show stirs an absent-minded passer in
the street.

In Africa it seemed that her whole nature had been either violently
renewed, or even changed. She could not tell which. But this strong
stirring of curiosity would, she believed, have been impossible in the
woman she had been but a week ago, the woman who travelled to Marseilles
dulled, ignorant of herself, longing for change. Perhaps instead of
being angry she ought to welcome it as a symptom of the re-creation she
longed for.

While she changed her gown for dinner that night she debated within
herself how she would treat her fellow-guest when she met him in the
_salle-a-manger_. She ought to cut him after what had occurred, she
supposed. Then it seemed to her that to do so would be undignified, and
would give him the impression that he had the power to offend her. She
resolved to bow to him if they met face to face. Just before she went
downstairs she realised how vehement her internal debate had been, and
was astonished. Suzanne was putting away something in a drawer, bending
down and stretching out her plump arms.

"Suzanne!" Domini said.

"Yes, Mam'zelle!"

"How long have you been with me?"

"Three years, Mam'zelle."

The maid shut the drawer and turned round, fixing her shallow,
blue-grey eyes on her mistress, and standing as if she were ready to be
photographed.

"Would you say that I am the same sort of person to-day as I was three
years ago?"

Suzanne looked like a cat that has been startled by a sudden noise.

"The same, Mam'zelle?"

"Yes. Do you think I have altered in that time?"

Suzanne considered the question with her head slightly on one side.

"Only here, Mam'zelle," she replied at length.

"Here!" said Domini, rather eagerly. "Why, I have only been here
twenty-six hours."

"That is true. But Mam'zelle looks as if she had a little life here, a
little emotion. Mon Dieu! Mam'zelle will pardon me, but what is a woman
who feels no emotion? A packet. Is it not so, Mam'zelle?"

"Well, but what is there to be emotional about here?"

Suzanne looked vaguely crafty.

"Who knows, Mam'zelle? Who can say? Mon Dieu! This village is dull, but
it is odd. No band plays. There are no shops for a girl to look into.
There is nothing chic except the costumes of the Zouaves. But one cannot
deny that it is odd. When Mam'zelle was away this afternoon in the tower
Monsieur Helmuth--"

"Who is that?"

"The Monsieur who accompanies the omnibus to the s