loathe the ball
and this world in which I live. No, I am not giving up much for you."

She had plucked her scarf to pieces, as a child plays with a flower,
pulling away all the petals one by one; and now she crushed it into a
ball, and flung it away. She could show her swan's neck.

She rang the bell. "I shall not go out tonight," she told the footman.
Her long, blue eyes turned timidly to Armand; and by the look of
misgiving in them, he knew that he was meant to take the order for a
confession, for a first and great favour. There was a pause, filled with
many thoughts, before she spoke with that tenderness which is often in
women's voices, and not so often in their hearts. "You have had a hard
life," she said.

"No," returned Armand. "Until today I did not know what happiness was."

"Then you know it now?" she asked, looking at him with a demure, keen
glance.

"What is happiness for me henceforth but this--to see you, to hear
you?... Until now I have only known privation; now I know that I can be
unhappy----"

"That will do, that will do," she said. "You must go; it is past
midnight. Let us regard appearances. People must not talk about us. I
do not know quite what I shall say; but the headache is a good-natured
friend, and tells no tales."

"Is there to be a ball tomorrow night?"

"You would grow accustomed to the life, I think. Very well. Yes, we will
go again tomorrow night."

There was not a happier man in the world than Armand when he went out
from her. Every evening he came to Mme de Langeais' at the hour kept for
him by a tacit understanding.

It would be tedious, and, for the many young men who carry a redundance
of such sweet memories in their hearts, it were superfluous to follow
the story step by step--the progress of a romance growing in those hours
spent together, a romance controlled entirely by a woman's will. If
sentiment went too fast, she would raise a quarrel over a word, or when
words flagged behind her thoughts, she appealed to the feelings. Perhaps
the only way of following such Penelope's progress is by marking its
outward and visible signs.

As, for instance, within a few days of their first meeting, the
assiduous General had won and kept the right to kiss his lady's
insatiable hands. Wherever Mme de Langeais went, M. de Montriveau
was certain to be seen, till people jokingly called him "Her Grace's
orderly." And already he had made enemies; others were jealous, and
envied him his