quickly and without any appearance of surprise, eagerly presented to
him:

"Monsieur Jose de Rosas!"

In the simple manner in which she had pronounced this name, she had
infused so triumphant an expression, such manifest ostentation, that
Vaudrey felt himself suddenly wounded, struck to the heart.

He recalled everything that Marianne had said to him about this man.

He greeted Rosas with somewhat frigid politeness and from the tone in
which Marianne began to speak to him, he at once realized that she had
some interest in allowing the Spaniard to surmise nothing. She unduly
emphasized the title by which she addressed him, repeating a little too
frequently: "Monsieur le Ministre."--Whenever Vaudrey sought to catch
her glance she looked away in a strange fashion and managed to avoid
carrying on any formal conversation with Sulpice. On the contrary, she
addressed Rosas affably, asking what he had done in London, what he had
become and what he brought back new.

"Nothing," Jose answered with a peculiar expression that displeased
Vaudrey. "Nothing but the conviction that one lives only in Paris
surrounded by persons whom one vainly seeks to avoid and toward whom one
always returns--in spite of one's self, at times."

Vaudrey observed the almost proud, triumphant expression that flashed in
Marianne's eyes. He vaguely realized an indirect confession expressed in
that trite remark made by Rosas. The Spaniard's voice trembled slightly
as he spoke.

Marianne smiled as she listened.

"You have taken a new journey, monsieur?" asked Sulpice, uncertain what
bearing to assume.

"Oh! just a temporary absence! A trip to London--"

"Have you returned long?"

"Only this morning."

His first call was at Simon Kayser's house, where perhaps, he expected
to see Marianne. And the proof--

Vaudrey instinctively thought that it was a very hasty matter to call so
soon on Uncle Kayser. This man's first visit was not to the painter's
studio, but in reality to the woman who--Sulpice still heard Marianne
declare that--who would not become his mistress. There was something
strange in that. Eh! _parbleu!_ it was perhaps Monsieur de Rosas who had
sent for Marianne.

She endeavored to make it clear that only chance was responsible for
bringing them together here, but Sulpice doubted, he was uneasy and
angry.

He felt almost determined to declare, if it were only by a word, the
prize of possession, the conquest of this woman, whom he f