th my
intellectual requirements, my habits, am going to bury myself in the
provinces in order to play cards, look after masons, and walk about in
wooden shoes? What object, pray, could I have for taking such a step?
You've been told that she was rich, haven't you? Ah! what do I care
about money? Could I, after yearning long for that which is most lovely,
tender, enchanting, a sort of Paradise under a human form, and having
found this sweet ideal at last when this vision hides every other from
my view----"

And taking her head between his two hands, he began to kiss her on the
eyelids, repeating:

"No! no! no! never will I marry! never! never!"

She submitted to these caresses, her mingled amazement and delight
having bereft her of the power of motion.

The door of the storeroom above the staircase fell back, and she
remained with outstretched arms, as if to bid him keep silence. Steps
drew near. Then some one said from behind the door:

"Is Madame there?"

"Come in!"

Madame Arnoux had her elbow on the counter, and was twisting about a pen
between her fingers quietly when the book-keeper threw aside the
portiere.

Frederick started up, as if on the point of leaving.

"Madame, I have the honour to salute you. The set will be ready--will it
not? I may count on this?"

She made no reply. But by thus silently becoming his accomplice in the
deception, she made his face flush with the crimson glow of adultery.

On the following day he paid her another visit. She received him; and,
in order to follow up the advantage he had gained, Frederick
immediately, without any preamble, attempted to offer some justification
for the accidental meeting in the Champ de Mars. It was the merest
chance that led to his being in that woman's company. While admitting
that she was pretty--which really was not the case--how could she for
even a moment absorb his thoughts, seeing that he loved another woman?

"You know it well--I told you it was so!"

Madame Arnoux hung down her head.

"I am sorry you said such a thing."

"Why?"

"The most ordinary proprieties now demand that I should see you no
more!"

He protested that his love was of an innocent character. The past ought
to be a guaranty as to his future conduct. He had of his own accord made
it a point of honour with himself not to disturb her existence, not to
deafen her with his complaints.

"But yesterday my heart overflowed."

"We ought not to let our thoughts dwel