"Do you hear what I say?"

"Yes" and then?"

"Then, Lucien, I should have no rival. You would be mine. If not, if you
turned from me for what I had done--God! That would be awful, but I
would never forgive, never. I would speak again. I would tell them many
things. Nothing should stop me. You should die too. That is how I love.
Lucien, Lucien, never make me jealous like that."

She kissed his hand passionately, then held it close to her breast. He
could feel her heart beat quickly with her excitement.

"That would put an end to all my scheming, wouldn't it?" he said,
drawing her back and closing the window. "Perhaps Latour would thank
you."

"I wasn't thinking of Latour," and she clung to him and kissed him on
the lips.

Into Lucien's complex thought Latour had come, not unnaturally, since
this conversation. This exhibition of latent jealousy was the outcome of
his visit. Without formulating any definite idea, he felt in a vague way
that Latour's career was in some way bound up with his own. There was
something in common between them, each had an interest for the other and
in his concerns. Lucien did not understand why, but Latour might have
found an answer to the question as he went back to the Rue Valette.

He was not sure whether Bruslart had spoken the truth, he did not much
care, yet he felt a twinge of conscience. It troubled him because he had
not much difficulty in salving his conscience as a rule. It was
generally easy to make the ends justify the means. He had taken no
notice of the swaying curtains as he left Bruslart. He never guessed
that a woman stood behind them. There might have been no prick of
conscience had he known of Pauline Vaison.

He entered the baker's shop in the Rue Valette. Behind the little
counter, on which were a few loaves and pieces of bread, an old woman
sat knitting.

"Will you give me the key of those rooms? I want to see that everything
is prepared."

The old woman fumbled in her pocket and gave him the key without a word.

"She comes to-morrow," said Latour. "You will not fail to do as I have
asked and look after her well."

"Never fear; she shall be a pretty bird in a pretty cage."

Latour paused as he reached the door. "She is a dear friend, no more nor
less than that, and this is a nest, not a cage. Do you understand?"

The old woman nodded quickly, and when he had gone, chuckled. She had
lived long in the world, knew men well, and the ways of them with women.