she?--

"Oh! I--really I don't know why I am here. Ask the--my coachman. He has
driven me where he pleased."

She spoke in a curt, irritated tone, under which either deception or
grief was hidden.

She was still mechanically throwing crumbs of bread around her, which
were eagerly snatched at by the many-colored ducks, white or gray,
black, spotted, striped like tulips, marbled like Cordovan leather, with
iridescent green or blue necks, whose tone suggested Venetian
glassware, all of them hurrying, stretching their necks, opening their
bills, or casting themselves at Marianne's feet, fighting, then almost
choking themselves to swallow the enormous pieces of bread that were
sold by a dealer close at hand.

"Ah! bless me! I did not think I should have the honor of meeting you
here," she said.

"The honor?" said Vaudrey. "I, I should say the joy."

She looked straight into his eyes, frankly.

"I do not know what joy is, to-day," she said. "I come from the
Continental Hotel, where I hoped to see--"

"What is that?"

"Nothing--"

"If it were nothing, you would not have frowned so."

"Oh! well! a friend--a friend whom I have again found--and who has
disappeared. Just so,--abruptly--No matter, perhaps, after all! What
happens, must happen. In short--and to continue my riddle, behold me
feeding these ducks. God knows why! I detest the creatures. The state
feeds them badly, Monsieur le Ministre, I tell you: they are famished.
Well? well?" she said to a species of Indian duck, bolder than the
others, who snapped at the hem of her skirt to attract attention and to
demand fresh mouthfuls.

She commenced to laugh nervously, and said:

"That one isn't afraid."

She threw him a morsel that he swallowed with a greedy gulp.

"Do you know, Monsieur le Ministre, that the story of these ducks is
that of the human species? There are some that have got nothing of all
the bread that I have thrown them, and there are others who have gorged
enough to kill them with indigestion. How would you classify that? Poor
political economy."

"Oh, oh!" said Vaudrey. "You are wandering into the realms of lofty
philosophy!--"

"Apropos of that, yes," said Marianne, as she pointed to the line of
birds that hurried on all sides, left the water, waddled about, uttering
their noisy cries. "You know that when one is sad, one philosophizes
anent everything."

"And you are sad?" asked Sulpice, in a voice that certainly quivered
slightly.