e coquetry which was very feminine. This had grown
with her at the same time with her beauty. Headstrong and boyish though
she still was at times, she had become a submissive and affectionate
woman, desiring to be loved, above everything. The truth was that she
had grown up in freedom, without having learned anything more than to
read and write, having acquired by herself, later, while assisting her
uncle, a vast fund of information. But there had been no plan settled
upon between them. He had not wished to make her a prodigy; she had
merely conceived a passion for natural history, which revealed to her
the mysteries of life. And she had kept her innocence unsullied like a
fruit which no hand has touched, thanks, no doubt, to her unconscious
and religious waiting for the coming of love--that profound feminine
feeling which made her reserve the gift of her whole being for the man
whom she should love.

She pushed back her hair and bathed her face; then, yielding to her
impatience, she again softly opened the door of her chamber and ventured
to cross the vast workroom, noiselessly and on tiptoe. The shutters were
still closed, but she could see clearly enough not to stumble against
the furniture. When she was at the other end before the door of the
doctor's room, she bent forward, holding her breath. Was he already up?
What could he be doing? She heard him plainly, walking about with short
steps, dressing himself, no doubt. She never entered this chamber in
which he chose to hide certain labors; and which thus remained closed,
like a tabernacle. One fear had taken possession of her; that of being
discovered here by him if he should open the door; and the agitation
produced by the struggle between her rebellious pride and a desire
to show her submission caused her to grow hot and cold by turns, with
sensations until now unknown to her. For an instant her desire for
reconciliation was so strong that she was on the point of knocking.
Then, as footsteps approached, she ran precipitately away.

Until eight o'clock Clotilde was agitated by an ever-increasing
impatience. At every instant she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece
of her room; an Empire clock of gilded bronze, representing Love leaning
against a pillar, contemplating Time asleep.

Eight was the hour at which she generally descended to the dining-room
to breakfast with the doctor. And while waiting she made a careful
toilette, arranged her hair, and put on anoth