“There has been one every day for months,” muttered Dawney.

“But to leave without a word, and go no one knows where!  B—–­is ‘viveur’ no doubt, mais, mon Dieu, que voulezvous?  She was always a poor, pale thing.  Why! when my—–­” he flourished his cigar; “I was not always—–­what I should have been—–­one lives in a world of flesh and blood—–­we are not all angels—–­que diable!  But this is a very vulgar business.  She goes off; leaves everything—–­without a word; and B—–­is very fond of her.  These things are not done!” the starched bosom of his shirt seemed swollen by indignation.

Mr. Treffry, with a heavy hand on the table, eyed him sideways.  Dawney said slowly: 

“B—–­is a beast; I’m sorry for the poor woman; but what can she do alone?”

“There is, no doubt, a man,” put in Sarelli.

Herr Paul muttered:  “Who knows?”

“What is B—–­going to do?” said Dawney.

“Ah!” said Herr Paul.  “He is fond of her.  He is a chap of resolution, he will get her back.  He told me:  ’Well, you know, I shall follow her wherever she goes till she comes back.’  He will do it, he is a determined chap; he will follow her wherever she goes.”

Mr. Treffry drank his wine off at a gulp, and sucked his moustache in sharply.

“She was a fool to marry him,” said Dawney; “they haven’t a point in common; she hates him like poison, and she’s the better of the two.  But it doesn’t pay a woman to run off like that.  B—–­had better hurry up, though.  What do you think, sir?” he said to Mr. Treffry.

“Eh?” said Mr. Treffry; “how should I know?  Ask Paul there, he’s one of your moral men, or Count Sarelli.”

The latter said impassively:  “If I cared for her I should very likely kill her—­if not—­” he shrugged his shoulders.

Harz, who was watching, was reminded of his other words at dinner, “wild beasts whom I would tear to pieces.”  He looked with interest at this quiet man who said these extremely ferocious things, and thought:  ’I should like to paint that fellow.’

Herr Paul twirled his wine-glass in his fingers.  “There are family ties,” he said, “there is society, there is decency; a wife should be with her husband.  B—–­will do quite right.  He must go after her; she will not perhaps come back at first; he will follow her; she will begin to think, ‘I am helpless—­I am ridiculous!’ A woman is soon beaten.  They will return.  She is once more with her husband—­Society will forgive, it will be all right.”

“By Jove, Paul,” growled Mr. Treffry, “wonderful power of argument!”

“A wife is a wife,” pursued Herr Paul; “a man has a right to her society.”

“What do you say to that, sir?” asked Dawney.

Mr. Treffry tugged at his beard:  “Make a woman live with you, if she don’t want to?  I call it low.”

“But, my dear,” exclaimed Herr Paul, “how should you know?  You have not been married.”