ses of Auteuil were visible. Slowly driven coupes, with their
elderly passengers, crawled along the road, and the wet-nurses pushed
their perambulators. A motor-car broke the silence of the Bois with its
humming.

"Do you like those machines?" asked Felicie.

"I find them convenient, that's all."

It was true that he was no chauffeur. He had no taste for any kind of
sport; he concerned himself only with women.

Pointing to a cab which had just passed them, she exclaimed:

"Robert, did you see?"

"No."

"Jeanne Perrin was in it with a woman."

And, as he displayed a calm indifference, she added in a reproachful
tone:

"You are like Dr. Socrates. Do you think that sort of thing natural?"

The lake slept, bright and serene, within its sombre walls of pines.
They took the path to their right, which skirted the bank where the
white geese and swans were preening their feathers. At their approach a
flotilla of ducks, like living hulls, their necks curving like prows,
set sail toward them.

Felicie told them, in a regretful tone, that she had nothing to give
them.

"When I was little," she went on to say, "Papa used to take me out on
Sundays to feed the animals. It was my reward for having learned my
lessons well all the week. Papa used to delight in the country. He was
fond of dog, horses, all animals in fact. He was very gentle and very
clever. He used to work very hard. But life is difficult for an officer
who has no money of his own. It grieved him sorely not to be able to do
as the wealthy officers did, and then he didn't hit it off with Mamma.
Papa's life was not a happy one. He was often wretched. He didn't talk
much; but we two understood one another without speaking. He was very
fond of me. Robert, dearest, later on, in the distant future, the very
distant future, I shall have a tiny house in the country. And when you
come there, my beloved, you will find me in a short skirt, throwing corn
to my fowls."

He asked her what gave her the idea of going on the stage.

"I knew very well that I'd never find a husband, since I had no dowry.
And from what I saw of my older girl friends, working at dress-making or
in a telegraph office, I was not encouraged to follow in their steps.
When I was quite a little girl I thought it would be nice to be an
actress. I had once acted, at my boarding-school, in a little play, on
St. Nicholas' Day. I thought it no end of a lark. The schoolmistress
said I didn't act well,