half-past nine, and it's close by. Will you have a cigar? No? You never
smoke?"

"Never."

"Well, my dear fellow, it would be ridiculous to feign with you, since
you happened to see me this morning. Oh, it's a stupid affair! I'm quite
of that opinion; but, then, what would you have?"

Thereupon he launched out into long explanations concerning his marital
life and the intrigue which had suddenly sprung up between him and that
girl Norine, old Moineaud's daughter. He professed the greatest respect
for his wife, but he was nevertheless a loose liver; and Constance was
now beginning to resign herself to the inevitable. She closed her eyes
when it would have been unpleasant for her to keep them open. She knew
very well that it was essential that the business should be kept together
and pass intact into the hands of their son Maurice. A tribe of children
would have meant the ruin of all their plans.

Mathieu listened at first in great astonishment, and then began to ask
questions and raise objections, at most of which Beauchene laughed gayly,
like the gross egotist he was. He talked at length with extreme
volubility, going into all sorts of details, at times assuming a
semi-apologetic manner, but more frequently justifying himself with an
air of triumph. And, finally, when they reached the corner of the Rue
Caumartin he halted to bid Mathieu good-by. He there had a little
bachelor's lodging, which was kept in order by the concierge of the
house, who, being very well paid, proved an extremely discreet domestic.

As he hurried off, Mathieu, still standing at the corner of the street,