m or to further gratify her own love, she
could make him love her almost in a moment. So, so far as she knew, he
still enjoyed her beauty without _arriere pensee_, although he saw her
through his own eyes, not Theo's. Yet now, at this phrase of his wife's,
"He always loves them--for the time," she started, half angrily.
When--if--the day came when he loved her, would this "clean old
peasant," as Carron had called her, sit and darn his socks and say to
herself--"for the time"?

"You are very--placid about it."

"Yes. In the beginning--no. Then I was jealous, and angry. But a jealous
woman is always ridiculous, my child, and men are so vain that the
implied homage upsets them. Many a woman has lost a man's love through
showing jealousy. So--in time I got used to it, and _tout passe_," she
continued comfortably.

"And you wouldn't mind now, if----" asked Brigit, her elbows on her knees,
her chin on her hands.

Madame Joyselle laughed. "_Wouldn't mind?_ Oh, _ma chere_! Just before
you came, he had a very bad turn--it was an Italian actress--a
pantomimiste, with the most beautiful arms in the world, and the face of
a vicious little boy. And he? _Epate._ His ties wouldn't tie, he got new
shoes--fresh gloves every time he went to see her--scent, a new kind,
very expensive--he sent her flowers by the cartload, and went every
evening to see her act. Every day little mauve letters and wires from
her (he always forgot to burn them, and I was afraid Toinon might see
them), etc., etc., etc."

"And how did it end?" asked Brigit, her throat dry and hot. She hated
the pantomimiste.

"End? My faith, my dear, it is of a simplicity, the end. _You came._"

"I came----"

"Yes. And he was so delighted with his new--daughter--that he promptly
forgot his--love."

"But what did she do?"

"She made a fool of herself, poor thing; wrote, and telegraphed, and
threatened to kill herself. So we sent Theo to see her, and she quieted
down."

Brigit burst out laughing. "Sent Theo?"

"Yes. He always goes. He is very quiet and reasonable, you see."

"I see."

Madame Joyselle rose. "I must go and see about the dinner. Will you
come? Ah, yes," as they went downstairs, "they are like that, the men.
But Theo will be faithful to you, of that I am sure. He is like my
people, and then, thank God, he is not an artist!"

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Antoinette, I have something to say to you."

"So I ventured to gather from the fact that you hav