eting the bold admiration of his
eyes. But as no one had mentioned him to her during the last few weeks,
Madame de Sainfoy and Georges prudently restraining themselves, and as
he had not appeared at Lancilly since the dinner-party, she had ceased
to have any immediate fear of him. And all the brilliancy of that
evening, the triumphant swing of the music, the consciousness of her own
beauty, delicately heightened by her first partner's looks and words,
and last, not least, the comfort he had given her about Angelot, had
raised her drooping spirits so that she found it not impossible to
smile and speak graciously, even with General Ratoneau.

After dancing, he led her round the newly decorated rooms, and all the
new fashions in furniture, in dress, in manners, made a subject for talk
which helped her wonderfully. Ratoneau listened with a smiling stare,
asked questions, and laughed now and then.

On the surface, his manner was not offensive; he was behaving
beautifully, according to his standard; probably no young woman had ever
been so politely treated by him before. In truth, Helene's fair beauty
and stateliness, the white dignity of a creature so far above his
experience, awed him a little. But with a man of his kind, no such
feeling was likely to last long. Any strange touch of shyness which
protected the lovely girl by his side was passing off as he swore to
himself: "I have risked something, God knows, but she's worth it all. I
am a lucky man--I shall be proud of my wife."

They were in the farther salon, not many people near. He turned upon her
suddenly, with a look which brought the colour to her face, "Do you
know, mademoiselle, you are the most beautiful woman in the world!"

Helene shook her head, a faint smile struggling with instant disgust and
alarm. She looked round, but saw no one who could release her from this
rough admirer. She was obliged to turn to him again, and listened to him
with lowered eyes, a recollection of her mother's words weighing now
upon her brain.

"The first time I saw you, mademoiselle," said Ratoneau, "was in this
room. You were handing coffee with that cousin of yours--young La
Mariniere."

He saw the girl's face quiver and grow pale. His own changed, and his
smile became unpleasant. He had not meant to mention that fellow, now
shut up safely somewhere--it was strange, by the bye, that Simon had
never come back to report himself and take his money! However, as he had
let Angel