“And a friend of mine, madame,” said the ex-perfumer.  “For I, Celestin Crevel, foreman once to old Cesar Birotteau, brought up the said Cesar Birotteau’s stock; and he was Popinot’s father-in-law.  Why, that very Popinot was no more than a shopman in the establishment, and he is the first to remind me of it; for he is not proud, to do him justice, to men in a good position with an income of sixty thousand francs in the funds.”

“Well then, monsieur, the notions you term ‘Regency’ are quite out of date at a time when a man is taken at his personal worth; and that is what you did when you married your daughter to my son.”

“But you do not know how the marriage was brought about!” cried Crevel.  “Oh, that cursed bachelor life!  But for my misconduct, my Celestine might at this day be Vicomtesse Popinot!”

“Once more have done with recriminations over accomplished facts,” said the Baroness anxiously.  “Let us rather discuss the complaints I have found on your strange behavior.  My daughter Hortense had a chance of marrying; the match depended entirely on you; I believed you felt some sentiments of generosity; I thought you would do justice to a woman who has never had a thought in her heart for any man but her husband, that you would have understood how necessary it is for her not to receive a man who may compromise her, and that for the honor of the family with which you are allied you would have been eager to promote Hortense’s settlement with Monsieur le Conseiller Lebas.—­And it is you, monsieur, you have hindered the marriage.”

“Madame,” said the ex-perfumer, “I acted the part of an honest man.  I was asked whether the two hundred thousand francs to be settled on Mademoiselle Hortense would be forthcoming.  I replied exactly in these words:  ’I would not answer for it.  My son-in-law, to whom the Hulots had promised the same sum, was in debt; and I believe that if Monsieur Hulot d’Ervy were to die to-morrow, his widow would have nothing to live on.’—­There, fair lady.”

“And would you have said as much, monsieur,” asked Madame Hulot, looking Crevel steadily in the face, “if I had been false to my duty?”

“I should not be in a position to say it, dearest Adeline,” cried this singular adorer, interrupting the Baroness, “for you would have found the amount in my pocket-book.”

And adding action to word, the fat guardsman knelt down on one knee and kissed Madame Hulot’s hand, seeing that his speech had filled her with speechless horror, which he took for hesitancy.

“What, buy my daughter’s fortune at the cost of——?  Rise, monsieur —­or I ring the bell.”

Crevel rose with great difficulty.  This fact made him so furious that he again struck his favorite attitude.  Most men have some habitual position by which they fancy that they show to the best advantage the good points bestowed on them by nature.  This attitude in Crevel consisted in crossing his arms like Napoleon, his head showing three-quarters face, and his eyes fixed on the horizon, as the painter has shown the Emperor in his portrait.