Danglars shrugged his shoulders. “Foolish creature,” he exclaimed. “Women fancy they have talent because they have managed two or three intrigues without being the talk of Paris! But know that if you had even hidden your irregularities from your husband, who has but the commencement of the art⁠—for generally husbands will not see⁠—you would then have been but a faint imitation of most of your friends among the women of the world. But it has not been so with me⁠—I see, and always have seen, during the last sixteen years. You may, perhaps, have hidden a thought; but not a step, not an action, not a fault, has escaped me, while you flattered yourself upon your address, and firmly believed you had deceived me. What has been the result?⁠—that, thanks to my pretended ignorance, there is none of your friends, from M. de Villefort to M.