micians go there," said M. Robert Le Menil. "I do not
exaggerate their value, but they are the elite."

Madame Martin smiled.

"We know, Monsieur Le Menil, that at Madame Meillan's you are preoccupied
by the women more than by the Academicians. You escorted Princess
Seniavine to the buffet and talked to her about wolves."

"What wolves?"

"Wolves, and forests blackened by winter. We thought that with so pretty
a woman your conversation was rather savage!"

Paul Vence rose.

"So you permit, Madame, that I should bring my friend Dechartre? He has a
great desire to know you, and I hope he will not displease you. There is
life in his mind. He is full of ideas."

"Oh, I do not ask for so much," Madame Martin said. "People that are
natural and show themselves as they are rarely bore me, and sometimes
they amuse me."

When Paul Vence had gone, Le Menil listened until the noise of footsteps
had vanished; then, coming nearer:

"To-morrow, at three o'clock? Do you still love me?"

He asked her to reply while they were alone. She answered that it was
late, that she expected no more visitors, and that no one except her
husband would come.

He entreated. Then she said:

"I shall be free to-morrow all day. Wait for me at three o'clock."

He thanked her with a look. Then, placing himself on at the other side of
the chimney, he asked who was that Dechartre whom she wished introduced
to her.

"I do not wish him to be introduced to me. He is to be introduced to me.
He is a sculptor."

He deplored the fact that she needed to see new faces, adding:

"A sculptor? They are usually brutal."

"Oh, but this one does so little sculpture! But if it annoys you that I
should meet him, I will not do so."

"I should be sorry if society took any part of the time you might give to
me."

"My friend, you can not complain of that. I did not even go to Madame
Meillan's yesterday."

"You are right to show yourself there as little as possible. It is not a
house for you."

He explained. All the women that went there had had some spicy adventure
which was known and talked about. Besides, Madame Meillan favored
intrigue. He gave examples. Madame Martin, however, her hands extended on
the arms of the chair in charming restfulness, her head inclined, looked
at the dying embers in the grate. Her thoughtful mood had flown. Nothing
of it remained on her face, a little saddened, nor in her languid body,
more desirable than ever in the qui