zed
the ideal of her dreams. At the same time she was exasperated to
see in him no signs of love for her. Her beauty was not, then,
irresistible, as she had often been told. He was gallant and
courteous to her--nothing more.

"If he loved me," thought she, "he would tell me so, for he is
bold with women and fears no one."

Then she began to hate the girl, her rival, whom Hector went to
meet at Corbeil every week. She wished to see her, to know her.
Who could she be? Was she handsome? Hector had been very reticent
about Jenny. He evaded all questions about her, not sorry to let
Bertha's imagination work on his mysterious visits.

The day at last came when she could no longer resist the intensity
of her curiosity. She put on the simplest of her toilets, in black,
threw a thick veil over her head, and hastened to the Corbeil station
at the hour that she thought the unknown girl would present herself
there. She took a seat on a bench in the rear of the waiting-room.
She had not long to wait. She soon perceived the count and a young
girl coming along the avenue, which she could see from where she sat.
They were arm in arm, and seemed to be in a very happy mood. They
passed within a few steps of her, and as they walked very slowly,
she was able to scrutinize Jenny at her ease. She saw that she was
pretty, but that was all. Having seen that which she wished, and
become satisfied that Jenny was not to be feared (which showed her
inexperience) Bertha directed her steps homeward. But she chose her
time of departure awkwardly; for as she was passing along behind the
cabs, which concealed her, Hector came out of the station. They
crossed each other's paths at the gate, and their eyes met. Did he
recognize her? His face expressed great surprise, yet he did not
bow to her. "Yes, he recognized me," thought Bertha, as she returned
home by the river-road; and surprised, almost terrified by her
boldness, she asked herself whether she ought to rejoice or mourn
over this meeting. What would be its result? Hector cautiously
followed her at a little distance. He was greatly astonished. His
vanity, always on the watch, had already apprised him of what was
passing in Bertha's heart, but, though modesty was no fault of his,
he was far from guessing that she was so much enamoured of him as
to take such a step.

"She loves me!" he repeated to himself, as he went along. "She
loves me!"

He did not yet know what to do. Should he fly? Should