proceeded until he was opposite Bougival and
reached the establishment of La Grenouillere, groping the clumps of
trees, calling out continually:

"Mam'zelle Yvette, where are you? Answer. It is ridiculous! Come,
answer! Don't keep me hunting like this."

A distant clock began to strike. He counted the hours: twelve. He
had been searching through the island for two hours. Then he thought
that perhaps she had gone home; and he went back very anxiously,
this time by way of the bridge. A servant dozing on a chair was
waiting in the hall.

Servigny awakened him and asked: "Is it long since Mademoiselle
Yvette came home? I left her at the foot of the place because I had
a call to make."

And the valet replied: "Oh! yes, Monsieur, Mademoiselle came in
before ten o'clock."

He proceeded to his room and went to bed. But he could not close his
eyes. That stolen kiss had stirred him to the soul. He kept
wondering what she thought and what she knew. How pretty and
attractive she was!

His desires, somewhat wearied by the life he led, by all his
procession of sweethearts, by all his explorations in the kingdom of
love, awoke before this singular child, so fresh, irritating, and
inexplicable. He heard one o'clock strike, then two. He could not
sleep at all. He was warm, he felt his heart beat and his temples
throb, and he rose to open the window. A breath of fresh air came
in, which he inhaled deeply. The thick darkness was silent, black,
motionless. But suddenly he perceived before him, in the shadows of
the garden, a shining point; it seemed a little red coal.

"Well, a cigar!" he said to himself. "It must be Saval," and he
called softly: "Leon!"

"Is it you, Jean?"

"Yes. Wait. I'll come down." He dressed, went out, and rejoining his
friend who was smoking astride an iron chair, inquired: "What are
you doing here at this hour?"

"I am resting," Saval replied. And he began to laugh. Servigny
pressed his hand: "My compliments, my dear fellow. And as for me,
I--am making a fool of myself."

"You mean--"

"I mean that--Yvette and her mother do not resemble each other."

"What has happened? Tell me."

Servigny recounted his attempts and their failure. Then he resumed:

"Decidedly, that little girl worries me. Fancy my not being able to
sleep! What a queer thing a girl is! She appears to be as simple as
anything, and yet you know nothing about her. A woman who has lived
and loved, who knows life, can be quickly und