Then she suddenly began to weep and weep, and, while she wept and wept, she did not cease to wail: "You must not grieve; you must not grieve." At first it was a plaint; but soon it became a sort of frightful bray, which grew louder and louder. And her big belly, and her big breasts, and her triple chin, shaken by her sobs, heaved in enormous surges. "Be still, then, Marianne," I said to her; "Madame might hear you, and come." But she did not listen to me, and, crying louder than ever, exclaimed: "Ah! what a misfortune! what a great misfortune!" So that I too, my stomach turned by drink, and my heart moved by Marianne's tears, began to sob like a Madeleine. All the same, she is not a bad girl. But I am getting tired here; I am getting tired; I am getting tired. I should like to get a place in the house of some member of the _demi-monde,_ or else in America. VI _October 1._ Poor Monsieur! I believe that I was too sharp with him the other day, in the garden. Perhaps I went further than I should. He is such a simpleton that he imagines that he has given me serious offence, and that my virtue is impregnable. Oh! his humiliated, imploring looks, which never cease to ask my pardon! Although I have become more teasing and agreeable, he says no more to me about the matter, and cannot make up his mind to try a new direct attack,--not even the classic device of a button to be sewed on a pair of pantaloons. A clumsy device, but one that does not often fail of its effect. My God! how many such buttons have I sewed on! And yet it is plain that he desires me,--that he is dying of desire, more and more. The least of his words betrays a confession, an indirect confession of his desire; and what a confession! But he is also more and more timid; he is afraid to come to a decision. He fears that it might bring about a definite rupture, and he no longer trusts in my encouraging looks. On one occasion, approaching me with a strange expression, with a sort of haggard look in his eyes, he said to me: "Célestine ... you ... you ... black ... my shoes ... very well ... very ... very ... well ... Never ... have ... my ... shoes ... been blacked ... like that." Then I expected the button trick. But no! Monsieur gasped and slobbered as if he had eaten a pear that was too big and juicy. Then he whistled for his dog, and started off. But here is something stronger.