t like a
school-girl who has learnt a complimentary greeting. It's so
vexatious!"

"And what about Madame de Guiraud?" he asked, as he drew his chair
closer and took her hand.

"Oh! she is perfection. I've discovered in her a 'Madame de Lery,'
with some sarcasm and animation."

While speaking she surrendered her hand to the young man, and he
kissed it between her sentences without her seeming to notice it.

"But the worst of it all, you know," she resumed, "is your absence. In
the first place, you might say something to Madame Berthier; and
besides, we shall not be able to get a good _ensemble_ if you never
come."

He had now succeeded in passing his arm round her waist.

"But as I know my part," he murmured.

"Yes, that's all very well; but there's the arrangement of the scenes
to look after. It is anything but obliging on your part to refuse to
give us three or four mornings."

She was unable to continue, for he was raining a shower of kisses on
her neck. At this she could feign ignorance no longer, but pushed him
away, tapping him the while with the Chinese fan which she still
retained in her hand. Doubtless, she had registered a vow that she
would not allow any further familiarity. Her face was now flushed by
the heat reflected from the fire, and her lips pouted with the very
expression of an inquisitive person whom her feelings astonish.
Moreover, she was really getting frightened.

"Leave me alone," she stammered, with a constrained smile. "I shall
get angry."

But he imagined that he had moved her, and once more took hold of her
hands. To her, however, a voice seemed to be crying out, "No!" It was
she herself protesting before she had even answered her own heart.

"No, no!" she said again. "Let me go; you are hurting me!" And
thereupon, as he refused to release her, she twisted herself violently
from his grasp. She was acting in obedience to some strange emotion;
she felt angry with herself and with him. In her agitation some
disjointed phrases escaped her lips. Yes, indeed, he rewarded her
badly for her trust. What a brute he was! She even called him a
coward. Never in her life would she see him again. But he allowed her
to talk on, and ran after her with a wicked and brutal laugh. And at
last she could do no more than gasp in the momentary refuge which she
had sought behind a chair. They were there, gazing at one another, her
face transformed by shame and his by passion, when a noise broke
throu