through the bars. And that is what you are doing. To be in love with
his wife and pay court to her in Paris, when he is a hundred leagues from
you, is all very well, but to install yourself in his house, within reach
of his clutches! that is not love, it is sheer madness. This is nothing
to laugh at. I am sure that this will end in some horrible tragedy. You
heard him speak of killing his wife and her lover just now, as if it were
a very slight matter. Very. well; I know him; he will do as he says
without flinching. These ruddy-faced people are very devils, if you
meddle with their family affairs! He is capable of murdering you in some
corner of his park, and of burying you at the foot of some tree and then
of forcing Madame de Bergenheim to eat your heart fricasseed in
champagne, as they say Raoul de Coucy did."

"You will admit, at least, that it would be a very charming repast, and
that there would be nothing bourgeois about it."

"Certainly, I boast of detesting the bourgeois; I am celebrated for that;
but I should much prefer to die in a worsted nightcap, flannel underwear,
and cotton night-shirt, than to have Bergenheim assist me, too brusquely,
in this little operation. He is such an out-and-out Goliath! Just look
at him!"

And the artist forced his friend to turn about, and pointed at Christian,
who stood with the other hunters upon the brow of the hill, a few steps
from the spot where they had left him. The Baron was indeed a worthy
representative of the feudal ages, when physical strength was the only
incontestable superiority. In spite of the distance, they could hear his
clear, ringing voice although they could not distinguish his words.

"He really has a look of the times of the Round Table," said Gerfaut;