"The count has lately promised thirty thousand francs to a celebrated
Scotch doctor who is coming over to treat him," continued Oscar.

"Then his wife can't be blamed if she finds better--" said Schinner,
but he did not finish his sentence.

"I should say so!" resumed Oscar. "The poor man is so shrivelled and
old you would take him for eighty! He's as dry as parchment, and,
unluckily for him, he feels his position."

"Most men would," said Pere Leger.

"He adores his wife and dares not find fault with her," pursued Oscar,
rejoicing to have found a topic to which they listened. "He plays
scenes with her which would make you die of laughing,--exactly like
Arnolphe in Moliere's comedy."

The count, horror-stricken, looked at Pierrotin, who, finding that the
count said nothing, concluded that Madame Clapart's son was telling
falsehoods.

"So, monsieur," continued Oscar, "if you want the count's influence, I
advise you to apply to the Marquis d'Aiglemont. If you get that former
adorer of Madame de Serizy on your side, you will win husband and wife
at one stroke."

"Look here!" said the painter, "you seem to have seen the count
without his clothes; are you his valet?"