y musician, far
from adding to her embarrassment, pretended not to have perceived it.
At dessert, he brought the conversation round to women, and lauded the
nobility of their sentiments. Many a woman, he said, who might have been
willing to abandon a man in prosperity, would sacrifice all to him in
misfortune. Women had the advantage over men in constancy; nothing ever
detached them from their first lover, to whom they clung as a matter of
honor, unless he wounded them; they felt that a second love was unworthy
of them, and so forth. His ethics were of the highest order; shedding
incense on the altar where he knew that one heart at least, pierced
by many a blow, was bleeding. Camille and Beatrix alone understood the
bitterness of the sarcasms shot forth in the guise of eulogy. At times
they both flushed scarlet, but they were forced to control themselves.
When dinner was over, they took each other by the arm to return to
Camille's salon, and, as if by mutual consent, they turned aside
into the great salon, where they could be alone for an instant in the
darkness.

"It is dreadful to let Conti ride over me roughshod; and yet I can't
defend myself," said Beatrix, in a low voice. "The galley-slave is
always a slave to his chain-companion. I am lost; I must needs return
to my galleys! And it is you, Camille, who have cast me there! Ah! you
brought him back a day too soon, or a day too late. I recognize your
infernal talent as author. Well, your revenge is complete, the finale
perfect!"

"I may have told you that I would write to Conti, but to do it was
another matter," cried Camille. "I am incapable of such baseness. But
you are unhappy, and I will forgive the suspicion."

"What will become of Calyste?" said the marquise, with naive
self-conceit.

"Then Conti carries you off, does he?" asked Camille.

"Ah! you think you triumph!" cried Beatrix.

Anger distorted her handsome face as she said those bitter words
to Camille, who was trying to hide her satisfaction under a false
expression of sympathy. Unfortunately, the sparkle in her eyes belied
the sadness of her face, and Beatrix was learned in such deceptions.
When, a few moments later, the two women were seated under a strong
light on that divan where the first three weeks so many comedies had
been played, and where the secret tragedy of many thwarted passions had
begun, they examined each other for the last time, and felt they were
forever parted by an undying hat