o rejoin our friends at the
dressmaker's."

Perhaps it was a letter to Madame Schmoll, who was not a friend of Madame
Marmet, but immediately he realized that this idea was foolish.

All was clear. She had a lover. She was writing to him. Perhaps she was
saying to him: "I saw Dechartre to-day; the poor fellow is deeply in love
with me." But whether she wrote that or something else, she had a lover.
He had not thought of that. To know that she belonged to another made him
suffer profoundly. And that hand, that little hand dropping the letter,
remained in his eyes and made them burn.

She did not know why he had become suddenly dumb and sombre. When she saw
him throw an anxious glance back at the post-box, she guessed the reason.
She thought it odd that he should be jealous without having the right to
be jealous; but this did not displease her.

When they reached the Corso, they saw Miss Bell and Madame Marmet coming
out of the dressmaker's shop.

Dechartre said to Therese, in an imperious and supplicating voice:

"I must speak to you. I must see you alone tomorrow; meet me at six
o'clock at the Lungarno Acciaoli."

She made no reply.

CHAPTER XVI

"TO-MORROW?"

When, in her Carmelite mantle, she came to the Lungarno Acciaoli, at
about half-past six, Dechartre greeted her with a humble look that moved
her. The setting sun made the Arno purple. They remained silent for a
moment. While they were walking past the monotonous line of palaces to
the old bridge, she was the first to speak.

"You see, I have come. I thought I ought to come. I do not think I am
altogether innocent of what has happened. I know: I have done what was my
fate in order that you should be to me what you are now. My attitude has
put thoughts into your head which you would not have had otherwise."

He looked as if he did not understand. She continued:

"I was selfish, I was imprudent. You were agreeable to me; I liked your
wit; I could not get along without you. I have done what I could to
attract you, to retain you. I was a coquette--not coldly, nor
perfidiously, but a coquette."

He shook his head, denying that he ever had seen a sign of this.

"Yes, I was a coquette. Yet it was not my habit. But I was a coquette
with you. I do not say that you have tried to take advantage of it, as
you had the right to do, nor that you are vain about it. I have not
remarked vanity in you. It may be possible that you had not noticed.
Superior me