude’s clinic at the Hopital Marbeuf, a clinic whither society folks hastened to see operations performed, just as they might go to a theatre.  The doctor, who was fond of money, and who bled his wealthy lady patients in more senses than one, was likewise partial to glory and proud of accomplishing the most dangerous experiments on the unhappy creatures who fell into his hands.  The newspapers were always talking about him, his cures were constantly puffed and advertised by way of inducing fine ladies to trust themselves to his skill.  And he certainly accomplished wonders, cutting and carving his patients in the quietest, most unconcerned way possible, with never a scruple, never a doubt as to whether what he did was strictly right or not.

Seraphine had begun to laugh, showing her white wolfish teeth between her blood-red lips, when she noticed the horrified expression which had appeared on Mathieu’s face since Gaude had been spoken of.  “Ah!” said she; “there’s a man, now, who in nowise resembles your squeamish Dr. Boutan, who is always prattling about the birth-rate.  I can’t understand why Constance keeps to that old-fashioned booby, holding the views she does.  She is quite right, you know, in her opinions.  I fully share them.”

Morange laughed complaisantly.  He wished to show her that his opinions were the same.  However, as Valerie did not return with Reine, he grew impatient, and asked permission to go and see what they were about.  Perhaps he himself might be able to help in getting the child ready.

As soon as Seraphine was alone with Mathieu she turned her big, ardent, gold-flecked eyes upon him.  She no longer laughed with the same laugh as a moment previously; an expression of voluptuous irony appeared on her bold bad face.  After a spell of silence she inquired, “And is my good cousin Marianne quite well?”

“Quite well,” replied Mathieu.

“And the children are still growing?”

Yes, still growing.”

“So you are happy, like a good paterfamilias, in your little nook?”

“Perfectly happy.”

Again she lapsed into silence, but she did not cease to look at him, more provoking, more radiant than ever, with the charm of a young sorceress whose eyes burn and poison men’s hearts.  And at last she slowly resumed:  “And so it is all over between us?”