part. "But, my dear Baron, everybody goes to the Chamber of Horrors,"
said he. "Why, I myself have taken the noblest ladies there, and
precisely to hear that song of Legras, which is no worse than anything
else."

"Ah! you hear what Duthil says!" cried Silviane. "He's a deputy, he is,
and he wouldn't go there if he thought it would compromise his
honorability!"

Then, as Duvillard still struggled on in despair at the idea of
exhibiting himself with her in such a scandalous place, she became all
the merrier: "Well, my dear fellow, please yourself. I don't need you.
You and Gerard can go home if you like. But I'm going to Montmartre with
Duthil. You'll take charge of me, won't you, Duthil, eh?"

Still, the Baron was in no wise disposed to let the evening finish in
that fashion. The mere idea of it gave him a shock, and he had to resign
himself to the girl's stubborn caprice. The only consolation he could
think of was to secure Gerard's presence, for the young man, with some
lingering sense of decorum, still obstinately refused to make one of the
party. So the Baron took his hands and detained him, repeating in urgent
tones that he begged him to come as an essential mark of friendship. And
at last the wife's lover and daughter's suitor had to give way to the man
who was the former's husband and the latter's father.

Silviane was immensely amused by it all, and, indiscreetly thee-ing and
thou-ing Gerard, suggested that he at least owed the Baron some little
compliance with his wishes.

Duvillard pretended not to hear her. He was listening to Duthil, who told