"So," said Jenny, more calmly, "I snap my fingers at Hector,"
--she had just said exactly the contrary, and had forgotten it
--"I don't care for him, but I will not let him leave me in this
way. It sha'n't be said that he left me for another. I won't have
it."

Jenny was one of those women who do not reason, but who feel; with
whom it is folly to argue, for their fixed idea is impregnable to
the most victorious arguments. Sauvresy asked himself why she had
asked him to come, and said to himself that the part he had intended
to play would be a difficult one. But he was patient.

"I see, my child," he commenced, "that you haven't understood or
even heard me. I told you that Hector was intending to marry."

"He!" answered Jenny, with an ironical gesture. "He get married."

She reflected a moment, and added:

"If it were true, though--"

"I tell you it is so."

"No," cried Jenny, "no, that can't be possible. He loves another,
I am sure of it, for I have proofs."

Sauvresy smiled; this irritated her.

"What does this letter mean," cried she warmly, "which I found in
his pocket, six months ago? It isn't signed to be sure, but it must
have come from a woman."

"A letter?"

"Yes, one that destroys all doubts. Perhaps you ask, why I did not
speak to him about it? Ah, you see, I did not dare. I loved him.
I was afraid if I said anything, and it was true he loved another,
I should lose him. And so I resigned myself to humiliation, I
concealed myself to weep, for I said to myself, he will come back to
me. Poor fool!"

"Well, but what will you do?"

"Me? I don't know--anything. I didn't say anything about the
letter, but I kept it; it is my weapon--I will make use of it.
When I want to, I shall find out who she is, and then--"

"You will compel Tremorel, who is kindly disposed toward you, to
use violence."

"He? What can he do to me? Why, I will follow him like his shadow
--I will cry out everywhere the name of this other. Will he have
me put in St. Lazare prison? I will invent the most dreadful
calumnies against him. They will not believe me at first; later,
part of it will be believed. I have nothing to fear--I have no
parents, no friends, nobody on earth who cares for me. That's what
it is to raise girls from the gutter. I have fallen so low that I
defy him to push me lower. So, if you are his friend, sir, advise
him to come back to me."

Sauvresy was really alarmed; he saw clearly how real and earnest