y
live in style. Catholic publishing houses and magazines pay even worse
than the secular, so in spite of his established reputation in the
clerical world, Chantelouve cannot possibly maintain such a standard of
living on his royalties.

"There simply is no telling what these people are up to. That this
woman's home life is unhappy, and that she does not love the sneaky
sacristan to whom she is married, is quite possible, but what is her
real role in that household? Is she accessory to Chantelouve's pecuniary
dodges? If that is the case I don't see why she should pick on me. If
she is in connivance with her husband, she certainly ought to have sense
enough to seek an influential or wealthy lover, and she is perfectly
aware that I fulfil neither the one nor the other condition. Chantelouve
knows very well that I am incapable of paying for her gowns and thus
contributing to the upkeep of their establishment. I make about three
thousand livres, and I can hardly contrive to keep myself going.

"So that is not her game. I don't know that I want to have anything to
do with their kind of people," he concluded, somewhat chilled by these
reflections. "But I am a big fool. What I know about them proves that my
unknown beloved is not Chantelouve's wife, and, all things considered, I
am glad she isn't."

CHAPTER VIII

Next day his ferment had subsided. The unknown never left him, but she
kept her distance. Her less certain features were effaced in mist, her
fascination became feebler, and she no longer was his sole
preoccupation.

The idea, suddenly formed on a word of Des Hermies, that the unknown
must be Chantelouve's wife, had, in fashion, checked his fever. If it
was she--and his contrary conclusions of the evening before seemed
hardly valid when he took up one by one the arguments by which he had
arrived at them--then her reasons for wanting him were obscure,
dangerous, and he was on his guard, no longer letting himself go in
complete self-abandon.

And yet, there was another phenomenon taking place within him. He had
never paid any especial attention to Hyacinthe Chantelouve, he had never
been in love with her. She interested him by the mystery of her person
and her life, but outside her drawing-room he had never given her a
thought. Now ruminating about her he began almost to desire her.

Suddenly she benefited by the face of the unknown, for when Durtal
evoked her she came confused to his sight, her physiog