is air which was so good, her eyes closed, her heart
reposing in the yet pervading intoxication of the drug, and she had
no longer at all the desire to die, but a strong, imperious wish to
live, to be happy--no matter how--to be loved, yes, to be loved.

Servigny repeated: "Mam'zelle Yvette, listen to me."

And she decided to open her eyes.

He continued, as he saw her reviving: "Come! Come! what does this
nonsense mean?"

She murmured: "My poor Muscade, I was so unhappy."

He squeezed her hand: "And that led you into a pretty scrape! Come,
you must promise me not to try it again."

She did not reply, but nodded her head slightly with an almost
imperceptible smile. He drew from his pocket the letter which he had
found on the table:

"Had I better show this to your mother?"

She shook her head, no. He knew not what more to say for the
situation seemed to him without an outlet. So he murmured:

"My dear child, everyone has hard things to bear. I understand your
sorrow and I promise you--"

She stammered: "You are good."

They were silent. He looked at her. She had in her glance something
of tenderness, of weakness; and suddenly she raised both her arms,
as if she would draw him to her; he bent over her, feeling that she
called him, and their lips met.

For a long time they remained thus, their eyes closed.

But, knowing that he would lose his head, he drew away. She smiled
at him now, most tenderly; and, with both her hands clinging to his
shoulders, she held him.

"I am going to call your mother," he said.

She murmured: "Just a second more. I am so happy."

Then after a silence, she said in a tone so low that it could
scarcely be heard: "Will you love me very much? Tell me!"

He kneeled beside her bed, and kissing the hand she had given him,
said: "I adore you." But some one was walking near the door. He
arose with a bound, and called in his ordinary voice, which seemed
nevertheless a little ironical: "You may come in. It is all right
now."

The Marquise threw herself on her daughter, with both arms open, and
clasped her frantically, covering her countenance with tears, while
Servigny with radiant soul and quivering body went out upon the
balcony to breathe the fresh air of the night, humming to himself
the old couplet:

"A woman changeth oft her mind:
Yet fools still trust in womankind."

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Yvette, by Henri Rene Guy de Maupassant