glad to have something of
which they can make a mystery."

"When would you like us to begin?"

Marien had by this time said to himself that for him to hold out longer
might seem strange to M. de Nailles. Besides, the matter, though in some
respects it gave him cause for anxiety, really excited an interest in
him. For some time past, though he had long known women and knew very
little of mere girls, he had had his suspicions that a drama was being
enacted in Jacqueline's heart, a drama of which he himself was the hero.
He amused himself by watching it, though he did nothing to promote it. He
was an artist and a keen and penetrating observer; he employed psychology
in the service of his art, and probably to that might have been
attributed the individual character of his portraits--a quality to be
found in an equal degree only in those of Ricard.

What particularly interested him at this moment was the assumed
indifference of Jacqueline while her father was conducting the
negotiation which was of her suggestion. When they returned to the salon
after smoking she pretended not to be the least anxious to know the
result of their conversation. She sat sewing near the lamp, giving all
her attention to the piece of lace on which she was working. Her father
made her a sign which meant "He consents," and then Marien saw that the
needle in her fingers trembled, and a slight color rose in her face--but
that was all. She did not say a word. He could not know that for a week
past she had gone to church every time she took a walk, and had offered a
prayer and a candle that her wish might be granted. How very anxious and
excited she had been all that week! The famous composition of which she
had spoken to Giselle, the subject of which had so astonished the young
girl brought up by the Benedictine nuns, felt the inspiration of her
emotion and excitement. Jacqueline was in a frame of mind which made
reading those three masterpieces by three great poets, and pondering the
meaning of their words, very dangerous. The poems did not affect her with
the melancholy they inspire in those who have "lived and loved," but she
was attracted by their tenderness and their passion. Certain lines she
applied to herself--certain others to another person. The very word love
so often repeated in the verses sent a thrill through all her frame. She
aspired to taste those "intoxicating moments," those "swift delights,"
those "sublime ecstasies," those "divin