he had to live, as in traveling a
person eats at many tables. But occasionally her heart took fire,
and she really fell in love, which state lasted for some weeks or
months, according to conditions. These were the delicious moments of
her life, for she loved with all her soul. She cast herself upon
love as a person throws himself into the river to drown himself, and
let herself be carried away, ready to die, if need be, intoxicated,
maddened, infinitely happy. She imagined each time that she never
had experienced anything like such an attachment, and she would have
been greatly astonished if some one had told her of how many men she
had dreamed whole nights through, looking at the stars.

Saval had captivated her, body and soul. She dreamed of him, lulled
by his face and his memory, in the calm exaltation of consummated
love, of present and certain happiness.

A sound behind her made her turn around. Yvette had just entered,
still in her daytime dress, but pale, with eyes glittering, as
sometimes is the case after some great fatigue. She leaned on the
sill of the open window, facing her mother.

"I want to speak to you," she said.

The Marquise looked at her in astonishment. She loved her like an
egotistical mother, proud of her beauty, as a person is proud of a
fortune, too pretty still herself to become jealous, too indifferent
to plan the schemes with which they charged her, too clever,
nevertheless, not to have full consciousness of her daughter's
value.

"I am listening, my child," she said; "what is it?"

Yvette gave her a piercing look, as if to read the depths of her
soul and to seize all the sensations which her words might awake.

"It is this. Something strange has just happened."

"What can it be?"

"Monsieur de Servigny has told me that he loves me."

The Marquise, disturbed, waited a moment, and, as Yvette said
nothing more, she asked:

"How did he tell you that? Explain yourself!"

Then the young girl, sitting at her mother's feet, in a coaxing
attitude common with her, and clasping her hands, added:

"He asked me to marry him."

Madame Obardi made a sudden gesture of stupefaction and cried:

"Servigny! Why! you are crazy!"

Yvette had not taken her eyes off her mother's face, watching her
thoughts and her surprise. She asked with a serious voice:

"Why am I crazy? Why should not Monsieur de Servigny marry me?"

The Marquise, embarrassed, stammered:

"You are mistaken, it is not po