monsieur. Had Monsieur de Maulincour followed my advice, nothing of
all this would have happened."

Jules coldly but politely withdrew. He was now at a total loss to know
how to reach Ferragus. As he passed into his own house, the porter
told him that Madame had just been out to throw a letter into the post
box at the head of the rue de Menars. Jules felt humiliated by this
proof of the insight with which the porter espoused his cause, and the
cleverness by which he guessed the way to serve him. The eagerness of
servants, and their shrewdness in compromising masters who compromised
themselves, was known to him, and he fully appreciated the danger of
having them as accomplices, no matter for what purpose. But he could
not think of his personal dignity until the moment when he found
himself thus suddenly degraded. What a triumph for the slave who could
not raise himself to his master, to compel his master to come down to
his level! Jules was harsh and hard to him. Another fault. But he
suffered so deeply! His life till then so upright, so pure, was
becoming crafty; he was to scheme and lie. Clemence was scheming and
lying. This to him was a moment of horrible disgust. Lost in a flood
of bitter feelings, Jules stood motionless at the door of his house.
Yielding to despair, he thought of fleeing, of leaving France forever,
carrying with him the illusions of uncertainty. Then, again, not
doubting that the letter Clemence had just posted was addressed to
Ferragus, his mind searched for a means of obtaining the answer that
mysterious being was certain to send. Then his thoughts began to
analyze the singular good fortune of his life since his marriage, and
he asked himself whether the calumny for which he had taken such
signal vengeance was not a truth. Finally, reverting to the coming
answer, he said to himself:--