the arm of her husband. She was a woman of about
forty, very handsome still, slightly stout, but, owing to her graceful
fullness of figure, as fresh as she was at twenty. Among her friends she
was known as the Goddess on account of her proud gait, her large black
eyes, and the entire air of nobility of her person. She remained
irreproachable; never had the least suspicion cast a breath on her
life's purity. She was regarded as the very type of a virtuous,
uncorrupted woman. So upright that no man had ever dared to think of
her.

And yet for the last month Paul d'Henricol had been assuring his friend
Renoldi that Madame Poincot was in love with him, and he maintained that
there was no doubt of it.

"Be sure I don't deceive myself. I see it clearly. She loves you--she
loves you passionately, like a chaste woman who had never loved. Forty
years is a terrible age for virtuous women when they possess senses;
they become foolish, and commit utter follies. She is hit, my dear
fellow; she is falling like a wounded bird, and is ready to drop into
your arms. I say--just look at her!"

The tall woman, preceded by her two daughters, aged twelve and fifteen
years, suddenly turned pale, on her approach, as her eyes lighted on the
officer's face. She gave him an ardent glance, concentrating her gaze
upon him, and no longer seemed to have any eyes for her children, her
husband, or any other person around her. She returned the salutation of
the two young men without lowering her eyes, glowing with such a flame
that a doubt, at last, forced its way into Lieutenant Renoldi's mind.

His friend said, in the same hushed voice: "I was sure of it. Did you
not notice her this time? By Jove, she is a nice tit-bit!"

* * * * *

But Jean Renoldi had no desire for a society intrigue. Caring little for
love, he longed, above all, for a quiet life, and contented himself with
occasional amours such as a young man can always have. All the
sentimentality, the attentions, and the tenderness which a well-bred
woman exacts bored him. The chain, however slight it might be, which is
always formed by an adventure of this sort, filled him with fear. He
said: "At the end of a month I'll have had enough of it, and I'll be
forced to wait patiently for six months through politeness."

Then, a rupture exasperated him, with the scenes, the allusions, the
clinging attachment, of the abandoned woman.

He avoided meeting Madame