repulse me, Clemence, I warn you that tomorrow I shall be in your house,
seated at your table and admitted to your drawing-room."

"You?" "I!"

"To-morrow?"

"To-morrow."

"And how will you do it, pray?" said she, defiantly.

"That is my secret, Madame," he replied, coldly.

Although her curiosity was greatly aroused, Clemence felt that it
would be beneath her to ask any more questions. She replied with an
affectation of mocking indifference:

"Since I am to have the pleasure of seeing you tomorrow, I hope you will
permit me to leave you today. You know that I am not well, and it is
showing me very little attention to allow me to stand here in this wet
grass."

She raised her skirt a trifle and extended her foot, showing her
slipper, which was really covered with pearly drops of rain. Octave
threw himself quickly upon his knees, and, taking a silk handkerchief
from his pocket, began to wipe away all traces of the storm. His action
was so rapid that Madame de Bergenheim stood for a moment motionless and
speechless, but when she felt her foot imprisoned in the hand of the
man who had just declared war against her, her surprise gave place to a
mingled feeling of impatience and anger. She drew her foot back with a
sudden movement, but unfortunately the foot went one way and the slipper
another. A fencing-master, who sees his foil carried ten steps away from
him by a back stroke, could not feel more astonishment than that felt
by Madame de Bergenheim. Her first movement was to place her foot, so
singularly undressed, upon the ground; an instinctive horror of the
damp, muddy walk made her draw it quickly back. She stood thus with one
foot lifted; the movement which she had started to make threw her off
her balance and as she was about to fall she extended her hand to find
some support. This support proved to be Octave's head, for he still
remained upon his knees. With the usual presumption of lovers, he
believed that he had the right to give her the assistance which she
seemed to ask for, and passed his arm about the slender waist which was
bent toward him.

Clemence drew herself up at once, and with frowning brow regained her
coolness, standing upright upon one foot, like Cupid in the painting by
Gerard; like him, also, she seemed about to fly away, there was so much
airy lightness in her improvised attitude.

Many puerile incidents and ridiculous events occur in life, which it
would render impossible for the mo