“The child, whose talent for music was striking, had masters, she was educated—­I had to give her something to do.  Besides, I wished to be at once her father, her benefactor, and—­well, out with it—­her lover; to kill two birds with one stone, a good action and a sweetheart.  For five years I was very happy.  The girl had one of those voices that make the fortune of a theatre; I can only describe her by saying that she is a Duprez in petticoats.  It cost me two thousand francs a year only to cultivate her talent as a singer.  She made me music-mad; I took a box at the opera for her and for my daughter, and went there alternate evenings with Celestine or Josepha.”

“What, the famous singer?”

“Yes, madame,” said Crevel with pride, “the famous Josepha owes everything to me.—­At last, in 1834, when the child was twenty, believing that I had attached her to me for ever, and being very weak where she was concerned, I thought I would give her a little amusement, and I introduced her to a pretty little actress, Jenny Cadine, whose life had been somewhat like her own.  This actress also owed everything to a protector who had brought her up in leading-strings.  That protector was Baron Hulot.”

“I know that,” said the Baroness, in a calm voice without the least agitation.

“Bless me!” cried Crevel, more and more astounded.  “Well!  But do you know that your monster of a husband took Jenny Cadine in hand at the age of thirteen?”

“What then?” said the Baroness.

“As Jenny Cadine and Josepha were both aged twenty when they first met,” the ex-tradesman went on, “the Baron had been playing the part of Louis XV. to Mademoiselle de Romans ever since 1826, and you were twelve years younger then——­”

“I had my reasons, monsieur, for leaving Monsieur Hulot his liberty.”

“That falsehood, madame, will surely be enough to wipe out every sin you have ever committed, and to open to you the gates of Paradise,” replied Crevel, with a knowing air that brought the color to the Baroness’ cheeks.  “Sublime and adored woman, tell that to those who will believe it, but not to old Crevel, who has, I may tell you, feasted too often as one of four with your rascally husband not to know what your high merits are!  Many a time has he blamed himself when half tipsy as he has expatiated on your perfections.  Oh, I know you well!—­A libertine might hesitate between you and a girl of twenty.  I do not hesitate——­”

“Monsieur!”

“Well, I say no more.  But you must know, saintly and noble woman, that a husband under certain circumstances will tell things about his wife to his mistress that will mightily amuse her.”

Tears of shame hanging to Madame Hulot’s long lashes checked the National Guardsman.  He stopped short, and forgot his attitude.