he
Empire is a thing of the past--I hail the coming Empire!"

She struck a tragic attitude, and exclaimed:

"They call you Hulot! Nay, I know you not--"

And she went into the other room.

Through the door, left ajar, there came, like a lightning-flash, a
streak of light with an accompaniment of the crescendo of the orgy and
the fragrance of a banquet of the choicest description.

The singer peeped through the partly open door, and seeing Hulot
transfixed as if he had been a bronze image, she came one step forward
into the room.

"Monsieur," said she, "I have handed over the rubbish in the Rue
Chauchat to Bixiou's little Heloise Brisetout. If you wish to claim
your cotton nightcap, your bootjack, your belt, and your wax dye, I have
stipulated for their return."

This insolent banter made the Baron leave the room as precipitately as
Lot departed from Gomorrah, but he did not look back like Mrs. Lot.

Hulot went home, striding along in a fury, and talking to himself; he
found his family still playing the game of whist at two sous a point, at
which he left them. On seeing her husband return, poor Adeline imagined
something dreadful, some dishonor; she gave her cards to Hortense, and
led Hector away into the very room where, only five hours since, Crevel
had foretold her the utmost disgrace of poverty.

"What is the matter?" she said, terrified.

"Oh, forgive me--but let me tell you all these horrors." And for ten
minutes he poured out his wrath.

"But, my dear," said the unhappy woman, with heroic courage, "these
creatures do not know what love means--such pure and devoted love as you
deserve. How could you, so clear-sighted as you are, dream of competing
with millions?"

"Dearest Adeline!" cried the Baron, clasping her to his heart.

The Baroness' words had shed balm on the bleeding wounds to his vanity.

"To be sure, take away the Duc d'Herouville's fortune, and she could not
hesitate between us!" said the Baron.

"My dear," said Adeline with a final effort, "if you positively must
have mistresses, why do you not seek them, like Crevel, among women who
are less extravagant, and of a class that can for a time be content
with little? We should all gain by that arrangement.--I understand your
need--but I do not understand that vanity----"

"Oh, what a kind and perfect wife you are!" cried he. "I am an old
lunatic, I do not deserve to have such a wife!"

"I am simply the Josephine of my Napoleon," she