er asleep, she had too much natural
astuteness to be deceived a minute about Servigny's intentions, for
she knew men by experience, and especially men of that set. So at
the first words uttered by Yvette, she had cried almost in spite of
herself: "Servigny, marry you? You are crazy!"

How had he come to employ that old method, he, that sharp man of the
world? What would he do now? And she, the young girl, how should she
warn her more clearly and even forbid her, for she might make great
mistakes. Would anyone have believed that this big girl had remained
so artless, so ill informed, so guileless? And the Marquise, greatly
perplexed and already wearied with her reflections, endeavored to
make up her mind what to do without finding a solution of the
problem, for the situation seemed to her very embarrassing. Worn out
with this worry, she thought:

"I will watch them more clearly, I will act according to
circumstances. If necessary, I will speak to Servigny, who is sharp
and will take a hint."

She did not think out what she should say to him, nor what he would
answer, nor what sort of an understanding could be established
between them, but happy at being relieved of this care without
having had to make a decision, she resumed her dreams of the
handsome Saval, and turning toward that misty light which hovers
over Paris, she threw kisses with both hands toward the great city,
rapid kisses which she tossed into the darkness, one after the
other, without counting; and, very low, as if she were talking to
Saval still, she murmured:

"I love you, I love you!"

CHAPTER III.

ENLIGHTENMENT

Yvette, also, could not sleep. Like her mother, she leaned upon the
sill of the open window, and tears, her first bitter tears, filled
her eyes. Up to this time she had lived, had grown up, in the
heedless and serene confidence of happy youth. Why should she have
dreamed, reflected, puzzled? Why should she not have been a young
girl, like all other young girls? Why should a doubt, a fear, or
painful suspicion have come to her?

She seemed posted on all topics because she had a way of talking on
all subjects, because she had taken the tone, demeanor, and words of
the people who lived around her. But she really knew no more than a
little girl raised in a convent; her audacities of speech came from
her memory, from that unconscious faculty of imitation and
assimilation which women possess, and not from a mind instructed and
e