the mirror of her
wardrobe, with her wet and disheveled hair, looking so strange that
she did not recognize herself. She remained there so long that the
storm abated without her perceiving it. The rain ceased, a light
filled the sky, still obscured with clouds, and a mild, balmy,
delicious freshness, a freshness of grass and wet leaves, came in
through the open window.

Yvette rose, took off her wet, cold garments, without thinking what
she was doing, and went to bed. She stared with fixed eyes at the
dawning day. Then she wept again, and then she began to think.

Her mother! A lover! What a shame! She had read so many books in
which women, even mothers, had overstepped the bounds of propriety,
to regain their honor at the pages of the climax, that she was not
astonished beyond measure at finding herself enveloped in a drama
similar to all those of her reading. The violence of her first
grief, the cruel shock of surprise, had already worn off a little,
in the confused remembrance of analogous situations. Her mind had
rambled among such tragic adventures, painted by the novel-writers,
that the horrible discovery seemed, little by little, like the
natural continuation of some serial story, begun the evening before.

She said to herself: "I will save my mother." And almost reassured
by this heroic resolution, she felt herself strengthened, ready at
once for the devotion and the struggle. She reflected on the means
which must be employed. A single one seemed good, which was quite in
keeping with her romantic nature. And she rehearsed the interview
which she should have with the Marquise, as an actor rehearses the
scene which he is going to play.

The sun had risen. The servants were stirring about the house. The
chambermaid came with the chocolate. Yvette put the tray on the
table and said:

"You will say to my mother that I am not well, that I am going to
stay in bed until those gentlemen leave, that I could not sleep last
night, and that I do not want to be disturbed because I am going to
try to rest."

The servant, surprised, looked at the wet dress, which had fallen
like a rag on the carpet.

"So Mademoiselle has been out?" she said.

"Yes, I went out for a walk in the rain to refresh myself."

The maid picked up the skirts, stockings, and wet shoes; then she
went away carrying on her arm, with fastidious precautions, these
garments, soaked as the clothes of a drowned person. And Yvette
waited, well knowing